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beau-draws-and-cries · 3 years

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Caged Bird, Songbird - The Owl House fanfic

Summary: Raine plays their violin and Hunter likes to listen to it.

Rating: General

Tags: Raine Whispers, Hunter, Golden Guard

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33734356

Raine liked to play the violin alone.

That was a fun experience, they couldn't lie, just get their violin and let all the complex feelings inside their mind become beautiful notes into their instrument and fill the air around them as a pleasant song instead of a mess of thoughts. Music always calmed them down since they were a baby to this moment, and it was an easy escape when they needed it.

It was something they would do since their school days: get the violin, hide in the forest and play until their feelings were in place again. This time they were near the Emperor’s castle, later they would have a little reunion about plans for the day of Unity, and Raine was putting feelings about it out of their chest. They felt awful about the stuff they had to do to get so close to the Emperor. They didn't like that, but it was necessary. They were trying to convince themselves that the actions were needed so they could stop whatever the Emperor had planned for the Boiling Isles.

The notes had a sour touch to it, mixed into a more hopeful, calm melody.

They strummed the strings, touching the lower part of them with their bow, with maybe more strength than they were supposed to, but they were full of bad feelings that needed to go out somehow, or else they would accumulate in their chest until they exploded, and a meltdown was everything Raine would like to avoid when trying to convince the Emperor that they were the most wise choice for Coven Head.

They didn't notice the teen approaching slowly, with their eyes closed, feeling the notes going out and the song, until they finally stopped,opening their eyes to see the Golden Guard sitting nearby and looking at him, with their mask on.

"G-golden Guard! I-i-i didn't see you there!" Raine became a blushing mess, stumbling on their own words and trying to keep what was left from their dignity in front of nothing less than the Emperor’s Coven head, and Belos favorite soldier.

"There's no need to stop playing, I was enjoying it." Their tone and affirmation were the only giveaway that they were liking the song, because the face was hidden behind the owl-like mask, as ever. Raine didn't know why, but hearing such a young voice sound so tired would give them chills. Something was deeply wrong about that kid. "Please, keep playing."

"I-I.... I-I-I am not as good with an audience." Raine muttered, putting the violin down "But I can try."

Hunter only nodded, seeing Raine play the first notes, a little rushed and jumbled, but as the song progressed, they forgot that the Golden Guard was watching, and the song started to have a more bittersweet tone to it. They heard that the Golden Guard had to keep an eye for Edalyn Clawthorne, and Raine felt a bitter taste in their mouth to think that being a Coven Head meant never being able to meet Eda as a lover again.

They remembered their last fight, both drunk in their house.

"If you don't want to be with me, just say it! And leave me alone!" Raine had yelled, and Edalyn's face was surprised, afraid. Afraid that they would leave her at that moment. At any moment. They abandoned her, after all. The song acquired somber notes, lingering on the feeling of sadness. They had to suppress their tears as they let out their feelings. Guilt, sorrow, longing.

They tried to go to other feelings, but it was impossible, their mind always circling and then coming back to Eda.

When they stopped and opened their eyes, the Golden Guard had taken off their mask, staring at Raine with an empty expression. The bags under his eyes would make Raine feel an urge to hug them, to scold them to sleep eight hours a day, to tell them to eat healthy. Why such a young kid was a coven head and looked so tired---

The scars and nick was what more startled them, a kid shouldn’t be that hurt. Those were tears streams? Raine didn’t ask, looking down, face burning from the thought of playing a song about their ex in front of the Golden guard.

(Not that there were any words to it, and the Golden Guard could guess the subject, but still made Raine anxious.)

"I-I-I am sorry, it's not my best work, Golden Guard. I.... I will make it sound better if I just play something I already know."

"You can just call me Hunter." Hunter said, a bit emotionless. "I hope to see you playing more often, Raine.”

Raine nodded, seeing him shift the position they were sitting, from a rigid stance to a more teen-like way, sitting on one of his legs.

“Sure, sir. I mean, Hunter. Just as a curiosity… How old are you again?”

“I am sixteen.” He said, a bit more defensive now. Raine felt how tense he was.

“Oh, that’s an important age! Have you gotten your own Palisman yet?” Raine smiled, trying to just treat him as a teen, and not, Golden Guard, Belos right hand.

Something about the scars, the tired expression, the lack of emotion… Made them shiver. When they were sixteen their biggest scar was from an accidental cut and their biggest problem was asking out Eda to go with Grom together. Not leading an entire coven. Definitely not going on dangerous missions for a tyrannical emperor.

“No, not yet. I got my staff from Emperor Belos, I don’t use this kind of wild magic.”

“Oh… That’s fair, I imagine Belos doesn’t like wild magic.” Raine said, looking at Hunter. When he didn’t answer, they felt like they touched a delicate subject. “Want to hear another song?” They tried to distract the teen, standing closer to him.

“That would be lovely, Whispers.” He said, looking at the mask on his lap.

Raine started to play, mindlessly strumming the strings, just feeling the mood. Hunter seemed to be enjoying it, and some tears streamed down again, but Raine didn’t comment on them, yet. They didn’t feel like Hunter would actually answer if they asked why he was crying. When they finished, Hunter had put the mask on a while ago, but Raine could tell he was holding up sobs, by the way his breath was uneven and the chest moving in spasms sometimes.

“Music does that to you. Especially a Bard’s song, even if it isn’t my intention to use magic while I play.” Raine reassured him “Brings feelings you didn’t know you had. Bring out smiles and tears. Sometimes all I do is play music and my feelings take over me.”

“Feelings are a weakness.” Hunter affirmed, a voice cracking in a way that made Raine be sure he still was crying.

“Everyone has feelings. I know they can be hard to deal with, but it’s healthy to feel them, and sometimes.... Just cry to a song you liked.”

Raine started to play again, now they remembered about Raine’s Rhapsody and they were letting the song soothe them, using the bard’s magic to make the objects float around “And talk about it with someone you trust. Like your parents, or a friend, or nice adult. No one can keep all of their feelings to themself and feel good.”

“... Wouldn’t this be awful? I mean, why would someone want to hear another person’s feelings?”

“Sometimes, they’re friends. And friends do that for each other.” Raine stopped playing the song, Hunter’s words had set off many red alert lights on their brain. “Did you never… Tell your feelings to someone?” They asked, worried.

“Well, I ramble about them alone on my bedroom and on my notebook--”

“No, a real person.” Raine interrupted, with a worried look “With a real person that can hug you when you start to cry and that can pat your back, and bring you some water when you’re feeling like shit.” Raine struggled to say the last word, but they thought that would be more relatable to the teen. Teenagers liked cuss words, right?

“That would be hard, I am always feeling like shit.” Hunter laughed, but Raine didn’t, making him go silent.

“Do you… Need to talk about something?” Raine asked carefully, trying to sound the least threatening possible. They tried to put care into their voice, as well as an welcoming tone. Having the right tone on their voice was treated like getting the right tone on a song: One wrong tone and you could end up ruining your whole performance.

“I… It’s just that… You know, all of-- All of this--” Hunter was trying to say something, but stopped himself “No, I DON’T need to.” Hunter’s body language changed from leaning closer to Raine to tense and alert in a matter of seconds, and he stood up quickly “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Whispers. But I got to go. I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Raine nodded, noticing they crossed a boundary there, but they were okay about it. They noticed Hunter’s sudden shift of body language, and that would only make sense. Raine was a teacher, and it wouldn’t be the first time they offered comfort to an abused kid. Reaching for them on days they were beaten up, asking how they were feeling, if they needed a hug or just to chat. Show that things could get better. Get one of their hidden candy and give it to them as a promise that someone cared for them. It wasn’t the first time that an abused kid told them they didn’t need help and drifted away. They knew some parents would double the abuse on the kids when they discovered they had been snitched to another adult.

It would only make sense for Hunter to dodge any questions and any comfort. It didn’t make it less okay, though. Raine made a mental note to offer comfort in other ways.

Hunter stopped a bit and turned to Raine. He took off the mask, to show a face with many streams of tears that were already drying out, and an even more exhausted expression.

“It was nice to talk to you. I hope to hear your violin again.”

“No problem, Hunter. And I mean, you can reach out if you just need to spend time with someone. I can just pretend you aren’t there and play.”

“That… That would be nice, actually.” Hunter muttered, putting the mask on again “Goodbye, Raine.”

He slowly walked away, tired. Raine sighed and got their violin again.

Maybe it was time to plan how to help that poor kid.

#raine whispers #raeda #hunter the owl house #hunter golden guard #hunter toh #the owl house

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dont-touch-my-soup · 2 years

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Please don’t let go

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CW: whump of a minor (implied), captivity

Kell was exhausted and the pain in his hand a sharp throbbing. The boy couldn’t be older than 15 and he seemed to never stop talking. He drowned Kell in information while giving him a tour of the area. He had a nice voice. Soft and still a bit high, still a bit child-like. An excited staccato flying over his skin, over his head, flying like a bird towards freedom. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. He only knew that it gave him a bittersweet calmness. He liked it. He wanted to keep it as long as he could.

Kell was still listening to his voice of freedom, when something stained the light-hearted melody. Something like envy or loathing. Or maybe a mixture of both. He blinked confused and concentrated on his words rather than on his voice.

“… and in the upper floor are the rooms for Oryn’s privileged songbirds.”

Kell followed his gaze and saw the window of the room Oryn had given to him. It was years ago since Kell had have a room all for himself, but he would have given it up in a heartbeat to just know his family save and sound.

“What do you mean by songbirds?”, Kell interrupted.

“Oh, sorry. Sometimes I forget to explain these kind of things. Oryn gives all his favourite singers bird names.” He counted off his fingers, talking so fast, Kell nearly didn’t comprehend what he was saying. “There are Blackbird, Robin, Trasher and Linnet. They are the main attractions for shows and they live in the upper floor and they all have a room all by themselves. I even heard they have their own bathroom. Bathtub and everything concluded. Meanwhile we must share a room up to ten people. Don’t trust them. They are traitors and spies. They will eavesdrop on you and rat you out if you even blink wrong. Especially Robin. Don’t even talk to her.”

His eyes suddenly got a haunted look and Kell wondered what had happened to him. How did Jinn end up here? He was so young. He shouldn’t be in a place like this. Where was his family? Were they still looking for their son?

Was Kell’s family still looking for Kell?

Jinn stopped as he looked back at Kell. But he must have misinterpreted the shock on his face, because when he continued, he was starting to comfort Kell. “Don’t worry. Most Tharlian at the theatre are good and loyal people.” He took Kell’s forearm in both hands like it was nothing. His touch sent sparks exploding through Kell’s body, tingling over his skin. Kell couldn’t remember when he had been touched last without the ambition to rule over him. Kell hold his breath as if that could extend the moment. Please don’t let go. Please don’t let go of me. Jinn’s eyes were full of calm reassurance. “They will help you. We watch out for each other. We would rather die than to betray our people.”

Kell’s eyes began to water. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was. Every Tharlian he had met in the General’s camp had died soon after. Most of them had loathed him.

He knew there had been others like him. Other captives, forced to serve the Varsennan, but he had never actually met them.

“Kell, are you okay?”, Jinn sounded worried and confused.

“Better than I have been in a very long time.”

Jinn’s forehead furrowed at his words but before either ot them could say something, there was as voice behind them.

“I see, you brought Kell back to me, Jinn”, Oryn said sickly sweet.

Jinn let go of Kell, as if he had burned his fingers. He spun around. “I showed Kell the grounds”, he said quiet and softly. His carefreeness and upbeat has suddenly died like a candle in a blizzard and made space for wariness. He wasn’t all naïve faith. Kell could see it in his eyes. He had seen bad and chosen hope. Kell knew he would do anything to protect the young Tharlian.

“Very well. You can go now.” Oryn made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if to brush him away.

Jinn parted so quickly he nearly fell over his own feet.

Oryn laughed. “He is so skittish.”

Kell didn’t answer. He could still feel the warm touch lingering on his skin.

“I knew you would like him.”

Kell stared at him while comprehension dripped into his mind. “You did that on purpose!”

“Oh, darling. Nothing I ever do is without purpose”, Oryn said. “Just wait until he gets back to the others, and they will tell him you are the newest bird in my nest. Oh, he will be so crushed!”

“Why?”, Kell said tuneless.

“Think about it and tell me what you come up with”, Oryn answered. “Now be a good boy and go inside. You are still not well enough to run around the whole day. You need to rest.”

Kell looked away and bit his tongue so he wouldn't speak his mind. It would take a lot of time to understand this place.

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Tag List: @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies

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sundimus · 3 years

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Request for Awp! 23. Whispering “I love you” between kisses. + 34. “I know, love, I know.” / Katie /// Time in the Entity’s realm passes by slowly. Or, rather, it doesn’t seem to pass at all. Everyone here is essentially in limbo, a never-ending hellish purgatory that repeats and repeats and repeats. No one knows how long they’ve been here - years pass without any changes to a person’s physical appearance here. Everyone and everything stays the same, other than the Entity’s need to celebrate the holidays occasionally, and the new survivors and killers who get dragged here as well. Death is not an escape, yet no one ever dies. In Laurie’s opinion, things could be worse.

