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m0chaminx · 2 years

Text

Druig | I've Missed You

*•.¸♡Request : none

*•.¸♡Prompt : none

*•.¸♡𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : Slight angst, Smut !!! Oral (M receiving), Switch reader, Switch Druig, Praise kink, Teasing, Mocking, Minors DNI

Reader has element manipulation

There is a fair bit of plot

Spoilers

*•.¸♡Paring : Druig x F!Eternal!reader

*•.¸♡𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : You find Druig once again and you want to prove you missed him

*•.¸♡words : 2000+

The sinking feeling that took over your gut, the twisting and churning and the buzz in your ears grew louder as you watched Druig, your lover, walk down the steps. Away from his role, away from his family, away from you. Ajak spoke to everyone but the words just fell dull in your ears, simply a background noise as the last of the villagers following Druig disappeared from sight. The hand sliding onto your shoulder made you jump and spin to Makkari looking at you with sorrow-filled eyes.

"Y/N, are you okay?" She signed quickly before moving back to rub a comforting hand on your shoulder. You shook your head and took a breath.

"I'm not sure," You signed in honesty resting your head against the stone wall. Your eyes darted to where the others were, but now it only held Thena, Gilgamesh and Ajak in the corner waiting to speak with you. Makkari held your cheek turning your head to face her again.

"Ajak said we can go," Makkari relayed. "I'm staying at the Domo for a while, but I understand if you need to go." Makkari's soft smile broke your heart, she wanted you to stay with her but now you were free. Free...

"I have to go," You singed softly pulling Makkari close so your heads rested together. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay." Makkari read your lips and nodded letting out a stuttered breath.

"I love you," Makkari signed once she pulled back enough. "I will see you in another time."

"I love you," You signed back squeezing her into a hug before she sped off.

Your head spun back to the burning village watching the flames flicker against the black sky. "Y/N," Ajak called before you could take a step down. "Do you mind if I walk with you?" Ajak smiled walking to stand with you. You smiled at her starting to take the journey down the stairs.

"What do I do?" You asked staring off ahead.

"Whatever you want," Ajak smiled softly knowing that wasn't what you meant but knowing you needed to admit it.

"No. What do I do without him?" You asked as your feet finally hit the dirt ground. "I saw him first, I talked to him first." You stopped to suck in a breath as you stopped in front of a charred hut. "I kissed him first, I loved him first." Each sentence brought you closer to rage, "The Eternals are my family... and now that's gone!" The last sentence sent a large surge of wind outwards stopping the flames dead.

Ajak walked out in front of you gripping your shoulders staring into your eyes, "You are Y/N the goddess of the Elements, you tame the seas, you let villages thrive, you give them air and you give them warmth," Ajak relayed Sprites many stories, which were based on truth. "You can do whatever you want."

The train blaring horn sprung you from your slumber and you nearly banged your head against the window again. You tugged the ends of the sleeves of your blue dress back down your forearms. A knock sounded to your left and you strained your posture noticing it was a train worker. With a curt nod, the man slid the door to your compartment open, a kind smile spread on his face.

"We will be entering Peru in just a few moments milady, but I must ask if this is truly your destination," The man offered a weary smile.

"I appreciate your concern sir, but I know this is the place," You reassured with a kind smile.

"I trust you mam, but be wary of the forest, a man lurks with indescribable power," The man spoke and with a final nod before closing the door again.

It was Druig, it had to be. Many a rumour passed through London where you had been for the past ten years, a young man capable of controlling even the toughest of minds. But still, your hope was little. The last two hundred years you spent searching for him, London had been your latest stop but certainly not your first. There had been Europe and its surrounding islands, the edges of Africa, North America and another rumour sent you back to London- and then nothing for ten years, until now.

Trudging the forest to reach the center of the Amazon was tiring, thank god you had brought a spare change of clothing. swapping the bulky dress for men's garden ware, was it the most appealing, no but after so many years certainly not the thing you wanted Druig to see first. Using the flora part of your gifts, the gold glow encasing your hand and forearm you pushed a large tree up and into its original place making sure to fix its rooting as well. Just beyond that revealed a lining of vines, pushing your way past into a small village.

You watched for a moment the residents doing their tasks or the small children running around chasing each other with sticks. Shaking your head you walked to a young woman who was plucking a flower from a bush to pass to a young boy.

"Excuse me, do you know a Druig?" You asked the woman tapping into your knowledge of Spanish. The woman's eyes raked over your attire and turned to mumble to a man behind her.

"Why do you ask?" The woman asked her accent much thicker than yours could ever be.

"I'm an old friend, I just need to know if he's here," Your voice broke into slight desperation your hope slowly fading.

"Druig?" A kid questioned tugging on your slacks, "His hut is over there." You followed the kids gaze to the largest hut in the area. You mumbled a small thank you even as the kids was being chastised. Your steps carried you to the door and your heart dropped into your stomach as your hand reached up to knock.

"It's open," Druig called, even speaking a different language you could still hear the Irish laced in it. You pushed the door open watching his figure loom by the window. "What do you need..?" His voice faltered when he turned and noticed it was you standing there. You, his once lover.

"Hey Druig," You spoke in English waving a hand sending the door closed behind you. His voice got stuck in his throat watching you move to release the hair tie from your head letting your hair drop on your shoulders. "I've been looking for you."

