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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

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Snow Storms and Winter Winds

Fandom: Original Character

Collection/Series: and bluebells gleamed on mountain wild

Pairing: James Tobias Moore (Original Character) x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: Mentions of hunting because this is 1896 and he’s an outdoorsman

Summary: When James goes to check on his horse, Brandy, during a snow storm the last person he expects to see is you nearly collapsed in the deep snow.

Notes: This is probably going to be one in a collection of stories because the idea of you being stuck now with James because of a snow storm presents an amazing opportunity for ideas.

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It is the height of winter in the woods, a whirling snowstorm has hit. So hard and so fast that each step he took felt like he was walking through a fast flowing river, the snow high on his legs, dragging at his steps. The snow could be vicious out here in the winter months, his cabin often got so much that he sometimes could not even leave the wood cabin to check on Brandy, his horse, he made sure to keep enough food and water out in case that ever happened. Being snowed in was a common occurrence during these months and every year he prepared ahead of schedule for the inevitable. He had gotten used to the inhospitable nature of the winter, the weather that sought to freeze him to death if he so much as lost his way.

James would call it beautiful if he could actually see the world around him. The storm was so bad that he could barely see two feet in front of him, let alone admire the powdery snow glistening on the branches of trees or the way the light gleamed. There was, at this point, little light, the storm was so heavy that the sun was blocked out by thick grey clouds and howling winds. The lantern he carried did little to illuminate his way. A warm glow that could barely penetrate the thick white snowfall.

He is bundled up warm. Heavy, thick fur coat, over layers of woollen jumpers. A knitted scarf wrapped tight around his neck and chin, hat pulled over his ears. It feels like it does little to keep him warm, but he’s only going to check on Brandy. One hand on the rope he’d attached the day previous from his front porch to the small stable he’d made for her. He knew better than to trust himself not to get turned around or lost in the short journey at the height of winter. Storms like this could be deadly. So he carefully follows the rope, letting it guide him to her. The doors are heavy in the cold, the hinges freezing over slowly, the metal detesting his request to move. But he makes his way inside and for a moment he can breathe, the snow is no longer whipping at his face and he can see his large shire shifting in her stall, unhappy with the noises outside.

He makes sure she has warm blankets, enough hay, water and feed to last her a few days in case he can’t get out again. He gives the hefty shire a gentle pat on the neck and a soothing word, knowing she wasn’t a fan of the howling winds. He knows she dislikes being left alone, but he cannot stay out here, the weather too cold, he’d freeze overnight. As he leaves the stable, locking the door up tight to make sure Brandy doesn’t wander off in the storm or worse a wolf or bear finds its way in, he doesn’t expect to see a figure shivering and hunching in on itself on the road nearby. They look half dead already, barely able to lift a foot to move forward.

Anyone out in this storm has a death wish and he grumbles to himself knowing that he can’t just leave them there, it would weigh heavy on his conscience, so he leaves the rope, the path he’d made for himself and trudges through the snow. Knowing that he could easily get turned around trying to help them and lose his own way. End up dead from exposure right outside his own front door. He lifts one arm up above his eyes to shield them from the snow. He decides that if he does die out here with this stranger then he’ll make their afterlife a living hell for being such an idiot and wandering about in a snowstorm during winter’s height.

His burning annoyance and grumbling fades to rampant concern and worry when he realises it’s not just some fool out in the storm, but you. He’d recognise your hair piled high on your head, the shape of your cheeks, the blue coat you favoured so much, anywhere. It chills him more than the storm to see you begin to collapse to your knees, legs no longer able to hold you up in the storm. You’re frozen to the bone and he feels a strike of fear hit him so strong he almost collapses himself. He knows the winter is deadly, he knows your coat is not fit for a winter storm and he has no idea how long you’ve been wandering out here for.

He picks up the pace, forcing his legs to move faster as he all but jumps through the high snow towards you. He doesn’t know why you’d be out this far from town, especially in this weather but suddenly it doesn’t matter so much as getting you inside his cabin and warm. He can ask you later, when you’re safe and well, it matters little when you’re barely moving in the high snow drifts.

“Miss Y/N! Darlin’, what the hell are you doin’ out here?” His voice has taken on an urgency he isn’t used to as he crouches next to you, taking in the way you shiver. Your eyes are barely open. You can’t seem to answer him, your teeth chattering so harshly that he’s worried you might break your teeth. You’re ice cold when he takes a glove off to touch it to your cheek and snow clings to your hair and eyelashes like little icicles. James makes a quick decision and pushes through the weariness that his own body feels at the cold and reaches down, an arm underneath your legs as he lifts you into his arms. It is hard enough walking on his own through the high snow, but you can barely walk and he knows you need to get inside and slowly begin to warm back up. You are not light, especially not in your many layers and with the added difficulty of fighting through the snow, but he doesn’t care much for the burn in his arms or the strain in his legs, it’s not his main focus as he keeps his eyes ahead, in the direction he came from.

He finds the rope again and follows it to his front door, the snow is getting higher and he knows once you’re inside and the door is closed, you’re likely to be stuck that way. The snow is laying thick and high and he wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you found yourselves snowed in, but that he can deal with. The involuntary shivers that shake your body so hard he instinctively pulls you tighter against his broad chest are more of a concern for him and something that makes him feel in over his head. He is not a doctor, nor is he experienced in tending to others. He hasn’t ever really had to. He’s lived a lonely existence after all.

He practically barrels through the front door, shoulder first, it bangs shut after him, but he’s not concerned about the possible dent in his wall as he sets you on the sofa in front of the fire that’s still going. Your clothes are soaked from the strength of the snow outside and he fights against everything his mother ever taught him about politeness, knowing that you needed dry clothes and not your soaked skirt and coat. All your layers are heavy with water, cold and damp, and entirely unhealthy for you to stay in.

He hunts through his wardrobe for a spare undershirt and a comfortable union suit that he knows will be much too long for you, but that is dry and comfortable and will keep your modesty intact once changed. He tries to remind himself that he isn’t being lecherous or improper, you’re freezing, most likely hypothermic and if he doesn’t get you warmed up slowly you might not wake back up. He still feels the tell tale warmth that flushes his cheeks, ears, and neck as he carefully peels your clothes off, placing the sopping wet ones on the floor by the fire. He does his best not to look at the exposed skin, but simply look at your face or over your shoulder at the fabric of the settee as he gets you redressed as quickly as possible in the dry clothes he has found. They’re much too long on your arms and legs and he has to look to get you in them at points, but despite the discomfort he feels at doing something that feels too intimate for mere acquaintances, potentially friends, he is relieved to get you in something dry and warm. Your skin is far too cold for his liking and the sooner some warmth returns to you the sooner he’ll be able to breathe.

He tries not to think too hard about the corset on his floor or the various clothing pieces, or the skin that he’d been privy to. It’s not appropriate and he can almost hear his late mother’s voice berating him, at the same time he knows he has to do it. For your health, your safety. He pushes the discomfort aside, hanging the wet clothes over a rack near the hearth to dry, before searching through a chest for his spare blankets.

He wraps you in them carefully, making sure each finger and toe is covered. He doesn’t want to place you in a warm bath or too close to the fire, he’s worried about warming you too quickly, your body going into shock at the temperature change, so blankets will have to do. He presses the back of a freckled hand to your forehead, chilly still, but warming. The fact you’re beginning to make noise reassures him that you’re getting better and not in fact getting worse.

He knows only time will tell, so he leaves you there as he shrugs off his heavy coat, scarf and hat, hanging them on the hook by the door before working on dinner. He’s freezing himself, but now he’s inside the toasty air of his cabin he knows he’ll stop feeling the chill soon. Soup sounds nice, he thinks. He still has some fresh vegetables from before the weather suddenly turned and if you wake up later he can reheat some on the wood burning stove, enough to warm you inside and fill your stomach. Soup sounds nice. He thinks he might have some of the loaf that he made a few days past still, not quite as nice as when it was first made, but better. He decides he’ll save it for you, you’ll need the little pleasure more than him if you come to.

He looks back over at you every few minutes as he chops carrots, potatoes, leeks, squash. Making sure your chest is still rising, that you’re still breathing. He is still feeling that same panic deep in his chest, you’re not out of the proverbial woods and he is petrified that you might not make it out. He likes you. He doesn’t know you as well as he could after 2 years, but he likes you. You’re one of the few reasons he ever still goes into town. He enjoys your smile, your soft gentle nature, telling your students his stories while you watch with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile. He enjoys your company when he gets it and he enjoys you. It would be...it would be less than ideal for you to be bested by the weather and he would...he struggles to admit it to even himself but he would be devastated if you died.

The soup is boiling over the stove by the time you begin to truly move, you shift on his sofa, amongst the blankets. Little groans leave your throat and he’s hovering over you unsure what to do. Your face is scrunched, brow furrowed deeply and lips turned down, but you don’t open your eyes or speak, you just lie there clearly in discomfort. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you’re still fully covered despite your shifting and with a sigh James sits on the floor, back against the foot of the sofa as he waits.

He was generally a loner, James didn’t tend to have visitors or enjoy the company of others. He preferred the company of animals, especially his horse Brandy, but there were a couple of exceptions to that rule.

One was children. Their curious nature, their bluntness, the innocent way they viewed the world, the curiosity they had of him rather than fear. He had a soft spot for them, they made him smile and he never felt out of place around them. Had he not been so nervous around others, he’d have liked his own brood by now...but women were generally intimidated by him. His scars, his stature, being so tall and so broad he knew he looked scary to most and his quiet nature and permanent frown did nothing to quell the fears of women in town, no matter how many times he was helpful or kind. He just seemed to scare them off.

Another exception to his rule was you. You had never been intimidated by him. The first time you’d met, he’d been lugging a whole stag over his shoulder to the butcher, a whole 200 kilos and you’d simply smiled at him and asked him if he’d been out hunting. He’d grunted something at you, unsure how to talk to someone so pretty because you were pretty. You’d seemed not to mind and your smile had widened when one of your students had latched onto his leg recognising him as ‘Uncle James’ even though he was most definitely not her uncle, rather he simply helped the family with firewood a few times a year. You had always been kind and gentle with him, over time the grunts turned into words and from words to full sentences and he found himself opening up to someone for the first time since his parents had passed on. He never realised how lonely he was until he regularly talked to you. He went from going into town maybe once every few weeks, to going multiple times a week, just to see you, always with an excuse. That he was fetching something from the general store or had a hide to deliver or some other errand to run. In truth he went to catch even a glimpse of you, of your soft smile and glowing nature.

“Ugh..” Everything hurts. That’s your first conscious thought, that every part of your body aches in a unique sort of way that’s hard to describe. Your skin feels like it’s covered in cold pins and needles. You feel both warm and cold at the same time, the sort of burning on your skin that only comes from sticking your hand in a pile of snow.

You're greeted by warm light when you finally blink your eyes open, trying to ease yourself up into a sitting position. A large warm pair of hands come to your shoulders and back, easing you up to prop you against some pillows. Your surroundings are cosy, wooden cabin walls, dark wood furniture, blankets, pillows. It’s homey and it eases some of your anxiety, even more so when the figure helping you to sit comes into view.

