#North Wind Panther

[tailorvizsla]

Title: Eighty Thousand Credits Pairing(s): Din Djarin x f!Reader Wordcount: ~4700 Rating: NC-17, minors DNI please!!! Warnings: Smut, sex pollen, dub!con, unprotected sex, PIV sex, rough sex, outdoor sex, a touch of feels at the end Author’s Notes: Hi y’all it’s been a minute since I last wrote anything for Din! This fic has been in the works for almost two years? A huuuuge thank you to @shadesofshatteredblue, @hdlynn, @bitchin-beskar, and @catsnkooks for encouraging and fanning the flames of thirst and thottiness. I whoreheartedly appreciate all of you lovelies.

📚 My Masterlist 📚 

This hunt is different from the ones you and Din have gone on. 

Rather than looking for a person, the target is a plant. The locals call it the ‘marriage bloom’. Apparently, the fruit has some sort of medicinal value to the population, but no one has been able to find any for ages now. Now, the local farmers are looking for a way to grow that fruit without destroying the local ecosystem. 

The money offered is extraordinary, so Din had taken the job, thinking it an easy source of money. He had found a caldera tucked between two dangerous stretches of forest. After checking it out, the two of you agreed that this was the best place to check – locals rarely ventured into this area, kept at bay by the unstable weather patterns and carnivorous plains-panthers. Because of that, the caldera has remained virtually untouched. If there was a place where the fruit could flourish, it would be here.

The weather is quite nice right now, with a soft, cool breeze whipping in from the north. It brings with it the scent of the forest and the nearby river. If it wasn’t for the ominous clouds roiling to the east, you would have considered asking Din to stay here just a bit longer to stretch your legs and relax. It’s been a long time since you last spent a few minutes in sunlight.

Creeping forward, you examine the bushes growing around you, looking for the vibrant blue fruit. A thousand credits for each fruit, you tell yourself, as you wave a bug away from your helmet. In your peripheral vision, you see a flash of blue nestled in the vegetation. You go to examine it and let out a soft cry of delight.

“Din!” you call out. “Over here!”

As you bend over to pick up the fruit, you notice that the flowers appear to be bulging. Shrugging to yourself, you continue sifting through the fruit, taking only the ones that look to be ripe. You also keep the vague warnings in mind. There are odd side effects if the pollen is inhaled. No one had explained further, saying only that this fruit was why so many married way back in the day. Din comes to your patch of vegetation, and he lets out a noise of approval as he sinks down onto his knees beside you.

“One full basket,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Easiest money we’ll ever make.”

You nod in agreement. Last hunt had been…messy, to say the least. Both figuratively and literally. You’re pretty sure Din’s still picking organic matter out of the intake manifolds.

Taking out your knife, you take a single fruit, flower, and leaf from each plant, being mindful to not take too many. The urge to profit is tempting, but the farmers had been clear – they wanted just enough to plant their own. You note that Din grabs a handful of the berries and places them into another pouch.

“For us,” he says. “It might help us through lean times.”

You nod in response. It doesn’t hurt to research possible alternatives in case your Tribe runs out of medication. As the wind starts to grow stronger, you notice that the flowers are starting to open up. Your hand brushes up against the petals and it explodes, filling the air with a thick plume of golden-yellow pollen. You and Din recoil, but it’s too late. You can taste something green and bitter in the back of your throat as you inhale.

You fall back onto your backside, coughing as you drag yourself away from the hazy cloud of pollen hanging in the air. Din falls to the ground next to you, coughing just as violently. After a few moments of silence, you feel a peculiar burn in your lungs – a slow, sensuous heat that feels like your body is wrapped in a sensuous embrace.

As you lie there on the round, you can feel it spreading through your chest. When the warmth hits your heart, it surges through the rest of your body with each pulse of your heart. In vain, you try to still your thoughts, to calm yourself down. No matter what you do, you cannot focus on a single thought for more than a few seconds. You leap from thought to thought as your heart climbs into your throat.

“Din,” you croak out to him. “So-something’s w-wrong - “

“Ship,” he says back to you. “Med kit.”

Summoning all your strength, you roll over onto your side. The ground under your hands and knees swims. As the two of you crawl back toward the ship, a foot at a time, Din gets ahead of you. He seems a lot less affected by whatever that pollen had done to the two of you. It feels like your armor is constricting your chest, preventing you from breathing. The cottony soft fabric of your undersuit feels like razorblades against your sensitive skin. With each breath, you can feel the lace on your brassiere pull and scrape against your skin.

Up ahead, you can see Din struggle to his feet. As you watch, you find yourself consumed by the thought of him. The way the dappled sunlight glints off his armor. The way his strong thighs quiver under the strain of holding his body up. His broad shoulders, heaving as he gasps for air. It sends a hot, sticky jolt straight to your pussy. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your lower lip to keep from moaning as he leans against the tree, revealing his perfect back to you -

Perfect for digging nails into - 

Shaking your head, you try to redirect your thoughts away from just how perfect he is. You stagger to your feet, and suddenly, things feel a lot…easier? Your momentum carries you forward to another tree, where you lean to rest. As you sink against it, your thighs press together, and you realize that your panties stick to you in an unpleasant way. Fuck, not now.

“Din, we need,” you stammer out. “Need to.”

Need help. But your lips won’t work. Your helmet suddenly feels claustrophobic, as if it has shrunk several sizes. You wriggle your fingers under the edge and lift, hoping to force some air into your lungs. You suck down some air, but you realize the mistake you’ve made when you see the clouds of pollen rising up off your armor. 

Fuck. 

It has to be the pollen. If a single sniff is making you this wet, you can’t imagine what prolonged exposure will do to you. You bite down on your inner cheek. That brief bit of pain gives you something to focus on. Something other than the throbbing heat between your legs.  Up ahead, you can see that Din is slipping further down his tree trunk. You stagger forward toward Din. He needs to be distracted, and so do you. Otherwise, you’re not making it back home.

“It’s the pollen,” you say as steadily as possible. “Need to…need to get to the ship.”

“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Agreed.”

You wrap one arm around him. Din lets out a little noise that you choose to interpret as pain. If you even think he’s moaning in pleasure…a hot shiver wracks through your entire body. Slowly, as you hold each other up, you stagger back to the ship. It’s only a few hundred meters away - you can see it through the underbrush.

“Almost there,” you whisper. “Almost.”

His arm slides down around your waist.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Din says bluntly. “Too far.”

“For eighty thousand credits, you’re going to make it,” you say bluntly, and he groans in response.

For eighty thousand credits, you’ll carry him all the way back to the Tribe. On foot.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t make it more than a couple of steps. He shoves himself away from you. Din grasps his helmet and pulls it off, throwing it aside. Exposing himself to even more pollen. Fuck. His helmet bounces uselessly off a log as he falls to his knees. As you see his messy, curly brown hair for the first time, it feels like everything around you has disappeared. There’s nothing here but you and the Mand’alor.

He stands up. Has he always been this tall? This muscular? You want to look away, to give him his privacy, but you can’t tear yourself away. You don’t realize your hands are moving until you’ve taken your helmet off. It’s a bad idea, but you cannot bring yourself to care. You drop it on the ground. Din freezes at the sound. Your heart skips a beat as he slowly turns to face you.

Your eyes sweep over his face hungrily, taking in his handsome visage. He has beautiful eyes, a strong nose, and plump lips. Beautiful, you think as you wet your lower lip. Your eyes snap up to his - they’re so dark. Dark with arousal and something else you can’t quite name. Your mouth goes dry at his unwavering stare, and you feel so, so small in front of him. Taking your helmet off had been such a bad idea. You take a half-step back.

It seems like your movement sets something off in him. He coils toward you, predator after his prey, as you feebly try to escape him. He matches each of your steps until your back slams into a tree. You stand there, paralyzed by something that isn’t quite fear and arousal, unable to do more than watch as he closes the distance between your bodies. 

“Din,” his name falls from your lips in a whisper. 

“The…the pollen,” he says hoarsely. “Can’t. Can’t fight it much longer.”

“What do we do?” your voice is unnaturally steady, even when the words lodge in your throat like molasses. His eyes drop to your lips as you moisten them again. “What…do you…what do you want, Din?”

Already, you can see the fine red mist climbing up his throat as he struggles to maintain control over himself. He looks away, taking a great shuddering breath.

“O-only one s-solution,” you offer softly. "But we don't have to..."

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he insists stubbornly, trying to back away.

Even that gap between your bodies leaves you with a keen sense of loss and you whine softly. His eyes snap up to your face. You don’t know how to tell him that you need his heat, his body against yours.

“Din, it’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Din, it’s okay.”

Your feelings of respect and affection for him are genuine. You are willing to give yourself to him to help save his life. Does he reciprocate? Does he want this with you?

He stares at you, face like stone, as he considers your words. You struggle to not squirm at the weight of his gaze – you’re so wet your trousers are sticking to your skin, all the way down to your knees. The two of you stare at each other for far too long, considering the next move to be made, the forest nearly silent, save for the sound of wind in the leaves. 

If this isn’t resolved soon, you are sure the medical side-effects will be lethal. And if the two of you do resolve it…there’s a real chance that your budding friendship won’t survive it. Would he be able to look at you the same if the two of you –

“Try to make it to the ship,” he rasps out. “Safer there…for us to…f…fuck.”

You nod in agreement and tear your eyes from his just as the wind shifts. 

Shimmering plumes of gold swirl through the dark leaves and settle lightly over every surface. As you look north, dread fills you as you realize you are downwind of at least two dozen clusters of flowers. Reflexively, you inhale deeply to try and hold your breath, but there’s no use. The fine yellow pollen has settled on your armor, in your hair, on your clothing. You can taste it - bitter and sweet and floral on your tongue. 

You inhale, and your entire body quivers.

“Din,” you whimper, and he moves.

He lets out a harsh expletive. Both leather-clad hands come to rest on the tree, one on either side of your shoulders, as Din leans in. The bag falls to the ground at your feet. His nose is almost touching yours, and you lose yourself in his dark eyes. Your pussy throbs and squeezes with each breath you take. He leans in and the world spins.

Din kisses you gently once, then he slants his mouth over yours. He forces his tongue into your mouth as you lace your arms around his neck, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your teeth clack against his as you grow more and more frantic for his touch. Din Djarin tastes divine. His teeth dig into your lower lip, and your entire body quivers from the exquisite pain. He kisses you again and again. You can hear the bark under his fingertips crumbling as he flexes his fingers.

You wonder if he’s trying to keep himself from touching you. To keep himself from guiding your pants down so he can fuck you properly. The thought of his cock inside you makes you moan. As you’re squirming, soundlessly begging for his touch, you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to keep yourself from grinding up against his cuisse. That causes something to shift and snap in Din. He growls deep in his chest. Your pussy gushes as you start to grind against the hard metal between your thighs.

One hand clamps around the back of your neck for a bruising kiss as he pulls you toward him, tight and hard as an unyielding metal band as he takes control. The other falls to your waist as he pins you against his hard, tense body. Instead of resisting, you surrender to him, closing your eyes as his tongue maps the roof of your mouth. Relief fills you at the promise of satiating the agonizing need threatening to claw its way out of you.

There’s something dizzying about being so utterly helpless, unable to do anything but let your hunter do as he pleases with you. The hungry, desperate way he kisses you, as if your lips are the only thing keeping him alive. The way he grinds his codpiece into your belly, seeking friction to relieve his erection. Lifting your hands, you lace your fingers through his beautiful curls and tug. 

Din growls and you whine your frustration into his mouth. Your fevered thoughts take on a desperate tone - can’t he see that you need more than a kiss? Can’t he feel the way your body writhes and undulates in his hands? Can’t he feel the warmth of your arousal soaking through his trousers? 

“Please,” you beg softly. “Din, I need you…”

Din breaks away, his cheeks flushed vividly as he gasps for air. His eyes are wild, that sweet gentle part of him long gone. His black pupils are blown wide open, his arousal so intent it frightens you. Your armor suddenly feels too tight, constricting, so you begin to shed it. Din has no patience for that – he simply turns you around and shoves you forward.

You land hard on your hands and knees, yelping in protest.

“DIN!”

He ignores you as he kneels behind you. Two big hands wrap themselves around your hips and squeeze firmly, massaging your plump flesh as you struggle to unbuckle your belt. A thrill runs through you when you hear the zip of leather through his belt buckle. Finally, you get your pants down around your thighs. Din slips in the dry leaves littering the forest floor as he positions himself behind you. You brace yourself on all fours, arching your back as you feel the head of his cock brushing up against your fluttering, dripping hole. He thrusts sloppily, grunting in your ear, grinding up against your swollen clit. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had a hunter who couldn’t find your entrance, so you reach down between your thighs and guide him to your sweltering heat. Din braces himself as his fingers tighten painfully around your hips. He pushes in with one deep, devastating thrust. The noise that leaves you is guttural, somewhere between a sob of relief and a grunt of discomfort. 

His cock is nearly too much for you to take. He lets out a harsh noise as he finds the end of you, his body shivering. Then he slips halfway out and rolls his hips forward, seating himself deep inside you, your cunt protesting with an obscene, wet noise.

This changes everything between you and Din. From Mand’alor and loyal follower to…this. You aren’t sure what it is, or what it will become, but there’s no way you can walk away from this and still be the same. Not when you’ve had his desperate mouth against yours, or had his cock buried to the hilt inside you. Not when you’ve heard his needy, desperate moans. A shudder wracks your body, drawing him out of whatever thoughts he had been thinking.

He slips halfway out, giving your body a very brief moment of respite from his too-thick cock. Then you rock back against him in time with his thrusts. He seems hesitant, as if he is just as afraid of the future as you had been. Maybe he’s afraid of hurting you. You aren’t sure, and you don’t care. The next time he starts you pull out, you squeeze around him. 

His hand on your hip tightens painfully, to the point where you know there will be five pretty little bruises there in the morning. Din starts to move, pulling out halfway before sheathing himself completely, his flesh smacking wetly against yours.

Din reaches up and yanks your top open, sending buttons scattering through the dry leaves. Then he cups your tit and squeezes. Your moans and pleas run together into desperate whines. His cock barely leaves you before he’s filling you up again, driving away all coherent thought. You’re so full you can’t breathe. As you spiral closer and closer to the edge, your arms give out, and you settle on your elbows. Din keens and drives his cock in deeper another half-inch, making your eyes roll back in your head. 

If anyone walked by right now, you’d be horrified - you’re spread out in front of your Mand’alor as he ruts into you, both your helmets are off, and the evidence of your pleasure is dripping down your thighs. Biting down on your lower lip, you bury your face into your arms, breathing in the sweet, earthy smell of the forest. Din’s hand moves from your hip to your front. When his fingers brush up against your swollen, throbbing clit, a bolt of pure lightning shoots through you and your entire body stiffens in surprise. You suck in a breath and cry out sharply. The pleasure is intense - it’s almost too much, bordering on painful and prickly. Din traps your clit between his fingers as he strokes and your entire body shakes.

His name falls from your lips in a plea. Your breathing is erratic, spots swimming at the edges of your vision as your entire body tenses tight. You start to shake, tears pricking at your eyes, as you hover at the precipice. It’s too much - you’re not sure how much more your body can take - and with a final brush of his fingers, that pressure inside releases, like a dam bursting open and flooding your senses with pure pleasure. A feral noise escapes you as you finish, sweat dripping down your forehead as your cunt convulses around Din’s cock over and over again. He lets out a marvelous moan as he stutters to a halt. 

Din pulls you back into his lap. As your breathing and pulse slow back to normal, the heat dissipates, leaving you entirely aware of what had just transpired. Fuck. Din’s hands squeeze around your hips and  you know it’s time to move. Lifting your hips, you have to stifle a noise as his cock slides out with a wet noise. A warm, wet rush of cum follows. As you get to your feet, you take a peek back at Din. The crotch and thighs of his pants are drenched with your pleasure and his cum. 

You avert your eyes and pull up your pants. It almost feels disrespectful to see him in such a disheveled, dirtied way. You certainly had no right to any of it, your traitorous mind supplies. Blinking back tears of frustration, you grab random pieces of armor as you find them and stuff them into the bag with the flowers and fruit. When you’ve worked up your courage, you turn to look at Din once again. He’s holding his helmet in his hands, a frown furrowing his brow. As you start to speak, another gust of wind picks up, bringing with it more pollen. Din’s eyes widen as they meet yours.