Druig stepped forward taking your face in his hand caressing his thumb running across your cheekbones. You brought your hands up to rest over his. "My beautiful, darling Y/N," His accent sparked a fire inside that you thought you had lost long ago. "My Y/N." He brought his head down pressing his lips to yours. Your hand moved to the waistline of his shirt gripping it and pulling him closer. He broke away leading you to the bed sat in the center of the room where you sat side by side. He finally took in your full appearance and chuckled at your choice of clothing.

"I know it's silly," You admitted brushing your hands along the pants. "But Dru, I've been looking for nearly two centuries. I wasn't actually expecting to find you here. So no fancy dress up." His eyes softened at your statement and he brushed some stray hair from your face.

"For two centuries..?" He asked holding your face in one hand, you leant into his touch letting your hands fall to his legs.

"It's not easy to get around, especially without the Domo," You giggled but you weren't joking at your laugh was empty. You lifted a hand to his cheek pulling him closer to kiss him again. Druig's free hand moved to grip your waist tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You pulled back to press your forehead to his and your breathing was faster than usual. "Let me show you how much I've missed you." Druig simply nodded and pulled you back to him engaging in the messiest kiss you had shared.

Druig ran his hand all over your body, whatever he could reach. You had been gone so long and god he missed this. Druig's hands ran to your legs trying to tug you closer. You got the message and swung your leg over his to trap him under your legs. Druig pulled back breathless holding you back slightly by your waist. "The door," Druig rasped before he latched his lips to the skin of your neck. You threw your hand up, glowing with gold as you covered the door in thick vines. Druig grazed his teeth against your collar bone making you let out a strangled moan as you gripped his shoulders in support. Druig chuckled at you his voice vibrating against your throat. "I have ruined you so many times my love," Druig grazed his hand up your sides raising goosebumps on your skin, "And yet you still react as if it's the first time I have touched you."

Druig tugged at the vest you wore tearing it at the seams, tossing it behind you onto the ground. Your shirt was next to go Druig ripped it open the buttons flying around. Druig leant back holding your thighs as you stripped the shirt off completely. You tugged at his shirt, "Please Druig," You whined trying to pull it up. Druig complied throwing his shirt behind him. You pushed your hands against his chest and he fell back against the bed. He gripped your sides pulling you with him. Your lips latched to his skin leaving dark red and purple marks from his neck to the top of his pants. Druig groaned throwing his head back as you nipped at his hip. You gripped his pants pulling them down letting them hit the ground, ridding you both of shoes as well. Druig pushed himself onto his hand squeezing his eyes shut letting a low moan slip as your fingers grazed over his hardening crotch. "We have spent so many nights together, and you still react as if I'm touching you for the first time," You teased pulling his underwear down his erection springing free.

"Y/N, I know it's been a while but if- Oh fuck," Druig's retort was replaced with a moan as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. Druig gripped your hair and you rested your hand on his thighs as you started to lower yourself down. "Fuck, shit please Y/N."

"Please what Darling?" You teased taking your lips off slowly pumping him with your right hand. Druig cursed as slipped your thumb over his slit, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that."

"Please Y/N, I need to cum," Druig whined trying to buck his hips against his hand. A low giggle escaped your lips before you finally took him back in your mouth your hand moving to the base of his cock stroking what didn't fit. Druig threw his head back tugging at your hair as he tried not to move, not wanting to fuck your face so soon. "So fucking good, my beautiful Y/N." You moaned around him making Druig bucked his hips up your throat closing around his cock. "Fuck sorry, you're just- Fuck, so fucking good." You lifted your head to take a breath and you leant up kissing across Druig's neck and throat as you pumped his cock as fast as you could.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You whispered against Druig's ear listening to Druig's strangled and breathy moans. "My pretty boy." Druig hands quickly found your waist gripping it hard enough to leave bruises, his hips stuttering as his cock let out strings of white cum, it covered your hand as you gently stroked him through his orgasm. You whispered sweet praise in his ear, lightly rubbing circles against his hip. "So good baby, such a good boy."

Druig kissed your shoulder watching as you used your powers to make water to clean the mess and throw it out the window, "Jesus," Druig sighed pulling you closer to hug you properly. "I guess I really did miss you."

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bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls · 3 years

Note

Favourite quote from a movie

As if I have one. Here's a pile of them.

"Rosebud!"

"People will think... what I tell them to think."

"She's my sister! [slap] She's my daughter! [slap] She's my sister and my daughter!"

"It's just a three-cent."

"He's fleein' the interview!"

"Edwina's insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase."

"Go back and get me a toddler!"

"I guess you think you've really raised hell." "Sister, when I've raised hell, you'll know it."

"I'm praying to you!"

"I love you three thousand."

"You put your disease in me."

"Through the darkness of futures past, the magician longs to see. One chants out between two worlds... fire, walk with me."

"Ya know, I sure do like a girl with nice tits like yours who talks tough and looks like she can fuck like a bunny. Do you fuck like that? Cause if ya do, I'll fuck ya good. Like a big ol' jackrabbit bunny, jump all around that hole. Bobby Peru don't come up for air."

"That's pride, fuckin' with you."

"Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead."

"Paulie may have moved slow, but it was only because Paulie didn't have to move for anybody."

