#yellow cab mountain

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears. 

He dropped his hand. 

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home. 

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again. 

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here. 

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap. 

“You growing roots, old man?” 

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger. 

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. 

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. 

“You coming or going, cowboy?” 

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist. 

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.” 

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face. 

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him. 

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.” 

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb. 

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.” 

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses. 

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat. 

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.” 

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble. 

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends. 

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most. 

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass. 

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek. 

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down. 

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head. 

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return. 

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.” 

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.” 

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.” 

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.” 

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.” 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her. 

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again. 

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head. 

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.”  She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down. 

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke,  the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.  

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it. 

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?” 

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans. 

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile. 

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?” 

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter. 

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?” 

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.” 

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed. 

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet. 

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.” 

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged. 

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.” 

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head. 

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.” 

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was  trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him. 

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.” 

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.” 

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.” 

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private. 

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic. 

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon. 

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here. 

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy. 

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more. 

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it. 

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city. 

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet. 

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence. 

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else. 

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected. 

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.” 

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child. 

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child. 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.” 

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it. 

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.” 

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped. 

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer. 

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

[ww2yaoi]

[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

[chitin-armor]

The Call of the Wild

An ex-Gym trainer, her Tyranitar, and two months in the wild, alone. Sometimes, you need to run away to find what you were really looking for.

A gift for @tyranitarkisser.

◇◇◇

Sometimes people needed to run away. Some people did it for spiritual reasons, others to escape the law or a bad family. Some of them did it because there was a call inside of them that insisted they go anywhere but the place they were in search of something else.

She'd run away because for months, that call had built inside of her like a pot about to boil over. One spring day, she takes all her vacation time at once, checks her team into the closest Center, tells her friends and family she would be back later, and just starts walking. Maybe it's a silly passing fascination that she'll regret once she's out in the wilderness. Maybe it's because she's never taken a trip to somewhere far off and tropical like Alola before throwing herself into the gym circuit, and now all that wanderlust is bursting out all at once in a springtime fervor.

Either way, she hears the hunger inside her and obeys the call. She's gone and she's free, with the wilderness stretching out in front of her. Free, the way she's never been while grinding the gyms or after she'd failed the League and settled back in to train the newbies. Her job as a Gym trainer is satisfying. It's fulfilling. This far along the circuit, she gets the good trainers, the ones who really meant it. But it's not free, and part of her still calls for the wild the way it calls for her.

Well, she's checked almost all of her team into the Center. She rubs her thumb over the surface of the last ball on her hip as the cab rumbles beneath her, its painted surface long since worn silver from top to bottom. Not him, of course. Never him. Leaving him behind would be like casually leaving a few of her senses at home and wandering away blind and deaf. Besides, there's no better way to walk into the wild than with the king of the mountains by your side.

The taxi drops her off at the side of the road. It was already getting dark.

"You sure? This is as far as we go." The cabbie grimaces at her. "Not a lot of ways back home."

"I've got a friend," she assures him. When his headlights were nothing but a yellow pinprick in the distance and the whine of the Volbeat started up again, she presses the button on the ball. Her thumb slips easily into the groove she's worn into it, and her best friend glows to life, shaking his magnificent armor with a rattle. When he sees that they aren't at the Gym and that it was nearly nine at night, he swings his head towards hers and rumbles a question.

"We're running away," she proclaims, but even as she says it, the words suddenly seem a little silly. His grayish-green eyes, like river stones, search hers, waiting for an explanation. "I just- I needed to get away. I need something else, even if I don't know what it is yet. And I didn't want to be alone."

His rumble drops to a low, worried croon. She's known him all her life, grew up alongside him, so she can practically hear the words. Just because he doesn't speak like she did didn't mean they hadn't formed their own language out of touch and sound and knowledge.

"Nothing happened, bud. It's just. I don't know. I- I don't know."

She's miles away from home, on the side of a road in early spring with only her leather jacket, and it was getting dark. She's booked two months off work and now all she had was a backpack full of supplies. What was she doing? Had she caught some sort of spring fever that drove her to madness?

Tyranitar huffs and leans down, pushing his heavy head against her shoulder. His eyes are soft. She wraps her arms around his broad neck and holds on tight, only noticing now that she's shaking. From cold or fear, she's not sure anymore. Her words come out as hiccups. His skin is warm, and the blue of his belly nearly hot. That was where his armor was thinnest. If she poked him there, he laughed like tumbled gemstones clinking against each other. 

"I don't know anymore," she gasps. "What am I doing? I have a good job. I was doing fine. Nothing happened. Why did I run away?"

Tyranitar's claws gently scratch at her back, careful to slip under her jacket so he wouldn't mar the leather. The thoughtfulness of the gesture pulls her out of her spiral, and she rests her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Earthy and stony and warm, like a smoldering fire in a deep cave.

Not many people knew that Tyranitar ran warm. Hot, even. Stone, soil, and the secret ingredient, high-quality coal, all melted down in the great engine of their hearts to create more than enough heat to warm her on this early spring night.

She relaxes into his embrace and rests her cheek against his shoulder. She'd made her decision, and good or bad, she'd stick by it. You didn't raise a Tyranitar by backing out as soon as it got rocky.

"I may have gone insane," she confesses. "But I booked two months of vacation, and I fully intend to use them. So, big boy, what do you say? Do we want to run away together and look for whatever made me go crazy?"

His eyes glitter in the dark and he throws back his great head, roaring at the dusky sky. The triumphant sound startles the passing Starly out of formation and knocks all the worries right out of her, and she joins his roar with a laugh of her own as the birds swirled back into their vee, chirping their indignation. 

"Then we're free, sweetheart! Free for two whole months! Free to do whatever we want!"

