#Sleet Alpine

[fragmenthunters]

Fragments chapter 14

I think Tahlia wins the flower contest. ^v^

This is the last page of the comic for now. Thanks for reading.

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

in the dark of the longest night

elriel month prompt three: happy solstice

A special thank you to @duskcowboy for this collaboration! She approached me with her absolutely stunning idea for art and asked me if I'd be interested in telling the story behind her commission, promptly knocking me out of my writing slump. It was a pleasure working on this with you & PLEASE check out the stunning artwork that goes along with this fic here.

It was well past midnight as Elain knelt on the cool stone tiles of the small patio just outside her bedroom, the square paved alcove smattered with a collection of decorative pots that she attentively cared for. Her fingers had grown frigid and cold from the frost, but she continued her work, brushing the freshly fallen snow from the leaves of her beloved plants.

Elain had always been able to adapt to most conditions and environments with ease. Her ability to read a room and conduct herself with a graceful poise not many possessed was a strength of its own. She was able to flourish both in the spotlight and on the sidelines and was content to do both. However, every year since her arrival to Velaris, she found herself quietly savouring the dark tranquillity that was so unique to the night of Winter Solstice.

As a human, she’d always missed the flowers whenever the winters would roll around, the lands left grey and covered in sleet for months below the wall. But here, in Prythian, she’d been introduced to varieties of flowers that would thrive and bloom even in the dead of winter. Not many, and not in any massive palette of colour, but the few she was able to collect were still better than the arid dirt flowerbeds that she’d been forced to tolerate in her former life.

Snowdrops, Alpine Roses, Winter Aconites, Glory of the Snow; she had gathered their various bulbs and planted them all. Some were currently mere green seedlings, the frosts of Solstice a tad too harsh for their needs. Others had already sprouted, boasting their starry blue, pink and white petals, the bright blooms peeking through the ice. 

Elain had enjoyed tending to her small garden in the winter, taking to simply wrapping herself in her fur-lined blue cape and heading out to her courtyard to check on the plants’ progress. The garden exuded a different type of silence and serenity in the winter. It wasn’t riotous and alive like it was in the summer, nor in the metamorphosis of its rebirth like the spring, but rather a steady and muted calm which helped her slow her racing mind.

So, when sleep would elude her like it often did these days, she’d find herself out on her small patio in the moonlight, hands caked with frosty earth to pass the darkest lonely hours. 

Still dressed in the fine amethyst gown she’d worn for the Solstice party, Elain was crouched beside a large pot of her favourite winter blooms, her Black Tulips. She smiled at the striking obsidian flowers, the deep, opulent colour of the petals so at odds with the freshly fallen white snow that delicately clung to its folds. The merchant in the Palace who had sold her the bulbs had told her they were also known colloquially in Velaris as Queen of the Night. The thought made her smile.

As she continued her work in the tranquillity of the quiet night, the crunch of snow under a heavy boot made her freeze momentarily, before a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She knew he was more than adept at masking his presence, ensuring he could gather that all important sensitive information without the possibility of being found. No, he could move through this world without producing a single sound. That misstep was solely for her benefit, an indication for her ears alone, to enlighten her to his presence in the dead of the longest night.

From her position on the patio, she glanced towards the vast gardens of the river house beyond her stone balustrade and spotted the handsome Shadowsinger striding toward her private courtyard. He was still clad in his Solstice finery too, the tailored black jacket hugging his warrior’s physique splendidly, the lapels falling open to reveal a fine black shirt beneath that did little to conceal the swells of his muscled chest. He wore an easy smile, his siphons gleaming atop his scarred hands in the night as his shadows trailed behind him like wisps of dark mist.

Arriving at the edge of her small terrace, he halted. His wings remained tucked in tight behind his back but the image he created, as if he had been born from the night—materialised from the very corners of darkness— was not lost on Elain as she stared up at him from her crouched position. 

“Everyone turned in rather early this year,” he offered as an explanation for his appearance.

It had indeed been a shorter affair than years past. They had still made it past midnight as they usually would, but she too had noticed Cassian and Nesta slink off shortly after Feyre’s birthday cake had been served. Feyre and Rhys had followed not far behind as Nyx had finally fallen asleep in a sugar induced coma on his father’s shoulder, his plump lips open and frosting smeared across his rosy cheeks. Mor had been eager to open another bottle of wine and lingered for a while longer, but soon everyone else had dispersed to their various accommodations.

Feyre and Nesta had never been ones to relish in a party, and Feyre still shied away from celebrating her birthday. She also supposed those who were happily mated couldn’t wait to be alone once more. 

A small pang of jealousy needled its way into her heart to nestle beside the happiness she felt for both her sisters at the thought. It wasn’t their fault, but she did envy them for being able to openly be with the one they truly loved… That in their��cases, the Cauldron, or the Mother— or whatever deity that deemed itself important enough to pull the strings of fate— had indeed chosen correctly.

Standing from her crouch she dusted her hands off on her cape and tucked her cold hands inside its warm pockets.

“I suppose they were just eager to be alone once more,” she offered slyly, hinting at some of the couples’ very public displays of affection. 

It wasn’t unusual for Feyre and Nesta to be affectionate towards their mates, but for some reason, she found it particularly hard to witness around the Solstice holiday. Elain pushed thoughts of longing aside. She was getting good at doing so.

Azriel huffed a laugh in response. “Mated couples can be quite insufferable.”

Indeed. But she just smiled knowingly in response, the secret glances they had traded and eyerolls they had stifled throughout the Solstice festivities earlier in the evening sparking a warm glow in her chest. It was nice to know he understood her.

Azriel came another step closer, and it was then that she noticed he had been carrying something in his hands, her gaze catching on what he held between his fingers.

“In all the haste, I didn’t get the chance to show you these.”

He held out his hand, offering Elain what she could only describe as a bunch of thin, rolled up paper straws, about eight inches long.

She glanced from the paper sticks in his hands and back to his face, trying to mask the utter confusion she felt at his perplexing offering, not wanting to offend him or seem ungrateful for the strange gift.

Slowly reaching out her hand to take one, she asked tentatively, “Sorry, but— what are they?”

Azriel smiled, a dimple appearing in his smooth cheek as his head tilted to the side, his dark hair falling into hazel eyes. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Elain never tired of it.

“They’re called fire flowers. They’re an old tradition from the Winter Court and customary at times of celebration. I thought you’d appreciate them.”

Elain’s confusion only grew. Fire flowers? She had never heard of such a thing.

“Do I…plant them?”

Azriel chuckled this time, his hazel eyes gleaming in the surrounding darkness.

“Let me show you,” he responded simply. 

Separating one of the paper straws from the bundle and handing Elain the rest, he removed a flint from his pocket, lighting the end of the stick and then holding it out before him.

At first nothing happened, or so she thought, until she noticed a small round red bud at the tip Azriel had lit. The small droplet glowed in the darkness where Azriel held the fire flower between them. Before she had much time to ponder on it however, a spark shot out from the lit tip like a small slash of lightening in the night sky, startling Elain and causing her to jump a surprised step back. The spark was followed by another and another and another; streaks of light flying in all directions with the radiant bud glowing at its centre.

Elain’s mouth popped open into a delicate O at the glittering display. The sparks looked like petals.

The fire petals danced and fizzed as the stick held between Azriel’s fingers withered until they finally slowed down in momentum and waned, the dark night enveloping them once more in its embrace.

Elain stared at the place where the fire flower had glowed, so bright and majestic for all of a few brief moments before it had been swallowed into the veil of darkness once more. It had been there one second, and the next…gone.

An unexpected, nostalgic feeling of melancholy threatened to engulf her. How could something so bright, so joyful, only be granted such a fleeting moment in time to shine?

The thoughts came crashing down upon her suddenly, but she allowed them to take their course. They seemed poignant in this moment. 

It elicited thoughts of her human life, so brief and fleeting. And although her new life in this fae body was something she had well-adjusted to since, she still found herself wondering sometimes, what if?

Overcome with emotion, her bright eyes lined with unshed tears, she looked up at Azriel. “May I try one?”

He smiled, his handsome face a display of heart-shattering beauty. “Do you really like them?” he asked somewhat trepidatiously. 

She’d never known the spymaster to be unsure of himself. She smiled again, broadly this time. She needed him to know how meaningful his gift was, regardless of the size of its gesture. He had clearly thought she would enjoy them, and he was right.

“I love them. Azriel, thank you.”

His shoulders sagged slightly, as if he had been holding his breath for her reaction, but he didn’t say another word as he edged closer to her, striking the flint once more, the small sparks enough to light the end of the fire flower.

This time Elain watched with wide eyes as the glowing bud slowly formed, growing on the end of her straw before the sparkling petals started dancing and crackling quietly in the night, before its bright light once again waned and ultimately winked out. 

Life, death, rebirth.

Elain shivered at the thought and Azriel, mistaking her reaction as a result of the cold air, sidled up to her and wrapped a mighty wing around. His proximity warmed her almost immediately as he sheltered her from the icy wind. She tilted her head up and gave him a soft smile of thanks, her thick unbound curls cascading down her back with the movement. Hazel eyes met her own as a flash of heat passed between them, but he just offered her his own dimple-popping smile in return.

Azriel lit sparkler after sparkler for them as they spent the remainder of the long night outside. Snow had begun to softly fall around them, but they barely noticed it quietly blanketing the world around them. Elain and Azriel simply relished in each other’s presence amongst the flowers and nightfall, conversation flowing freely once more between the Shadowsinger and the Seer.