Familiar heat settles in your belly. His cock - still wet and covered in creamy streaks of cum - twitches. Your insides protest with a dull ache. He pulls up his pants and tries to arrange himself more neatly.

“Ship,” you say. “We can talk later.”

He nods in agreement and the two of you run back toward the ship. Once inside, the two of you lean against the hull. Your breathing is erratic again. Once the two of you are safely isolated, you stagger to the captain’s quarters. The dull thuds of Din’s armor hitting the floor lets you know that Din is following. You are completely naked by the time Din makes it into the bedroom. The last of his clothing falls to the floor. This time, he hesitates. Sudden shyness fills you as you realize he’s watching you, his eyes roving from your eyes down to your toes. It almost feels like he is devouring you with his hungry gaze.

“Beautiful,” Din rasped. 

He closes his eyes and his lips move in what seems to be a silent prayer. Before you can speak, Din pounces, and a squeal escapes you. Din throws you down onto the bed, and as you settle on the mattress, he parts your thighs with one hand.

“Look at this gorgeous little pussy,” Din says, grasping his cock. He traces your soaked lips with the head, circling around your entrance. “Been wishin’...that I could kiss you…touch these tits…cum in this pussy. Make you mine…Have always wanted to make you mine…So perfect…”

His words make you inhale sharply. Does he mean what he’s saying, or is it the pollen? You push the thought aside - now is not the time for that train of thought. Din slurs his words, sounding very much like he’s drunk on something as he praises you. 

“I would have shot someone for you to look at me,” Din breathes, “For you to smile at me…can’t get enough of you…don’t think I ever will get enough of you…”

Din groans as he starts to slide in, spreading you around him in that familiar, arching way that sends lighting straight up your spine. You’re still sore and swollen from what had transpired outside, but you need him. Din changes his angle and sinks in easily, his entrance eased by the cum still left inside you. Din’s beautiful eyes close as he sighs with pleasure when his pubic bone meets your clit. 

You moan and mewl as he fucks into you, but it’s not like how it was outside. Outside was raw and primal. It was nothing more than two people fucking to alleviate the symptoms of pollen poisoning. But here…in the warmth of your bed…you feel more protected and cherished than you feel hunted and taken. His lips trace over your skin, each kiss like a brand, marking you in a way that his teeth never could.

“So fucking beautiful,” he pants. “Can’t…can’t stop myself…need you, mesh’la. Need all of you…”

His breath fans against you, making your skin break out in goosebumps at the intimacy of being so close to your Mand’alor. To be the one who has the privilege of having his cock buried so deep inside them. To be the one with his weight across their body, his muscles flexing and bunching between their thighs. You’re the one lucky enough to have his sweat puddling on their belly, and his cum clinging to their inner walls. A fine shudder travels through your body as you dig your heels into his ass. 

Running your fingers along his skin, you feel sweat dotting his back. Here and there, the texture of his skin changes, and you catalog the location of each scar. If there’s a repeat of today in the future…you want to kiss each one and thank the gods for granting him safety and for giving him these beautiful marks to prove his bravery.

You can feel the callouses on his hands as he skims his palms over the bumps and curves and planes of your body. He’s fucking you, but he’s not taking you, even though you had certainly enjoyed being taken before. This is different, and you wonder if the pollen only encouraged the passion that was already there between the two of you. As Din’s breathing grows heavier, and the tingling grows stronger, you dig your nails into Din’s back. He moans again, grinding his pubic bone against your clit in that way that makes you whimper and your eyes roll back.

Din kisses your lips, and then he bites gently. His tongue laps against the tingling bite marks, soothing away the pain. You wriggle a hand between your sweaty bodies and start stroking your clit. His breathing is erratic - he’s getting close, and so are you. The tingling becomes a fiery inferno, building higher and higher with each delicious stroke of his cock against your inner walls. Din rests his hands on the mattress, one on either side of your head, surging forward and hitting that spot that makes your toes curl against his lower back. Finally, the friction is too much for you to bear, and your back arches, welcoming him in deeper as you find completion.

The fiery inferno turns into a warm, sensuous heat that fills every molecule in your body. You stroke Din’s back and shoulders as he finishes, filling you with spurt after spurt of warm, wet cum. You clench tight around him, relishing the liquid heat inside. For a few moments, Din rests atop you, his weight on his forearms, his cock plugging his cum inside you. You stroke his back lazily, blowing one of his curls out of your face, as he drops his face onto your shoulder. He smells salty and sweaty, but it’s not unpleasant. He smells like himself and leather, and blaster residue. Maybe there’s a touch of pollen there, but you’re sure your nose is so saturated with it that you can’t smell it anymore.

As the sweat starts to cool, Din pulls out, and sits back on his heels for a moment, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You don’t hesitate to look at him, to properly take him in as you see his naked body for the first time. His hair is a mess, his curls tangled and wild. His torso is dotted with sweat. His flaccid cock is covered in creamy streaks and his dark pubes are saturated with cum and your slick. His scarred chest is heaving and flushed red. He’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen in your life, you think to yourself, as he collapses onto the bed next to you. The heat leaves your body again, but instead of cold filling you, you’re left pleasantly sore and sticky.

Din wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you under the thin sheet with him. Neither of you speak as you give into the siren-sweet call of rest. Tomorrow will be a new day, and the two of you can deal with things then. He’s not the best with words, so he lets his actions speak. His hand falls to your belly, while he adjusts the other arm to act as your pillow. He pulls the blanket up around you and kisses your shoulder. You know then that Din cares about you, and that gives you hope for whatever tomorrow’s discussions bring. 

[fierce-deity-bgg]

How about legend and four with a reader who is seen by others as a boy because of his haircut? Like they cut it when they were in guard training or whatever from their hyrule, and the boys see the girls trying to flirt, without knowing that it's not a man? Feel free, just a stupid idea

Four and legand x kinda masc F! Reader / gender-fluid 

OMGGGGGG first of all I just wanna say thank you for this request I never thought that I would get a request from one of my fav story makers!! BTW LOV YOUR DARK LINK STUFF :D 

(Reader is going to be mostly like shuri from black panther movies and a bit non cannon reactions from characters😔)

Btw sorry this took so long seasonal depression hit me like a truck over the past few weeks:

~~~

Only just yesterday you finally decided it was time to cut your hair after a while of letting it grow all the way down to your waist. When you finally came out of the inn you and the chain were staying at for a while in gerudo town in wilds world you were almost unrecognizable at first. The only reason they actually knew it was you is because twi sniffed your sent from a mile way.

Wind: “wow I almost didn’t recognize them at first!” 😦

Time: “I don’t think any of us did wind.”

Four: “well he’s got a point- uh… and thei r gone.”

Legand: “great..”

You literally just dashed out of there going to the up draft before taking off the go find riju and hopefully train with her for a while. You eventually found her in north gerudo ruins training on dummies again and you both agreed to battle each other for a bit of training. Little did you know that four and legand were looking for you in gerudo town thinking you’ll be there.. 

(Yeah I’m doing a lot of time skips because I’m getting a mind grain😬)

—————————

After around 3-4 hours of training with ruji (Btw ruji was the only one that recognized you straight away) you both decided to head to the town hoping the see the chain their already and only after the first few minutes of you both walking into town you started getting stairs and people whispering..

“Did ruji let in an another voe already?”

“Most likely but he’s cute in my opinion.”

Once you heard the vais say that you started giving ruji a side eye like your telling her “let’s bounce” but before you could even take another step a group of vai walked up to you and started commenting how you looked or how strong you were (not like they knew) 

While the crowd was just getting larger and ruji was just trying to get you away from there you saw four and legend, and legend looked like he was about to beat the shit out of someone but he somehow kept his composer dragging you out of there in a instant with four watching

“You vai know that’s a female right?”

Four yelled into the crowd making everyone but ruji stunned as they were both pulling you back to the chain

“Never again..”

They both said almost in sync while you just nodded

“Fine fine… bozos-“

“Hey!”

~~~~~

Ye so uh that’s the end I might make a part two after Christmas but ye- 

Requests are still open and I’m posting my ais on here so wait up for that and pokepasta stufffffff 

BTW STILL LOVE UR STORIES AND THANKS FOR THE REQUEST😁

[misslili265]

WELCOME TO THE... PART 11 / YANDERE KIMETSU BOYS SERIES

Kagaya Ubuyashiki

SO IT'S GONNA BE ALMOST ALL THE BOYS IN KIMETSU.

TEAM KAGAYA ( ALL THE MALES HASHIRAS)

Kyojuro| Uzui | Gyomei | Obanai | Gyuu| Sanemi| Muichriro |Kagaya| Yoriichi| | Shinjuro | Haganezuka

TEAM MUZAN (ALMOST ALL THE MALES)Muzan | Kokushibou and as Mitkatsu | Akaza| Douma | Yushiro| Adult Rui

THE BOYS Tanjiro | Zenitsu | Inosuke| Genya

🛡 In this context none of the characters are married or minors all of them are adults.

⚠️WARNING: THIS IS A YANDERE SO YOU CAN SEE DARK THEMES

Links: Kyojuro |Tanjiro | Obanai | Inosuke | Gyuu | Uzui | Yoriichi | Akaza | Kokushibou | Michikatsu | Kagaya | Gyomei 1 | Gyomei 2 | Sanemi 1 | Sanemi 2

UBUYASHIKI X F.READER

Ubuyashiki is watching the beautiful front garden as his feet touch the wooden floor beneath his sole, it's a warm day, the birds are flying, coloring the skies in a romantic bale, the bees praising the flowers, everything in his sight it's so beautiful.

At the same time, the breeze invites the black locks of his, exactly like a wild black panther that walks through the night, to dance to the command of the wind.

He has only the initial symptoms of the disease that he has run in his family for centuries. So he still he can still admire the picture and landscapes around him.

He thought that he saw everything about beauty and horror in this world, but... is it?

He is awaiting the arrival of his future wife from the oficial family's bride who will be presented to him soon. She is from a distant place and belongs to a noble and wealthy family, she was selected especially for him.

He is imagining what she looks like, her face, hair and details like these, and her personality. Still going through his thoughts, behind him, while still keeping his eyes on the fountain of water that falls from his garden and spills out with the filling of the bamboos, he is listening the water drops as the light paint it around with beautiful colors.

"- Master, she's here." He is warned.

He smiles slightly to himself, and going to welcome her, he trades steps calmly towards the fate that has apparently been sealed.

He finally sees her, she has white hair and expressive eyes, but… something was not expected, no definitely not...Kagaya didn't count on her would obviously bringing to fill the needs of a wealthy lady, the chaperone that is YOU.

All he had to do, was accept the deal the family has accepted for generations. But looking away from his future wife figure, he couldn't help but look at you.

Your eyes, oh, your eyes, how can they look like of the most glitter of precious jewels? How is your face different from anything he's seen so far, so unique? Your gracefulness, the way you move, he should be on the lookout for the bride-to-be, but no… his heart took the command now and for the first time Kagaya felt something greater than the purpose of his life for fades away from everything you are.

He was able to speak to his future wife, but he was thinking how to include you on it, as an informal conversation, and persuasively he begins to invoke you for the dialogue. As you answer your name, your voice makes Ubuyashiki shiver, and your name was just the spice that he needs. What are his thoughts? "Of course she would have a adorable name, just like her."

Everything in front of him, north, south, east or west was clouded in his eyes, you are all there is now absorbing everything around. Ubuyashiki has been possessed by your essence.

Skillfully using the wisdom he has, he tells how even close to his abode there are onis attacking people.

The future wife is uncomfortable with these words. And Ubuyashiki's extreme formality towards her, who seems to insist on her rejecting him, he made no effort to be desirable or charming to her eyes. But there are still a few days left before you and your mistress must depart. But... Kagaya has other plans for you. As he said to himself, what if I wrote my own fate? Make my own destiny? In one of the moments when Ubuyashiki's "future" wife is resting sleeping in some place away, so you can take a rest and now you are sitting on the amazing gardem, admiring the landscape that it's just breathtaking.

And for Kagaya who is at the same time staring at you, realizes, you are all that was missing in all this beauty , like the most exquisite flower. You need made part of it.

For a moment when you feel that you are being watched, you turn to the direction that your instincts calls you. And watching it, you can see, shining eyes and lips smiling at the same time to you, as if they know something you don't, but anyway you smile back.

He could totally feel inside of him, you ripped him to the bones, he is on his knees begging for mercy inside of his chest, the feeling it's just so strong. And he just can't help, he doesn't shy away from looking at your whole being and inside you. He has no doubt, you was born to belong to him.

On the last day, the bride decides not to accept be his wife, obviously...well... Kagaya worked hard on it, being subliminally obnoxious about how she "would" have to be the perfect wife, fulfilling duties and all. On purpose he was being nasty. So she could not nurture any affection for him and decides to leave.

While this, you, the escort, mysteriously disappeared! You cannot be found.

The ex future wife is looking for you, but with no success.

Ubuyashiki with a sad look, placing a hand on her shoulder, shakeing his head, as he close his eyes, telling everything by his "sad" behavior.

She covers her mouth in shock, you are death! She got the message, still with a lost look, she leaves in silence and never returns to that dark place.

Watching her leave, Kagaya smiles inside and out, and knows exactly where to go now.

You're in a comfortable room full of everything you would want or not, and you wake up slowly, and your eyes little by little capture the lavender-colored gaze devouring every detail of you.

You look at him confused. And with a weak voice you say. "- I remember drinking something and then I have no memories."

Ubuyashiki's soft voice starts to "explain" to you...

"- Dear y/n as I can see you're surely not used to the drinks from the banquet we made in this region, yesterday, I made sure you could recover away from any disturbance. But y/n, I'm sorry to tell you this, but your master decided to reject me, and also informed me that as you were absent at the time of serving her, she would leave you here. But I don't think it's fair that you, someone so loyal, should be treated in such a way, definitely not."

When you found yourself staring at him, he just give his final blow, Kagaya's light and delicate hands, were already on your face, to comfort you, the feeling was so soft.

He smiled. At this point this same smile, the beautiful eyes in contrast with the beautiful black threads that he possessed, had already snatched your being. And to consummate that all your thoughts were the same as his, gently with the velvet voice he caresses your existence.

"- It seems that both of us we were abandoned. My sweet y/n, I want you to know that I will protect you, unlike others. After all, we have each other now. "

You sit on your bed where, as a result, your bodies approach.

In a sigh you answer. "- Thank you."

He doesn't answer in words, but his hands and arms are now around you, his smell, his touch, his magic on you, took you away. And looking into your eyes, he don't want to wait anymore, you have the power to bring out his most mischievous side. He already broke the hourglass, and by fight against the time, he brings his lips together until they meet.

You let yourself be kissed, Ubuyashiki is hallucinated tasting your lips, oh it's a thousand times tastier that he could ever imagine, you're not even close to knowing what he would be capable of from now on to keep you in his arms, he grab your face as if he never will let go, and he won't. And you... well, you just dive in with him. After all, no strengths exists in your being against him. You are his now...

Glad you didn't know how it ended up in Kagaya Ubuyashiki's tender embrace.

Isn't that right, Ms. Ubuyashiki? You were the chosen one.

.

.

.

