#Stuart craggy

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Merry & Bright"

Part 4 - Package Deal

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, kids/domestic, fingering, anal sex, knotting, multiple orgasms, Voicing, claiming bites, D/s elements, mentions of PTSD, mentions of depression, postpartum, body insecurity, breastfeeding, mpreg, pet names

Word Count: ~7000 (I'm sorry, okay?!😫)

Summary: Steve and Bucky make love for the first time since the birth of their son.

(Or: a prime example of how even my sincere attempts at g-rated domestic kid fics devolve into 6000+ words of smut 🤦🏻‍♀️)

[“You want to know what it looks like?” Steve growls, pulling back with a filthy-wet sound and a voice that’s furious and rough-edged and determined. “It looks like the cunt of the omega who gave me my children. Looks like the cunt I wanna spend the rest of my life fucking, stuffing full of my cock, my cum, my knot … my tongue.”]

(Wait! I haven't read part 1, 2, 3 yet!)

Steve appears in the doorway to their bedroom after putting the girls to bed. “ ‘And the children were nestled all snug in their beds’ ,” he recites, making Bucky chuckle softly.

“ 'blah blah, something about a long winter’s nap' .” (Which doesn’t sound bad at all to him right about now.) “That took a while," he says, stifling a yawn against the top of Gabe’s head. “They didn’t get their hands on any sugarplums at that party, did they?”

Steve shakes his head. “Naw. Crackers and juice.”

“Juice has sugar.”

“They’re fine. Reading got ‘em down.”

“We still on Stuart Little?”

“Becs begged for an extra chapter,” Steve confirms, smiling from where he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes full of affection as he watches Bucky feeding their son. “Did you have a nice time tonight, babe?”

Bucky winces first and lies second, so of course his ever-perceptive husband raises an eyebrow and waits him out for the truth. Bucky recounts the encounter with Karen and the other moms. “They wear me out,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed and his head dig back into the pillow that he’s got propped against the headboard. “Even when I promise myself I’m just gonna eat the food and not engage, somehow they draw me in. They have that knack.” 

“Eh. They’re just a bunch’a cotton-headed ninny muggins.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah well I’m not too far off from ‘em.” He feels Gabe slowing down and trails his fingers through the boy’s wispy hair. “Here I thought it was last week instead of this week. Seven full calendar days off track.”

“Babe, it happens.”

“Hm. No it doesn’t. But you’re sweet for saying so.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Neurologist said I’ve got too much white matter, now.”

“Yeah, and he also said it isn’t getting any worse. Lots’a people have brain injuries and manage to live perfectly fine lives.”

Bucky doesn’t miss how Steve substitutes the word ‘fine’ for ‘normal’, and his lips twist wryly. “I know. It’s just, all this time I’ve been blaming it on pregnancy brain, but that'd be wearing off by now.” He groans with his eyes still closed. “Swiss cheese for brains, Stevie, I swear.”

Steve makes a sad tut of disapproval from the doorway. Bucky stubbornly doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the soft sounds of Steve padding across the room, then the bed dipping by his side as he slides in next to him. “You’re doing great, Sweetheart,” he encourages.

Despite how much Bucky disagrees with that assessment, he can still hear all the love and warmth in Steve’s voice, can tell that his husband sincerely means it when he leans in and kisses his ear, lips and breath lingering at the craggy, mutilated top. It’s one of the ways that Steve has always silently said ‘I love you’ to Bucky when he knows the omega is in a bad mood, and it somehow manages to worm its way past his churlishness each and every time. “Thanks, Babe,” he mutters.

Steve wiggles in to sit beside him, hip to hip, mindful of Bucky and the baby and not upsetting Gabe’s feeding time. “... Did something else happen today? You seem, I dunno, burdened.”

“I am. I mean I’m just fucking tired, but yeah.”

His hand appears on top of Bucky's thigh. “Tell me?”

Bucky sighs. “Just my emotions goin’ haywire. Hormones. I went jogging and cried in the park.”

“Baby,” 

Steve never likes to hear that Bucky’s unhappy, which is the main reason why Bucky avoids mentioning it. He’s got a therapist for that shit, after all. “Eh, it was brief. I got over it. But then I realized the play was tonight and I had to scramble to get the girls' costumes together; and right before that, I had to do battle with this snotty little beta at the pharmacy just to try and get my prescription filled, so that didn’t help.”

“What?”

Bucky ruefully recounts the incident with his birth control medication and the new FDA regulations, and Steve starts to rumble angrily in his chest before the story is halfway through. Bucky opens his eyes to see his Alpha looking all indignant on his behalf. His lips quirk. “Easy there, Big guy.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Steve growls. “I didn’t know there was any kind of legislation like that being considered.”

Steve’s unhappy scent is making Gabe start to pull away, and Bucky rubs the infant’s back. “Calm down. You’re making him squirm.” Steve grumbles but tries to obey, and Bucky relaxes when he feels Gabe go searching for another latch. “I dunno Steve. Things are changing, and I see the signs and it just scares the crap outta me.” 

“What do you mean, ‘changing’?”

“Just ... the little things," he mumbles, knowing that there's a chapter in his book called that, and that Steve probably remembers it, too. Bucky shrugs, avoiding Steve's concerned stare. "A couple of years ago, people weren’t talking so much about church. Now everybody’s back to talking about gender roles all the time.”

“People are allowed to have religion, Buck.”

“It’s not just that. It’s people’s attitudes changing, their whole approach. It scares me. People didn’t used to always be talking about what was ‘decent’ or what was ‘allowed’ on this platform or that. Purity culture, moral absolutism; those things were on the decline, ya know? People didn’t criticize working mothers as much. Omegas didn’t wear their collars in public like it's some sort of fashion statement. 'Tradwives' weren’t trending on TikTok. … Abortion was protected.”

“It’s still protected,” Steve argues. 

“Here it is,” Bucky says peevishly, because they both know about each and every issue that’s been kicked back to the states in recent years. “It’s how fast everybody forgets. Now those bumper stickers are coming back in vogue again, Jesus fish lapel pins. Hell, it’s even normal to launch a friendly chat with a chipper little ‘where do you fellowship?’ They’re banning books all the time—”

“In schools, not public libraries,” Steve interrupts, then hurriedly adds, “I’m not defending it, Buck. I’m just saying there’s a difference.”

“There’s a difference until there’s not a difference,” he snaps. Then, after a beat of fraught silence between them, he whispers, “Please tell me it’s not happening again, Steve.”

“Hey.” Steve shifts beside him, putting an arm behind his back to pull him closer against his side. He kisses the top of his head. “No, Buck. We’ve got intelligence agencies to fight against that, now. That’s what Shield is for. It’s what I do. You’ve gotta know I’d never let you or the girls—the kids,” he hurriedly amends, not yet used to “the girls” no longer being an apt descriptor of their children, “get drawn into a situation like that again. I’d never let it happen, baby, never. You know we have an exit plan if things get bad.”

Bucky nods, swallowing thickly at the mere thought of it. “Yeah,” he whispers against Gabe’s head. He knows that Steve only put that plan together to help assuage Bucky’s lingering fears, his anxiety that never quite goes away completely. “Yeah. We can get out. We have a plan.” He’s whispering it to himself, vaguely recognizes the beginning feelings of a spiral, how his pulse is faster than it should be, audible in his ears, with dread pooling low in his gut like spoiled food.

He whimpers and pushes his nose against Gabe’s hair to soothe himself, inhaling the new baby smell that he still has. “We have a private jet,” he whispers, reminding himself, trying not to let his thoughts flash back to the memory of the retreating rear window of his mom’s car at a border crossing, his sisters’ faces pressed against the glass as they leave him behind in a country where he's not safe anymore …

“Untrackable Quinjet, fly to Canada,” he murmurs, trying to focus on five things that he can see, smell, feel, taste and hear … about Gabe, his son, his—

“Baby,” Steve is mourning by his side. He grips Bucky’s shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze, which pulls Bucky’s vision back into focus from the panic attack he’d been about to fall into. Steve seems unaware of it. He’s still just cuddling him and talking platitudes in a low voice. “That’s not happening, okay? Things are fine, I promise you.”

Bucky nods, even though he can’t help but to worry, “Then why are people giving up their rights again?” he asks. “You know they’re expanding the Fertility Care Act.”

“I know. But that doesn’t take anyone’s rights away.”

“You know how I feel about it.”

“I know. I know babe. ‘Incentiv—”

“Incentivization is the first step to coercion!” Bucky finishes for him. “Yes. They’re prioritizing citizens who can have kids over ones who can't. How is that fair?!” 

Steve lowers his head. “It’s not.”

“And passing all these restrictive laws? Requiring my Alpha to cosign on my birth control? How can they do that?”

Steve sighs. “We’re still a democracy,” he says sadly. “People still have the right to vote for the policies they want, even if they’re not the same things that you and I want. We’re a self-determining society, babe. If they get enough support for it, enough votes … People still get to make these decisions.”

Bucky grunts. “Well they're making the wrong ones.”

Steve hums in agreement, giving him another squeeze. “Hey now, don’t think about that stuff. Relax with me tonight, that’s what I want.”

“Hmph.”

“You’re gonna turn the milk sour, you keep worrying like that,” he teases. “C’mere, grumpy.” He dips in and nuzzles against Bucky’s face to try and get a small smile out of him. It kind of works, and Steve hums happily when he feels him soften. “How’s Little man?” he asks, kissing Bucky’s temple and looking down at their son.

“Pretty sure he’s eating in his sleep,” Bucky murmurs. “And I’m about to be too.” 

“Mm. But you’re not eating.” 

“You know what I mean, dummy.”

Steve leans in and noses at his neck, scenting him affectionately. “You smell so good, momma. Smell like home, like mate.” Bucky makes a grumbling sound of complaint at the “momma” and Steve snickers and kisses him in apology. He cups his hand behind Bucky’s flesh one, intimately joining him in cradling their infant son’s head against Bucky’s chest. “Lookit that,” he purrs, and it’s not all innocence to his tone, as he stares at where Gabe is suckling. “I love to see you like this,” he murmurs. “Seeing you feeding him, giving him what he needs. Using that part of yourself for this.”

Bucky groans and lets his eyes fall closed again in mortification. “Steeve.” He feels Steve’s thumb start swiping back and forth on the back of his hand that's cupping Gabe's head.

“Shh. It’s true, momma.” Steve starts peppering kisses against the top of his shoulder as he watches Gabe nursing and Bucky blushing. He speaks softly between the kisses, murmuring intimate words of love against Bucky’s skin: “Love it. Love you. You don’t know what it does to me, to see you with him like this. Watching you takin’ care of him. Knowing that your gorgeous body can do this, can nourish him. The baby you made for me, my son.” His voice is rumbling again by the time he finishes, possessive, and he laces their fingers together and ducks in close to start mouthing at Bucky’s bonding glands—something which he knows turns Bucky on to no end, goddamn him. 

Bucky groans and whines. “Are you serious right now?” Steve’s laugh puffs out against his skin, warm and affectionate, and Bucky drops his head to try and hide the smile he can’t keep off his own face. “Damn you, Rogers.”

“Language, momma Rogers,” Steve purrs, which only serves to make the heat in Bucky’s face worse. “Let me put him down,” he murmurs, kissing Bucky’s neck one last time before moving forward to take Gabe. Bucky hands him over with a tired hum, letting his eyes slip closed again while Steve is gone. 

He’s surprised when he drifts off to sleep and the next thing he’s aware of is Steve crawling back into the bed with him. “Mmhh, I fell asleep.”

“I can see that.”

“He go down okay?”

“Yep.” Steve pulls him into his arms and lies down with him, kissing his forehead. “You make me so happy, Buck,” he whispers. He trails kisses down his face until he reaches his lips, then presses gentle pecks there until he’s able to coax his way inside for more. He makes out with him lazily, humming in pleasure as Bucky softens and starts to respond to it. He lets one hand roam his body, trailing up and down the omega’s side, then squeezing his waist. “You tired?” he whispers.

Bucky smirks with his eyes closed. “M’ always tired.”

Steve hums in agreement and kisses him some more. “He slept through the night last night.”

“Yeah. Don’t jinx it. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

“Want to fool around?” Steve murmurs, already kissing along his jaw towards his neck again. His big hands roam Bucky’s body, caressing his waist and circling behind to grab at his ass. “I miss you.”

Bucky sighs in pleasure, nodding. “I’m fucking tired,” he murmurs—very pointedly not a ‘no’—then shivers when Steve rolls over to cover him with his body, pressing one firm, thick thigh up between his legs. Bucky groans tiredly. “Ohh, Honey.”

“I’ll do all the work,” Steve promises, whispering the words against his neck in a conspiratorial way that makes Bucky chuckle. Steve kisses his bonding gland again. “Mmm, promise. You can just lie here and feel good.”

“Or fall asleep,” Bucky mutters, though as Steve presses his thigh down and rolls his hips, the odds of that happening significantly diminish. Bucky smiles with his eyes still closed and digs his skull back into the pillow, shivering full-body as he feels his dick waking up. “Mm, Stevie. Yeah. Make me feel good?”

“Course,” Steve whispers, before sealing his mouth over the sensitive tissue of Bucky’s bond scar. He hums in pleasure as he sucks hard, coaxing the gland underneath to swell and grow closer to the skin with arousal. He fits his teeth to the shape of it, biting in a quick, sharp nip that makes Bucky gasp. 

“Oh! Steve …”

“You remember what the doctor said,” he teases, scraping his teeth over the spit-wet skin. “Hm? ‘Bout the ways Alpha can help you feel good?”

“Ohh, mm hm.” Bucky’s O.B. and his therapist have told them that stimulation of the glands can help relieve some of the effects of postpartum depression—including regular sex and penetrating bites from a bondmate. They've tried the latter but not the former, but Steve has been more than keen on the idea of helping his omega in both ways.

“What do you say, baby?” he asks, licking and kissing all over his bond scar. “Hm? It's all healed up from last time. Can I?”

Bucky whimpers, weak from the rush of arousal that always comes at hearing Steve ask for this. “Nnn,” he whines uselessly, rolling his body up against the alpha’s bulk. “Ssteve,” he slurs, “Nnn, don’t.”

“Aw, why not?” he coos lazily, still mouthing at that spot. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” He moves up to whisper in Bucky’s ear: “I know how hard it makes you cum when I time it just right.”

Bucky moans pitifully. He tries to remember what his reason for protesting it is, but it’s hard. “It’s almost—oh! mmm—s’almost Thanksgiving. W-we, um … T-tony’s parties, n’ the Turkey Trot …”

Steve lets his teeth drag over the glands again. “Fuck the Turkey Trot. So what? I love seeing you fresh with my mark. And this way everyone else will too. They’ll see it and they’ll know you’re mine. Know I was probably fucking you while I did it, claimin’ you all over again.” His voice is rough and gravelly by the end, full of heat and possession. “You got any idea how much I like that?”