And they begin to walk, hand in armored claw, as the mountains rise majestically in front of them.

~~~

Freedom, it turned out, included a lot of hiking in the dark. It also included carrying a fifty-pound backpack full of rations and supplies which did not, as a rule, make her feel very free.

Tyranitar, ever attentive, had cajoled the backpack off her and lifted it so easily that it looked effortless. She'd made some weak protests, not wanting him to shoulder the burden, to which she was hoisted under his arm and carried as well. 

"You better put me down!" she threatens, laughing all the while. "Or I'll make you carry me everywhere! I will!"

He tilts his head down at her and deliberately huffs to make her hair fluff out of its tie and fall in a vibrant red mess around her shoulders. 

"Oh, you're in for it now." She playfully kicks him in the back, to which she receives a lick that messes her hair up even more. "Tyranitar! You're terrible!"

He laughs his wonderful laugh, all crystal and stone, and licks her again. His tongue is warm and smooth like riverbed rocks, and approximately as wet. Her hair is a mess. The Volbeat sing all around them and her heart was full to bursting. Even though it's dark, she can see the shine in the back of Tyranitar's eyes where they reflect the night back at her. More than that, she's messy and hot and laughing, and she's absolutely free.

"Put me down," she insists breathlessly, and this time he does. She throws her arms around him and holds on tight. The blue scales of his belly are smooth and supple like rich leather, and warm her entire body even through her clothing. She can feel him breathing and hear the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart, as familiar as her own. 

"I love you," she says to her best friend. He tucks his head into her shoulder and makes a low, thrumming hurr that vibrates pleasantly through her chest, saying in their own way: I love you too.

They hold each other for a few long, tender moments, before she pulls away and playfully drops a kiss on his nose, making his eyes crinkle happily.

"I meant it, you know. You still have to carry me."

He hoists her up and she laughs in delight and surprise as he drops her on his shoulders, legs around his broad neck, propped on top of his spikes. She points onwards, bold and brave, and he roars and plunges forth.

Having a Tyranitar as your best friend was strange only to people who hadn't grown up beside one, who hadn't spent their childhood cuddled up against the warm, weighty form of a Larvitar and made weekend trips to let him feed on soil, who hadn't carried around a Pupitar through their college years, patiently waiting for their friend to crack the shell. She'd waited for him, and he returned the favor tenfold. He faithfully walked with her to their gym every day, and sometimes she'd ride back home on his broad shoulders if she was too tired. It made her feel a little bit like a conquering queen of the world, riding on her magnificent partner. He kept vigil at her side every night, the heat of his body a natural furnace. In winter, she hardly needed to heat her apartment because he exhaled warmth like a miniature sun.

As she rides atop his shoulders now, safe from the brambles, it feels like they're the rulers of the world. She trusted him to lead the way, and he guided her through the dark to a deep, cozy cave. Twelve hours ago she would have preferred a lean-to under the pine trees or beside a nice campfire, but right now, nothing sounds better than unfolding her sleeping bag, slipping into soft clothes, and curling up beside her best friend, warm and safe and free, asleep before her head hits the pillow.

~~~

In the morning, she's woken by a snoring snout against her face. Her sleeping bag and Tyranitar's scales are nothing like her mattress at home. They're ten times better. She's never slept half that well before. With a yawn, she throws her arm around him and drifts for a while in the happy, unconcerned freedom of the wild. The Starly chatter outside the mouth of the cave, their bright, cheery songs a balm to her soul.

Tyranitar sleeps in his own nest next to hers at home, since he's too heavy for her bed frame, and once they're back home she'll need to rectify that immediately. But for now, the sunlight slants in through the mouth of the cave and Tyranitar snores like a polite rockslide next to her. Despite the sound and the hard floor, she feels utterly peaceful, and loses herself in gazing at the familiar, solid lines of his face.

"You awake yet?" she mumbles. Almost every part of Tyranitar's body is as well-armored as a mountain, but she knows a few spots where his shell thins. Under his chin, he can feel it if she tickles him, and if that doesn't work, his belly is always sensitive.

He wakes with a roaring laugh, tail swiping across the cave floor, and pulls her closer to tickle her back with a nuzzle into her neck, eyes fond and gentle.

"There we go." She lets him lift her up. "I think we forgot to eat last night. Hand me the jerky, would you? We'll share."

He suddenly looks embarrassed, but obligingly tips her pack over. She looks inside to see several empty packs of jerky. Now that she thinks of it, his breath does smell like teriyaki.

"You ate most of it!" she exclaims. His thorns flatten and he makes a chirp of apology, and she sighs and kisses his nose, rubbing him behind the spines. "Hey, I'm sorry. That's on me for forgetting what an appetite you've got. We can forage later today."

He still snorts and chuffs and frowns. She can see the determination in his eyes, and there's no stopping Tyranitar when he gets an idea in his head.

"What, you're going to go get me food? Bud, you don't have to. What's mine is yours too."

He somehow wiggles out of her grasp despite being the size of a small mountain and paces out the mouth of the cave. 

Her best friend has always been stubborn and proud. It's one of the things she loves most about him. Watching his green shape disappear into the sunlight, she sighs and fishes out the last pieces of jerky from the bag.

While he's gone, she spreads her things out in the cave and stands up to do her morning stretches. The relaxation of the night and the heat has done great things for her flexibility, and she's halfway through seeing if she can do the splits when he comes back. 

She only notices because he makes a surprised little roar and drops a clawful of berries. She tilts her head back and grins up at him. 

"Did you bring me my food, big boy?" 

He makes a rumbling croak and carefully lays down armfuls of berries. All perfectly ripe, carefully picked to avoid clawmarks, the most beautiful fruits she's ever seen. Her mouth falls open. Tyranitar looks almost bashfully expectant.

"Tyranitar, sweetheart, you didn't need to-" She's stammering as she gets up, and after struggling to find the right words, she gives up and hugs him as tightly as she can. "Thank you."

She offers him some, but he must have eaten already because he settles down beside her and watches with soft eyes as she eats everything. When she's done, he tips his head back and purrs so loudly that she feels it down in the marrow of her bones.

"You'd almost think you like feeding me," she teases, grabbing his snout in her hands. He gently grabs her hand in his teeth, tickling her fingers with his tongue before the furnace-like heat of his breath makes them both let go. He sits back and chuffs his agreement.

She flops back down on the ground, toying with a stray Oran berry, which she feeds to him. He's almost delicate in the way he takes it from her hand.