*******

EM tag list:

@waternymphia

@shedoessoshedoes

@nightcourtseer

@tealeaves-and-rosepetals

@jasmineandshadows

@zdenkah

@dottielovegood

@casuallivi

@azrielslight

@ultadverb

@tswaney17

@batboyazriel

@duskwhisperer

@thoughtsaboutshows

@mardereads19

@a-frog-with-a-laptop

@123moiaussi

@reverie-tales

@britishwings

@glasscupsss

@gracie-rosee

@massiveattackangel

@thesistersarcheron

@dreamsandwings

@shadowflorecita

@elainsweetcobalt

@demarogue

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@elrielbaby

@happy-go-lucky-fangirl

@nivem565

@broodybatboy

@edanmaia

@booksnightowl

@saz-griffin

@swankii-art-teacher

@elriel-month

[unicorn-names]

Unicorn Name suggestions - Cold

Nouns

Arctic

Alpine

Avalanche

Blizzard

Frost

Flurry

Glacier

Hail

Ice

Polar / Polar Bear

Snow / Snowflake / Snowfall

Sleet

Tundra

Winter

[v-0w0-v]

words that are good:

aioli, parasaurolophus, sternocleidomastoid, green, pickled, dipstick, horseradish, sixteen, bacteriophage, handheld, potpourri, dimple, preen, electricity, elderberry, chapstick, grapefruit, jettison, alleviate, dopamine, psychosomatic, elf, egg, plethora, octopus, banana, squid, squad, beefsteak, laminate, beanstalk, gondola, pig, hog, swine, conglomerate, potato, squalor, blastocyst, because, dingbat, molecule, particle, grass, anemone, pragmatic, crone, doghouse, pustule, boardwalk, mermaid, raspberry, balderdash, enjoy, lightswitch, scrotum, platter, capricious, petrichor, manticore, beast, grapes, cry, beanbag, lighthouse, carriage, doctor, pocket, charge, animal, bladder, skin, delight, podiatrist, pediatrician, glamor, dragoon, schizm, fandangle, whump, funky, puzzle, assortment, nomination, denomination, feather, bingo, lard, asinine, greed, pottery, eleven, trouble, biscuit, cemetery, platter, befouled, plucky, disco, freewheeling, dogma, bunker, plow, glassblown, handcrafted, unique, listicle, testicle, barrel, wedge, gleam, frotting, deluxe, ugly, lipstick, fraternity, eternity, broad, board, puppy, glutton, shifting, bottomless, organ, plaster, alabaster, grafted, ascot, popcorn, graveyard, alpine, modest, untoward, fleece, lungful, startled, mottled, dappled, atrocious, bodacious, figurehead, masterful, glamorous, snaggletoothed, humpback, ubiquitous, sleet, bandage, official, three, beehive, slander, doctorate, boob, number, upwards, classic, dug, blunt, scarfing, poppers, batty, catty, nightly, frontal, juggernaut, tightrope, bloat, goggles, flogging, popemobile, jester, festering, whinny, fickle, dopamine, garbled, gargled, gargoyle, gnarled, freakshow, deity, agony, fiddle, limpid, demure, juggler, anvil, cobbler, ungodly, sticky, pink, dipping, gruff, billygoat, thunderstorm, lopsided, spoonerism, dookie, discombobulated, preferential, pregnant, landslide, dumpster, bumpkin, crone, boner, flowing, boggled, flatulence, mattress, poop, dirt, five, bungalow, flattery, grabbing, formula, dork, glovebox, tunnel, mountain, dwarves, orangutan, tripwire, movie, fleeting, baby, teacup, oblong, oblivious, darting, plop, foppish, argument, dingaling, ringtone, marketplace, apple, delight, hand, weiner, wobble, bobblehead, granular, eighteen, unstoppable, possibility, freakish, leap, liposuction, briefcase, dingleberry, alimony, frankenstein, pothead, dracula, graduation, likeness, rhythm, clade, mercurial, dolphin, pervert

words that are bad:

JUST KIDDING NO WORDS ARE BAD!!!!!!!!

except for “podcast“

[alpinefitco]

How to Layer for Winter Weather

I have become quite good at assessing the quality of snow but usually it’s not until evident what I will be dealing with until I’m already packed and out in the backcountry. Too late to turn back, so we soldier on, making the most of what is already packed and the gear we have with us. Wind slab on a backcountry skiing day? Keep moving, stick to the trees if you can. Punchy snow while fat biking? Let some air out of the tires. Such is the nature of winter adventures, unpredictable, often 'type 2' fun. Best to come prepared for a wide variety of challenges. I’ve listed here some of the challenges you might experience and the layering systems that work best for me.

I always bring the clothes on my back plus a backpack with spares or alternatives:

Top: Alpine Fit base layer, thin synthetic puffy mid layer, Gore Tex Shell, down puffy packed

Bottom: Alpine Fit base layer, sometimes fleece shorts if the temperature is super low or my exertion level is minimal, Gore Tex or Schoeller shell

Head: Alpine Fit hat and neck gaiter, goggles, face covering packed for emergency. Usually a backup headband, it's lightweight and great for heavier exertion days

Hands: one pair of lighter gloves and another pair of thick mittens, hand warmers packed

Feet: Wool socks, boots to match your adventure, toe warmers packed or already on if <0F

High Winds

If planning a day at altitude, always best to look at the top of the mountain before you go or at least on your drive. Lenticular clouds (smooth lens-shaped clouds) are a bad sign, expect very high winds. Snow blowing over the top can mean the same but you might find respite in the lee of the mountain. Remember that wind chill drops the perceived temperature significantly and cause frostbite fast so expect to bundle up thoroughly. 3 layers on top minimum, with Alpine Fit base layer shirt, synthetic puffy mid layer, and Gore Tex shell. 2 layers on bottom with Alpine Fit base layer and Gore Tex or Schoeller shell. I use a synthetic puffy because I expect to be sweating and it will dry better and more quickly. I also usually bring a thicker puffy for lunch breaks. On the coldest days I’ll wear my super awesome fleece shorts (custom). Take your neck gaiter and a warm fleece-lined hat. Bring some goggles as well, not just sunglasses. Depending on the temperature (less that -10F) a face mask can be nice, but your neck warmer (or 2) may also work.

Sunny and Calm

These are some of the best days in winter and often the easiest to predict. Sunny weather often follows bad weather and sticks around for a few days giving some stability to the system. It also means a high pressure and cold, so bundle up when you're not moving. This is the best time for your puffiest layers. Bring your Alpine Fit base layers top and bottom. Mid layers include fleece or down shorts on bottom and synthetic/down thin puffy mid, and a shell to lock it in. My thick puffy is big enough to fit over all of that so I don’t have to strip to put it on. A good thick Alpine Fit neck warmer and hat as well of course. You may get away without goggles or face mask but I usually have them in my backpack just in case. Finally, remember that you may not get much solar warmth in the middle of winter, especially in early January; March on the other hand can be quite pleasant.

Wintery Mix

It’s a vague term and I’ll use it here to imply snow, sleet, cold rain, freezing fog etc. These are challenging conditions. Visibility is often poor, the ‘wet cold’ feels colder than it actually is, and the snow conditions can make your preferred mode of travel more difficult. I find I sweat most on these days so expect to be a little damp inside and out so the right fabrics are important. Bring warm footwear, often with toe warmers. The usual Alpine Fit base layer plus synthetic mid layer and a good shell top and bottom. Wear goggles that help in flat light, but they often get fogged or even iced up in these conditions. Make sure all your gear is breathable and it’s okay to take the extra time to adjust layers to maximize ventilation. I often find it helps to move a little slower to prevent excessive perspiration and keep moving to avoid the chill that sets in quickly.

Good luck out there!

[normaleeinsane]

Some characters from my comic, Fragments.

Tahlia and Sleet are having fun putting flowers on Thermal. ^v^

[turtle-steverogers]

steve getting caught in the rain on the way home from work and barging through the front door bangs dripping and cheeks pink and bucky looking up from his spot on the sofa with alpine and thinking i’m fucked

so it's like 1 am and this was going to be something chaotic and smutty but it ended up being a view of steve's pain from the eyes of bucky

oop anway:

In From the Cold

-

From Stevie: Left my key at home. Can you let me in?

Bucky gets the text right before there’s a knock at the front door, and he presses to his feet, shifting Alpine off his lap. It takes a moment to undo all the latches and locks, and by the time he does, Steve has knocked again-- sharper. Frantic. Bucky frowns and opens the door.

“Shit, Steve,” he says, and steps to the side to let Steve in past him.

He’s soaked, straight through to his skin. His hair is plastered to his forehead, clumped and stiff with sleet. His nose and cheeks are bright against his otherwise pale skin, and his lips are a tad blue.

He’s shaking. Hard.

It’s then that Bucky realizes that sleet is coming down outside, the sky blanketed a gloomy grey. The storm had been on the radar, but somehow he’d forgotten about it. Steve, it seemed, had forgotten as well when he’d left for his meeting that morning.

“Yeah,” Steve says, taking off his jacket. His movements are stiff and Bucky reaches out a hand, taking the soaked jacket from him before he can hang it on its hook. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Go ahead and take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash. Do you want a bath?”

Steve swallows, a shudder running visibly through him and Bucky doesn’t need a psych degree to guess what’s going on. Between the wet and the cold, this is hardly Steve’s preferred state to be in. There’s a vacancy in his eyes that makes Bucky’s blood run cold.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Please.”

-

Bucky’s blood runs cold as a cough wracks Steve’s body, and he instinctively listens for a rattle in his lungs. The cough is not dry, though. Silver linings.

His hair is plastered to his forehead, and Bucky curses, reaching out to usher Steve inside. His clothes are soaked and sticking to his frame, hugging him in a way that seems to accentuate his size. Make him look even smaller. He coughs again.

“Jesus, you got a death wish?” Bucky hisses, hands working to unbutton Steve’s shirt-- get the wet fabric off, because it’s going to make him sick and Steve just got over his last fucking cold.

Steve bats his hand away, leveling him with a glare.

“No, shut up,” he says, and the harshness is dampened by the chattering of his teeth. He unbuttons his own shirt and tosses it aside, the bruises on his collarbone from a work mishap earlier that week stark and purple. Bucky wants to reach out and soothe his fingers over them-- kiss them away.

Instead, he goes to his closet and pulls out a clean shirt and some boxer shorts that will be too big on Steve, but at least they’re warm.

“I thought you were seeing your ma,” Bucky says, handing Steve the clothes. Steve strips naked right there in their hallway. He’s unabashed and it makes the lithe lines of his body all the more beautiful.

“I was,” Steve says. It’s clipped and Bucky’s gut twinges. Sarah had gotten sick a week or so ago-- an awful, wracking cough. Bucky had hoped, fucking prayed that it wasn’t the worst. But Sarah worked in a TB ward, and life didn’t seem so kind to the Rogers family. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Shit,” Bucky says.

Steve is dressed now, Bucky’s boxers barely clinging to his hips. He sits down on Bucky’s bed, and Bucky sits, too.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he’s holding himself so tightly that Bucky’s afraid he might snap.

-

Steve holds himself tightly as he sits on the edge of the tub, his eyes on the rising water level, but mind clearly elsewhere. Bucky watches him for a moment as he returns from the laundry room-- watches his chest heave and hands tremble.