“Hnhh,” Bucky breathes, unable to argue against that reasoning. “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Steve purrs, eliciting another pathetic whine from his mate. Bucky can practically feel Steve’s satisfied grin as he continues to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, mouth never leaving his bonding glands for long. “Smell so fuckin’ good, mama,” he groans, and this time rather than protest the endearment, Bucky keens at the way Steve says it: like Bucky being the mother of his children is the sexiest, most wonderful thing imaginable. Steve keeps kissing a path down his neck and shoulder, over his collarbone and chest, stopping when he reaches the level of his pecs and sealing his mouth to a nipple—the same place where their baby was nursing not even ten minutes ago. 

Bucky shivers in sensitivity and blushes like a madman, his hands flying up to tangle in Steve’s hair. “Nnh, Steve, wait, oh …”

Steve groans and rubs his cheek against his chest, the drag of his facial hair and his hot breath making Bucky’s nipples harden into tight nubs. He brings a hand up to cup one swollen pec and mouths openly at the other, groaning as he stares greedily.  “Fuck, baby, look at you.”

“Steve,” Bucky pants. “Nnn,”

“Mm mn, no. Hush. Just let me play with ‘em.”

Bucky continues to whine about it, but a hardening dick and a leaking asshole don’t lie, and Steve knows him too well to let him get away with such shallow evasion at this point in their marriage.

He settles in for the long feast, humming and grunting in pleasure between kisses and sucks to Bucky’s chest, alternating sides and squeezing whatever he isn’t mouthing over at the moment. “God, baby,” he says between one kiss and the next. “Wish you’d stay like this. Love your body like this. So soft, just for me.”

“Fuck, Steve.”

“Mmhm. Could keep you like this forever. All needy and sensitive.” He traps Bucky’s nipple between his lips and sucks, hard, and Bucky feels that tingly sensation and knows what’s going to happen a second before it does. His hands fly to Steve’s head and he cries out, but there’s no time for him to warn his husband before his body lets out a tiny spurt of breastmilk. Steve only pauses for a second, his mouth still on him, and then he groans loudly against Bucky’s chest. He sucks again, huffing in enjoyment, then lifts up and meets Bucky’s gaze with lust-blown eyes. “Oh honey,” he whispers, sounding devastated. “I almost forgot how sweet you are.”

Bucky’s brain is kind of short circuiting at the sheen on Steve’s lips, wet from his very own breast milk. “Shit,” he exhales shakily. “Alpha.”

Steve growls and drops back down to suck on him some more. Bucky can only lie there and take it, his head tossing on the pillow and hands gripping Steve’s hair as the alpha makes a playground of his chest. Bucky whines and complains, but truth be told there’s something small and squirmy inside of him that secretly loves it when his husband indulges in his body this way. It makes him feel wanted and beautiful, reminds him that Steve loves every part of him, even when Bucky himself doesn’t. “Leave—aah—leave some for the baby,” he eventually manages to say, laughing between pleasured groans and gasps. 

Steve pulls off and comes up to kiss him, tongue swiping past Bucky’s lips and leaving the taste of himself behind. Bucky’s breathing shakily by the time they part, and Steve’s eyes flit over his face. “You okay?” he asks, so sincere in his care for Bucky that it makes Bucky want to give him everything. 

“Yes Alpha,” he whispers, reaching up with his flesh hand and cupping Steve’s jaw with it. “I just love you stupid-much, is all.”

“Stupid much?”

“Mm, yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

Steve surges down to kiss him thoroughly once more “See?” he teases, knocking their foreheads together. “All that moping didn’t curdle the milk after all.” Bucky huffs and swats at him, and Steve grins and rolls away. “Hang on one sec.” He gets up to undress, and by the time he’s crawling back into bed naked, Bucky’s kicked off his pajama pants as well. Steve slides right back into the cradle of his hips. Between their bellies, his cock is hard, but he makes no move to address it, focused on his mate instead. “What do you want tonight?” he asks gently, tracing Bucky's face on one side and then the other. “Hm? We can do anything you want. Whatever makes you feel good.” 

Bucky softens, in love. That’s how it’s been these past four months: Steve being careful, trying so hard to respect any boundaries, to let Bucky take the lead as they find their way back to intimacy as husbands. Problem is, most days Bucky doesn’t know what he wants. He swallows thickly and rasps out a quiet, “I just wanna feel you.”

Steve hums. He tucks the recently-shortened strands of Bucky’s hair aside, eyes flicking from one ruined ear to the other, amazing Bucky with how his gaze never waivers with any hint of distaste at the mutilated flesh. It’s just love he sees in him. “I think that can be arranged.”

He kisses him, long and languid and indulgent, the kind of kiss that takes its time and never really escalates, more intimate than it has any right to be. By the time he’s kissing down Bucky’s body to put his mouth on his prick, Bucky’s a leaking, mewling mess. 

“Ssteve,” he slurs as he watches his husband’s blond head of hair dip down between his legs and feels his mouth engulf him in sudden, overwhelming warmth. “Oh God.” Bucky’s eyes slip shut and he digs his skull back into the pillow, exhaling through clenched teeth at how good it feels. Steve hums from around his mouthful and Bucky hurriedly grasps at his hair. “Nnn, don’t,” he hisses, trying to calm down even as his hips are shoving up at Steve’s face. “Don’t hum like that, Jesus Christ.”

Steve laughs and pulls off to look up at him. He kisses Bucky’s cockhead and winks. “Sorry. I was just enjoying myself.” Keeping eye contact, he suckles and laves over just the head of Bucky’s dick, then uses his hold at the base to tap it against the flat of his tongue several times. 

“Fuck.” Bucky pants and screws his eyes shut. “It’s been too long. I can’t hold it.”

“Who says you need to hold it?” Steve kisses his hipbone. “Cum as many times as you want to, Sweetheart. As many times as you need.”

Bucky groans. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.” He goes back to Bucky’s cock, pushing hard at one of his thighs to force him to widen his legs even further. “There we go, good boy. Keep ‘em spread.” 

Bucky peeks down at Steve and sees him staring at … everything. 

Oh. … Oh.

He swallows nervously. It’s been over four months now, and he’s had the go-ahead from the doctor since all the way back at his six-week checkup, but Bucky’s still been self-conscious. They've resumed some recreational activities, but Steve still hasn’t asked to have sex yet. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s waiting for him to initiate. “H-how’s it looking down there?” he asks, trying to insert levity into his tone and failing pretty spectacularly. “Everything … everything good?” 

“Mmm.” Steve caresses his balls, pushing them up and out of the way, feasibly so that he can stare at his perineum and further back to his weeping, clenching hole. “It’s winking at me,” he says, making Bucky’s face go red hot.

“You know what I mean,” he huffs, knocking his heel against Steve’s back halfheartedly. “How’s it … how’s it look?”

Steve hums and pretends to consider it very seriously, moving in even closer. “Looks perfect,” he says, a touch more arousal in his voice this time. And he’s so close now that Bucky can feel the heat of his breath against his skin. Steve’s finger touches just behind his balls and glides all the way back along his taint, up and down, tracing the line of where Bucky knows the stitches were. “All healed up,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “Pretty and pink.”

Bucky snorts and makes a face. “Yeah, right. Don’t worry Steve, I’ve read all the reality check articles.”

“The what?”

“Stuff on the internet for new mothers. On how wrecked you are after giving birth. They say it’s especially rough on male O’s, and I’ve popped two of these things out, so.” He grimaces. “I think they have like, lasers or something that they can use to try and fix it, or at least make it look nicer.”

“What?” Steve sounds shocked. “Babe. What are you talking about?”

Bucky huffs, not wanting Steve’s false platitudes. “I’m just trying to be realistic, okay?” He squirms impatiently and refuses to look down at the alpha between his legs. “So? Does it look like … ya know, very messed up?” 

Steve’s tensing shoulders and his low growl are the only warnings Bucky gets before his husband’s mouth is sealing itself straight over his taint and sucking ferociously, the accompanying rumble of his growl only intensifying the feeling.

Bucky yelps. “Holy fuck!” His body jolts in place, trying to bow off the bed, but Steve holds him still with strong arms wrapped around his thighs. “Sh-hit,” he gasps, “Steve!”

“You want to know what it looks like?” Steve growls, pulling back with a filthy-wet sound and a voice that’s furious and rough-edged and determined. “It looks like the cunt of the omega who gave me my children. Looks like the cunt I wanna spend the rest of my life fucking, stuffing full of my cock, my cum, my knot … my tongue.” He surges back in, taking turns between tongue-fucking his hole and sucking on his rim as brutally as he can, making loud grunts and groans in the process that are very clearly meant to drive a point home. “Mmph, mmm, hhmph!” 

Bucky gasps and keens, overwrought by Steve’s words just as much as he is by the feeling of his mouth. He doesn’t even consciously think about it as he grabs his cock and starts jerking off, Steve groaning loudly against his ass when he realizes what Bucky’s doing. It only takes another minute of that before he’s coming, riding Steve’s face as his cock pulses in his hand and wets up his belly in spurts of clear omega cum. 

“Oh God, oh, ohh …” His breath hitches in broken moans as he rides the orgasm out. Then the pleasure wanes and he slowly comes back down to earth, panting and dazed, blinking up at nothing but the blank plaster of their bedroom ceiling …

Until Steve reappears in his field of vision, having climbed back up to lie over him once again. Bucky welcomes the press of his alpha’s heavy body on top of him, accepts the slick-tinged flavor of Steve’s tongue when he slots their mouths together and shoves inside, demanding and harsh. “That was number one,” he says, when he’s pulled back and is looking down at Bucky with a satisfied expression. “How many more you gonna give me tonight?”

Internally, Bucky curses. He curses, dies a little bit, and falls deeper in love all at the same time. Meanwhile, externally, he regains his breath and meets Steve’s hungry stare. “I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna wear me out more than the baby,” he says, aiming for a wry drawl but only achieving something that sounds breathless and wrecked instead. He sees Steve’s eyes darken the way they do whenever he’s issued a challenge, and knows he’s in for a hell of a night. “What’re you thinking?” he whispers.

“I’m thinking: I want to see that again, and again,” Steve rasps, voice gone to gravel. “Thinking I want to watch you lose control like that all the goddamn time. For the rest of my life.”

Bucky flushes. “Steve …”

“I’m thinking: that I want to make you feel good in every possible way there is to feel good.” His lips ghost over Bucky’s as he murmurs, “So that you know. Because you clearly don’t—”

“Steve …”

“And so that you never feel like you need to ask me a question about what you ‘look like’ ever again. Not on any part of your beautiful body.”

Bucky groans and tries to turn his face away, But Steve catches him and guides him back with a gentle hand on his cheek. “Uh uh, Sweetheart. You listen to me. I want to make love to you. Until you can’t take it anymore, until you go soft and weak and cryin’ with it.” His hands start wandering over the peaks and valleys of Bucky’s body, caressing his skin. One hand moulds itself to the side of his neck, fingers playing over the texture of his bondmark, while the other glides down, pausing to stop and tweak a nipple, squeeze his waist, grab the fleshy curve of a hip. Very purposefully, he slides his hand to settle into place over his lower belly, hushing him when he feels him start to tense up. “Shh sh sh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Steve, I’m … it’s —”

“Shhh.” He nudges their noses together, chiding and affectionate all at once, because he knows which parts of his body Bucky is most self-conscious of. But he doesn’t move his hand from the territory it’s claimed. “I know,” he whispers. “I know how you feel. But that’s all wrong, baby. And I want to show you.” He kisses him again, only this time it’s tender, almost achingly so. He relents and pulls back. “That’s all, Honey. I just want to make you feel new things, good things. I want to show you. I need to show you.” 

“Show me what?” Bucky whispers, but then Steve stares down at him in that dark and private way that he deeply, intimately recognizes, and he regrets having asked. Bucky trembles and closes his eyes. “Steve, please. You don’t have to …” 

“Look at me,” Steve murmurs. He rests their foreheads together. “I just want you to understand, baby. That when I touch you here,"—his fingers curl possessively into the too-soft flesh of Bucky’s stomach—“I feel something so profound, so far beyond just love or arousal … that I don’t even know what to say to you. You understand? It hurts. I don’t have words for it.” He looks at him imploringly. “You couldn’t be more beautiful than you are to me right now.”

Bucky’s heart beats faster at the intimate confession. He tries to suck his stomach in, tries to tense his abdominals and make himself firm, but Steve tuts at him and pinches the side of his neck, right over his swollen glands. Bucky gasps, eyes shooting back up from where he’d been starting to look down between their bodies at Steve’s hand on him. “I wasn’t.”

“Look at me,” Steve says, and this time it’s in his Voice, the sound of it sending an instant shot of arousal down Bucky’s spine and into his core. His eyes must show it, too, because Steve smiles and purrs deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he encourages, still in the Voice that he so rarely uses with Bucky. “That’s right. Look up here at Alpha. Do as you’re told.”

Bucky licks his lips, aware that his cock is rapidly hardening again. “Steve,” he breathes shakily. “I —”

“Pull your knees up,” he murmurs, and Bucky obeys without a second thought. “Good boy.”

A chirp erupts from Bucky’s throat, unbidden, and he colors in surprise at the sound. “Alpha,” he says, because it’s the only word he can think to say.

Steve smiles and strokes over his bond mark with the roughened pad of a thumb. “Does it feel nice? Want more?”

Bucky nods, blinking, the effects of Steve’s Voice still singing in his veins like a drug. “Yeah.” 

They hardly ever engage in Voiceplay. It’s something Bucky enjoys with his husband, but he’s had bad experiences with other alphas in the past; times when men who weren't Steve assaulted him with what should only ever be used as a tool of lovemaking. Steve knows this, and so he usually avoids Voicing with Bucky unless he knows that the circumstances are just right.

The circumstances are just right. 

Bucky whimpers and reaches down impulsively to cover Steve’s hand where it rests on his belly, but not to pull it away. “Alpha,” he chirps again, fingers curling over Steve’s larger ones.

“This okay?” Steve checks, his eyes scanning his face for even a hint of discomfort. 

But he finds none, and Bucky nods his head in fast approval. “Yeah, yes.”

It’s still achingly vulnerable, having Steve touching this soft, imperfect part of him; but it’s intimate, too, and Bucky wants more of that. He wants Steve to make love to him this way, an Alpha with his omega—capital A, lowercase o.

“S’been so long,” he breathes, his voice hitching as his emotions finally catch up with him. Ridiculously, he starts to feel tearful. He’s missed having this with his mate so much. “So long, Stevie.”

“Baby,” Steve coos. “Don’t cry.”

Bucky sniffles shyly and tucks his face into Steve’s neck, feeling stupid. “Can’t help it,” he mumbles.

Steve’s fingers massage his bond mark and he kisses his temple soothingly. The hand that was on his stomach snakes around, dipping underneath his lower back and tugging them even closer together. “You gonna let me?” he asks. “Gonna let Alpha make you cum again and again?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me give you another bite, make it a good one? Mark you up again for everybody to see?”