If anything, things have gotten better since she first entered the fog. Having been here longer than most, she’s grown close to her fellow survivors. Back in Haddonfield she never had as many friends as she does now. She was too introverted and shy - Annie and Linda were the ones who came to her first after all - and she was content with her life as a babysitter who never partied but got good grades. But after the horrifying events of the last Halloween she spent with ignorant innocence, a fire had lit inside of her that refuses to let her die, even in a place where death is the only constant. But no one truly dies here. It’s just a rinse and repeat cycle of violence and dimming - but never diminishing - hope. Seeing new people come to the campfire gives her a bittersweet feeling still. Sadness that they have now met the same fate as her and will never leave, but slight happiness at the small change of pace. It becomes insignificant once everyone gets used to the newcomer and they come yet another rusted cog in the Entity’s machine, but at the moment everyone appreciates the distraction while they can. Plus, a new survivor comes with a new killer, and she finds that the more killers who come the less and less chance she has of facing her brother in a trial. There’s also the less chance that she has to enter a trial herself in general, which is always good in and of itself. She would much rather stay at the campfire with her companions. Even so, she still worries about her friends who do enter a trial. The latest ones who got dragged by the mist had been Quentin, Kate, Claudette, and Jake. She’s not as close with Claudette and Jake as she is with Quentin and Kate, but she hopes that all of them come back to the campfire having survived the trial. That would be the best case scenario, everyone escaping, but it’s a lot more rare than she’d care to admit. Kate had taken a med-kit with her when she left. Laurie hopes that’s enough. “Thinking about Kate again, huh?” She snaps her head up to see Zarina, who smiles back and plops down ungraciously next to her. “Ah, my knees,” she groans. “I gotta stretch more.” “I’m sure you’re fine,” Laurie says, turning her attention back to the campfire. To her left she can see Feng sprawled across the laps of her girlfriends Meg and Nea. She smiles softly as she watches Nea mess with Feng’s hands teasingly as Meg politely talks to them about something. Probably about Claudette. Those two by themselves have had the longest lasting relationship here - though Dwight and Jake’s could easily rival it. She hears Zarina start to hum a familiar tune next to her, and she gives her a side-eyed look that has no bite to it. “Really? Huntress’ lullaby? Out of all the songs you know, you pick that one?” “Hey, she was the last killer I went against! Her song has a habit of getting stuck in your head, you know.” Laurie thinks about all the times she’s caught herself singing the song when she was busy doing a generator or patching someone’s wounds and finds herself reluctantly agreeing. “I know, I know. But Kate’s songs are better.” Zarina nudges her. “Are you sure you aren’t being biased just because you love her?” Laurie tries to ignore the blush creeping on her face. “I’m not! Everyone would agree that she’s the best singer and songwriter here.” “You’re not wrong about that, though Nea would probably disagree with you about the singing part. Kate is also the only professional singer here. Maybe the Entity treated us by giving us a survivor who knows how to sing - and who even brought a guitar along here. Life can get so dreary without music.” Laurie lowers her voice. “Even Nea knows she can’t sing - she only does it to bother us.” Zarina stifles a laugh. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She wouldn’t hesitate to push Feng off of her just to fight someone.” “Feng would probably join her.” “Ah, love,” Zarina sighs. Laurie notices how her eyes glanced at Élodie when saying it, but she doesn’t comment on it. She’s not the type to push herself into other people’s business. Zarina turns back to her and offers another smile, this one reassuring. “Try not to worry about Kate too much, okay? She’ll be back before you know it. And who knows, maybe she’ll want to sing for us after she gets a nap in.” Laurie looks down again, still feeling worry in her chest but she lets out a breath. “Alright. Kate probably wouldn’t want me to be too worried anyway.” “I’m sure she’d appreciate the thought. Though, she’d probably appreciate anything you do, since she likes you. A lot.” “I sure hope she does otherwise this whole “dating” thing we’re doing is going to be very awkward.” Zarina laughs and pats her back, letting the conversation die naturally. The trial should be ending soon. It’s been going on for quite some time, and Laurie’s thoughts wander back to Kate, just like they seem to always do lately. She doesn’t know how or when they got so close. She remembers Kate walking to the campfire the same day that the Clown started showing up, and Kate had been everything back then that she still is today. Kind, outgoing, thoughtful, optimistic... traits that Laurie shares but not to the same extent. Where she is the glimmer of light before night that gives dawn its name, Kate is the entire sun engulfing the sky in all her glory. She gives hope, and hope brings life, and life is everything. Laurie doesn’t know how she manages to stay so positive, but she’s grateful for it. The Entity feeds on hope. Those who fall into despair are never seen again. People like Kate who keep everyone’s spirits up are literal lifesavers more so than pleasant company. Laurie tries not to think about it too much. She scratches the palm of her hand and puts all of her attention into the flames dancing a few feet in front of her. -.x.-.x.-.x.- “ - and then Claudette picked me up off the ground and we both sprinted to the exit. It’s been a while since I’ve felt adrenaline pump through my body like that.” Kate tells her story with a wave of her hand but no exaggeration to her words. She’s in a particularly good mood - common for those who have successfully escaped a trial. Even more so for those who managed to escape being hooked once. She grins slightly and answers a question Laurie didn’t have the chance to ask. “Quentin and Jake didn’t make it. Jake sort of sacrificed himself to save Claudette, and poor Quentin ended up getting yanked off a generator twice.” Twice? “He’s not getting enough sleep again.” “Yeah, but I think it’s because he’s been a bit preoccupied with something. Rumor has it that he has a crush on someone.” Laurie blinks. “Quentin does? With who?” Kate shrugs. “No one knows for sure. That’s what it’s a rumor. Either way, today was an unlucky day for him. I’m just glad he’s resting right now like he deserves.” “I hope he sleeps long enough before his next trial. It’s dangerous to get distracted in the middle of one.” Kate smirks and scoots closer to her. “You mean like the time you blew a gen when I kissed you on the cheek?” Laurie smiles at the memory. The killer had found them, of course, but it was worth it hearing Kate’s loud giggle at what must’ve been a look of shock on her face. “I couldn’t been so mad at you for that, you know.” Kate pokes her cheek. “But you weren’t!” “No. No, I wasn’t.” “Because...” Kate prompts, moving her finger to wrap an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder instead. Laurie stares at her in turn, not completely taking the bait but not rejecting it either. “Because I’m cute, and you could never be mad at me?” Kate finishes for her, tone smug and sweet at the same time. Laurie almost wants to disagree out of spite, but huffs a laugh instead, choosing to indulge her. “Okay, fine. Because you’re cute.” Kate smiles widely, leaning forward and kissing her as reward. Laurie responds in kind, wrapping her arms around her back to hold her in place. She sighs silently, happily, leaning into the touch. She feels grateful that, despite the constant pain and deaths and hurt she has to endure in this place, she’ll still able to have moments of reprieve like this. Tenderness, and comfort, and affection. Love. As she’s always thought - it could be worse. But it isn’t, and if there’s anything to feel joy about anymore, it’s this. Sitting here by a tent, a bunch of camaraderie and laughter in the background, and kissing her girlfriend, her songbird, without needing to worry about anything else. At least for a little bit. If she had to be honest, she never thought she’d heal enough to love another girl. She had loved Annie with her entire soul, and her death was nothing short of tragic and traumatic - taken by the hands of her brother. She didn’t want to love another person, not when he was still alive: a threat to everyone she cares about. He had taken everything from her, and would do so over and over again until he finally took her life. She didn’t want to potentially subject anyone else to Michael’s wrath. But the Entity’s realm is different. Kate is different. Everything is different. Laurie had grown close to her, and her love had blossomed naturally. Unexpected, surprising, a little scary, but she welcomed it. She had nothing left to lose here, and Michael could never truly take the lives of those she loves anymore, and that gives her a strange sense of peace that she hadn’t felt in years. It was relieving and freeing, and kissing Kate felt like an embodiment of those two emotions she never knew had been suppressed from her. “I love you,” she whispers against her lips like a sad prayer. She kisses her again, mumbling her words even more. “I love you.” Annie would be happy for her. She knows this. She’s breathing it. “I know, love,” Kate responds. Her voice is hushed and serious, her fingers ghosting the back of her neck. “I know.” Laurie melts into the fog.

#dead by daylight #shay writes #actingwithportals #kate/laurie #laurie strode #kate denson #halloween #to make the polyshipping clear:#nea is dating meg and feng #meg is dating nea and claudette #feng is dating nea and yui #and in the future yui is dating feng laurie and kate #we love polyships in this house

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genderless-consul · 4 years

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Top 5 Glee characters

Ooh, this is tricky, because it can fluctuate so wildly depending on who’s writing and what season it is, but if I’m judging based on a combination of their best material and how much the actors elevated their worst material, this is probably what I’ve got.

1): Santana - her early seasons arc was arguably the best thing to come out of Glee, period. And even when her character lost some coherency late in the game it was transparently because the writers were using the same “Naya’s our best actor, just use her for everything even if it doesn’t make sense” strategy that they once reserved for Jane Lynch. And the fact that she got married on screen, whatever else you can say about The Wedding as an episode, is one of the few genuine bright spots of what were an otherwise pretty mean-spirited final couple seasons. Oh, and the best voice on the show, easy. Valerie, Songbird, and Mine are all Hall-of-Fame solos, and any character that got to have a duet with her was having a great episode by default .

2): Kurt - another early Glee character arc that genuinely mattered in a way that far outstrips the rest of the show, and the fact that Chris Colfer was able to steal the show like he did at 19 will always blow my mind. He’s one of the best actors ever to only have one major credit, and even in Season 6 when the writers are treating him with complete contempt and he has every reason to be checked out, he’s still giving it 150%. He had so many different compelling relationships and elevated all of them- the magical romance (and later jaded cohabitation) with Blaine, becoming a family with Finn, the friendship with Rachel that developed over nearly all 121 episodes - and of course any scene with Kurt and Burt was a guaranteed tearjerker. And yes, having a countertenor in the main cast made the music so much more interesting and is one of my favorite things about the entire show - I still can’t believe the Glee versions of I Want to Hold Your Hand, For Good, and Not the Boy Next Door exist but I’m so glad they do.

3): Quinn -multiple times the victim of some of the absolute worst writing in all of Glee, which is saying something, but when it was good, it was great. Basically carried all of Season 1 on her back in a really heavy storyline that shouldn’t work nearly as well as it does (I still don’t know they managed to make that Bohemian Rhapsody work, but they did). But Season 2 Quinn is probably my favorite stretch of any Glee character, because when she got the chance to be in control of a scene, Dianna Agron could knock “bittersweet Glee about teenagers who know this might be it” out of the park like nobody else. She was butchered in the Season 3 Shelby arc, she never got a proper ending in the later seasons, and the final shot of On My Way still shows up in my nightmares sometimes, but all of that only hurts so much because we saw what could have been. Oh, and I Feel Pretty/Unpretty is the best mashup.

4): Brittany - yes, the entire Unholy Trinity made it on here. Like Kurt and Santana, another case of the writers realizing “wait a minute, this person is ridiculously talented, let’s do something with that.” Probably the best manifestation of Glee’s deeply strange tonal tightrope, which would so often tip over into too saccharine or too acidic in other characters, and Heather Morris was the master at delivering the Ian Brennan one-liners that were actually funny (to be clear, Jane Lynch had plenty of those too, but she also got a few too many of the ones that were unfunny to outright offensive). And what makes it work for me was really that Brittany still got to have a character with legitimate development and sincere emotional reactions - some of my favorite line deliveries on the entire show (”aren’t you paying? ‘cause I ordered shrimp,” “clearly you don’t love you as much as I do or you would put the shirt on and you would dance with me,” “can I hug?”) are Brittany lines without really being Brittany-isms at all. Oh, and as much as Heather’s dancing speaks for itself, I’ll also go to bat for I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me) as a seriously underrated, all time great vocal performance.

5): Sebastian - Glee was always hurting for non-Sue Sylvester villains who could present more personal challenges to the kids, and while Season 1 Jesse was arguably the most successful version of that, Season 3 Seb will always be the best for me; Grant Gustin knew exactly what kind of show he was in and he absolutely radiates screen presence the whole time. His sheer level of petty dickishness is a great corrective to the slightly unreal nature of Dalton as a tolerance paradise in Season 2, and the rock-salt slushie is rivaled only by the Jesse St. James egg scene as the greatest “OH, YOU BASTARD!” moment in Glee history. He was kneecapped by an inexplicable face turn, and sadly had to be unceremoniously written out so Grant could go on to co-headline a generation defining adaptation of the DC Universe with Melissa Benoist (which, by the way - who saw THAT coming when Marley Rose was introduced in the fall of 2012?), but when he was here, Glee was an absolute joy to watch. The use of A Boy Like That as his de facto villain song is my favorite use of editing in the entire show, and of course it all built to Smooth Criminal, where Grant matching Naya’s energy produced the number that would probably win a ranked-choice straw poll for the best Glee song of all time.

#Glee #ask game #top 5 anything

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lovehotelreservation · 4 years

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Emerald with Envy

Summary: You weren't looking at him. You were looking at the crowd, the orchestra, the lead actor of the show. Claude knew it couldn't be helped. You had to shift your gaze elsewhere. He understood why you didn't want to look at him.

Even if he was your husband.

And yet, as he continued to watch you perform on stage, he just couldn't ignore the envy that was beginning to seize hold of his heart.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Claude

HELLO BELOVED!!! it's been a while since I've completed writing this piece, but with the holidays here, I thought now would be nice to post the rather l e n g t h y Claude piece I've been working on. CONSIDER THIS AN EXPRESSION OF MY FEELINGS AFTER ACHIEVING HIS S SUPPORT ENDING AFTER THE WAR ; v ;

ANYHOW I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

..............

For all his tremendous efforts, crafted schemes, and unwavering resolve, there was something just so humorously ironic that Claude von Riegan, the newly annointed king of Almyra, could not even get a general admission ticket to a sold out show by the Mittelfrank Opera Company.

And yet he could not bring himself to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.

It was not so much as his standing as king that caused the issue--especially with Archbishop Byleth's successes of bridging Fódlan together with other nations.

Rather, he was simply too late to buy a ticket for tonight's performance. The theater house was packed to the brim with nobles and common folk, all eager to witness the last run of a special production directed by none other than Mittelfrank Opera's former songbird, Manuela Casagranda.

And while Claude was curious to see how a show under his former instructor's helm had turned out, his true reason for zooming across the skies on his wyvern from Almyra to Enbarr was the star of the evening's show.

The Golden Deer representative who had won the White Heron Cup of the year 1180.

The one who would soon bear the crown as queen of Almyra.

You, the wife he cherished above anything else in the world.

And while he never doubted your love for him, he understood if there was a wariness in your heart.

He was asking so much of you upon quietly taking your hand in marriage after the war before immediately heading off for Almyra, after all.

But you understood him, as you had all this time. Beyond just his own vision, his actions in Almyra would shape the world for the better--for the kinder. As sad as it was to part so soon after the two of you had exchanged your vows, you eagerly awaited the beginning of a lengthy letter correspondence between you both.

It was by those letters that he learned of the show in the first place.

Your lifelong passion for performance had led up to this debut with the Mittelfrank Opera. However, constant negotiations and intense reformation within Almyra demanded his presence throughout nearly the entirety of the show’s run. With the production ending on this very night, your last letter expressed hope that he would be able to come watch you on the stage that served as the realization of your dreams.

And thus, rather than stand downtrodden outside the theater with a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand and a new Almyran-crafted wedding ring in his pocket to adorn your finger, he still made his way inside.

Backstage to be precise.

With all his efforts in his motherland, sneaking by security was nothing for him.

Surely, while he was going to have to figure out just which spot in the theater he would have to scale along for a good view of the stage, his utmost priority was seeing you.

To say hello, to kiss with love, to embrace so tight, to adorn with gifts.

Though, with the bustle of actors in the midst of powdering their faces and tugging at tights, orchestra members preparing to saunter out to their seats with instruments in hand, and the overall chaos of stage hands preparing scenery pieces and props, finding your dressing room wasn’t going to be easy, especially with the performance so close to starting.

However, he only managed a couple minutes of searching before a familiar robust and pristine voice called out to him.

"Claude? Is that you?"

Truly, Claude thought he was past the point where people could easily get the jump on him. And yet, he couldn’t hold back his surprise as he turned around with raised brows and a somewhat slack jaw.

Sure enough, with the elegant mane of fiery red hair--tied and tamed into a loose low ponytail--that was the first to catch his eye, he remarked with astonishment, "Ferdinand! Good to see you!" A grin quirking onto his lips, he took a step back as he took note of the duke’s overly embellished yet stylish red waistcoat and a matching black pair of tights and pointe shoes. "I'm digging tonight's look. No trusty horse boots though?"

Releasing a rich chuckle, Ferdinand beamed with pride as his hands rested on his waist, "A good eye, Claude! Though, I’ll happily have you know that I am performing tonight."

While not immediate, somehow Claude felt his smile wane ever so slightly. Still, maintaining his exuberance, he let out an astonished, “Really now?! That’s a surprise to me. Surely the news coverage in Enbarr isn’t so slack that a duke performing in a sold out show would go unnoticed.”