"I know there are women, like my best friends, who would have gotten out of there the minute their boyfriend gave them a gun to hide. But I didn't. I got to admit the truth. It turned me on."

"It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away everything he's got and everything he's ever gonna have."

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it."

"If little faults, proceeding on distemper, cannot be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye when capital crimes, chewed, swallowed, and digested, appear before us?"

"Unless the Dolphin be in presence here, to whom expressly I bring greeting too." "The Dauphin. I stand here for him. What to him from England?" "Scorn and defiance. Slight regard. Contempt. And anything that might not misbecome the mighty sender, doth he prize you at."

"Sometimes there's a man."

"It really tied the room together."

"There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking."

"That'll do, pig."

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw."

"Stop. Don't. Come back."

"Personally speaking, I can't wait to watch life tear you apart."

"We are Sex Bob-Omb and we are here to make you think about death and get sad and stuff!"

"Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ’Cause we’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize’s a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired."

"Some folks call it a sling blade, I call it a Kaiser blade."

"There's a difference between like and love. Because, I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack."

#asks #broken girl film academy #blog-bgfa

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thehoneybuzz · 3 years

Text

Chasing Baker

My Nana was my greatest adversary.

In an otherwise charmed life, Nana was an immovable force and the only legitimate challenger to my willpower. Not without the warmth one would expect from a grandmother, Nana could be sharp - like a sun-warmed pane of glass. Lesser hearts might have bent to me when I requested accommodation - but not Nana. Nana set a firm bedtime, insisted on efficient tooth brushing, and rather than negotiate with hair tangles, made short work of them in single, swift wrenches when brushing your hair. No nonsense. When you stayed with her - in one of two twin beds in a room made precisely for grandchildren - you often found yourself in bed with the lights out, with no real memory of having gotten there, swept away in the tide of your sheets. Nana was uncompromising, and no arena was more suited to our mutual stubbornness as the dinner table.

I grew up a notoriously picky eater. After a weekend at my Uncle Jerry's, my mom received a hardcover copy of "The Strong-Willed Child" from him as a gift. He had spanked me for not eating chicken nuggets. As evident by its title, the book was meant to coach my mother on parenting strategies for mitigating my innate obstinance. This would not be the only copy of the book my mother received. Though, I think she could have written one by the time I turned 4. I simply refused to eat the things I didn't like, and that was a long list.

A relative once applauded - clapped his hands together in joy- upon learning that I had graduated from having the crusts cut off my bread to full-blown sandwich eating. The peanut butter and honey sandwich was my signature dish and an absolute staple. I'd like to say I've grown out of it - and I've certainly grown having tried llama steak in Peru, lamb heart at the table of a Lebanese family, and Greenland shark in an Icelandic cafe - but it took me a long time to let go of my habits and permit myself to try, and it took some coaxing. My preferences ran deep.

My diet from ages six through eleven included Eggo waffles, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, an assortment of cereals, a handful of specific fruits and vegetables, and the occasional steak when mom thought my iron was low. My mom - on the advice of a pediatrician who told her that if she force-fed me, I'd develop an eating disorder - catered to this preference. Nana did not. They must have been seeing different pediatricians.

Nana took the clear your plate approach - The approach driven by reward and consequence. Finish your plate, cookies delivered. Fail to try, become hungry and hungrier still as dessert passes you by. I took to swallowing food whole, and my mom took to sending me with granola bars on visitations. She'd line the interior of my suitcase like we were smuggling drugs. I'll admit it was an unusual form of contraband, but the measure seemed necessary in a divorced child's duplicitous world. What my mom saw as nourishment, my Dad might see as undermined parenting strategy even under the best of circumstances - which they often weren't. I was hungry, so decided it best to keep things a secret and wrappers out of the trash.

Despite Nana's apparent best efforts, I avoided the eating disorder. Thanks to my mom, I avoided most foods until my early 20s. I don't know who was right. What I know for certain is that I was loved.

When I sat down with Nana after my trip to Mt. Baker, she clutched her heart as she said. "Ally - to think about you as this little girl - and that you would only eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches - to think of you climbing mountains…" she shakes her head, "… well I just can't believe it."

I started to laugh and asked her, "Want to know the best part?"

She nodded, smile in her eyes, full of that sunny warmth - playful and kaleidoscopic.

"I ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches up and down the side of that mountain, Nana," I told her, laughing, and then we laughed together. Growing up is fun, I thought, especially in moments like this.

Laughing with your grandmother is a gift you receive in exchange for time, and it is a beautiful gift indeed. Here is a woman who bathed you, clothed you, fed you - and by the time you're old enough to understand the magnitude of the life she held before all that, she is often gone. I'm lucky to have this time. Nana is 90 years old now, and my mother's mother passed at 74. I never got to have the conversations I wanted to have with my grandmother, who died. To ask her questions like, 'Who were you?' 'What lifetimes made up the love you gave so effortlessly away?'

There is something about mountain climbing that makes you consider those kinds of questions in real-time. There is something about mountain climbing that makes you feel as if you are in the process of 'becoming.' So when, at the parking lot of Grandy Creek Grocery, I met my fellow climbers and our guides - there was a feeling of anticipation and nervousness about who I'd be sharing that story with. Dropping me off, my mom described it like the first day of kindergarten. The first person I met was Sharon.