James Moore is knelt beside the sofa where you’re sitting, worried brown eyes flitting over your features. You feel instantly safe and secure, James has always made you feel that way. He is a unique sort of man, one who appears physically imposing, intimidating. Between his broad frame, the scars on his skin, over his eye, and the sheer size of him, he cuts an impressive figure. Always easy to spot in a crowd and often parting a crowd simply because people find him scary. You know better. He’s so incredibly gentle that it’s almost contradictory, that a man so gentle could be so large, that a man so intimidating could be so soft.

“Mr Moore?” There’s a blank in your memory. You remember leaving town, deciding to make the long walk out to see one of your students who had been sick. You wanted to make sure they were doing okay, especially as the weather was beginning to turn for the worst. Then you remember the snow coming down hard, by this point you were ages out from town and in the woods, little in the way of houses or shelter. You’d kept going, but changed direction knowing you were near James’ house, nearer to his than to your students, you’d made for his instead. Your memory is hazy after that, cold snow up to your knees, frozen toes in your shoes and a shiver so strong that it nearly knocked you over.

A warm freckled hand is pressed to your brow and James seems displeased with whatever he finds, pulling the blankets tighter over your shoulders.

“Nice to see you awake, Miss...I thought...well, it didn’t look so good there for a while.” It had been hours. He’d eaten his own dinner. The soup was cold on the stove top, the fire had been tended to, the sun had set, and the snow had piled so high that there was no way he was going to be able to open the door. You were officially snowed in. After the first few hours he’d worried you wouldn’t ever wake up. A deep relief fills him at the sight of your open eyes and the sound of your voice, he almost felt like he could cry. He wanted to hold you tight, but pulled the blankets around you instead. It wasn’t appropriate. You weren’t family or husband and wife. So he stopped himself.

“What...what happened?”

“I found ya out by the road, frozen to the bone. What the hell were you thinkin’ comin’ out in a snowstorm like this?” His voice raises just a fraction and the panic rings clear. You reach a shaky, tingling hand and grasp his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“...I was...I wanted to check on a student and I didn’t...I didn’t realise that a storm was going to hit. I...thank you, James.”

If it’s possible he feels himself tense more from the sound of his given name coming from your lips. You have always been supremely proper with him, you had never called him James. You always called him Mr Moore, always treated him with the perfect level of propriety and distance despite the warm smiles. Always so aware of where you stood as an unmarried woman and where he stood as an unmarried man. He likes the sound of his name on your lips, the way your voice seems to curl around each syllable.

“I...I was worried...Y/N.” He does you the courtesy of using your own name, the familiarity is unfamiliar to him and he can feel a flush high on his cheeks, coursing over his neck and rising to the tips of his ears at using your name. It shouldn’t spark a reaction in him, but it does because it’s you. Because there is no doubt in his mind that he has a great deal of affection, perhaps even love for you, after these 2 years of knowing you. Because your name is something sweet and soft in his mouth, because it feels like some sort of guilty pleasure to speak it. “You were near hypothermic, you...you could’a died, darlin’.”

You watch him quietly, knowing that he’s right. You had made a terribly stupid decision. You knew that winter storms always hit around this time of year, you knew how bad they could get and still you’d gone out on your own, ill equipped and unprepared. What made you feel guilty wasn’t that you’d done something potentially dangerous to yourself, but rather that you’d caused him to worry. James was a private person, his feelings were kept under lock and key, yet right now they were so plain to see and that they pulled at your heart. You had caused him unnecessary amounts of worry.

“You must be hungry, I’ll heat up some soup for you. I saved you some bread.” He’s lighting a match and setting the stove alight before you can protest, big cast iron pot of soup on top left to boil and heat as he finds out the loaf of bread, unwraps it from it’s coverings and slices it. He doesn’t scrimp on the bread, he doesn’t offer you one slice for your soup but damn near half a loaf and it is heart warming, the kindness, as he plates up your food on a wooden tray and gently places it in your lap. You don’t know this, but he has even picked out his nicest soup spoon, the one that just seems to make soup taste ten times better.

It is tasty and warms you from the inside. It should be uncomfortable having him watch you eat, but it’s not. You know he’s simply concerned for you, worried about your wellbeing, worried that you might keel over at any moment. He watches you to make sure you eat, that you are well, that you are truly getting better. You eat the soup and even the majority of the bread, he’d found a slab of butter, and there had never been anything more wonderful than buttery bread dipped into homemade soup. It’s domestic and you could get used to it, to James making you dinner and wrapping you in warm blankets, but it’s not that simple. You shouldn’t even be alone together, but you are. Everything about this is breaking the rules your mother always taught you, the rules you’re sure his mother taught him.

“James...I...how did I…” You gesture to the change of clothing, you had only noticed once the tray was removed from your lap and put aside to be tidied, that you were in fact not in your own clothes. You felt warmth fill your body, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. James’ own blushed a deep bright red, his freckles almost blending in. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, biting into his bottom lip anxiously. His eyes don’t meet your own.

“I didn’t...I didn’t look, I just...you were freezin’ and I had...I had to change yer clothes. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“James…” Despite protest from your body, you rise onto stumbling and unsteady feet. He’s there in an instant, hands around your waist to hold you steady, your own fall onto those wide shoulders. “You don’t have to apologise. You’re probably the only reason I'm not dead right now...I trust you. I know you’d never do anything untoward. You’re a good man.”

“Still...it ain’t right. I’m not yer husband.” You wish he was. In that moment, you wish he was your husband because you know he’d be good to you. He would look after you, care for you, share the burdens of life with you. He’d never raise his voice at you, he’d never raise a hand. You know you’d have a good life with him, a happy life. You can see yourself falling in love with him. But, he’s right. He’s not your husband.

“No, you’re not. But I'd much rather you do the improper thing and save my life then leave me out in the snow to die. You have nothing to be sorry for. You have nothing to be guilty for. Do you understand me?” Your hands are cupping the sides of his face, thumbs brushing through the red of his beard as you tilt his face down to look at you. He is so much taller than you, that it would be easy for him to avoid looking at you, but you won’t have it. You force him to look upon you, to understand the sincerity of your words. That you hold nothing against him, that you don’t want him to feel guilty for helping you, for doing what had to be done.

“...Yes...I...I understand.” His voice is so quiet, like he’s talking in some reverent place, some holy space where raising his voice would be disrespectful. He can’t bring himself to talk louder, there is something about the way your eyes capture him, the awe which he feels filling his chest at your understanding, your touch. He...no one has touched him tenderly and with any sort of affection since his parents passed, it was something he didn’t realise he missed or needed until now. This moment where he’s leaning into your touch without realising, hoping you never pull away but knowing that at some point you will.

You don’t pull away. Not right away. Not even after a minute. You hold his face in your palms and stroke your thumbs over his skin, noting where it’s rough, the scratch of his beard, the scars, the many freckles that cover every inch of his skin. You know you should pull away, that would be polite, but you don’t want to. He is warm, human and so starved of touch that the way his eyes flutter closed has your heart aching in your chest.

“I...I should let you rest, Y/N…” His large palms encircle your wrists, enclosing them completely as he gently pulls your hands from his face. James hates that he has to, but you are a temptation to his morals, his own code of propriety and he needs to remove your touch from his skin before he does something truly improper.

“You're probably right…” You are truly exhausted. There is a shake in your bones that only comes from physical weakness after an ordeal. James is careful as he leads you by the arm towards the cabin’s bedroom.

He only has one bed and he will gladly give it up for you, knowing that you need it more than him and knowing that it is only polite to let you, his guest, take the bed. It is covered in knitted blankets and furs, so many layers that he’d prepared for the turning coldness. There’s a homeliness about this room too, something gentle, soft. Photographs line the walls, you presume they are of his parents and a younger version of himself.

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep out on the sofa.” He doesn’t think twice about offering it up, he knows he’d toss and turn all night in his own bed if you didn’t take it. You are still unwell, still recovering from exposure to the elements and the thought of you on an old settee with just a few blankets sits uneasily with him.

“James…”

“Please. Ya need the bed more than me and I...I ain’t...I wouldn’t be able to rest if you were out on that settee.” You want to argue with him, but you’re exhausted and the bed looks warm and inviting. So you concede with a nod of your head and let him help you under the covers. Like some sort of mother hen, he tucks you in and makes sure you’re comfortable and places a glass of water by your bedside, turning down the oil lamp. You wonder if he’d do the same if you were married. Would he help you to bed and make sure you’re comfortable before locking up the house? Would he sit beside you and read his book into the late hours?

He fills the doorway, a dark silhouette, the light of the living area from behind him shrouding him in shadow. The bed is warm and cosy, each blanket weighs down on you, makes you feel secure, and your eyes are already beginning to blink closed.

“Goodnight, James…”

“G’night, Sweetheart.” He leaves you in darkness, pulling the door closed behind him and providing you with privacy. It’s that consideration, that desire to follow the rules, that endears you even more towards him. There are many men in the world, you know, who would take advantage of this opportunity. An isolated cabin, an unmarried woman alone and unchaperoned, a storm outside stopping anyone from venturing out. But, James is a good man. He is so utterly good that even the necessary acts, the things he does to help you, he is reluctant to do out of respect for you.

It’s the lingering drawl of his voice, the woodsy smell on his bed sheets, the ghost of a gentle but respectful touch that lulls you to sleep. You are safe here, with him. You know that without a doubt.

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All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat

#and bluebells gleamed on mountain wild #james tobias moore x reader #james tobias moore #oc x reader #original character x reader #female reader #female identifying reader

21 notes · View notes

ispaghett · 4 years

Text

unique warrior names post

All listed names are either the names of common North American rodents, birds, trees, fish, or plants. They may also simply be something that I truly believe is within the knowledge of a warrior cat. I see no reason why they can’t name a kit Topaz but can count and recognize colors. Of course, names are always up to preference and opinion. Hopefully at least a few can get some use of this!

The descriptions for each name are merely recommendations.

It’s also worth keeping in mind that these names work best for roleplays or canons where queens wait a few days or until a kit opens their eyes before naming them.

and final note, some names may already be in the official names list but were ones I felt simply aren’t used enough.

feel free to use, but if reposted please credit my tumblr :)

PREFIXES

ALMOND - a little, cream or brown kit.

ALP - a large, grey or white kit.

AZALEA - varies.

BARBED - a wild acting or looking kit.

BARBERRY - a russet or blue kit.

BARREN - a sandy furred kit.

BASS - varies

BAYBERRY - a white and brown bicolor kit.

BEAN - a round or brown kit.

BECK - a grey kit or kit born by water.

BISON - a large or dark brown kit.

BLUEBELL - a grey kit.

BOSK - varies

BULL - a large kit.

BUR - varies.

BURROW - a brown kit.

CARIBOU - a white and brown kit.

CARP - a grey kit.

CAVE - a dark kit.

COD - a golden kit.

COPPICE - varies.

CREST/ED - a kit born with a crest marking on their head or back.

DIM - a dark coated kit.

DIPPER - a slim or dark brown kit.

DOWNY - a fluffy or white kit.

FEEBLE - a tiny kit.

FIG - a dark pelted kit.

FIRST - first born kit, a kit determined to get milk first.