Next one: Gyomei

If u wanna be tagged, let me know! Thanks

@madamxrose @colavity @zasaka-studio @aztecdragonwarrior @loona-thebadchild @kiwinfinity @cherryblossomsenpai

[msmargaretmurry]

i love the concept of leon getting banished to cringefail MLS and desperately wanting to go back home 😭😭😭 I don’t know if you’ve ever seen people absolutely dunking on leon’s skating skills but maybe he did start out with hockey but got so mad about his lack of grace on skates that he’s just like fuck the stanley cup I will score goals. on my FEET! and then he ends up watching matthew in the playoffs

anon, i'm thrilled to hear this, because i also love the concept. i have no idea what kind of situation would have to occur for a german player who is theoretically good enough to play in the bundesliga to land himself on an mls team for a season but i have full faith that with some magical fanfiction handwaving a quasi-reasonable reason can be invented.

according to generous purveyor of german knowledge @irrelevanttous, when leon tried soccer (football, yes, i know) because all of his friends were playing it, he wound up quitting because he was mad the coach wouldn't let him take free kicks, which is such a funny and petty reason that coming up with an equally funny and petty reason for him to have quit hockey instead would be great fun. it's giving "NO DAD, I WANT TO LIVE MY DREAMS NOT YOURS" vibes, except for how i feel like peter would be like "that's great son let's buy you some new cleats."

anyway, the bright side of landing in south florida for this north american soccer adventure is that inter miami has easily the best logo in the league. which would be no comfort to leon the footballer who does not really want to be there, but it's fun for me personally. he'd look great in the black and pink. this is my soapbox for more pink in men's sports, you cowards.

so, for reasons, leon the footballer schleps across the atlantic. mls season starts in late february and i assume they have training and stuff before then so let's have him arriving in mid-january. he is so grumpy, and the fact that the weather is so nice makes him extra grumpy, because he is determined not to like it here. he will do what needs to be done to get his career back on track but this is TEMPORARY, okay?

except then maybe before the season kicks off, a bunch of the guys get a box at a panthers game as a little team bonding excursion. they don't really know much about hockey, they just think it would be fun. they definitely don't know how much leon knows about hockey — i don't think anyone in the miami soccer community knows what a peter draisaitl is; people in the north american ice hockey community barely know what a peter draisaitl is — and leon's like, he enjoys hockey as a spectator now, he'll play a little pickup with friends sometimes, but once his teammates figure out that he knows literally anything, they are clustered around him while they all watch this game, asking questions and laughing at his judgey little comments, and unfortunately for leon he winds up having fun.

after the game — panthers win, everyone's in a great mood — someone from the cats' pr team or whatever is like, hey, south florida sports supporting south florida sports, do you guys want to come meet some of our guys? yeah sure why not. and obviously amongst the guys doing this little meet and greet is one-man hospitality crew matthew tkachuk, whom leon definitely noticed on the ice, and is definitely noticing now, because uh oh, charming handsome man alert. matthew is shaking hands with every inter miami guy and asking their names in a way that seems genuine, but he's also oozing this easy confidence that really makes leon want to fuck with him a little. matthew gets to leon, shakes his hand as they exchange introductions; matthew says something like "you know, i don't know much about soccer but i'll have to get out to a game this season," and leon says, "yeah, well, i know a lot about hockey and whoever taught you to skate, i think they owe you your money back."

matthew stares at him, and leon has this moment of, ah fuck i was too mean again, why are americans SO sensitive, but then matthew laughs and says, "that would be my mom, and don't worry, i will definitely let her know." he's starting to breeze on by to the next soccer guy, but leon has this weird feeling of really wanting to continue the conversation — he blurts, "tell her don't worry about it, my father taught me and i was never any good at it, either."

this makes matthew stop and catch leon's eye again, and leon can see the shift in his expression from politely friendly to genuinely personally interested. it's subtle — he's not sure he's supposed to be able to see it — but matthew's smile goes a little crooked and there's this spark in his eye and oh, what a nice little win for leon. time is limited, though, so matthew must move on and finish meeting every single soccer guy, except before they all get shuffled out matthew circles back around to oh so smoothly be like, hey lemme give you my number so if you guys want to come to another game i can hook you up.

and thus it begins… an intense flirtation that turns into fucking that turns into feelings…. two elite atheletes desperate to prove themselves in their separate sports for different reasons……… one of them desperate to make a home in south florida and the other one deserate to get out…………… i just think it would be neat :)

[bethanythebogwitch]

Welcome back to my series discussing the real-life inspirations for all legendary and mythical Pokémon. Today I’ll be covering gen II. For previous entries see gen I, all starters, all fish, and all non-fish aquatics.

The legendary beasts were a first in in the series for being legendary Pokémon that are actually the subject of legend. They were three Pokémon who were killed in the brass tower burned down, but were then resurrected by Ho-Oh. Each one represents one of the events involved in the burning of the tower. I personally like the theory that they were the gen I eeveeloutions before being revived. While the beasts are very cool, I don’t know if I can forgive them for introducing the roaming legendaries mechanic to the game. I’m going to hold off on covering the paradox beasts for now because I haven’t decided if I’m going to cover the paradox Pokémon at all and we haven’t seen paradox Entei yet.

Raikou is electric type and represents the lightning that struck the brass tower and started the fire. It’s also definitely the least utilized of the beasts. Entei gets a movie and Suicune gets to be a cover legendary but poor Raikou gets left behind. Anyway, it’s based on the raijū, a creature from Shinto mythology. The Raijū is the companion of Raijin, the god of thunderstorms. It is normally calm and peaceful, but during storms it will fly around as a ball of lightning and its roars sound like thunder. It is normally depicted as a dog or wolf, but can also be depicted as a huge variety of animals and mythical creatures. That’s pretty much a dead ringer for Raikou, but there’s still more. Raikou may also draw form the Nue, a chimera from Japanese mythology that is usually described as at least part tiger and can transform into a cloud and go flying around. In terms of real-life inspirations, Raikou is also based on Smilodon, the most famous genus of saber-toothed cats. These are commonly called saber-toothed tigers, which fits with Raikou being yellow (which is kind of like orange) with black stripes. Raikou’s shiny also makes it look more tiger-like.

(image: a depiction of a raijū as an abstract beast not clearly resembling any real animal. The source given fro this image was Ban Koko's Kanda-Jihitsu but when I looked that up the only references I could find to that work were the citations attached to this image)

(image: paleoart of a Smilodon depicting it as a large, thick-bodied cat with a short tail, brownish coat covered in spots, and protruding fangs from its mouth. Source)

Entei is fire type and represents the fire that burned down the brass tower. It looks like a combination short-muzzled dog and big cat and is based heavily on Barong, a heroic panther spirit from Balinese mythology. Barong is the leader of the forces of good who battles the demon queen Rangda in a struggle between good and evil. Entei’s shagginess around the head and neck resembles a lion’s mane and lions are associated with strength in many cultures. There is also a connection between lions and fire as in alchemy, a lion is used as a symbol representing the sun. Dogs also feature in Entei’s character design, especially saint bernards, who are large, strong, and shaggy dogs with shorter muzzles. Entei’s design is meant to look like an erupting volcano, with its fur being the base of the volcano, the plates on its back being rock broken open, the smoke emerging from its back being smoke, and its red and yellow facial markings being lava.

(image: a Balinese statue or effigy of Barong, depicting it as a large quadruped covered in shaggy fur with a cat-like face and decorated with a crown and jewlery)

Suicune is water type and represents the rain that extinguished the brass tower’s fire. It’s the hardest one to pin down a relationship to a real animal, but the designer said it was designed with leopards in mind. The leopard design plus Suicune’s connection to the north wind references Fūjin, the Shinto god of the wind, who wears a leopard skin. Fūjin and Raijin are commonly seen together, giving a close relationship between Suicune and Raikou. Suicune’s mane looks like an aurora and its ribbon-like tails move in a way that seems like waves or gusts of wind. Mythologically, Suicune draws from the qilin, a mythical Chinese creature. Descriptions of the qilin vary, but they are always depicted as ungulates (hooved animals) and in many stories can walk on top of water like Suicune. Chinese qilins are usually depicted as draconic and may have one or two horns. Suicune splits the difference by having two horns that fuse together. The Japanese version of the qilin, the kirin, is usually depicted as more deer-like, which more closely fits the clearly mammalian Suicune.

(image: a stature of a qilin at the Summer Palace in Beijing. It depicted as a quadruped with a horde-like body plan and hooves, but reptilian scales. its head looks cat-like, with a beard, long barbels from the snout, and small antlers)

The tower duo started the trend of having version-exclusive legendaries on the box art of the games. Despite this, legendarries being important to the plot wasn’t a thing until gen III, therefore the tower duo don’t have as much attention and lore as the box art legendaries that would follow. In theory they are both birds and their name comes from how they used to roost on top of the bell tower and brass tower until the brass tower burned down, causing them to leave. They are also both related to a legendary trio, with Ho-Oh being the creator of the legendary beasts and Lugia being made into a mediator for the legendary birds by the 2nd movie.

Lugia is one of the most iconic legendary Pokémon as well as one of the weirdest. It is really hard to pin down what this thing is supposed to be. Lugia is the guardian of the sea and is associated with storms and the color silver. While it normally lives underwater, Lugia can breathe air as and fly. It is notoriously classified as a flying type and not a water type. Lugia really should be water/flying instead of psychic/flying. Lugia was designed for the 2nd movie and the designer was surprised to find out it got added to the games as well. What exactly Lugia is is a hard question to answer. It looks a bit like a short-necked plesiosaur or a penguin, which fits it being aquatic. Its name and color might come from beluga whales. Another possible source is Bahamut, a gigantic, monstrous fish from pre-Islamic Arabian mythology that was one of multiple creatures that carried around the world. An older name for Bahamut is Lutīyā, which certainly sounds like Lugia. Lugia looks vaguely draconic and may be based on Ryūjin, the Shinto sea god who was a dragon that lived at the bottom of the sea.

(image: the painting Princess Tamatori Steals Ryujin's Jewels by Utagawa Kuniyoshi. Ryujin is depicted as a serpentine, wingless dragon emerging from a wave)

Together with Ho-Oh, Lugia represent duality, which is frequently symbolized as a dragon and a phoenix. The dragon represents masculinity and yang while the phoenix represents femininity and yin.

As mentioned above, the theme of duality represented by the dragon and the phoenix inspired the tower duo. Lugia is the dragon while Ho-Oh is the phoenix. Or rather, it is the fenghuang, the immortal bird of Chinese legend that often gets translated to English as “phoenix”. The Japanese name for the fenghuang is hōō, which is pronounced the same as Ho-Oh. Both are said to have many colored feathers like Ho-Oh. While the fenghuang is sometimes associated with fire, the fire and immortality aspect of Ho-Oh seem to come from the western phoenix, famous for rising from its own ashes after death. Ho-Oh likely does this too as the Sacred Ashes item is apparently Ho-Oh’s ashes and can restore your party members from fainting. Pheonixes are often used to symbolize immortality and rebirth, which fits with Ho-Oh raising the legendary beasts from the dead. Other possible inspirations include the Slavic firebird or the three-legged crow.

(image: a statue of a fenghuang from Nanning, China. It depicts a perched bird with a long neck and head crest pointing backwards. Its tail is that of a peacock's)

If Celebi had debuted after gen 6, it definitely would have been a fairy type because it is heavily based on fairies, nature spirits, and other mythical creatures. Celebi is based on nature spirits like the Greek dryads and Japanese kodama, but primarily the idea of kami. In the Japanese religion of Shinto, every object has an associated spirit or god called a kami that embodies that object. Celebi being a forest spirit and being found in a Shinto shrine clearly indicates that it is a kami if the forest, presumably Ilex Forest as that’s where its shrine is found. Celebi’s time traveling ability is likely a refence to fairy stores where someone will visit the land of the fairies for a little while, only to find out that years if not decades or centuries have passed in the brief time they were there. Or they may spend years there to find only minutes have passed back on Earth. Celebi’s physical appearance is a fairy mixed with a plant bulb. It’s worth noting that Celebi’s beta design clearly drew form Kokopelli,a god of trickery, fertility, and music worshipped amongst some Native American tribes of the southwest US. A depiction of Kokopelli has become a common symbol in the southwest US.

(images: left: three beta sprites for Celebi, with the first being an all-black silhouette of a cartoonish humanoid blowing a flute with long appeandages emerging from the back of the head, the second being a similar creature with short limbs and no flute now colored mostly orange, and the third being almost identical to the finished Celebi design. Right: the common modern depiction of Kokopelli, an all-black humanoid silhouette blowing a flute with multiple appeandages emerging from the back of the head.)

[theblackbookofarkera]

Ob’yak Khaganate

The Ob’yak Khaganate was founded by the Khurnar hero Gangsai Kong, a warrior of the Empire of the Yellow Banner that was sent north to expand the Panther Khan’s domain. After being ambushed by a clan of demonic yetis Gangsai Kong was the lone survivor of his army. Left for dead in a frozen river Gangsai Kong was saved by a circle of crones that had taken up refuge in the deep forest away from the tyranny of the yetis. Gangsai was given the virgin daughters of the crones to impregnate so that Gangsai Kong would have warrior sons to defeat the clan of evil yetis. After his sons had grown and schooled in the arts of war they rode to battle driving the yetis into the mouth of a sinkhole where they fell to their doom...or so goes the legend.

The Ob’yak Khaganate is located in both Aurborea and northern Kumaresh and has become a political, commercial and cultural crossroads between the two continents. The Ajin people of the khaganate have blood ties to both the Czardom of Vormanska and Empire of the Yellow Banner leaving them in a difficult position when struggles between the two nations breakout. In the last several centuries however the khaganate has favored Vormanska leading to a new age of prosperity for the nation. Skilled horse breeders, riders and charioteers men of the Ob’yak Khaganate have become a common sight in the armies of the czar of Vormanska.

“The savage horsemen of the horde gave us the gift of the wind in our mastery of the horse. We used that gift to forge a nation where once was only open steppe, forest and ice. We know pledge our blades to the mighty czars and the Queen of Winter. Let us stand astride our horses besides the armies of Vormanska until the sea swallows the land.”

-Khan Illyaritov Uchimun

[doc-avalon]

Ga-Oh, or Gaoh. Master of the Winds.

SYMBOLS: The Western sky, a lodge with four doors, the four animals that are leashed to the doors of his lodge, a bear, panther, moose & fawn.

USUAL IMAGE: A giant Iroquois warrior.

HOLY DAYS: No feast day of his own.

FORM OF WORSHIP: Not so much worshipped as understood as a higher power in charge of an elemental force of nature that sometimes brought good things and sometimes brought terrible things, but had to be respected no matter what.

SYNODEITIES: Ehecatl (Aztec), Fei Lian (China), Futen (Japan), Michabo (Algonquian), Njord (Iceland, Nordic), Stribog (Slavic), Vayu (Iranian), Zephyrus the West Wind (Greek) along with his brothers Boreas the North Wind, Notus the South Wind, Apheliotes the East Wind.

DETAILS: Gaoh was the Iroquois people’s Master of the Winds. He was said to be a giant who kept his lodge of four doors in the Western sky. He was so powerful that there was nowhere he could not move.

So great was his power he was in danger of tearing the world apart. To keep this from happening, he sat in the middle of his lodge and sent out a call that was heard over the whole land. Soon, he heard four animals coming in to answer his call.

The first to arrive was Bear, who was outside his North door. At the same time, a fierce storm with thick snow and freezing wind raged around Gaoh’s lodge. Because of his strength, Gaoh set Bear a place at his North door and put him in charge of the Northern winds.

Next came Panther, who showed up at his Western door bringing with him whirlwinds, tempests, and shrieking and moaning winds; because of this, Gaoh placed a leash around his neck and made a place for him by his Western door giving Panther charge of Winds of the West that could tear down forests.

After Panther was put by the West door, the sky turned gray, and he started to sob; opening his Eastern door, Gaoh saw that Moose was there; because of this, he lashed him by that door and gave him charge of the cold, wet winds and gray mists of the East.

Knowing that things were not yet finished, Gaoh threw open his Southern door, which brought to him a gentle breeze that carried with it the scent of a thousand flowers, and the songs of a thousand birds; outside the Southern door was a shy fawn whom Gaoh invited into his lodge and put in charge of the Summer winds so that after that whenever a pleasant breeze was felt in the Summer, it was said that the fawn was returning home to its mother.

Ga-oh was a god of the Iroquois people, one of the oldest democratic governments on Earth, and the tribe that had the most critical impact on the United States.

A confederation of five nations, with a sixth non-voting tribe, the Tuscarora, added in 1722, the Iroquois, which was not what they called themselves; that name is a combination of what the Algonquins called them “rattlesnakes” with the French suffix “ois.” They called themselves The People of the Long House or Haudenosaunee.

The Nation was made up of the Cayuga “those of the great pipe” Mohawk “people of the Flint,” Oneida “people of the standing stone,” Onondaga “people of the hill,” Seneca “keepers of the Western door,” & Tuscarora “shirt wearing people.” At its most significant, it stretched from Niagara Falls and Upper New York to the junction of the Ohio & Mississippi rivers.