”Surely not!” Ferdinand remarked as he shook his head, a knowing smile on his features. “My inclusion was last minute, as the original male lead injured his leg during rehearsal. It was a great honor to be asked by Professor Manuela to step in as his replacement--like I could ever turn her down while she's in need.” Bringing a hand to his heart, he let out a sigh of nostalgic delight. “I happen to know this show by heart from how many times I’ve seen her perform it all those years ago. Plus to reunite in dance with--"

The moment your name was uttered from Ferdinand's lips, Claude’s shoulders tensed slightly as he immediately inquired, “Not meaning to butt in like so, Ferdinand, but where is she?" Lifting up your bouquet, he continued with a sheepish smile, “Gotta make sure these get into her hands asap.”

It was now Ferdinand whose smile turned from cheerful to reserved. His tone calming down, he answered, "As far as I know, she's still getting ready for tonight’s show.” The look in his eyes turned serious, if not narrowing slightly as he gazed towards Claude. “The last I saw her though, she did not look to be in the best of spirits. She even asked Professor Manuela for absolute privacy unless needed otherwise."

Claude felt hollow. “Did she now...?”

The words of your last letter flashed in his mind, as did memories of days from Garreg Mach. Those nights when the two of you would toe the line of curfew to instead take a stroll by the greenhouse and pond, you expressing your dreams of captivating audiences on a prestigious stage, to spread joy through the art of performance.

His response to your letter was expressing an apology, an honest admittance that he was unsure of how he would be able to take the time to come see your performance.

For someone who always managed to pull off the most inane but effective schemes, how could he have not realized that his absence during such an incredible milestone would leave you upset?

The fine wrapping paper around your bouquet crinkled slightly as he squeezed around the stems.

Noticing the change in Claude’s mood, Ferdinand let out a sigh. “All I will say is that she was hoping that you would show up to watch her. And having heard nothing from you since your last letter, she came to terms that you wouldn’t get to see her at all. This time at least.”

Claude’s lips quirked into a smile, albeit a bittersweet one as he let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t blame her for feeling that way. Though…” Resting your bouquet against his shoulder, he shook his head. “I’m not just gonna sit around and feel sorry for myself. Not when this night is--and should--be about her.”

His gaze shifted towards a nearby hallway, wondering if your dressing room was somewhere down along those walls. “I’m gonna make things right by her, whether I even have a seat or not.” Determination in his voice, he smiled as he raised his hand in a departing wave. “I appreciate the heads up, Duke von Aegir. Be careful when you break a leg out there, alright?” Amused at the thought, he chuckled, “From whatever seat I manage to whip out, I’ll be sure to give you your deserved applause as well.”

"Before you try to bring a wyvern into this sacred space to give yourself a seat, I'd rather you take this, Claude…!” Ferdinand exclaimed, his complexion paling at the idea of any sort of shenanigans occurring with Manuela around. Reaching in his pocket, he quickly withdrew and held out a theater ticket. “This was given to me for any guest of my choosing just moments ago, but it was originally set aside for this single hope that you would be in the audience."

His eyes lighting up, Claude grinned from ear to ear as he cheered, “Ferdinand, if there was ever a reason for me to take up religion, it’d be now!”

With a good-natured chuckle, Ferdinand seemed hardly affronted at his less-than-suave rush to pluck the ticket from his fingers, "It was already rightfully yours, my friend! However, if I may overstep, I would advise you go now to claim your seat, lest someone try to argue it is theirs."

Casting another glance down the hallway, his grip on the bouquet shifted. Though his gut churned at the thought of not getting to seek you out until after the show, the noble had a fair point. Yet, despite his inner conflict, his smile remained charming and untouched as he tucked the ticket into his pocket, fingers brushing against cool metal while doing so, "Right you are. I'd hate to cause a scene--tonight at least."

As the activity backstage picked up and with the ticket now in his possession, he bid his goodbyes before quickly taking off for his seat. There was much on his mind as he thought over what was revealed to him just moments ago, namely how he was going to make it up to you.

While he was already mentally cataloguing all the gifts and experiences he intended on showering and spoiling you with, he knew there was one thing that you wanted most of all.

And him being here at the theater, now seated at the balcony closest to the stage with a full view of the production below as it began, was the first step.

The title of tonight’s show brought back faint memories of Garreg Mach, having been a required read for all students as a means to have them become more cultured in the fine arts of literature. A story of a triumphant hero who sought to protect his motherland from an enemy nation that wanted to scrounge every bit of precious resources from a sacred forest, which was protected by an angelic deity.

Ferdinand eventually dragged himself onto the stage as the hero, looking distressed and weary as he was forced to retreat from battle. His character wandered about as stage hands deftly moved a set of glittering trees and flowers around in tune to the orchestra’s lamenting score.

All up until the composition fell silent before a dreamy melody filled the theater space.

Claude found himself grasping onto the railing, peering forward as a spotlight shone upon the furthest side of the stage.

In but a few moments, you soon stepped forward for your first appearance of the show.

His breath turned still, jaw slacking, eyes widening, heart fluttering.

You looked so radiant and beautiful.

While surely he would always be enchanted by your beauty, you looked so ethereal--absolutely perfect for your role. Your hair lusciously glistening under the lights of the stage, your face painted with make-up that accentuated your features, your body adorned with frills and drapes that would make for a delight to see as you danced.

Even by merely walking, you left him feeling captivated by the grace you exuded with each step.

And all the more guilty that he was not there to support you more than he did in the months leading up to the debut of the show and beyond.

Regardless, as he was already determined to amend anything and everything with you in light of his absence, Claude kept a steady eye on you throughout the performance.

As the plot progressed--with a newfound alliance between your and Ferdinand’s characters--it didn’t take long for him to remember the fact that a romance was woven into the story.

So dedicated to your role, you were able to convey a deep sense of yearning with every shy glance and each flustered sputter made towards Ferdinand, who carried himself with just as much earnest emotion.

Truly, the both of you looked as though you were lost within your own world together, even with asides to the audience, whether by a passionate decree, or a lamentful thought voiced out loud.

At no point did you look to Claude’s direction from where he sat above.

It was to be expected.

He gave you no reason to be hopeful.

Though he marveled at the sight of you carrying yourself so splendidly on stage, his elbows resting on the edge of the balcony while his chin rested upon his steepled hands, the vibrant glint of his emerald irises was more subdued.

For his eyes reflected the sight of you being embraced so affectionately by Ferdinand.

Again, you both were playing your respective roles. The war hero who was destined to fall helplessly in love with the enchanted forest’s deity.

Together, you waltzed amidst sweet, airy chords from the orchestra, Ferdinand’s arm curled around your waist, fingers laced with yours.

Together, you confessed and declared your love towards one another as he embarked for the final confrontation that would either save his country--and thereby the forest you swore to protect--or damn everything to ruin.

Together, as he staggered back from the final standoff only for his battleworn form to be caught within your comforting embrace, you shared a kiss.

And together, you both were ushered on stage for curtain call, boisterous applause welcoming the two of you for your performance.

Without fail, the theater was lively with praise from every patron for tonight’s performance.

Yet somehow, as you stood upon the stage, gazing out towards the audience with an appreciative smile on your face and a look in your eye that conveyed muted joy, one cheer caught your attention.

“That’s my girl!”

A whistle that soared through the air with such distinction, carrying a tone that was as striking as arrows that pierced the skies.

Amidst astonished gasps--was that a horrified “Claude?!” uttered from Lorenz down below?--and curious looks, at long last, you looked towards the balcony.

To him.

From the very moment he saw your head shift towards his direction, he beamed from ear to ear, bringing his fingers to his lips as he whistled once more.

The look on your face wounded Claude’s heart from how preciously surprised it was.

This only made him want to swoop you right into his arms and barrage you with kisses, to make up for lost time, for all the affection he could not physically convey.

And so he quickly took off to do exactly that.

As the audience proceeded to make their leave, Claude used the opportunity to sneak his way backstage once more.

Undeterred by any security who would come to stand in his way nor the near endless wave of cast members and orchestra musicians alike, he hurriedly sought out to find you--as he was certain that you were probably scrambling to seek him out as well.

However, the moment he was able to reach the main lounge area, he soon faced the sight of you, still looking so radiant in your costume.

All while surrounded by a multitude of adoring admirers, namely those of nobility, all of whom were instantaneously recognizable.

As he anticipated, there was Lorenz, singing high praises of your performance while near bathing you with roses. From how much he prattled out his passion for the show and the opportunity to watch the esteemed Mittelfrank Opera, it was more likely than not that he would refrain from bringing up Claude’s outburst.

By his side was a grinning Sylvain, who crooned on your graceful movements and expressed his appreciation for the fit of your dress. He gifted you with a bouquet of red orchids, but not before plucking a short-stemmed one to tuck behind your ear.

And as this occurred, Ferdinand stayed near you. While surely it was to catch up with Lorenz and Sylvain, he hovered by your side protectively as to ward off any bold, intense advancements towards you.

There was a look of overwhelmed but touched awe on your face as you were bestowed by a multitude of sweet words and gifts.

The eagerness in Claude’s smile waned.

And the wrapping paper of his bouquet crinkled slightly further in his hands.

”--with this, it would be best for us both to prepare for the cast dinner celebrating the final show,” Ferdinand hummed with a satisfied smile. “I do hope to see the two of you there. Professor Manuela would be thrilled for a reunion.”

”But of course!” Lorenz declared haughtily with a flick of his silken purple locks. “To miss out on this opportunity would be a disgrace on my nobility.”

Memories from the Officers’ Academy resurging into his mind, Sylvain’s expression became rather tense. “Professor Manuela huh…” Still, his expression soon brightened as he continued, “So long as all those pretty ballerinas are around, I’m game.” His eyes shifting towards you, one closed in a wink. “Especially if you’ll be there, angel.”

”Me?” You repeated curiously right as Ferdinand proceeded to lead you towards the dressing rooms with his arm raised in a polite wave, all while eyeing Sylvain sternly.

”We’ll see the two of you later then!” He remarked, all the while he swore that he saw a familiar flash of golden fabric from the corner of his eyes right as he guided you away.

With the fervor of everyone beginning their celebrations early with champagne and hors d'oeuvres or preparing to leave for the celebratory banquet, you and Ferdinand didn’t get to speak much once he brought you to your dressing room. Before he left to change in his own reserved room, he confirmed the details of the evening’s dinner with you.

Upon his leave, you soon let out a sigh as you took in the emptiness of your dressing room.

For just a moment, Claude was here in this theater, cheering for you at the top of his lungs.

And now he was not.

It almost felt like this was the twist in your dream that would cause for you to jolt up in bed.

There was so much swirling about in your mind and heart, all much too vast for you to even attempt to sort through, especially right before a celebration that called for merriment and bliss.

Not wanting to possibly damper the atmosphere of dinner, you resolved to sort this out upon returning home.

As you prepared to set down your gifted flowers and the like, you noticed that at the very center of your vanity was a bouquet of your favorites.

Astonished, you froze in place as a hushed “Claude?” tumbled from your lips.

“Heheh, now that’s the sound I’ve been wanting to hear.”

And then you heard the door lock.

You were swift to turn around.

There, proceeding to lean right against your dressing room door with a playful twinkle in his eye and a cheeky grin on his lips was none other than your husband.

Though his attire was more Almyran in style, his matured, yet still boyish features now more devilishly rogue by his decision to grow out his beard--one still kept neatly trimmed along his jaw--the man before you was the one to whom you had sworn an eternity with.

Claude.

Just as when you were too stunned to do anything but gawk in awe when he called out to you on stage, you were frozen from the rush of feelings that came surging from within at the sight of him. The indescribable joy of seeing him in front of you after so long, the immense relief that he was able to see you perform at least once, the lingering bittersweetness of his absence.

You didn’t know what to do or say.

He could tell with just a single look.

Still, his tone was light, now especially gentle as he spoke to you while his expression softened. “Something wrong?” He stepped closer, his usual proud stature loosening as he neared you. “I understand if I’m probably the last person you want to see--”

You held up both of your hands.

He felt something prick at his heart.

While you braved a smile on your face, you reassured with a shake of your head. “No it’s fine. I just…” You quickly turned around, your back facing him once more. “Just give me a moment to get out of this, okay?”

The sight of your back only weighed heavier on his heart. While he still played everything off coolly, he craved nothing more than to absolve the tension that was keeping the two of you apart. Though you could hear the grin in his voice, you couldn’t hear the ache in his soul. “A moment to wait for you is nothing. Take your time.”

While he went to mind himself with all there was to see in the room--scripts, costumes, small portraits of Mittelfrank alumni--you proceeded to change out of your dress.

Or at least, attempted to.

Being married, undressing in front of your husband wasn’t what was causing your fingers to tense.

It was this overall situation, this feeling of guilt for being upset over a noble cause, of feeling selfish for a man who just wanted to change the world for the better.

Your love for Claude was undoubtedly there.

But there was a lonely sadness that had lingered for so long nonetheless.,/p>

Which only made it more and more difficult to reach for the hooks and silk ties that held the back of your dress’s corset.

As your focus sunk deeper into the twisted nature of your feelings, this endeavor amidst such a tense situation only caused your body temperature to rise for a myriad of reasons.

But it only took the feeling of warm, calloused hands taking hold of your struggling ones for you to feel a welcome, shivering chill.

Furthered by the heat of breath that fanned over your ear and neck.

“Need some help?”

Standing before your vanity, you gazed at the reflection shown on the mirror, of you and your husband together.

Once again.

You had a feeling of where this moment would soon lead to. While one side was elated for what you foresaw, a part of you was adamant to not allow for your emotions to be swayed and cast aside so easily.

Steadying your voice as best as you could, you reassured, “I-It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it--”

“I may not have to worry about it, but what kind of husband would I be if I left my pretty wife to struggle?”

His eyes peered at you as he stared at your reflection off the mirror before you, his words murmured just centimeters away from your ear. Though his tone carried some mirth and his lips were quirked in a smile, the usual playful light in his eyes was muted, his emerald irises dark and shadowed.

It was a look of passion.

And of love.

Just for you.

The tension in your fingers weakened within his grasp.

”...I’d appreciate your help then.”

And help he did.

Seeing your costume for the first time up close, he could be forgiven for any fumbling, especially while trying to assist you. Tugging at the top halter tie of your dress revealed a small hook that had to be undone, the tugs of your corset’s strings revealed clasps that his nimble fingers made quick work of.

As he continued to slowly help you undress, he could tell when the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare shoulders and his fingers brushing along your sides made you stiffen or shiver. While he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you shut your eyes in pleasure, what he came to notice was that you eyes were downcast to the floor, instead of staring right ahead to your respective reflections.

And in turn--

“You’re not looking at me.”

He found himself gripping onto the front bow that crossed right over your decolletage, emotions pushing the words past his lips before rationality could retain them in place.

Your eyes suddenly flashed towards the mirror, wide from surprise. “I’m sorry?”

In any other situation, he would have taken a step back to calm himself so he could approach the situation sensibly. But knowing that there was so much hesitation in your heart that you probably felt too guilty to admit, there was just no way that he could refrain.

His other arm curled around your waist as he drew you against him, holding your body close as he rested his chin on your shoulder with a sigh and a bittersweet smile.