Bucky whines and nods, drawing his knees up, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips and tilting his pelvis to make himself available to his mate. “Please,” he begs. “Please, yes, Steve. I want it, please.”

Steve rumbles deep in his chest and slots their mouths together in a brief, aggressive kiss, then pulls back swiftly and manhandles him onto his belly, pulling him up by the hips into presenting. Bucky cries out in surprise but goes willingly, widening his knees on the bed and pushing his ass back into Steve’s groping hands. “Good boy,” Steve praises, Voice dipping down into that register that’s low and rumbly and lets Bucky know that his Alpha is very pleased with him.

Bucky grunts and wiggles happily until Steve’s hand appears at the back of his neck and pushes down: a wordless, forceful ‘Stay’ that makes him shiver and whine with impatience. “Nnnh.”

The hand flattens at his nape and slowly drags down the length of his spine, appreciative and greedy. “Aw, Sweetheart,” Steve breathes, hips rocking forward. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect, y’hear me?” He curses quietly as he digs his fingers into the fat of Bucky’s hips, watches his cock dragging through the wet valley of his ass. “Jesus wept, Honey. Lookit you. Wet dream come to fucking life, I swear.”

Steve only curses this much when he’s incredibly turned on, and the knowledge that it’s his doing has Bucky slicking up even worse than before. He whines and scrubs his face against the bedding as he feels his hole pulse and leak, the slick tickling as it trails down his taint and balls. “Steve,” he pleads, relieved when Steve grabs his hips and continues to take control.

“Shh, s’okay, you’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Gonna take it slow.” His fingers appear at his backside, slipping through all the slick, wetting them up in him. He starts to press in with one finger. “Real slow,” he murmurs. He fucks him on just that one finger, for far longer than he would normally do, taking his time in Bucky’s body, in relearning this touch with him. Bucky makes a miserable noise against the bedsheets and Steve hums, pleased. “Yeah? How’s that feel, Sweetheart?”

Bucky whines and nods, his cheek dragging on the sheets. He feels Steve curling over him, his chest pressing up against his back and then the finger sliding deeper. Bucky moans as it grazes over his prostate. “Oh, God.”

“Uh huh.” Steve’s breath hits right at his ear. He plants his left forearm alongside Bucky’s, holding himself up as he fingers him. Right next to Bucky’s face, their pinky fingers hook together, flesh over metal. Steve kisses the shell of his ear and whispers, “Bucky, honey. You’re so swollen inside, I can feel it.” He strokes his finger, curling gently over that spot that makes Bucky’s vision go blotchy. “I want you to cum like this first,” he whispers. “On my hand a couple’a times. Right on Alpha’s fingers. Okay?”

Bucky sobs and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Steve, please.” He can feel the orgasm coalescing already, the pleasure of Steve’s finger pulling him closer on every pass. “Please, please.”

“Shhh. Remember: slow,” he reminds him, and Bucky’s guts twist up in further delicious arousal and frustration. Steve doesn’t try to edge him, though. He lets him have it, working him up to it steadily, not rushing, kissing his neck again and again as he fucks him on one finger and then two.

That added fullness is what makes Bucky unravel, his body pulsing as he gasps and suddenly falls into his second orgasm.

Steve talks him through it, never stopping the whispered encouragements against his ear: “There we go. That’s it, baby, that’s it. So good.”

Bucky collapses to his stomach, and Steve follows him down, gently nudging his knees inside of Bucky’s to make a space for himself. Bucky complies, boneless from his climax. “Stevie,” he slurs. 

“Right here, baby.” He presses up all along his back, covering him with warmth. “I’m right here.” His hands slide up Bucky’s arms and cover his hands at either side of his head. Bucky moans quietly as Steve laces their fingers together and gives a squeeze. “Hey, gorgeous.” He rolls his hips, cock slotting into place. “You’re so wet.”

“Y-yeah.”

Steve rocks leisurely against him and Bucky hums at how slick it is, enjoying the intimacy of rubbing together full-body. He lets his eyes slip closed as he soaks it all in: Steve’s heavy weight, his scent, the scratch of his beard and the heat of his breath in the crook of Bucky’s neck. He wishes they could stay like this forever.

“You feel so good,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” Steve drags his lips over the sensitive skin of his bondmark. “Can I fuck you, baby?” he asks softly. “You want that, hm? Want Alpha inside of you?”

Bucky is glad that Steve can’t see his face, because his eyes are wet from pleasured, overly-emotional tears, and this way he doesn’t have to bother being embarrassed over what a sap this pregnancy has turned him into. He nods and scrubs his cheek against the bedcovers. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, Steve. Please.”

Steve hums and kisses him once more, before he reaches down and lines his cock up, dragging the head wetly across his rim a few times with increasing pressure, until it catches. Bucky tenses, because it’s been so long since they’ve done this, and because the last event of real significance that involved his asshole had been childbirth, but Steve soothes him with a sucking kiss to his bondmark. “Relax,” he murmurs, pushing in at the same time and making Bucky gasp softly. “Shh, there you go. See?” 

“Ohh.” Bucky’s eyelids flutter as he’s slowly filled. “Steve.”

“Uh huh.” Steve’s hips kiss his ass as he sinks home all the way. “Juust like that,” he purrs, grinding against him and staying deep inside. “S’it feel nice?”

“Uh huh,” Bucky breathes, lips parted and eyes closed, brow furrowed at how full he is. “Yeah, Stevie … oh …” 

Steve chuckles and kisses his shoulder. “You feel amazing,” he whispers, before he experiments with moving a little more. He keeps pulsing his hips, rocking languidly, gradually building up to a slow pace.

He fucks him gently then, not pulling back to get on his knees or gain any kind of leverage. Instead he stays close, deep; plastered to his back and dragging his cock against his sensitive insides over and over so perfectly. When it pulls a tortured moan from Bucky's throat, Steve encourages him with soft, sucking kisses against his glands. “S’okay.”

“God, Steve.”

“Uh huh. Juust like that. I remember how you like it. Alpha's got you, baby.” Steve sounds like he’s getting close, too, voice laboured as he grunts against Bucky’s neck. “You gonna, ugh, gonna cum again, mamma?”

Bucky whines and nods. “This time,” he begs. “Please, please. Do it.”

The two of them share a bond, and that’s probably the main reason why Steve’s able to tell what he means.

He doesn’t disappoint, either, fucking him smoothly right into another orgasm and timing it perfectly. As soon as Bucky’s body goes rigid and his breath stutters in his throat, Steve’s biting down hard over his bondmark, breaking the skin and piercing the swollen glands beneath. Bucky sobs and comes harder and longer than he has in a long time, crying from how impossibly good it feels.

It’s compounded by the sudden groan that Steve lets out and the rapid inflation of his knot, as the bite sets him off as well: “Nngh!”

While Steve is stuck inside him and lost to his own pleasure, Bucky’s able to rock himself to one more, toe-curlingly delicious orgasm before he finally lets himself go boneless on the bed, fully sated. He knows when Steve is done coming, because the alpha becomes more attentive again, his hands running over Bucky like he’s checking him for injuries sustained. If Bucky hadn’t just come four times, he might've been able to spare a chuckle over it. “Hey,” he says instead. “M’fine, babe.”

“Yeah?” Steve sounds pleased. He gives his hips a lazy roll against Bucky’s ass and nuzzles his freshly-bitten bondmark, groaning at the pheromones that hit him. He licks a big, fat swipe over it with his tongue, groaning and making Bucky hiss. “Mmm," he murmurs. "You’re bleeding."

“Duh.” 

Steve growls. “Be nice to your Alpha,” he Voices, and  Bucky shivers pleasantly. Steve notices the reaction and gloats. “Hmm. Maybe we should start biting more often.”

“How often?” Bucky’s halfway through a yawn as he says it, and he feels Steve shrug against his back. 

“Once a month?”

He chokes. “Steve!”

“What?” Steve’s snickering. “I like a well-scarred bondmark. S’romantic.” 

“It’s fucking primeval is what it is, you caveman.” Bucky scolds, rolling his eyes. He clenches down purposefully hard on Steve’s knot, smiling at the surprised—Hngnn!—he gets for it. “We already do it on our anniversary every year.”

“And sometimes on Valentine’s,” Steve supplies.

“Exactly. Any more than that and people’ll think we have a fetish.”

“Well, maybe we do,” he purrs, kissing the bite. “And it is what the medical professionals are recommending, after all.”

“Ha, yeah.” 

“... You’re really okay though?” Steve checks. “None of that bothered you? The Voicing, or the—”

“Shh. No. I loved it.” Bucky lets his eyes fall closed. He can still feel his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, bringing the delicious ache and throb of his glands to the forefront. “Every part of it,” he sighs.

Steve laces their fingers together. “Good. ‘Cause I take doctor's orders very seriously, you know.” He rumbles deep in his chest and gives a dirty grind against their tie. “We gotta keep you healthy, Buck. Gotta make sure you’re properly … stimulated.” 

“You suck so bad,” Bucky groans. “Your permission to know my medical information is rescinded.”

“Aw, don’t be that way. I can dick you down again in like, an hour, if you want? Probably. Two hours, tops.”

Bucky yawns, humming as he pretends to consider it. “Tempting offer, but how ‘bout you cuddle me ‘till I pass out, instead?” he says, because he really does think the other night was a fluke, and that he’s destined to be awakened by a baby monitor within the next few hours. Steve wraps his strong arms around him and pulls them to lie on their sides. They spoon like that and enjoy the closeness while they wait for Steve’s knot to go down. Bucky gets goosebumps when Steve starts caressing lazily up and down his side. “Mm, that’s nice.”

“Mmhm.” Steve slots his fingers into the trigger points for the prosthetic. “Let’s take this off,” he whispers, kissing the shell of his ear. 

It’s Bucky’s fucked up ear—a place where he’s usually squirmy and uncomfortable about Steve touching, let alone kissing, but right now it doesn’t bother him at all. Too many endorphins surging through his system, he supposes.

“Okay,” he agrees, since he doesn’t really love sleeping with the arm on anyway (he’s got this paranoia that one day he’ll sleep-punch Steve in the middle of a nightmare or something), and then lies there and listens to the sounds that the arm makes as it’s triggered to disengage from his body. He can’t actually feel anything other than some vague, mechanical movements deep in the arm’s very internal workings. It doesn’t hurt. And then it comes off, a sudden release of weight and tension that Bucky hadn’t even realized was there. He moans quietly at the feeling. “Nnh. Thanks Stevie.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve sets the arm out of the way and resumes his gentle stroking and caressing along Bucky's side, venturing up higher to where the anchor site for the arm begins, implanted permanently into his body.

Bucky can sense his husband looking down at it, can feel the pads of his fingers exploring thoughtfully over the texture of scars and metal edging. He sighs, feeling wistful. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like, if we’d met before?”

Behind him, Steve stills. He’s quiet for a long moment, and just when Bucky thinks he’s not going to answer at all, his caressing starts back up again and he hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “Sometimes, in a general way," he admits. "But then ... it wouldn't be the you I fell in love with, would it? We wouldn’t be us.” He worms his other arm under his waist and hugs them closer together. “Maybe we’d have less nightmares between the two of us, less therapy,"

Bucky snorts.

"But I wouldn’t choose anything but this. Nothing would be the same if we hadn't met the way we did, y'know? You probably would’ve stayed in college, focused on your career, maybe put off kids too long. I wouldn't have joined Shield, Peggy wouldn't have moved away.” He kisses the ruined edge of Bucky’s ear again, so tender and slow that Bucky knows he’s doing it intentionally. “Just think: Becca wouldn’t exist. And we wouldn’t have Sarah or Gabe, 'cause you and I never would’ve met.”

“We might’ve.”

“Mm, doubtful.” 

Bucky grumbles, displeased at that hypothetical, and Steve hugs him and coos in agreement, “Shh. I know, I know. That would be awful. I’m just saying: you can’t trade the good for the bad. It’s a package deal. And you know what? I’m happy with my package.” He seals his mouth to the fresh bite wound and gives a powerful suck, popping off with a wet sound and a pleased growl. “Very very happy with my package.”

Bucky’s too gooey and in love and fucked out to get the delivery just right, but he at least manages to wiggle his butt against their tie and mutter out a tired but saucy little, “Mmm, yeah. I like your package, too.”

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[cuttoothed]

Day 7 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "You are my reason". Still living in post-200 AU land.

*

There comes a day when Jon doesn’t wake up afraid.

His alarm goes off before the sun rises; he wakes tired, but feeling a little thrill of anticipation, because he and Martin have plans today. Nothing earth shattering, but they’re both off work, and the weather is due to be nice, so they’re going hiking up in the hills. Jon’s been looking forward to this all week; he's even okay with being up at dawn on his day off.

The hike is challenging, but the views are worth it, as the morning clouds part into sunshine and leave them gazing out across the craggy, verdant landscape. At the crest of the trail, they sit on a boulder to eat sandwiches and drink tea from a flask; Martin spots some cows on the hillside below and points them out with delight. By the time they get back to the car, they’re exhausted, and they agree that nobody’s going to be cooking tonight, so it’s takeaway from the Indian place near their flat.

That evening they eat too much curry, and drink red wine, and end up curled sleepy and sated on the sofa together, watching nonsense on telly.

“This was a good day,” Jon says; Martin only hums in agreement, so it’s probably time to get him to bed.

It’s only as he’s brushing his teeth that Jon realizes that he hasn’t thought about the end of the world all day. He usually wakes up from dreams of the ruined world; at the very least, it’s always in the back of his mind, guilt and fear and grief tapping at the windows of his consciousness through the day. He’s never had a day where he didn’t think at all about what happened—about what he did.

The realization jolts sharply through him, like a missed step in the dark; it makes something drop like a stone into his stomach, though he doesn't understand why.

He tells his therapist about it at their next session, couched in the careful untruths he’s crafted to convey the vast weight of it all without mentioning the literal apocalypse. Stuart listens, nodding, as he describes what happened, and then when Jon is finished he says:

“You know this is a good thing, right?”

“S-sorry?”

“Trauma plants its roots deep, Jon. It’s pervasive, like chronic pain. The days you have without pain in your leg or your hand, those are good, right? Even though they don’t mean that you’re permanently healed?”

“Yes,” Jon admits, flexing his fingers.

“This is the same. Your trauma isn’t gone, but the fact that you were able to enjoy a whole day without thinking about what happened—that’s really, really good.”

“But I can’t just forget—” Jon starts, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to say; I can’t forget what happened, I can’t forget that it was my fault, I can’t stop looking over my shoulder for what’s coming next.

“Of course not,” Stuart agrees. “But part of healing is letting what happened move into the past. Not forgetting it, but recognizing that it isn’t part of your present. That you can move on.”