A matrilineal society, the Iroquois and not the Greeks supplied the main inspiration that would eventually become the American Republic.

They were also Notable for some fascinating mythic creatures, such as the Giant Flying Heads, whom one had to be very careful of on stormy nights, and Onatah, a goddess very similar to Persephone.

[alwaysupatnight]

I was tagged by @astarkey! 🥰

🎵 Last song I listened to: I think it was Same Mistakes by Emily Kinney

🍕 Ideal pizza topping: I like to put pepperoni, banana peppers, and black olives on mine.

☀️ Dream vacation: Going to see the cherry blossoms in Japan. Yellowstone Park to see some elk and bison. California. Someplace tropical like Hawaii or Bora Bora. Mostly Japan though.

🌎 Earth, wind or fire: Fire

📺 Cartoons I grew up with: I was a 90s kid so alllll the Nickelodeon cartoons for sure (whenever I was in the US). Rugrats, Ren & Stimpy, Doug, Ahh Real Monsters, Rocket Power... basically all of them. lol And of course the Disney stuff like Winnie the Pooh, Goof Troop, Talespin, Ducktales, Quack Pack... When I was a small child my grandparents actually recorded some stuff onto VHS for us so we could take it overseas. Some of those programs they recorded were Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, Muppet Babies, and Pee Wee’s Playhouse. I also watched tons of old cartoons like Tom & Jerry and The Pink Panther and Looney Tunes. I LOVED the original Power Rangers. And Pokemon. And even though I was technically already a teenager when it came out I also loved Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends. lol

🌲 Favorite scent: I’m currently *obsessed* with this Bath and Body Works hand soap called “Vanilla Snowflake” which has vanilla, coconut, and citrus scents and ugh I love it so much. But it’s no longer being sold except as a candle. 😭 I really want it in a lotion or body spray, but I’d take more of it in hand soap form too. lol For perfumes I love pear scents like Pear INC. by Juliette has a gun. I want to try all the pear scented perfumes. I also recently got samples of Flowerbomb by Viktor&Rolf and I really liked that one too. Also I love spraying Ouai Leave-In Conditioner into my hair because it smells amazing. The perfume version (North Bondi) unfortunately didn’t have the same effect on my skin though. :/

Tagging: @imaginedfables, @yossariandawn, @emilykinncy, @worthallyourgalleons, @lilmissuncreative,  @tiesthatbind1899, @sandalaris, @thespianreveur, and any of my followers who want to do this!

[faveficarchive]

A s c e n s i o n (Part 1)

© Penumbra 1999

Legal disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did. Story's mine though and I promise to return them to their places after I've played with them. Well, maybe not Xena... I think I'll keep her.

Explicit content and sex warning: This alt story features consensual sex between two adult women, the works with all anatomical details, with possible BDSM content.

Extreme violence warning: This is Xena. The old Xena. Need I say more? Where the dark lady kicks butt, there's blood and bodyparts so in this story, extreme violence and its aftermaths are depicted in a realistic, graphical way. Torture, yes; sexual violence, no.

Notes: I use only Proper English. Place names are spelled in the official transliteration from Greek so Amphipolis is Amfípolis and so on. This is the third part in a trilogy of sorts that began with Penance and continued with Blood Meridian so I suggest you read those stories first.

My everlasting gratitude must go to my most excellent beta reader, Michal Salat.

It was the coldest morning in living memory.

It came from somewhere far to the north, this wind that delivered the snow and the bitter chill. The icy talons of the merciless wind had raked over the land, leaving behind bare skeletons of trees and a lifeless white landscape in its wake. Over the hills and into the valleys the wind had howled, driving the snow before it with a sound like a dying beast in the claws of a bird of prey.

In one of the innumerable valleys of the Eastern Macedonian high plains, the virginal white snow was stained deep crimson, small lakes of the bright liquid of life marking each spot where a soul had departed its incarnation. The battlefield, a boiling kettle of furious fighting just candlemarks earlier, had settled down as the two armies had hacked one another into oblivion. Now, it was just a field of death, the numerous bodies that littered the ground slowly vanishing under a shroud of snow, with not a sound audible above the keening of the wind. The bony black limbs of trees that reached into the murky white vastness of the sky now seemed an eerily prescient image of the fate of those who had taken to the field the night before.

The wailing of the wind woke her, or perhaps it was the shrill cries of the airborne scavengers circling high above her in their quest for sustenance, their black eyes as cold and unfeeling as the air.

But inside of her it was colder still.

"Gabrielle..."

Still the name rang on her lips, her first thought as she woke every morning, and her last prayer before she left this world for Morpheus' realm. Now, as wakefulness robbed her of the peace of oblivion, that name, pronounced so quietly not even the wind caught it, ignited the familiar flame of anguish inside her. The sharp nausea made her gut twist as, with great effort, she pushed herself up off the snow.

"Mother of Zeus," the Conqueror murmured as her eyes swept over the plain of death. As far as she could see in the waning snowstorm, small mounds of white swelled from the ground, marking a fallen warrior or his horse.

Not one of her warriors had survived. Turning slowly around in a circle, she sought out any sign of life -- a movement, a sound -- but the only thing she found was a large, twitching black form that emitted a quiet whining sound.

"Androdameios, no..." the Conqueror sighed and went to kneel beside the big cat, her bloodied hands gently gliding over equally blood-soaked black fur. The panther was taking quick, shallow breaths, the wound in his side welling up with fresh warm blood with every exhalation; he was beyond saving now, the light of life dimming from his emerald eyes. Pulling out her dagger, she placed it over the cat's heart and, with a deep breath, drove it home. "I'm sorry, Androdameios," she whispered, feeling the last hot breath on her palm, before the panther stilled for good. "I'm sorry."

Xena's blood mingled with the panther's, the hot liquid steaming in the cold air. She was bleeding from innumerable small cuts and nicks scattered over her forearms and shoulders, wherever an angry blade had sliced through her cloak and leathers. A long but superficial gash decorated her arm, the wound crusted with old blood and fluid; the whole limb had gone numb from exposure to the elements. As she moved around, the wound started to throb and she grabbed her tricep, pulling the edges of the gash together.

It was a marvel, she mused, that she had any blood to bleed -- so hollow was her heart.

"You would understand, Androdameios," Xena said to the panther, her voice hoarse from the battle. Pulling out the blade again, she slid it through the wound and down the tick torso before pulling the two sides apart and efficiently skinning the carcass.

She had left her horse in the hands of her stable master before the battle broke, and now Pyrgomache was nowhere in sight. Still squeezing her wounded arm, shivering uncontrollably from cold and blood loss, the Conqueror wrapped the sticky pelt around herself and bowed her head to the wind. Her pace was strong and sure as she headed towards the western ridge and the location of her base camp.

The hooves missed her head by mere inches but she refused to flinch.

"Whoa, boy! Steady!"

The man struggled with reins, leaning back and attempting to control the horse and cart with the sheer power of his bulk. The hulking monster of a horse, a dun stallion, reared again, vainly fighting his pinions. It took the man a few moments to get the horse to calm down, but eventually it did, snorting hostilely towards Xena.

"Good day, traveller," the driver said, his breath forming small, white clouds in the air. "Where are you headed?"

She had walked for candlemarks, down from the plains of death that were once again the domain of hungry beasts eking their living from the landscape. The air was still thin, the sun just a small circle of gold in the clear blue sky, and she was exhausted. It had been two days since she had slept for more than a fraction of a candlemark or had anything decent to eat -- at her base camp she had found yet another scene of carnage, the corpses of her rear guard slumped in various caricatures of suffering and terror on the ground. She had found her stable master, a manure fork through her chest, but her warhorse was nowhere to be found.

"South," Xena answered tonelessly and wrapped the black, furry hide tighter around herself. The horse was still edgy, whinnying quietly and turning his head, trying to get a good look at her. She lifted her hand and patted the horse's muzzle, touching the flaring nostrils gently. Her skin was of a peculiar coppery shade, the blood staining her fingernails and the creases of her hands a deeper crimson, and the stallion was obviously fearful of the primal, dangerous scent.

"Shhh..."

"His name is Aellus," the man said. "If you're heading due south, I can quicken your journey. I am Phineas of Ovridios, heading home, and the journey is long if travelling alone." He graced his statement with a small smile.

"Phineas of Ovridios," the Conqueror nodded back and patted the horse once more before circling round the animal and pulling herself up to sit next to the young man. She glanced at his big, paw-like hands, the deep purple-black half moons that decorated his nails and the numerous small, thin marks of gleaming scar tissue. "You're a blacksmith, if I'm not mistaken."

He threw Xena a sharp look, observing for the first time the razor-sharp intelligence that was evident in those eyes -- eyes of a pale blue even chillier than the winter sky. The woman he had at first taken for a lone traveller, perhaps on a pilgrimage through the volatile, violent area of Eastern Macedonia, was certainly not an ordinary vagabond. The animal skin covering her was freshly skinned and untanned, still smelling strongly of the beast that had previously worn it, and the rest of her was hidden inside a thick, ragged cloak.

"You have keen eyes, stranger."

"Yes, indeed," Xena said and turned her head towards the road ahead, not volunteering any further information.

The man clicked his tongue and the cart jerked forward, the heavy wooden wheels grinding into the frozen earth.

She was beyond caring, beyond concern for her own health. She fought with an emptiness of purpose, merely out of habit; killing was what came naturally to her, as automatic as breathing or the beating of her heart. She drowned her pain in the pain of others, the anguished song of her soul, cold as stone, overwhelmed by the wailing of the doomed in the fields of death.

Macedonia was on fire, and she had been the glowing ember, the divine spark, that had ignited the tinder. All through the fleeting autumn and subsequent harsh winter, she had scourged through the north of Greece, fighting off either the barbarians that poured across the border, or the dissidents among her own people. Where she didn't find old enemies, she had made new ones, just for the sake of letting her blade taste fresh blood.

Her reason for living was no more. It was as simple as that.

She'd once had a reason to seek out peace for her people, a motive for uniting all the unruly, bickering poleis under one banner, be it with brute force or with the sheer cunning of her mind -- she'd wanted peace because it was good for her Gabrielle. She wanted to give her beloved freedom to blossom, the time to see the beauty of her work and the justice in her rule. But all that had been for naught; no longer could she find any reason to strive for tranquility in her land.

Her blood ran bitter in her veins. Her Gabrielle had been the sole barrier between her mind and the deep nothingness of madness, and now, without her, she was sinking into the lake of darkness.

"Ovridios."

Xena followed the pointing finger and true enough, on the horizon narrow columns of smoke rose towards the sky.

"Thank you, blacksmith Phineas," the Conqueror said. "Your courtesy will be rewarded."

"All I ask for is Hera to slap some sense into her unruly son," the man replied, wry humour in his voice as he gestured in the general direction of Mount Olympus.

Xena nodded, not wishing for him to continue along that thread of thought. Compared to her, the God of War was a feeble and unimaginative fool; her mortal flesh had perpetrated the deeds he referred to, not some divine power.

The strong tang of smoke and beasts of burden clung in the back of her mouth, the bitterness of it tickling her throat, which had suffered already from days of shouting in the cold climate. A few goats traipsed down the main street, an uneven lane of frozen mud and animal dung. Ovridios was obviously a poor village, victimised by the raiders gallivanting around the countryside, as a few charred roofs and collapsed huts clearly indicated. But for most part, the small houses were clean and the goats looked well-fed, prosperity stemming not from fortuitous conditions but from strength of spirit.

The blacksmith pulled up his cart at his house, the open front of the smithy like a black maw. The forge was silent, the bellows lying deflated and sooty on the ground. A scattering of old horseshoes, waiting to be smelted and worked into new shapes, spoke of the important role Phineas played in the everyday life of the village. Hopping down from the cart, he removed the horse's tack and nodded towards the door.

"My wife is inside. Broth and a piece of hard bread is all we can offer but..."

The Conqueror inclined her head, and even dredged up a small smile. "Broth and a spot of warmth is all I desire, blacksmith."

The broth was on the thin side, the strips of meat floating in it tough and stringy, but it was nourishment. Inside the small house attached to the smithy, it was warm and the air was stuffy, the gnarled logs crackling in the hearth, giving out a sharp-scented smoke that stung her eyes. Xena drained the last of the warm liquid and set her bowl down on the table, letting her eyes roam around the small room.

Phineas was obviously a man who took great pride in the talent of his hands. Woodcarvings adorned the two windows of the house, impish curls and tendrils above the small panes made of pig's bladder skin; the legs of the narrow cot at the far end were fashioned in the shape of a lion's paws. Everything was lovingly cared for but well-worn, and their poverty was evident in the threadbare clothes worn by the smith and his wife, a small, plump woman with jolly eyes. Suddenly ashamed, the Conqueror looked down into her bowl, and at the blood-encrusted hands that were curved around it.

She was warm for the first time in days, except for her heart, whose stony centre was as cold as the frozen earth. How dare I, she asked of herself, and rubbed her hand around the bowl, feeling the texture of the carved wood beneath her callused palms. How dare I come here, eat their food and enjoy what little they have, when I am the one responsible for taking away so much of it already?

She entwined her hands, leaning on the table with her elbows, and laid her forehead on her sore knuckles. Only now she allowed herself to acknowledge the bone-deep exhaustion that had pursued her for days -- no, for moons -- on end. So tired. She was just so very tired.

"You carry the smell of hard days on the road, stranger," Kepa, the smith's wife, said. She kept calling their visitor 'stranger' because she had not offered her name. A peculiar traveller, this one is, she thought and retrieved the bowl from the stranger's hands. "Perhaps you would appreciate a bath?"

"Most gracious of you," the stranger replied. Her voice was low and unobtrusive, very toneless at the moment, but Kepa had a feeling it was a voice more used to commanding than making idle talk. Arresting, throaty, made to deliver the parlance of assurance itself.

Rising with a quiet sigh, Kepa went to the corner and hefted two large buckets of water from the barrel, pouring them into a cauldron she placed over the hearth. The flames licked the blackened metal with great glee and soon enough, small bubbles rose to the surface and wandered towards the edges of the cauldron. A cloud of mist rose around her as she struggled to carry it to the bathtub.

"Let me help you with that."

Kepa nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, so near her ear. How the traveller had managed to sneak up so close was beyond her.

The steaming water rushed into the tub with a mighty splash and, after a dose of cold water to temper it, the bath was ready. Kepa busied herself with putting away the buckets while keeping a wary eye on their guest. While the woman had been subdued and passive enough, the times they lived were dangerous; no-one warranted complete trust. But this one seemed complacent enough, wounded and weary. The heavy fur that had been draped over the stranger's shoulders was folded on the bench, and the stranger gave the pelt a gentle pat, pausing as if to remember something. The moment was obviously a private one and Kepa felt almost ashamed for intruding upon it.

The torn grey cloak parted and upon seeing what was revealed, Kepa straightened. She had thought the coppery hue of her skin to be the dirt of the reddish earth that was common in the southern fields, but the pieces of the puzzle clicked together when she saw the gore-encrusted armour inside the cloak, and the two swords that the woman carried on her hips.

Blood. That's blood, Kepa told herself and instinctively backed up a step. Why did Phineas have to go to work just now? The stranger looked as if her last bath had been in ichor; the curious crimson sheen was dotted with numerous dark, angry cuts, and as the woman turned, Kepa blanched as she saw the long gash on her arm. The sides of the wound had curved outward and the trench between was but a mass of near-black gore.

"You are hurt, stranger," she said, her voice trembling. She swallowed and steadied herself, determined not to show any frailty or fear.

The stranger paused in her task, holding her breastplate in front of her. To the wonderment of the smith's wife, a sad smile came onto the woman's lips.

"Nothing worse than what I bear beneath this," she said cryptically, and hefted the breastplate over her head. Her moves were terse and efficient, the pieces of her armour coming off in an almost ritualised sequence, carried out by the visceral memory of muscle rather than conscious though.