"Well, if you like grocery shopping so much, I'll leave that to you," she laughs. "We'll consider it repayment for all those years I ran out to the Pokemart at two in the morning for your treats."

She was joking, but the next morning when she wakes up, he's waiting for her with another armful of ripe fruit, and he looks so happy to see her eating it that she simply allows it to happen, and makes it up to him with cuddles. 

[forgotten-conductor]

Umbrella(as a loco)

Now to divert from standard gauge for a bit, I’ll go into the Narrow Gauge. Near to Maplecrest is a village beyond some hills, one that for the time was tricky to travel by road. Around the 1938 mark they decided to build a narrow gauge line with its own engine. The engine had a tall funnel, and cab to match. With a nice yellow paint, and a single pink boiler strip near the smokebox. The engine was named Umbrella, as Parasoul had an engine named after her, the people only saw it fit that the little engine should be named after her littler sister. She ran the line transporting passenger, and goods in small vans up and down the small line. Over the years the line expanded as new raw materials were found in the mountains so they founded the Mapleoutskirts(working title, leave a suggestion for the mining company) mining co. 

Umbrella’s personality is much like her character in game and lore. She is whiny, impatient, but can be sweet and energetic. She got quite a big head when given her name, but others would have to help bring her back down to earth. However, they weren’t the first narrow gauge railway to exist in Canopy, but that’s another story. 

[straveltoriesblogs]

Solace at hill, under the Moonlight

Hello,

Nice to meet you all. It’s been a long time coming. I have been procrastinating from past year. Something we shouldn’t be proud of and I’m not either but that’s how I found the courage to take the first step and let the rest fall in time.

My first solo trip. A trip for which all the arrangements were made at the very last moment, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that it was in my mind long before I started talking about it.

A Solo trip, like everyone else I am hoping to find myself and have a better answer for WHO I AM which includes more than my profession. Well, that’s what I thought before going on one and seeing multiple videos about it. I got the idea of going on this trip from my mom. She is the one who bought a trekking bag for me. The moment I saw the bag a scene from “Yeh Jawani Hai Dewani” flashed when Bunny got a bag from his father with the list of things, he should be careful of. Well! That’s exactly the case with my mom. On one hand, she is one who taught me to live my life on my terms but at the same time, she was worried. Still, she helped me pack my stuff and cooked dinner for me to eat later at night while traveling. 

I booked a cab and left my home with the hope to have the best time of my life. I was not scared rather I was excited to embark on this beautiful journey. I reached the station 1 hour before bus timings, like any typical Indian. Hahaha… and as I was standing at the bus stop after covering a 2-hour journey via cab and a metro as far as I could see I couldn’t find anyone who was standing alone with the heavy bag on their shoulder. All I could see was a group of friends laughing, eating Cheetos, and making fun of each other, while their eyes were shining brighter than the sun and their souls were beaming with light. Like, everything is perfect as it should be. And as I was focused on them, suddenly I heard a lady in a yellow saree and a red cardigan, with a big red bindi on her forehead and kajal in her eyes. She seems like a goddess at first glance. She was shouting at her son who was wearing a thin white T-shirt, blue jeans, and Black shoes. She was forcing him to buy the gloves and cap so that he won’t be cold and as usual like any other teenager he was acting as if he don’t know her.

Gosh! I remembered my first trip with my friends, my mother gave me a blanket even though she knew that I was going to have a blanket on the bus and at the hotel, but she insisted. Without saying anything I packed it with other essentials because deep down I knew it was her way of saying to be safe and extra careful and don’t you dare catch a cold.

While looking at everyone around me, I was like a river, my heart was racing, and my mind was calm and eager to meet new people. A Moment of peace, and with that thought I started my journey from Delhi to Triund.

I’ll explain the logistics in another article.

I sat on the bus and noted there were very few people who were on my bus. I thought not a very good start ha.. but let’s see what the sunshine will bring the next day. I reached the Mcloedganj at 7 in the morning and started the Triund trek around 11 after having breakfast with a group of 9 people. Everyone with a different background, culture, career, and place. As we all move forward together, we shared who we are, most of them were Teachers, and there were a few athletes who aim to be army officers and a Businessperson.

Ohh!! Shoot. I forgot to mention one important guest who joined us.

Any guesses???

Well! There is one thing about that place and in fact most of the mountains in North India that we always found a four-legged friend who will join us for the ride. And that’s what happened, a dog joined us along the way and made our journey more fun, and without realizing it, he became the center of the group. 

The weather was pleasing.

 Green grass, blue sky, rocky roads, heavy breaths, soothing music, chai stalls, colorful small buds, and a will to reach the top.

That’s how the journey was. It’s like beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I don’t know what was in the air up there, but everything seems peacefully intriguing. As the air was brushing against my cheeks and letting my hair set free. I could hear every thought, notice every moment, and soak it all in.

Why couldn’t we see all these things in our daily lives? As the eyes of the beholder are the same, maybe we are too busy or too tired to lift our heads and see the peace we all are looking for, is right within ourselves.       

From starting point to the base camp, the journey was filled with lots of emotions – We were tired but relentless. There were moments when everyone else around me disappear and it was just me walking uphill. Navigating on my own. Kind of, like Dora.

At that very moment, I didn’t want to have a distraction from the camera, I just wanted to walk and give my brain some rest as it has been sprinting for the past few months. I believe that’s what the trek was all about, teaching us to spend time with ourselves, and helping us to realize that it’s not only about the destination but the journey that teach us. It was a journey that bought 10 people with different backgrounds together. It was a journey where we all helped each other without any expectations.  

With this long ride, I learned to be present and not just show up. After all, this one life can slip away when we are not paying attention.

Anyway, as we continued to leave our footprints along the way and by having a sip of water WE FINALLY REACHED.

The feeling of accomplishment with the cold air brushing against our faces, was a vault heaven. It was a moment where we have our world. We found solace at the surface and floating at the top.

My world, was a girl sitting on top of the hill watching the sunset. It was serene. The colors – Yellow, Orange, mustard, dark brown, kind of black, shades of purple, blue, and white as well, then there it was a teeny tiny star above all. And it’s not all there was a full moon at the opposite end of this. Mesmerizing chaos.