FLAKE - a kit born during a snowstorm, a white kit.

FLICKER - a speckled kit.

FLINCH - a timid, little kit.

FLURRY - a white kit or kit born during a snowstorm

FOAL - varies.

FOXGLOVE - varies.

FRAIL - a tiny kit.

FURROW - a long or slender kit.

GARNET - a shiny, russet kit.

GILL - a kit with stripes on their neck or who is born by water.

GNARLED - a kit born with a splayed paw or twisted tail.

GOAT - varies.

GOPHER - a brown kit.

GROVE - varies, likely a larger kit.

GRUB - given to a light colored, round kit.

HAIL - a white kit, a kit born during a storm.

HAZY - varies.

HEMLOCK - a large kit.

HOBBLE - a kit born with a deformed paw.

HOG - a round kit.

HOP/PER/PING - a rather lively kit.

HORSE - a large or brown kit.

HOUND - a kit with droopy ears and or droopy lips.

HUSHED - a quiet kit.

JUNCO - a bicolor, grey or brown kit.

LAST - last born kit.

LAUREL - varies. A bicolor kit.

LIZARD - varies.

LUPINE - a grey or blue kit.

MALLARD - a brown or bicolor kit.

MARBLE - a kit with large splotchy spots.

MARKED - a kit with a unique pattern or marking.

MARMOT - a large or brown kit.

MARSH - a kit born by a marsh, or varies.

MASKED - a dark or marbled kit.

MEEK - a quiet or small kit.

MORNING - a light colored kit, the first born kit.

MURKY - a dark kit.

MUSKRAT - a brown kit.

MYRTLE - varies.

NIMBLE - a fast, little kit, always the first to get milk.

NUTHATCH - a white and grey bicolor kit.

OX - a large kit.

PEANUT - a little, cream or brown kit.

PECAN - a little, cream or brown kit.

PECCARY - a round or grey-brown kit.

PEONY - a white kit

PERCH - a golden or bicolor kit.

PIGLET - a hungry kit, a round kit, a kit with a curled tail.

POLLOCK - a grey kit.

PORCUPINE - a brown kit, a kit with spiky fur.

PRAIRIE - varies

PRICKLE - a kit with fur that sticks out.

PRONGHORN - a brown and white kit.

PULP - a soft or small kit.

PURSLANE - varies.

QUILL - a kit of brindled pattern or with wild fur.

RAM - a large or white kit.

RIDGE - a large kit.

RILL - a grey kit or kit born by water.

ROSEMARY - varies.

ROSEY - a smooth coated kit, a kit with a nice warm brown pelt.

RUBY - a shiny, russet kit.

RUDDY - a russet kit.

RUGGED - a kit born with tangled up or curly fur.

SABER - a kit with uneven or protruding teeth.

SALMON - a large or russet kit.

SAP - a brown or cream kit.

SAPLING - a small kit.

SCORPION - varies.

SCURRY - a lively or nervous kit.

SCUTTLE - a lively or nervous kit.

SHALE - a smooth coated or dark pelted kit.

SHROUDED - a marbled or dark grey kit.

SHRUB - a small kit.

SILK - a soft kit.

SISKIN - a grey or light brown kinda kit.

SKUNK - black and white or stinky kit.

SLEEK - a soft kit.

SLEET - a white kit, a kit born in the winter.

SLENDER - a long or thin kit.

SNAIL - a kit with swirly stripes, a slow kit.

SPLIT - a chimera or tortie kit with a split of color down its face.

SPRIG - a thin or little kit.

SPROUT - a little kit.

STAG - a white and brown or white and grey kit.

STOUT - a large kit, a kit determined to get milk first.

SYCAMORE - varies

TERMITE - a tiny or dull brown kit.

THYME - varies.

TIMID - a timid kid.

TOPAZ - A shiny grey kit.

TRENCH - a large or dark pelted cat.

TUFTED - a fluffy kit.

TURKEY - a brown kit.

TURTLE - varies.

WALNUT - a little, cream or brown kit.

WAXWING - a grey-brown kit.

YAM - a russet kit.

YAWNING - a sleepy kit.

YEW - varies

SUFFIXES

BACK - a cat who developed interesting markings or scars on their back throughout apprenticehood, a cat who always has their clans backs, etc.

BANE - a cat who survived through a time of grief in the clan, a bane to the clan.

BARER - one who bares scars from defending their clan or one who is wise, a barer of the clans burdens.

BASK - a well composed or kind cat, a relaxed cat.

BEARD - a cat who has grown long fur throughout apprenticehood.

BLINK - a quick moving cat.

BLUR - a fast cat, one who moves in a blur.

BRANCH - a great climber.

BRAWN - a strong and muscled cat.

BREAKER - a very strong cat who has defeated many opponents.

BRISK - a thin or agile cat.

CAST - a cat who is great at leaping or pouncing or remaining in shadows.

CHARM - a charming cat or a cat good with words, a cat with good luck.

CHOMP/ER - a strong jawed or abrasive cat.

CURRENT - a cat who moves with notable grace.

DASH - a quick cat.

DRIFTER - a cat light on their feet.

FIN - a great or swift swimmer.

FLANK - an agile fighting cat, or one who tends to take control of patrols.

FLARE - a calculated and fast warrior, and or a very flamboyant cat.

FLASH - a quick moving cat.

FLICK - a quick moving cat.

FLURRY - a cat who has survived a great storm or a cat who attacks very quickly.

FRAY - a hard headed cat, a cat who has survived times of war.

FURY - a cat who doesn’t hold back in defending their clan.

GALE - a strong, unmoved cat.

GILL - a great swimmer.

GLEAM - a cheerful or kind cat, a selfless cat.

GRACE - a wise or graceful cat.

GUT - a brave cat.

HAZE - a cat skilled in remaining hidden or sneaking.

HOOK - a good climber or cat with rather large claws.

HORN - a stubborn or brave cat.

HUSH - a silent or calculating cat.

LEER - silver tongued cat, a cat with a sharp gaze.

LICK/ER - one who talks a lot or has a smooth spoken tongue, one who is often clean and well kept.

LITHE - a thin or agile cat.

LUNGE - a fearless defender of the clan.

MOUNTAIN - a cat who grew to be quite large throughout apprenticehood.

MUSK - a smelly cat or a cat with a great sense of smell, a cat who blends well with their surroundings.

NIPPER/NIP - a stubborn cat or cat who bites a lot.

PEAK - a cat who grew to be quite large throughout apprenticehood.

PROWLER - a great stalker or great hunter.

RIFT - a strong and sturdy warrior.

ROOT - a cat close with the earth or those around them, a cat who feels deep roots to their clan or ancestors, etc.

SAGE - a wise cat.

SCENT - a cat with a great sense of smell.

SCRAP - a messy furred cat or a cat who tends to get into fights.

SCRATCH - a finicky cat or a cat who has been scarred defending their clan.

SCUFF - a cat with scars or who tends to get into fights.

SCURRY - a nervous or quick cat.

SCUTTLE - a nervous or quick cat.

SEER - a knowledgeable cat, a follower of starclan, or a cat with great sight. Could be a common med cat suffix.

SHALE - a smooth spoken cat, a calculated warrior.

SHARD - a domineering or strong cat.

SHEATHE - a cat of deep thought or composure (“kept his claws sheathed even in times of tension”)

SHELL - a reserved cat, a cat with a hard exterior.

SHOULDER - a cat of great muscle.

SIGHT - a wise cat.

SKIP/PER - a cheerful cat or cat who tends to leap a lot.

SKULL - can be kind of edgy but could also simply refer to a cat who thinks with their brain and is intelligent.

SLIP - a cat too hard to catch during a fight, a sneaky cat.

SNAPPER/SNAP - a fatally quick or impulsive cat.

SNARL - a powerful or courageous cat.

SNIFF/ER - a great tracker, one with a great nose.

SPROUT - a cat who grew tall throughout their training, a cat who shows growth.

SPRY - a thin or very agile cat.

STONE - a durable or brave cat.

STRIDE - a determined or stubborn cat.

STRIFE - a stubborn or quick cat.

SWIMMER - a great swimmer.

THRASH - a very strong or impulsive cat.

THROAT - one with a scar on their throat, or one good with words.

TONGUE - one good and smooth with words, charming.

TOUCH - a gentle or thoughtful cat.

TRACKER - a great hunter and tracker.

TRAIL - a great stalker or even a good patroller.

TWIST - a cat who moves quickly during a fight, a sharp tongued cat.

WHISP - a soft spoken or kind cat.

WIT - a witty, smart cat.

#warriorcats #warriors #cats #cat #warrior #headcanon #head canon #headcanons #names #name #generator #list #prefixes #suffixes #idea #ideas #roleplay #roleplays #long post #long post tw #tw #long

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tsubaki3192 · 5 years

Text

Someone Special

[Akechi Mitsuhide x MC/Reader]

Notes: Pronoun ‘She’ used. Inspired by Mitsuhide’s Birthday preview. ‘(Y/N)’ to insert name used.

Tagging: @unstoppablelinda and @war--lords. Thanks so much to these two for helping me out!

Date Published: 10/10/2019

Disclaimer: The characters in this story don’t belong to me. Only the MC’s personality does.

-------------

(Y/N) was a blur of colours today.

Usually speaking, she would be rather free, or at the very least, free enough to allow herself to wander the castle from time-to-time. But not today, nor the past week, it seemed. She had confined herself to her room and only removed herself for the basic necessities. Multiple times over, he had approached her in the hallways with a teasing grin plastered on his face, only to be dismissed with a casual wave of her hand or a simple-yet-curt “Not now, Mitsuhide. I’m busy.”.

And it frankly baffled him.

The out of character responses were rather odd and so he found himself entering her quarters whenever he could, ensuring not a thing had been misplaced as a result of his work. And luckily enough for him, she had always left the outside-facing sliding doors open…

But always, he had found nothing. There was absolutely nothing out of order, nothing out of place.

And there was nothing she had to hide. In the very least, not in her own room.

-----------------

And the reality was this: Mitsuhide’s lover was really active.

She, during the present, had been an instructor for multiple outdoors-related activities, including mountain climbing, just to name a skill of hers. Sewing clothes had been nothing more than a simple hobby of hers that had exaggeratedly flared upon her arrival to the 1500s. But it just seemed that she had missed the adrenaline of scaling anything and leaping off the height. And so she had snuck from her chambers in the middle of the night to scale the castle, leading to Hideyoshi suspecting an intruder from the loud thumps she had made on his ceiling.

And of course, to her capture and scolding, courtesy of the said warlord.

Nobunaga had only laughed at the sight of her dishevelled kimono and the grip Hideyoshi held on her. And it had only spiralled to something almost incomprehensible to those who knew not of her secret…. And that unfortunately included her the man she loved, Mitsuhide.

She was never sure of his feelings, however - He was far too difficult for her to read. But what it did mean was she could essentially do as she wished, without the fear of he watching her back.

And she knew he had snuck into her room on multiple occasions. Perhaps because she had become well acquainted with a handful of his spies, and in particular, those who had watched her enter and exit her room. But she had sworn them to secrecy, claiming she had a pleasant surprise for their lord… One she was forced to complete in Nobunaga’s lodging, as he had commanded.