I had been worried about Sharon. Weeks before, on the pre-trip Zoom call, she stood out from the digital crowd as the most visibly senior person there. Sharon did not look old - she looked undoubtedly the oldest. I think this is an important distinction - particularly to Sharon. I remember thinking - "I hope she is not on my trip because I'm worried she will show me down." A very judgmental thought and the universe saw to its reckoning. Sharon surprised the hell out of me.

She paced the parking lot, and I jumped out of my rig to greet her. We quickly began commiserating. Baker would be her first mountain. I had Mount St. Helens under my belt, but it's not much in the way of experience. We talked about our training plan, recounting long drives to taller places. Sharon was from Wisconsin, and she had to drive 45 minutes to get to peaks at 3,000 - the same as me in Eastern Washington. We had a lot in common. Where I ran, she had been hiking with weight and jogging. Sharon wasn't afraid of hard work. On our drive to the trailhead, I learned that she had just lost 75 pounds last year. I learned later that when Sharon signed up for this climb, she hadn't told anyone in her family she was doing it. She was 62 years old and had never once traveled alone. What on earth possessed her to climb a mountain? I'd be afraid of that question, too.

Sharon eventually fessed up to her family and made the trip official. That's how we found ourselves on the side of a mountain together. I'm embarrassed to have been so fundamentally wrong - but my confession is not without meaning, and I learned an important lesson. Never underestimate a Sharon.

When Melissa, our guide, described Mt. Baker for the first time, she called it by its indigenous name, Komo Kulshan. She then gave us its epithet - "The Great White Watcher." Having now met Kulshan face to face, I can tell you that's precisely how he feels. The summit looms as you navigate through the trees. Stoic in the face of the wilderness that surrounds him. Ice cold, he waits. In the Lummi language, he's called 'white sentinel.' He is persistent, vigilant, and watching.

I focused my nervous energy on preparing to meet this mountain by learning what I could about him. I learned that Mt. Baker is 10,781 feet tall, an active volcano, and the second most glaciated mountain in the continental united states (Rainier's got it beat, and you don't count Alaska). It's a formidable mountain, known - as nearly all alpine environments are - for its quickly changing conditions and the perils of its geology. This all, somehow, frightened me less than the thought of meeting Melissa Arnot-Reid. Her legend loomed not in the Cascades - where only a single peak resides above the threshold of 14,000 feet by which the Rockies measure their formidable "fourteeners." Melissa's legend loomed as large as Everest, on who's summit she has been six times - the only American woman to summit without the use of supplemental oxygen and survive. 29,032 feet. Melissa was someone I wanted to learn from, and I was scared shitless of her by reputation.

Suffering a bit of social awkwardness around celebrities, I prepared to meet Melissa by seeking to learn nothing about her at all. The antithesis of my mountain strategy - I told myself our experience would be what it was when we met on the mountain. My job was to learn - to ask my questions courageously - and be vulnerable and bold in seeking truth. I spent a fair bit of time wondering if she might be an ass hole, too. The age-old adage, "don't meet your heroes," drifted in and out of my mind.

In the last 15 minutes of our drive to Grandy's, my mom started reading Melissa's Wikipedia page aloud to me as I navigated the road, undoing months of my concerted preparation. I let her continue, greedy for information. "It says she trains by depriving herself of things - that she'll go without food and water."

"Probably a good idea if you're ever going to be stuck on the side of a mountain without it," I told her. I braced myself for a response. In the past few months, my mother had a growing sensitivity around topics that might suggest I could die on the side of a mountain. Admitting, so blatantly, that mountain climbing was a dangerous sport left me vulnerable to excessive mothering accompanied by exclamations of "Don't you dare!" Instead, my mom sort of nodded and continued, "I'm surprised her baby came out healthy."

My brow furrowed. I hated my mother for saying it. I had avoided a lecture from the mother of the mountaineer but failed to account for the mother of the daughter aged-almost-thirty. My uterus is a topic of conversation around my mother's table. Apparently, so was Melissas. Not wanting to discuss either, I let my mother's comment go unchecked as she continued to list accomplishments. "This article says she's focused on business, not emotions. That she is an incredible problem-solver." Now her reports felt more like cheating - it felt like an unfair advantage to meet someone armed with publicly available information about them. When you Google "Allyson Tanzer," you won't find much about my disposition under pressure. I told my mom it was time to focus and turned up the music.

When we parked, and I went to introduce myself to Melissa, three things happened. As I introduced myself, she first quickly let me know that she would not be giving out hugs due to the pandemic. Then, taking my hand in a firm grip, Melissa detailed that she and our other guide, Adrienne, had critical guide business to discuss and would be with us in a moment. She reported being thrilled to be meeting us as she quickly dropped my hand. Within thirty seconds, I was apologizing profusely and backing my way into the grocery. What can I say - first time formally climbing mountains, and I wasn't sure of the protocol. I fiddled with a bag of Cheetohs and continued to hope that she wasn't just an ass hole.

I went to the bathroom for something to do and remembered what my mother said. Task-oriented. I figured Melissa probably didn't hate me, after all. Despite my earlier misgivings, I was grateful to know a bit about her character, regardless of how 'honestly' that information was obtained. Thanks, Mom.