“It’s selfish of me, especially to even bring this up as something bothersome. All night, you’ve had your eyes cast elsewhere.” His eyelids closed for a moment as he recalled your performance. “To the audience, to Ferdinand, Lorenz, Sylvain--and now your eyes are looking everywhere besides me, even when I’m right here, holding you in my arms like this.”

While his emerald stare revealed itself once more, he proceeded to bury his face into your neck, lips barely tracing over the delicate skin as he murmured, “But you have good reason to do so. I won’t deny that.”

Lifting his head, he gazed up at you with reverence as your eyes shifted over to look into his. "Actions say so much more than words ever could, and all I want to do is show--rather, to reaffirm the undeniable fact that you are the most important person in my life."

His fingers lingered at the front bow of your dress. From what he could assess, one tug at the fabric would free and expose your chest. As much as he craved to see your skin after so long, he waited for what you had to say.

You were quiet in response, an understandable hesitation given everything that had happened.

Though, he didn’t have to wait for an answer for long, by the way your hand rested comfortably over his and squeezed, all while you stared at him earnestly with the soft but yearning response of, ”Then show me.”

Claude had nothing else to say, but an answer to give.

The kiss he then hungrily planted on your lips was just the beginning.

Upon the dressing room sofa where you would sit upon to read over the script or letters from your husband while steadying your racing heart prior to a performance, there was a flutter within your chest as you were laid upon it with an urgency that was as needy as it was tender.

With all the intricacies of your dress, usually Claude would have loved to take his time tugging and undoing every ribbon and button, a pride in the dexterity of his nimble fingers as he undressed you like he would unwrap a present.

However, at this moment, after so long, he was in no mood for such indulgence. If something had to be torn or ruined, so be it. As king, he could easily offer monetary compensation to the seamstress of your costume --perhaps even commission for more lovely outfits for you to wear.

The orchid that Sylvain tucked behind your ear joined your pile of discarded clothes, with his Almyran garb soon following suit.

For every inch of skin revealed to his eyes, his mouth watered to kiss while his fingers ached to touch. He almost forgot to strip you completely from the moment his lips encircled around your nipples, all while his palms kneaded your breasts. How could he have ever forgotten the sweet warmth of your skin against his nuzzling face?

Your mewls from his attention to your chest reminded him to continue onward. For as much as he wanted to near worship your chest, there was still so much more of you he wished to revere once again. His lips continued their journey downwards, mouth ghosting over your stomach, trailing over your hips. His teeth just barely caught hold of the band of your panties before he tugged them down to your thighs, his hand dragging them off before he spread your legs wide apart.

Beneath the flickering flames of your dressing room chandelier, your naked body was bathed in soft golden light. Even now, fully stripped of your costume of a forest enchantress, you still looked so gorgeously ethereal.

As he thought during his days spent at the Officers Academy to now, you were lovelier than any divine deity.

His gaze shifted down to between your thighs, love and lust clouding his emerald eyes in a haze. Catching sight of the glistening shine of your dribbling core, he let out a groan before hurriedly planting his face down, his lips eagerly parted. Long, skillful strokes of his tongue had you mewling and arching against his head.

He grinned happily to himself. Even after so long, he still knew how to make you squirm by his self-proclaimed golden tongue, whether by its teasing flicks or the utter filth he would murmur to you. The focused pressure of quick circles over your clit to tender suckles had his name pouring out from your lips.

And truly, he did not want to cease. After countless months from having your addictive taste linger on his lips, he was ready to spend the night with his face right between your thighs.

However, it was for that same reason he could not indulge for too long, if by the increasingly aching throb of his cock.

For too long he had been away from you.

It was time at last that the two of you were joined together once again in the absolute most intimate way possible.

Looming above you upon the couch, chest broad and fine with hair, eyes gleaming with need and affection, Claude was settled between your legs. “Fuck,” was the word hissed so sinfully from your husband’s lips as he nudged the leaking tip of his cock against the slickness of your center.

Right as he slowly slid every heavy inch of his dick inside you, his lips sought out yours for yet another kiss. Somehow, for as much as he has kissed you up until now during this evening, he felt like he was still far from having his fill. He just wanted to make up for lost time, to satisfy his present urges, to express all the love he should have been putting more effort with doing so.

His hands cradled your waist as he worked his thrusts into a rhythm. Moderate at first, but hearing your moans and feeling your fingers thread through his hair while your legs curled around his hips encouraged him to start pounding into you. He wanted his name the only thing on your lips, to have his hair pulled and his shoulders near clawed, to have your body cling to him with absolute need.

In-between kisses that become messier, amidst the noisiness of his cock stuffing into your sopping center while his balls slapped against your ass, he still had a coherency as he spoke to you, his words husky but the look in his eyes sincere, "I've had my eyes cast to the future--our future--so much that I forgot how important it was to be with you now--"

A knock at the door.

The call of your name.

”We will be taking off soon. Are you ready to disembark?”

Ferdinand.

You were astonished, your eyes breaking contact with Claude’s to turn to the door. Your lips were about to speak when your husband spoke up, his voice cheeky yet firm.

”She’s not ready yet, but I’ll be the one to take her to dinner, Ferdinand. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Ferdinand’s flustered squawk went unnoticed by Claude, who only continued to hammer his cock into you.

Your gasped “Claude-!” was smothered by his lips with yet another kiss. When the two of you parted for breath, his gaze seized contact with yours as he gruffed out, “Don’t think of Ferdinand. Him, Lorenz, Sylvain--anyone. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You were utterly surprised, breathless as you questioned, “Claude, you-- Are you jealous?”

”I’m your husband,” he clarified with absolute resolution, his grip on your waist slacking to instead give way for his arms caging around you. As his lips readied to claim another kiss from your mouth, he purred, “And I’m going to make that clear.”

He was certain that you would admonish him, whether immediately now or when the two of you were finished. However, seeing as how you were the one to initiate the kiss before he could, followed by your hands releasing his hair to cup his bearded cheeks instead, what he heard you say next was all that he could ever want to hear.

Dazed with pleasure as you were, the love in your voice and on the look of your face was absolute. “As your wife, you better.”

A wide grin soon spread over his lips. “Leave it to me.”

And so the two of you remained joined together. By lips, by skin, by words of affection. Your hips rutted back against his thrusts, his teeth made their presence known on your neck, making sure to leave at least one that would be hard to hide during dinner. It wasn’t long until you were both teetering on the edge of orgasm, you and Claude clinging and holding onto each other amidst it all.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped out, shuddering as he readied to draw out. “And unless you wanna get to bearing heirs already then--”

Your legs hugged his hips tighter, a mewled “That’s fine” escaping you.

Claude’s jaw went slack for a moment, just before tightening as a fiery resolve took over him as he proceeded to fuck you even harder, his voice in a low and satisfied growl, “That’s my girl. My sweet girl. Mine…!”

With the cries of each other’s names soon released into the air along with the heavy, hot rush of his seed pouring into you, your bodies soon collapsed back onto the sofa together in a satisfied heap, at last the two of you fully reunited--in body and in soul.

Though you both would have to soon get ready as to not miss dinner, for now, Claude was insistent on hugging you close so he could leave an endless trail of kisses along wherever he saw fit, all while your fingers gently stroked through his messy brown curls. The air was tender and light, any bit of tension and guilt from before completely washed away.

When his mouth met yours yet again, Claude stared at you adoringly, his tone tender as he remarked, “And to think, you’ve just captured the hearts of Fódlan with your talents on stage.” One eye closing in a wink, he grinned. “And you get to do it all over again to your adoring people in Almyra.”

Your head tilted slightly to the side, your expression curious if not confused. “My what?”

Claude froze. “Oh...right. About that--”

How he so very looked forward to spending forever with you.

#claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #reader insert #Fic #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

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stetervault · 5 years

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hey cywscross! any longfics (like at least 30k+ long) you can recommend? old or new is fine but like something multichaptered (and preferably complete) would be great! thanks!

Wow, 30k, you’re obviously settling in for a fic marathon lol. I can name you some, mostly Steter with a few Stetopher/Steterek:

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he’s captured. Stiles’s first thought is, “I won’t die here.”

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven’t spoken to in over five years.)

come find me by Areiton

“You want me,” he says, stubbornly sure and you consider him.

“Yes,” you agree, because you are not a good man, and you are not accustomed to denying yourself what you want. “And it doesn’t matter because I am saying no.”

You touch his hand, and he jerks, wide eyed as you lean into him, and breath into his ear. “If you still feel this way, come find me in ten years.”

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks.“Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is.“He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her.The camps……aren’t camps.Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Rabbit verse by Bunnywest (series, complete)

Peter loves to hunt. Stiles is his (too willing )prey.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are… different. Namely, he’s in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Uncle Peter Doesn’t Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (wip series, but each part so far is complete)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16.“Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,”‘Bambi’.“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous.Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn’t been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski…her uncle’s boyfriend.

Rewriting the future by Synesthetic

Two days before their planned bonding, alpha Derek Hale runs away with his secret beta girlfriend, leaving Stiles heartbroken. With the demands of his omega physiology forcing him to bond with someone before his first heat, Derek’s uncle Peter steps in and offers a solution.

To Save Them All by Goldenpetal13

AU, FutureFic/Re do of Season 1, Something happens, something bad, and Stiles finds a way to go back in time to change the past and save them all, to give them a future. He finds the way back and then swaps places with Scott and he gets bitten by Peter instead. Now he has to change the events that where set in motion after that event and maybe, just maybe they’ll all get to live.

Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (series, complete)

Peter was suspicious.

Just generally, as a person. He always assumed his fellow man had impure motives until they proved otherwise, and then he still kept an eye out.

But at this particular moment, he was specifically suspicious of Derek’s new girlfriend.

He’s not the only one.

Bone Deep by ShippersList (28k+ but complete)

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Get Off (Me) by KouriArashi

Stiles hates being left behind with Peter while the pack is fighting monsters, because he never knows exactly what Peter will get up to.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Whatever Works by KouriArashi (Steter + Sterek)

The problem with having your soulmate’s first words to you tattooed on your arm is knowing your whole life that you’re fated to be with a jerk. It’s enough to make Stiles want to date other people … which is how he winds up dating his soulmate’s nephew.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Sympathy for the Devil by KouriArashi

Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there’s a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems…

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter’s heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels… sharply curious.

Begging Me To Open Up My Mouth by Green

In a world where the supernatural is known, Peter still has to stick out. He can’t just be a werewolf, he has to be a sub, too. He can handle the stupidity from his classmates, he doesn’t even care about that, but Talia not understanding what he needs because werewolf subs are so rare?

Yeah. That he could do without.

***

Stiles is a Spark, freelance Emissary, and a Dom, in that order. He likes it that way. The freedom of it, the ability to travel and learn. He’s not ready to settle down.

But he maybe considers lingering when someone catches his eye.

Of Werewolves and Tentacles by Guede (Steterek)

Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall, childhood best friends who were separated, now reunite to get to know each other again. Since Scott’s a werewolf and Stiles is a new graduate of Miskatonic University (which is proving strangely attractive to Peter-Hale-shaped werewolves), they’ve got quite a bit to catch up on.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

Cats and Dogs by Guede

Stiles is a were-cat. He likes to lie around in the sun, insists on poking into everything, viciously defends his territory and is always judging you. His best friend is Scott, a werewolf, he’s dating Peter, another werewolf, and he enjoys terrorizing Peter’s nephew Derek.

Oh, and John and Chris are were-cats too. Basically, everybody’s some kind of were and I make a lot of cheap jokes about cat and dog stereotypes.

The Time Travel Grammar Book by Guede

The story that was supposed to be about time-travel, but is really a stealth AU of the first two seasons where Talia’s a struggling single mom, Peter’s the eponymous teen wolf, and Stiles, Scott and Lydia…are time travelers (so that part’s not totally inaccurate).

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Movement in Alpha Major by Guede

Peter Hale, thirty-four, shady but successful human lawyer, knocks on his nephew Derek’s door one night because he’s just been bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, this ends up being a lot more awkward than one would expect.

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills by Guede (Stetopher)

Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

Note: Bestiality warning is because the version of sphinx here is lion-shaped from waist down, and I don’t know how else to tag that.

Werewolf How-To by Guede (Steterek)

Being a sex mage with a magical knotting cock (and a profitable land revitalization business, thank you) doesn’t mean that Stiles needs to hook up with werewolves. It just kind of happens that way.

Intemperance by Guede (Stetopherek)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

Sustainable Management by Guede (Steterek)

An alternate universe where werewolves and other supernatural creatures aren’t just integrated, but are so deeply embedded that they’re considered part of the natural ecosystem.

In other words, Stiles and his father work for a U.S. Forest Service that’s way different from the one here, if only because it involves many more secret-agent hijinks.

Strays by DiscontentedWinter (Stetopher)

In a Beacon Hills that’s been destroyed by a war between humans and werewolves, Stiles Stilinski does what he has to in order to survive.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter’s expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills.And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Save Me by DiscontentedWinter

Peter is the Alpha.He’s nobody’s savior.Not his pack’s. Not his town’s. And not that kid’s.But sometimes salvation goes both ways.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn’t mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn’t mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride’s uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn’t like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool) by pprfaith (wip series, but main parts are complete)

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter’s just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Sing to Me, Oh so Sweetly by lavenderlotion

“Can I get a story, Mama?” Stiles asked.

“What type of story do you want to hear, darling?” his mama asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and playing with Stiles’ hair. He liked it when she did that.

“I wanna hear about the magic woman!” Stiles demanded, doing his best to keep still.

“You always wanna hear about the magic woman,” Mama told him. “Well, alright. Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

“Well, duh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. The beginning was always the best part.

“Once upon a time, there was a young girl with skin as white as the moon and eyes as bright as the sun.”

Breathing You In by lavenderlotion (29k+, 1 chapter, but complete)

“Good morning, kiddo,” his dad said, and the words hurt.

All Stiles wanted to do was step forward and let his dad hug him, allow his father to give him comfort. His father’s hugs had always been all-encompassing, the way he would fold himself around Stiles and hold him as tightly as he could.

Stiles stepped around him, careful not to let foreign skin touch anything that was special to him.

Anything he loved.

Just Don’t Leave Me by lavenderlotion

Stiles had no idea it could happen. Really, he hadn’t. But it did and he had to deal with the fallout, alone. And, and after everything with Scott, and Derek, that was a daunting task. At least, he had his dad, god was he thankful he had his dad, but - but he couldn’t say he didn’t wish he had Peter, too.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he’ll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn’t know who this kid is, but he’s cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He’s not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn’t really mind.

Worn Out Shoes by moonstalker24

When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

The Choice by moonstalker24

“You will be changed, Goscislaw Genim Stilinski. From your bones you will be changed.”“How.”“That we cannot tell you… That is the price.”

He’s made the deal, now he only has fifteen minutes to make a choice and either save or condemn them all. Fifteen minutes and then Stiles will have to live with the consequences.