But flushed face aside, it was truly difficult to keep anything from Mitsuhide.

Not when he cornered her ever so teasingly on her way to the bathroom, and certainly not when he oh-so-courteously entered her quarters to seek her secrets. And she really didn’t mind that he had done so: It only added to the tension and curiousity of his.

But it was heavily amusing for the two who knew of her secrets better than he did. She was sewing a haori for the said male, for the date of his birth had just passed by as if it had been any other ordinary day. Sure enough, Hideyoshi had adamantly insisted that the white-blond male would not accept the gift, but that hadn’t stopped her strong-yet-stubborn mind at all.

And Nobunaga had commented upon her words, commanding Hideyoshi to leave her alone. But that hadn’t stopped the latter from glaring in contempt whenever he passed the said gift receiver. And (Y/N) had sighed at that, accepting the fact Hideyoshi was unable to accept her obvious feelings for Mitsuhide.

The haori’s quality and design was of one none had ever seen. Mitsuhide’s clan colours had been stunningly incorporated into the design, along with a golden bluebell that ever-so-delicately represented him, among several other hidden accessories.

And she was proud of it, albeit slightly apprehensive of the receiver's reaction.

------------------------

“Mitsuhide, what business would you have in the princess’s quarters?”

Nobunaga had called out to his vassal, immediately capturing his attention. The said fox turned to face his lord, eyeing the amused smirk across the latter’s face and bowed lightly.

“It appears both Hideyoshi and yourself are aware of the princess’s actions, milord. I, for one, am merely curious though it does intrigue me that I am suddenly unaware of her thoughts.”

And if it was possible, the Daimyo of Owari’s smirk widened even further.

“Indeed I do. However, it is not my place to say, though I believe her duties will be completed very soon. I daresay perhaps in the next few days.”

---------------------------

“Lass?”

And as true as his words were, (Y/N) finished the haori within the span of two days following their conversation. Masamune had called after her, surprised to see her form after a disappearance of multiple days. And she turned around, nervously fiddling with the cloth-bound package within her arms. The dragon-named warlord’s eyes narrowed and his gleaming eyes watched her form in great interest.

“A gift? Whoever could it be for?”

But the almost-cruel smirk that littered his lips told her he knew who it belonged to and she huffed in response, almost pouting in the direction of the chocolate-haired male. And yet all he did was grab her cheeks and pinch it gently, a full grin now plastered on his face.

“Masa-Mmph-!”

An almost-quiet whine escaped her lips as the male played with her soft cheeks with heavy amusement. And though she didn’t know of Mitsuhide’s slight frown as he watched their interaction, there was an innate feeling of wrongness when Masamune laid his hands on her face.

But Mitsuhide had failed to disguise himself in the shadows as he usually would. And his hands held themselves clenched by his side. No, he wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, let alone allow another’s actions to stir him on an emotional level. But this was one thing he simply couldn’t bear: The sight of the Azuchi Princess so openly touched by the resident Dragon.

Was this… Jealousy?

But all he did was pull his lips to his usual half-smirk and make his way down the corridor, ignoring the unfamiliar sensation spreading through his chest. And it pulled on his heart harder than he had ever known. Those tendrils, or perhaps that damning red cord, yanked on his lifeline and it took everything to not turn around and drag her away from him.

And Mitsuhide knew. He knew that if she had surrendered herself to the wild Daimyo of Oshu, he wouldn’t - no, couldn’t - deny her of her wishes. And he would step back, smiling wistfully at whatever bloomed in front of him.

--------------------

Masamune removed his hands from (Y/N)’s face the minute Mitsuhide had disappeared from his position. And he sighed almost defeatedly, knowing that whatever he did or say, she would never belong to him.

“What do you see in him?”

“Who, Mitsuhide?”

The one-eyed man nodded, though his face remained relaxed. But to the princess, there was something in his eyes, supposedly hidden away from sight: something she couldn’t discern.

And she shook her head, eyes no longer meeting his own.

“I don’t know. I just know that the next time he teases me, I’ll be in quite a bit of trouble.”

Masamune hadn’t expected that. She was well aware of the impact the actions of the man she loved had on her. And most of all, he hadn’t expected her to be unsure of the reasons why she loved him.

But what Masamune knew was that he had no chance with the princess, much like the other residents of the castle. He knew Mitsuhide felt exactly the same way as she did, though it remained certain that Mitsuhide was unaware of how much her actions seemed to affect him. And Masamune was almost certain the white-blond male couldn’t place the sensation on a single word.

“Go after him, Kitten. He was here just moments ago.”

And she frowned at him, immediately realising the meaning behind his earlier action.

“You-!”

But as abruptly as she began, his finger landed on her lips and silenced her. Pulling her close, Masamune’s lips landed beside her ear, a hand running through hair gently. And she gasped, muttering his name in surprise. His heart ached, knowing this was perhaps the final time he could touch her in such a way; hear his name leave her lips in such a way. And the words from his lips were almost choked.

“He feels the same way, Lass. He might not know, but the rest of us can see it.”

But his words sounded rather forlorn as his arms gripped her tighter. And though she couldn’t bring herself to push him away, there was a certain sensation of dislike from the interaction. And Masamune respected that, pushing her away almost seconds later.

“Go on. I’ll be here if you need me...”

And the words that tempted to spill from his lips held themselves back, at least until she disappeared from view.

“... No matter if I can be yours or not.”

No, Masamune wasn’t one to give up easily, but he was one of many who knew his limits. And this was one he could never cross. And silently, he congratulated the most mysterious warlord.

Congratulations, Mitsuhide. I only hope you are able to realise the beauty of the treasure you’ve acquired.

-----------------

“Mitsuhide!”

(Y/N)’s sweet voice gently caressed his ears and his footsteps near-faltered in surprise. Once again she had surprised him, though it seemed he too had surprised her in return, for she had crashed rather unceremoniously into his back, crushing the package between them.

“Hm? Mouse? What can I do for you?”

And the ache in his chest returned as she removed herself from his back clutching the package tightly in her hands. He had noticed the package earlier though he had assumed it belonged to Masamune. But if it had, why was she still holding it even now?

“I, um…”

Unable to help himself, his hand found itself to her soft cheeks, caressing the reddened marks from Masamune’s fingers earlier and the flush from her sprint down the corridor. But it was the marks that made Mitsuhide shockingly livid. How dare Masamune lay hands on her?

And strangely, she didn’t pull away from his touch. Rather, her eyes averted themselves and towards the china vase placed beside the doorway. Her stutters sent butterflies to his stomach, almost as if anticipating her words. Her confession.

“... Er... Happy Birthday Mitsuhide!”

And suddenly the crumpled package found itself thrusted at his chest, the giftbearer fleeing from sight. Baffled, he stared from the gift to the fading figure and entered his bedroom, slowly pulling the silk ribbon from it’s place around the package. And he shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“Only you could elicit such emotions from me, little mouse.”

But on the surface of the fabric beneath the makeshift wrapping, a tiny note sat upon the bundle of fabric.

“To the Resident Fox of Azuchi,” he read, amused, “Happy belated birthday! Hiding this from you was a pain, you know. You should thank Nobunaga for volunteering to helping me hide this…. Hideyoshi too.”

His smirk widened, as he continued to read.

“On that note, I hope you enjoy the gift. I’d like to see you wear it soon. With Love, your ‘Little Mouse’.”

And as he turned the note to it’s opposing side, he spied a single sentence that explained her actions to him.

“P.S.: I climb well. P.P.S.: Shall I see you later? Perhaps on the castle roof?”

But the squeeze in his chest had returned at the sight of the way she had signed the letter. With Love, your ‘Little Mouse’. And for some reason, it seemed to affect him worse than any other word on the page. Gripping the letter tightly in his fist, he unfurled the fabric and patted it down, eyeing the haori with great interest.

And his heart near leapt in his throat at the sight of the design. He had never seen her place such efforts in her crafts. Multiple times over, he had caught her glance out her window and longingly at the tree as she absentmindedly crafted. Surely it had to mean something, right?

But what was this sudden swirl of emotions? Hope? Anxiety? Fear? Admiration? Love?

And he draped the fabric over his shoulders, knowing she would be furious if he didn’t at least wear it once.

---------------------------------

“You surprised me, Little Mouse.”

Mitsuhide greeted her, eyes softening at her dazed and pleased emotions. She had chosen to sit directly above Hideyoshi’s room,

“It suits you. I’m glad.”

But her eyes that grazed over his figure only aided the blush that settled over her features. But Mitsuhide took a seat beside her, intertwining his fingers with her own. He could feel her gaze on his own face, and from the his peripheral, he watched the curve of her cheeks gleam a red brighter than ever.

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

There was no way he could deny the rapid beating of his heart. As they sat watching the sun set comfortably beneath the horizon, Mitsuhide stole glances at the female who sat beside him, fingers still entwined with his own. And he thought to himself of all the times the princess had been so tantalisingly sweet to him.

And the more he thought of it, the faster his heart pounded in his chest.

Is this what it feels like to have someone special?

#ikemen sengoku #akechi mitsuhide #Akechi Mitsuhide x reader #mitsuhide reader insert #ikesen mitsuhide

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monochrome-sunsets · 5 years