And I realized that’s how poets gave birth to poetry.

They found the beauty in chaos,

Solace in the rain,

 and Silence in the words

 to keep the storm at shores.    

And as the sun went down, we had our dinner and sat around a bonfire under the moonlight creating magical moments. Later., we slept at the top of the hill, having chills but we were happy, peaceful, and unbothered.

                                                                                              To be continued…

[planetdenver]

Independent Yellow Cabdriver Mengisteab Desta stands near his yellow cab Wednesday afternoon March 28, 2007 in downtown Dener. Desta as well as other drivers say a supervisor offered them about $100 and a script of canned comments to illegally lobby state lawmakers to kill a bill that would boost competition in what critics call the "cab companies cartel." A political watchdog group plans to file a complaint with the Secretary of State today alledging the drivers were paid in violation of lobbyist registration laws -- and possibly bribed. (EVAN SEMON/ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS) 

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: The Least Sexy Photoshoot

What happened to the news this week?  I had next to no spoons and RL ate them all.  I did tons of prep, but My eyelids keep twitching and my body has been enforcing a lot of bed rest, which at least means, I read all but one of the ILLs.

Monday: Luckily I was reminded it was President's Day Sunday night so I rested instead of forcing myself out of bed only to discover my errands were fruitless.  The Empress Declared Livia Love Day, which is an important holiday in our household, and mostly consists of hanging out peaceably in a group and lots and lots of Livia Loves.  Tavy's been having nightmares again, but is not taking it out on everyone and is responding to my attempts to comfort him above average well.  Livia love Day ended up extended to Livia Love Week.

Tuesday: I burned all the spoons on taxes and small errands. (Library, Pharmacy, OTC Pharmacy, the tail ends of OTC grocery and EBT at the store that takes both.)  When I say all the spoons, I mean, I barely managed to eat and lung before having to go straight to bed.  NOTE: I have no taxable income, but I always file a tax return to prevent identity theft and so I have a tax return if I need it for bureaucracy.  I need to present it to someone most years.

Wednesday: It had been early spring weather here for a couple of weeks, but we caught the edge of the really nasty cold front messing things up further south.  So strong icy cold wind, sporadic flurries that didn't stick.  This far North, it gets cold fast after dark.  I talked them into not increasing my dose on account of hives last week.  This proved clever of me because I clearly couldn't handle a bigger immune response than I got.

Head Millennial and I where both exhausted by the cold, and I cut errands and Head Millennial's work load to a bare minimum.  The roads were icy when I took them home and I'm very glad they didn't stay later.

Thursday: Mostly bed rest. I normally would have stayed up for early morning rheumatologist torture session, but my body vetoed and I took the five hour nap instead.  I woke earlier than intended, and lay in bed doing Peaceable Kingdom with the cats, who were NOT Pleased, when I had to dislodge them at what they consider sleep time to dress and lung so as to be ready for medical transport.

Friday: Medical transport turned out to be a mom and Pop company this time instead of Yellow Cab or the other one it usually is.  It is a long drive over the mountain Pass and down to the next major population center to the south, where my appointment was.  The driver was a charming lady who's family emigrated here after the war.  She'd had an arranged marriage, which she escaped, and from which she has three kids.  She came back home to this area, fell in love with and married a divorced man with kinds from a different language group who sounds wonderful and this is their company.  I was utterly charmed by them and I hope I get them next time and not the guy who took me home form an appointment Wednesday a week and a half ago who spent the ride prosthelatizing about the masculinity courses that are his side gig.  (Luckily, he wasn't MRA.  It was a weird cis straight white male liberal type thing, not quite Boomer bullshit, but some sort of hybrid Xer thing, with one foot in the Boomer White liberal camp and one foot in a more modern world view.)  Seriously, I was much later finishing than even my leave lots of room for extra testing estimate do to massive demand and not enough phlebotomists, and they were super cool about it.  He called her back to check in as a result and you could tell how much in love they were right through the language barrier and the way she talked about him....  I was just so happy for her living her best life in the place she loves best.

So here is the deal with rheumatology and me.  Poverty clinic used to get in a rheumatologist once a month from Seattle, but they were seldom the same more than twice for me.  Which meant that every time I'd have to prove to the new rheumatologist that the last one wasn't full of shit and I wasn't faking.  No one liked anyone's diagnosis, so I'd have to do the tests all over again.  I'd see them once more and they'd agree that I did have AS (or occasionally a different arthritis), and set up a treatment plan.  Next time I'd have to start over.  This was during the documenting my disability for Social Security/Medicare phase and for a while after.  The upside was a massive file my lawyer could take to the appeal hearing with a wide array of x-rays, MRIs, and assorted fancier things carefully detailing my degeneration with circled damage that even a law person could look at and go "Yeah.  That's not right."  

Eventually, the damage reached the point where enough was visible through my skin to the naked eye and I stopped having to prove I was in pain.  It was at this point the rheumatologists started to debate AS or something else in earnest.  Seattle stopped sending Saturday Rheumatologists and a clinic that took Medicare became available.  I had the same rheum for more than a year.  We did a fuckton of way fancier tests including a really in depth scan of my spine to see if the surgical option made sense.  It didn't.  We futzed with medication for a bit.  Biologics are no good, it turns out, thanks to CF Carrier.  My GP took over refills.  That rheumatologist went out of the saga.

Right before the pandemic we were just starting a new round of lets check in with specialists about assorted stuff and the every five years or so map the decline cycle, that ended abruptly in February 2020.  Rheum was on the list, but it got but aside.  When we got ready to try again there was a ton of drama with the only local rheum taking medicare and it was impossible to get in anyway, hence my journey south.  Squirrel and my experience with Medical care in Vernon is excellent and I'll take their hospital over ours in a heartbeat, and after dealing with asshole receptionist at the local was was happy to give it a whirl down there.  

They were all delightful at the New Rheum.  new Rheum's theory is hyper-mobility + Osteo instead of AS, which we are testing.  (I'm not classic hyper-flexible.  No joints that bend backward, but the field is moving forward a lot and they are starting to consider people in my category as hyper-flexible too.  I am stiff as fuck due to arthritis these days, but I was rather famously flexible in my youth.  Like people would gather around to watch me stretch out and make comments.)  I signed releases so she can get my massive fucking file of scans and tests.  