Our climb began. We left Grandy's in a caravan and parked near 3000' at the winter routes trailhead. On the first day, you ascend to 6000' and establish camp. You carry about 40 pounds, walking 1 mile and about 1000 vertical feet per hour, stopping for 15-minute breaks in those intervals. Conditions are warm, which means you're doing something the mountaineers call "post-holing" - ramming deep holes (as if for a fence post) into the ground as you step through snow that's washed out underneath. It's slow-going and rigorous. An hour and a half in, Melissa reports that we're standing in the location where she usually takes the first break. Unseasonably warm weather with a heavy snow accumulation has made for an exciting start.

You walk along a canyon ridge formed by a retreating glacier. You realize that time here is not measured in the same cadence that it's known to you. Mountains measure time in millennium, not decades. The formations of rock are carved by years, not minutes. The ground holds a history you can't conceive of - an ancient history of rock and ice. You are constantly struck by feeling small both physically and in your very chronology. I spent the first day happily in awe.

At camp, you maintain - guides (and playfully designated junior guides), boil snow, establish a base, dig a toilet. You assess whether or not you need to poop in a bag and carry it down the mountain with you as you try - for the first time - a rehydrated meal claiming to be chili Mac and cheese. Melissa teaches us how to walk on rope over a glacier. I try to mimic her knots. She redefines your concept of efficiency - breathlessly describing a packing order that accounts for calorie intake, warmth requirements and weight distribution - Every contingency considered. When I win the Ice Ax Rodeo by landing my thrown ax in a particular configuration - all is right in the world. Melissa is a drill sergeant giving instruction. She outlines the next minute - next five minutes - next hour - next day.

Her matter-of-fact nature reminds me of something. When I gave my parents a ride in an airplane for the first time with me as the pilot in command, I provided them near the same briefing as we were parked on the ramp. It ended dramatically with, "And if anything should happen, you have to exit the aircraft first in the following fashion." At which point I launched myself from the plane. I wanted them to be prepared to fight their instincts to protect me. I’m the only pilot on board - and my job is to protect my passengers, no exceptions. They both described a sense of foreboding and peace at the demonstration. It’s precisely how I felt when Melissa explained how she would be rescuing herself from a crevasse. “If you fall, I get you out. If I fall, I get myself out, but I need your help as an anchor to do so.” She took the approach of coaching us in only what we needed for the next challenge. We would learn crevasse rescue on a need to know basis. At Grandy’s, she told us to expect 48 hours of endurance. At camp, we’re at hour 9. She painted a picture of the following day.

"We'll begin between 11, and 2 am. Expect switchbacks up the glacier, a series of flats, and gains over the next hour. In 3.5 miles, we'll gain an additional 2000 feet - meandering a path through the glacier's crevasses, and it will gradually become steeper over time. About 1.5 miles to the summit, we'll hit the Easton glacier culminating in the Roman Wall. Then, because God has a sense of humor, you have a long flat walk to the summit after the steepest portion. All said it will take us between 5-7 hours to the top."

Frankly, it was just about as simple as that.

My eyes opened at 11:50 pm to the sound of movement outside the tent. Melissa had coached us here, too. "You may not be sleeping," she told us as we readied for 'lights out.' Days from the summer solstice, the sun burned brightly above us at 7 pm. "Remember that you don't need sleep; you need rest. That's what you're getting here at camp. You're horizontal; your feet are out of your boots. Close your eyes, and know you're getting what you need." Felt like a lie, but sure enough, with two hours of sleep, I couldn't describe myself as tired.

I did, however, feel cold. Chilly night temperatures had crept into our tent, and dressing for the day was arduous. I knew to keep my clothes in my sleeping bag. It was a trick I learned from a friend made trekking in the Andes for dressing in the cold. I knew to shorten my trekking poles while climbing, thanks to my guide on that same trek. I'd be leaving my trekking poles behind today, though. Ice axes only. We divide into rope teams. The race begins, but there's no starting pistol - only wind.

Fifteen minutes into our climb and we're struggling to find the rhythm. I'm still shaking the bleariness of the cold. The rope between climbers takes on an interesting dynamic. While it connects you to your fellow climber, it also isolates you from them. You have to maintain a certain distance away from one another while maintaining the same pace. It's a dance with crampons on in glacial ice - a delicate dance indeed - and it's where climbing feels like a team sport. You're all in it together.

Voices rang out in sequence like a game of telephone - one of our team would need to climb down. We said short goodbyes and waited as Adrienne (guide) descended with climber to camp. We were lucky - we hadn’t been climbing long which meant Adrienne could climb down and back to rejoin her rope. Guide redundancy is a safety net when groups of climbers work together.

Darkness continued. We continued. As you persist, darkness seems to persist along with you. In the first hour, it grows heavy. Your world begins and ends at the light of your headlamp, and that's where you find it—your rhythm. Crampons crunching, breath steady, and the gentle swish of your layers create a sort of timpani, a medley of percussion sounds. Clink, brush, crunch, and clink, brush, crunch, as ax bites ice, the movement of your clothes, and the toe of your boot kicks crampon into snow propelling you forward. There isn't much to think about in this grinding meditation. You're grounded in tugs from ahead or behind you as you march, slowly up. You can count steps, miles, feet of elevation - whatever keeps you moving. Whatever keeps you going up.

Moments before sunrise, we would lose another on our team. I listened to Melissa coach her. "What we're headed to is going to be harder than what we've just done. If how you are feeling is taking away from your ability to focus on your next step - I can only tell you that it's not going to get easier from here." That's when I saw the decision on her face. Another round of goodbyes - this one a bit more somber. She had worked so hard.