Except it is the present, in the thousands of worlds he unleashed the Fears into. It isn’t something that can just be forgotten, that he can move on from. They’ve seen and felt no trace of the Fears in this world yet, but even that doesn’t mean they won’t come; it may just be a matter of time. Jon feels his chest tighten with that knowledge, that fear.

“The people I hurt,” he says carefully. “It’s not in the past for them—they’re still hurt by my actions today.”

“That might be true,” Stuart says. “But from what you’ve told me, you can’t change that. And your guilt doesn’t help them. All it does is punish you.”

“Maybe I deserve to be punished,” Jon snaps angrily, but Stuart only smiles, his face kind.

“Nobody deserves to be punished forever, Jon. Eventually, you have to forgive yourself.”

They’re nice words, but Stuart can’t possibly understand what he’s asking Jon to do. He’s been responsible for immeasurable pain and fear, the unchecked torture of billions of people; he will be responsible for so much more, across thousands of worlds. His whole life has been nothing but a means to a horrifying end. How can he just absolve himself of guilt, enjoy this charmed life he’s somehow gained while damning countless others?

(How can he believe that the consequences will not find him, someday.)

Martin must notice his mood when he gets back from therapy, because it’s not five minutes before a mug of tea and a packet of Jon’s favorite biscuits are placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“All right?” Martin asks, sitting down on the sofa with his own tea. He never asks Jon questions about his therapy —just as Jon respects the privacy of Martin’s sessions—but if he thinks Jon is upset, he’ll ask an open question like this, so Jon knows the offer is there to talk about it.

Jon considers. He hasn’t told Martin about what happened—or rather didn’t happen—the day they went hiking, not wanting to spoil it for him. But Martin’s the only person in this entire world who can possibly understand how Jon is feeling, and he’s the person Jon trusts most. Jon doesn’t want to hide things from him, not anymore. They’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

So he tells Martin what happened, and how it made him feel, and what Stuart said, and how that made him feel. At the end of it, Martin gives him a fond, teasing smile.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re feeling bad for not feeling bad,” he says. “That is...so incredibly you, honestly.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Jon protests.

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to dismiss how you feel. I promise. It’s just…” Martin pauses, his brow furrowing as he considers what to say. “Sometimes, when I feel sad for no reason—when parts of me go sort of...numb, I start looking around, expecting to see the fog curling in under the windows. But it isn’t, because the Lonely isn’t here, and I have to deal with the fact that there’s no—no fear monster making me feel that way. It’s just me.”

“Martin…” says Jon, his heart aching. Martin doesn’t often talk about the bad days, after they’ve passed; he prefers to save it for his therapist, since “that’s what I pay them for”. He reaches for Martin’s hand, and Martin laces their fingers together.

“I think you’re the same,” Martin says. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been waiting for something bad to happen. For all of it to—to catch up with you. But it hasn’t. There’s no Fears coming after you, and there’s no...universal justice, or whatever, to punish you. It’s just you, Jon.”

Jon feels a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. Has he been waiting all this time for something bad to happen, for the other shoe to drop? Has he thought of this as only temporary—a longer respite than that three weeks in the cottage, but just as impermanent? He shakes his head.

“That doesn’t take away from what I did,” he says. Martin nods.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “And nothing takes from the fact that I didn’t kill Jonah Magnus when I had the chance, either. We can’t change the past. We just have to find reasons to live with it. To carry on living. Now, as we are.”

“You know what my reason is,” Jon tells him, his voice thick with emotion; he told Martin a long time ago. Martin ducks his head, smiling, and his fingers squeeze around Jon’s.

“I know,” he says. “But it’s okay to have other reasons too. A nice hike in the hills, or going to the pub with some friends, or petting the many cats you seem to have befriended in our neighborhood. It’s okay to just...be happy, Jon. I promise.”

“I-I’m not sure I can,” Jon tells him; he’s not sure he deserves the chance to be.

“I know,” Martin says. “I know it’s difficult. But you do deserve it. And I’ll be here to keep telling you that until you believe it. I’ll be here to help you keep getting better, like you help me. As long as it takes.”

Jon feels a sob rising in his chest, and dives in to stifle it against Martin’s shoulder, burying his face in the solid expanse. He can feel the tears wetting his cheeks, soaking into Martin’s jumper, but he knows Martin won’t mind. Martin’s arms go around him.

“I hope you’re okay with the long haul, then,” he mumbles against Martin’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, probably nothing, but he has it, and he doesn’t want to let it go. Martin chuckles warmly, petting his hair.

“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be your reason, if you’ll be mine.”

“That’s the deal, then?” Jon says; he’s not sure if he’s laughing or sobbing, but he knows he loves this man with all his heart.

“That’s the deal,” Martin agrees. And Jon might not deserve a deal like that, but he’d be a fool not to take it.

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[scotianostra]

Glenbuchat Castle.

Another bugbear of mine is scaffolding, but when a building is over 400 years old and been neglected for centuries it’s an necessary evil. 

Glenbuchat is a Z plan castle built in 1590 for John Gordon of Cairnbarrow to mark his wedding. It is located above the River Don, at Strathdon, Aberdeenshire. Historic Scotland , up until recently said on their website that it was due to be completed in 2017, it has now been amended to until further notice, such is the complexities of trying to save these structures for the likes of you and I and generations to come. 

It remained in the Gordon family until the mid 18th century. The Gordons were strong supporters of the Jacobite cause and the castle was visited by the 23rd Earl of Mar en route from his home at Kildrummy Castle to his muster point at Corgarff Castle at the start of the 1715 uprising.After its sale in 1738 the castle fell into disrepair. It was purchased by James Barclay in 1901 who started to restore it, and it was placed into State care in 1946.

In 1948 The Deeside Field Club bought the land surrounding the castle and passed it, too, to the State, ensuring that the castle's surroundings would remain as attractive as they are today, as seen in the final pic. 

The “laird” John Gordon  was described by his contemporaries as a craggy old man of seventy two, his body twisted by rheumatism. He was a man of little property, living in Strathbogie, liked highlanders and had married his many daughters amongst them. However he was bailie to the Duke of Gordon and this increased his status greatly.

Described as an inveterate Jacobite, he had been out, as a sixteen year old, in 1689 with Dundee on the braes of Killiecrankie, and, in the 1715 Jacobite rebellion, he commanded a battalion of Gordons at Sherriffmuir when he was about forty two years of age. In the '45 uprising he held the rank of Major General, but due to his age and infirmity he did not exercise his rank. Although, he did lead his regiment at Culloden, where he is described as sitting at the head of his regiment on a grey highland pony. Despite his age, he still had a considerable reputation with the government troops. In February 1746, a raid on Corgarff castle by a government force of 300 foot and 100 dragoons was abandoned due to a rumour that Glenbucket and his men were in the area. He supposedly gave King George nightmares; during the march to Derby, King George is said to have exclaimed in alarm "De great Glenboggit is coming!"

In the 1745, Glenbucket led 300 men for Charles Stuart. According to some sources, Glenbucket might just have made it to Prestonpans, as he was a member of the official council consisting, amongst others, of the Duke of Perth, Lord George Murray, Lord Elcho, O'Sullivan etc. who met at Edinburgh after the battle and decided to stay there for the meantime. Yet other sources maintain that Glenbucket with one hundred and fifty of his men was with the Prince shortly before he set out to raise the standard at Glenfinnan on the 19th August 1745, and that he even brought the Prince news of the first Jacobite victory. After the disastrous defeat at Culloden, Old Glenbucket actually survived and managed to escape from the battlefield and gathered with others like Lovat, Lochiel, the MacDonnel chieftains etc. at the head of Loch Arkaig, hoping to re-launch the 1745. 

He finally escaped on a Swedish sloop on 25th November and died in Bolougne on 16th June 1750 “in great poverty”.

There are some great illustrations on how the castle looked on new information boards inside the castle, they can be seen here http://www.bobmarshall.co.uk/portfolio/illustrations/glenbuchat_castle.asp

#Scotland #my pics #Aberdeenshire

[hoursofreading]

You know E. B. White as the author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, but you may not know that he was also perhaps the finest essayist America has produced and co-author of a lovely little book called The Elements of Style. In the conservative 1950s he wrote an essay that was ostensibly about politicians. White was an ardent Democrat and, in the spirit of his time, he felt that he should have sharp, clear views on political issues and on what Democrats were doing about them. The essay I like so much was written—again, ostensibly— about three Democrats whose writings White was trying to read one afternoon. He called them bedfellows because he was reading them when he was sick in bed. In the essay, White wrote about the way Truman distrusted the press for being too critical and the way Stevenson distrusted the public for not being critical enough. He pointed out that Acheson praised the loyalty and security measures Democrats first set in place in 1947 and that Acheson then went on to show how they undermined the freedoms they had initially set out to protect. But the essay is really about Fred. Fred was a dachshund who died in 1948, before the essay was written, but for many years Fred had gallantly allowed White to take care of him. Fred was another one of White’s bedfellows. In fact White wrote that he only took the Democrats to bed with him for want of a dachshund and that he still missed Fred’s smell, which was as evocative to his mind, he said, as a sudden whiff of cow barn. White wrote that although birds fascinated Fred, [h]is real hope as he watched the big shade trees outside the window was that a red squirrel would show up. When he sighted a squirrel, Fred would straighten up from his pillow, tense his frame, and then, in a moment or two, begin to tremble. The knuckles of his big forelegs, unstable from old age, would seem to go into spasm, and he would sit there with his eyes glued on the squirrel and his front legs alternately collapsing under him and bearing his weight again (“Bedfellows,” p. 102). The reader of this essay which is ostensibly about politicians but really turns out to be about Fred only gradually understands that for White they are really the same topic. After a little more about Fred, White returned to the subject of politics and an argument, then as now a craggy hill in the political landscape, that prayer is a part of democracy. White didn’t think that it was, but he also thought that democracy was a sort of faith, and he worried that in light of this his own views were a trifle inconsistent. And then he pauses, one feels, and draws breath. He remarks to the reader that these politicians are all such sober, thoughtful people. They work to improve and preserve and maintain in good repair this marvelous thing that is American society. Their earnestness, and their sense that this is possible, he implies, is a wonderful thing, and it helps him to feel confident in the face of creeping cynicism. They also remind him of Fred.

2003 - Tanya Luhrmann | Aims of Education | The University of Chicago

#quote #politics

[highvoltagearea]

Travel the World in a Day at Kew Gardens

Even before Covid-19 safety regulations grounded international travel for the unforeseeable future, exploring multiple countries in a single day has always been a logistical challenge. However, a botanic garden located just outside of London, in Richmond, England, has found an innovative way to let people wander the world, minus the worry of changing time zones.

Beginning August 22 and running through October 16, the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew will host an ambitious—and well-timed for the travel hungry—new experience called “Travel the World at Kew.” The exhibition transports visitors to ten countries and regions across six continents, all within the confines of the 320-acre Unesco World Heritage Site.

“We’re all facing restrictions on travel right now, so we wanted to highlight the diverse landscapes of the world in a way that can satisfy people’s wanderlust,” says Paul Denton, head of visitor programs and exhibitions at Kew Gardens. “‘Travel the World at Kew’ evokes the spirit of [the gardens]and their richness and evokes the relationship people can have with the natural world and how magnificent that relationship can be.”

“Travel the World at Kew” will be on display through October 16.

(Ines Stuart-Davidson)

With a history stretching back to 1759, Kew Gardens started out as a private nine-acre botanic garden founded by Princess Augusta, mother of King George III. It wasn’t until 1840 that Kew opened its doors to the public. Today Kew is considered “the largest and most diverse botanical and mycological collection in the world” with some 8.5 million living things representing “95 percent of vascular plant genera and 60 percent of fungal genera.” Visitors can view a variety of attractions, including an arboretum that houses 14,000 trees, a rose garden representing 170 different species and cultivars, and a garden dedicated to carnivorous plants like the Venus fly trap.

As a way to promote its globally diverse collection during a time when many of us can’t travel internationally, Kew Gardens commissioned a group of about a dozen professional writers with strong connections to different parts of the world to reflect on the selected regions across six continents (minus Antarctica), all of which are represented within the property. These include California’s redwood forests, Japan’s tranquil tea gardens and South Africa’s craggy mountaintops.

“We selected writers that were as diverse as possible and include young and up-and-coming writers who originate from [the country or region]they’re writing about,” Denton says. “That was our starting point. We wanted [each written work]to have an emotional connection with that country, while also being as fun and engaging as possible.”

The exhibition features panels containing authors’ writings on different areas of Kew.

(Ines Stuart-Davidson)

Jini Reddy, a best-selling book author who was born in London and raised in Montreal, Québec, Canada, created a piece of prose for the gardens’ Canadian maple forest entitled “The Maple Tree.”

“The maple leaf is a symbol of Canada,” Reddy says. “[When I was writing this piece], I was thinking about my childhood in Montreal and being surrounded by maple trees and the beautiful displays of autumn colors.”

In her piece Reddy writes: When I think of the maple tree, I feel something within me ignite, a lightning connection made.

“When I was a child, one of the traditions was maple sugaring, where you boil maple sap into maple syrup,” Reddy says. “As a kid I would go with my school on field trips to the forest and eat snow cones topped with maple syrup. You had this fantastic feast all courtesy of the maple leaf. Maple sugaring was a way to get outdoors while also enjoying something yummy.”

A giant redwood tree, Sequoia sempervirens, at Kew Gardens

(Then and Now Images/Heritage Images/Getty Images)

Other authors featured include California-based novelist Joe Cottonwood, who writes about the state’s iconic redwood forests; Yuyutsu RD Sharma, a Himalayan poet who is inspired by rhododendrons, a flowering plant native to the region and that grows in abundance at Kew Gardens; and Tamryn Bennett, a poet who grew up along the South Coast of New South Wales Australia and penned a poem called “Bulu guunamam—Shadow of a Snow Tree.” Argentina, China, Spain and the UK are also represented in the exhibition. Each piece of written work is displayed on a large sign in the part of the garden that it represents; the poetry and prose are accompanied by art by illustrator Mark Boardman, whose clients include Variety, NPR and Universal Music.

“Horticulture is there to be seen and causes an emotional response in people,” Denton says. “We’re a global organization and we work together with many different countries around the world. We try to view things from a global standpoint through our programs, not only in places that we work and engage with regularly, but also in locations that people can’t currently visit because of Covid-19. At Kew Gardens, we want people to come and engage with different parts of the world and do so all in a single day.”

Andrew Whittle and Ryan Lanj with their humpback whale sculpture.

(Ines Stuart-Davidson)

With its extensive global reach, Kew collaborates with more than 350 scientists around the world to discover and identify new species. This collaboration feeds into its Millennium Seed Bank Partnership that “safeguards wild plant diversity.” These scientists also study the effects that global warming has not only on different species but also threatened biodiversity regions, including Thailand, Mozambique and South Africa, the last of which is one of the locales represented in the exhibition.