He is naked where he sits, and the way he hunches in on himself makes him look smaller. Bucky’s chest aches and he desperately wishes he could reach out and break the spell-- break the hold Steve’s mind seems to have on him right now. But he knows a thing or two about triggers, and he may not know what happened when Steve crashed that plane-- not details anyhow-- but he knows damn well that Steve still isn’t healed from that particular wound. It will likely follow him to his real grave. The pain. The fear. The damning finality of it.

-

And it seems like a final damnation. One not so beautiful as the perdition that was Steve taking Bucky into his body. But a much starker one. As unforgiving as a son losing his mother can be when he’s already lost his father. Steve says he hadn’t cared much when Joseph finally died-- his own faults pulling him under the current. But there’s a shame there that he can’t seem to quell. Regret that runs in the tightness of his eyes, smoldering and masked by a harshness that doesn’t fit the gentleness that is the skin of Steve Rogers. The soul and bones that are so hurt by a world keen on hurting them.

There’s a grief that wants to rise in Bucky’s own chest. Sarah doesn’t deserve this-- he wishes he could change it. Make it untrue. Make it better.

But he can deal with his own shit later. Right now, Steve is hurting and Bucky needs to coax him out of his shell. Lance some of that pain.

His hair is still dripping from the storm outside and Bucky reaches out, brushes his fingers through the sopping strands. Steve looks at him, eyes hollow and shining-- a strange dichotomy.

“Let me run you a bath?”

-

Steve sinks into the bath water, eyes closed as his chest hitches and stutters. He sinks down until the water covers his chest, stops at his chin. And it would be an endearing sight if he didn’t look so damn troubled.

Bucky hesitates.

“Do you want me here? Or would you rather be alone.”

Please God, he thinks. Please let me in. Let me stay. Let me shoulder some of your pain.

Steve’s jaw shifts, then clenches. He battles with himself, caught between the draw of comfort and his own internal walls telling him to close the gates.

Bucky waits.

“Can you wash my hair?” Steve eventually asks.

Bucky smiles. “Of course, pal.”

-

Bucky takes off his shirt so it won’t get wet and kneels by the edge of the tub. Steve leans back to wet his hair. It seems like instinct more than anything. His hair was already pretty damn wet. Bucky picks up the shampoo-- half empty and a little crusted around the cap-- and squirts some out onto his palm.

Lathering it up, he leans closer.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes and Bucky begins to work the shampoo into his hair, pressing his fingers into his scalp, around his temples. Tension seems to ebb out of Steve in increments and Bucky is hopeful for a moment that he’s leaching out some of the shock.

And he must have taken away the numbness, because then Steve is sobbing, and Bucky is cursing softly as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, climbing into the tub behind Steve. He rinses his hair, and doesn’t bother with soft nothings. Because it isn’t okay. And Steve doesn’t deserve dismissal like that.

Instead, he pulls him close and buries his nose in his hair.

-

With practiced hands, Bucky works his coconut shampoo into Steve’s hair. It’s his favorite even if he won’t admit it and never buys it for himself. That’s alright, though. Bucky doesn’t mind sharing.

He feels Steve’s skin warm up-- rinses his hair with rhythmic and soothing touches, skittering his hands down Steve’s shoulders and across his chest as he goes, aiming to ground him. But Steve is not speaking and he is still shaking.

“Steve?” Bucky prompts gently.

Steve looks at him, gaze darting to his eyes, then his cheek, fixating there. A shudder rolls through him and he goes impossibly more pale.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, alarmed, and then Steve’s chest is heaving as his breaths start to speed up. “Shit.”

Bucky strips off his clothes, and climbs into the tub with Steve, keeping a hand on him as he sinks into the water.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, and Steve manages a nod. He’s going to hyperventilate if they don’t get a hold of this now. Bucky pulls Steve back against his chest and buries his nose in his hair. “Breathe with me. Just feel me, Steve. Just feel me and breathe.”

Steve does.

-

Steve is worn out by the time they’re settling in bed, and Bucky shifts him so his head is on his chest. They’re quiet for a long time, watching the sun set, shadows moving across the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” Steve says, his voice hoarse from crying.

Bucky tenses. “I know.”

“I don’t want to lose her.”

Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

There isn’t anything for it. Bucky wants to promise that he won’t leave. That he’ll be there, but Steve knows that and reiterating it will only exacerbate the pain of those who can’t be there for him.

“I’m so tired,” Steve whimpers.

-

“I’m so fucking tired of this,” Steve says as he comes down, voice tight and teeth chattering. At least he’s breathing on his own now.

Then rest, Bucky wants to say. Come in from the cold. Let us help. Let people help.

“I know,” he says instead. “I know, honey. But you did so good just now.”

Steve shrugs. “Can we get out?”

“Sure thing.”

They dry off together, and settle into bed, naked still and wrapped up in each other. Steve settles on his chest, head tucked under Bucky’s chin. An age old position-- Steve will always fit right in Bucky’s arms.

-

Steve falls asleep with his hand clinging to Bucky’s. He usually looks more peaceful when he is resting, but now his mouth is turned down-- the lines of his face seem to deepen. He looks much older than he actually is, but Bucky has always sort of thought that. Steve, he thinks, has had to grow up too fast.

There’s a moment where Steve seems to drift awake, eyes opening then shutting again. He makes a soft noise and shifts closer to Bucky.

Bucky holds him and prays he feels held.

-

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says. It was worth a shot.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Can I do anything?”

Steve swallows, arms tightening around Bucky’s middle. “Just hold me?”

“Of course,” Bucky says, and he hitches Steve closer, kisses the top of his head.

“This helps,” Steve whispers, and Bucky holds his breath. “You holding me. It feels safe.”

“I’m so glad,” Bucky says. His throat feels tight and he ducks his head to kiss Steve’s temple. It settles something in him, knowing Steve feels safe in his arms. “I’ll always hold you.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs!

[aurumacadicus]

Avatar: The Last Airbender AU!

Welp, this is the last one! Sorry if I didn’t get yours, guys. Hopefully the next ask meme I won’t get overwhelmed by lol.

Don’t come at me if you don’t agree with these because you are welcome to make your own A:TLA AUs!

Tony’s parents die, but he’s too young to take the throne and become Fire Lord, so that falls to his godfather, Obadiah. Tony tries to tell Obadiah that he wants to end the war, because he’s never understood why they had to be at war. His ancestors had wiped out the airbenders for no reason other than for power; he doesn’t want greed to be his legacy. To his confusion and dismay, Obadiah takes that as a showing of weakness from their future Fire Lord and forces Tony to submit to Agni Kai. Tony doesn’t want to fight, because Obadiah had been more of a father to him than Howard ever was. Obadiah apparently has no such compunctions, and strikes Tony directly in the chest with a force of fire so intense that he’s knocked out instantly. When he wakes up, he thinks he should have died. But Jarvis, who had always served Howard so faithfully, simply leans over him and changes the bandages on his chest. Tony decides if he’s going to suffer in pain until he heals, he’ll make it worth it--he’ll make silent plans and consider Obadiah’s possible moves. Then, once he’s better... he’ll make Obadiah pay.

Steve and Bucky are airbenders who flee as soon as as the Fire Nation attacks. They don’t want to, but Steve is the next Avatar and Bucky needs to make sure he survives. So they go. Of all the things that hinders them, it’s a storm. “Steve, I don’t think we’re gonna make it!” Bucky calls over the sleet, trying to guard his eyes while simultaneously trying to steer Alpine. “We’re gonna make it,” Steve decides. Bucky turns to give him some lethal squinting and nearly falls off of Alpine when he sees Steve’s eyes glowing. “Steve!?” “We’re gonna make it,” Steve says again firmly, just before Alpine hits the ocean’s surface.

Natasha, a waterbender, finds them. Clint, her non-bender-kind-of-brother-when-it-suits-her (Clint’s term, not hers, she’d just call him adoptive sibling if he let her) tries to tell her that they shouldn’t do anything and just forget they saw the Avatar. No one would believe them anyway, after all. “He can end the war,” Natasha says simply, because the war has hurt both of them in irreparable ways. “Yeah, okay,” Clint sighs, and then knocks on the iceberg with his bow. “Hey! Time to wake the fuck up, sleepyheads! It’s Clint’s turn to sleep for a hundred years!” “Clint,” Natasha chokes out, unsure whether she’s appalled or amused.

Bruce is an earthbending master from the Earth Kingdom, and Thor is a firebending master from a small village called Asgard that favors the advanced technique of lightningbending over actual firebending; as a bonus, it ends confrontations quickly, before Bruce can get angry and unleash everything he was taught from his uncle, Bumi. Tony finds them and begs Thor to teach him how to lightningbend. Also a lot of people aren’t aware that lightningbending is related to firebending, and firebenders are not... favored outside of the Fire Nation. “Why should I teach a deposed Fire Lord an advanced technique?” Thor asks him stiffly. He only has enough time to watch Tony’s eyes go big and hurt before he tries to back away before a hand grabs the collar of Thor’s robe and yanks him down. “Agh!” “Because I am asking you nicely,” Jarvis tells Thor politely, but in a way that definitely makes him fear for his health. Then he lets Thor go, turning to brush imaginary dust from Tony’s shoulders instead. “He’ll start teaching you in the morning, sir.” “Um,” Tony says, but Jarvis is already bullying ushering him back to their tent. Bruce and Thor stare after them for a moment before Bruce finally, gently knocks his knuckles against Thor’s shoulder. “So, guess you’re gonna be teaching him tomorrow morning, huh?” “I don’t know if my testicles will have descended from my body again by then,” Thor admits, and Bruce laughs. “I’d heard that even the servants in the Fire Lord’s castle were deadly, but this... this is something else.” Bruce takes in the way that Tony looks up at Jarvis with rapt attention while Jarvis talks about tea and feels something in him soften. “I’m sure if he had the knowledge, he’d teach Tony himself. I think it’s safe to teach him,” he adds thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure I watched him sink a Fire Nation warship singlehandedly.” “Nice,” Thor says before he can stop himself, and Bruce laughs again.