Text

wc prefixes and suffixes

prefixes: Acorn, Adder, Alder, Aloe, Amber, Ant, Apple, Ash, Ashen, Aspen, Auburn, Babble, Badger, Barley, Basil, Bat, Bay, Bear, Beaver, Beech, Bee, Beetle, Berry, Birch, Bird, Black, Blaze, Blizzard, Bloom, Blossom, Blue, Bluebell, Blueberry, Bone, Borage, Boulder, Bounce, Bracken, Bramble, Brave, Breeze, Briar, Bright, Brindle, Bristle, Broken, Brook, Brown, Brush, Bubble, Bumble, Burning, Burn, Buzzard, Buzz, Cave, Cedar, Cherry, Chestnut, Chirp, Chive, Cinder, Claw, Clay, Clear, Cliff, Cloud, Cloudy, Clove, Clover, Coal, Cold, Copper, Cotton, Creek, Cricket, Crooked, Crouch, Crow, Cypress, Daisy, Dandelion, Dapple, Dappled, Dark, Dawn, Dead, Deer, Dew, Doe, Dove, Downy, Drift, Drizzle, Duck, Dune, Dusk, Dust, Dusty, Eagle, Ebony, Echo, Eel, Elder, Elm, Ember, Elk, Falcon, Fallen, Falling, Fallow, Fawn, Feather, Fennel, Fern, Ferret, Finch, Fire, Fish, Flame, Flare, Flash, Fleet, Flint, Flood, Flower, Flurry, Fog, Forest, Fox, Freckle, Frog, Frost, Frozen, Gentle, Ginger, Golden, Goose, Gorge, Gorse, Grass, Green, Grey, Grizzled, Grouse, Gull, Gust, Hail, Half, Hare, Haven, Hawk, Hay, Hazel, Heather, Heavy, Hemlock, Heron, Hickory, Hill, Hive, Hollow, Holly, Honey, Hop, Hornet, Hound, Hush, Ice, Icy, Iris, Ivy, Jagged, Jay, Jump, Juniper, Kestrel, Kindle, Kink, Lake, Larch, Lark, Laurel, Lavender, Leaf, Leopard, Lichen, Light, Lightning, Lilac, Lily, Lion, Little, Lizard, Long, Lost, Loud, Lynx, Mallow, Maple, Marigold, Marsh, Meadow, Minnow, Mint, Missing, Mist, Mistle, Misty, Mole, Morning, Moss, Mossy, Moth, Mottle, Mottled, Mountain, Mouse, Mud, Muddy, Mumble, Myrtle, Needle, Nettle, Newt, Night, Nut, Oak, Oat, Ocean, Odd, Olive, One, Orchid, Osprey, Otter, Owl, Pale, Parsley, Patch, Peach, Pear, Pearl, Pebble, Perch, Petal, Pheasant, Pigeon, Pike, Pine, Pink, Plum, Pond, Pool, Poppy, Pounce, Prickle, Puddle, Quail, Quick, Quiet, Rabbit, Ragged, Raccoon, Rain, Rat, Raven, Red, Reed, Ripple, Rising, River, Robin, Rock, Root, Rose, Rowan, Rubble, Running, Rush, Russet, Rust, Rusty, Rye, Sage, Sand, Sandy, Sap, Scorch, Scratch, Sea, Sedge, Seed, Shade, Shadow, Sharp, Sheep, Shell, Shining, Shore, Short, Shred, Shrew, Shrub, Shy, Silent, Silk, Silver, Skip, Skunk, Sky, Slate, Sleet, Slush, Small, Smoke, Smudge, Snag, Snail, Snake, Snow, Soft, Song, Soot, Sorrel, Spark, Sparrow, Speckled, Speckle, Spider, Splash, Splinter, Spotted, Spring, Spruce, Squirrel, Stag, Starling, Stoat, Stone, Stork, Storm, Stream, Striped, Stumpy, Sun, Sunny, Swallow, Swan, Sweet, Swift, Tabby, Tall, Talon, Tangle, Tansy, Tawny, Thistle, Thorn, Thrush, Thunder, Thyme, Tiger, Timber, Tiny, Toad, Torrent, Torn, Tortoise, Trout, Tulip, Tumble, Turtle, Twig, Twilight, Valley, Velvet, Vine, Violet, Viper, Vole, Vulture, Wasp, Water, Wave, Weasel, Web, Weed, White, Wild, Willow, Wind, Wolf, Wren, Yarrow, Yellow, Yew

suffixes: adder, ant, apple, ash, aspen, babble, bark, beam, bee, belly, berry, bite, bird, blaze, bloom, blossom, blotch, bounce, bramble, briar, branch, breeze, briar, bright, brook, bud, burn, burr, bush, call, chaser, catcher, cherry, chive, cinder, claw, cloud, clover, cough, crawl, creek, crest, crow, cry, curl, current, daisy, dance, dapple, dawn, drop, dove, dusk, dust, ear, echo, eye, eyes, face, fall, fallow, fang, feather, fern, field, fire, flake, flame, flare, flash, flight, flood, flower, flurry, fox, foot, freckle, frond, frost, fur, gaze, gleam, grass, grove, gorse, hail, hare, hawk, haze, heart, heather, holly, hop, hush, ice, iris, ivy, jay, jaw, jump, leaf, kelp, kestrel, lake, larch, lark, lavender, leaf, leap, leg, lichen, light, lilac, lily, lion, lizard, lotus, mallow, marsh, mask, meadow, mint, mist, moss, moth, mouse, murmur, needle, nettle, nose, nut, oak, oat, olive, patch, path, pelt, perch, petal, pigeon, pool, pond, poppy, pounce, puddle, quail, quill, rain, rat, raven, rapid, reed, ridge, ripple, rise, river, root, rose, rubble, runner, rush, sage, sand, scar, screech, sedge, seed, shade, shadow, shell, shine, sight, skip, sky, slate, slip, smoke, snow, song, soot, sparrow, spark, speck, speckle, splash, spot, spots, spring, stalk, step, stem, sting, stone, storm, stream, streak, stride, strike, stripe, stone, sun, swipe, swoop, tail, talon, thicket, thistle, thorn, throat, thunder, trail, tooth, tuft, tumble, vine, vole, water, watcher, weed, whisker, willow, wind, wing, wish, whisper

#warrior cats #wc #prefix #prefixes #sufix #sufixes #names #warrior cats names #wc names #list

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forsakenfragments · 6 years

Text

I Washed My Hands With Blood

CHAPTER 2

Maggie enters Nightmare Forest, intent on an adventure.

My path through Grimsby was meandering and prone to wanderlust. That night it drizzled, and while the rain soaked my nightgown and reduced me to a shivering mess, the soft pitter-patter of rain droplets on broad beech leaves soothed both my mental and physical ailments. Although the cold infected my sore ankle and caused stiffness, I did not stop to rest near the tempting fire of the Inn nor Reverend Emeriel’s home, which he insisted was always open to anyone left without a home. The reason for this, I thought, was because he was lonely now that his adopted daughter was only a thought passing on the wind.

I thought similar unsavory thoughts on the rest of the town. Mary, a midwife and wealthy mother to a brood of six, bought exorbitant amounts of jewelry at the market every Saturday, although I could never figure out if it were because her marriage was unsatisfactory or if she was remarkably vain. Baxter the Baker inherited his family business as the oldest son and most responsible, but he failed to perform even the simplest of tasks and tended to cheat his customers simply because he could not sell any other way. Adelaide was a young girl betrothed to a 33-year-old man named Arthur, and while her family draped her gaudy baubles and wedding drab, I saw the emptiness in her eyes and knew she resigned to her fate of early spiritual suicide. Sir Cassius was a lonely old man with wrinkles in his face so thick they could tell stories, and he lived on the gothic mansion on the hill with his very young granddaughter.

All of these stories, unique in their own ways, lived on in the sagging timber-frame homes lining the streets of Grimsby. While the roofs were towering with slate panels, the houses dipped down under the weight of rainwater and the drudgery the inhabitants endured daily. Every day, the citizens of Grimsby went about the monotony of life, going through the same motions they enacted with every sunset. It disgusted me, to the point where my stomach curled and recoiled every time I saw the dull flicker of life in their eyes, the only thing signifying that they were breathing human beings instead of one of the pieces of machinery in the London factories.

Even my mother seemed this way at that time. While she had been lively and animated in an earlier year, the troubles and toils of her life beat down her resolve until she sleepwalked through my childhood without so much as a glimmer in her gaze. Where her arms were warm and her voice dripping with honey, I noticed her heartbeat was slow, and her eyes were cold. She abandoned her unfinished paintings, ceased the care of her garden, and did not cook our potato soup with as much zeal. Not even seeing my father sober enough to continue his carpenting business could make her smile.

This robotic nature of my neighbors forced me to hurriedly walk through the town with my eyes locked on my feet. Piles of dust and dirt passed my eyes, well-trodden during the busiest hours of the day but unsettlingly empty during the dead hours of the night. The wind whisked past my head, and the southern winds carried the scent of wildflowers to my nose from the sprawling flowered meadows outside of Grimsby. With time, the dirt path began to grow grassy and knotted with tussocks of greenery. It was then I looked up and realized I was on the border of Grimsby.

To my left, the church and its courtyard of the dead sat close to the frigid waters of the lake. The moon tugged on the pond and it lapped against the smooth pebbles lining it, washed of any blemishes from eons of being cradled by sandy water. Where the moon could often be seen reflected in the lagoon’s inky black depths, the black swallowed up my only source of light, and I was left in suffocating darkness. Ahead, there was a stretch of green and knots of grass overflowing with bluebells and honeysuckles, and just past that was a wall of trees. Where some meadow’s transition into woodland was gradual and subtle, Nightmare Forest acted as a looming barrier between the land of reality and the land of terror. The field leading into was bright and cheery, with an abundance of sweet-smelling flowers and pale prairie grasses, whereas the forest was dark, ominous, and looming as if the trees were giants turning their backs on humanity in contempt. I looked upon it, remembered my mother’s frantic warnings, and promptly ignored her concern in my conscience. I was a child, and anything that was unavailable to me was naturally alluring. Her cautions only inflamed my necessity for the unattainable.

Having spotted my target, I raced towards the stalwart line of beech and maple, sidestepping firm boulders and disrupting warrens of rabbits in fitful slumber. My bumbling feet caught on errant roots and misplaced twigs, but in my scramble to reach the ominous wood, my subsequent tumble into the dust and dirt was a mere inconvenience.

Breathing hard and huffing, I finally reached the line of trees. I stooped over and supported myself on my knees, the soothing cold of the breeze and the searing heat of my skin creating a strange dichotomy across my nerves. My heart pounded hard in a fruitless attempt to escape my ribcage, but with time it soothed into a calm pound and my lungs could expand fully without panting, so I straightened and peered into the thick darkness of Nightmare forest.

I could not see past the trees; their trunks were so thick and their canopies so impenetrable that anything beneath their reign was rendered an abyssal black. The fact did not unnerve me, but it instead piqued my interest, so I took one step forward, then another, hesitant only because of the last shreds of guilt I felt for directly contradicting my mother’s orders.

With a few final steps, I plunged into Nightmare Forest’s thick undergrowth. I stumbled through the tense darkness, now entirely cannibalized by an eerie sense of unease that made my head feel backward. My mind swam, and my stomach curled up within me, swallowed whole by an aura strange enough to allow me to walk horizontally across walls.

Here, I was half-tempted to turn back and careen back into the safety of my own bed, but upon seeing my father’s wrinkled face contorted with rage in my minds-eye, I steeled my resolve and proceeded.

My eyes were virgins to the gloom of the forest and my limbs uncoordinated, so much of my time spent in the woods was wasted smacking face-first into trees and tripping over roots designed only to trip up children running away from home. After nearly five minutes into my fateful excursion, my face ached from repeatedly bumping face-first into an ancient, gnarled oak, and my arms stung with pain from the wild rose shrubs back home and the scratching nettles lining the forest floor. I stepped forwards twice more, sensed an incline, then sighed a long, dramatic sigh. The forest was beginning to make way to the mountains, and I knew that attempting to scale the treacherous cliffs there would lead to my death, so I turned on my heel and prepared to exit the forest.

I was blinded by a radiant white light. A dull, aching pain pressed against the back of my eyes, so I pushed my arm close to my eyes and squinted until my eyes could adjust to the brazen glow. Within a few seconds, the ache faded and I lowered my forearm to peer at the bright object meticulously.

Standing amongst a knoll of ragwort and field rose, a deer with an unnaturally white pelt stood. Its fur was so brilliant that it gleamed like a star against the black backdrop of night, and it burned so brightly that it drowned out the contours of its eyes and nose. I could not make out any of its facial features except for horns high enough to spear a man from top to bottom and still have the length to spare. With eyes I could not perceive, it stared at me. I swore it nodded at me, imperceptible but real nonetheless.

For these few moments, we gazed at each other, equally curious and intrigued but each much too cautious to approach. Tension snapped like a spring between us, mounting and building and gaining.