Every step of the way by Pirotess666

Hurt, pain, suffering. TORTURE. Peter felt it all while he was in Eichen House.And after he got out? All those memories of what happened there were threatening to drive him insane.The only thing that helped? Being with Stiles.And Stiles just couldn’t stop himself from helping Peter.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (27k+ but complete)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Do You Like to Hurt? (Then Hurt Me) by taylorpotato

Stiles shows up at Peter’s apartment, drunk and horny. Peter almost does the right thing—before it all deteriorates into a voyeuristic power game and Stiles has a mind-shattering orgasm. Things snowball from there. Takes place after Season Three (with consequent canon divergence).

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday (24k+ but complete)

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

The World That Is Not Ours by Ragga (wip series but first three parts are done)

About a boy and his monster, or a monster and his boy.

#teen wolf #steter #stetopher #steterek #stetopherek #fanfic rec #stiles stilinski #peter hale #chris argent #derek hale #ask #anonymous #rec list

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midnight-blue-blood · 4 years

Text

Well, it seems as though last night was a success, in general terms. One less weed in the garden. I’ll admit to a strange ache at the final death of that fiend... We’d been trading blows for so long that the moment feels a little bittersweet.

Still, her childe can rest for now. She’ll no longer nip at his heels.

A resounding success for the Sheriff, though something at a loss for the more occult inclined. Mr. Songbird is sorely disappointed at his inability to retrieve any of the works within Petal’s library. I am equally disappointed, but I would much rather have him alive. He sustained damage that would have killed most other ghouls. He will be convalescing in my care for the duration.

Ms. Williams has passed her trial for the time being. I doubt Mr. Drake is quite through with his fit of pique over the whole matter, but between the bond and the demonstration of loyalty she will no longer be openly doubted.

Mr. Rhinelander also made quite the showing. Something about “wrestling a butterfly”? I’m not pressing too hard on details; I don’t know and I don’t want to know. It got them out alive, but it has advanced his potential for being named as Scourge. I’d rather not have the boy placed so squarely in the cross-hairs, but I also could not bring myself to keep him from assisting Ms. Williams. They’ve bonded quite well. Shared trauma makes for strange bedfellows? At least Mr. Kane and Mx. Chen were there as well. Two potential contenders for the title and one that actually wants it.

I suppose we’ll see how it goes soon enough.

#blood and honey #the girls are gossiping #vtm rp

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sciencespies · 4 years

Text

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

https://sciencespies.com/nature/meet-the-ecologist-who-wants-you-to-unleash-the-wild-on-your-backyard/

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

The land is ten gently sloping acres in rural southeastern Pennsylvania, at one time mowed for hay, with a handsome farmhouse that Douglas Tallamy bought around 20 years ago. It isn’t much to look at, by the standards most Americans apply to landscaping—no expansive views across swaths of lawn set off by flowerbeds and specimen trees—but, as Tallamy says, “We’re tucked away here where no one can see us, so we can do pretty much what we want.” And what he wants is for this property to be a model for the rest of the country, by which he means suburbs, exurbs, uninhabited woods, highway margins, city parks, streets and backyards, even rooftops and window boxes, basically every square foot of land not paved or farmed. He wants to see it replanted with native North American flora, supporting a healthy array of native North American butterflies, moths and other arthropods, providing food for a robust population of songbirds, small mammals and reptiles. He even has a name for it: Homegrown National Park.

A creek on his land supports native plants adapted to “getting their feet wet,” Tallamy says, such as skunk cabbage.

(Matthew Cicanese)

On a June day in 2001, not long after he bought the property, Tallamy, an entomologist at the University of Delaware, was walking his land when he noticed something that struck him as unusual. Before he bought it, most of it had been kept in hay, but at that point it hadn’t been mowed in three years and “was overgrown with autumn olive and Oriental bittersweet in a tangle so thick you couldn’t walk. The first thing I had to do was cut trails,” Tallamy recalls. And walking through his woods on the newly cut trails, what he noticed was what was missing: caterpillars.

No caterpillars on the Oriental bittersweet, the multiflora rose, the Japanese honeysuckle, on the burning bush that lined his neighbor’s driveway. All around him plants were in a riot of photosynthesis, converting the energy of sunlight into sugars and proteins and fats that were going uneaten. A loss, and not just for him as a professional entomologist. Insects—“the little things that run the world,” as the naturalist E.O. Wilson called them—are at the heart of the food web, the main way nature converts plant protoplasm into animal life. If Tallamy were a chickadee—a bird whose nestlings may consume between 6,000 and 9,000 caterpillars before they fledge, all foraged within a 150-foot radius of the nest—he would have found it hard going in these woods.

Tallamy knew, in a general sense, why that was. The plants he was walking among were mostly introduced exotics, brought to America either accidentally in cargo or intentionally for landscaping or crops. Then they escaped into the wild, outcompeting their native counterparts, meeting the definition of an “invasive” species. By and large, plants can tolerate a wide range of environmental conditions. But insects tend to be specialists, feeding on and pollinating a narrow spectrum of plant life, sometimes just a single species. “Ninety percent of the insects that eat plants can develop and reproduce only on the plants with which they share an evolutionary history,” Tallamy says. In the competition to eat, and to avoid being eaten, plants have developed various chemical and morphological defenses—toxins, sticky sap, rough bark, waxy cuticles—and insects have evolved ways to get around them. But as a rule, insect strategies don’t work well against species they have never encountered. That’s true of even closely related species—imported Norway maples versus native sugar maples, for instance. Tallamy has found that within the same genus, introduced plant species provide on average 68 percent less food for insects than natives. Hence, a plant that in its native habitat might support dozens or hundreds of species of insects, birds and mammals may go virtually uneaten in a new ecosystem. Pennsylvania, for example.

Demonstrating that point might make for a good undergraduate research project, Tallamy thought. So he asked a student to do a survey of the literature in preparation for a study. The student reported back there wasn’t any. “I checked myself,” he says. “There was a lot written about invasive species. But nothing on insects and the food web.”

That, he says, was the “aha” moment in his career, at which he began to remake himself from a specialist in the mating habits of the cucumber beetle to a proselytizer for native plants as a way to preserve what remains of the natural ecology of North America. He was following in the footsteps of Wilson, his scientific hero, who went from being the world’s foremost expert on ants to an eminent spokesman for the ecology of the whole planet. “I didn’t exactly plan it this way,” Tallamy says with a shrug. “In the musical chairs of life, the music stopped and I sat down in the ‘invasive plants’ chair. It’s a satisfying way to close out my career.”

As a scientist, Tallamy realized his initial obligation was to prove his insight empirically. He began with the essential first step of any scientific undertaking, by applying for research grants, the first of which took until 2005 to materialize. Then followed five years of work by relays of students. “We had to plant the plants and then measure insect use over the next three years, at five different sites,” he recalls. “To sample a plot was an all-day affair with five people.” Out of that work eventually came papers in scientific journals such as Conservation Biology (“Ranking lepidopteran use of native versus introduced plants”), Biological Invasions (“Effects of non-native plants on the native insect community of Delaware”) and Environmental Entomology (“An evaluation of butterfly gardens for restoring habitat for the monarch butterfly”). And then popularizing books aimed at changing the face of America’s backyards: Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife With Native Plants and, this year, Nature’s Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation That Starts in Your Yard. And in turn a busy schedule of talks before professional organizations, environmental groups, local conservation societies, landscape designers—anyone who would listen, basically.

Squirrels aren’t the only animals that like acorns. Weevils develop inside the oaknuts, and the larvae, in turn, nourish blue jays and woodpeckers

(Matthew Cicanese)

When insects disappear, humans may not take much notice, but the recent population declines of two species have received a great deal of attention: the monarch butterfly, because it’s an iconic, easily recognizable and beautiful creature; and the honeybee, because it’s needed to pollinate crops. But those episodes are symptomatic of a larger disruption in the ecosystem. Tallamy estimates that the worldwide population of arthropods, chiefly insects, has declined by 45 percent from preindustrial times. Without insects, it would be the case that lizards, frogs and toads, birds and mammals, from rodents up through bears, would lose all or a large part of their diets. “The little things that run the world are disappearing,” he says. “This is an ecological crisis that we’re just starting to talk about.”

Tallamy is 68, graying, soft-spoken and diffident. In his talks he cloaks the urgency of his message with an understated wit, as when he presses the unpopular cause of poison ivy, whose berries at certain times of the year are an important food for the downy woodpecker and other birds. “When do you get a rash from poison ivy?” he asks an audience. “When you try to pull it out! Ignore your poison ivy. You can run faster than it can.” To which many people would reply: “Nature had plenty of poison ivy and insects in it the last time I was there.”

But to Tallamy, that attitude is precisely the problem. It speaks to a definition of “nature” as co-extensive with “wilderness,” and excludes the everyday landscape inhabited by virtually all Americans. The ecosystem cannot be sustained just by national parks and forests. A statistic he frequently cites is that 86 percent of the land east of the Mississippi is privately owned. A large fraction of that acreage is either under cultivation for food or planted in a monoculture of lawn, a landscape that for ecological purposes might as well be a parking lot.

To Tallamy, spiders serve as a linchpin species to birds because they are the second most important food, outweighed in nutritive value only by caterpillars.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy incorporated his thinking into “Homegrown National Park,” an aspirational project to repurpose half of America’s lawnscape for ecologically productive use. That would comprise more than 20 million acres, the equivalent of nearly ten Yellowstones. The intention is to unite fragments of land scattered across the country into a network of habitat, which could be achieved, he wrote in Bringing Nature Home, “by untrained citizens with minimal expense and without any costly changes to infrastructure.” The plots wouldn’t have to be contiguous, although that would be preferable. Moths and birds can fly, and you’re helping them just by reducing the distance they have to travel for food.

“Every little bit helps,” Tallamy says. “Most people don’t own 50 acres, so it’s not going to be that hard. The minimal thing is, you plant a tree and it’s the right tree. Look at what’s happened at my house.”

The idea was picked up by the writer Richard Louv, who coined the term “nature-deficit disorder” in his jeremiad Last Child in the Woods, and by the Canadian naturalist and philanthropist David Suzuki, whose foundation is supporting an effort to implement the project on a limited scale in Toronto.

Even a small patch of Pennsylvania woodland, if allowed to grow wild, generates a vast ecosystem: Native crabapples persist into winter and feed foxes and wild turkeys.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy walks his land in all seasons, wrenching from the soil the occasional Japanese honeysuckle that made the mistake of venturing onto his property, checking up on his winterberries and sweet pepperbush, looking for leaves that have been chewed by insects and the stems of berries eaten by birds. Occasionally he will do a moth survey, hanging a white sheet in his woods at night behind a mercury vapor lamp. The diversity of insect life he encounters is eye-opening even to him; last year he added more than 100 species to his property list, including a few he had to look up to identify. (There are around 11,000 species of moths in the United States, and 160,000 worldwide.) Near his front door is a 35-foot-tall white oak that he planted from an acorn, ignoring the advice some landscapers give against planting oaks, because you won’t live long enough to enjoy them at their mature size, which may take 300 years. “Well, if you can only enjoy a 300-year-old oak, I guess that’s true,” he says dryly. He has collected 242 species of caterpillars from the tree in his yard—so far.

Tallamy is a great proponent of the ecological benefits of caterpillars, a single one of which has the nutritional value of as many as 200 aphids. “They’re soft, you can stuff them down the beak of your offspring without damaging their esophagus,” he says approvingly. “They contain carotenoids. Birds take the carotenoids and build pigments out of them. That’s how you make a prothonotary warbler.”

He acknowledges that not all homeowners enjoy the sight of caterpillars munching on the leaves of their trees. For them he recommends what he calls his Ten-Step Program: “Take ten steps back from the trunk and all your insect problems go away.”

Mushrooms enrich the teeming soil when they decompose.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy’s principles have a particular resonance with people—like me—who consider themselves environmentalists but landscaped on the principle “if it looks good, plant it.” He says he’s sometimes surprised at how well his message is received. “I thought there would be quite a bit of push back,” he muses. “But there hasn’t been. I’m suggesting we cut the lawn area in half. I assume they just aren’t taking me seriously. Early on I remember a nurseryman in the audience glowering at me, and I heard him muttering ‘You’re trying to put us out of business.’ I don’t want to put them out of business. I get a lot of invitations from the nursery industry, trade shows, landscape architects. All I’m saying is add one criterion to what you use when you choose your plants”—whether a plant is native. “You can’t argue against it.”

Actually, you can. Tallamy has a long-standing scientific disagreement with an entomologist at the University of California at Davis, Arthur Shapiro. Shapiro grew up in Philadelphia, where, he says, the Norway maple on his block in the 1960s was host to at least three species of moth caterpillar: the American dagger moth, the Crecopia silk moth,and the Lunate Zale moth. “Tallamy invokes the diversity of caterpillars as an indicator of the superiority of native plants over nonnative plants,” Shapiro says. “It’s unsurprising that most of them feed on native plants. What goes right by Tallamy is the extent to which native insects switch and adapt to nonnative plants.

“Here in California we are probably more heavily impacted by naturalized plants than any other state except Hawaii. Our low-elevation butterflies are heavily dependent on nonnative plants. Their native host plants have been largely eradicated, but to their good fortune, humans introduced nonnative plants that are not only acceptable but in some instances superior to native hosts. Most California natives in cultivation are of no more butterfly interest than nonnatives, and most of the best butterfly flowers in our area are exotic.”

The much-reviled (but also beloved by some) eucalyptus trees that have colonized the Central California coast now harbor overwintering monarch butterflies, Shapiro says, although for the most part the insect populations they support are different from those found in native habitats. But his attitude is, so what? The marine blue, a butterfly native to the desert Southwest, where it feeds on acacia and mesquite, has expanded its range into the suburbs of Southern California, feeding on leadwort, a perennial flowering shrub native to South Africa. It is botanically unrelated to acacia and mesquite, but by some accident of biochemistry is a suitable host for the marine blue caterpillar, which has adapted to its new host. “That sort of process is happening all the time all around us,” Shapiro says.

Tallamy begs to differ. The examples Shapiro cites, in his view, represent either anecdotal findings of limited scientific value (like the caterpillars on the street tree from Shapiro’s childhood), or anomalous exceptions to the rule that introduced species support a fraction of the insect life of the plants they replace. A ginkgo tree might look like a functional part of an ecosystem, but the Chinese native might as well be a statue for all the good it does. The well-publicized instances of alien species that found American vegetation to their taste—Asian long-horned beetles, European corn borers, gypsy moths—have created the misleading impression that to an insect, one tree is as good as another. But those are exceptional cases, Tallamy maintains, and the great majority of insects accidentally introduced to North America are never heard from again. “Remember, the horticulture trade screens plants before they introduce them into the market. Any plant that is vulnerable to serious attack by native insects is screened out.”

On one level, this dispute reflects that Tallamy and Shapiro have studied very different ecosystems. As Tallamy wrote in Bringing Nature Home, he was “forced to slight western North America and focus on the Lepidoptera that occur on woody plants in eight states of the eastern deciduous forest biome.” The scientists’ disagreement is also partly over time scales. Tallamy acknowledges that natural selection will allow some native insects to evolve the ability to eat whatever is growing in front of them, or be replaced by species that can, and that birds will figure out a way to make a living off the newcomers. But he thinks this is likely to take thousands of generations to have an impact on the food web. Shapiro maintains he has seen it occur within his own lifetime.