Of course, they have to cross paths sometime. Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint immediately draw their weapons when they realize that Tony is Prince Anthony. Tony starts to put his fists up, but Thor grabs him by the scruff and drags him back with a squawk, instead stepping in front of him to hide him with the bulk of his body. “Now is not the time for an altercation,” he says, struggling to remain cordial. “And we’re supposed to trust firebenders about that?” Steve scoffs. “You’re the reason all of this happened.” Thor feels Tony flinch against his back and opens his mouth to tell Steve that that is absolutely not the case, but then he notices Bruce going very, very still beside him. “Bruce,” he says quickly, but isn’t fast enough, because the ground begins to rumble ominously. “What did you just say,” Bruce hisses. “...Uh,” Steve begins, because he may be full of righteous anger, but he also has some self-preservation skills. “I’ll make some tea,” Jarvis says pleasantly, walking over to the side of the road and out of the way. “Come along, sir. I’ll teach you how to make a nice, soothing lavender tea.” “Gross,” Tony answers, but trots after him obediently when Thor hurriedly shoos him away. “Bruce,” Thor says again, slowly lifting his hands. He’s not fast enough, because Bruce lifts his foot and then slams it back on the ground, sending several large boulders up into the air to hover over their opponents. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY,” Bruce roars, and Bucky immediately blurts out, “Fuck, I knew you’d get me killed one day Steve and I wish it had been in a war,” before they have to make a break for it. “THE WAR STARTED DECADES BEFORE EVEN TONY’S PARENTS WERE BORN YOU STUPID FUCK,” Bruce thunders, chasing after them.

Bonus: Bruce sets everyone straight but he’s still fuming about it when he gets back. “They said you could pet their buffalo.” “Is that a euphemism,” Tony begins, confused, and then gasps when he sees the flying buffalo lumbering behind the chastised group. “It’s like a koala sheep!” “Alpine is... way bigger than a koala sheep,” is all Bucky can manage to say. “I’m gonna put my face in him,” Tony adds seriously, and then gets up and walks directly into Alpine’s side, where he stays for several minutes. Finally, Clint says, “He’s not gonna suffocate like that, right?” Steve squawks and rushes over to yank him out because Bucky just sort of squints and shrugs his shoulders, and the last thing they need is Bruce, Thor, or Jarvis getting mad because they let Tony smother himself.

[pcttrailsidereader]

Looking Back

I know this is going to make me sound a bit on the ancient side but to me it was as if it was just a little beyond yesterday. On July 18, 1981 my hiking partners Jim Peacock and Rees Hughes arrived at Stevens Pass, Washington. We had started our hike from the Columbia River and walked north. We had thirty days to get as far as we could. 

This hike represented the longest any of us had ever backpacked. We had dreamed this hike up the winter before. With the best intentions, truth be told, the three of us were really untested in so many ways. Among the things we shared in common were a love for the outdoors, laughing, and openly thinking out loud. As for genuine ‘backcountry skills’ we represented various states of Boy Scout skill. 

Rees had become friends with Jim when they worked together at Seattle University and I had come to know Rees through his now wife, Amy back in Kansas before moving to Washington. Jim and I ultimately met through Rees and a lasting friendship was born. Setting out from the Columbia we were embarking on an epic hike and what turned out to be a a never ending story. 

Arriving at Stevens Pass was significant. We had come more than halfway to our eventual destination at Rainy Pass. After experiencing a challenging start shaped by heavy packs we soon came to terms with lots of snow getting around Mount Adams and inches of volcanic ash from the recently erupted Mount St. Helens. This was followed by relentless rain and sleet forcing me to decide if I had what this trail demanded. 

By Alpine Lakes Wilderness the thought of leaving Rees and Jim was not an option. No matter what Mother Nature had in store my companions would help me see the bright side. With building physical strength and deepening appreciation for Jim and Rees, I felt we were ‘cruising’. We were in a groove. This was a groove I had never experienced before and have embraced many times since. 

There was a lone pay phone in the parking lot of the ski area at the Pass. We took turns calling loved ones back home or far away. When I called my parents I learned they had narrowly escaped the collapse of a sky bridge over a lobby of hotel they had gone to for a dance the night before. How many times have I wondered the direction this trip might have gone if I had learned they were injured or dead? Fortunately they and I didn’t have to face that potential fate. 

A cyclist rode up to us as we were going through our resupply box in the parking lot. He had an avocado and an orange. We had an abundance of gorp. A match made in heaven!! After three weeks of camp food a fresh ‘anything’ was like striking gold. We bid him farewell as he nosed over the pass on his way to Leavenworth empowered by our nuts and raisins and we buoyed by the sweet orange and delicious avocado on crackers.  

Forty years later, the world is a different place, as it should be. Life goes on. Today we are facing more people than ever on the PCT. Fires and fire related closures are getting more commonplace. Snow in the high country is a hit and miss proposition. The bugs are still out there. The sunrises and sets are still spectacular and the ups and downs of the trail continue to be noted and talked about by those who know or are curious. 

Looking back, I am so grateful I stayed on the trail and stayed with my friends. In the ensuing years we have spent more time together on the PCT. We continue to bask in the glow of our memories and the new experiences that we share. I am convinced to look behind is just as important has looking ahead. So often in the rush of life we forget or fail to acknowledge our past and the influence that lies back there. Seems to me it was only yesterday...or was it the day before? 

[sparkvia]

Winter words

Wintertide - wintertime

Hibernal, brumal, hiemal - related to winter

Prevernal - before spring

Flurry - light, brief snowfall

Sleet - frozen or partly frozen rain

Hailshaft - region of intense rain and hail accompanied by a strong downdraft

Whiteout - blizzard

Blustery - accompanied by strong wind

Dewpoint - temperature where water vapor condenses to become dew

Frost point - temperature where water vapor condenses to become frost

Hoarfrost - dewdrops that have frozen

Black ice - thin layer of clear ice on a surface

Permafrost - permanently frozen ground

Toasty - pleasantly warm

Nippy - rather cold

Gelid - very cold

Glacial - cold and icy, having the appearance of ice

Baltic - extremely cold

Boreal - related to the north

Alpine - related to mountains

Timberline - limit beyond which trees don’t grow on mountains

Luge - a sled ridden with the rider lying on their back

[lavellenchanted]

as long as you love me so (let it snow)

When Peggy drives up to her friend Natasha’s ski cabin for a Christmas party, she ends up snowed in with her ex-boyfriend Steve, who she’s still hopelessly in love with. Modern AU, 7,079 words, rated R. 

My gift for the absolutely wonderful @beautifulwhensarcastic​ for Steggy Secret Santa 2019 - a Christmas fic filled with every trope I could think of!

I hope you enjoy it, Justine, and a very merry Christmas to you! 

Peggy sighed with relief when she saw the cabin lights in the distance.

Sleet was beginning to come down thick and fast, obscuring the view through the windscreen almost as fast as the wipers could clear it, and she had already used up a significant portion of her vocabulary of swear words negotiating the very narrow, very windy road up here. At least she wasn’t going to end up with her car stuck in a snowbank and having to trudge the rest of the way on foot.

Honestly, trust Natasha to be holding a Christmas get-together out here in the middle of bloody nowhere with a snowstorm threatening. If anyone complained she would probably just say this was nothing compared to winters back in Russia.

Which, fair enough, might be true, but didn’t do anything to make this particular storm any easier to drive through.

From what she could tell through the hazy darkness as she drew closer, the cabin itself looked like something out of an alpine resort brochure; a stone-built foundation topped with logs, with a wrap-around porch and surrounded on all sides by evergreen trees. Peggy could easily have been believed she was driving up to an upscale resort rather than just her friend’s weekend getaway.

Expecting to be the last one there, she was surprised to see only one other vehicle in the driveway, a truck that the snow was already starting to settle on. Nor was there any sign of anyone inside, despite the fire crackling away on the grate and the soft golden glow of the lights that had guided her here.

Well, with the weather so bad, perhaps it was just a slow start.

Grabbing her things off the passenger seat – coat, handbag and large plastic bag containing a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates, her mother’s mantra of never show up to a party empty-handed drilled deep enough into her that even on the threshold of thirty she couldn’t fight the compulsion to obey – Peggy climbed out of the car and immediately reached for some as yet unused swear words as the icy wind barrelled into her, biting at her bare face and hands and whipping sleet into her face and hair.

Deeply regretting her choice of open-toed heels, she hurried up the drive to the door and knocked heavily. When it swung open she practically dived inside, eager to be in the warmth, not even looking up to see who had opened it but assuming it was Natasha and saying snappishly as she shook the snow from her hair:

“Honestly, could you have picked a more inconvenient place for this party? What’s wrong with the city? And yes, it’s no Siberia, but it’s still –”

The words stopped dead in her mouth as she turned on her heel and realised she wasn’t glaring at Natasha but at someone much taller, much broader, and much blonder.

“ – oh.” She swallowed. “Hello, Steve.”

Steve Rogers, former US Army Captain, now an up and coming artist working out of a warehouse in Brooklyn, and at one time the man that Peggy had thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with, gave a small, wry smile.

“Hey, Peg.”

For a moment all she could do was stand there and stare at him, wondering if she was in the middle of a dream or a nightmare.

Finally she managed to get out, “Sorry about that – I thought you were Natasha.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve said, shifting from foot to foot.

“Where is she?” Relieved to hear the customary briskness had returned to her voice, she threw her shoulders back as if nothing was amiss – as if seeing Steve stood in front of her wasn’t sending her pulse into overdrive, or causing a sharp ache in her chest – and held up the bag in her hands. “I brought a little something for her.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Don’t go to a party without something for the host.”

She smiled back, but it was strained. “Exactly.”

“Right, well. The thing is, she’s not here.”

“What do you mean, she’s not here? This is her house. It’s her party -”

Swinging her hand round to demonstrated, Peggy came up short once more as she realised that there was, in fact, no one else around. The living room the door had opened on to was empty apart from the furniture and the fire, and from the look of the open door across the room there was no one in the kitchen either. Nor was there any sign of a party – no food or drink, no decorations, no music. Just very palpable quiet tangling around herself and Steve.

“No one else has got here yet,” Steve explained, a little unnecessarily. “I guess they’re having trouble with the weather. It’s, uh, it’s just us.”

Just us.

Slowly, stiffly, Peggy nodded, aware that she was holding herself unnaturally still and that Steve would have noticed her eyes flickering towards the door as she considered simply cutting her losses and going home. The wind chose that moment to give another howl and batter the wooden walls of the cabin, making them shake a little – perhaps protesting her thoughts, perhaps echoing them.

Her gaze trailed back to Steve. His forehead had furrowed over his blue eyes, and although he was smiling she knew him well enough to know it was forced and see the set of his jaw.