In addition to “Travel the World at Kew,” the garden is also hosting a large-scale floral sculpture of a humpback whale created by Andrew Whittle and Ryan Lanj, the winning contestants of the Netflix series “The Big Flower Fight.” The sculpture, which will be on display August 22 through September 18, is comprised of more than 700 plants in colors and textures that mimic the humpback whale, such as blue-tinged succulents and grasses. As a subject, a humpback whale is fitting. Not only are humpbacks world travelers (they often travel up to 3,000 miles during migration), but they’re also an important symbol of the importance of conservation efforts on a global scale.

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#highvoltagearea #HVA

[creepykingdom]

The Boston Underground Film Festival Announces Inaugural Launch of BUFF-o-WEEN

For the first time in its 22 year history, the Boston Underground Film Festival is launching a mid-year mini-fest to bring a selection of seasonally appropriate thrills and chills to New England cinephiles! Marking the midway point between 2019’s BUFF and the upcoming festival in March 2020, the weirdos behind BUFF are teaming up with the historic Somerville Theatre in Davis Square to bring you the first-ever edition of “BUFF-o-WEEN” this October!

Showcasing six feature films plus an incredible block of short films currently slaying genre audiences around the world, BUFF-o-WEEN seeks to expand  on the festival’s annual offerings of bizarre and insane programming into the holiest of New England holiday seasons.

“For a long time we’ve thought about creating space for contemporary horror and genre film in the Boston area in October; the city has incredible repertory programming and marathons this month and we wanted to bring a little something different to film fans in the area to celebrate the Halloween season,” said BUFF’s Artistic Director, Kevin Monahan. “As a programmer, it’s a dream come true to bring even more fantastic films to Boston for some big-screen love from our incredible community of film fans and filmmakers,” said BUFF’s Director of Programming Nicole McControversy.

Opening this inaugural series of spooky and sublime delights is hilarious and charming paranormal comedy Extra Ordinary, by Irish writer/director dynamos Enda Loughman and Mike Ahern. Courtesy of our neighbors to the North, we’re thrilled to present “Born of Woman,” an epic block of international short films helmed by women directors, curated by Fantasia International Film Festival’s head programmer Mitch Davis. Also hot off its recent Fantasia premiere, we have director Matthew Pope’s tense, southern gothic thriller Blood on Her Name while the horrifying story of Germany’s most notorious serial killer is brought to life in Fatih Akin’s The Golden Glove.

Indescribably insane 1994 cult hit Tammy & the T-Rex makes a stop in Boston on its festival tour of brain-smashing destruction, restored to its full gory (and 4K) glory courtesy of Vinegar Syndrome and the American Genre Film Archive. Not to be outdone fellow genre restoration heavy-weights Severin Film will present their required-viewing Al Adamson documentary Blood & Flesh, directed by BUFF alum (and former Bostonian) David Gregory, with ex-Cantabrigian Adam Egypt Mortimer’s chilling Daniel Isn’t Real  rounding off a head-spinning weekend.

This special series will run Thursday, October 17th through Sunday, October 20th. Sponsors include The Somerville Theatre and DigBoston. Special thanks to Cranked Up Films, Strand Releasing, Yellow Veil Pictures, Severin Films, Samuel Goldwyn Films, Fantasia International Film Festival, Spectrevision, Vinegar Syndrome, and the American Genre Film Archive.

FULL BUFF-o-WEEN LINEUP:

EXTRA ORDINARY

“A riotously hilarious offbeat comedy that is totally bizarre but utterly engrossing” Ashley Menzel, WE LIVE ENTERTAINMENT

BUFF-o-WEEN kicks things off with this spoopy [sic] tale of a ghostbusting psychic driving instructor—played to pitch-perfect perfection by Maeve Higgins—who tries to save a family from a spirit-conjuring has-been seeking to renew a record deal—and a Faustian bargain. Irish writer/director duo Enda Loughman and Mike Ahern breath new life into the horror-comedy genre with this absolute gem. Think Ghostbusters as if set on Craggy Island; in other words, 100% Pure BUFF. Co-presented by the Irish Film Festival Boston.

BORN OF WOMAN 2019

Montreal’s Fantasia International Film Festival serves up an annual showcase of intimate, auteur genre visions, this year’s edition featuring eight exceptional short films from an array of international talents that promises to leave you gobsmacked and amazed. BUFF-o-WEEN is honored to screen this incredible collection for Boston-area audiences. Co-presented by the Boston Women's Film Festival and Women in Film and Video of New England (WIFVNE). A portion of the box office from this screening will be donated to Women on Waves and Film Fatales.

THE GOLDEN GLOVE

“Beneath all the horror, there is hope. You just have to look past all the dead bodies to the darker heart within.” Redmond Bacon, CULTURED VULTURES

Critically acclaimed director Fatih Akin (Head-On, The Edge of Heaven, In The Fade) brings to life the harrowing tale of German serial killer Fritz Honka, heinous haunter of 1970s Hamburg’s red light district.

Booed and rebuffed at its Berlinale premiere earlier this year, The Golden Glove is unflinching in its examination of human brutality and desperation, both of this notorious murderer and of a society that helped birth him. An ugly film about uglier acts, viewer discretion is certainly advised, though the undeterred will be rewarded by a richly characterized, oft empathetic depiction of a sidelined generation that survived the horrors of war only to be forgotten in the grimiest of dives, hustling for pfennigs to drink away their trauma.

TAMMY AND THE T-REX

“Heads are bitten off, people are disemboweled, skulls are crushed, bodies are flattened, all with the kind of gory excess that recalls the splatstick comedies of Peter Jackson.” Patrick Bromley, Bloody Disgusting

Directed by Stewart Raffill (of Mac and Me and Mannequin Two: One the Move fame) and released in 1994, Tammy and the T-Rex stars Denise Richards and Paul Walker (!) in the story of an evil scientist who transplants the brain of a murdered teenager into the body of a Tyrannosaurus. Love, uh, finds a way, in this newly unearthed “gore cut” of the cult classic time forgot. Fully restored to its R-rated, 4K glory by the fiends at Vinegar Syndrome, Tammy destroyed audiences at Chicago’s Cinepocalypse over the summer; after stops at Fantastic Fest and Beyond Fest, BUFF is pleased to bring this epic splatterpiece to Somerville. No one will be spared. Courtesy of the cine-heroes of the American Genre Film Archive, this one must be seen to be believed.

BLOOD ON HER NAME

“...unexpected, morally complex, and alive with tension.” Katie Rife, AV Club

Ozark’s Bethany Anne Lind stars in this crime thriller about a woman who digs herself a deeper hole when she lets her conscience get the better of her when she tries to cover up an accidental killing. Much in the same vein of BUFF fan favorite, Blue Ruin, Yellow Veil Pictures picked up this tense, gothic horror flick immediately after it’s world premiere at Fantasia this July, and marks a stunning debut feature for writer/director Matthew Pope.

BLOOD & FLESH: THE REEL LIFE AND GRISLY DEATH OF AL ADAMSON

The director of Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley’s Island of Dr. Moreau, David Gregory, brings us another true story of a visionary filmmaker. However instead of focusing on one failed project, Gregory gives us a fascinating overview of the entire life and career of underappreciated auteur Al Adamson. Responsible for such 60s/70s era B-flicks such as Psycho A-Go-Go, Dracula vs. Frankenstein, and Black Samurai, Adamson’s methods and experiences provide a wealth of entertainment and his unfortunate end makes for moving drama in this comprehensive documentary.

DANIEL ISN’T REAL

“A psychological thriller married with cosmic body horror in inventive, original, and exciting ways” - Jonathan Barkan, DREAD CENTRAL

Writer/director Adam Egypt Mortimer’s latest and greatest plays like a dark, twisted version of Drop Dead Fred. After locking up his imaginary childhood friend for years, Luke releases Daniel to wreak havoc on his life, art, studies and relationships. Newcomers Miles Robbins (2018’s Halloween, My Friend Dahmer) and Patrick Schwarzenegger (yes, Arnold’s son) light up the screen as Luke and Daniel respectively, joined by Sasha Lane (American Honey) and veteran actress Mary Stuart Masterson.

---

Individual tickets will be available for sale soon at the Somerville Theatre’s box office or online.

BUFF-o-WEEN is the latest venture in BUFF’s year-round programming, which includes Somerville-Theatre-based monthly “Dispatches from the Underground” series, and its annual festival at the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge. Visit bostonunderground.org for more details.

#blogpost #BUFF-o-WEEN #boston #film festival

[shannrussell-blog1]

The Sandy Blight Track is a perfect trip for your 4WD as it is not only a great drive but it is filled with history, adventure and beauty for the whole family. Running north-east to the south-west on the edge of the Gibson Desert and crossing the Western Australia -Northern Territory border due west of Alice Springs the 350 km long. The track runs between the Gary Junction Road, that joins Alice Springs to Port Hedland on the WA coast, and the Great Central Road that runs across the centre of Australia and was part of the Gunbarrel Highway.

The first hour, after leaving Kintore in the NT on the Gary Junction Road, the track looks better over your shoulder. That’s not because it’s so terrible that one wants to go home, but because it presents a different historical aspect.

The track was created by Len Beadell in 1960 to give his Gunbarrel Road Construction Party a north-south access road after the Maralinga Tests. Today, it joins Docker River to Kintore; the Great Central Highway in the south to the north on the Gary Junction Road. The Sandy Blight Track was well travelled in those days but has now been overtaken by the airlines and the Stuart Highway.

The story of the naming of the Sandy Blight Junction Track goes that Len contracted the eye disease ‘Sandy Blight’ just short of Kintore. He couldn’t see to navigate so he told his bulldozer driver to head for the distinctive Mt Leisler. The ‘dozer driver took him at his word and the result is the 50 km of dead-straight road. It makes a good story.

Len made frequent use of roadside markers to record distances and note latitude and longitude for those who would nowadays have maps. It makes one think. He was actually putting the maps together- working on an almost blank sheet of paper. The only people who had been out there, apart from the very few local Aboriginal people, were the explorers and the odd pastoralist. A huge, lonely unmapped place.

While you’re looking for the markers, keep a lookout also for a large, white painted rock. It wasn’t placed there by nature. Len and his ‘dozer driver brought it down from up north and dropped it there as a joke on his crew and, later, geologists.

Despite the inevitable corrugations, the road up to here is great with a solid underfoot. Abreast the Davenport Hills, it deteriorates until it would have trouble justifying being called a track. One wash-away after another. This makes driving interesting…

And look out for the local wildlife. Camels are rampant in this area. They’re never alone but commonly roam in herds of a dozen or more. Expensive to hit, too… They usually stick to open country so, having come across several groups that actually forced us to stop, we were looking forward to the dune section.

Another feature on this section is the wrecked bus. This is almost the only wreck on this road unlike the Great Central Highway, where it is said there is a burnt out car for every kilometer. That says something for the solitude of the Track. What the bus was doing and how it got there, no-one has been able to tell me.

The sand dunes start soon after this. 50 km of driving down the slacks between the dunes until the track goes over a low bit of a dune or around the end. Then back the other way. How Len found his way through the dunes is a testament to his tenacity as well as his ability. The map says the average height of the dunes is 12m. Too high for short cuts. Did I say we were looking forward to the sand dunes? That thought didn’t last long.

At last, we were through the worst of the dunes and, as the sun was sinking, we found a spot to make camp in a small grove of desert oaks. Tent up, fire started, dinner prepared and with a drink in hand looking at a fiery sunset. It doesn’t get much better. Mind you, the thought of rain from those clouds and being stranded hereabouts had us checking the whisky supplies.

Next morning had us up with the larks looking forward to bacon and eggs cooked over a camp fire. Thinking of larks, we remarked at this point on the lack of wildlife. Plenty of camels and the odd emu but little else. The recent rain had brought green to the desert, as can be seen from some of the photos, but very little wildlife. This was September 2009 and the drought was breaking. We were prepared for moderately warm weather but wore shorts on one day only. Otherwise long trousers and long sleeves. Maybe the fauna knew it was just a little early.

Packed up and ready to go at 0800hrs. A quick check of the vehicle and … flat tyre! Found we had been staked the previous day and we knew exactly where. Rounding the end of one of the sand dunes we had skidded off a very wet track straight into the scrub. We didn’t notice anything at the time but an inch off the broken branch was still there and looking at us. Out with the tubeless tyre repair kit and half an hour later we were on our way. As a matter of interest, that tyre is still going strong with its plug still in place. It’s no longer a ‘bush’ tyre but it’s still on my vehicle, left rear, complete with plug.

First stop this day was on top of the Sir Frederick Range in WA, after a 1st gear, low range climb. 2200 ft and no trees to hide the fantastic view. We had to have a brew and add our names to the book in the tin in the cairn.

This range is quite curious. It rises smoothly but steeply from the plain. I have not asked my vehicle to climb any track as steep. It is made up of what looks like river stones with relatively little dirt binding the stones together. The stones are about the size of a football- not large; nothing a man could not easily lift. But they were all rounded like stones, washed by water over centuries. One might think that wind and sand might have worn the stones down over the aeons, but I doubt the wearing would have been so even. If anyone has an answer to this, I would love to hear about it.

Down onto the plain again and back into the sand dunes. Not so fearsome this time, only 10 m average height we were running with them. Len described his frustration when surveying this section when trying to find his way around Lake Hopkins. On a map, the lake looks like a mass of mercury blobs but with tributaries and joining necks of land everywhere. I would not like to attempt this trip without a map, GPS and a track to follow. Again, hats off to Len Beadell.

Then, at last, one emerges from the gradually decreasing sand dunes and low trees onto the plain. The track up till now has been wheel ruts through the sand. Now there is a junction, with another road, going east to the Aboriginal settlement of Tjukurla. The road is suddenly wider and more compacted, and we can pick up speed. We’re running down the slack in between the sand dunes that are wider apart here. The road has also changed direction, from tending southerly and across the dunes to easterly and running with them.

Off to the right we’re now looking at the craggy, shattered rocks of the Walter James Range, quite different to the Sir Frederick Range. This range rises abruptly from the plain and is made of great slabs of shattered volcanic rock. The road goes round the eastern end of the range and heads more southerly as we go.

Finally, we reach the gap between the Anne Range and the Bloods Range and look for the Malagura Waterhole of Lasseter’s Reef fame, as well as the explorer Ernest Giles’ lifesaver. This is a beautiful spot in a very tough country. Unfortunately the day was overcast and chilly. I wish we’d seen it in sunlight. For the first time on this trip, we saw birdlife around this spot. Although we had seen plenty of evidence of running or flood water further up the track, this was the first water we had actually seen.

From here it’s a hop, skip, etc (15 km) to the Great Central Highway; another dirt road. The Malagura Waterhole is a beautiful end to the track. However, reality sticks its rude nose into the day’s proceedings. We were unable to top up with fuel at Kintore and, although we had enough to reach Alice Springs, my principal is to keep the tanks safely full if reasonably possible. Besides we wanted to see Giles weather station and Len’s old grader that made the road we’d just driven down. So into Warburton for fuel and then next door to Giles. This remote weather post is, to my thinking, the real end of the track. After all, Len set out from here and it was his rear support base to which he returned for fuel, water and supplies while building the Sandy Blight Track.