Then, the stag turned tail and fled, it’s short, bushy tail disappearing into the darkness of the forest. The underbrush swallowed it, and just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

Frightened, I called out after it. “Wait!” I shouted, scrambling forwards. “Please, wait for me!”

I leaped forth from my perch and careened into the boxwoods and azaleas, ignoring the sting of shrubs running across my bare arms and the tearing of my dirtied nightgown as branches caught on it and threatened to pull me back. Through sheer determination alone, I resisted the clawing of skeletal beech branches in their attempts to slow me down and barreled through them, desperate to hang onto the only shred of light I had found in Nightmare Forest.

The chase was on. My heart pumped, and my legs pushed forward with strength I was unaware I possessed. I crashed through the thickets and coppice, stirring up rancor in the deathly silent woodland where the noise was unwelcome. The blood rushed through my ears and adrenaline pumped through my veins, but no matter how much I ran, I never spotted the fluffy white tail prancing through the brushwood. Despair swam across my thoughts and tears of exhaustion welled up in my eyes.

Then, my foot caught on a root placed deliberately in my path by an ensnaring, ancient oak I had slammed my head against many moments beforehand. My heart launched into my throat, and I tumbled into the wild shrubbery with an unceremonious shout.

I slammed my head upon a small rock, small and unassuming until it pressed hard into my temple. Blood, red and hot, seeped from the wound created on the side of my head, the blood-flow only enhanced by the zealous pumping of my heart. Clutching the sparse clumps of crabgrass between my fingers, I laid face down in the Nightmare Forest, grimacing in agony and cursing my incredible foolishness.

I wished to be back home, lying safe in bed with mother. I wished my father did not stomp into my room, and I wished I had not launched myself through my portly window to escape. I wished I did not fall into the roses and I wished I did not walk so quickly past the timber-frame homes of Grimsby. In that moment of desperation, I wished to not exist, only to float through humanity as a nameless husk without a single ounce of consciousness. Thinking this, tears began to flow, and they ran down my cheeks, dripping into the dirt and landing in my mouth. My chest heaved as I sobbed, my hope and dreams crushed into an unidentifiable paste of nothingness by a celestial mortar and pestle.

An answer to my wishes came then, on the wings of angels and heralded by trumpet fanfare.

“Hey,” said a soft voice. “Are you okay?”

Cheeks stained with tears and lip quivering, I raised my head at an achingly slow pace and locked my eyes on a pair of poorly cobbled shoes. They stood near my face and shuffled there, connected legs covered in ragged pants. My eyes traveled further up, and I found a little boy’s face staring down at me.

By his clear, pale complexion, I knew he was around my age range, if not a bit older. By the way, his legs quivered, and his cheeks stood out against his gaunt face, I could tell he was poor and plagued by malnutrition. By the way, his blue eyes shimmered in comparison to his jet black hair, I could tell he truly cared for my well-being. He reached his hand out for me in a chivalrous gesture, smiling with straight white teeth and a rosy glow on his cheeks.

Instinctively, I smiled and reached up my arm to swipe across my nose and eyes. I cleared away my tears and mucus and took his hand in mine with a thankful nod. He pulled me to my feet, and I tested my ankle to the force of the ground, only to cringe and exhale in pain. I opened my eyes into slits, staring through the gloom into the eyes of my strange savior.

I ignored the question on his lips. “Did you see?” I asked him, frantic and bumbling. “The deer? The white one?”

He quirked his brow, glanced about the deep gloom lining the underbrush, and turned back to fix me with a strange stare. I saw the confusion in his eyes and groaned.

“It was here!” I gestured wide to the sweeping darkness before the two of us, desperately searching for any spot of light beneath the thick canopy overhead. “I saw it! It ran away!”

The boy fixed me with another strange gaze, looking towards me as if I had just spouted off some nonsense about pigs soaring through the sky. He held my gaze for a few moments before erupting in laughter, loud and mocking, albeit not intentional.

“Hey!” I fumed. “I’m being serious!”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed, shoulders heaving with the weight of his amusement. “But white deer don’t come ‘round these parts. They don’t exist.”

I deflated instantly, a pinprick of anger still existing deep within my stomach extinguished immediately by the icy wave of his laughter. I curled in on myself and rubbed at my elbow, frowning so profoundly it almost didn’t fit on my face. With time, his laughter faded and we were left with only the thick, unsettling quiet of Nightmare Forest.

“Why are you out here anyway?” the boy asked. “No one really comes round here.”

I surged for a chance to defend myself from his interrogation. “My pa was gonna hit me, so I ran,” I blurted. The truth bubbled from my mouth like water in a gentle brook, and I did nothing to stop it, suddenly unable to lie in good faith around this strange boy.

“My dad does that sometimes too,” the boy responded, mulling around the gloomy clearing for a few moments before coming to rest on a toadstool-covered log, hollowed and husk-like. I limped across the clearing, overdramatic in my minor injury as many children were prone to acting, and sat beside him.

“Who are you? I never see you around town,” I argued suddenly, intrigued and too curious for my own good. His eyes darkened, and he smiled, and something opened in my stomach, making it twist and turn and coil within my abdomen. I felt paralyzed.

“I’m Michael,” the boy responded much too eagerly. “Me an’ my dad cut wood in this forest.”

The explanation was strange, and it made my skin crawl, but I ignored any peculiar feelings, fixed him with a full, toothy grin, and joyfully delivered my own introduction. “I’m Maggie!” I chirped. “My pa’ uses wood to make stuff!”

“Probably not our wood though,” Michael mused. “No one from Grimsby comes over here.”

I frowned at the sentiment. “Why not?”

“You haven’t heard the rumors?” Michael wondered aloud, searching my face.

I shook my head in one sweeping motion. Immediately, Michael launched into a ghost tale for the ages.

“Your folks say that this forest is full of monsters and beasts. We had shot a deer once and were in the middle of cleaning it when a bloke ran up, screamed, then went back to town to spread dodgy stories.”

“That was Mr. Murphy!” I shouted in understanding. “He said he found a herd of dead deer with their heads cut off and blood all over!”

Michael grinned from ear to ear and shook his head with a contemptuous guffaw. “A tosser, that man is,” Michael remarked, and I smiled and giggled as if we were sharing secrets.

“Yeah, he’s a right tit!” I cried suddenly, emboldened by Michael’s presence and ability to say entirely impolite language I had never been allowed to utter before. He laughed at my usage and how eager I was to say it, and we both broke into a fit of wild, uncontrollable giggles.

Unbeknownst to me, Michael rose from the mossy log in the midst of my side-splitting laughter, and with a devilish grin, he tapped my shoulder forcefully. Broken from my compulsive giggling, a few errant huffs fell from my mouth as I glanced up to Michael’s face and quirked my brow. I tipped my head to the side, and his smile grew wider.

“Tag,” he whispered, barely audible beneath my amusement. “You’re it.”

Fire alight in my eyes, I shot from my spot on the log and launched at Michael. I shot my arms forward but they wrapped around thin air, and a gust of wind as Michael shifted from his original spot and scampered across the clearing to the edge of the trees. I leered after him, eyes glinting with youthful energy now that I was engaging in play.

After a brief second where we stared at each other from across the grassy knoll, I stumbling over boulders, rocks, and fallen logs in my mad scramble to reach Michael in time. With his far superior height and my unfortunate speed penalty attributed to my tiny legs, he quickly stepped around my charging form and dashed to the other end of the clearing like a matador taunting a raging bull.

I twisted around and whipped towards where he stood, uphill and staring down at me with a triumphant grin and his hands on his hips. I pushed myself hard and faster, ignoring the dull ache in my ankles and legs and knees in favour of the chase. The wind pelted my face, and my tongue lolled from my mouth, panting for breath and wide-eyes with adrenaline. My mousey brown hair was a mess; tangled, frizzy, and full of brambles, but I ignored the way it caught on shrubs and foliage in favour of chasing desperately after Michael. Even within moments of our chance meeting, I considered him my friend, and he came to be my only friend in the cold darkness of existence. For once in my life, I felt eager to see the sun rise over the horizon and reach her pale dawn fingers across the eastern meadows.

Then, I was weightless. For the briefest of moments, I soared through the air, unaffected by the world and ignorant of standard physics. My grin remained through the moment of no gravity, but as I felt myself fall forward, the smile disappeared, and I shouted in fear as the ground rushed towards me. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut in preparation for the fall, prepared to take the brunt of the pain and feel my synapses erupt in agony.

It never came. Instead, hands grasped around my midsection and hoisted me back up, pulling my feet from the ground and placing me on the uneven dirt so that I was upright and safe. I glanced up from my bruised, scratched hands and looked to Michael, who grinned at me. I noticed only now that he was missing a tooth, a sharp canine that had yet to grow into his beaming smile.

“You trip a lot,” Michael remarked with a good-natured chuckle.

Indignant, I dispelled his hands and placed my hands on my hips, face stained with dirt and nightgown tattered. “This forest is just dumb!” I defended myself, strong in my tone but weak in my argument. My voice rises above the suffocating silence of the forest, bouncing off the rough beech bark surrounding us.

Then, a great cry rose from the surrounding underbrush. “Maggie?” called a feminine voice, shaky and coloured with panic.

I turned around immediately, placing my back to Michael in favour of inspecting the deep abyss from which I heard the question come from. The forest smelled of thick leaf musk and dead dock, and the wind howled through the dense, nearly bare canopy, whistling through knots and knolls in winding wood. Again, the voice cried out.

“Maggie, is that you?”

The imperceptible kilt added to the very end of the woman’s voice gave me enough information to deduce that this woman was my mother, and the way her voice tore from her throat indicated she was searching for me specifically. Eager to introduce my new friend to my mother, I immediately responded. “Mum! I’m right here!” I shouted, ruthlessly piercing through the silence.

Within seconds, the underbrush crashed and caved and crackled under the weight of brisk footsteps. The shadows came to expel my mother, her fiery red hair equally as frazzled and her green eyes accentuated by sagging black circles. A vein swelled on her temple as she dashed towards me, knees rising high in her effort to tame the sprawling coppice. She came to stand before me, and she placed her hands atop my shoulders, shaking them softly as her arms trembled and her eyes grew wet and glassy.

“Maggie,” mother whispered, voice breaking and grip tightening to a raw strength on my shoulders. “Maggie, you’re here.”

I quirked a brow and frowned. “Yeah,” I confirmed slowly, staring up at her.

Without warning, she surged forward and wrapped her arms around me, her chest heaving as she sobbed into my small shoulders. Hesitantly, I clutched her to me and drank in her scent, smelling vaguely of roses and honeydew. “I thought I lost you,” she babbled, voice strained by tears. “Lost you to this wretched forest.”

“I’m still here,” I protested softly, a sound lost to the immense quiet of Nightmare Forest. With this, mother drew away and clutched my hand, a smile tugging at her tear-stained cheeks.

“Come, let’s return home,” she offered gently, then turned and tugged at me. Although she was strong, my will to remain was stronger, and I evaded her grasp, slipping my hand from her fingers and staring at her as she turned to stare at me. She furrowed her brows and clutched her dirt-stained skirts, red hair frazzled and eyes sunken.

“Wait,” I exploded, scrabbling to surmount a rock. “I met someone! His name is Michael!”