What was revealed under the layers of skilfully crafted bronze and thick leather was a woman of a quality Kepa had never seen. She had heard tell of women warriors but never seen one; this stranger was just as she had imagined them to be: wide shoulders, taut skin stretched over well-defined muscles, limbs long and limber. The woman moved with innate grace, the shifting shadows and light upon her body fluid and ethereal. What Kepa had not expected were the many silvery lines of scar tissue that marred the otherwise smooth skin. A few dark lines were criss-crossed among them, new additions to the already vast assortment she sported.

The water in the tub was tinted red as the visitor lowered her body into it. The colour ran like a dye from the stranger's skin and into the water, the pale pink waves cascading over her head and down her torso as Kepa poured more water over her. The gore and clotted blood washed from her head, leaving behind a sleek mass of hair as black as sin itself. While in the bath, the stranger took a scrap of cloth, dipped it into the water and started scrubbing her leather garments, softening the layers of encrusted blood. Kepa sat on the bench, watching the process with fascination, trying very hard not to look at the two long swords that leaned against the seat next to her.

"You are a warrior, then, stranger?" There was, she now realised, something so oddly familiar about the length of raven hair and the high, angular cheekbones. And those eyes. Most definitely the eyes.

The pale blue orbs, like two chips of ice, looked up from their task and the stranger nodded slightly.

A chatterbox, obviously, Kepa thought and leaned against the wall. The smell of the strange fur was strong and she touched it gingerly. It was too big to be the hide of any regular forest-dwelling game and the hair was too short to be a bear's, but whatever it was, it was luxurious and exotic. Brushing her hand over the stranger's cloak, she noted the way it was reduced almost to tatters, blood staining whatever cloth was left. Her eyes shifted to the warrior sitting in her bathtub, to the tired trembling of her muscles and the dark half moons under her eyes, and suddenly she felt very grateful for her share in life; at least she didn't have to risk death by blade every day to earn her bread and home.

"Your cloak is very badly damaged."

"Yes," the stranger said, her eyes not leaving the bracer she was cleaning.

"I have..." Kepa said, rising from her seat and going to rummage through a chest at the foot of their bed. With a satisfied grunt, she came up with a bundle of dark cloth. "This belongs to Phineas. It's in need of a bit of mending, but it's in far better shape than -" She pointed to the shredded garment on the bench.

"No, I cannot take what is yours," the stranger said, but Kepa waved her protests away. "All that you have endured, the blood you have shed for this land, is enough payment."

The stranger nodded, a sad enigmatic smile gracing her lips, as she rose from the tub and vaulted over the edge before dressing. The newly-cleaned black leather and softly gleaming brass armour made her look ...larger, somehow. Kepa felt the personality of the person standing before her, the overbearing, even suffocating, disposition of the tall woman so strong that her mental image of someone commanding an army was strengthened. If she were a commander, which she most certainly was, she was the sort who tasted first blood -- one who rode in front of the army and was the first one into the fire.

"Thank you of everything, Kepa of Ovridios," the stranger said and accepted the offered cloak. Bundling it under an arm along with her swords, the laid a heavy hand on Kepa's shoulder. The squeeze was strong and Kepa had to crane her neck to meet the stranger's eyes. "May life be propitious to you and your husband," she said, before turning abruptly and leaving the house.

All that remained of the stranger was a scent of something dark and primal, and a gleaming gold coin on the table. Blinking, Kepa picked up the circle of precious metal and turned it over.

Though the eyes in the portrait were golden instead of blue, they were the same eyes, with the same empty look in them.

"Who is that?

The blacksmith turned and squinted into the distance. Sweat was running into his eyes from the heat of the forge. "That is Simon," he said and spat onto the ground.

Xena's eyebrow rose. "You hold a grudge?"

"He holds one," the blacksmith said and set the hasp back on the anvil. Sparks flew as he drove his hammer angrily down upon the glowing metal. "Against life."

The Conqueror watched the man called Simon, her eyes narrowing. He was attempting to control a jet-black horse who looked unmistakably familiar. Storm clouds gathered in Xena's eyes, her posture becoming more erect.

"His life must not be very dear to him."

Phineas set the half-finished hasp into the forge again and wiped off his sweat with his forearm. "He has no honour," he said quietly. "Makes his living on the misfortune of others -- pillaging battlefields, robbing travellers."

"Yes," Xena smiled darkly, her eyes still on the man in the distance. "But Fate is about to have Her revenge."

Against the whiteness of snow, the fan of red teardrops that she had flicked off her sword reminded her of a peacock's tail, the colours similarly brash. Cleaning the last of the still-hot blood from the blade with two fingers, she re-sheathed the sword and hoisted herself up into the saddle.

"Hello, old girl," she murmured and patted Pyrgomache's strong, veiny neck. The mare whickered in response, throwing her head. The horse was nervous by nature, her gigantic bulk belying the agility and explosive power she possessed.

It was her tack, here on her horse, the saddle still warm from the thief's seat. Twisting, Xena could see the razor-sharp lines of whip strikes on Pyrgomache's flanks, and her blood boiled. The man should have suffered far more but, alas, her justice had been as swift and effective as always; now Simon lay in the gutter, smiling through his throat.

"Tried to whip you into submission, hmm?" the Conqueror queried quietly. Pyrgomache sidestepped and whinnied in reply, and the Conqueror grabbed the reins, calming the beast. "With very little luck, I assume," she continued, fighting the fidgety horse. The mare eventually responded to the firm, familiar hand, quieting down, and then they were off.

They rode through the long day and into the night, even after the waning light had bowed to Hyperion's spawn and the stars. The sky was a velvety shade of dark indigo, the moon a third of a way through its arc, when the Conqueror finally reined in her already foam-flecked charger. Pyrgomache replied sluggishly, the hard beat of her hooves picking up clouds of dust from the road, the sand silvery and sparkling in the pale light. Finally, she slowed down to a canter so that Xena could steer her to the side of the road, where a plain opened between two distant treelines.

After giving the winded horse a good rubdown and seeing to the lash marks, Xena settled down, opting not to make a fire, but instead rolling open her sleeping furs in the middle of the wind-swept opening. Settling down on the furs, she gazed up at the quiet stars, the worldaround her ethereally silent as though it were holding its breath. She could hear Pyrgomache pace around her, the massive bulk of the horse ghostly in the midnight penumbra, and she could hear the wind wail through distant trees, slithering between branches and stalks of grass, before screaming across the field towards her, ruffling her hair and making the hide around her undulate. In the quiet, she thought of her Macedonian campaign.

The battle of the previous day had not gone well. It had not started providentially, and neither had it seen the Conqueror hold the whip hand in the end. The opposing side, barbarians driven from the north by the unusually harsh winter and the approaching Huns, were hungry and desperate. They had fought fiercely and what they had lacked in skill and battle tactics they made up in ferociousness and sheer numbers. It had not been at all elegant, not the refined art that she preferred to practice. Winning by cunning rather than the blade was always more honourable. No, it had ultimately been only about survival -- war reduced to its most primal, fundamental elements.

The news of my presumed demise has probably reached the capital already, she thought bitterly, and dug out a needle and a length of gut thread from her pack. The wound on her arm was throbbing again, agitated by the hard ride, and it was bleeding. The thread hissed quietly every time she threaded it through her skin.

Rumours travelled faster than the breath of Aeolus, and while she had been near death this time, she had been closer before. But the lack of reinforcements she had requested, and the fact that she had not seen any troops heading north during her ride, spoke volumes to her. In Korinthos, blood had been shed almost certainly, and like a pack of carrion-devouring jackals, the people closest to her would be clambering for power, even sooner than her carcass would have cooled.

Biting off the extraneous thread after she had knotted the stitching, the Conqueror set the needle down and sighed. Not even the winds shifted with such volatility as did the reins of power. The life of a dragonfly was an eternity, the state of the seas immutable compared to the swiftness with which fidelity transformed itself to betrayal. One sign of weakness, one wrong word, one false, malicious rumour was all it took; kingdoms had fallen for less than a measure of jealousy, and for no more than a drop of bad blood.

"And what have I now, to show of my power?" the Conqueror asked of the wailing wind and of the frost-numbed grass, her words a mere whisper. Turning her hands in her lap, in the sallow moonlight she could still see the complex map of scars on her skin, and the dark blood under her fingernails where the bath had not cleansed them. Blood, that was what she had had for all her power. Blood, pain and more blood.

She had seen so many men succumb to her blade, seen the last look of agony on their faces before the oblivion took them away. Felt the sickly, thick resistance of flesh around her blade as she parted muscle from bone, life from body. The warm, viscous liquid of life had flowed over her hands and arms in crimson waterfalls, and she had bathed in it, breathed its essence, felt the strong, coppery taste on her tongue. The faces came to haunt her in sleep, but she had long since gotten used to them; to her, painting her masterpiece in blood and pain was as natural as stroking clay into the shape of a wine jug was to a potter. Her art was the application of terror, her talent in the ruthlessness with which her hands imparted it.

A dark shadow detached from the darker ones around it and came forward, the shuffle of shod hooves soft against the grass.

"Too quiet for your tastes?" the Conqueror murmured and, as Pyrgomache's raven head dipped lower, she laid her palm on the noble, elongated bridge of the mare's nose. The sensitive nostrils under her hand twitched in response and the horse gently nudged Xena's shoulder with her head. Brushing her hand over what remained of Androdameios, the Conqueror smiled wanly. "Do you know what that means?"

Pyrgomache whickered quietly in response, turning her head so that one large, dark eye was aimed at Xena. The Conqueror's level gaze held eternal sadness.

"It's just you and me, girl."

It took the Conqueror two days to get clear of the Macedonian plains and reach a more temperate climate. The forests had retained some of their lushness even in the face of winter -- a mere whisper of the splendour they displayed in warmer seasons, but much less monochrome than the wintry expanse of land she had left.

The roads were quiet and none of the fellow travellers she met dared approach her; rather, they gave her a wide berth, skirting to the other edge of the road upon the first sight of the lone warrior on her monster of a horse. The woman's melancholy mien and otherwise dark countenance was enough to discourage attempts at friendly chatter. And so Xena rode in solitude, her only companions the pensive thoughts in her mind and the silent warhorse.

Pyrgomache was obviously tiring from the days of hard riding, her coat, usually so luxurious, now dull and sticky under a layer of grime and lather. As for Xena, she felt the ache of exhaustion all the way to the marrow of her bones; she had not had a decent meal in the days after she had left Ovridios.

"You want to make a stop in the next village, girl?" the Conqueror murmured, scratching her mount behind one twitching black ear.

Pyrgomache twisted her head, whickering quietly but not breaking her stride.

"A brushing for you and a bath for me, then," Xena said, and steered the horse towards the thin columns of smoke she could see in the distance.

In a candlemark, she was on the outskirts the village. Riding along a small brook and through the village gates, she was struck by a vague sense of premonition, and of remembrance. It was as if...she knew this place, somehow. Perhaps it was a memory from the brash days of her youth, when she tore through every hamlet and small town in this part of Hellas, vainly seeking to calm her anger by plundering villages such as this one. But that was ten winters ago; to these people she was but a legend now, a ghost with no face.

Xena reined Pyrgomache to a halt in front of the only inn that looked respectable. An old, low building that yawed slightly in the wind, it didn't look very promising, but the scent of food that wafted from within the establishment was irresistible.

A balding, middle-aged man wearing an apron rushed out, grabbing the horse's reins as the traveller dismounted.

"Evening, traveller. I hope the gods smiled on your journey?"

"Phoebe was my companion and she was benevolent enough," Xena replied; the night sky had been cloudless all through her ride, the round face of the moon watching over her solitary travel. She grabbed her kit and turned to face the innkeeper. "The best for her and a platter of whatever you're serving for dinner, if you please."

The inn was quiet, with only a few other customers scattered around the large room. A stocky young woman -- the innkeeper's daughter, Xena guessed, for the family looks ran strong -- brought her a large slice of boar and a cup of mulled cider. She was halfway through her dinner when the innkeeper wandered closer and pretended to wipe clean the tables surrounding hers. When he began cleaning the same table for the third time, Xena set down her dagger and turned his way.

"What?" she growled.

He jumped slightly but dropped the rag, fiddling nervously with the hem of his apron nervously. "I do not mean to intrude upon your meal but...you come from afar, traveller?"

The Conqueror sighed, momentarily debating barking at him to mind his own business, but deciding to be courteous, if only to be left alone sooner. "Yes."

"We have heard of news of big battles...barbarians...great disturbance."

"Yes."

The innkeeper's brows drew together. This guest was certainly less than forthcoming.

"Is it true that the barbarians have invaded and are heading...here?"

"No."

"How can you be so sure?" the innkeeper said, clearly puzzled. "Did you fight against the army of that daughter of Ares?"

Xena's ears pricked up and she shifted her eyes from the cooked boar to the innkeeper. "Ares' daughter?"

"Yes -- she's the worst of all his bastard offspring," the innkeeper hissed, clearly warming to his subject. He spat, repugnance wrinkling his face. "She is no mortal, I tell you."

Xena nodded and leaned back, her head resting against the wall as her eyelids drooped almost closed. She hummed, urging the innkeeper to continue. The man perched on the edge of her table and leaned in conspiratorially, not noticing the viper-like look aimed at him across the table.

"Did you know that she breathes fire? And a soldier on his way from the front who stopped here on his way to his home village swore that he saw that gods-damned woman eat the hearts of her enemies," he said, pursing his lips in a gesture of disgust. "We have lost many of our own -- of our best -- to that soulless bitch," he continued, clearly inviting Xena to encourage him, which she did with a nod.

The innkeeper straightened, his eyes focused somewhere above the Conqueror's head. "There was a girl from here -- a girl just blossoming into young womanhood, a thing of beauty indeed. Her mind was as bright as the fields of flowers in Elysia, her heart as pure as spring water. Many winters ago, she was stolen from us...and sold to the slavers as that woman rode through here and destroyed our homes.

"During the last harvest, she returned -- on her own, no less. But she was not the same girl any more, no...she was marked, tainted by the evil of that inbred bacchae who dares call herself Conqueror."

"Marked, you say?" Xena's voice remained silky and smooth, like oil on water, betraying nothing of the sudden turmoil inside her.

"Marked, yes," the innkeeper said, nodding enthusiastically. It was not often that he got visitors from outside the immediate environs, and gossiping was one of his great vices. "Marked by the signet of the bastard woman..."

"I see," the Conqueror said and rose, her hands shaking from both rage and trepidation. Steadying herself, she paced around the table to stand in front of the man. She pulled out a dagger from her gauntlet, hefting it by the blade. "And was the mark -" she said and lifted the dagger, "- like this?"

Upon the dagger, where the gleaming blade met the hand guard, was her sigil -- an X inside a circle -- fashioned skilfully out of bronze and black enamel. The innkeeper's eyes darted from the mark to Xena and back.

"Yes, it is. Whose dagger is this?" he asked, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"Mine," Xena purred, a slow, dangerous smile forming on her lips but never reaching her eyes. She flipped the dagger around in her hand and pressed the point to the innkeeper's jugular. The tip pricked his skin and a small pearl of blood ran down the blade. "Now, we are going to have a little chat, you and I."

Gabrielle...

The name was fire in her veins. As she ran along the village's main street, her heart hammering in her chest, the word, the sweet name of her beloved rang in her mind, over and over. She remembered not the bitterness of Gabrielle's sudden departure, nor the pain she had carried with her all these moons; there was, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, something akin to joy inside her. She would see her love once more, and that was all that mattered.

With his last breath, the innkeeper had revealed that the bard was being kept in the village reeve's house, and that was where Xena was running. Bursting through the door, she was greeted by the sight of the reeve and his family seated around the table, having their evening meal.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the man bellowed, after hastily swallowing the bit of venison he had been chewing. He got halfway up from his chair before Xena closed a hand around his throat, throwing him against the wall and pinioning him there.

"Gabrielle -- where is she?" Xena hissed, her face inches from the reeve's. "Tell me, or by the gods I will glut the maw of death with the blood of your children," she said, shaking him like a rat in the jaws of a terrier.

The reeve had the wherewithal to pale at the utterly deadly look that she fixed on him, reinforcing the promise behind the words. His eyes darted around, frantically seeking help, but his family was frozen in place, the eyes of his children wide as tin platters.

"Who...are you?" he managed. The hand around his throat tightened perceptibly.

"I," Xena said, leaning even closer, "am her rightful owner."