It’s fair to say Tallamy sometimes pursues his passion for native flora to the point of single-mindedness. He is the rare environmentalist who doesn’t bring up climate change at the first opportunity, not because he doesn’t care about it, but because he wants to stick to his chosen issue. “Climate change is not what’s driving this problem,” he says. “If there were no climate change anywhere, it would be just as important. It’s driven by poor plant choice and habitat destruction. I don’t like to mix the two. Right now the culture is, ‘Every problem we have is related to climate,’ and that’s not the case.”

He also can be nonchalant about some of the adjustments and sacrifices entailed by his plan for saving the planet. He suffered from allergies to ragweed pollen for decades, he writes in Nature’s Best Hope, but is willing to forgive the plant on the basis that “the ragweed genus Ambrosia is the eighth most productive herbaceous genus in the East, supporting caterpillar development for 54 species of moths.” He doesn’t sugarcoat the fact that the phylum of arthropods includes, besides butterflies and honeybees, about 900 species of Ixodida, which includes ticks. “I think I’ve had Lyme around a half-dozen times,” he says, as he plunges casually into a chest-high thicket in early autumn, “but I’m one of the people who get the rash”—the telltale bull’s-eye marker of an infected bite by the deer tick, which not all patients evince—“so I was able to catch it and treat it each time.”

Anyone following Tallamy’s landscaping dictums might want to, at least, tuck their pants into their socks when they walk around their yard. That is a small sacrifice given the enormousness of the problem he wants to solve. But even people willing to give over half their lawn for the benefit of caterpillars might be daunted by the task of replacing it according to Tallamy’s prescription. Saving the ecosystem isn’t as simple as just letting nature take over your backyard. In nature the race is to the swift, even for plants. “There’s a time in the spring when plants from Asia leap out before plants from North America,” he tells an audience, projecting a picture taken in a local park in late March. “All of the green you see is plants from Asia, the usual suspects: multi-flora rose, Oriental bittersweet, Japanese honeysuckle, privet, barberry, burning bush, ailanthus, Norway maple, all escapees from our garden. You go into almost any natural area around here, a third of the vegetation is from Asia.” Invasive species are called that for a reason, and repelling them is hard, and never-ending, work.

Moreover, not all native plants are created equal, at least from the point of view of an insect. Across a wide range of North American biomes, about 14 percent of plants make 90 percent of the insect food, he says. These are the keystone species that keep the food web healthy, and the most important are four genera of native trees: oaks, poplars, willows and cherries. But also hickory, chestnut, elms and birches, and joe-pye weed, aster, marsh marigold, skunk cabbage, snakeweed. Some seem worth planting just for the poetry of their names: Chickasaw plum, chokecherry, wax myrtle, devil’s beggar’s-tick, false indigo, hairy bush clover, cypress panicgrass.

But insects aren’t the only creatures that evolved to consume the native vegetation of North America. Tallamy’s ten-step rule for making insect damage disappear to the naked eye doesn’t apply to deer. As he trudges alongside a shallow ravine on his property he points to a small clump of trees on the other side that have been denuded from the ground up to nearly shoulder height. “There’s the browse line on Eastern red cedar,” he says sourly. One reason landscapers favor certain exotic species is that deer don’t eat them. Tallamy’s solution for controlling deer is another one of his idealistic, if not altogether practical, recommendations: “Bring back predators!” he says cheerfully.

Tallamy stops on his walk to adjust a wire barrier around a native azalea. “If I wasn’t around to keep up this fence,” he muses, “the deer would eat it all. So you say, why bother?

“That’s a good question.

“But I do.”

“Natural” doesn’t always mean untouched. Tallamy uproots invasive plants, like this fast-growing porcelain-berry, a vine originally from East Asia, introduced in the 1870s.

(Matthew Cicanese)

I visited Tallamy not long before he set out for ten days in the mountains of Peru, where he was consulting with organizations that promote the practice of growing coffee plants beneath the tree canopy (“shade-grown coffee”) to conserve bird habitat. He wanted to investigate which trees provide the best ecological diversity. Before I leave, he quotes Wilson one more time, from his famous talk on “The Importance and Conservation of Invertebrates.” The passage goes like this:

“The truth is that we need invertebrates but they don’t need us. If human beings were to disappear tomorrow, the world would go on with little change….But if invertebrates were to disappear, I doubt that the human species could last more than a few months. Most of the fishes, amphibians, birds and mammals would crash to extinction about the same time. Next would go the bulk of the flowering plants and with them the physical structure of the majority of forests and other terrestrial habitats of the world.

“The earth would rot.”

Wilson gave that talk in 1987. “It was,” Tallamy says dryly, “a theoretical worry back then.”

So it is less of a theoretical worry now, and more of a real one. But Tallamy is doing what he can to head it off, and he wants the whole country to pitch in. Homegrown National Park is meant to bring about not just a horticultural revolution, but a cultural one, bridging the human-dominated landscape and the natural world. “If you do this at your house or in your local park, you don’t have to go to Yellowstone to interact with nature,” Tallamy says. “You won’t have bison, you won’t have Mystic Falls, but you can have nature outside your door. Isn’t that what you want for your kids—and for yourself?”

To Tallamy, the nation’s backyards are more than ripe for a makeover. Here are some of his suggestions to help rejuvenators hit the ground running.

1. Shrink your lawn. Tallamy recommends halving the area devoted to lawns in the continental United States—reducing water, pesticide and fertilizer use. Replace grass with plants that sustain more animal life, he says: “Every little bit of habitat helps.”

2. Remove invasive plants. Introduced plants sustain less animal diversity than natives do. Worse, some exotics crowd out indigenous flora. Notable offenders: Japanese honeysuckle, Oriental bittersweet, multiflora rose and kudzu.

3. Create no-mow zones. Native caterpillars drop from a tree’s canopy to the ground to complete their life cycle. Put mulch or a native ground cover such as Virginia creeper (not English ivy) around the base of a tree to accommodate the insects. Birds will benefit, as well as moths and butterflies.

4. Equip outdoor lights with motion sensors. White lights blazing all night can disturb animal behavior. LED devices use less energy, and yellow light attracts fewer flying insects.

5. Plant keystone species. Among native plants, some contribute more to the food web than others. Native oak, cherry, cottonwood, willow and birch are several of the best tree choices.

6. Welcome pollinators. Goldenrod, native willows, asters, sunflowers, evening primrose and violets are among the plants that support beleaguered native bees.

7. Fight mosquitoes with bacteria. Inexpensive packets containing Bacillus thuringiensis can be placed in drains and other wet sites where mosquitoes hatch. Unlike pesticide sprays, the bacteria inhibit mosquitoes but not other insects.

8. Avoid harsh chemicals. Dig up or torch weeds on hardscaping, or douse with vinegar. Discourage crabgrass by mowing lawn 3 inches high.

#Nature

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lizzieraindrops · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Far Meridian (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peri/Ruth Characters: Hesperia | Peri, Ruth Additional Tags: Wingfic, Wings, Alternate Universe - Wings, Wing Grooming, Pining, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Stargazing, Pre-Canon, they're still in high school, it's really gay, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Femslash, Pre-Femslash

I decided that angsty wingfic for The Far Meridian was a necessity.

Just a memory of a soft evening atop a lighthouse, filled with unspoken words and un-nameable longing. Girls preening the wings of close friends is totally normal - unless you're pining sapphics suffering internalized homophobia. A continuation of the sunset scene in Ep. 1.10 Whitecaps. I promise it does end soft.

Peri has the wings of a hermit thrush – an elusive migratory songbird that travels at night, rarely visits feeders, and is widely regarded as having one of the most beautiful, ethereal songs. Ruth has the wings of a northern spotted owl – a nocturnal bird with little white spots like stars on dark brown wings, and big brown eyes.

Title from the song of the same name by The Spring Standards, also featured on this Peri/Ruth playlist.

Say it Say the words I see behind your eyes If it’s not hard to say, then it’s a lie

___________

With the brilliant colors of the sunset, the brine seasoning the seaside air, and the sound of the sweetest voice in the world singing where only she can hear, this might be Peri’s idea of bliss. The soft vibrations of unexpected music twines about the two of them in the air atop the lighthouse, much like the winding breeze that breathes through Peri’s feathers. The wind tugs lightly at them like an invitation to sky. That pull revives the muscle memory of flight going back for generations, running all the way down the vanes to stir their roots. But the song reaches even deeper into her, somewhere in the region where her wings themselves are rooted.

It’s a perfect moment, even if something about it aches indescribably. But it’s alright; it’s a familiar nameless ache, one that swells or softens but never completely fades. Maybe it’s more noticeable right now because Peri doesn’t know when she’ll get another moment like this. So, she tries to make the most of it. She keeps her eyes on the sky and drinks in the air and the light and the sound, trying to sink into the sweetness and save the bitterness for later. It works until it doesn’t.

“You could always… go,” Ruth says, but the way her voice trails tells Peri she already knows her answer. “Next semester. It’d be way easier if we could cheer each other on.”

Peri folds her wings in a little tighter, so the wind’s fingers slide off of them. She doesn’t look at Ruth. “I’ve got my online courses…”

“You know that’s not the same.”

Peri leans forward into the railing of the balcony around the light room as she sighs. She’d hoped Ruth wouldn’t make her say it. “Trust me, if I were a turtle with my home on my back… I’d be there in half a heartbeat.”

“C’mon,” Ruth says, stirring the air with a playful stroke of her forewings. The tips of her soft primaries barely brush Peri’s arm. “In the grand cosmic scheme of things, the whole Earth is your home, zooming through space at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour!”

“Sounds more like a racecar than a home!” Peri protests, but she feels a smile seeking its way to her lips.

“You are – impossible!” Ruth exclaims.

Laughter escapes both of them then. It makes the brief tension recede like one wave folding under the next, returning them to bittersweet contemplation of the kaleidoscope sky.

Peri gives a little shrug of her wings and settles them to lay more comfortably against her back. A few of the tertial feathers at the base catch on the cotton of her shirt. She lifts her left wing a little and reaches her right arm around to smooth them back into place. Once it’s fixed and re-folded, she shifts to carefully lean her elbow against Ruth’s on the railing. She does it oh so slowly, so casually that Ruth can move away if she wishes, and Peri will have done nothing but adjusted the way her weight rests against the rail. Her arms practically ache with affected ease, ready to pull back, oh sorry, didn’t mean to bump you, if Ruth pulls away.

Ruth doesn’t pull away. The wind softens into something that barely dances over Peri’s skin. In the resulting quiet, she can hear Ruth breathing. Peri listens.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Ruth says in a soft voice.

Peri watches the golds and oranges of the sunset deepen toward pink. The clouds holding that brilliant light slide along the horizon like sails before swifter, higher winds than the ones that reach the lighthouse. Words fill her throat, but she doesn’t know what any of them are, much less how to say them. “Yeah,” she finally says. “Me, too.”

The two of them stand together in silence. Ruth heaves a slow sigh. That ineffable ache still lingers, as it always does for Peri: quietly, and constantly. But usually, it’s not this much. Right now, Peri can physically feel it like a sore muscle, somewhere deep in her chest in the same place where the music goes. On the surface far above it, the skin of her wing twitches in irritation. Some of the smaller covert feathers above the corrected tertials still feel askew. She cants the wing upward again, reaching. Her fingers stretch toward the mosquito-bite itch, but it’s right on the back of her wing where it’s hardest to reach.

Peri lets out a frustrated sound. She briskly fluffs her feathers up and then down again, hoping it will sort out the stuck ones without her having to practically stretch her shoulder out of socket. It doesn’t. This probably wouldn’t be as difficult if she didn’t carry so much tension in her arm- and wing-shoulders. The stiffness of it constricts her natural range of movement just a little, just enough to keep those furthest preening spots out of reach and to leave her neck and upper back perpetually tight and sore. Then again, a whole lot of things in her life probably wouldn’t be as difficult without the anxiety causing that tension in the first place.

Peri braces her hands on the rail. She stretches her rounded wings directly backward to brush their tips against the glass walls of the light room, then folds them down again, to no avail. She huffs in annoyance.

“Hey, you okay?” Ruth asks, giving her a sideways look with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, just – nghh.” Peri shrugs her wings again, then tucks them down and holds resolutely still. She’s not going to break the spell of this perfect sunset, not going to walk away from this one of the precious few moments she has left just to go downstairs for a back scratcher. “I’ve just got a feather out of sorts right in the back. It’s fine though.”

“Oh.”

Peri tries to keep her attention on the pink-and-gold clouds, and not on the itch at her back or the light press of the arm leaning against hers. It doesn’t work very well, because she finds some of those words in her throat taking shape and slipping half a question past her teeth before she knows what they are.

“Could you – ?”

At the same time, Ruth blurts, “Do you want me to – ?”

They both break off to stare right at each other. Ruth raises her wings just slightly in a hesitant gesture. Peri quickly looks away again.

“Um,” Peri says, hoping the warm glow of the sunset hides her blush. She pulls her wings in scrunched close to her shoulders in embarrassment. She feels the offending feathers stick up along with several dozen neighbors, crinkled up along the folds of skin.

“Sorry, I – uh,” Ruth says. “I meant – I can fix it, if you want. Or not! It’s totally cool, if that’s weird –”

“No! No, it’s not weird!” Peri says hurriedly. It wouldn’t be. It’s Ruth.

But if it were, that’s why it would be: because it’s Ruth.

Peri had Ace or her mom or dad help her with preening often enough, especially in those hard-to-reach spots. It was a thing lots of people did with close friends and family. Ruth practically was family – she ate dinner at the lighthouse half the time, anyway. It wouldn’t be unusual for Ruth to preen her. Peri had seen plenty of girls at school casually combing through each other’s feathers at the end of lunch hour. That was always a little golden window of free time that the two of them spent together, where nothing consequential ever really happened. Now, though, it occurs to Peri that those casual interstices were home to a disproportionate number of oddly precious memories. They rise up clamoring inside her, as if desperate to not become part of a closed chapter.

There was the time they found a crying thrush trapped in an unused locker down by Mr. Santos’ office, and Peri opened it and got a face full of feathers so much like her own. The two of them chased it down the hallway toward the door Ruth held open for it, and the bird flew out into the sky with a call of joy that they both echoed. Then, there was Heidi’s birthday sophomore year when her grandmother sent her to school with a ton of donuts, except half of them got repurposed for a miniature food fight. Somehow, it was exhilarating instead of terrifying. Peri landed a surprisingly accurate powdered donut on Ruth’s head in a puff of white sugar that clung to her hair all day. She quickly experienced retribution in the form of Ruth seizing her and dusting her all over with a cinnamon twist while laughing and leaving sugary handprints all down her sleeves. And then, there was that time the two of them wandered the perimeter of the soccer field at the edge of school and sat together in the grass awhile, chatting and staring at the trees beyond, and nothing interesting happened at all. They were simply together. Something in the stillness of that moment echoed the bliss of this quiet, sunset-glazed evening that she was living today.