The building had an imaging and blood testing center (Also a full surgical center and who knows what else).  X-ray was a significantly shorter wait than the x-rays took.  X-ray techs were delightful.  Unfortunately we were doing skull to tailbone is small sections with lots of angles to get all the joints, most of it standing up.  I expected this.  It was still a nightmare.

While I was being posed for yet another series of what I was thinking of as the least sexy photo-shoot ever, I found myself thinking that Harrowhawk Nonegismus likely wouldn't agree if I'd been a woman...

The wait for the phlebotomist took as long as the rheum +x-ray plus their wait times put together at minimum.  I was exhausted, in pain, and in an uncomfortable chair near the door where the arctic blast would hit me every time they opened.  On the upside my history of early modern English sodomy turned out to be really riveting in a way a lot of academic writing in this area isn't.  Wow!  Seriously wow!  Scholarship has come a long way in recent years.  a bunch of things in there should really be movies.

I am wrung out and in pain and my eyelids are twitching again, but miles to go before I sleep.  Sigh.

On the upside, bills are now paid.  Thank you to everyone kicking in.  Housing bill is soon.  Fingers crossed on no more emergencies.

[thelibraryofflowers]

Meet the author! 🎕

Hey everyone! I'm Bat. Nice to meet you :)

Get to know me!

pronouns - he/they/ae orientation - aromantic asexual age - minor

genres I write! ➝ sci-fi, fantasy, realistic fiction (always with romance subplots) genres I read! ➝ historical fiction (mostly wwII), realistic fiction, fantasy, dystopian (I'll read almost anything if it's good)

WIPs/universes! ➝ The Warriors of Aregon, the Eons, The Realms, Ahilta, Pennywisp, Beachside, the Short Book of Mortals, This Strange World, etc.

things about my stories! ➝ they always have queer characters & queer ships (mostly mlm)

fandoms! ➝ the Riordianverse (specifically toa!!!), a series of unfortunate events, heartstopper, zero g, agatha raisin, sweet tooth, young royals, osemanverse, the letter for the king, ava's demon, etc.

fav books! ➝ the trials of apollo series, radio silence, my side of the mountain, the war that saved my life, aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe, the whiz mob and the grenadine kid, this was our pact, ava's demon, etc.

music! ➝ AJR, Troye Sivan, Mad Tsai, First Aid Kit, Death Cab for Cutie, Tears for Fears, etc.

movies/tv! ➝ young royals, heartstopper, sweet tooth, the martian, ferris bueller's day off, the chronicles of narnia (specifically the voyage of the dawn treader!!), chef, ocean's 8/11, handsome devil, the letter for the king, etc.

misc enjoyments! ➝ green, yellow, blue; flannels, books, writing, frisbee, ballet, pinterest, talking about writing & books w/ friends

thanks for reading! see you around! <3, Bat

p.s.: you can also find me here! ⬎

carrd

instagram

[rainofaugustsith]

Help Getting to the Polls - Election Day 2022

If you can't afford or don't have a ride to the polls to vote, here are some resources. Nationally, Lyft is offering discounts of 50% for rides to and from the polls (up to $10 off each way). Code: VOTE22  https://people.com/politics/lyft-uber-helping-americans-get-to-polls-election-day/ 1. Free rides up to $25/each way from the NAACP https://support.naacp.org/a/pull-up-to-the-polls 2. Assistance/free rides to the polls in South Carolina: https://www.msn.com/en-us/money/companies/multiple-groups-offering-free-or-discounted-rides-to-the-polls-tuesday/ar-AA13ONic 3. Free Metro rides, Metro bikeshare, Lyft and Yellow Cab rides in Los Angeles: https://thesource.metro.net/2022/10/20/metro-offering-free-rides-on-election-day-ballot-drop-boxes-and-vote-centers-located-at-busy-stations/ https://ktla.com/news/local-news/l-a-county-voters-can-catch-free-rides-to-voting-centers-through-rideshare-apps/ 4. Texas: Assistance in Dallas area and Tarrant County: https://www.nbcdfw.com/news/local/north-texas-transit-services-offer-free-rides-to-the-polls-during-texas-general-election/3105430/ 5. Texas: More on Tarrant County free rides: https://www.tarrantcounty.com/en/news/2022/free-rides-for-early-voting--election-day.html 6. Texas: Areas around Austin: https://www.kvue.com/article/news/politics/elections/free-rides-austin-polls-election-2022-carts/269-467900ad-57c3-4a23-b68a-afe0358af589 7. Georgia: Numerous counties through the New Georgia Project https://newgeorgiaproject.org/rides/ 8. Arizona: Flagstaff area public transit is free on Nov. 8 to get to the polls: https://mountainline.az.gov/news-events/mountain-line-offering-free-rides-to-the-polls-on-november-8/ 9. Arizona: Mi Familia Vota is offering free rides through volunteers: https://www.abc15.com/news/election-2020/groups-offering-free-rides-to-the-polls-on-election-day 10. New Hampshire: Dover area, COAST is free on Election Day: https://www.dover.nh.gov/services/online-services/news-events/news-2022/coast-to-offer-free-rides-on-election-day.html

11. Kentucky: Louisville area: TARC is free on Election Day: https://www.ridetarc.org/tarc-offers-fare-free-service-on-election-day-nov-8/ Please add your local resources!