She pulled out the bottle of wine she had brought.

“We could have a drink while we wait?”

“. . . that sounds like a really good idea.”

***

It was thanks to Natasha that they had first met.

As much as Peggy liked to consider herself cultured, and could easily have spent whole weekends wandering through New York’s art museums, an indie art show in Brooklyn would never have even been on her radar if the artist in question hadn’t been the childhood best friend of Natasha’s boyfriend. Eager to make sure his first show was a success, they had roped all their friends and colleagues into attending – including Peggy, who worked with Natasha at Fury, Coulson and Hill.

(One day soon, Peggy was determined, it would be Fury, Coulson, Hill and Carter.)

With no plans and therefore no legitimate excuse to get out of it, Peggy had reluctantly dragged herself through to Brooklyn. She had expected maybe some aspiring bohemian in oversized glasses and a hipster beanie, whose abstract modern art would be completely indecipherable but was assuredly deep and meaningful.

When she walked into the large, converted warehouse, however, what she found was breath-taking.

The canvases that covered the walls were a mix of landscapes and figures, obviously captured from everyday sketches throughout New York – there were people dashing for the subway, pausing at a newsstand or watching buskers play for coins. And the landscapes ignored all the most famous sights of the city, no Empire State building or Rockefeller Center, or Statue of Liberty, but back streets and neighbourhoods most people walked past without seeing. Captured in materials from pastels and charcoal to vivid oil paints and dreamy watercolours, each piece seemed to her to have captured some of the soul and essence of New York. It was easy to see they had all come from the hands of someone who truly loved his city.

Only one wasn’t of New York. A darker piece, lines harsher than the other pictures, it depicted a bleak, burning landscape, smoke lingering on the horizon. There were two figures in the middle of it: one a soldier, in helmet and bulletproof vest, gun in his hands, the other a child, in rags, looking up at him.

Peggy was gazing thoughtfully at it when she felt someone come up beside her. Glancing to her left, her overwhelming impression was of height, shoulders and sandy blond hair.

“Most people are just skipping over this one,” he commented, voice rich and low. 

“Then they’re missing out.”

“You like it?”

She considered her answer. “I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word. I don’t know if I’d want it hanging on my wall. But . . . it’s powerful. I feel it, more than liking it. Which is rather what art’s supposed to do, don’t you think?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile at that, and made a quick calculation.

“It does stand out, compared to the rest of the pieces.”

He nodded. “That’s true.”

“So why did you include it?” she asked.

That surprised him into turning to look fully at her, and Peggy’s breath caught slightly in her throat as for the first time she got the full impact of his blue eyes being fixed intently on her; there was warmth and friendliness there, but something more, almost assessing. The thought idly struck her that she would have quite liked to stay there for a while working it out.

“What gave it away?”

It was a fair question. Nothing about him immediately indicated that he was the artist – no paint stains on hands or fingers, no name badge or air of satisfaction as he stood watching everyone admire his work. The plaid shirt and jeans he was wearing were more suited to a lumberjack than the bohemian hipster Peggy had been imagining – not that she was going to complain about it, given how well they fit him.

“Just something in your voice. You didn’t sound like a neutral observer.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re good at reading people.”

Although it was impossible for him to know anything about her, somehow it wasn’t a question. Peggy still felt the need to answer, though.

“I am. My job needs me to be.” She shrugged, then lifted an eyebrow. “So? Why include it?”

Realising his evasion hadn’t worked, Steve grinned, then looked for a moment at the painting before turning to her with a musing, thoughtful expression. “Most of my work is a celebration of the city. But I guess I felt like while we were celebrating what we have here, we shouldn’t forget what’s out there.”

A shadow flickered briefly over his face, and Peggy remembered that Natasha or Bucky had told her that he had been in service for several years.

Quietly, she replied, “I don’t think we should either. But if that’s what you want to say, then you should say it. With more than one painting. Don’t make it easy for them to ignore.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but his gaze met hers and for a moment that seemed to stretch out into hours – or perhaps it was just that the room around them had slowed down - they stood looking at each other.

Until an arm was slung round Peggy’s shoulders and she was jolted out of her thoughts to see Natasha beside her, Bucky not far behind.

“Oh, good, you two have met,” Natasha said cheerfully. “Listen, Bucky and I were thinking we should go out after this, to properly celebrate your first show. What do you think?”

“C’mon, it’s the only first show you’ll ever have,” Bucky added.

“Sure, why not?” Steve nodded, then looked directly at Peggy. “You in?”

***

A proper celebration turned out to entail much drinking, dancing and general merriment. Peggy had laughed, had fun, gotten rather tipsy and had ended the night in Steve Rogers’ bed. The discovery that his hands, which had lavished so much care and attention on his paintings, were just as capable in other ways had been a particularly pleasant one. Much of Peggy’s memory of that night had faded with time, but she didn’t think she would ever forget running her fingers over Steve’s chest for the first time, the feeling of his mouth soft and flush against hers, the surprising gentleness given his size and strength.

That had been the beginning of a year of bliss, and only the first of many nights – and days – they spent in bed, wrapped around each other and exploring each other’s bodies.

(Steve, it had to be said, was a particularly fast learner. It wasn’t long until he could have Peggy crying out his name in minutes or keep her on the edge, drawing things out slowly for hours, depending on what mood they were in.)

More than the sex, though, Peggy had never found in anyone what she found in Steve – a real partner. He supported her, challenged her, inspired her. They talked about everything, and her favourite moments with him were the quiet ones, the ones where they were just together. Admittedly there were times he drove her absolutely mad as well, with his impossible stubbornness and righteous temper, and they had their share of arguments. But the good times far outweighed the bad.

Or at least they did for a while.

As the saying went, nothing good ever lasts.

Quite where it started to go wrong, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was when she started taking on bigger cases, that took up more and more of her time. Maybe it was when Steve’s art really started taking off, and he was invited to display his work in exhibitions that took him all over the country, often for weeks at a time. Maybe it was when they stopped making up after every argument and things started festering.

But one day, she realised things had changed. That Steve had pulled away from her, and this time the gap between them was too far for her to bridge.

The next time he left for an exhibit, Peggy moved her things out of his apartment back to her own place in Manhattan.

That had been six months ago, and they hadn’t spoken since.

***

“What do you mean, you’re not coming? It’s your party, or it’s supposed to be.”

After waiting for nearly an hour, Peggy had decided just to call Natasha. That, it turned out, was easier said that done, given both the storm and their remote location – although the fact that there was anywhere in the modern United States that had less than perfect reception was, frankly, ridiculous. Peggy had ended up hauling herself up on to the kitchen counter and standing over the sink by the window in order to get a single bar, and even then Natasha’s voice was breaking up every few words.

“Sorry, but we can’t – the snow’s blocking – get up there even if we wanted,” came the fragmented reply. “There’s food in – planning a long – the party. You should be fine – wait until the storm –”

It wasn’t easy to follow but Peggy got the gist. The roads were blocked so they couldn’t get through the storm. No one could, so she was trapped here. With her ex-boyfriend.

“You know Steve’s here?”

“Steve? Is any – there?”

“No, it’s just us.”

“ – unfortunate. I hope – too awkward.”

Maybe it was the bad connection or Peggy’s imagination, but she had to say she didn’t think Natasha sounded as if she thought it was unfortunate at all.

If it wasn’t for the fact that even Natasha Romanoff couldn’t create a storm out of nowhere, Peggy might have suspected this was a set up.

Even knowing Natasha couldn’t create a storm out of nowhere, she wasn’t entirely willing to rule it out.

“The weather – let up tomorrow or the day after.”

Two nights? Two nights in a remote cabin, snowed in, alone, with Steve Rogers.

Peggy really hoped there was more wine here that just what she had brought with her.

***

A raid of all the cupboards and the fridge in the kitchen showed that at least they wouldn’t starve while they were buried under a ton of snow. Clearly, Natasha and Bucky had been planning on staying at the cabin over Christmas after their party and had stocked up in anticipation. Given the circumstances, Peggy felt absolutely no guilt about plundering it and came back into the living room with plates piled high with crisps and snacks and another bottle of wine tucked under one arm.

Not needing anyone to tell him the storm was getting worse and they probably wouldn’t be leaving tonight, Steve had obviously risked going as far as the porch to make sure they had enough firewood to last until morning; there were fresh snowflakes in his hair and his face was flushed from the cold wind.

In a dress shirt and slacks for the party, he was ridiculously attractive and Peggy just thanked her lucky stars that the firewood was pre-cut and she didn’t have to suffer the torture of watching him flex his muscles to chop some more. She had always had a weakness for his arms.

“Some sustenance,” she announced, putting the plates down and then starting to unscrew the wine so she could refill their glasses. “Looks like it’s going to be just us tonight.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Steve glanced out the window. “Any idea how long it’s meant to last?”

“I could only make out every other word Natasha was saying, but I think she thought it would only last a day or two.”

“Or two?”

The sharpness in his voice made her looked up in surprise.

“Yes . . .?”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Today’s the twenty third. If it lasts two days . . .”

Oh.

Somehow it hadn’t quite dawned on Peggy that being trapped here for two nights also meant they would be together on Christmas day. Last year that prospect wouldn’t have bothered her at all, but now it felt like a knife being twisted in her heart – a reminder of everything she had almost had and had lost.

Going very still, she looked down at her feet and took a moment to swallow, carefully wrestling the emotions threatening to overwhelm her back into control.

When she lifted her eyes back up, Steve was watching her. His expression was shuttered, unreadable, but she saw a flicker of pain in his gaze, an echo of her own, and although she knew she shouldn’t be glad of it she couldn’t help it; for months she had wondered if Steve missed her.

“Right,” she murmured. Then without really meaning to but unable to stop herself, she heard her own voice asking, “Do you have plans it’ll keep you from?

He was quiet a moment, just long enough for her heart to give a single, unsteady beat against her ribs. “. . . not really. I was going to go help Sam with his veterans’ dinner, but he’ll understand.”

It took an immense amount of willpower, but Peggy didn’t think the relief that crashed over her with all the force of the gale outside showed on her face.

“You?”

The question sounded casual, a polite return of interest, but his eyes were fixed on hers. Peggy took a sip of her wine and wondered if he noticed her hand was shaking.