Understanding glittered in the reeve's eyes, warring with a sudden flare of anger. But he was wise enough a man not to play courageous in the face of death; this woman would find her soon enough, whether he divulged the information or not. "In the cellar, out back," he choked out.

The stairs that led beneath the barn were narrow and rickety, groaning under the Conqueror's weight as she rushed down the steps. She met a sturdy locked door and unsheathed one of her swords, driving the heavy blade into a hinge. Sparks flew and the metal parted, as did the other, and the door swung aside.

Inside it was dark, with only a few slivers of sunlight streaming through small gaps in the foundation of the barn, barely illuminating the cramped space and the dance of particles in the close, mouldy cellar. Xena drew a breath of the rank, foul-smelling air and crouched to fit through the doorway. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness quickly and her sword swept through the rays of light, throwing glittering, nervous reflections on the walls.

"Who's there?"

Though it was hoarse and pained, Xena recognised the voice instantly. Her heart missed a beat and she turned toward the far corner whence the words had emanated.

"It's...it's me."

A shadow moved in the corner, and her precious Gabrielle came into view. Her...betrayer, the true source and cause of her pain. Anger flared into life within the Conqueror, her knuckles going white as she squeezed the hilt of her sword. The joy had been but a momentary diversion; the agony dulled but not dead.

The figure rose to a crouch. "Xena...?"

"Yes," the Conqueror hissed, stepping closer and bringing her arm around so that the sword pointed directly at Gabrielle. The long blade shook with her rage. "Me. The one you deceived. Double-crossed. You," she said, the word a low growl, "you made me what I am now."

"Yes," Gabrielle whispered and stood up. Even in the sparse light, the pallor of her skin, stretched taut over her cheekbones, could clearly be seen. But her eyes had lost none of their fire, and now they blazed with courage and desperation. "But I can say the same of you."

Only then did the Conqueror take a look around. It was a cellar indeed, but one purposely designed for the storage of people. Her dark brows drew together. "Why are you here?"

"Because of what I am," Gabrielle stated simply and bowed her head. "Because of what I was."

"And what was that?"

"Yours."

The single word, spoken so quietly, shattered the air.

"I was yours," Gabrielle repeated and turned around, lowering the thin, crudely patched cloak she wore. Her once-strong, muscular back now bore a collection of bruises across the pale, parchment-dry skin, and on the shoulderblade was a large circular wound, badly treated and clearly infected. It was the spot where she had borne her mark: the Conqueror's signet.

"What have they done to you?" Xena queried, her voice thick.

"They tried to cut it out of me -- what they thought made me yours," Gabrielle replied and turned. The green of her eyes was a dark, muddy colour. "To them, I was your slave, a body to be owned and traded. By erasing your mark, they thought they could erase all that you were to me."

"And what...?" Xena began, but couldn't finish the question. Again, she felt cold, but for different reasons than before; the sword trembled so badly in her hand that she almost dropped it, as the blood drained from her extremities.

"My life."

As simple as that.

"You were my life and my soul, Xena," Gabrielle said and stepped closer, gently pushing the sword aside. "But..." she began, laying a hand hesitantly over the dark bronze of the Conqueror's armour, "I wasn't your soul. Your soul is darkness."

Xena laid a hand over the smaller one on her chest, her heart aching from the first contact with Gabrielle's flesh. It was an overwhelming feeling, her head swimming as her skin recognised and remembered.

"I could not reign in here."

The Conqueror knelt, her sword meeting the ground with a muted thud as she wrapped both arms around the slender figure of her beloved. She breathed in the moist, dull scent of the earth on Gabrielle's cloak, and the warmth that the body in her arms emanated, feeling small hands settle upon her hair. Oh Gabrielle...you are so very wrong.

"I know I betrayed you," the bard said, her voice rough. "But I could not stand what was becoming of my soul...and the destruction being wrought in my name."

The hands entangled with her hair, brushing the silken, smooth strands gently, almost reverentially, before Gabrielle joined her on the floor. The Conqueror gathered her into her arms, squeezing the slim body close against herself.

It felt so good to hold her, giving slight easement to her painful yearning. It was her Gabrielle once more, and the feeling of belonging now blossoming in her heart was testament to the falsity of Gabrielle's statement.

"Come with me. We have much to talk about."

"She has to be removed," Etor whispered, too loudly for Saba who discreetly motioned him to silence.

"Later," she whispered and turned back towards Tyra, the council elder who was having a shouting match with Erasmus.

The Conqueror's First was not a woman of fickle mind, on the contrary; she had attained her position by out-surviving all the other commanders who held the post before her. The job held many dangers, the least of them certainly not being the Conqueror's capricious nature. Many had tried to outmanoeuvre the Destroyer of Nations but had paid dearly for their mistake.

"Titus confirmed that he saw her body!"

"And where is Titus, then?" asked Erasmus calmly, unperturbed by Tyra's heated tone.

"Not here, obviously," Tyra replied, clenching her teeth. She was a woman hardened by the years, her eyes dark and unforgiving as flint, and she was clearly losing her patience with the ever-sceptical, elderly general.

The people of Korinthos were blissfully unaware of the play of power underway inside the royal palace. Ever since the news of the Conqueror's demise had reached the capital six nights ago, the war council had been in turmoil. What had been a collection of brilliant people, their talents and minds as diverse as their histories, had been reduced to a bunch of bickering backstabbers in the absence of the Conqueror. The council had been the ruler's right arm and the extension of her genius, but without her guidance, its members were lost.

And so the game is underway, Saba thought, already smelling the blood in the air between Erasmus and Tyra. Recently one of the council's youngest members, a young captain called Milleius, had mysteriously disappeared, and the First had a hunch he wouldn't be the last one to do so. Power as absolute as that which the Conqueror held -- had held -- was beyond tempting; it was downright intoxicating.

She herself didn't know what to believe and thus took a carefully neutral stand on the issue, letting the others fight for succession. While the seal on the message under dispute had been genuine enough, Saba was troubled by the fact that Titus himself had not delivered it. There were also rumours of Romans funding the barbarian upsurgencies along the northern border, the same that the Conqueror had ridden off to calm, be it with sword or with the weight of her word...although Saba suspected that words had not much chance of succeeding this time, the Conqueror's eyes had held nothing but deadly intent.

Saba cleared her throat.

"Do you wish to take a stand, ma'am?" Erasmus asked, the irony in his voice delicate.

"No. I have a suggestion," she said firmly, halting Tyra's impending protest with a raised hand. "Hear me out. I propose the middle route...let us wait for a few days more for Titus. He could just be delayed. If he is not here in, say, ten nights, we will consider the situation again, with firmer footing on the issue."

After a few half-hearted protests, the council agreed to her proposal, if only because the time was past the witching hour. The council dispersed soon after, Etor gesturing for Saba to linger. Finally, they were the only people left in the great hall.

"Excellent work, Saba," he said, a small smile on his lips. "More time for us to remove the others who stand before us."

He has to go, Saba thought, but dredged up a smile.

"Yes. Soon."

"Soon," he confirmed and unconsciously touched the hilt of his dagger. "I have already arranged the assassins."

Saba nodded and turned to leave. Soon, Etor...even you will feel the blade most intimately.

The brook gurgled gently through small rapids, the air otherwise quiet. Pyrgomache was drinking from the clear water a few yards downstream, and Xena watched the mare's noble head dip down and come back up, small beads of water glistening on her muzzle. She was a thing of beauty, that horse.

Behind her, Gabrielle was attacking her small reserve of food, wolfing down the hard bread and dried venison. The Conqueror herself was not hungry, and she could not bear to see what had become of her lover; Gabrielle had been a woman of bright, healthy composure but now she was half a wraith, her skin almost translucent.

"Would you like to have some?"

At her words, Xena turned and offered a wan smile with the shake of her head. "No. I'm not hungry."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Gabrielle," the Conqueror said, relishing the familiar feel of the name rolling off her tongue. It felt wonderful to say it with a different meaning; for moons, it had been either a prayer or a curse, but now, it was simply a beautiful name.

When Gabrielle had finished the last of the hard meat, she straightened in her cross-legged position, her eyes still not meeting Xena's. To the Conqueror, she looked so young and frail, almost a child, but with the eyes of an ancient.

A grimace briefly crossed the bard's face.

"Your wound."

"Yes," Gabrielle whispered and took a deep breath, almost as if she was unsure of how to formulate her next words. Xena nodded, understanding, and dug out her healer's kit.

"Turn around."

Gabrielle obeyed, letting her cloak slide from her shoulders. In the cold air, sudden trails of goosebumps appeared and Xena laid her hands over the narrow shoulders, making Gabrielle shiver.

She worked in silence, in fear of letting her anger cloud her tone when she needed her words to be soothing -- anger not for the woman before her, but towards those who had injured her so unjustly. What had been a sign of love and protection, the only pure and good thing in the Conqueror's life, had been branded as something brutal and low, its meaning perverted and distorted, until people had seen in it only what they wanted to see. And as always, people saw the worst, assumed the most loathsome things.

The skin had been scraped, not removed -- a procedure that under normal circumstances would have healed in mere weeks. But the conditions in that cellar had obviously not been conductive to healing, Xena deduced, as she spread the ointment on the wound.

"How long has this been like this?"

The tendons in Gabrielle's neck corded as she turned her head, trying to swallow her scream of pain. "At least two moons...I'm not sure. Days ran together down there."

"It's infected."

"I know," Gabrielle responded, turning to face forward again.

Xena's hands had lost none of their talent; with the same infinite patience and feather-light touch she showed handling her sword, the Conqueror had loved her, had felt her, and was now, once more, healing her. It was infinitely reassuring; ever since Gabrielle had departed, she had felt herself half a woman, missing the presence of her love, the feeling of safety and calm that permeated her environs. The warmth of the body behind her was a balm to both her ragged flesh and her tattered soul.

Though she had not wanted to admit it, and could not have allowed herself before now, she had missed her. The Destroyer of Nations.

"Gods, Xena..." Gabrielle said, her voice suddenly tired. As she turned, the dark half-moons under her eyes were clearly visible, a stark contrast to the sickly pallor of her face. "I have no words to..." She swalloed hard. "I...betrayed you."

The intensity of Xena's enigmatic gaze upon her made Gabrielle feel uneasy. Deciphering the mind that operated behind those oceans of pale blue was a sheer impossibility; the bard could only guess at the depth of emotion from what was visible and from experience, she knew that it was a mere shadow of what truly lay in the Conqueror's heart.

Quietly, almost hesitantly, Xena took one of the bard's hands into her own larger one. "No worse than the way I betrayed myself," she stated simply. "By not giving you reason to believe in me."

A heartbeat passed before she continued. "I want to give you that reason now. If you'll let me."

It was as close as she had come to pleading in the past ten solar cycles, and it was so hard.

"I will try," was Gabrielle's reply.

She was still weak and hungry, but the pain of the wound had receded to a dull throb. Inside the cocoon of Xena's cloak where the wind could not reach her, she was warm.

At first she had ridden behind the Conqueror, but her diminished strength had not been enough to keep her from sliding off the galloping mare. So she now sat in front of Xena, her legs around the armoured waist and her head resting on the hard, cold shoulder guard. Pyrgomache strode smoothly, her pace even and strong.

She could not remember ever feeling this safe.

"Are you okay there?"

"Yes. Very much so," Gabrielle said and adjusted her cheek to lay more comfortably against the ridges of the engraved metal of the shoulder guard.

Her days in captivity had been long. For moons, she had not been warm, nor had a decent meal. She had longed for a fire, or a bowl of stew, but her reality had been hard bread and water. In the wan light the short days had given her, she had seen her health slowly drain away, felt the weakness invade her body.

She had arrived in Potedaia during the last harvest season, in the hope of finding her parents, should they have by some miracle escaped their captivity. Alas, no miracle had been forthcoming; all that had been waiting for her was news from her cousin of her mother's demise in the great famine two winters ago. And when the mark on her flesh had been discovered, her fate had been torn from her hands once again. She had refused to denounce its true significance, and so she had been jailed for the sake of her love, to await spring and the arrival of the slaver caravans.

Oh, my beloved. If only you could see the irony of it all, Gabrielle thought sadly and adjusted her arms around the Conqueror's midsection. A circle complete. What her love had wrought upon others -- pain, annihilation -- she had faced herself. Xena had destroyed all in her path in retribution for the random act of cruelty that had been perpetrated against Gabrielle, and now Gabrielle had paid for it. They were both mere pawns in the great game of vengeance, neither strong enough alone to swim against the tide of fate.

Leaning out a bit, she caught Xena's eye. There was a slightly dreamy smile on the Conqueror's lips, but it did nothing to hide the new, hard lines around her eyes. She had heard the stories of the Conqueror as a woman possessed, had seen the dried, clotted blood under her fingernails and smelled it in the fur she wore and in her very being; the Conqueror had drowned her rage in the only way she knew.

Out of the skillet and into the flames, Gabrielle, the bard thought and lowered her head.

"Xena?"

"Hmmm?" the Conqueror replied, a low murmur that the bard more felt than heard over the rhythmic beating of Pyrgomache's hooves.

"Where are we going?"

"Korinthos."

Of course. Gabrielle sighed and shifted in her seat.

She had used to find that dedication so enchanting...and she still did, but for a different reason. She could never own Xena like Xena did her, for the core of the dark woman's nature was hers and hers alone; in that mind were recesses and canyons so deep and dark that the bard dared not even consider what might lay there. But, like a faraway mountain beckons a wanderer, she strove for that which seemed impossible -- the Conqueror's love.

When she had left Xena out of her love for the people of Hellas and for the sake of her own broken heart, she had been confident of the justness of her decision. But during her long months of solitude in imprisonment, she had come to find that there were infinite varieties of love. She had come to understand that the nature of Xena's soul was inherently dual: light and darkness and little in between. The darkness was Xena's, and what light there was -- that was Gabrielle's alone.

[shamandrummer]

Vagabonding as a Spiritual Path

The natural world is my muse and sanctuary -- a place for refuge and discovery. My most memorable moments have been in the outdoors. I have hiked thousands of miles of trails through forests, deserts and mountains. Having spent much of my life traveling and trekking, I still crave adventure and new experiences. Vagabonding or nomadic wandering is a unique way of living, a spiritual path to authenticity, self-awareness and solitude. Solitude allows time for self-examination, relaxation away from urban stress, and a chance to meditate, contemplate, or just zone out for hours at a time. Many of my most memorable experiences took place during solo journeys into Nature. The longer the solo immersion, the more transformational the experience.

In October 2011, I felt Spirit calling me. I felt compelled to travel to the sacred sites and power places that beckoned me. I followed my intuition and deepest instincts. I traveled with my drum and medicine bundle to shamanize the meridian system of Mother Earth's numinous web, which is the planetary counterpart to the acupuncture meridian system of the human body. At the intersection points of the planet's energy web exist holy places, power spots, or acupuncture points. Like acupuncture needles, humans are capable of maintaining the harmonious flow of the planetary energy meridians by making an Earth connection at power places.

Many magical things happened during my two month pilgrimage. I camped at Panther Meadows on Mount Shasta. I hiked among the oldest living things on the Earth in the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. I soaked in the healing waters of Umpqua, Buckeye, Travertine, Whitmore, and Keough Hot Springs. Indigenous people worldwide believe that where fire and water mix at a hot spring is a sacred place. A water deity, usually a goddess, resides in each spring. People make pilgrimages to thermal springs to connect with the goddess and to supplicate the benefits of her healing graces. The sacred ambience of the place, its geothermal energy and the pilgrim's relationship to it, is sufficient to fulfill the pilgrim's aspirations.

I ventured south through California and explored the Owens Valley area on the east side of the Sierra Nevada crest. Before returning home in early December, I planned a four day desert exploration. On day one, I visited the Sleeping Lizard, which is an ancient vision quest site located in the Volcanic Tablelands north of Bishop. This site is sacred to the Owens Valley Paiute people, who use alcoves in the rock for vision quests. I took a journey back in time to visit the ancient ones who etched petroglyphs in the volcanic rock.