I gestured to the surrounding forest. Mother’s brows furrowed further.

“Maggie,” Mother uttered my name, then pointed a curled finger behind me. “Don’t be silly. There’s no one there. No one lives in Nightmare forest.”

Swayed, I whipped around and scanned the line of dark trunks, stained with the black night. I searched through the thick, grim shade, trees in the distance curling like burnt bodies and beckoning to newcomers with gnarled, frayed branches. The silhouette of Michael was absent, and no matter how hard I peered and squinted, I could not catch the blue of his eyes or his pale complexion.

Stunned, I stared, pondering how someone so tangible and real could disappear from the clearing without so much as a crackle of crushed brambles or fallen branches. He vanished like a summer breeze in the dead of autumn, gone without so much as a trace to suggest he was ever there in the first place. Lost in the fog of my own thoughts, I swayed on my feet, blinking complacently.

My mother’s smooth, blemish-free hand on mine threw me violently back to reality. She turned me around with a gentle, guiding hand, smiled a smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle, then helped me off the boulder I balanced on.

“Come along,” Mother hummed. “We’re both exhausted.”

Without further qualms, I stumbled blindly after her brisk steps. She led me with a firm hand and a breakneck pace, bouncy in her actions and shaky in her hold. Just as we reached the line of trees surrounding the clearing and were about to plunge into the thick undergrowth once more, I cautioned a wary glance over my shoulder.

The darkness left behind me was cleaved by rays of radiant light, all falling from the effervescent grace of the white stag I observed before. It was unencumbered by darkness and evil, dispelling every hint of malevolence remaining in the forest. Enamored, I tugged upon my mother’s arm. She only pressed further on, pulling me along behind her. I looked for as long as I could, eager to see the last remaining bit of white, luminescent fur.

Then, within a few seconds, a patch of dock and tansy blocked my view and devoured the angelic deer, drenching us in crawling darkness once more.

#nanowrimo #novel #chapter #writing #book #fiction #supernatural fiction #original novel

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kevingbakeruk · 7 years

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14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure

Tiny houses aren’t just for hipsters and millennials anymore. As Americans have taken an interest in tidying up, downsizing their belongings and living more efficiently, the tiny house movement has gone mainstream, and it’s inspiring people of all ages to embrace small spaces.

Tiny House Rentals From FlipKey

Of course, not all of us can jump on the tiny house bandwagon, but if these pint-sized properties have you intrigued, we’ve got good news. FlipKey has an awesome selection of tiny house rentals available all over the world, which means that you don’t have to sell your pint glass collection, leave your closet at Goodwill or give up your dishwasher to take the lifestyle for a test drive.

We’re spotlighting properties that fit the mold of the tiny house movement—miniature homes with a couple hundred square feet, a loft bed and small appliances—plus a few that might not, like a quirky micro cabin in Canada, a tropical beach bungalow in Costa Rica, a casita in New Mexico and a stunning windmill in Greece. We’ve even included rentals designed with minimalism in mind (Hobbit-inspired cabin, anyone?), but with more than one bedroom, so you can live the tiny house dream with a larger group.

So go ahead—we know you want to try one on for size. All of these tiny houses are available to book right on FlipKey, whether you’re planning a quick weekend getaway or longer vacation. Just make sure you’re traveling with someone you really, really like.

Sandpiper Studio Cabin: Kennebunk, Maine

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $125/night

Sandpiper Cabin saves on space, but not on style—and the seaside-inspired decor in this studio cottage is only part of what makes it such a lovely escape. Details like granite countertops and hardwood floors (not to mention the ideal location near Dock Square in Kennebunkport) make it a snug harbor for your next Maine getaway.

Check out the Sandpiper Studio Cabin on FlipKey!

Whitehorse Micro Cabin: Yukon, Canada

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Outdoor Bathroom, $42/night

If you’ve ever dreamed of going off the grid, then this two-person micro cabin in Canada’s far north might be the getaway of your dreams. The eco-friendly rental, a snug step up from backcountry camping, is surrounded by miles of pristine wilderness and top-notch trails. Interested in going backpacking? Camping gear, bikes and canoes are all available for rent.

Check out the Whitehorse Micro Cabin on FlipKey!

Hobbit Hole Cabin: Mendocino, California

The Tiny House Experience: 2 Bedrooms, 2 Bathrooms, $135/night

The upside to staying in a tiny house—the small-but-snug amount of space—can also be a downside if you’re traveling with more than one person. Enter Hobbit Hole Cabin, a whimsical cottage with enough room for the whole family. You’ll get a taste of the tiny house lifestyle, but with a full kitchen, more than one couch and two bedrooms instead of a loft bed. Thanks to details like the front-porch windchimes and crackling wood stove, those extra square feet won’t make your getaway any less cozy.

Check out the Hobbit Hole Cabin on FlipKey!

Cozy Windmill Villa: Santorini, Greece

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $337/night

This converted windmill in Santorini may boast the most dazzling views of any tiny home on the planet, but inside, it keeps things minimal and elegant, with gleaming white walls and simple silver fixtures. The three-level rental includes a fully-equipped kitchen on the lower level, a living room on the second floor and an upper-level bedroom and bathroom. While the jaw-dropping setting tops the list of this villa’s perks and amenities, the daily maid service is a luxe bonus.

Check out the Cozy Windmill Villa on FlipKey!

La Casita de la Acequia: Santa Fe, New Mexico

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

Located in the heart of historic Santa Fe, the intimate La Casita de la Acequia is a classic adobe home with authentic details like a kiva fireplace and rough-hewn rafters. Shoot the breeze under the giant cottonwood tree on the patio, or stroll to the Plaza and wander through the vibrant shops, galleries and museums.

Check out La Casita de la Acequia on FlipKey!

Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut: Kent, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $130/night

From the quaint cupboards to the floral linens, this storybook shepherd’s hut in Kent could have been pulled from the pages of a fairytale. Set on a steep valley hillside surrounded by meadows of wild orchids, bluebells and cowslips, the color-coordinated hut is designed to sleep two adults but can also accommodate one child on an air mattress.

Check out the Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Sand Pebble Cottage: Dennis Port, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Full Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $79/night

Cape Cod is the quintessential American beach vacation, and at Sand Pebble Cottage (located half a mile from Dennis Port, paved bike trails and the beach) you’ll have a front-row seat to all the action. Nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac, the rental is private without feeling secluded and small without feeling cramped. Toss a few burgers on the Weber grill during the summer, or curl up with a book from the library wall during the winter.

Check out the Sand Pebble Cottage on FlipKey!

The Rambleshack: Coldingham, Scotland

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $71/night

If you’re hunting for a home base near the Scottish coast, look no further than the minimal-chic Rambleshack, a small, modern pod with a healthy dose of character and charm. Hike one of the paths near the ocean, kick back on the beach at Coldingham Bay or walk to the village pub for fish and chips.

Check out the Rambleshack on FlipKey!

Dockside Tiny House: Wrangell, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $99/night

Built on a locally-sourced cedar deck, the Dockside Tiny House features a full kitchen and bathroom, compact washing machine, in-floor heat and an indoor clothesline—plus a loft bedroom. Although it might feel like close quarters at first, what this rental lacks in size, it makes up for with stunning views of the bay. “The floating house is surrounded by fun and interesting boat activity,” one reviewer writes. “The pictures don’t do justice to how cute the place is.”

Check out the Dockside Tiny House on FlipKey!

Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut: Somerset, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $162/night

Set on a small, private farm in Somerset’s Blackdown Hills, Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut is a chic countryside retreat furnished with antique and handcrafted pieces the owner calls “hut couture.” Whether you want to explore the surrounding countryside or take a day trip to the Jurassic Coast, this rental makes a hospitable home base—and the complimentary breakfast on the first morning certainly doesn’t hurt.

Check out the Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Modern Tiny House: Cape Cod, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $140/night

Nestled in the woods just a short drive from downtown Hyannis, this modern, minimal take on classic Cape Cod architecture embraces the tiny house movement while also making room for select amenities like a full-size refrigerator and stove (a major perk for home chefs and budget travelers). The pet-friendly space, which boasts a fenced-in backyard and wrap-around deck, is a short walk from walking trails, restaurants and a bakery.

Check out the Modern Tiny House on FlipKey!

Surf Break Bungalow | Rote Island, Indonesia

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 1 Bathroom, $145/night

If you can’t avoid the siren call of the surf, add the uncrowded breaks on Rote Island (the south point of Indonesia) to your bucket list and book this beautiful Javanese teak wood bungalow. Air conditioning, mosquito nets, purified water and daily housekeeping are all part of the package, and the view from the front patio will take your breath away.

Check out the Surf Break Bungalow on FlipKey!

Downtown Tiny House: Homer, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

This 300-square-foot tiny house may be small, but high ceilings and thoughtful design combine to create a space reviewers have called “functional,” “comfortable” and “absolutely fantastic.” The pint-size cabin in downtown Homer is located just steps from restaurants, galleries, shops and trails, but you don’t have to leave the house to enjoy the area’s spectacular scenery; Kachemak Bay and the glaciers and mountains beyond are visible from the handcrafted deck.

Check out the Downtown Tiny House on FlipKey!

Joshua Tree Dome: Palm Springs, California

The Tiny House Experience: 3 Bedrooms, 2.5 Bathrooms, $369/night

We’ll be the first to admit that with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, this minimal, modern rental isn’t a tiny house. So what’s it doing in the round-up? For starters, the design of the dome pulls a page from the tiny house movement in a few major ways, like maximizing natural light and using vertical space and built-in storage to make each room feel larger. For another? It’s roomy enough to accommodate a big family or group of friends, so you don’t have to downsize your crew to get a feel for what makes a tiny home such a cozy place to vacation.

Check out the Joshua Tree Dome on FlipKey!

This post was originally published on the TripAdvisor Rentals blog. It has been repurposed here with permission.

The post 14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure appeared first on The FlipKey Blog.

from Tips For Traveling https://www.flipkey.com/blog/2017/07/17/14-tiny-house-rentals-next-big-adventure/

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janerchambers88 · 7 years

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14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure

Tiny House Rentals From FlipKey

Sandpiper Studio Cabin: Kennebunk, Maine

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $125/night

Live Small in the Sandpiper Studio Cabin on FlipKey!

Whitehorse Micro Cabin: Yukon, Canada

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Outdoor Bathroom, $42/night

Live Small in the Whitehorse Micro Cabin on FlipKey!

Hobbit Hole Cabin: Mendocino, California

The Tiny House Experience: 2 Bedrooms, 2 Bathrooms, $135/night

Live Small in the Hobbit Hole Cabin on FlipKey!

Cozy Windmill Villa: Santorini, Greece

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $337/night

Live Small in the Cozy Windmill Villa on FlipKey!

La Casita de la Acequia: Santa Fe, New Mexico

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

Live Small in La Casita de la Acequia on FlipKey!

Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut: Kent, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $130/night

Live Small in the Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Sand Pebble Cottage: Dennis Port, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Full Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $79/night

Live small in the Sand Pebble Cottage on FlipKey!

The Rambleshack: Coldingham, Scotland

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $71/night

Live Small in the Rambleshack on FlipKey!