[hellfirehaley]

Old iPod Playlist

So I found my old playlist from when I broke my phone back in 2014-2018 and went off the grid basically. It was called Listen Longer.

iPod playlist

Bad Suns- Cardiac Arrest

Bastille

Pompeii

Things We Lost In The Fire

Bad Blood

Oblivion

Flaws

Good Grief

Beastie Boys

Fight For Your Right

No Sleep Til Brooklyn

River - Bishop Briggs

I Wanna Get Better - Bleachers

Blink-182 (anthology pre Tom DeLonge departure)

Bon Iver - Skinny Love

Borns - 10,000 Emerald Pools

Cage The Elephant - Mess Around

The Clash

London Calling

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Coldplay

A Sky Full Of Stars

Paradise

Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall

M.M.I.X

Yellow

The Scientist

Clocks

Fix You

Talk

Speed Of Sound

Til Kingdom Come

The Cranberries

Dreams

Ode To My Family

Linger

Zombie

Death Cab For Cutie 

The Ghost Of Beverly Drive

Good Help (Is So Hard To Find)

I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Disclosure - Magnets (ft. Lorde)

Florence and The Machine

Dog Days Are Over

Kiss With a FIst

Cosmic Love

You Got The Love

Foster The People

Pumped Up Kicks

Don’t Stop

Gin Blossoms - Hey Jealousy

Glass Animals

Black Mambo

Gooey

Grouplove

Tongue Tied

Shark Attack

Let Me In

Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta

Hozier

Cherry Wine

Take Me To Church

Imagine Dragons

I Bet My Life

Radioactive

It’s Time

Demons

Amsterdam

Warriors

J. Roddy Walston & The Business - Take It As It Comes

Jake Bugg - Simple As This

James Bay

Hold Back The River

If You Ever Want to Be in Love

Jimmy Eat World - The Middle

Joan Jett - Bad Reputation

Kaleo - Way Down We Go

The Killers

Mr. Brightside

Somebody Told Me

All These Things That I’ve Done

When You Were Young

Kodaline - All I Want

Lorde - Pure Heroine Album

M83 - Wait

Mumford and Sons

I Will Wait

Monster

Believe (live)

The Neighborhood

Afraid

Sweater Weather

Let It Go

Female Robbery

The New Basement Tapes - Kansas City

Of Monsters and Men

King and Lionheart

Mountain Sound

Little Talks

The Offspring

Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)

The Ramones

I Wanna Be Sedated

Judy Is A Punk

Blitzkrieg Bop

I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Dark Necessities

Saint Motel - My Type

Santigold - Radio

SemiSonic - Closing Time

Simple Minds - Don’t You (Forget About Me)

Smashing Pumpkins

1979

Today

Sublime

What I Got

Santeria

40 Oz To Freedom

Doin’ Time

Tears For Fears - Everybody Wants to Rule The World

Third Eye Blind

How’s It Going To Be

Semi-Charmed Life

Jumper

Twenty one pilots

Heathens

Vance Joy

Great Summer

Riptide

X Ambasssadors

Renegades

Unsteady

The 1975

The 1975 album

I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it Album

@emokid-ellie

[yvettegr]

sketch book

Journaling

Unity and variety- principle declaring that in art beauty can come from the variety of diverse components grouped together

Balance- the distribution of the visual weight of objects, colors, texture, and space. If the design was a scale, these elements should be balanced to make a design feel stable.

Emphasis and subordination -Emphasis points underscore concepts, themes, or ideas the artist wants to express. Subordination removes attention from a particular area, in order to emphasize something else. 

Directional forces - paths created or implied within an artwork that lead the eye through the composition. 

Repetition and rhythm - Repetition is a series of similarly curved lines or a recurring motif. Rhythm is the sense of movement in a design, created by the interactions and spaces between different elements.

Scale and proportion - Proportion describes the relationship between the dimensions of different elements and an overall composition. Scale refers to an artwork's size and how parts of a composition relate to each other. 

2. writing and looking

Figure 4.7

Damien Hirst, Posterity-The Holy Place. 2006. Butterflies and household gloss on canvas. 89 5/8” x 48” 

"Posterity – The Holy Place" by Damien Hirst, created in 2006, is a striking and intricate piece that exemplifies the artist's fascination with life, death, and beauty. The artwork is composed of real butterflies and household gloss applied to a canvas. Measuring 89 5/8 inches by 48 inches, the piece is notable for its symmetrical arrangement, reminiscent of stained glass windows found in places of worship.

The butterflies, meticulously placed, create a vibrant and colorful mosaic that contrasts with the gloss background, adding a reflective quality that enhances the visual impact. The use of butterflies, which are often symbols of transformation, is a recurring theme in Hirst's work, reflecting his contemplation of the cycle of life and death. The title, "Posterity – The Holy Place," suggests a contemplation of the future and the sacred, inviting viewers to reflect on the enduring beauty and transient nature of life. The composition’s symmetry and order convey a sense of reverence and tranquility. In summary, the composition of Damien Hirst's "Posterity – The Holy Place" is a complex interplay of natural elements and man-made materials, combining to create a work that is both visually stunning and thought-provoking.

3. connecting art to my world

During a visit to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, I was awed by the breathtaking views of Gatlinburg. The rich hues of the autumn foliage, with leaves ranging in value from deep burgundy to bright gold, were incredibly vivid in their saturation. The intensity of these colors, especially as the sunlight filtered through, created a mesmerizing, almost surreal landscape that filled me with a sense of warmth and awe. The vibrant autumnal palette contrasted beautifully with the cool, misty blues and grays of the distant mountains, adding depth and serenity to the scene.

In contrast, a rainy day in New York revealed a different but equally captivating palette. The cityscape was shrouded in varying shades of gray, from the soft, muted tones of the mist to the darker, more intense values of wet asphalt and steel. The occasional pop of a bright umbrella or a taxi cab's yellow provided a striking visual contrast, highlighting the saturation of these colors against the subdued background. These rainy views evoked a sense of reflection and tranquility amidst the city's hustle and bustle.

If I had to pick a color scheme for my life, it would incorporate the deep, comforting tones of burgundy, symbolizing my favorite color, along with the vibrant and warm colors of autumn, reflecting the loving people and happy moments that enrich my life. Additionally, I would include the cool, calming grays and occasional bright accents of a rainy New York, representing moments of reflection and the vibrant contrasts that punctuate everyday life.

4. art project

5. photo/design

Group 4 interactive design

my instagram for you page that shows what I would be interested in. www.instagram.comLinks to an external site.

This is my spotify account that shows what I am listening too and other genres I may be intrested in. https://www.spotify.comLinks to an external site.

This is my hulu account that shows what I am watching and what I may be interested in watching next. https://www.hulu.comLinks to an external site.