The Sandy Blight Track is a trip I would recommend. Not too difficult, but 4 wheel drive only. I know that people tow trailers on the track, but the way parts of it are deteriorating that wont be for long. Visually, it is full of contrast: the flat open plain to the interminable sand dunes to the gentle rounded heights of the Sir Frederick Range; the jagged Walter James Range; the dry open plain to the relief of the Malagura Rockhole.

And the history of the area. Before starting out I knew a little of the story of Ernest Giles’ expeditions through the area and the tragedy surrounding the naming of the Gibson Desert. I had travelled some of Len Beadell’s roads and everyone knows something of the legend of Lasseter’s gold reef. Since then I have read Len Beadell’s story of the construction of the Sandy Blight Track, Beating about the bush. It is so full of information I had missed that I am determined to travel that road again.

Two words on safety. We were a single vehicle expedition. On the 350 km length of the Sandy Blight Track we saw no one else. Perhaps a dangerous situation, but we had vehicle based UHF radio and a hand-held unit in case one of us had to leave the vehicle. This happened once and the hand-held was useful. It told me when to put the billy on because my companion was almost back from a walk and needed a cup of tea. Seriously, he wanted to climb Haast’s Bluff and, as I was unable to, the UHF radios were invaluable for safety. We also had a satellite phone, and I am coming to regard these as essential equipment for outback travel. EPIRB’s are also a life saver but simply say “trouble”. Sat phones can tell people what the trouble, is which can be a life saver in itself.

The second word. The explorer William Henry Tietkens wrote in his journal, after he climbed Mt Liesler in 1889, “…this desolate and waterless region…”. The explorer Ernst Giles named the Gibson Desert after a member of his 1873-4 expedition, Alfred Gibson, who was lost in the desert without water and not seen again (even by local Aboriginal people). In 1960, Len Beadell commented in his book that he was probably the second white man to climb Mt Liesler. Today the region is still “desolate and waterless”. It is not to be entered without caution.

Happy exploring.

The post The Sandy Blight Track: A 4WDriver’s Dream! appeared first on Snowys Blog.

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[readpdfebook]

Free download [epub]$$ Double Jeopardy (Stone Barrington #57) DOWNLOAD PDF EBOOK

Free download [epub]$$ Double Jeopardy (Stone Barrington #57) DOWNLOAD PDF EBOOK

Double Jeopardy (Stone Barrington #57)

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Britain’s top 20 stately homes

Whatever your idea of the perfect historic house – imposing architecture, beautiful interiors or glorious gardens – you’ll find it here. We peek through the (gilded) keyhole at 20 of the county’s finest manors, palaces and estates

  Highclere Castle, Berkshire

“The Real Downton”, Highclere Castle, is one of Britain’s finest statelies. It has been the family seat of the Earls of Carnarvon since 1679, though its history stretches back centuries further. In 749 an Anglo-Saxon King granted the estate to the Bishops of Winchester, who built a stately medieval palace on the parkland here. Various rebuildings and developments later (including the landscaping of the grounds by Capability Brown), in 1842 it was transformed by Sir Charles Barry, architect of the Houses of Parliament, into the Italianate gem you can admire today.

Lyme Park, Cheshire

You might recognise Lyme – or rather, its lake – from the starring role it played in the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, when Colin Firth as Darcy emerged from the lake and sent a million hearts uttering. Lyme’s glorious Italianate facade and lavish Regency interiors tend to have the same effect.

Visitors can dress up in period costume, take a peek at Truelove the butler’s rooms, and browse in the library, where the Lyme Missal prayer book is conserved. Printed by William Caxton in 1487, it is the National Trust’s most precious printed book. Outside, a medieval herd of red deer roam the estate, nestled on the edge of the Peak District.

Hatfield House, Hertfordshire

Some of our favourite stately homes are those still occupied by the same family that have been in place for centuries. Beautiful Hat eld House is a prime example: home to the 7th Marquess and Marchioness of Salisbury, it was built in 1611 by Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury and trusted advisor to Elizabeth I. Cecil used materials from the Old Palace, built in 1485 by the Bishop of Ely – some of which can still be seen today – to build the magnificent Jacobean house you see today.

Much of Hatfield’s fascination comes from the fact that Henry VIII purchased it for his children, Mary, Edward and Elizabeth, to use as a nursery. In 1558 a young Princess Elizabeth was resting under an oak tree in the grounds when she learned of her accession to the throne of England. Inside, seek out the Rainbow Portrait, an atypically vibrant Tudor portrait of steely-eyed Queen Elizabeth marvellously clad in a coppery cloak, and holding a rainbow. An inscription reads, “Non sine sola iris” (No rainbow without the sun) – portraying Elizabeth as a bringer of peace after stormy political times.

Mount Stewart, County Down

Neoclassical Mount Stewart has been home to one of Northern Ireland’s most powerful families, the Marquesses of Londonderry, for 250 years. Edith, Lady Londonderry – an author, designer and legendary hostess – made Mount Stewart home in 1921, filling it with art and antiques and planting its exceptional gardens. Now in the care of the National Trust, the house has been beautifully restored and is still dotted with family memorabilia and treasures. Mount Stewart was only one of the family’s houses but was a firm favourite with Edith. As she wrote to her husband Charles, “This is the most divine house, why do we live anywhere else!”

Chatsworth House, Derbyshire

Another Pemberley stand-in that featured in the TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, Chatsworth’s creamy stone facade made an appropriately grand setting as Darcy’s ancestral home. Surrounded by extensive parkland and backed by the craggy wooded hills of the Peak District, it holds many priceless treasures.

Chatsworth has been home to the Cavendish family since 1549, but many of its grand rooms are open to the public. Be dazzled by the Painted Hall, the grandest room built by the 1st Duke; the Great Dining Room, dripping with gilt and swagged curtains; and the State Apartments, lavishly decorated in preparation for a visit from King William III and Queen Mary II that never actually took place.

Barrington Court, Somerset

Strode House, built in 1674, seen from the Lily Garden at Barrington Court, Somerset

This handsome Tudor manor house lay neglected until the 1920s, when one Colonel Lyle visited and, moved by its sorry condition, bought it and painstakingly restored it with historic salvaged fireplaces, staircases and panelling, collected from derelict manors all over the country. The National Trust have kept it without furniture, so that you can appreciate the beauty of its features and the passion that went into its restoration. After wandering the atmospheric rooms, you can explore the beautiful gardens, planted by the Lyles after consultation with the famous garden designer Gertrude Jekyll.

Ham House, London

Ham House. Credit: Pixabay

Sitting on the banks of the River Thames in Richmond, Ham House is a 17th-century treasure, full of precious paintings, furniture and textiles. Built in 1610, it was remodelled by the Duke and Duchess of Lauderdale in the 1670s. Richly transformed to impress London Society, it was one of the country’s grandest Stuart houses. The interiors boast baroque ceiling murals by Antonio Verrio, rare damask hangings and a gilded staircase. Among the collections, you can see the Duchess’s own teapot, one of the earliest to arrive in the country: always at the forefront of fashion, she was quick to adopt the new tea-drinking trend.

While you’re here, keep an eye out for unusual happenings – Ham is thought to be one of the most haunted houses in Britain. Some visitors even report catching a waft of the Duke’s Sweet Virginia pipe tobacco in the Dining Room.

Castle Howard, North Yorkshire

Castle Howard. Credit: Pixabay

The scale of Castle Howard, the residence of the Howard family for 300 years, is quite mind-boggling: with 145 rooms, it is one of England’s biggest stately homes. The house took over 100 years to construct, spanning the lifetimes of three Earls. Vanbrugh the original architect’s vision of a house of two identical wings capped with a central dome did not quite come to fruition: changing tastes over the centuries meant that east wing was built in flamboyant baroque style, while the later west wing is all restrained Palladian elegance. The result, though, is nothing short of spectacular.

A fire devastated much of the building in 1940 and would have caused even more extensive damage but for the efforts of some quick-thinking schoolgirl evacuees, who were able to salvage some of the house’s priceless contents. The filming of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisitedhere in 1981 helped pay for much-needed restoration works, though a section of the building remains a shell.

You could easily spend a day exploring the grounds, with their woodlands, lakeside terraces and formal gardens dotted with temples and statuary.

Tyntesfield, Somerset

Tyntesfield, North Somerset. Credit: National Trust Images

Conceived as a family home rather than a statement of wealth, Tyntesfield has an intimate, warm feel. William Gibbs bought Tyntes Place for his family in 1844 and remodelled what was then a simple Regency house into the stunning Victorian Gothic Revival house that you see today. It’s home to over 60,000 objects, from ornate furnishings and precious paintings to the evocative remnants of four generations of domestic life, from ice skates to picnic sets.

Osborne House, Isle of Wight

Osborne House. Credit: Pixabay

“It is impossible to imagine a prettier spot,” said Queen Victoria of her palatial holiday home on the Isle of Wight, and it’s hard not to agree. Built specially for Victoria and Albert, the house reflects their style and passions. The sumptuous state rooms, designed to impress the great and the good when Osborne was at the centre of the British Empire, are extraordinarily lavish, and you can have a glimpse into Victoria and Albert’s private world too: their bathing beach and the play cottage built for their nine children. Prince Albert’s private suite was poignantly kept as it was in his lifetime by the devoted Queen, and many of the objects he used at Osborne still lie where he left them.

Blickling Hall, Norfolk

Blickling Hall. Credit: Pixabay

This magnificent Jacobean pile stands on the site of the home of the Boleyn family, where it is believed Anne Boleyn was born. No documentation exists to back this up, but legend has it that one of the three ghosts that patrol the house is that of Henry VIII’s second wife, who is said to appear every year on 19 May, the date of her execution, bearing her severed head.

Reliefs of Anne and her daughter, Queen Elizabeth I, can be seen on the staircase of the Great Hall. The Long Gallery is also worth seeking out. It holds the National Trust’s most important book collection, including the first complete Bible to be printed in English, and first editions of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice and Emma.

Tredegar House, South Wales

The Brown Room at Tredegar House, Newport, South Wales. Credit: National Trust Images

This marvellous late 17th-century house is one of Wales’s most beguiling architectural wonders, set within 90 acres of gorgeous gardens. For more than 500 years Tredegar was home to one of Wales’s most powerful families, the Morgans, later Lords Tredegar, and no expense was spared in its decor. The interiors feature plenty of flamboyant touches, from the glittering Gilt Room, once a venue for glamorous parties, to the exquisitely carved serpents, lions and griffins in the Brown Room.

Blenheim Palace, Oxfordshire

Blenheim Palace. Credit: Pixabay

There’s something very special about Blenheim, seat of the dukes of Marlborough. The only non-royal or non-episcopal house in Britain to be called ‘palace’, it has a regal air that lives up to the name. For some, it even eclipses the royal palaces in its majesty; on seeing Blenheim for the first time, King George III is reported to have said to Queen Charlotte, “We have nothing to equal this!”

Blenheim was built by Sir John in the rare English Baroque style for John Churchill, 1stDuke of Marlborough, on parkland gifted to him by Queen Anne, as a reward for victory over the French in the Battle of Blenheim, Bavaria, in 1704. Almost two centuries later, the duke’s descendant, Winston Churchill, was born here.

Each room of the palace is more spectacular than the last. The marble-clad Great Hall with its frescoed ceiling and stone carvings makes a bold first impression, but the palace’s finest room is the aptly named Long Library, an incredible 55 metres in length.

Rivalling the house for magnificence are the grounds: 2100 acres of parkland designed by Capability Brown. Churchill chose one of his favourite corners, the Temple of Diana, as the perfect romantic spot to propose to his beloved, Clementine Hozier. They married just a month later.

Longleat, Wiltshire

Longleat House

Built by Sir John Thynne in 1580, Longleat is a spectacular Elizabethan house in parkland designed by Capability Brown. It is now occupied by Thynne’s ancestor, the 7th Marquess of Bath, who transformed part of the grounds into a safari park, complete with lions, tigers and giraffes, in 1966: the first drive-through safari park outside Africa.

The family still live in part of the house, but 15 rooms are open to the public. Famous for its 40,000-strong book collection, Longleat’s seven libraries are a sight to behold. The vast Red Library and the Ante Library which features a Venetian painted ceiling, are well worth a peek.

Montacute House, Somerset

Montacute House, Somerset. Credit: National Trust Images

This magnificent Elizabethan Renaissance house was built to impress by Sir Edward Phelips, a member of Elizabeth I’s parliament. Built in 1598, it remained in the Phelips family until 1931, when it was acquired by the National Trust. Its Hamstone facade with its mullioned windows is imposing, though all is not as it seems: the Tudor West Front was not designed for the house, but removed from nearby Clifton Maybank House and installed here in 1786.

Inside, the 52-metre Long Gallery is the longest of its kind in England, and holds 60 Tudor and Elizabethan portraits on long-term loan from the National Portrait Gallery.

Burghley House, Lincolnshire

Burghley House

A grand Elizabethan pile, Burghley was built by William Cecil, Elizabeth I’s most trusted minister, who designed the house as a grand tribute to his Queen. The house’s splendid interior contains a fine collection of Italian Old Master paintings, as well as a celebrated ceramics collection. You can explore the evocative Tudor kitchens below stairs, as well as the breathtaking State Rooms – furnished thanks to the efforts of two of the house’s Earls, who travelled widely and purchased an incredible array of art and antiques.

Petworth House, West Sussex

The North Gallery at Petworth House and Park, West Sussex. Credit: National Trust Images

Inspired by European baroque palaces, Petworth is a stately ancestral seat with an astonishing art collection, including major works by Van Dyck, Turner, Reynolds and Gainsborough. Intriguing objects abound, such as the earliest English globe in existence, dating back to 1592. The grounds, designed by Capability Brown, hold a 700-acre deer park.

Dunrobin Castle

The most northerly of Scotland’s great houses, overlooking the Moray Firth, is also one of its most spectacular. Home to the Earls and Dukes of Sutherland since the 13th century, it resembles a French château with its whimsical spires and fairytale turrets. A fortified square keep for centuries, it was extensively remodelled by Charles Barry in 1845; the gardens, based on those at Versailles, were laid out in the 1850s. A museum in the grounds displays taxidermy and ethnographic items collected by the family from around the world.

Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire

Hardwick Hall. Credit: Pixabay

Hardwick is a remarkable house in many ways. One of the country’s most magnificent Elizabethan houses, crafted by the finest craftsmen of the age in the 1590s, it is quite a spectacle. Then there’s the backstory: it was the creation of the formidable Bess of Hardwick – Tudor England’s other great Elizabeth – whose four marriages led her to become one of England’s most powerful and richest women. The house’s towering turrets bear her initials, and her influence can be felt in every aspect of the extraordinary house, from the huge windows – revolutionary at the time – to the world-class textile collection, mostly collected by Bess in the late sixteenth century.