Dockside Tiny House: Wrangell, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $99/night

Live Small in the Dockside Tiny House on FlipKey!

Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut: Somerset, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $162/night

Live Small in the Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Modern Tiny House: Cape Cod, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $140/night

Live Small in the Modern Tiny House on FlipKey!

Surf Break Bungalow | Rote Island, Indonesia

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 1 Bathroom, $145/night

Live Small in the Surf Break Bungalow on FlipKey!

Downtown Tiny House: Homer, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

Live Small in the Downtown Tiny House on FlipKey!

Joshua Tree Dome: Palm Springs, California

The Tiny House Experience: 3 Bedrooms, 2.5 Bathrooms, $369/night

Live Small in the Joshua Tree Dome on FlipKey!

This post was originally published on the TripAdvisor Rentals blog. It has been repurposed here with permission.

The post 14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure appeared first on The FlipKey Blog.

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mrrolandtfranco · 7 years

Text

14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure

Tiny House Rentals From FlipKey

Sandpiper Studio Cabin: Kennebunk, Maine

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $125/night

Live Small in the Sandpiper Studio Cabin on FlipKey!

Whitehorse Micro Cabin: Yukon, Canada

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Outdoor Bathroom, $42/night

Live Small in the Whitehorse Micro Cabin on FlipKey!

Hobbit Hole Cabin: Mendocino, California

The Tiny House Experience: 2 Bedrooms, 2 Bathrooms, $135/night

Live Small in the Hobbit Hole Cabin on FlipKey!

Cozy Windmill Villa: Santorini, Greece

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $337/night

Live Small in the Cozy Windmill Villa on FlipKey!

La Casita de la Acequia: Santa Fe, New Mexico

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

Live Small in La Casita de la Acequia on FlipKey!

Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut: Kent, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $130/night

Live Small in the Clavertye Valley Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Sand Pebble Cottage: Dennis Port, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Full Bed, 2 Bathrooms, $79/night

Live small in the Sand Pebble Cottage on FlipKey!

The Rambleshack: Coldingham, Scotland

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $71/night

Live Small in the Rambleshack on FlipKey!

Dockside Tiny House: Wrangell, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Queen Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $99/night

Live Small in the Dockside Tiny House on FlipKey!

Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut: Somerset, England

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $162/night

Live Small in the Dimpsey Shepherd’s Hut on FlipKey!

Modern Tiny House: Cape Cod, Massachusetts

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Bed, 1 Bathroom, $140/night

Live Small in the Modern Tiny House on FlipKey!

Surf Break Bungalow | Rote Island, Indonesia

The Tiny House Experience: 1 King Bed, 1 Bathroom, $145/night

Live Small in the Surf Break Bungalow on FlipKey!

Downtown Tiny House: Homer, Alaska

The Tiny House Experience: 1 Loft Bed, 1 Bathroom, $115/night

Live Small in the Downtown Tiny House on FlipKey!

Joshua Tree Dome: Palm Springs, California

The Tiny House Experience: 3 Bedrooms, 2.5 Bathrooms, $369/night

Live Small in the Joshua Tree Dome on FlipKey!

This post was originally published on the TripAdvisor Rentals blog. It has been repurposed here with permission.

The post 14 Tiny House Rentals For Your Next Big Adventure appeared first on The FlipKey Blog.

from The FlipKey Blog http://ift.tt/2urTWYp

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

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James Tobias Moore: An Introduction

Name: James Tobias Moore

Age: 29

DOB: February 25th 1867

Height: 6ft 4

Body type: Broad, large, strong, he got a soft tummy tho cause he’s weak for sweet baked goods

Hair: Long enough to tie up at the back in a bun, messy, ginger

Appearance: Covered in freckles and scars. So many scars. He’s had a tough life and nearly died more times than is probably reasonable for his age.

Career/Lifestyle: Lives in a cabin in the woods and is self-sufficient. Hunts, fishes, forages, and grows his own vegetables when the weather is right. Earns money from hunting and fishing, but also does odd jobs around, helps people with things they need.

Personality: Comes across quite gruff, brash, straight to the point. Not much of a conversationalist and never going to spout poetic at you, but he’s soft with those he cares about and loves. Will show you how much he loves you by providing for you, bringing you blankets, making you dinner, carrying you to bed when you fall asleep in front of the fire. Amazing with children and animals.

Pets: Brandy, a large bay shire horse, more of a companion than a pet though. She’s been in his life a good while now.

Series: And Bluebells Gleamed on Mountain Wild

While ‘requests’ are technically closed i’m happy to have them for my OCs. I’d like to start writing for these guys and i’m also happy to have questions and be asked for ‘headcanons’ about them although technically they’re canon facts if they’re my characters right? I don’t know, Just i’m happy to engage with you guys and talk about these soft boys because I want to write reader inserts but want that control of knowing the character and having them be my character. Also rugged mountain man in the 19th century? What a vibe.

Reader for this is described as female because time periods, not sure if i’ll being doing gender neutral stuff for these guys or not. But if it’s not i’ll always sign post it so you don’t have to worry!

The year is 1896, the weather is turning colder. Autumn melting into winter, the first snow falls will begin soon, he thinks. James Tobias Moore has a lot to do, a lot to prepare before the cold season truly hits and the flurries come in. Living in the woods away from town, he spends most of the year living off the few plants he grows beside his cabin, the herbs, mushrooms, and roots he forages, the animals he hunts and the fish he catches in the nearby lake.

When the snow comes he won’t be able to hunt often and fishing will be more difficult and not worth the effort of sitting in the cold for hours. So he pulls his thick coat on, covers his worn hands with gloves and sets off with his worn satchel. Locking the door behind him, he takes a moment to turn dark brown eyes to the sky. It’s growing greyer every day, a sure sign that a snow storm would hit before long. He needs to make the trip to town now before he misses his chance, he wouldn’t be in dire straits without the supplies, but it would be a trickier winter for certain.

He whistles, loud and clear. Brandy comes plodding from around the corner, the large bay shire horse bobbing her head up and down in greeting. He smiles softly, quietly, gently pats her neck searching in his coat pocket for an oat cake he knows he left there last time he took her out. She’s impatient, large head pushing at his pocket, nibbling at the coat until he finally finds the treat and proffers it to her, she accepts it quickly, nickering quietly at him.

“C’mon then, girl, we have work to do.” His voice is quiet, a southern twang to it that hasn’t left even after moving further north. The shire follows along behind him, following him to the cart he uses on occasion to get goods from town or sell the spoils of a successful hunting trip. He’s careful as he hitches Brandy to the cart, making sure everything sits right, nothing too tight, nothing incorrectly harnessed. She’s his one companion out here and he’s careful to look after her.

The horse nibbles at ginger strands of his hair as he adjusts part of the harness and he huffs at her, giving her an admonishing look that she no doubt doesn’t understand. He gives her one last pat on the nose before getting into the cart and taking the reins, beginning the journey into town.

It’s a long journey, but in the winter months a necessary one. He’ll stock up for the winter, tinned foods, matches, extra blankets, hay. Things he doesn’t already have and can’t source himself. He has enough salted and dried meat, he’s been preserving hunts since the weather started to turn colder and it’s just the last bits he needs. There’s you too. It’s his last chance to see you before the snow hits, he won’t be able to see you till spring. Not that he’d ever admit that he goes to town to see your soft smile. He was just a gruff mountain man after all. He wasn’t good with his words.

He hadn’t always been a hunter, fisherman and outdoorsman. There was a time he worked in the sunnier parts of the country on a horse ranch, a time he worked shifting goods in a factory and a time he worked as a bounty hunter. The odd jobs are behind him now and he likes the life he’s built for himself, quiet and secluded, he fends for himself and enjoys the noise that comes from nature. It’s a different sort of life than living in a crowded, smoggy city, or a populated town. He’s never been much of a conversationalist, never was very good with words, and the isolation suits him fine. Even if there’s one person he’d happily share his cabin with.

At 29 years old James is happy with the cabin he’s built, the life he currently has. He helps the odd stranger here and there, usually from their own incompetence, is known in the nearest towns as a man you can rely on and keeps mostly to himself. It suits him just fine.

“Easy, girl” He soothes Brandy as she tosses her head at a stick on the ground no doubt believing it to be one of her least favourite creatures, a snake. She calms quickly, trusting that her owner would let her know if danger was near.

The cold late autumn sun is dappled through the trees as they ride along the dirt track road. The light hits across his suntanned skin, constellations of freckles stand out next to old scars. He yawns low, bringing a gloved hand to run tiredly through his beard. It’s beginning to get too long for even his liking and while no one will see him once winter hits, the voice in his head that sounds too much like his late mother reminds him that he should look after himself and make himself presentable. Especially if he wants you to take notice.

The ride is quiet, an hour of birds chirping in the trees and mammals moving through the underbrush. He passes a few riders on the road, nods his head and says a quiet good morning. It’s a good ride, for once he doesn’t find himself reaching for his gun to fend off a particularly wild pack of wolves or a thief intent on stealing his horse. He’s in a pleasant mood when he rides into town. Made even more pleasant by the sight of you taking a quick breath of fresh air outside the small schoolhouse you work at as the small town's teacher.

He slows Brandy and nods his head at you, “Morning, Miss Y/N.” The bright smile you turn on him is part of the reason you’re one of the few people in town he stops to talk to. He’s not one for chatter, but you warm him up like a blazing fire whenever you turn your gaze on him. You make him want to talk, even if it’s just to please you.

“Good morning, Mister Moore. Coming to get your winter supplies?” After 2 years of knowing each other, you know his late autumn routine as if it were your own. He is a man of routine and structure, predictable in many ways.

He nods an affirmative and you smile, he’s never been a chatty one, but the soft brown of his eyes and the pleasant gentleness of his features whenever he interacts with you makes each short conversation a pleasure. You have always been happy to talk for the two of you, even if you secretly wish for him to open up a little more, to crack open that hard outer shell and learn more about him.

“Well, I shan't keep you...Will you stop into the school on your way out? The children love to hear your stories.” There were two exceptions to the quiet nature that James Moore had, one was with animals especially horses. You had seen him chatter on to Brandy enough to know he was comfortable chatting with animals. Another was with children, whenever he stopped by the schoolhouse he always had a story to tell. Half were true, some exaggerated and the rest no doubt fiction. But the children loved to hear how he’d wrestled a grizzly or caught a salmon with his bare hands. He was good with them too, a gentle giant. His 6ft 4, broad frame could often be found with children hanging off it by the end of the school day, being used as a climbing frame or tree. He was gentle with them, playful, more so than you ever saw him. It was a side you and the children only saw.

“Well…” He looks to the sky, it’s darkening and he knows he can’t. He wishes he could, but he has to get back before it snows and it seems more and more likely that that will be later today rather than tomorrow. “I can’t, Miss...I’d love too but...the snow looks like it’ll come soon and I have to make sure I get back, ‘m sorry.”

“Of course...have a lovely day…” He’s already half way down the road, nearing the general store by the time you whisper his name, “James…” You watch with longing as he hitches the horse by the store and makes his way inside.

#james tobias moore x reader #oc x reader #original character x reader #original character #reader insert #readerinsert #character introduction #female reader #and bluebells gleamed on mountain wild

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