This is my pinterest board that also shows what my interests are and gives me more of what I am interested in. www.pintrest.comLinks to an external site.

This is my Hollister account that gives me the options to view the best deals. https://www.hollisterco.com/shop/usLinks to an external site.What makes a good interactive design to me is that the design in question is already fixed to my liking due to my activity of liking or showing interest in certain places. For example, with my media of Instagram and my choice of streaming services it saves everything I watch and like and then it gives me recommendations based on those things. As well as the shopping sites it helps others and myself to find similar things to what I have bought. I believe that each and every one of my interactive design that I chose does fulfill its purpose. 

[normalgoalie]

Shuffle your ‘On Repeat’/Favorites playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people

Tagged by @qualitystart thanks queen ❤️

The Sound of Settling - Death Cab for Cutie

Crooked Teeth - Death Cab for Cutie

Yellow Light - Of Monsters and Men

Team - Lorde

Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men

Drive - Incubus

Title and Registration - Death Cab for Cutie

so american - Olivia Rodrigo

In My Head - Lights

Things We Lost in the Fire - Bastille

Tagging anyone who wants to!

[mapmydestination123]

Title: Discovering the Tranquil Charms of McLeod Ganj: Your Ultimate Travel Guide

Introduction:

Nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, McLeod Ganj, an extension of the vibrant city of Dharamsala in Himachal Pradesh, offers a serene escape for those seeking respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Once a favored summer destination during British India, McLeod Ganj has transformed into a cultural haven and a hotspot for expats embracing a Himalayan lifestyle. This blog is your comprehensive travel guide to unlock the wonders of McLeod Ganj and create a memorable checklist for your trip, including convenient options like outstation cab booking, one-way taxi services, and the best outstation cab service for a seamless journey-Map My Destination.

Originally known as a summer retreat for British officers, Dharamsala earned its name "rest house." The arrival of the Dalai Lama in McLeod Ganj transformed it into a Tibetan refugee center and a Buddhist pilgrimage destination. The town's backdrop boasts beautiful monasteries, waterfalls, lakes, and charming cafes against the mighty Dhauladhar Himalayas.

Things to Do in McLeod Ganj:

Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts (TIPA):

Founded in 1959, TIPA stands as one of Asia's premier art centers, offering training in dance, music, and theater. Its rich collection of Tibetan folk art and cultural significance make it a must-visit.

Bagalamukhi Temple:

Located amidst the Dhauladhar ranges, this temple is dedicated to ten goddesses of Shaktism. The vibrant yellow surroundings, belief in wish fulfillment, and serene ambiance make it a unique and powerful spiritual experience.

Bhagsu Falls:

Set against the Dhauladhar ranges, Bhagsu Falls is a captivating destination. Visit the Bhagsunath Temple nearby and enjoy the pools formed by the waterfall from July to October.

Dalai Lama Temple:

The heart of Buddhism in McLeod Ganj, this temple is the residence for monks and a place of worship for deities like Buddha and Avalokiteshwara. A small museum offers insights into Tibetan culture.

Namgyal Monastery:

Situated 2 km from McLeod Ganj, this monastery, also known as the 14th Dalai Lama monastery, offers a sacred space for meditation. Tourists are welcomed to join meditation practices in the peaceful surroundings.

Triund Trek:

Embark on the Triund trek for breathtaking views of the deodar forest, Himalayan peaks, and charming villages. Witness the sunrise and sunset from Triund hill, approximately 9 km from McLeod Ganj.

Minkiani Pass:

Situated at an altitude of 4343 ft., Minkiani Pass offers splendid views of the Dhauladhar mountain range. The steep route rewards hikers with mesmerizing landscapes.

Jwalaji Temple:

Located 10 km from McLeod Ganj, Jwalaji Temple is dedicated to Goddess Jwala Devi. Devotees visit to witness the perpetually burning Holy Flames, representing the goddess's power.

Dal Lake:

Surrounded by deodar trees, Dal Lake is a picturesque spot for a peaceful getaway. Located close to Tota Rani village, it offers a serene environment for a small picnic.

Dharamkot:

Adjacent to McLeod Ganj, Dharamkot offers panoramic views of the Dhauladhar range. A spiritual retreat and the annual festival fair add vibrancy to this village.

How to Reach McLeod Ganj:

If you're planning to travel to McLeod Ganj, you have several transportation options. For outstation cab booking, consider taking an overnight AC Volvo bus from major cities like Delhi, Chandigarh, or Manali. The McLeod Ganj bus station is well-connected to the main town, making it a convenient choice.

For those preferring air travel, the nearest airport is Gaggal Airport (Kangra Airport), located approximately 15 kilometers away. Alternatively, you can fly into Dharamshala airport, also in Gaggal. After landing, you can easily arrange one way taxi service or use local transportation to reach McLeod Ganj.

If you opt for the train journey, the nearest major railway station is Pathankot Railway Station, about 90 kilometers away. From Pathankot, you can hire a taxi or take a bus for your journey to McLeod Ganj, providing a convenient option for car booking for outstation.

For those who enjoy driving, McLeod Ganj is well-connected by road. You can either hire a taxi or drive from nearby cities and towns, making it an excellent choice for best outstation cab service.

Upon reaching McLeod Ganj, local transport options such as taxis and auto-rickshaws are readily available for your convenience. The town is small enough to explore on foot, and many attractions, including the Bhagsu Nag Temple and the Dalai Lama's residence, are within a reasonable distance. So, whether you're in need of best one way taxi or seeking one side taxi service, McLeod Ganj provides a range of transportation options to make your journey comfortable and enjoyable.

Local Transport:

Once you arrive in McLeod Ganj, the town is relatively small and can be explored on foot. Taxis and auto-rickshaws are also available for local transportation. Additionally, many tourist attractions, such as the Bhagsu Nag Temple and the Dalai Lama's residence, are within a reasonable distance from the main town and can be reached easily.

Where to Stay:

McLeod Ganj offers a range of accommodations, from guesthouses to homestays and resorts. Some notable options include Ram Yoga House, providing a mountain-view balcony, and numerous budget-friendly choices.