The decision to descend is a difficult one, but it’s one of the most important you can make. There are steep consequences to being in over your head in a place so remote. The summit is a siren, beware. Melissa - aware of the remaining teams intention to summit - advised us to plug our ears as she told the descending climber the Sherpa belief that a mountain won't let you summit for the first time if it likes you. Mountains bring you back. Further, she coached, the decision to go down can lift an entire team's chance of success if you feel you're a liability. Recognizing yourself and your limitations truthfully is a mountain in itself. That's the summit this person made in her decision to descend.

Like a good Agatha Christie novel, our list of characters dwindled. We added layers and continued - five of the original eight. Melissa was right, again. After we lost the second climber, our ascent became a proper climb. From that point forward, if anyone decided to turn around - we would all have to. There was only one remaining guide, and she had to protect all her climbers, no exceptions - me in the cockpit all over again.

She didn't show it, but 62-year-old Sharon was genuinely frightened. She had realized the same thing I did. If she didn't make it - no one would. Sharon kept climbing. Remember when I was worried she would slow me down?

When the sun starts to rise, everything begins to feel possible again. I don't mean to say that things were hopeless, just that with the sun comes energy and a sense of renewal. Color returns to the landscape, and you can begin to be able to measure your progress concretely. The mountain casts a shadow across the earth, stretching miles. You can't believe that you are contained within that shadow, on the face of such a giant who stands so impossibly tall. Melissa stood there, and I took her picture.

She had turned out to be not an ass hole at all. Where I sought to be her student, she aspired to teach - at once brilliant and kind. Her stride - her sport - a work of art. The precise art of what she calls slow, uphill walking. Her shadow and the shadow of the mountain impressed upon me the power of legends.

As the Roman Wall came into view - I knew we had it. We short rope in and make one last push. If Mt. Baker is a joke from God, the ending of the Roman Wall is its punchline.

Atop the incline awaits a long, easy walk to a haystack peak some few hundred yards in the distance. I was bubbling with emotion as my heart rate settled and the view became clear. There wasn't much difference between where we stood and where we were going. We dropped our packs, unroped, and ran up the summit. I was in tears.

Melissa broke her no-hugs-in-the-pandemic rule and celebrated us each in turn. I snapped countless photos and spent each frozen moment smiling. I pulled Melissa and Sharon in close. I had felt something on my heart and only needed a moment's bravery to share it.

I started awkwardly.

"I'd like to say something to you and Sharon," I muttered, barely audible over the wind, as I tugged on Melissa's sleeve. I grabbed Sharon's arm and pulled her in too. I don't remember the exact thing I said or the exact way in which I said it. I remember pausing to make sure I got it right and wondering for a long time if I managed to do so.

I told them that I had come to the mountain expecting to be impressed by one person. Melissa promised an impressive education - on which she delivered. She is of that rare quality - the kind who’s presence improves you. I came to Baker with that expectation, I confessed, I expected Melissa. I paused before telling Sharon, her gloved hand in mine, “You?” I laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting. A 62-year-old woman….” I nodded back to Melissa, “And you, the mother of a 3-year-old…” I didn’t want to get this wrong. “You are two people who our society labels and confines. Yet, here you are - on top of a mountain. I have to tell you….” I was choked up in earnest here and struggled to continue.

"It matters.” I said. “What you do matters. It matters to have an example of what is possible. Both of you have provided that example to me and women like me. Thank you." I sobbed. "I am so grateful for it and grateful for you." Melissa smothered me in her jacket as she embraced me, once again, in a hug. Pandemic be damned. My tears froze. While I expected a "There's no crying in mountaineering" a la Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own (it was a climb of mostly women, after all) the admonishment never came.

Sharon grabbed hold of me next and we shared the alpine view. Before I knew it, we were the last two on the summit. The wind howled a steady cheer. Celebrations concluded, it was time to leave. I stayed for just a moment longer, watching Sharon as she left. They don't make anything more beautiful than a mountain, and it's a view worth savoring. I descended, joyfully, to my team.

I didn't bury Jake up there. In Ashes to Ashes, I told the story of taking my old farm dog's remains to the top of my first volcano. He's not so much a good luck charm as he is an omen of protection. I don't need luck as much as I need safety, and he serves his duty well. Jake stayed with me through our descent to camp. I needed a little protection coming down off the Roman Wall, I thought. I wanted him close until we were off the glacier. He lays now at the foot of my tent—a very good place for a very good dog.

There's a natural mindfulness to climbing. I often find myself living in the present step - not thinking about the route that lies below. You forget in moments that the trip up is accompanied by an equally long and perilous journey down. From the summit, your journey is far from over. Yet, time flies by even as you stop to admire the steam vents. The rainbow that surrounds the sun refracts joy and color the same.

You reach camp, celebrate, pack up. Miles and thousands of feet remain even from there. That's when you realize it's ending and when I realized I didn't want it to end.

We spent the next few miles getting to know each other in earnest, savoring time and mountain views, chatting in the way of long-form hikers - about the nature of things and through storytelling. Melissa regaled us with vulnerable truths and comedic parables. We laughed. I kept sipping at the wells of knowledge around me, drinking in the moments. Laughter distracted from hunger, from wet feet, and from the dull and dim realization that all good things must come to an end. We made our way to the bottom of the mountain. Just like that - we say goodbye.

