Brace for whisky

Wynonna almost smiled at the sight of them. They looked comfortable near each other. And Matt had sure as hell calmed down. My guys. 

It wasn't until a few seconds later that she realized that she'd just thought that and gracefully started to choke on the coffee that she'd accidentally inhaled. "Shit, that's hot!" She spluttered. 

It was an odd testament to how used to her presence Matt had gotten (and how distracting Frank's closeness was), that Matt hadn't actively been aware of exactly how close she was until he could hear her heartbeat change, stumble over itself, right before she choked. 

Frank didn't seem surprised at all, he simply turned to look at her, turning into Matt, instead of away from him, and the smile in his voice was obvious. "Y'alright there, hotshot?"  

[...] 

“Considering how he regarded Wyatt, I would be surprised if he did anything less for you.”

“Italy…“ He mused between bites. "I have not spent much time in the country proper. Switzerland, yes…” he grew pensive for a moment before finishing his thought, “but I have not lingered in Italy.”

“Yeah. Well......” Wynonna shook her head and left it at that. Doc was...Doc. She was inextricably intertwined with him. Partly because of Wyatt and his bond with the gunslinger. And partly because of...Alice.

Repost don’t reblog!

(WINTER) a chill right down to the bones. tobogganing. teeth chattering. sleeping all day. sitting by the fireplace. spending time with family. layered clothing. seeing another’s breath. loving the cold. a state of inactivity.  cold hands. blistering winds shaking the closed windows. a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them. cable knit socks. a bitter remark. a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. hating the cold. full-length windows to peer out of. pale skin. deep conversations. watching the snowfall. sharp edges. hot cocoa. smelling every candle in the store. a wild snowstorm. melancholy. lighting candles around the bathtub. snow globes.   expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest of blankets. liking, but not loving something or someone.

(SPRING) the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself. a soft breeze blowing your hair. lightning when it strikes. cherry blossoms. bright mornings.   the first sign of hope. the relief of finding something you lost. paris in the spring. birds chirping. the art of growing. a kiss on the cheek. the clap of thunder. a tornado in the valley. smiling at a stranger. planning. saccharine pinks. making promises. trying something new. hugs when you need them most. a bee sting. sitting on the steps of the met. coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm. picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun. that feeling you get when you put on a good dress. a long hike. rushing when you can take your time. going to the gym/training at ungodly hours. excitement for what’s coming. becoming yourself. rain boots.

(SUMMER) lanterns lit around a campfire. seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again. melting ice cream. the warmth of sun rays upon skin. fireworks. the feeling of never wanting something to end. beach days. the lone blown up floaty left in the pool. drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else. music blasting at 3am. loud and proud. palms trees on sunset boulevard. longer days and shorter nights. wanderlust. nights spent staring at the stars. sandcastles. road trips. blood orange sunsets. leaving the laundry to hang outside. flowers in bloom. sneaking out of your room late at night. pure contentment. barefoot in the sand. the street lights coming on. the sound of the ocean in a seashell. freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing. a cannonball into the pool. sunflowers. the hazy pink before dusk. relaxation.

(FALL) the leaves changing colors. a heavy backpack. the smell of old books. eating until you’re stuffed. deep dark woods. the silence in loudness. abandoned houses. ripped jeans. crunching leaves beneath feet. feeling like you’ve been somewhere before. sitting at a bay window. having endless amount of work. charcoal drawings. screaming into a pillow as loud as you can. pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards. accepting that some things do have to change. museums. small talk. being ignored. procrastinating. a door slamming shut. going to bed early. baking pies. the fear of walking alone in the dark. feeling completely and terribly lost. a twig snapping. crisp, cool days. belly laughter after crying. converses. foggy mornings at the shoreline. writing a daily entry in a journal. a lonely day.

“Slow progress is still progress.” He took a sip of his bourbon and regarded her for a few seconds. “What was it brought the bar above ground?”

.

“Spoken like someone who has had a buttload of time to make progress.” Wynonna’s own glass was, miraculously, still full. One shoulder jerked forward in a shrug. “Don’t really remember.”

“Well. That’s a bit of a low bar for trusting someone. But do what you will.”

.

“Higher than it used to be,” she replied with ease. “It’s not underground anymore.”