Next, I drove up the Whitney Portal Road towards the trailhead that hikers climb up to Mount Whitney. Unfortunately the road to the trailhead was closed for the winter. I backtracked down the road and camped in the Alabama Hills, located in the shadow of Mount Whitney just west of Lone Pine. The rounded weathered contours of the reddish-orange foothills contrast with the sharp ridges of the Sierra Nevada to the west. Throughout the last century, the Alabama Hills have appeared in hundreds of films and commercials. During my visit, a Quintin Tarantino project (Django Unchained) was being shot there.

In one day I drove from Mount Whitney (the sacred masculine), the tallest mountain in the continuous 48 states, into Death Valley (the sacred feminine), the lowest elevation in North America. Shortly after entering Death Valley National Park, I took an eight-mile detour north along the Saline Valley Road to visit a Joshua Tree forest at Lee Flat. The Saline Valley Road is very rough and progress was slow, but I eventually reached the magical forest. A cold wind buffeted me each time I left the confines of my truck to hike and photograph the forest. I would have camped here for the night if not for the high elevation and bitter cold wind. I camped instead at Panamint Springs Resort, 22 miles inside the western border of Death Valley National Park.

The following day, I explored Darwin Falls and the remote Panamint Valley adjacent to Death Valley. I camped for the next few days at the far northeast end of the South Panamint Dry Lake, a small wetland, grassland, dune system and mesquite bosque. The warm sulfur springs of this desert oasis provide habitat for frogs, shore birds, marsh hawks, and wild burros. A short-eared owl visited my campsite each evening at dusk. The stars bathed the cold desert in a warm glow. Few things are more serene than the deep stillness of the desert on a starry night. In that stillness, I am reborn, forever changed.

Oh, how I love vagabonding. Shamanism is deeply rooted in Nature and a nomadic lifestyle. The emphasis is on the individual, of breaking free and discovering one's own uniqueness in order to bring something new back to the group. Like drumming, nomadic wandering alters your ordinary everyday awareness. It is another means of habitual pattern disruption for reimprinting on alternate realties. When you leave home, meet new people, experience new stimuli, and process new information, you're soon intoxicated on a natural high. As Ed Buryn, the godfather of modern vagabonding puts it, "Vagabonding is nothing less than reality transformation, and its power is not to be underestimated."

[mixamorphosis]

Blog post and linked up tracklist [HERE]

Tracklist

01. Reinbert de Leeuw - Gymnopedie No. 3 (Philips) 02. Arovane & Hior Chronik - Stars Collide (A Strangely Isolated Place) 03. Commodity Place - Clouds Inside Me (Pocket Panther Records) 04. Fovea Hex - Piano Fields 1 (Headphone Dust) 05. Massimo Amato - 4 A.M (Affordable Inner Space) 06. Scrimshire - A Place For Everything (Wah Wah 45's) 07. Parks - Black Day, Silver Sea (Stray Theories Mix) (A Strangely Isolated Place) 08. Jonny Nash & Suzanne Kraft - See Yourself Out Of The Way (Melody As Truth) 09. Seahawks - Didn't Know I Was Lost (Ocean Moon) 10. Hampshire & Foat - The Solar Winds (and Cadenza) (Athens Of The North) 11. Mark-Almond - Monday Bluesong (Harvest) 12. Chet Baker - The Wind (DOL) 13. Sue Barker - Lover Man (Hot Casa Records) 14. Beverly Glenn-Copeland - Old Melody (Séance Centre) 15. Man Parrish - Water Sports (Eskimo Recordings) 16. Vangelis Katsoulis - If Not Now, When? (Utopia Records) 17. The Cinematic Orchestra - Time & Space (Ninja Tune)

Download available via [Hearthis]

[brookston]

Holidays 12.15

Holidays

Bill of Rights Day

Birdland Day

Cat Herders’ Day

Coonskin Cap Day

Cricket Day (French Republic)

Esperanto Day

Homecoming Day (Alderney, Channel Islands)

Human Rights Day (Kiribati)

Koninkrijksdag (Kingdom Day; Netherlands) [Unless a Sunday, then 16th]

Local Charities Day (UK)

Men’s Society of Piu Festival of Mirth, Peace, Honesty, Joyousness and Love (14th Century London)

National Headband Day

National HST Day (UK)

National Play Minecraft Day

National Regifting Day

National Wear Your Pearls Day

Navidades begins (Puerto Rico; until Three Kings Day)

North Wind’s Prayer (Elder Scrolls)

Pakistan-Turkey Friendship Day

Remembrance Day of Journalists Killed in the Line of Duty (Russia)

Rugby World Cup Victory Day (South Africa)

Second Amendment Awareness Day (South Carolina)

Sleep Comfort Day

Trivial Pursuit Day

World Martial Arts Training Day

World Otaku Day

World Strengthened Immunity Day

Yuletide Lad #4 arrives (Pvorusleikir or Spoon-Licker; Iceland)

Zamenhof Day (Esperanto)

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Tea Day [also 5.21]

National Cupcake Day

National Gingerbread Latte Day

National Give a Wine Club Day

National Lemon Cupcake Day

Olmeca National Tequila Day (South Africa)

3rd Friday in December

Christmas Jumper Day (EU) [3rd Friday]

Mad Friday (UK) [3rd Friday]

National Holiday Party Day [3rd Friday]

National Ugly Christmas Sweater Day [3rd Friday]

Underdog Day [3rd Friday]

Independence Days

New Massa (Declared; 2015) [unrecognized]

Prudentianopolis (Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Alcyone (Greek Kingfisher Goddess)

Consualia (Ancient Roman festival to Consus, god of the harvest and stored grain)

David Teniers the Younger (Artology)

Drina Martyrs (Christian; Saint)

Drostan (Aberdeen Breviary; Christian; Saint)

Eusebius, Bishop of Vercelli (Christian; Saint)

Feralia: Day of Purification (Pagan)

Friedensreich Hundertwasser (Artology)

George Romney (Artology)

Hanukkah Day #8 (Judaism)

John Horden and Robert McDonald (Episcopal Church; USA)

Joseph "Le Petomane" Pujol Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Lagrange (Positivist; Saint)

Maria Crocifissa di Rosa (Christian; Saint)

Mesmin (Christian; Saint)

Nino (Christian; Saint)

Othmar the Grouch (Muppetism)

Stupid Inventions Day (Pastafarian)

Stupid Toy Day (Pastafarian)

Valerian of Abbenza (Christian; Saint)

Virginia Centurione Bracelli (Christian; Saint)

Virgin of Cotoca (Roman Catholic) [Bolivia]

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [48 of 53]

Perilous Day (13th Century England) [30 of 32]

Prime Number Day: 349 [70 of 72]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [30 of 30]

Unlucky Day (Grafton’s Manual of 1565) [59 of 60]

Premieres

Alice the Piper (Disney Cartoon; 1924)

Beatles ’65, by The Beatles (Album; 1964)

Birdland (NYC Jazz Club; 1949)

Buddy the Dentist (WB LT Cartoon; 1934)

Charlotte’s Web (Film; 2006)

Choclat (Film; 2000)

The Chronic, by Dr. Dre (Album; 1992)

The Concept of Mind, by Gilbert Ryle (Science Book; 1949)

Driving Miss Daisy (Film; 1989)

Dude, Where’s My Car? (Film; 2000)

The Emperor’s New Groove (Animated Disney Film; 2000)

Ferdinand (Animated Film; 2017)

Folsom Prison Blues, by Johnny Cash (Song; 1955)

Gone With the Wind (Film; 1939)

Jumanji (Film; 1995)

The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom, by James Burnham (Political Theory; 1943)

Madame Curie (Film; 1943)

Mothership Connection, by Parliament (Album; 1975)

Never Say Never Again (UK Film; 1983) [James Bond non-series]

One Piece Film: Z (Anime Film; 2012)

One, Two, Three (Film; 1961)

Out on a Limb (Disney Cartoon; 1950)

The Pink Panther Strikes Again (Film; 1976)

Pollack (Film; 2000)

Revolutionary Road (Film; 2008)

Sabrina (Film; 1995)

Schindler’s List (Film; 1993)

Sense and Sensibility (Film; 1995)

Star Wars: Episode VIII — The Last Jedi (Film; 2017)

Stormy Weather, recorded by Lena Horne (Song; 1941)

Superman (Film; 1978)

To Hare Is Human (WB MM Cartoon; 1956)

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith (Novel; 1943)

Tweet Tweet Tweety (WB LT Cartoon; 1951)

Two-Gun Mickey (Disney Cartoon; 1934)

War Is Over ad campaign, by John Lennon & Yoko Ono (Peace Advertising; 1969)

The Who Sell Out, by The Who (Album; 1967)

Wonka (Film; 2023)

Young Frankenstein (Film; 1974)

Today’s Name Days

Carlo, Christiane, Nina (Austria)

Marin, Valerijan, Viktorija (Croatia)

Radana (Czech Republic)

Nikatius (Denmark)

Kalli, Kelli, Killu, Kulla (Estonia)

Heimo, Nooa (Finland)

Ninon (France)

Christiane, Nina, Paola (Germany)

Anthea, Eleftherios, Elevtherios, Lefteris, Sossana, Sylvia (Greece)

Valér (Hungary)

Cristiana, Nino, Valeriano (Italy)

Jana, Johanna (Latvia)

Gaudenė, Gaudenis, Kristijona (Lithuania)

Hilda, Hilde (Norway)

Celina, Fortunata, Iga, Ignacja, Ignacy, Krystiana, Nina, Walerian, Waleriana, Wolimir, Żegota (Poland)

Antia, Elefterie, Suzana (Romania)

Ivica (Slovakia)

Valeriano (Spain)

Gottfrid (Sweden)

Adlai, Adler, Carney, Mirella, Mireya, Tanner (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 349 of 2024; 16 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 50 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Ruis (Elder) [Day 18 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Jia-Zi), Day 3 (Ding-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 3 Teveth 5784

Islamic: 2 Jumada II 1445

J Cal: 19 Zima; Fiveday [19 of 30]

Julian: 2 December 2023

Moon: 10%: Waxing Crescent

Positivist: 13 Bichat (13th Month) [Lagrange]

Runic Half Month: Jara (Year) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Autumn (Day 83 of 89)

Zodiac: Sagittarius (Day 24 of 30)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 12.15

Holidays

Bill of Rights Day

Birdland Day

Cat Herders’ Day

Coonskin Cap Day

Cricket Day (French Republic)

Esperanto Day

Homecoming Day (Alderney, Channel Islands)

Human Rights Day (Kiribati)

Koninkrijksdag (Kingdom Day; Netherlands) [Unless a Sunday, then 16th]

Local Charities Day (UK)

Men’s Society of Piu Festival of Mirth, Peace, Honesty, Joyousness and Love (14th Century London)

National Headband Day

National HST Day (UK)

National Play Minecraft Day

National Regifting Day

National Wear Your Pearls Day

Navidades begins (Puerto Rico; until Three Kings Day)

North Wind’s Prayer (Elder Scrolls)

Pakistan-Turkey Friendship Day

Remembrance Day of Journalists Killed in the Line of Duty (Russia)

Rugby World Cup Victory Day (South Africa)

Second Amendment Awareness Day (South Carolina)

Sleep Comfort Day

Trivial Pursuit Day

World Martial Arts Training Day

World Otaku Day

World Strengthened Immunity Day

Yuletide Lad #4 arrives (Pvorusleikir or Spoon-Licker; Iceland)

Zamenhof Day (Esperanto)

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Tea Day [also 5.21]

National Cupcake Day

National Gingerbread Latte Day

National Give a Wine Club Day

National Lemon Cupcake Day

Olmeca National Tequila Day (South Africa)

3rd Friday in December

Christmas Jumper Day (EU) [3rd Friday]

Mad Friday (UK) [3rd Friday]

National Holiday Party Day [3rd Friday]

National Ugly Christmas Sweater Day [3rd Friday]

Underdog Day [3rd Friday]

Independence Days

New Massa (Declared; 2015) [unrecognized]

Prudentianopolis (Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Alcyone (Greek Kingfisher Goddess)

Consualia (Ancient Roman festival to Consus, god of the harvest and stored grain)

David Teniers the Younger (Artology)

Drina Martyrs (Christian; Saint)

Drostan (Aberdeen Breviary; Christian; Saint)

Eusebius, Bishop of Vercelli (Christian; Saint)

Feralia: Day of Purification (Pagan)

Friedensreich Hundertwasser (Artology)

George Romney (Artology)

Hanukkah Day #8 (Judaism)

John Horden and Robert McDonald (Episcopal Church; USA)

Joseph "Le Petomane" Pujol Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Lagrange (Positivist; Saint)

Maria Crocifissa di Rosa (Christian; Saint)

Mesmin (Christian; Saint)

Nino (Christian; Saint)

Othmar the Grouch (Muppetism)

Stupid Inventions Day (Pastafarian)

Stupid Toy Day (Pastafarian)

Valerian of Abbenza (Christian; Saint)

Virginia Centurione Bracelli (Christian; Saint)

Virgin of Cotoca (Roman Catholic) [Bolivia]

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [48 of 53]

Perilous Day (13th Century England) [30 of 32]

Prime Number Day: 349 [70 of 72]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [30 of 30]

Unlucky Day (Grafton’s Manual of 1565) [59 of 60]

Premieres

Alice the Piper (Disney Cartoon; 1924)

Beatles ’65, by The Beatles (Album; 1964)

Birdland (NYC Jazz Club; 1949)

Buddy the Dentist (WB LT Cartoon; 1934)

Charlotte’s Web (Film; 2006)

Choclat (Film; 2000)

The Chronic, by Dr. Dre (Album; 1992)

The Concept of Mind, by Gilbert Ryle (Science Book; 1949)

Driving Miss Daisy (Film; 1989)

Dude, Where’s My Car? (Film; 2000)

The Emperor’s New Groove (Animated Disney Film; 2000)

Ferdinand (Animated Film; 2017)

Folsom Prison Blues, by Johnny Cash (Song; 1955)

Gone With the Wind (Film; 1939)

Jumanji (Film; 1995)

The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom, by James Burnham (Political Theory; 1943)

Madame Curie (Film; 1943)

Mothership Connection, by Parliament (Album; 1975)

Never Say Never Again (UK Film; 1983) [James Bond non-series]

One Piece Film: Z (Anime Film; 2012)

One, Two, Three (Film; 1961)

Out on a Limb (Disney Cartoon; 1950)

The Pink Panther Strikes Again (Film; 1976)

Pollack (Film; 2000)

Revolutionary Road (Film; 2008)

Sabrina (Film; 1995)

Schindler’s List (Film; 1993)

Sense and Sensibility (Film; 1995)

Star Wars: Episode VIII — The Last Jedi (Film; 2017)

Stormy Weather, recorded by Lena Horne (Song; 1941)

Superman (Film; 1978)

To Hare Is Human (WB MM Cartoon; 1956)

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith (Novel; 1943)

Tweet Tweet Tweety (WB LT Cartoon; 1951)

Two-Gun Mickey (Disney Cartoon; 1934)

War Is Over ad campaign, by John Lennon & Yoko Ono (Peace Advertising; 1969)

The Who Sell Out, by The Who (Album; 1967)

Wonka (Film; 2023)

Young Frankenstein (Film; 1974)

Today’s Name Days

Carlo, Christiane, Nina (Austria)

Marin, Valerijan, Viktorija (Croatia)

Radana (Czech Republic)

Nikatius (Denmark)

Kalli, Kelli, Killu, Kulla (Estonia)

Heimo, Nooa (Finland)

Ninon (France)

Christiane, Nina, Paola (Germany)

Anthea, Eleftherios, Elevtherios, Lefteris, Sossana, Sylvia (Greece)

Valér (Hungary)

Cristiana, Nino, Valeriano (Italy)

Jana, Johanna (Latvia)

Gaudenė, Gaudenis, Kristijona (Lithuania)

Hilda, Hilde (Norway)

Celina, Fortunata, Iga, Ignacja, Ignacy, Krystiana, Nina, Walerian, Waleriana, Wolimir, Żegota (Poland)

Antia, Elefterie, Suzana (Romania)

Ivica (Slovakia)

Valeriano (Spain)

Gottfrid (Sweden)

Adlai, Adler, Carney, Mirella, Mireya, Tanner (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 349 of 2024; 16 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 50 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Ruis (Elder) [Day 18 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Jia-Zi), Day 3 (Ding-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 3 Teveth 5784

Islamic: 2 Jumada II 1445

J Cal: 19 Zima; Fiveday [19 of 30]

Julian: 2 December 2023

Moon: 10%: Waxing Crescent

Positivist: 13 Bichat (13th Month) [Lagrange]

Runic Half Month: Jara (Year) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Autumn (Day 83 of 89)

Zodiac: Sagittarius (Day 24 of 30)

[annachum]

Okay

Some HCs about MCU! Alfheim :

. Like in the Norse Myths and Marvel Comics, Alfheim is a colorful and magical realm filled with predominantly Light fae of all shapes, sizes and kinds

. The Sea Elves boasted amazing seafare trade, love music and the sea Elven Realms have predominantly aquatic fae and merfolk. The Sea Elven Realms have Nordic, Pre Medieval Mediterranean and Medieval/Renaissance Mediterranean influences

. The Elves on the Vale predominantly live in a valley like fantasy realm with lush greenery and the fae that live there predominantly have valley, woodland and aurora related powers. The Vale Elven Realms have Nordic, Celtic, Iberian and Byzantine influences.