“Just joining Michael and his family.” She thought of the presents she had carefully wrapped for her niece in her apartment, and sighed. Hopefully Sharon would mind too much getting them on Boxing Day instead. “I hope Natasha lets him know, because I don’t think I can get enough signal for another phone call.”

“I’m sure she will.” Steve smiled reassuringly. “How are they, your family?”

“They’re well, thank you.”

Taking a seat, Peggy told him about Sharon’s progress at school and in her judo class, and about Michael’s last assignment abroad that had very nearly ended in a diplomatic incident. She couldn’t ask after Steve’s family, both his parents having died a long time ago, so she asked about his work and he told her about his last exhibit, how one of his pieces had sold within the first half hour, and that had been commissioned to do a public mural in Brooklyn that he was excited about getting started on.

As they talked, they both slowly relaxed and it almost felt like old times – Peggy nearly forgot the awkwardness and the hurt, and realised with fierce longing how much she had missed this, missed him. His closeness, his smell, just sitting and listening to the low thrum of his voice and watching his mouth curl up and his eyes crinkle when he found something amusing.

“ . . . so now I can’t ever take Dugan back there,” Steve finished a story he was telling, looking over at her and grinning, eyes bright, and the urge to touch him was so overwhelming that Peggy felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Unable to bear it, she shot suddenly to her feet.

Steve was on his feet a moment behind her, smile melting into a concerned frown.

“I – I’m feeling rather tired,” she managed to say, keeping her hands at her side even thought all she wanted to do was reach out, let herself be enfolded in his arms again. “I’m going to head to bed I think. Good night, Steve.”

“Okay . . . good night, then. Are you feeling okay?”

But she was already hurrying across the room to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her with more force that was probably necessary so he wouldn’t see the tears starting to glimmer along her lashes. Her heart was pounding in her ears and it was like she was actually aching inside.

She wanted to go back out there and kiss him until it stopped hurting.

She wanted to storm back out and shake him and ask what had happened, because she still didn’t understand why they had broken up.

She wanted to ask why he had never called her or come to try and get her back.

In the end she didn’t do anything but crawl into bed, but it took her a long, long time to get to sleep.

***

Unfortunately, Natasha had not left any clothes in advance as she had done food, so before she went out the next morning Peggy had to struggle back into the stupidly tight cocktail dress she had worn for the party. While under other circumstances it was exactly the dress she might have chosen to wear to see Steve again, since she remembered well that he had particularly liked the way it clung to her curves, today she was just cold and wishing that it had about twice the amount of material.

“Any chance we’re getting out of here today . . .?” she asked as she emerged, but immediately stopped as her question was answered by the sight in front of her.

Snow drifts had piled halfway up the windows, and only the very tops of her car and Steve’s truck her visible. Even if they could have shovelled them free, there was no way they were driving down that tiny winding road back to the highway.

“That would be a no.”

Turning, she saw Steve leaning against the kitchen doorframe. His expression was inscrutable again, watching her as though she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. He was wearing the same shirt and slacks, but had left the collar button undone and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his tanned and muscular forearms.

Peggy swallowed. God damn it.

“I did find some breakfast food though, if you’re hungry?”

“Starved.”

As she followed him into the kitchen, he said over his shoulder. “You feeling better? You kinda . . . ran off last night.”

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Uh. Yes. Sorry about that, the long drive and then the wine just did me in, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t remember you being a lightweight, even when you’re tired.”

“Well. People change, I suppose.” She shrugged, the words coming out a little tighter than she intended.

Steve gazed quietly at her for a moment, the turned back to the waffles he had unearthed. She almost missed him murmuring, “Yeah, I guess they do.”

Breakfast passed in awkward silence. Steve set out the plates without saying anything, and barely even looked at her as they both sat down. It felt like even the air around them was holding its breath, and the crunching of the waffles was suddenly, horribly loud, each staccato burst of noise seeming to echo off the kitchen tiles.

Whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, Peggy darted little glances at Steve, wishing she could had an inkling of what might be going on inside his head. A frown was creasing his forehead, but whether it was one of anger or disappointment she wasn’t sure.  

When they had both finished, Peggy wordlessly took the dishes to wash them. There was a scraping noise behind her as Steve pushed his chair back, and then a rustle of clothing as he left. A moment, and then the closing of a door – she glanced over her shoulder and realised he must have gone into the bathroom to shower.

The dishes didn’t take long, but once they were dried and put away and the kitchen wiped down, she was left with nothing much to do. Coming back through to the living room, she looked around for something to entertain herself – a book, a deck of cards – and her eyes fell on the sofa. The cushions were all in untidy disarray, and the blanket that had been thrown over the back was strewn across it.

It abruptly occurred to Peggy, as it hadn’t done last night, that the cabin had only a single bedroom. Which she had unthinkingly claimed for herself, leaving Steve to sleep on the sofa. Which of course he had done without complaint, because even when he seemed to hate her he was a gentleman.

God, it infuriated her, if only because it sent another burst of agonising longing through her.

When Steve re-emerged, hair still damp, she bought herself a little bit more time by taking her own turn to shower. If she had hoped the hot water might wash her tangled mess of feelings away as easily as it did the dirt and grime of yesterday, she was very much mistaken.

There wasn’t a spare toothbrush in the bathroom but there was, luckily, a half-full tube of toothpaste, so she was able to make do with that and a finger. If only she had brought a make-up bag with her. Not that she needed make-up with Steve, she supposed. He had seen her plenty without it. But somehow it felt different, now they weren’t together. Make-up had always been another kind of armour she layered herself with, and today of all days she wanted that feeling of protection.

While she had been sorting herself out, Steve had clearly been having a similar search to the one she had done earlier – but all he had unearthed was a Scrabble set and a chess board.

He looked at her for the first time since breakfast – with a brief detour, she noticed, to her neckline – and said, “Fancy a game?”

***

“That is not a word.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“It absolutely is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

Steve sat back with a grunt of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Well, we don’t have a dictionary, or access to the internet right now, so short of any way to check –”

“Short of any way to check,” Peggy said, folding her arms and glaring at him, “We should err on the side of caution and agree that it is not a word. Besides, I think I have the authority here.”

“How d’you figure that?”

She sniffed. “I’m English. As in, from the country where the English language originated.”

Steve snorted. “I think you’re just sore because if you accept it, it means I win.” 

That was rather closer to the truth than Peggy wanted to admit, which just made her scowl all the more. Competitiveness had always been a weakness of hers, and several straight hours of alternative Scrabble and chess matches had only ramped it up rather than mellowing her out and Steve had come perilously close to having a Scrabble tile pelted at his forehead more than once during the day.

Perhaps it was a good thing, though. When she was getting wound up over a triple word score or her queen being taken, she forgot to feel tense and strange. She didn’t flinch away from looking Steve in the eye, or smiling back when he started laughing at her, didn’t overthink every word she said.

She didn’t feel like her heart was breaking again every second.

When they were sat together like this, laughing, teasing, she felt happy. Happier than she had been since she had left Steve’s apartment for the last time.

“C’mon, it’s nearly midnight. Just admit I’ve won, so we can go to sleep.”

“… fine. You win.” Peggy rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Yes, I do.”

It was almost worth losing just to see the wide grin on Steve’s face.

For an all too brief moment as they smiled at each other, Peggy could almost believe that this was how they spent every Christmas Eve, and that in another second they would head into the bedroom together to spend the night curled up in each other’s arms.

Then Steve started putting everything away and reality came flooding back in, leaving her feeling cold and hollow.

Getting to her feet, she bid him a quiet good night – but then hesitated, remembering the tangle of blankets on the sofa.

“Peggy?”

Steve was watching her, a question in his eyes.

Throwing her shoulders back, Peggy gave what she hoped was a nonchalant, albeit somewhat tight, smile. “I was just thinking, it’s ridiculous for you to sleep out here when there is a bed with more than enough room for both of us. We’re adults. I think we can handle one night without it being awkward.”

In reply, Steve raised his eyebrows a fraction.

“Well, without it being any more awkward than it already has been,” Peggy conceded. “Let’s not pretend otherwise. This whole thing is uncomfortable. But for goodness’ sake, that sofa is clearly too short for you to sleep comfortably and I already know there’s no point in suggesting I take it instead because you’re too much of a bloody gentleman. So, the simple solution is – we share the bed.”

Silence. Peggy could feel her cheeks heating up.

“It’s up to you. But the offer stands.”

Determinedly not looking at him, she turned away and swept into the bedroom, half hoping she would be greeted by a hole in the floor that would swallow her up because honestly, what was she thinking?

***

She wasn’t sure quite how long she had been lying there when she heard the door open and the pad of feet across the floor, then felt the bed shift beneath her as Steve climbed in.

“You were right,” he whispered. “The couch is too short.”

A smile touched her lips, one completely at odds with the sudden, frantic pounding of her heart against her ribs. This was all so familiar, the weight and warmth of Steve next to her, the sound of his breathing in the dark, and yet at the same time it was strange and new – and absolutely agonising.

Really, what on earth had she been thinking? To be so close to him but unable to touch him, and in a bed, so now all she could think about was all the other times they had been in bed together . . .

Shutting her eyes, she summoned every ounce of willpower she possessed to try and force those particular memories from her mind.

She had been lying long enough that her shoulder was starting to feel uncomfortable beneath her, so she shifted round to her other side, but as she did so her foot kicked out and brushed along Steve’s leg and both of them flinched.

“Sorry –”

“Jesus, Peg. Your feet are like ice.”

“You know they get like that. I didn’t think to bring a spare pair of socks,” Peggy said defensively.

“Just – come here –”

The mattress dipped and swayed as he moved, and then somehow he had caught her foot in both his large, warm hands and was gently massaging it. His fingers were rough in texture but infinitely tender and careful in their ministrations, and Peggy felt a shiver down her spine that was nothing to do with the cold of her feet.

“Steve . . .”

He brought his head up to look at her, and they both fell still as they realised there were only scant inches of space between them.

Maybe it was the hushed darkness, maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the two of them lying in a bed together, so close that even in the grey light Peggy could see the blue of Steve’s eyes, but this time Peggy did not fight down the urge that swept over her to touch him. Instead she reached out and lightly ran her fingers along his jawline.

Time hung suspended – and then Steve’s lips were on hers, and her hands were tangling in his hair. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, months of separation making them cautious with each other. Steve nipped lightly at her bottom lip, almost questioning, until Peggy made a sound low in her throat of eager desire and pulled his head more firmly down.