Laid-back Cafes:

Explore the vibrant streets with Tibetan massage parlors, tattoo studios, handicrafts, paintings, and flea markets. Indulge in local wines, such as plum wine and apple wine. Experience the unique ambiance of cafes like Black Tent Café, Jimmy's Italian Kitchen, and Mcllo Beer Bar.

Best Season to Visit:

The tourist season is from March to June and mid-September to November. For a quieter experience, consider visiting just before the peak season starts and avoiding weekends.

Conclusion:-Map My Destination

McLeod Ganj with our top-notch outstation cab booking services. Experience the convenience of one-way taxi service and hassle-free car booking for outstation adventures. Our commitment to providing the best outstation cab service ensures a comfortable and enjoyable ride as you traverse the mesmerizing Himalayan landscape.

The spiritual charm of McLeodGanj by visiting its enchanting monasteries, where tranquility and cultural richness converge. Our reliable one-way taxi service allows you to soak in the serenity of the surroundings without worrying about the return journey.

https://www.linkedin.com/company/map-my-destination/

[flaredonut]

scenery thing for "stage 1: The wild west"

BACKGROUND THINGS- cacti, big brown rocks and small stones, orange-to-yellow gradient skies, nightfires, rivers, trails, mines, minecarts, wood houses, dry trees, apple trees, barrels, bars, wood fences, native tribes' houses, totems, water towers, trains

INSIDE THE MINES- more trails (complete or not) and minecarts, bright and shiny blue crystals

INSIDE THE BAR- round tables full of thugs, someone playing a piano, a bartender

COLORS- brown, orange, yellow, green, blue

ANIMALS- coyote (town sheriff) nine-banded armadillo, burrowing owl, scorpion (sidekicks), rattlesnake (bandit) bison (thug in the bar)

BASED ON: dragon land ep 5; Tembo the badass elephant sunset mountains; a flutteryoshi952, cabs, ashdragonwolf and bumbleboo12's art

[ootycalltaxi]

Now you planning to visit emerald lake book ootycalltaxi to see amazing place located in ooty , Our ooty taxi drivers will help you to reach emerald lake there you can observe the beautiness of lake, the water is very cleaness .ooty cabs will help important place to see . Here birds are very famous and you can see variety of fishes in the emerald lake . we can see sunset and sunshine in this spot.It will be the best place to take photos with your friends , family and relatives.They converting this water as drinking water to the local people. Our ooty taxi services will guide complete part of emerald lake. Tourists can enjoy the amazing view of emerald lake. Nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, Emerald Lake stands as a testament to the breathtaking beauty of nature. This pristine alpine lake, with its vibrant turquoise waters and encircling peaks, is a paradise for nature enthusiasts, photographers, and anyone seeking a tranquil escape. Let's take a virtual journey to explore the enchanting beauty of Emerald Lake and its surroundings.

The Journey to Emerald Lake: As you embark on your journey, the drive through the mountainous terrain offers glimpses of towering pine trees, meandering rivers, and the promise of a serene destination. The road winds through forests and opens up to occasional viewpoints, where you can stop and admire the sweeping vistas of valleys and distant peaks.

Arrival at Emerald Lake: Upon arriving at Emerald Lake, you're immediately captivated by the emerald-green water that gives the lake its name. The color is a result of light reflecting off fine particles of glacial silt suspended in the water. The lake is nestled at the base of the iconic peaks of the President Range, which rise majestically against the sky.

Nature's Canvas: Emerald Lake is surrounded by a well-maintained trail that offers leisurely walks and opportunities for more challenging hikes. The trail takes you around the lake, offering different angles to admire its beauty. Along the way, you'll encounter wooden bridges, wildflower-filled meadows, and the soothing melody of birdsong. In the fall, the foliage transforms into a vibrant tapestry of reds, yellows, and oranges, making it a favorite spot for photographers.

Activities: Whether you're a casual observer or an outdoor adventurer, there's something for everyone at Emerald Lake. You can opt for a leisurely paddle on the lake's pristine waters in a canoe, allowing you to fully immerse yourself in the surroundings. Fishing enthusiasts can try their luck at catching the native trout that inhabit the lake. If hiking is your passion, trails of varying difficulties lead to nearby destinations like the famous Yoho Lake or the Burgess Shale fossil beds.

The Natural Bridge: A short hike from Emerald Lake takes you to the stunning Natural Bridge—a natural rock formation that spans the Kicking Horse River. The river has eroded the rock over time, creating a picturesque arch that frames the rushing water beneath it.

Lodging and Facilities: For those who wish to extend their stay, ooty cabs offers lodging options that range from charming cabins to cozy lodges. These accommodations allow you to wake up to the serene beauty of the lake and mountains. The on-site restaurant provides an opportunity to savor delicious meals while soaking in the scenery.

Preservation and Appreciation: As you explore this paradise, remember to tread lightly and practice responsible tourism. The delicate ecosystem around the lake is crucial to its beauty, so respecting nature is of utmost importance. Emerald Lake stands as a testament to the captivating beauty of the Rockies and the pristine wonders that our planet offers. It's a place that leaves a lasting impression on all who are fortunate enough to experience it—a true haven for those seeking to reconnect with nature's grandeur.

[semimedieval]

jasper and mari quick playlist: summertime mcr /  i will follow you into the dark death cab (lol) / first day of my life bright eyes (lol) / folk art masterpiece willi carlisle / in our bedroom after the war stars / riches and wonders the mountain goats  / i want to be here neko case / i and love and you avett brothers (lol) / silver dollar sierra ferrell / i was made for sunny days the weepies

quartz and lark quick playlist: futile devices sufjan stevens / annie’s song john denver / in dreams sierra ferrell / talking like you connie converse / she lit a fire lord huron / the one i want will come for me fucked up / wax & wane alana henderson / i don’t really love you anymore the magnetic fields / old friend mitski / the big sleep streetlight manifesto

leander and mina quick playlist: townie mitski / these foolish things frank sinatra / a case of you joni mitchell / not a day goes by merrily we roll along / a complete list of fears... the yellow dress /  you and i part ii fleetwood mac / that’s what you get paramore  / changes phil ochs / woke up new the mountain goats / the ghost of you mcr