Sharon drove me back to Grandy's. We chitter like school girls - adrenaline and nostalgia collide in our post-climb delirium. We talk about the future. I realize that we are good friends. I am humbled by just how wrong a person can be to believe something about someone for no good reason.

Mom picks me up, and with her embrace my adventure is over. I’ve come full circle - safe and sound, parked in the lot of Grandy Creek Grocery.

Melissa found us there and knocked on our window.

"Your daughter is really special. The MOST special,” my hero and friend told my mom. Mom beamed with a special pride reserved exclusively for mothers of strong-willed daughters. I had been misreading things - the adventure had only just begun.

There are eight years between Melissa and I. I’m not sure I’ll be chasing Everest in that time, but I know I won’t be finished. I’ve got thirty-three years to catch Sharon at 62. In the mountain blink of sixty-one years, I’ll be as old as my Nana and I hope at least half as wise. Good thing there are so many years - for there is so much left to climb.

#mountaineering #mountains #travel #adventure #adventurephotography #traveling #travelblogpost #mountainclimbing #mt baker

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 3 years

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Conrad feels as though he is in a walking nightmare. At this point, he would rather be on Skull Island facing Kong and Skullcrawlers than see the look he sees on Anne's face.

"Darling, I..." he starts as Anne steps back from them after shaking Mason's hand.

“Uh, hi. That’s me. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone else. I only brought one cupcake…” she frowns, stepping back from them both into the open doorway, crossing her arms protectively over her stomach.

He sees the tears forming in her eyes. James?” she asks softly. Conrad walks her out to the hallway outside his apartment and shuts the door.

"Darling, I can explain. Mason is a photojournalist. She got herself into a bad place in South America and I was the only person she knew to call. She can't got back home right away. So she is staying in town. Unfortunately, a giant mud puddle hit her at the airport, so I offered for her to use the shower here before checking into her hotel." He takes a deep breath. "She was supposed to be gone well before you got here." His voice starts to crack. "But I can promise you, nothing is going on between us. No matter how bad it looks. Please believe me, darling. I love you." He goes to reach out for her but stops his hands midair.

The awkward tension is broke by his front door creaking open and Mason, now fully dressed and a duffel bag on here shoudler, slinks out.

"I'm just going to give you two some space." She squeezes James's arms. "Thanks again for the help."

"You're welcome, Mason."

Mason rocks back on her heels. "Just so you know, nothing was going on back there. Mud puddle, me soaked and dirty." She smacks James on the side. "This guy didn't shut up about you the entire time in Peru." James blushes. "You must be some kind of special person to win this guy's heart." Mason stares at Conrad for a moment and then shuffles past them. "But anyways, I got to go and call my publisher and you two." She waves her fingers between them. "Have catching up to do. Bye!"

"I'll call if I can." he calls out.

He waits until Mason is out of sight. "Anne, darling, my love, please say something. I can't bear the silence." -J.C.

It’s almost too painful to look at him. She stares down at her feet and chews on her bottom lip. Her shoulders shake with the struggle to hold in her emotions, to try not to jump to conclusions before she gives him a chance to explain. They each other that much. But then his voice cracks and she has to look at him. The desperation in his eyes forces her to listen and consider the truth in his words.

And then Mason comes out again and she swears the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She’s so beautiful ad her life sounds so exciting, much more interesting to a man like James than dating a baker. All she can manage is a nod and a quiet “Bye” to the retreating figure before they’re thrust into silence.

He waits until Mason is out of sight. "Anne, darling, my love, please say something. I can't bear the silence."

She licks her lips and tangles a hand in her hair, taking a deep breath. A few seconds later that hand falls away and she steps closer to James to look up into his eyes in search of the truth.

“I love you, James. It’s why I rushed over here,” she whispers, her chin quivering. “Was I wrong to trust you with my heart?

#rp #jc anon #james conrad rp #my heart #ow ow ow #there it is

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queridaz · 4 years

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✍️ + catradora soulmate au bc that’s my favorite and ur my favorite

🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖 this is a god tier prompt, thank you!! i kinda ran away with it... i love them (and you) sm. i had to stop myself from writing any more or else it would have turned into a fully fledged fic. hope you like it!!

want one? join my celebration!

'GODDAMN IT!'

Adora jumped, getting tangled up in her sheets and falling off her bed, absolutely startled.

"H-Hello?" She lifted the bedsheet off her head and looked around, seeing nothing but her empty room. Her eyes raked over the place, briefly inspecting her messy desk, walls filled with pictures, and the dark computer screen on her nightstand. Nothing.

'God, that hurt.'

Adora jumped again. "Hope? Mara?" She looked out her bedroom door and peered into the hallway. The light of her adoptive mothers' room was off and there were no signs of movement from the kitchen.

"Okay," Adora said out loud, trying to reassure herself. "I'm sure it's just the neighbors or something. Maybe I'm still half asleep and dreaming. Just go back to bed and you'll be fine." She climbed into her bed and pulled up the covers, hiding her face in her blanket and closing her eyes.

'Catra, you have to be more careful, you idiot. Ugh, that really hurt.'

Okay. That was definitely something and it was definitely not the neighbors. Adora checked her phone. Did she leave something playing? 'What is going on??'