Harewood House, Yorkshire

Harewood House. Credit: Kippa Matthews/Harewood House

The 1st Baron Harewood, Edwin Lascelles, assembled a dream team to create his ideal home in 1759: interior designer of the moment Robert Adam, legendary furniture maker Thomas Chippendale and famous landscape gardener Capability Brown. Their extraordinary efforts provide a fitting showpiece for Harewood’s priceless collections of Renaissance masterpieces and Sèvres porcelain, among much more.

                  The post Britain’s top 20 stately homes appeared first on Britain Magazine | The official magazine of Visit Britain | Best of British History, Royal Family,Travel and Culture.

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19 Signs You’re In Love With House Interior Design Magazine | house interior design magazine

For Stephen Tong Yiu-nin, creating the asperous sophis­tication of his home in West Kowloon was sparked by a circadian analysis during his appointment com­mute to Central.

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“There’s a huge marble bank in Alexandra Abode that I aloof love,” he says. “It’s got lots of arrangement and accustomed holes and little fossils. I was aggressive by that, the abstraction of accepting a account bank and designing about it.”

When it came to award a new abode to live, Tong, who works for a acreage administration group, says he capital a ample abode aloof for himself. “The bachelor-pad cliché, I suppose. I acclimated to alive in a attic in Los Angeles so I was afterwards that affectionate of airy, adequate space.”

Other must-haves included a comfortable hotel-style bath and a applicant wardrobe.

“I capital article adult and a little bit abnormal – deep, bawdy colours with lots of accustomed elements. I would accept admired some alfresco amplitude but in the super-convenient areas I was attractive at, that’s rare.”

Tong absitively that the chase for his ideal 1,000 sq ft amplitude would beggarly award a accepted three-bedroom collapsed with a convertible layout. Two years ago, he begin the appropriate applicant in a high-rise with a sea appearance aloft Elements arcade mall.

Having enjoyed agreement his brand on two antecedent flats, in North Point and Wan Chai, Tong was agog to extend the ambit for this renovation. One of the three bedrooms became the coveted applicant apparel while addition was co-opted as a abstraction alcove and added amplitude for the active area.

“This was important for that aerial attending I wanted,” he says. “If the bank amid the active allowance and this bed­room had been structural, I would not accept bought this apartment.”

A full-height shelf assemblage demarcates the amplitude while acceptance a appearance through to the active artworks on the bank beyond. A sliding aperture and pull-down blinds abaft the shelving acquiesce the alcove to bifold as a bedfellow bedroom.

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“One affair I don’t like is too abundant white,” he says. “You see big white walls every­where and it can be a bit boring.”

I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let [interior designer] Chris [Kwong] accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour

Stephen Tong

Instead, Tong has acclimated ample expanses of bean and copse as his canvas, abacus affluence of greenery and colour. The account bank is a behemothic slab of travertine that spans the breadth of the accessible living/dining area. Its asperous layers of debris accommodate the amplitude a cavern quality, which is counterbalanced with adventurous artworks featuring circles and dots in ablaze hues. A herringbone attic and a row of abode plants add amoebic interest, as do several curvaceous sculptures.

“I like circuit things and circles,” says Tong. “Circles are allegorical of so abounding important things: circles of friends; the amphitheater of life; what goes about comes around. So I am consistently fatigued to circles in art, abnormally in ablaze colours.”

Tong sourced all the appliance but angry to autogenous artisan Chris Kwong, who additionally managed the project, to fine-tune his account and ensure accord with the broader vision.

“I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let Chris accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour,” Tong says. “Sometimes I’d aces some­thing and he would aloof say, ‘No.’ Which was appealing funny.

“The alone affair I feel I’m missing now is a nice accessible kitchen, with bar stools. I alone apperceive how to baker about 10 dishes but I do accomplish a beggarly tiramisu. That’s article for my abutting accommodation but I appetite to adore this one for a while first.”

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Living allowance The active breadth is abstracted by a full-height Rimadesio bookshelf (HK$105,000). The Poltrona Frau covering daybed (HK$68,000) is complemented by a brace of low-slung modernist chairs (HK$18,000 each) from Design Within Reach and a Noguchi coffee table (previously owned).

A abysmal accumulation rug (HK$15,000, from Ovo) adds addition band of amore to the floor’s honey tones. The Eero Saarinen ancillary table came from Aluminium (now closed). Similar Serge Mouille-style long-arm lamps are accessible from Stockroom. The beam fan amount HK$4,000 from Life’s a Breeze.

Dining breadth Craggy curve of blah travertine (HK$90 per aboveboard bottom from Hop Ching Marble, Ping Ha Road, Yuen Long, tel: [phone]) anatomy a aerial accomplishments to a colourful allotment by Japanese artisan Atsuko Tanaka (1932-2005), bought at a Sotheby’s auction.

The animate chaplet ablaze accessories (HK$20,000 in total) from Buster and Punch casting a chestnut afterglow over the Rimadesio dining table (HK$68,000) and metal emphasis chairs (Eames ancillary chairs, HK$2,800 each, from Herman Miller; Chair One, by Konstantin Grcic, HK$2,700 each, from Magis). The herringbone attic (HK$60 per aboveboard foot) was from Sunwood Building Materials (308 Lockhart Road, Wan Chai, tel: [phone]).

Living breadth detail The artworks on the bank are by British artisan Stuart Hartley and were sourced at London’s Mark Jason Gallery. The red baby (HK$28,000) came from Lane Crawford while the cafe (HK$40,000) was from Ligne Roset. The annular account was a housewarming gift.

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Bedroom From the natural-wood bank and anemic covering headboard of the Poltrona Frau bed (HK$58,000) to fur bedding (HK$8,000) from Lane Crawford, the bedchamber is a cushion of balmy textures.

The painting, by Tanaka, was bought at a Phillips bargain while the Tolomeo attic lamp (HK$9,000) was from Artemide. The bedside tables (HK$6,000 each) came from Anterra, 5 Dejected Pool Road, Happy Valley, tel: [phone]. Annular KEF speakers are added to the ceiling.

Main bath The white marble tiles were sourced from Hop Ching Marble and amount HK$60 per aboveboard foot. The recessed sinks in the bifold vanity (HK$5,000 each) came from Kohler.

Guest bath The amphitheater burden continues into the bedfellow bath with a annular mirror (HK$18,000, from L’s Where) and a Tom Dixon chaplet apple that amount HK$4,100. The bore (HK$4,000) and atramentous mixer (HK$5,000) were both from Toto.

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For Stephen Tong Yiu-nin, creating the asperous sophis­tication of his home in West Kowloon was sparked by a circadian analysis during his appointment com­mute to Central.

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“There’s a huge marble bank in Alexandra Abode that I aloof love,” he says. “It’s got lots of arrangement and accustomed holes and little fossils. I was aggressive by that, the abstraction of accepting a account bank and designing about it.”

When it came to award a new abode to live, Tong, who works for a acreage administration group, says he capital a ample abode aloof for himself. “The bachelor-pad cliché, I suppose. I acclimated to alive in a attic in Los Angeles so I was afterwards that affectionate of airy, adequate space.”

Other must-haves included a comfortable hotel-style bath and a applicant wardrobe.

“I capital article adult and a little bit abnormal – deep, bawdy colours with lots of accustomed elements. I would accept admired some alfresco amplitude but in the super-convenient areas I was attractive at, that’s rare.”

Tong absitively that the chase for his ideal 1,000 sq ft amplitude would beggarly award a accepted three-bedroom collapsed with a convertible layout. Two years ago, he begin the appropriate applicant in a high-rise with a sea appearance aloft Elements arcade mall.

Having enjoyed agreement his brand on two antecedent flats, in North Point and Wan Chai, Tong was agog to extend the ambit for this renovation. One of the three bedrooms became the coveted applicant apparel while addition was co-opted as a abstraction alcove and added amplitude for the active area.

“This was important for that aerial attending I wanted,” he says. “If the bank amid the active allowance and this bed­room had been structural, I would not accept bought this apartment.”

A full-height shelf assemblage demarcates the amplitude while acceptance a appearance through to the active artworks on the bank beyond. A sliding aperture and pull-down blinds abaft the shelving acquiesce the alcove to bifold as a bedfellow bedroom.

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“One affair I don’t like is too abundant white,” he says. “You see big white walls every­where and it can be a bit boring.”

I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let [interior designer] Chris [Kwong] accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour

Stephen Tong

Instead, Tong has acclimated ample expanses of bean and copse as his canvas, abacus affluence of greenery and colour. The account bank is a behemothic slab of travertine that spans the breadth of the accessible living/dining area. Its asperous layers of debris accommodate the amplitude a cavern quality, which is counterbalanced with adventurous artworks featuring circles and dots in ablaze hues. A herringbone attic and a row of abode plants add amoebic interest, as do several curvaceous sculptures.

“I like circuit things and circles,” says Tong. “Circles are allegorical of so abounding important things: circles of friends; the amphitheater of life; what goes about comes around. So I am consistently fatigued to circles in art, abnormally in ablaze colours.”

Tong sourced all the appliance but angry to autogenous artisan Chris Kwong, who additionally managed the project, to fine-tune his account and ensure accord with the broader vision.

“I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let Chris accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour,” Tong says. “Sometimes I’d aces some­thing and he would aloof say, ‘No.’ Which was appealing funny.

“The alone affair I feel I’m missing now is a nice accessible kitchen, with bar stools. I alone apperceive how to baker about 10 dishes but I do accomplish a beggarly tiramisu. That’s article for my abutting accommodation but I appetite to adore this one for a while first.”

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Living allowance The active breadth is abstracted by a full-height Rimadesio bookshelf (HK$105,000). The Poltrona Frau covering daybed (HK$68,000) is complemented by a brace of low-slung modernist chairs (HK$18,000 each) from Design Within Reach and a Noguchi coffee table (previously owned).

A abysmal accumulation rug (HK$15,000, from Ovo) adds addition band of amore to the floor’s honey tones. The Eero Saarinen ancillary table came from Aluminium (now closed). Similar Serge Mouille-style long-arm lamps are accessible from Stockroom. The beam fan amount HK$4,000 from Life’s a Breeze.

Dining breadth Craggy curve of blah travertine (HK$90 per aboveboard bottom from Hop Ching Marble, Ping Ha Road, Yuen Long, tel: [phone]) anatomy a aerial accomplishments to a colourful allotment by Japanese artisan Atsuko Tanaka (1932-2005), bought at a Sotheby’s auction.

The animate chaplet ablaze accessories (HK$20,000 in total) from Buster and Punch casting a chestnut afterglow over the Rimadesio dining table (HK$68,000) and metal emphasis chairs (Eames ancillary chairs, HK$2,800 each, from Herman Miller; Chair One, by Konstantin Grcic, HK$2,700 each, from Magis). The herringbone attic (HK$60 per aboveboard foot) was from Sunwood Building Materials (308 Lockhart Road, Wan Chai, tel: [phone]).

Living breadth detail The artworks on the bank are by British artisan Stuart Hartley and were sourced at London’s Mark Jason Gallery. The red baby (HK$28,000) came from Lane Crawford while the cafe (HK$40,000) was from Ligne Roset. The annular account was a housewarming gift.

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Bedroom From the natural-wood bank and anemic covering headboard of the Poltrona Frau bed (HK$58,000) to fur bedding (HK$8,000) from Lane Crawford, the bedchamber is a cushion of balmy textures.

The painting, by Tanaka, was bought at a Phillips bargain while the Tolomeo attic lamp (HK$9,000) was from Artemide. The bedside tables (HK$6,000 each) came from Anterra, 5 Dejected Pool Road, Happy Valley, tel: [phone]. Annular KEF speakers are added to the ceiling.

Main bath The white marble tiles were sourced from Hop Ching Marble and amount HK$60 per aboveboard foot. The recessed sinks in the bifold vanity (HK$5,000 each) came from Kohler.

Guest bath The amphitheater burden continues into the bedfellow bath with a annular mirror (HK$18,000, from L’s Where) and a Tom Dixon chaplet apple that amount HK$4,100. The bore (HK$4,000) and atramentous mixer (HK$5,000) were both from Toto.

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Larch madness is here! We got to see larches two weeks ago at Blue Lake, and it reminded me of our trip to Lake Ingalls three years ago. It was our first fall hiking in the PNW and I had no idea what to expect. Lake Ingalls turned out to be one of the most beautiful (and busiest) hikes I had been on.

In addition to being stunningly beautiful, Lake Ingalls came with a few lessons as well. As we were brand new fall hikers, it did not even occur to me that it could snow on October 1st. Before I had figured out my system for choosing a hike in Washington (which includes checking the weather twice), I didn’t check the weather at the elevation or location we were going to. It looked sunny, so we would probably be fine! The only thing I did to prepare for fall weather was be friends with someone who always brings a thermos. Thank you Meg!

In the end, it was an incredible opportunity to see alpine larches at their peak and inspired an interest in their biology. It also taught me valuable lessons about hiking in shoulder seasons and how to prepare for winter weather for Fall hikes.

Beginning the hike.

The trail started in a forested valley, climbing up switchbacks. We could see mist and smoke snaking through the peaks, as a fire crew was doing controlled burns along the road. While beautiful, this area was similar to the long drive on a bumpy road. Then, we crossed the Ingall’s Pass and the scene changed dramatically. Golden larches as far as the eye could see.

Out of the forest and into a land of golden larches

It became much rockier with expansive copper-colored rocks.  Our first view of Mt. Stuart appeared, though the summit was hidden by clouds. Golden larches dotted the landscape. We continued down the trail and into the valley.

Larches everywhere

Flat trails weaved through trees

We crossed through stunning meadows with shallow alpine streams cutting through it. I grew up in Washington and thought I knew what Autumn looked like. Large maple leaves and chestnuts in the Washington Arboretum, every weekend raking the leaves of the large cedar in my parent’s backyard. Cider and pumpkins. Fall in the alpine is a completely different beast.

To see larches, most of the time it means heading to the East side of the Cascades. Larches are considered deciduous conifers, aka cone trees that drop their needles.  Technically, Washington has two native larch species, the western larch (Larix occidentalis) and subalpine larch (Larix lyalli). As you might expect, the subalpine larch occurs at higher elevations and they are shaped differently. The western larch has a more triangular shape and greater height, while the subalpine tend to have branches in all directions and a shorter height.

  If you live in Seattle and want to see larches, it usually requires a 3-hour drive.  Every year, social media is alive with questions about how to find larches within an hour of Seattle, and every year the answer is to saddle up and make the drive. Larches are shade-intolerant and usually grow in open forests, often the result of a fire. The West side of the Cascade Range has dramatically different forests than that of the east side, leading to different trees. While a long drive can put you in the land of the golden arches, there are other spectacular fall colors to see on the west side as well.