Except for the current awkwardness, today had been blissful - besides the unnamed ache, of course, but that was always there. But perhaps Peri and her escaped words shouldn’t have brought up the idea of preening. For some reason, it was something that had never been a part of any of those remembered moments. It just wasn’t something the two of them did. Peri had never questioned it, never wanted to cross an unacknowledged line. Sure, she had wondered in idle moments what it might feel like to run a hand through the softness of Ruth’s dark velvet-edged owl-feathers, to trace the little white spots that speckled them like stars across a night sky. But someone’s wings were so personal, so strong and yet so vulnerable, that she would never presume to ask, not even her best friend. Especially her best friend.

But now, the wings concerned aren’t Ruth’s, but her own. Although she never even considered the possibility before, she knows she would trust Ruth with anything and everything, including this. Including her. And Ruth herself had offered. Minutes ago, the concept of Ruth’s hands on her wings hadn’t existed. But suddenly, intensely, Peri wants. She wants this before Ruth takes the option far away with her when she leaves. The deep ache inside her twists sharply in a strange way she doesn’t know how to understand.

Ruth is still staring at her, twisting her hands together. Peri flushes again, but just says, in a voice that catches on that ache and breaks into a whisper: “Would you?”

Ruth’s face blooms with hope. Being the reason for that expression makes Peri feel like the sun itself. Ruth begins to reach toward Peri’s wing, but checks herself one more time, retracting her hands as if from a fire too warm, too close.

“You’re sure it’s not weird?” Ruth says, brows crinkling in uncertainty.

“It’s not weird,” Peri says again. Thankfully, her voice doesn’t break this time. “Well, I mean, you’re weird, so by default everything involving you is weird, but other than that –”

“Hey!” Ruth puts one hand on her hip. “Rude! You’re one to talk.”

For the second time that evening, they both dissolve into giggles. The beam from the lighthouse’s light swings over them, illuminating their faces with a glimpse of brilliance.

“Okay but no, really,” Peri says after she’s caught her breath. “That spot’s really really bugging me, can you get it?”

“Yeah yeah! Come here,” Ruth says. As naturally as if they’ve done this a thousand times, she reaches out toward her once again and twirls a finger in the air to ask Peri to turn around.

Peri turns and stretches out her left wing, resting her opposite hand on the glass walls of the light room. “It’s right down at the base there, do you see it?”

“Oh yeah, hon, you’re all kinds of ruffled up here.”

For a moment, Peri doesn’t feel anything but the breeze. But just as she’s worrying that Ruth has decided this is too weird after all, careful fingers sink into the mat of soft brown coverts at her shoulder. Very gently at first, and then with deliberate firmness, she starts combing them back into place.

“Yeah, the one that’s really the problem is just belo– ahh!” Peri shivers as Ruth untangles the feather’s barbs from its neighbors and flattens it between her fingers to zip them back into alignment. Then she rubs the pad of her thumb against the feather’s base where it meets the skin, erasing the twinge of irritation with comforting pressure. Peri’s wing involuntarily sags to the ground in relief, yet again crinkling up all the feathers where her wing meets her back into disarray.

Ruth just laughs. “Starshine, you’re gonna undo all my work if you do that. Here, why don’t you sit down.”

“Oh - okay.”

Peri settles herself cross-legged at the end of the balcony. She rests her arms on the lower rail and fully stretches out both wings, resting them on the ground at a more relaxed angle. Ruth sits down behind her, and with a deep breath sets to fixing her feathers again.

If this evening was blissful before, now it’s approaching something more like wonder. It’s hard to believe it’s real. Sitting here watching the bright clouds fade while Ruth cards deft fingers through her feathers, making the skin underneath tingle with pleasure... it’s a whole new kind of exquisite. Maybe the only thing that could make it better would be if Ruth started singing again – and sure enough, Ruth starts humming to herself as she works. Peri’s left wing goes slack, followed by her right as Ruth works her way through the tiny scapulars on her back toward the opposite limb. The corded tightness of those great flight muscles slowly begins to untie itself, chased away by strokes of careful pressure and gentle scratches.

After she finishes the covert feathers at the elbow bend of her wing, Ruth goes quiet and pauses. Peri hums a softest protest in her throat. At the sound, Ruth lays a silent question on the expanse of her ungroomed secondary coverts with a gently placed palm. Peri can’t help but press an answer into her touch.

Ruth chuckles and resumes, soothing sensitive skin and smoothing down all those little rounded feathers. She even massages the underlying wing, wrapping her hands right around the marginal coverts and squeezing her fingers deep into the muscle. How did she get so good at this? If Peri had known earlier....

Ruth continues to hum as she goes, softly enough that she might be just singing to herself. But when she sings Clementine again, the notes trace their way right into Peri’s core, lancing that eternal ache with unbearable sweetness.

This might be both the happiest and saddest Peri has ever felt.

Once Ruth finishes grooming the coverts, front and back, she starts running her fingers along each great flight feather. She hums another song Peri doesn't know, making sure all the feathers' little barbs knit together without gaps.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs in between the notes.

“Huh?” Peri glances at the plain brown wing in Ruth’s hands. “They’re just brown.”

“So are mine!”

Peri rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yours are dark and gorgeous and you’ve got all those little white spots that look like constellations. Mine are all the same and just kind of dusty-looking.”

“What! No they’re not. They’re such a warm color. They’ve got this gradient...” Ruth supports the back of one of Peri’s long primaries with one hand while reaching over the top of the wing to trace the raised rachis on the feather’s underside with her fingers. “They’re kind of pale golden at the base, and then they turn more sort of, I dunno. Like hot cocoa. And look! You’ve got this adorable little stripe of dark tips on your primary coverts. And your alula.” Ruth tweaks the three little ‘thumb’ feathers at the top of her wing.

“Oh.” Peri blinks. “I mean, I guess.”

“They’re right here! There’s no need to guess. You’re adorable, and that’s that.”

Peri rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh and a smile.

Ruth goes back to fixing up her long remiges. Peri’s wings sink ever closer to the floor, limp with relaxed pleasure. Finally, after what could be either hours or mere minutes, Ruth runs her hands down the length of them and stops.

“There,” Ruth whispers into the evening air, so soft she can hardly hear it. “How’s that?”

In answer, Peri stretches both her arms and wings out to their fullest extent with languorous ease. On impulse, she falls back into Ruth’s chest with an enormous sigh, wings still splayed. The soft whoof of air Ruth lets out makes her hair flutter by her ear.

“Good,” Peri says.

“Good.” Ruth’s voice is oddly high.

Ruth’s chest rises and falls against her back and wing-shoulders, and Peri finds that they’re breathing in rhythm. It’s lovely.

Ruth shifts her arms like she’s not sure what to do with them, with Peri practically in her lap. Apparently, she settles on stretching them out to lay along the margins of Peri’s prone wings. It increases the points of contact between them, and Peri certainly isn’t going to complain. They both hold still, simply breathing, Ruth’s breath brushing against her cheek.

She’s going to miss Ruth so much. The reality of her leaving has been circling closer for days, weeks, maybe even years, but now the fact has finally come home to roost in Peri’s ribcage.

Peri’s body is far more relaxed than usual. But the softness draws an unbearably sharp contrast with this hurting in her chest – – her heart fucking aches.

A shudder of pain that has nothing to do with Peri’s muscles runs through her, making her breath stutter.

“Whoa – Peri, what’s wrong?”

Peri squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head sharply. Don’t, please don’t, don’t ruin this, she tells herself.

“Peri,” Ruth says more urgently. Her voice is soft, but it goes low and resonant, like she’s trying to throw it across a canyon. Her hands cup Peri’s wings, holding her as they curl inward with pain.

Peri opens her mouth, desperately trying to cough up all the unspoken things trapped in her throat, but she has no idea how to make them turn into words that she can say.

Water wells in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says in a broken whisper, and turns her face into Ruth’s neck to hide them.

Ruth stiffens as she leans in, but just as quickly goes soft and curls around her. Her cheek rests against Peri’s head while her arms slide past the curtain of her feathers and wrap around her waist to hug her closer.

“Oh honey,” she breathes, “For what? You don’t need to be. It’s okay.”

Peri’s shuddering breaths shake them both a few times before subsiding under the comforting pressure of Ruth’s arms.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Ruth whispers into her hair. The evening breeze twists around them, throwing one of Ruth’s stray locks into Peri’s eyes.

Peri shakes her head again, softer this time. She can’t. She wants to. But when she tries to say any or all of the unknown things she desperately needs to, the only sound her throat wants to make is a cry just like that thrush when it was trapped in the locker.

“Did I do something?” Ruth’s voice goes thin with uncertainty. “Was this too much?” Her arms begin to loosen unforgivably.

“No!” She lays her own arms over Ruth’s to keep them from pulling away. Right now, they’re the only thing keeping the ache inside her from growing so large it consumes her. “You’re fine.” You’re perfect. You’re wonderful. You’re everything. Please don’t go, she doesn’t say. She has no right to be saying such excessive things. “Please, just... stay here awhile?”

Ruth tightens her hold around Peri again. “Of course. I’m here, starshine.”

For now, she thinks with a pang, but she turns away from the thought. No matter what happens next, nothing can change the fact that Ruth has soothed her wings and called them beautiful and held Peri close in her arms. That’s real now, and nothing can ever take that away from her. That’s something she wouldn’t give up even to avoid all this hurt. She lays a hand over one of the darker ones splayed across her ribs, and Ruth tangles their fingers together. The gesture makes Peri melt back into her embrace. It acquires even more layers when Ruth brings her wings around parallel to Peri’s own to shelter her from the stiffening breeze.

Although being so close is what made her aching flare up so terribly into this storm of unutterable words and nameless longing, drawing even closer like this gently ushers Peri into something of a storm’s eye. Here, body to body and wing to wing, the aching releases its grip on her, and she finally goes completely soft. She knows it’s still there, rooted deep within her. But for perhaps the first time since it sprouted unnoticed in her heart an unknown number of years ago and began trellising itself all through her chest and shoulders, it doesn’t hurt. It just holds her, steadies her, the same way Ruth is holding her.

The breeze grows cooler and the surf grows fainter as the tide goes out. The pink clouds have long since taken a turn toward purple, and are now fading into dusky violet in an inky-blue evening sky.

Eventually, Ruth stirs without letting go of her. “Hey, Peri, look.” She points out west toward where the sun’s setting leaves a pale halo on the horizon. In between the smoky clouds, there’s a bright pinprick of light.

“It’s you,” Ruth says. “The evening star. Hesperos, the Greeks called it. And Phosphoros, the morning star – back then they didn’t know it was the same thing. It’s Venus, really. But I guess we’ve never really forgotten what it meant to us, in the beginning, when we started looking at the sky. And we’ve carried the story of it with us ever since.”

“Mmhmm.” Peri’s heard this story many times before. But she could spend all night listening to the way Ruth’s voice goes soft and full of awe when she talks about the stars.

They both gasp as a broad streak of blue-white brilliance arcs right past the gleaming planet and vanishes behind a trailing cloud.

“Oh, that’s a fireball!” Ruth exclaims, holding on to her tight. “I’ve never seen one that bright. Blue usually means high magnesium content – quick, make a wish, girl!” She gives Peri an extra squeeze.

“What, because it has high magnesium content?” Peri asks, baffled.

“No, dummy, because it’s a shooting star! Quick now.”

Peri looks out to the horizon where the ‘star’ fell, blinking at the afterimages of its descent. The only wish she can possibly make right now is the one that she doesn’t have words for. Her chest and throat go tight and sharp as she tries once more to force the yearning inside her to name itself, even if only in her mind. But it’s like trying to pick unripe fruit that clings tenaciously to the vine. It’s just not ready. Maybe she herself just isn’t ready.

Then again, maybe wishes don’t need to be trapped in words. That planet glinting on the horizon has meant enough to people to be given many words – names – of its own, but it’s still the same thing it always was. Perceptions must have shifted over time, and yet Hesperia’s own name is a lingering echo of what a light in the sky meant to humans who lived centuries ago. The nature of things matters, but so does the way people feel about them.

Peri stops fighting the thing inside her, and it immediately releases her into the softness of Ruth’s arms again. Okay. Squeezing her eyes shut, she holds the memory of that shooting star close to her heart. She pulls that spark of light into the soft eye of the storm with her, thinking deliberately: this. And then, because her human mind clings to the language it knows, gives it the only vague words that she has.

I hope this works out.

She heaves a great sigh as she sets the wish free and leans into Ruth even more.

“Starshine?” Ruth.

“Yeah?”

“You make a wish?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Don’t tell me.” Ruth pulls her in closer, until Peri’s nestled into her chest close enough to feel another heartbeat.

They’re quiet. The sky has finally darkened enough that the lighthouse’s swinging beam has become a solid thing in the dimness.

“Did you?” Peri asks.

“Did I what?”

“Make a wish.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we do that? Both make wishes on the same star?”

“I dunno. Maybe if we wish for the same thing? Guess we won’t find out unless it comes true.”

“Well, you’re the star expert. I believe you.”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

“You will be. I know you.”

Ruth only hums in response. Peri feels the vibration of the sound against her back and wings. A chill runs across her skin, making her feathers stand up briefly.

“You alright?” Ruth asks, running a gentle hand along her feathers once more.

“Mmmm.”

The stars are starting to fill all the gaps between the clouds now.

“Do you wanna go back in?” Ruth asks.

“Mm,” Peri says again. “Not yet. Can we stay just a little longer?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Although my leg is kinda asleep.”

“Oh, gosh, I'm right on it, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t worry. Maybe let’s move back so I can lean on the light, though?” Peri nods.

Ruth lets go of her and scoots the few feet back to the light at the center of the circular balcony. Peri’s heartache whines a little at the temporary loss, but she soothes it with a wordless whisper. She clambers after Ruth and leans against the light next to her, the intermittent brilliance shining through their feathers. She leans into the wing that Ruth spreads for her and the arm that Ruth wraps around her shoulders. She curls an arm around Ruth’s waist, weaving it under her beautiful barred and spotted feathers. The slow, regular creak of the light turning hums behind and below them. Its familiar gleam and grumble insulates them from the rest of the world. They’re cupped in their own little universe of light and sound, nothing but the sky and the sea and the shining.

The weight of Ruth’s head against her shoulder takes Peri by surprise. She hardly dares to glance at it, afraid she might move, but she dares just enough to allow herself a glimpse of Ruth’s dark hair only inches away. It’s really there. She’s really there.

Peri leans her head against Ruth’s, and her chest is a garden thinking of flowers. The two of them share a sigh and watch the stars and the swinging light in the darkness.

#the far meridian #hesperia #whisperforge #peri/ruth #lizzie taking up space #peruth #fanfic #femslash #crop circles #til the sun sets in verona #long post #podcasts

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ruleandruinevents · 7 years

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DATE: December 21st, Year 1 LOCATION: The Grand Palace Ballroom TIME: 8:00 P.M.

Without winter, there could be no summer; without the dark, there could be no light. It was a balance universally acknowledged even before the war, even before the Fold—when the second Ivan Lantsov ruled with an iron grip and Ravka knew not what despair was, and it was this hope that founded the tradition, this brave welcoming of adversity that began it all. They ate and drank and danced and the cold had no dominion over them; in those days, the glory days, few things did. The Winter Fete was but another show of prosperity for a country unfettered by war and famine, and even as the two squandered the nation’s pride, it lived on, spanning generation after generation, era after bronze era.