'Woah! Who's there?'

Adora froze. The voice was in her head. No doubt about it. And… the voice heard her, too? Adora rubbed her forehead, too tired to think properly.

Then it dawned on her. She's hearing someone's thoughts. And they're hearing hers. It's her soulmate.

'Ummmm,' Adora thought, hoping it would reach them. 'Hi. I'm Adora and I think we're soulmates.'

'Oh… hi.'

Adora didn't know what to say. How do you just strike up conversation with your newly found soulmate at one in the morning? 'Are you okay?'

'You heard that?' The voice groaned.

'Yeah, it was kinda hard to ignore a loud curse waking me up in the middle of the night.'

'Oh, god, sorry. Yes, I am alright. I just stubbed my toe trying to get to the kitchen.'

They stayed in awkward silence, or at least what would be awkward silence if they couldn't read each other's minds. So instead, the pause in conversation was actually filled with quieter thought fragments of them both acknowledging the awkward pause. It was very... awkward.

'So… your name is Catra?'

'What? How'd you know?'

'Mind reading, remember? I heard you scold yourself earlier.'

'Oh. Yeah, I'm Catra.' She paused. 'I would offer to let you sleep, but seeing as you can read my mind and we don't know how to stop that, do you wanna... talk?'

'Yeah,' Adora smiled, 'that would be fun.'

They spent the next hour talking about themselves and their lives. Adora told Catra about Mara and Hope, how she came to live with them after her parents died when she was a kid. She told her about Bow, and Glimmer, and all her other school friends. In turn, Catra told Adora about how her parents were from Peru and how she grew up speaking spanish. She talked about how she just moved and was going to start 8th grade at a new school.

'Where'd you move to?' Adora asked.

'This town called Etheria.'

'Etheria? Oh my god, I live here! What school are you going to?'

'Whispering Woods Middle School.'

'I go there! That means we'll get to meet soon!' Adora was suddenly very excited and she could feel that Catra was, too, by the buzzing in her mind.

'Wow, I can't wait! I-'

Catra was silent. And this time silent meant silent. Adora tried searching her mind to no avail for any trace of Catra.

'Okay. Guess our connection dropped out. Goodnight, Catra, even if you can't hear me.'

~♡~

'Stop being so anxious, I can physically feel you buzzing.'

'Hey! It's not so often that you get to meet your soulmate!' Adora smiled in the car on the way to the first day of school.

'We've been talking all summer and we've seen pictures of each other. It's not that big of a deal.'

But Adora could read Catra's mind, hear and feel her thoughts, and everything she was picking up on indicated that Catra was just as excited as she was.

Hope pulled the car up to the front of the school and stopped in the drop off zone. She and Mara turned around to look at Adora.

"Okay, sweetie!" Mara said. "First day of 8th grade! Good luck!" She reached over to give Adora a warm but awkward hug as the center console was in the way.

"And have fun meeting, Catra!" Hope added. "I'm so glad you found your soulmate. It's the best." She smiled over at Mara, who pressed a quick kiss to her wife's cheek.

"Thanks, guys!" Adora said, getting out of the car and closing the door behind her.

"We love you!" Mara called from the open window.

"Love you!" Adora responded, turning on her heels and walking into the building. 'Now to find Catra,' she thought.

'You know you could just ask me where I am, idiot,' Catra's voice chimed in warmly.

'Okay, okay, where are you?'

"Right here."

'That's not helpful.' Adora frowned.

Catra laughed. "You're such an idiot."

'What-' Adora froze. "Oh my god," she said, spinning around to see Catra grinning at her.

"Hey, Adora."

"Catra!" Adora lunged at her and hugged Catra tightly, picking her up and spinning her around.

Catra laughed again. "Okay, Adora, no need for the rom-com dramatics."

Adora put her down, trying and failing to push down the blush that was spreading to her cheeks. "I'm just so excited."

"I know," Catra smiled, "me, too."

She and Adora went to homeroom, which they had together (thank you, universe). Adora smiled at the sight of Catra actually in front of her. She never wanted it to end.

~♡~

Adora was laying down in the grass, looking up at the clouds and trying to find shapes. She found one that looked like a bat and pointed at it. "Look, that one looks like-"

"A bat," Catra finished for her. "I know, I can hear your thoughts."

"Oh, right." She searched for another interestingly shaped cloud.

It was the summer vacation before their sophomore year of high school. The two of them were in Adora's backyard, laying down after eating their picnic lunch. Mara had made cream cheese sandwiches and Hope had cut a watermelon into little cubes for them. Catra and Adora helped them make strawberry mint lemonade.

Catra raised her arm and pointed at another cloud. 'That one looks like Kyle fell down and a bird landed on his head.'

Adora laughed. 'It does!'

'Adora?'

She turned to look at Catra. 'Yeah?'

Catra leaned over and closed her eyes, her breath hitched in her chest. 'Oh, god.' That wasn't meant for Adora to hear, but they hadn't quite mastered their soul bond and Catra was too nervous to use any energy to stop her thoughts from traveling to Adora's mind.

Adora caught on and smiled, closing her own eyes and meeting Catra halfway. They kissed, very gently and hesitantly, but sweetly. It tasted like watermelon and mint.

#*#*fics #600 celebration #sofia's tag #trinity rain answers #catra #adora #catradora #spop

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