All gentleness and hesitation was gone when his mouth met hers again. In its place was fierceness and hunger and months of unspoken longing, crashing over them with all the strength of the tide. The hand that had been rubbing Peggy’s foot lifted it up to hook her leg over his hip, while the other skimmed up the side of her body. Peggy arched up against him, bringing her own hands down to run them over his back and chest and stomach, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.

His lips moved to her throat and jaw, planting open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach, and Peggy could sense the same coiled tightness in him that she could feel building in herself, a kind of desperate need that being slow and languid and taking their time just wouldn’t satisfy.

Having already stripped to their underwear to sleep, it was only a matter of seconds to divest themselves of it – though even those few seconds seemed too much time. Steve surged back into her arms like a moth to a flame, lips finding hers over and over, kisses only subsiding for a moment as he slid inside her and said hoarsely in her ear, “I’ve missed you, Peggy.”

“I’ve missed you too, my darling.”

They crashed together with all the heat of two stars colliding and exploding, giving in with reckless abandonment to everything that had been tangled between them since the moment Peggy walked through the door.

Sweat-soaked skin glided together, steadily growing cries of pleasure shared between their lips. The world had shrunk to only the two of them, in this moment, and Peggy would have been content to let it stay that way forever.

Then Steve slipped his hand between them, urging her over the edge. Breath hitching, she dug her nails into his shoulders and moaned his name as release took her, with such ferocity that it felt like her body was breaking apart as she shuddered through it.

Steve crushed his mouth over hers in one more burning kiss, then came himself, trembling, before collapsing, breathless, beside her.

In the quiet that followed, Peggy’s logical mind started to make itself heard. Spent and still somewhat exhilarated, she tried to ignore it but the questions pressed at her, insistent – what did this mean? Was this goodbye? An apology? An invitation to try again?

Spent and slightly dazed, she didn’t have the energy to try and answer them, but the questions chased themselves around her mind as she slowly, inexorably, drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

***

Light streaming in through the window woke her.

Flinging an arm across her eyes to block it out, she let out a low groan as she came fully into wakefulness – slowly at first, then all at once as the memories of last night came crashing to the fore. As though she had been dashed with cold water she jolted upright, only to find Steve already sat up in bed, watching her. The covers only came up to his waist, and even in the middle of panicking about what they had done she couldn’t help but admire his tanned, sculpted muscles.

Did he have to be so attractive? It made it all so much more difficult.

He gave her a small, rueful smile.

“Hey. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She brushed sleep-mussed hair out of her eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I think we should probably talk about last night.”

Shoulders tensing, she nodded.

“Yes, we probably should.”

There was an unaccountable sadness in Steve’s eyes as he said, “What happened . . . happened. I don’t regret it. But I don’t suppose it changes things.”

The way he spoke, it sounded like a statement. But there was a question in his face as he looked at her that made Peggy pause and frown in confusion.

“You tell me. I think it’s really up to you.”

“Up to me?” He echoed. “You were the one that ended things. You moved your things out of my apartment while I was gone.”

She flushed, knowing that had bit a little bit cowardly. “Only because you’d made it clear things were over before you left.”

Steve’s mouth fell open slightly, and he looked bewildered. “I did?”

Peggy folded her arms. “Yes. You did. You barely talked to me. You couldn’t even look at me. You … you’d withdrawn completely. It was rather obvious you were done, and it isn’t as if you came running after me.”

“That’s rich – you have some nerve to accuse me of being done when you were the one who said you didn’t want to marry me!”

It was Peggy’s turn to stare in absolute bafflement, her mouth silently opening and closing for several moments while she tried to find words.

“I’m sorry, but when the hell did I say that?”

“.  .  . what?”

“We never even talked about marriage!”

Steve had gone from puzzled to furious. “I asked you to marry me and you said no.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I think I would remember being proposed to!”

The words echoed through the room, and time slowed to a crawl as they both stared at each other with mirroring expressions of dawning realisation.

Peggy had risen up on her knees as her voice had gotten louder, and now sank bank down. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and the bottom seemed to have to dropped out from her stomach as the full implication of Steve’s words sank in.

He had proposed?

Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything he had said to her that might resemble a proposal – and she was certain she had never been quite so drunk as to forgotten something like that. And if he had proposed, she wouldn’t have said no. Of that she was completely and utterly certain.

But if he had thought she had said no . . .

Suddenly those weeks of strange, hurt silence looked a lot different in her memory. If Steve had believed she had rejected him, it was no wonder he had withdrawn into himself and been so distant. And for him to then have come back and found all her things gone, it would only have been confirmation. So he would have respected what he thought was her answer, instead of coming after her.

Looking up, she saw Steve’s eyes were wide, horrified – presumably seeing things how she had, the confusion, the pain, the resigned acceptance of what she saw as him being through but not quite able to say it – and could only imagine that she looked much the same.

“Steve.” Her mouth was dry and she had to swallow, and try again. “Steve. When did you propose?”

“After Edwin and Ana’s wedding,” Steve said. “We were talking about how everyone was getting married, and I said what if we were next? And you –” A frown flashed over his face. “You said no. It wasn’t what you wanted for your future. We’d never be happy.”

It took Peggy a moment to remember the conversation he was talking about. It had been closer to dawn than dusk by the time they got home from the Jarvis’ wedding and Peggy had been half-asleep on Steve’s shoulder as they talked.

“I remember talking about everyone moving,” she replied slowly, unable to believe that this was the reason they had spent the last six months apart. “I meant that I didn’t want to leave the city – that we’d never be happy in some tiny town out in the sticks.”

Steve rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly looking exhausted despite the early hour. “If I talked about moving, it was moving forward. As in, in our relationship.”

“So …” Peggy took a breath, trying to calm her racing mind and heart. “So you’re saying . . . you never wanted to break up?”

“No. God, no. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The words came out with a sob, as everything that Peggy had been trying to push down for months came rising up, overflowing.

Then Steve was closing the gap between them, pulling her into his arms and raining kisses down the side of the face until he found her mouth. Peggy reached up, twining her arms around his neck, relishing the burst of joy that came with each kiss, untainted by pain or sorrow or the sense of loss that had coloured everything she did for so long.

“We’re idiots,” he murmured when they paused to take a breath.

“Yes, we are,” Peggy agreed, bumping her nose gently against his. “With a lot of time to make up for.”

Grinning, Steve lowered her down on to her back and kissed her again. “Then we’d better get started.”

He bent his head towards her, then stopped and lifted it back up.

“So, if you had realised I was asking you to marry me, what would you have said . . .?”

Peggy smiled. “You’ll just have to ask me again to find out out.”

[fragmenthunters]

Fragments chapter 14 page 1

In this chapter we return to the World of Mountains. Sleet and Tahlia try to get as many flowers on Thermal as they can. ^v^

[translatologist]

Eskimos don’t have 200 words for snow

They really, really don’t.

It’s a well-known cliché, but it’s just that — a cliché, which we owe to Benjamin Lee Whorf (1897-1941), an MIT graduate in chemistry and fire prevention engineer whose hobby was linguistics, and whom history chose to remember as the father of linguistic relativity.

In its strong version, the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis postulates that the structure of a language affects its speakers' world view or cognition, and thus people's perceptions are relative to their spoken language, a hypothesis that, by the way — surprise, surprise —  was used by the Nazi during WWII, because how were they to overlook a theory that aimed at establishing an intellectual hierarchy between peoples and races?

And it’s no surprise, because the idea that a people’s language determines the way its speakers understand the world is deeply colonialist at its core, at least in the way it has been treated so far. Hence the Eskimo thing, that claims that “Eskimos” supposedly have tons of words to describe “falling snow, slushy snow, and so on” (Whorf 1956: 216) because you see, surely such primitive people cannot have general categories like us civilised people with a sense of abstraction. Right? No. Not right.

Let’s have a closer look at Whorf’s claim. “We [English speakers],” he wrote, “have the same word for falling snow, snow on the ground, snow hard packed like ice, slushy snow, wind-driven snow -- whatever the situation may be. To an Eskimo, this all-inclusive word would be almost unthinkable” (Idem).  Well, well, well.

See, there are many problems there. Let’s unpack:

1. The term “Eskimo” doesn’t mean much when it comes to languages. Does he mean the Yupik or the Inupiatun speakers? The people who speak Kalaallisut? The native speakers of Inuktun? Or Tunumiit? Inuktitut? Who knows? I certainly don’t, and I suspect that Whorf didn’t know either, as we’ll see in point 2.

2. If you want to find out whether or not there are many words that are related to a specific topic within a specific lexicon, the first step is to collect a large sample of said lexicon so that it will be representative. Which Whorf didn’t do (please remember he was a chemist, not a linguist). Instead, he used the findings of an anthropologist, Franz Boas who had hypothesised thirty years earlier that “in Eskimo,” the different words for snow may not be derived from the same root (Boas 1911: 25-26) in an essay that was later to be republished together with other works under the chilling title The Mind of Primitive Man.

3. What did Whorf mean when he said that there were “many words” for snow in Eskimo? What did he mean by “word”? To start with, for the comparison to work, you’d need to make sure that a word, as an entity, has the same definition in both of the languages you’re comparing. For instance, as far as I know, in polysynthetic languages (like Eskaleut languages), suffixes can to combine and ultimately create an unlimited number of words. Which doesn’t mean that each new word is an entity that’s completely independent from its root; it would be like saying that “bus”, “busses”, “minibus” and “bus stop” are in no way related to each other in English. Plus, how do you make sure, when designing an experiment with native speakers of a different language, that “same” means what you imagine “same” means, and not anything between “roughly similar” and “exactly identical”?

4. In “Inuit Snow Terms. How Many and What Does it Mean?”, Lawrence Kaplan, professor emeritus of Linguistics and former director of the Alaska Native Language Center showed that the maximum number of words that were used to describe snow in an Inuit language was... three: qanig (“falling snow”), anigu (“fallen snow”), and apun (“snow on the ground”). In Kalaallisut, you only have two (Kaplan 2003: 263-269).