WTA claims that there are some larches in Washington Park Arboretum, Ravenna Park and Woodland Park in Seattle, so it is possible to see individual trees out of their native habitat. Nothing quite compares to the craggy peaks of the North Cascades, or glowing warm rocks of Salmon La Sac covered in the golden trees.

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  Less than friendly clouds ahead…

But what turns the green trees to a glowing yellow? In the land of the evergreen? Simply, the larches have needles that radiate from the wood, like most conifers. Most conifers hold onto their needles all winter and continue photosynthesis in the winter, which increases growth opportunities. However, larches drop their needles in the winter. They grow back as a neon green in the spring, and by fall have warmed to a golden hue before fully shedding. The golden hue is the base color of a larches needles, and chlorophyll during the summer turns it green.  When the chlorophyll is absorbed into the tree in the fall, the golden hue is left unmasked.

  As we continued weaving through larches, the skies began to darken, resulting in dramatic views before us. At this point, I started to slightly worry about what we had signed up for. The clouds did not look terribly friendly and I knew we weren’t terribly prepared for rain.

After a number of meadows and flat traverses, the trail began to climb again to reach the lake. The camera was stored away at this point, as the trail became rockier and more of a scramble. Eventually, we rounded the corner to reveal Lake Ingalls. The view of the lake was phenomenal. The water was a deep blue, and the warm rocky cirque provided the most brilliant contrast. Mt. Stuart hovers at the end of the lake but was obscured by clouds.

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Joyful to have made it to the lake, we relaxed with some hot tea and snacks. As we sat, the mist began to crawl over the lake and a light rain began. No problem! We have rain jackets! Hikers prepared for a hike in Washington.

Julie before she knew how cold it would be…

With the rain coming down harder, we decided to pack up and hit the trail. At this moment we realized only half of the people have rain jackets. This was also the day that I realized my rain jacket was no longer waterproof. We were all missing rain paints, and were barely equipped for rain, least of all snow.

The lake basin had been very busy and it turned into a long, slow line to leave the lake and get on the trail. With the snow and rain, everyone had to move very slowly for the scramble section and had to descend one at a time. Hikers began wandering off trail and it was difficult to see with snow blowing into our eyes.  This was the first moment I had that sinking feeling that you are in over your head and the type II fun begins.

I have now been on many hikes seen all over social media for a time. Prior to this hike, when they come across my Facebook feed over and over, I falsely assumed that it must be relatively harmless, as so many people were completing them. I am grateful I got to learn the lesson to prepare for hikes regardless of social media early in my hiking career with no long-term negative consequences. Now, when I see hikers on trails that are clearly new and under prepared, I have compassion remembering my ignorance on this day. It also compels me to try and educate people before they are on the trail, so it is not such a miserable learning experience.

We trudged back the way we came in the snow as it began to stick. After we crossed Ingalls Pass, the snow turned back to rain and we took soggy steps back to the car. When we got back to the car we took off our wet clothes and bundled in warm blankets. There was a full thermos of tea and before too long we were warm and cozy.

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I highly recommend visiting Lake Ingalls for beautiful larch views, just make sure to check the forecast first and be ready for winter conditions!

Other information:

WTA The Science of Larches

WTA Lake Ingalls 

Looking Back: Lake Ingalls, Land of the Golden Larches Larch madness is here! We got to see larches two weeks ago at Blue Lake, and it reminded me of our trip to Lake Ingalls three years ago.

#Alpine Lakes Wilderness #Fall #lake #larches

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For Stephen Tong Yiu-nin, creating the asperous sophis­tication of his home in West Kowloon was sparked by a circadian analysis during his appointment com­mute to Central.

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“There’s a huge marble bank in Alexandra Abode that I aloof love,” he says. “It’s got lots of arrangement and accustomed holes and little fossils. I was aggressive by that, the abstraction of accepting a account bank and designing about it.”

When it came to award a new abode to live, Tong, who works for a acreage administration group, says he capital a ample abode aloof for himself. “The bachelor-pad cliché, I suppose. I acclimated to alive in a attic in Los Angeles so I was afterwards that affectionate of airy, adequate space.”

Other must-haves included a comfortable hotel-style bath and a applicant wardrobe.

“I capital article adult and a little bit abnormal – deep, bawdy colours with lots of accustomed elements. I would accept admired some alfresco amplitude but in the super-convenient areas I was attractive at, that’s rare.”

Tong absitively that the chase for his ideal 1,000 sq ft amplitude would beggarly award a accepted three-bedroom collapsed with a convertible layout. Two years ago, he begin the appropriate applicant in a high-rise with a sea appearance aloft Elements arcade mall.

Having enjoyed agreement his brand on two antecedent flats, in North Point and Wan Chai, Tong was agog to extend the ambit for this renovation. One of the three bedrooms became the coveted applicant apparel while addition was co-opted as a abstraction alcove and added amplitude for the active area.

“This was important for that aerial attending I wanted,” he says. “If the bank amid the active allowance and this bed­room had been structural, I would not accept bought this apartment.”

A full-height shelf assemblage demarcates the amplitude while acceptance a appearance through to the active artworks on the bank beyond. A sliding aperture and pull-down blinds abaft the shelving acquiesce the alcove to bifold as a bedfellow bedroom.

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“One affair I don’t like is too abundant white,” he says. “You see big white walls every­where and it can be a bit boring.”

I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let [interior designer] Chris [Kwong] accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour

Stephen Tong

Instead, Tong has acclimated ample expanses of bean and copse as his canvas, abacus affluence of greenery and colour. The account bank is a behemothic slab of travertine that spans the breadth of the accessible living/dining area. Its asperous layers of debris accommodate the amplitude a cavern quality, which is counterbalanced with adventurous artworks featuring circles and dots in ablaze hues. A herringbone attic and a row of abode plants add amoebic interest, as do several curvaceous sculptures.

“I like circuit things and circles,” says Tong. “Circles are allegorical of so abounding important things: circles of friends; the amphitheater of life; what goes about comes around. So I am consistently fatigued to circles in art, abnormally in ablaze colours.”

Tong sourced all the appliance but angry to autogenous artisan Chris Kwong, who additionally managed the project, to fine-tune his account and ensure accord with the broader vision.

“I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let Chris accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour,” Tong says. “Sometimes I’d aces some­thing and he would aloof say, ‘No.’ Which was appealing funny.

“The alone affair I feel I’m missing now is a nice accessible kitchen, with bar stools. I alone apperceive how to baker about 10 dishes but I do accomplish a beggarly tiramisu. That’s article for my abutting accommodation but I appetite to adore this one for a while first.”

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Living allowance The active breadth is abstracted by a full-height Rimadesio bookshelf (HK$105,000). The Poltrona Frau covering daybed (HK$68,000) is complemented by a brace of low-slung modernist chairs (HK$18,000 each) from Design Within Reach and a Noguchi coffee table (previously owned).

A abysmal accumulation rug (HK$15,000, from Ovo) adds addition band of amore to the floor’s honey tones. The Eero Saarinen ancillary table came from Aluminium (now closed). Similar Serge Mouille-style long-arm lamps are accessible from Stockroom. The beam fan amount HK$4,000 from Life’s a Breeze.

Dining breadth Craggy curve of blah travertine (HK$90 per aboveboard bottom from Hop Ching Marble, Ping Ha Road, Yuen Long, tel: [phone]) anatomy a aerial accomplishments to a colourful allotment by Japanese artisan Atsuko Tanaka (1932-2005), bought at a Sotheby’s auction.

The animate chaplet ablaze accessories (HK$20,000 in total) from Buster and Punch casting a chestnut afterglow over the Rimadesio dining table (HK$68,000) and metal emphasis chairs (Eames ancillary chairs, HK$2,800 each, from Herman Miller; Chair One, by Konstantin Grcic, HK$2,700 each, from Magis). The herringbone attic (HK$60 per aboveboard foot) was from Sunwood Building Materials (308 Lockhart Road, Wan Chai, tel: [phone]).

Living breadth detail The artworks on the bank are by British artisan Stuart Hartley and were sourced at London’s Mark Jason Gallery. The red baby (HK$28,000) came from Lane Crawford while the cafe (HK$40,000) was from Ligne Roset. The annular account was a housewarming gift.

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Bedroom From the natural-wood bank and anemic covering headboard of the Poltrona Frau bed (HK$58,000) to fur bedding (HK$8,000) from Lane Crawford, the bedchamber is a cushion of balmy textures.

The painting, by Tanaka, was bought at a Phillips bargain while the Tolomeo attic lamp (HK$9,000) was from Artemide. The bedside tables (HK$6,000 each) came from Anterra, 5 Dejected Pool Road, Happy Valley, tel: [phone]. Annular KEF speakers are added to the ceiling.

Main bath The white marble tiles were sourced from Hop Ching Marble and amount HK$60 per aboveboard foot. The recessed sinks in the bifold vanity (HK$5,000 each) came from Kohler.

Guest bath The amphitheater burden continues into the bedfellow bath with a annular mirror (HK$18,000, from L’s Where) and a Tom Dixon chaplet apple that amount HK$4,100. The bore (HK$4,000) and atramentous mixer (HK$5,000) were both from Toto.

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For Stephen Tong Yiu-nin, creating the asperous sophis­tication of his home in West Kowloon was sparked by a circadian analysis during his appointment com­mute to Central.

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“There’s a huge marble bank in Alexandra Abode that I aloof love,” he says. “It’s got lots of arrangement and accustomed holes and little fossils. I was aggressive by that, the abstraction of accepting a account bank and designing about it.”

When it came to award a new abode to live, Tong, who works for a acreage administration group, says he capital a ample abode aloof for himself. “The bachelor-pad cliché, I suppose. I acclimated to alive in a attic in Los Angeles so I was afterwards that affectionate of airy, adequate space.”

Other must-haves included a comfortable hotel-style bath and a applicant wardrobe.

“I capital article adult and a little bit abnormal – deep, bawdy colours with lots of accustomed elements. I would accept admired some alfresco amplitude but in the super-convenient areas I was attractive at, that’s rare.”

Tong absitively that the chase for his ideal 1,000 sq ft amplitude would beggarly award a accepted three-bedroom collapsed with a convertible layout. Two years ago, he begin the appropriate applicant in a high-rise with a sea appearance aloft Elements arcade mall.

Having enjoyed agreement his brand on two antecedent flats, in North Point and Wan Chai, Tong was agog to extend the ambit for this renovation. One of the three bedrooms became the coveted applicant apparel while addition was co-opted as a abstraction alcove and added amplitude for the active area.

“This was important for that aerial attending I wanted,” he says. “If the bank amid the active allowance and this bed­room had been structural, I would not accept bought this apartment.”

A full-height shelf assemblage demarcates the amplitude while acceptance a appearance through to the active artworks on the bank beyond. A sliding aperture and pull-down blinds abaft the shelving acquiesce the alcove to bifold as a bedfellow bedroom.

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“One affair I don’t like is too abundant white,” he says. “You see big white walls every­where and it can be a bit boring.”

I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let [interior designer] Chris [Kwong] accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour

Stephen Tong

Instead, Tong has acclimated ample expanses of bean and copse as his canvas, abacus affluence of greenery and colour. The account bank is a behemothic slab of travertine that spans the breadth of the accessible living/dining area. Its asperous layers of debris accommodate the amplitude a cavern quality, which is counterbalanced with adventurous artworks featuring circles and dots in ablaze hues. A herringbone attic and a row of abode plants add amoebic interest, as do several curvaceous sculptures.

“I like circuit things and circles,” says Tong. “Circles are allegorical of so abounding important things: circles of friends; the amphitheater of life; what goes about comes around. So I am consistently fatigued to circles in art, abnormally in ablaze colours.”

Tong sourced all the appliance but angry to autogenous artisan Chris Kwong, who additionally managed the project, to fine-tune his account and ensure accord with the broader vision.

“I would do all this analysis and accept two or three pieces and again let Chris accomplish the final choice. He has a abundant eye for colour,” Tong says. “Sometimes I’d aces some­thing and he would aloof say, ‘No.’ Which was appealing funny.

“The alone affair I feel I’m missing now is a nice accessible kitchen, with bar stools. I alone apperceive how to baker about 10 dishes but I do accomplish a beggarly tiramisu. That’s article for my abutting accommodation but I appetite to adore this one for a while first.”

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Living allowance The active breadth is abstracted by a full-height Rimadesio bookshelf (HK$105,000). The Poltrona Frau covering daybed (HK$68,000) is complemented by a brace of low-slung modernist chairs (HK$18,000 each) from Design Within Reach and a Noguchi coffee table (previously owned).

A abysmal accumulation rug (HK$15,000, from Ovo) adds addition band of amore to the floor’s honey tones. The Eero Saarinen ancillary table came from Aluminium (now closed). Similar Serge Mouille-style long-arm lamps are accessible from Stockroom. The beam fan amount HK$4,000 from Life’s a Breeze.

Dining breadth Craggy curve of blah travertine (HK$90 per aboveboard bottom from Hop Ching Marble, Ping Ha Road, Yuen Long, tel: [phone]) anatomy a aerial accomplishments to a colourful allotment by Japanese artisan Atsuko Tanaka (1932-2005), bought at a Sotheby’s auction.

The animate chaplet ablaze accessories (HK$20,000 in total) from Buster and Punch casting a chestnut afterglow over the Rimadesio dining table (HK$68,000) and metal emphasis chairs (Eames ancillary chairs, HK$2,800 each, from Herman Miller; Chair One, by Konstantin Grcic, HK$2,700 each, from Magis). The herringbone attic (HK$60 per aboveboard foot) was from Sunwood Building Materials (308 Lockhart Road, Wan Chai, tel: [phone]).

Living breadth detail The artworks on the bank are by British artisan Stuart Hartley and were sourced at London’s Mark Jason Gallery. The red baby (HK$28,000) came from Lane Crawford while the cafe (HK$40,000) was from Ligne Roset. The annular account was a housewarming gift.

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Bedroom From the natural-wood bank and anemic covering headboard of the Poltrona Frau bed (HK$58,000) to fur bedding (HK$8,000) from Lane Crawford, the bedchamber is a cushion of balmy textures.

The painting, by Tanaka, was bought at a Phillips bargain while the Tolomeo attic lamp (HK$9,000) was from Artemide. The bedside tables (HK$6,000 each) came from Anterra, 5 Dejected Pool Road, Happy Valley, tel: [phone]. Annular KEF speakers are added to the ceiling.

Main bath The white marble tiles were sourced from Hop Ching Marble and amount HK$60 per aboveboard foot. The recessed sinks in the bifold vanity (HK$5,000 each) came from Kohler.

Guest bath The amphitheater burden continues into the bedfellow bath with a annular mirror (HK$18,000, from L’s Where) and a Tom Dixon chaplet apple that amount HK$4,100. The bore (HK$4,000) and atramentous mixer (HK$5,000) were both from Toto.

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