. The Spice Elves are a fierce bunch living amongst the desert groves of Alfheim. The Spice fae predominantly have spice, sand and fire related powers. The Spice Elven Realms have Olden North African, Arabic and Ottoman influences.

. The Elves on the North Pole are a generally merry bunch ( usually ) and LOVE Christmas and anything related to it. The Yuletide Elven Realms have Nordic and Slavic influences.

. The Ice Elves basically scream fantasy artic tribal vibes, boasting of their remarkable cold survival skills, and the Ice fae there predominantly have snow and ice related powers. The Ice Elven Realm have Nordic, Eskimo, Sami and Slavic influences

. The Pleasure Elves are generally an unpredictable bunch. They generally love fireworks, party planning all that, and festive masks are a huge thing amongst pleasure elves. The pleasure fae predominantly psychic, psionic, and festive related powers ( like firework Manipulation, for starters ). The Pleasure Fae Realms have Nordic, Medieval/Renaissance Era Mediterranean and Iberian influences

. The Air Elves are generally a breezy, innovative bunch. They predominantly on floating houses in the clouds of Alfheim ( think Pegasus City in My Little Pony EXCEPT AIR FAE ), and boasting of remarkable invention fleets. The Air fae predominantly have Air and wind related powers. The Air Elven Realms have Nordic, Pictish and Celtic influences

. The Cat Elves are also a generally fierce bunch. They predominantly live amongst the mountains which are short cut gateways to Nornheim, and they are famous for their big cat cavalry. The Cat fae predominantly have animal and mountain related powers. The Cat Elven Realms have Himalayan, Balkan and Iranic influences

. The Moon Elves are a generally mystic bunch. Oracle and mystical related matters are big for them, and the moon fae predominantly have lunar and starry related powers. The Moon Elven realm have Nordic, Slavic and Celtic influences.

. The Light Fae in general are big on loyalty. They do not forgive a betrayal THAT easily

. The Light Fae have different skin colors - there are human skin colors and red, blue, green etc skin colors. Some of the Light Fae even have 3 eyes, and they either have wings or no wings, yet they all can fly, wield bright magic, have hyper hearing which they can control, and also have wicked cool powers on their arsenal

. Also baking is a popular hobby in Alfheim and offering baked treats is a form of hospitality in Alfheim

. Light Fae sometimes leave behind trails of faerie dust. Oh and music, theatre and dance popular in Alfheim.

. And Ljolsafgard is the capital of Alfheim, where the Alfheim Royal Palace is, and similarly with Panther City in Wakanda, Ljosalfgard lived residents from the 9 Duchies of Alfheim

. In my MCU fics, Sigyn is the daughter of a Duke and Duchess of the Vale Elves, and she got wicked cool Aurora Manipulation powers, and is an Aesir - Light Elf 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

. I HC that Grace/Anneli ( Heimdall's wife and later widow in MCU ) is also an Aesir Light Elf and she came from the Spice Elven Realms, and she got wicked cool spice and sand Manipulation powers 🤩🤩🤩🤩🥺🥺🥺🥺

[laresearchette]

Thursday, March 30, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: RAPCAVIAR PRESENTS (Disney + Star)

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT PROM PACT (Premiering on April 01 on Disney Channel Canada at 7:00pm) THE CROODS: FAMILY TREE (TBD - YTV)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

CBC GEM BLACK BOYS SKATE TOO WITNESS (Season 1)

DISNEY + STAR RAP CAVIAR PRESENTS (Season 1 - All Episodes Available)

NETFLIX CANADA BIG MÄCK: GANGSTERS AND GOLD FROM ME TO YOU: KIMI NI TODOKE PULP FICTION RIVERDALE (Season 7) UNSTABLE

MLB BASEBALL (SN1) 1:00pm: Giants vs. Yankees (SN) 4:00pm: Jays vs. Cardinals (TSN3) 7:00pm: White Sox vs. Astros (SN) 10:00pm: Angels vs. A’s

NHL HOCKEY (SN360) 7:00pm: Blue Jackets vs. Bruins (TSN2) 7:00pm: Panthers vs. Habs (TSN5) 7:00pm: Flyers vs. Sens (SNWest) 9:00pm: Kings vs. Oilers (SN360) 10:00pm: Ducks vs. Kraken

BIG BROTHER CANADA (Global) 7:00pm

CANADIAN FILM FEST (Super Channel Fuse) 7:00pm: HOW TO GET MY PARENTS TO DIVORCE: Justine is tired of the bickering and the climate at home since her mother's miscarriage. She rallies her friends to create their own court, but things don't go as planned. She will have to learn to communicate her pain so that harmony can return.

9:00pm: GOLDEN DELICIOUS: Everyone wants something from Jake: his father is pushing him to try out for the basketball team and his girlfriend wants to take their relationship to the next level. When Aleks moves in across the street Jake struggles with his own desires.

NBA BASKETBALL   (SN360) 7:30pm: Cavaliers vs. Nets (TSN2) 7:30pm: Celtics vs. Bucks (TSN2) 10:00pm: Pelicans vs. Nuggets (SN360) 10:30pm: Thunder vs. Clippers

CANADA'S ULTIMATE CHALLENGE (CBC) 8:00pm: In the semi-finals, solo Players do the Smokestack Climb in Sudbury; the teams go 750m underground in Mine Rescue; and pairs complete in a Sea-Doo Slalom tubing course; only two teams make the cut.

EVOLVING VEGAN (CTV Life) 8:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Mena Massoud, actor and cookbook author, travels across North America and eats his way through some of the coolest cities to show us how beautiful meals, talented chefs and restaurateurs are making plant-based food delicious and attainable. He explores the exploding vegan food scene in Los Angeles, Austin, Mexico City, Vancouver, Portland and Toronto, showing us just how mouth-watering plant-based food can be.

FALLEN ANGELS MURDER CLUB: HEROES AND FELONS (CTV Life) 9:00pm: Members of the Fallen Angels Murder Club search for answers surrounding the mysterious death of one of their own. Hollis soon finds herself at the center of the investigation when a journalist who's reporting on the murder also winds up dead.

THE GREAT POTTERY THROW DOWN (Makeful) 9:00pm: Siobhán McSweeney's back, as the remaining potters create a self-sculpture, build their own sawdust kilns and make candlesticks under pressure, for a place in the semi-final

CANADIAN REFLECTIONS (CBC) 11:30pm: The Story Coat; Bad Omen

[pghbabesonbikes]

2023 Frigid Bitch Training Rides

Tryin to prep for FBX? Need to bone up on your cuts around the city? Gotta practice layering up in various weather conditions? Hopin’ to meet some FB vets race crews you might be able to slide into?

Every Sunday til race day we’ll be holding training rides around the city. Each week will ride the route of a previous Frigid Bitch. Full routes will likely feature stairs, cobbles, long flats, and a few steep hills. We will have multiple groups:

- A pace: fast drop ride with longer mileage and more elevation. Will regroup at the tops of long/steep hills but generally will not wait for stragglers. ~16+ mph avg - B pace: ‘fit commuter’ pace, semi-drop, mid-level mileage and elevation. Will regroup at various points but may not wait for extended times. ~12-15 mpg avg - C pace: conversational social pace, no-drop, shorter routes, relatively few big hills. ~10-12 mph avg

If you are interested in leading or sweeping a pace group, please email us @ pghbabesonbikes@gmail.com!

Routes are posted below - cue sheets are set up for most rides to make almost any/all of the features skippable if you’re not feeling it. Choose a route and pace that is challenging to you, and have fun bopping around the city seeing who you catch & who catches you!

All routes will also be posted as events on our Ride w GPS Club & Strava Club page

Two Frays Brewing will have space for bikes on their patio, outside heaters, indoor bathrooms, and coffee for sale. They’ll also have a couple new non-alcoholic beers on tap as well as their regular rotation. Stick around after the ride to hang out and compare ride recaps!

BEWARE: These rides are run in full Pgh Winter, so weather may mean routes take us over ice and snow. We may need to re-route mid ride depending on the conditions! Be ready for an adventure.

Sunday Feb 5th - Frigid Bitch 2021

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: Takes us into the North Hills, from the Highland Park Br over to the Millvale softball fields. A steep climb up Geyer Rd takes us across mainly rolling roads to the observatory, where we’ll drop back down Perrysville punctuated with a short climb up (and then very much down) Federal. A climb to Polish Hill is next, topped by a city step loop and the beloved blast down Gold Way into Oakland to the bullet descent down Fifth. Birmingham, then Hot Metal, then the Greenfield Ave climb into Schenley Park. The finish is a residential roll through the East End.

B-pace route: Cuts out the trek across the HP Br and the roady north hills chunk, but tacks on some mileage (and a staircase!) heading up into Riverview. This B route is similar mileage to the full route, but with slightly less climbing. 

C-pace route: Piling on the mileage for C-pace this week but keeping the elevation down, the ride will head thru tried and true East End roads, a mild uphill pump on Wilkins/Beechwood, a lovely roll  through Schenley Park before one of the best winding downhills around. Sneak through Oakland and onto the cyclists’ best friend back alley (Gold Way) to pop out at the Melwood staircase, before dropping down into the Strip and practicing your stop and starts along Spring Way. The 16th St Bridge takes you over the river to the North Shore trail where you can relax until the one final uphill along the bike lane on 40th. Finish @ Two Frays and catch B&A group rolling in behind you!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Previous routes:

Sunday Jan 1st - Frigid Bitch 2016

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: We’ll warm up by climbing Negley Ave (just a little big city hill), swing down Panther Hollow to hit the most obvious Pgh cobbles, take a dip into S Oakland and run the dead end of Romeo St staircase before climbing back up through Schenley Park for the pleasant commuter downhill of Pocusset St. Remember when the Greenfield Bridge was just rubble? From here we’ve got easy peasy double trail time from the Eliza Furnace, a quick jaunt thru the North Side, and back to the East End via the 3 Rivers Heritage Trail to 31st St Br. One more slog as we finish with a cobbled climb up McCandless and a fast downhill on Stanton back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the Romeo staircase and the North Side roads, keeping steady from the Eliza Furnace to the 3 Rivers trail. Optional end of ride cut: anyone who doesn’t fancy the cobbled climb up McCandless can stay on Penn after the 31st St Br and head back to Two Frays.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 8th - Frigid Bitch 2017

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: 2017 was the only year that the FB featured split timed checkpoints, reflected on this route by the double loop we make around the East End. Start with a quick up-and-down to the Bud Harris Cycling track (we’ll do a lap cuz why not), then a relatively flat long rev-up on our first hit of the East End before dropping down 31st St Br for the first real challenge: Rialto St (the easiest of the Dirty Dozen hills!). Take a breather thru the North Side til a nice steady climb up Brighton, a fun descent down Woods Run where we’ll take the Penitentiary Trail over the Duq Br to the Point. Back on that inescapable Eliza Furnace Trail to hit Phipps, then one last swing out to the East End to the Highland Park Reservoir.

B-pace route: Cuts out the steady climb up Brighton and the long way back on the Penitentiary Trail, heading thru downtown instead to catch the Eliza Furnace. Optional end of ride cut: anyone done before the HP Res can swing left on Coral from Negley and head straight back to Two Frays.

C-pace route: 10-mile no-drop loop through the East End, featuring 2 mild hills - short and punchy up Bunker Hill to the Highland Park Reservoir and a longer steady climb up Wilkins into Oakland.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 15th - Frigid Bitch 2018

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: Starts with some easy rolling hills through the East End before climbing up Stanton and descending to Butler St, where we’ll do a little back-roading before popping over to the rt 28 side of the Allegheny River and hoisting our bikes up the Troy Hill steps. Why stop there? More steps!: The West End Br pedestrian tunnel is next, taking us to the Station Square trail, to the South Side trail, across the Birmingham Br and up to the Hill District Water Tower. A final winding descent down Herron drops us at a final climb up Liberty and back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the West End Br and entire South Side chunk of the route. Instead, riders will take the 16th St Br and climb the backside of Polish Hill to the Water Tower. From there, the route drops down Blessing St to the Bloomfield Br - at the bottom of Blessing, hike your bike up the steps to the pedestrian over pass to access the Bloomfield Br sidewalk!  

C-pace route: From Two Frays to the Wheel Mill via the Neighborway, Negley and the East Liberty Ave bike lanes. Swing back around for a steady climb up and then down Stanton Ave to the Button, then back up to Two Frays via the Allegheny Cemetery.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 22th - Frigid Bitch 2019

Start: Corner of Penn & Winebiddle

Fnish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: Features some fun winding roady sections and some long climbs to city overlooks with glorious downhills. Start with a secret cut thru the Allegheny Cemetery, to a short steep cobbled hill on the outskirts of Chatham University, a quick offroad dip into Frick Park and a long time trial down Beechwood Blvd. A super fun fast windy downhill thru Schenley takes us back to Oakland, where a super fun straight blast down Fifth Ave stops on a dime to hike up the Mohawk St steps, turn around and cross the Birmingham Br. The South Side trail pops us out at a sidewalk slog up PJ McArdle to the most famous overlook, then drop down one of the nicest Dirty Dozen hills (Sycamore) to cut through downtown and back up to another overlook. Oops we’re going down a Dirty Dozen hill again! Suffolk takes us to East St, the trail, a really lovely pedestrian bridge to Herrs Island where we’ll off-road a little bit to the park at the point (not The Point). Once more over 31st but instead of Liberty-ing it back just yet, we’ve got some back roads (pothole alert) swooping us under the Bloomfield Br before we cut across Bloomfield back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the cemetery jaunt, the off-roading in Frick Park, replaces the bomb down Fifth Ave with a less dramatic but still fun bomb down Swineburn, keeps the Grandview Overlook climb but cuts out the Fineview Overlook climb.

C-pace route: Hit 5 checkpoints this week by sneaking down the Neighborway and Negley Ave to a cobbled climb up Murray Hill, then a quick out-and-back for a Frick Park choose-your-own-adventure (on/off bike) on the trail. Cut through Shadyside and swoop under the Bloomfield Bridge for a backroad pothole wonderland, then a one-two punch of bridges (30th&31st). A nice interim of flat trail before oh, it’s another bridge (40th) and a zig zag cut up Lawrenceville takes us back towards Two Frays. Optional cemetery add-on to hit the Boob Tomb for the  voyeuristic.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 29th - Frigid Bitch 2020

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: First, a descent - towards downtown, under the convention center, via the rainbow waterfall underpass. Then, a flat - to Bicycle Heaven, home of the Peewee Herman bike. Next, a climb - up the South Side slopes, to the St Michael’s Cemetery. From there, another descent! This time through a backway down to the park and back into the SS Flats. Hot Metal takes us back up thru the Hallow, clear across the East End, across the Highland Park bridge and up to the Aspinwall Firestation, at the foothills of another DD hill. Back across the river, a short steep climb to some city steps, then a long steady climb thru the cemetery brings us back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the Aspinwall Fire Station. Opts to climb Stanton instead, and drops down the hill to the take the Duncan St steps in reverse.

C-pace route: Dirty Jones returns for a short jaunt around the East End. Optional addition of the Highland Park loop.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here