It isn’t like it once was, but things touched by hardship seldom are.

The Ravkan countryside is a wild thing—so vividly alive even as so many of the things it holds dear are dying, as its trees shed their leaves and its songbirds fly south in search of warmer weather—stubborn, like any creature with a beating heart, but beautiful, too. Winter has crept in on autumn’s dying breath, and with it, the first snowfall, glittering and cold. The days have grown shorter and the nights longer still, and the change comes as both an inconvenience and a comfort to all, like a last dance long-practiced, familiar and bittersweet.

Inside the towering walls of Os Alta, few things have changed since the first Fete centuries ago. The Grand Palace buzzes with the hustle of preparation—the clink of champagne glasses and porcelain plates and silver platters, the clap of hooves and the creak of wheels against cobblestone, the ringing of a dozen bells, each with their own meaning. The servants walk the same corridors they did long ago, and those fortunate outsiders called in for the sole purpose of making the ball even more memorable than the one before it run in the same circles—the architects, the artists, creators of beauty and wonder.

The Little Palace, too, seems to hum in anticipation, its best and brightest set to the task—at times, begrudgingly—of making everything as it should be. The Materialki make recluses of themselves in the days leading up to the ball, backs bent and heads bowed over blueprints and menial requests alike—of chandeliers, of violins, of lady’s gowns, each frivolous in their own strange way. The Etherealki make fools of themselves in similar fashion, making flames dance and making art out of the breeze, of the snow; the show must go on, even if it’s a waste of their talents, even if it’s only inferni smoke and materialnik mirrors. Even the Corporalki are called upon in matters of health and beauty, for in the eyes of a shallow nobility, there can be no life without the former and certainly no hope without the latter.

And then, almost as if on nature’s whim, the night arrives, and with it, all the pomp and circumstance the gentility pride themselves on—carriages laden with gold, women swallowed by satin and tulle, men decked smartly in military dress. The chandeliers’ gleam rivals the stars, and champagne flows like a river. Everything and everyone is beautiful, and for one night, there is no war; there is no famine. There is only a dance, a song, a smile, a woman in a blue dress and a man in a violet kefta—there is only hope, fragile and raw and lasting, if only in moments like this.

The guests arrive to the sound of trumpets, and the procession to the ballroom is a slow thing, a dignified thing, but it’s flushed with the warmth of anticipation, alight with something akin to excitement. Lords and ladies file in, arm in arm or proudly lacking, and they line up like little toy soldiers in rows: barons and baronesses, dukes and duchesses, the rich and the brave and the old and the young and every respectable individual in between. Their military heroes join them not long after—their generals, their colonels, their bright-eyed lieutenants, courageous and proud and with medals dangling from their necks to show for it. And gathered before their king and his family, they wait, chins high and eyes fixed on the crown, for the words their sovereign has uttered dozens of times, and his ancestors before him, hundreds: “We celebrate, but above all else, we prevail!” It’s a mantra of sorts, a promise—wishful thinking at times and stone-solid at others, and the crowd, draped in their finery and blessed with the ignorance of never knowing what winter truly means for the less fortunate, raise their flutes in response and drink to the health of their friends, to the prosperity of their nation.

And they dance, the kingdom’s finest—the first of the ball and the first of the season, though, they hope, certainly not their last; the music lilts and sways and so do they, steady on their feet but only just. Silk and taffeta rustle across the floor, hellos are exchanged like currency, and though it’s the sort of gesture that never truly gets old, the moment is still taken for granted, as all things to be treasured inevitably are, for the guests are not all here, and the knowing of it weighs on them all—some like a feather, curiosity-tinged and excitement-laced, and some like a stone, somber and cold. But they’re coming—they always are, and they’ll be here soon enough: the magicians, the witches, the gifted—the practitioners of a Science they were never invited to learn.

The doors swing open, and the ballroom pauses as if drawing a breath—waits in anticipation; the crowd parts not in the way it had for its soldiers, but in the way of wary children, eager to get a closer look but fearful of a look too close, and they march in, violet and blue and scarlet, each order more formidable than the last. No one speaks; no one cheers. They are greeted by the music’s crescendo and the sort of reverence borne of a heavy silence, and it is as it has always been: a ceasefire for a war that was never truly declared.

And they notice something different, a break from what’s come to be second nature to some, but though they wonder at the meaning of it, none dare to ask about the girl in the black kefta, for in order for hope to thrive, there must first be a bit of mystery.

The procession comes to a halt, the trumpets blare, and the spell is broken. Their voices ring out, “My prevaliruyem!” and their glasses raise, and just as it has hundreds of times before, the celebration begins.

OVERVIEW: Welcome to Rule and Ruin’s opening event! We’re so incredibly excited to begin this journey with you all, and we hope you’re as ready as we are to dive right in.

This will be a two-part event, with this half of the event spanning the events before the Grisha perform. All characters are free to roam throughout the ballroom, gardens, and all surrounding corridors at this time. You may play out threads between 8:00 P.M. and 11:15 P.M. Please tag your event starters with #rarfete and #rarstarter.

For your reference, humans are dressed in formal evening wear; military officers and guards are in uniform. Grisha are wearing their appropriate keftas.

#rarfete #rarevent #lsrpg #literate rp #tgt

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alwayssummerblog · 6 years

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Kacey Musgraves & Ruston Kelly - Romance Review

Kacey Musgraves has had one hell of a year! Not only has the country sensation toured with Harry Styles, but her fourth studio album Golden Hour has received high praise from both fans and critics alike, along with multiple nominations across several award shows. To top it all off, Musgraves is celebrating her first anniversary being married to fellow artist, Ruston Kelly on October 14!

Having the benefit of getting to watch some of their love story play out in public, it’s safe to say that as Kacey and Ruston were falling for each other, we were falling for them as well. And, even luckier for us, the couple has been generous enough to let us into some of their more personal moments, from the story of how they met to their stunning fall Tennessee woodland wedding. With their one-year wedding anniversary right on the horizon, we’re celebrating a year of Kacey & Ruston Kelly with a brief timeline of their romance. Here’s to the everlasting union of two of music’s brightest songbirds!

A Chance Meeting

As it seems to always go, the country starlet wasn’t “looking to date” when she met her future husband. “I decided to go to the Bluebird one night for a writers’ round, which I never do because it’s so touristy,” she recounts in a July 2018 interview with Hits Daily Double. Note for the non-Nashvillians, the Bluebird Café is a legendary club famous for its’ remarkable writers rounds. “I didn’t go with anyone, and I was sitting by myself at a table. Ruston played his first song, and I was just stunned by everything in it—the words, the melody, what he was saying. I was just sitting at this table, crying.”

In another uncharacteristic move for her, Musgraves was compelled to introduce herself to him, “Hey, I don’t really ever do this, but here’s my number; I really wanna write with you.” Flash forward from their March 2016 meeting to the date they had finally nailed down for a write, May 11. A fateful day indeed, the songwriter explains their first “date” with only the beauty and imagery she could. “The second Ruston walked into my house, I felt like Dorothy when the colorized part happens in The Wizard of Oz. We didn’t even write a song. We just talked, and talked, and talked. He didn’t leave until like 3am. It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world—and I didn’t want it to stop.”

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I NEVER KNEW LOVE COULD BE THIS FUN (Photos by @kellychristinesutton, of course!)

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Dec 25, 2016 at 7:19am PST

“I NEVER KNEW LOVE COULD BE THIS FUN”

Once the two found each other, they never looked back. Only months after meeting, they knew they had found a home in one another, illustrated by the caption on a photo Kacey posted of the two in July, relatively early in their relationship, “with all the craziness that is plaguing the world it feels nice to have a little bit of quiet land to come home to and rest my heart.”

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with all the craziness that is plaguing the world it feels nice to have a little bit of quiet land to come home to and rest my heart.

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Jul 7, 2016 at 9:34pm PDT

The newfound stability fostered incredible works of art. Known for writing stories from others perspectives, Kacey was asked if her husband had any impact on the deviation from her typical style on latest album Golden Hour. She responded, “I'm living in a much more positive light now. It’s maybe opened my heart a little. And I realized maybe I’ve been a little over-[self] protected. Maybe I can let loose a little more, trust more in the songs, what I have at home and out here.” Needless to say, it wasn’t long before Kelly popped the big question, in an incredibly thoughtful and sweet display in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by loved ones, during Christmas break. The caption of an Instagram photo Musgraves posted of her brand new engagement ring says it all, “I didn't say yes...I said HELL YESSSS!! Last night, the best man I've ever met got down on one knee in my little pink childhood home, in the same room I played with my ponies and barbies and asked me the easiest question I've ever been asked. ❤I finally know what everyone means when they say "you just know”.

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I didn't say yes...I said HELL YESSSS!! Last night, the best man I've ever met got down on one knee in my little pink childhood home..in the same room I played with my ponies and barbies and asked me the easiest question I've ever been asked. ❤ I finally know what everyone means when they say "you just know".

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Dec 25, 2016 at 7:16am PST

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We had just been at my parent's house randomly having a night of watching bittersweet old home tapes of all these beautiful family memories that were made in this little, old country house I grew up in that I now have. We came back to that house afterwards and he had somehow pulled off having my sister + brother in-law sneak off and completely decorate my childhood bedroom in the most nostalgic and perfect Christmas decorations. I was bewildered and confused when I saw it all and turned around and the song "Two For The Road" by Henry Mancini started playing (this song is so emotional and sweet..it's one of my favorites..you have to go listen) and he was on his knee with a baby pink velvet ring box and the sparkliest thing I've ever seen! 💖Then my sister busted in and captured it all with her camera. It was so beyond special. Of all the places in the world I've gotten to see, nowhere could mean more than this happening in tiny Golden, Texas in the house that completely made me who I am.

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Dec 25, 2016 at 7:38am PST

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Perfection 💍😭💕 Thank you, my love.

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Dec 25, 2016 at 12:26pm PST

Woodland Wedding

Their wedding was reflective of the couple itself, intimate, family-oriented, and anchored by nature. In her own words, the bride recalled, “Saturday, in a sacred place where two rivers meet and join together, I married my best friend, barefoot and surrounded by the deepest kind of magic and love that exists. I've never felt so tranquil and happy. We made our promises to each other under the trees and then drank and danced into the night. We couldn't have done any of it without the help of our wonderful families and amazing friends.” The groom added that it embodied, “The best kind of magic. Best day of my life.”

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Saturday, in a sacred place where two rivers meet and join together, I married my best friend..barefoot and surrounded by the deepest kind of magic and love that exists. I've never felt so tranquil and happy. We made our promises to each other under the trees and then drank and danced into the night. We couldn't have done any of it without the help of our wonderful families and amazing friends. PHOTO BY @nbarrettphoto ............................. [extra massive thanks to Melissa and @evan_tate of @photowagontx + @bowsandarrowsflowers and crew for coordinating/planning/florals/styling and making everything a reality + @jbamn for the funny, personal and beautiful officiating, @peytonfrank, @allikdesign @unclecarl13 @leeuwnashville @thekindcake @indahevents @silveroakcellars Hair/Makeup by @carlenekmakeup + Ali at @thedryhousenashville We love y'all!] ❤️More to come.

A post shared by K A C E Y M U S G R A V E S (@spaceykacey) on Oct 17, 2017 at 7:30am PDT

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The best kind of magic. Best day of my life. 📷: @nbarrettphoto

A post shared by RUSTON KELLY (@rustonkelly) on Oct 17, 2017 at 7:30am PDT

The photographs show the whimsical wedding we dreamed that Kacey Musgraves would have. Complete with bio-degradable confetti, a photo trailer, and a grassy aisle, the small gathering had less than 100 guests and only one bridesmaid and groomsman, their sister and brother respectively. Our favorite feature? The photos of family members that adorned the wall above the guest book table. See some of the beauty for yourself in these photos posted on Marth Stuart Weddings HERE.

The Release of Golden Hour

In the same thought from the Hits Daily Double interview quoted earlier, the artist elaborates on how meeting the love of her life changed her entirely, and therefore her music. “I’ve never had love songs or relationship songs. I write about other things, other people’s stories or perspectives. When you’re with someone you truly love to the core and they feel that way about you, there’s no sense of panic—or that it’s going to come apart.” All one would have to do is listen to the album in its entity to hear all the impact Ruston has had on its’ creator. Later, she reiterates, “I love love. So much I’ve never expressed it inwardly in the songs. Now that I’m with someone who loves me no matter what my flaws are, it’s a whole other thing. And you see it even more clearly.”

That support from Ruston radiates, ahead of Golden Hour’s release he told his Instagram followers, “There is nothing more attractive than someone continually striving to master their craft. Allowing your creative output to evolve synonymously with who and where you are in your life is essential to the artist who gives a shit about the quality of their platform. But when surrounded by a popular musical climate that encourages complacency and awards the mediocre, it is truly a brave feat. Ever the does-what-she-fucking-wants creative woman, she knows what’s up. As a comrade, I strongly champion this new wonderful work.” Talk about a supportive spouse!

Collaborating on “To June, This Morning”

The newlyweds had the opportunity to participate in an homage to icon Johnny Cash through a project titled, Forever Words. Kelly once posted on his Instagram sharing with his followers, “Last night [Kacey] and I sang "To June, This Morning," a poem written by Johnny Cash in 1970. I had started to put music to this 12 years ago and forgot about it. Kacey and I revisited it recently and finished it in like 6 seconds. Finding the love of your life can make words like that come alive. It will be released on the upcoming "Forever Words" project featuring several artists singing Johnny Cash poems. We feel um VERY LUCKY.”

In an incredible interview with Rolling Stone Country, the only son of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash expressed his appreciation that Kelly brought the song to his attention, according to the interview “having seen it himself in a memorabilia book while he was a teenager.” He goes further to comment, “Here’s a young couple running parallel lives with where my mother and father were. In that vibrant, excited point where there is all that hope.” And that there is plenty of, just watch the video they released to accompany the music, the two are full of love for each other.

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The Release of Dying Star

6 months following his new wife’s fourth studio album release, Ruston Kelly celebrated the September 7 release of his debut album, Dying Star. And like his wife, finding the love of his life had a monumental impact on him as an artist and his craft, and discussed this earlier this year in an interview with Sounds Like Nashville, “She really helped me pick up some of those pieces and remind me that what I’m doing is important and to understand what I need to do to pick myself back up.” He calls her “that classic receptive feminine force in a man’s life.” Adding that they bonded over “talking about art and music and also doing things the way you were meant to do them and not being apologetic whatsoever about it.”

Now that doesn’t surprise us.

While we’re only able to highlight a few of the major public moments from this power couple, we know there are countless we’ve missed and even more to come. We patiently await the numerous artistic benefits the union of two super-songwriters brings. With both artists busy promoting their latest releases, they are forced to spend most of that time apart, something they understood from the start. Kacey is currently out on her Oh What a World Tour, spanning Norway to the UK before traversing the US.

As for Kelly? He’s playing a number of fun festivals and shows over the coming months, some tickets to which are available HERE.

We’d like to congratulate one of our favorite country music couples one last time on a blissful first year of marriage, and toast many more to come. Please, do continue keep us in the loop!

#country #MegaCountry #kacey musgraves #ruston kelly

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