5. But then, how many words do we have to speak of the various states of snow in English? Off the top of my head, I can come up with snow, slush, sleet, blizzard, snowfall, snowflake, and flurry. That’s already seven. And if you want to move the cursor from specific to general, you can also add precipitation and onfall, Or on the contrary, if you’re referring to a more particular phenomenon, you have graupel, hail, freshet, eluviation, nivation, thawing, firn, névé, hardpack, purga, powder, thundersnow, and crud. That’s now 22 words for snow in English. Then, of course, you could add the euphemisms and analogies, like blanket, apron or cover — and we still haven’t touched the adjectives that are related either to snow regarding specific conditions (such as nivean, subnivean, snowy), regions (Alpine, Himalayan), or to its effects (snowcapped, oversnowed, snowless). And further down the list, we also have all the expressions that refer to it, such as spring snow and white Christmas as well as all the adjective+snow combinations that do specify what type of snow it is, whether it be granular snow, green snow or carbonic snow. I mean, that’s A LOT of words for something we supposedly have less vocabulary to describe.

There has, however, been one more recent study by Igor Krupnik, an anthropologist at the Smithsonian Arctic Studies Center in Washington DC which concluded that the Inuit dialect spoken in Nunavik, Quebec, had at least 53 words for snow.

Does that mean that Whorf was right? No, it doesn’t. Because of Whorf’s deeply flawed methodology, racist implications and hastily conclusions, the strong version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis in which language determines thought and linguistic categories limit and determine cognitive categories has been abandoned. What remains is its weaker form, that says that linguistic categories and usage only influence thought and decisions, which has since been corroborated by other research, such as Lera Boroditsky’s work that compares Mandarin and English speakers' conceptions of time.

Yet, even if linguistic relativity in its extreme form has been disproved, the myth of the multiplicity of Eskimo terms for snow has subsisted. It has become part of our collective imaginary, but it is wrong on many levels. As far as I am concerned, I tend to see it as an instance of ethnographic dazzle, an annoying phenomenon that blinds us to the similarities we share with one another and instead places cultural differences in the spotlight, like all those “10 Things That Prove Foreigners Are Weird”-type listicles that are shared constantly by Bright Side and others on social networks.

I have argued before in favour of the beauty of finding similarities with others — but in order to find those similarities, we probably need to stop focusing on the details that make us different. So next time someone hijacks the conversation with “did you know that the Eskimos have 200 words for snow?”, ask yourselves why they’re feeling the need to present that useless piece of trivia there and then.

[xeford2020]

What are the best winter tires for 2020 in Canada?

Like it or not, we’re no strangers to harsh winter weather in Canada. Though it affords us great amounts of fun, like pond hockey, skating, and good old-fashioned snowball fights, winter’s arrival also means that extra precautions must be taken to ensure that your vehicle stays safe and secure when the driving conditions get a little more slippery. So, if you’ve been wondering “What are the best winter tires for 2020?” our Sherwood Ford team will show you today. Keep reading to learn about winter tires, Ford Tire Price Match, and more.  

Best winter and snow tires available for Ford models in Edmonton AB

Not all winter tires are created equal, and just like the various brands that sport them, tire manufacturers are forced to innovate year after year to ensure that their snow tires are left with better grip, stronger rubber construction, and a smoother ride than anyone else. Automotive magazine Car and Driver has published its list of the best tires for sedans, SUVs, trucks, and all-around performance, and we’ve listed some of its winter-tire highlights below:

Bridgestone Blizzak WS80

Nokian Hakkapeliitta R3

Michelin Pilot Alpin PA4

Best yet, we’ve got a healthy selection of the sort right here at Sherwood Ford, and you’re more than welcome to contact our service team today to get a set of tires installed!

Ford Tire Price Match Promise at Sherwood Ford 

What is the Ford Tire Price Match Promise? It is our promise that if you find a lower advertised price from a competitor for the same tire, then we will match that price for you here at Sherwood Ford. In order to take advantage of the Ford Tire Price Match, make sure to get your tires installed here and to find a lower advertised price within 30 days of the sale. Come show us the advertisement and we’ll adjust the price you paid! 

More Seasonal Tips: How to prepare your Ford vehicle for winter weather

Frequently asked questions about winter tires 

Below, we have three frequently asked questions about winter tires. People often wonder about the difference between all-season and winter tires or ask us whether we have any winter tire specials going on. Keep reading to see the answers to those questions and more.  If your question isn’t featured here, please feel free to give us a call for more information.  

What is the difference between all-season and winter tires? 

By now, you might be wondering whether all-season or winter tires are best for the Ford model that you drive. We’ll start our discussion with all-season tires first: Due to their very nature, all-season tires are constructed to give you a smooth and versatile ride throughout each kind of weather, with great tread life year-round. However, because they’re built to handle equally well in summer and winter, much performance is compromised by all-season tires when conditions start to get colder and slicker. 

Winter tires, on the other hand, are built exclusively to perform well in snow, sleet, and ice. Their rubber compounds are built to remain flexible even when the Celsius dips below 7 degrees, and with deeper tread depths and winter-exclusive patterns, winter tires keep your grip over the pavement (or lack thereof) as their top priorities in severe cold. That’s why, especially in heavy-snow areas like Edmonton and Alberta by extension, we recommend getting a set of winter tires installed on your Ford vehicle as soon as you can. 

Are there any tire specials going on for winter tires near Edmonton, AB? 

Yes, we have Ford winter tire specials available here in Sherwood Park, near Edmonton. We encourage you to check out our Ford tire specials page to learn about the best winter tires for your Ford model. On that page, you can see our current prices and the tires that we ranked highest for several Ford vehicles. 

How often do winter tires need to be replaced?

There is no set life expectancy for winter tires, and their lifespan will vary based on where, how, and how often you drive your Ford vehicle. Most of the time, you should be able to reuse your winter tires for a few winter seasons. If you are ever in doubt, our service team can check the wear on your tires. 

The post What are the best winter tires for 2020 in Canada? appeared first on Sherwood Ford.

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[willow-and-wolf]

Canadian Elopement Photographers - Mt Assiniboine

Backcountry Helicopter Hiking Elopement

Emma & Colby

Canadian Elopement Photographers 

As Canadian Elopement Photographers, we are always looking for epic mountain locations to suggest to couples. When we aren’t shooting weddings we are usually hiking and camping in the endless Canadian backcountry.  On all our personal trips we keep an eye out for amazing landscapes and unique settings. Ever since our first backcountry hiking trip into Mt Assiniboine Provincial Park a few years ago, we fell in love with the area. So when Emma and Colby got in contact with us wanting to do a Helicopter Elopement, we knew exactly the spot to suggest. 

“Emma and Colby decided to say their vows and elope in front of a fire in their off-grid cabin in Ontario. It was a simple ceremony but it was perfect. They wanted to plan an epic hiking adventure for their wedding photos to celebrate the day. When they first contacted us with their ideas, we couldn’t wait to be a part of it all.”

Mt. Assiniboine Backcountry Huts

Mt Assiniboine is the highest peak in the Southern Continental Ranges of the Canadian Rockies. Because of its pyramidal peak shape it is often refered to as the Matterhorn of the Rockies. There are only two ways to get into Mt Assiniboine Provincial Park. You can hike the 30km trails which we have done a few times now, or get in an Alpine Helicopter! This is one of those rare places that makes you feel like you are in true wilderness. Mountain peaks, glaciers, lakes, wildflowers and endless forests capture you as far as the eye can see.

Once you are in the park there are three options of accommodation. A beautiful campground on Lake Magog, The Naiset Huts and Mt. Assiniboine Lodge. We suggested to Emma and Colby that getting a helicopter in and staying in the Nasiet Huts for two nights would be an amazing adventure. They are very popular in the summer but after all of us calling for 8 hours on the phones we were in!

Their Story

In Emma’s words, “Colby and I met what  feels like eons ago. I was working at a car dealership selling trucks and he was my neighbour. After trading in his very noticeable vehicle, I was interested at who would daily drive such a thing. I scoped him out and introduced myself to this strange looking man. He asked for her number and the rest is history.” They instantly connected over their mutual love for adventure. Colby was into off-roading and Emma found a love for hiking through photography. After four years of adventures, they decided to sell everything and moved across the country to live completely off grid.

After they had just said goodbye to all of their family and friends and set off down the road, Colby pulled over to check one more thing. As Emma came around the back of the trailer, he was on one knee. With an engagement ring in his hand and said, “I know we have had a rough day, but will you go on this adventure with me?” Emma and Colby decided to say their vows and elope in front of a fire in their off-grid cabin in Ontario. It was a simple ceremony but it was perfect. They wanted to plan an epic hiking adventure for their wedding photos to celebrate the day. When they first contacted us with their ideas, we couldn’t wait to be a part of it all.

An Adventure Elopement in the Canadian Rocky Mountains

We love suggesting locations that we have never seen any other Canadian Elopement Photographers shoot. Mt. Assinaboine was one of those places. We couldn’t find any other wedding photos like this and that makes it so special to the couple. An adventure that is made just for them. We suggested a two day adventure in the huts because the weather in the Canadian Rocky Mountains can be touch and go, even in the summer. And we are so glad we did. In July, the middle of summer, we were dropped off into some pretty turbulent weather. In two days we had rain, hail, sleet, snow and a little bit of sun!

When we first arrived at the cabin the rain settled in. We took it was a chance to chat with other hikers arriving and make some lunch in the camp kitchen. Emma put on her makeup in front of the big cabin windows as we watched the clouds roll over the mountains. We spent the two days hiking and exploring the trails in-between storms. Finding shelter in the trees when it rained and laughing along the way. We couldn’t have asked for a sweeter couple to have gone on this journey with. We loved every minute exploring with these two. Emma was just as stoked as us with all the low clouds dancing around us and whipping her dress and hair around. 

We left this adventure elopement with full hearts. For the memories we made, the memories we captured and the beauty that we had witnessed. As Canadian Elopement Photographers, it doesn’t get much better than this! Hope you enjoy a look into Emma and Colby’s adventure.

Vendors

Backcountry Hut: Naiset Huts, Mt. Assiniboine Provincial Park, British Columbia Helicopter: Alpine Helicopters Flowers: Baby’s Breath Floral Design, Lacombe Photographers: Willow & Wolf Adventure Elopements

Enjoy this Backcountry Helicopter Wedding by Canadian Elopement Photographers Willow & Wolf?

Here are more similar stories from the blog.

Mariah and Cole – Kananaskis Hiking Elopement

Charlene and Tyler – Revelstoke Waterfall Elopement

Canadian Elopement Photographers – Mt Assiniboine was originally published on Willow & Wolf Wedding Photography

[normaleeinsane]

Sleet and Thermal from my comic, Fragments. ^v^