#⤠ etched in stone (queue)

[helloindiatour003]

Taj Mahal Day Tour

Introduction

Steeped in history and romance, the Taj Mahal stands as a breathtaking testament to love and architectural brilliance, captivating millions of visitors each year. Nestled along the banks of the Yamuna River in Agra, this iconic marble mausoleum, commissioned by Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal, is more than just a monument; it is a symbol of an enduring legacy etched in time. An unforgettable day tour of the Taj Mahal day Tour offers a unique opportunity to delve into its intricate carvings, lush gardens, and stunning reflections on the water, all while immersing yourself in the rich stories that surround this UNESCO World Heritage Site. Join us as we embark on a journey through the magnificent halls and grounds of the Taj Mahal, exploring not only its architectural marvels but also the vibrant culture and history of India that envelop it, ensuring that your visit becomes an indelible memory.

Planning Your Visit to the Taj Mahal

Planning your visit to the Taj Mahal requires careful consideration to ensure an unforgettable experience at this iconic wonder. Start by choosing the best time of year to visit; the cooler months from October to March offer pleasant weather, making your exploration more enjoyable. Aim to arrive early in the morning or during sunset to witness the breathtaking beauty of the Taj Mahal bathed in golden hues, creating a magical atmosphere that enhances its ethereal charm.

Next, think about how you want to travel. Agra is well-connected by road and rail, with several options including trains from Delhi and private taxi services. If you prefer a guided experience, many local tour operators offer packages that include transportation, entrance tickets, and knowledgeable guides who can provide fascinating insights into the history and architecture of this UNESCO World Heritage site.

Before your visit, be aware of the entry ticket prices and consider booking your tickets online to avoid long queues. Remember to dress modestly and comfortably, as respect for the cultural significance of the site is essential. Don’t forget to pack essentials like water bottles, sunscreen, and a camera to capture the stunning beauty of this architectural masterpiece.

Highlights

When embarking on an unforgettable day tour of the Taj Mahal, you’ll discover a treasure trove of highlights that make this experience truly remarkable. Here are some key points to look forward to:

1. Majestic Sunrise Viewing: Begin your day with a breathtaking sunrise view of the Taj Mahal, as the first rays of light illuminate its stunning marble façade, creating a magical atmosphere.

2. Guided Tour of the Taj Mahal: Enjoy an immersive guided tour that delves into the rich history and architectural brilliance of this iconic monument, revealing fascinating stories behind its construction by Emperor Shah Jahan.

3. Stunning Mughal Gardens: Stroll through the beautifully landscaped gardens, known as the Charbagh, which reflect the meticulous planning and symbolism of Mughal architecture, enhancing the beauty of the Taj Mahal.

4. Intricate Marble Inlay Work: Admire the exquisite craftsmanship displayed in the intricate marble inlay work, featuring precious stones like lapis lazuli, agate, and jade, which tell tales of love and artistry.

5. Photo Opportunities: Capture unforgettable moments with iconic photo spots around the Taj Mahal, including the reflecting pool and the grand entrance gate, ensuring you have stunning memories to take home.

These highlights ensure that your Taj Mahal day Tour is not just a visit but an enriching journey into one of the world’s most celebrated architectural masterpieces.

Exploring Agra: Beyond the Taj Mahal

While the Taj Mahal undoubtedly steals the spotlight as India’s most iconic landmark, Agra is a treasure trove of historical wonders waiting to be explored. After soaking in the ethereal beauty of the Taj, extend your journey through this vibrant city, where each corner tells a story steeped in history and culture.

Begin your adventure at the Agra Fort, a UNESCO World Heritage site that boasts an impressive combination of red sandstone and white marble. As you wander through its majestic gates and explore its sprawling courtyards, you will marvel at the intricate carvings and stunning architecture that reflect the prowess of Mughal design. Don’t miss the stunning views of the Taj Mahal that can be admired from the fort, a perfect reminder of its proximity and grandeur.

As you continue to delve deeper into Agra’s rich tapestry, make your way to the tomb of Itimad-ud-Daulah, often referred to as the “Baby Taj.” This exquisite mausoleum, built for the grandfather of Mumtaz Mahal, features delicate inlay work and lush gardens, offering a peaceful contrast to the bustling city streets. The artistry displayed here is a precursor to the Taj Mahal, showcasing the elegance of Mughal architecture at its finest.

No visit to Agra would be complete without indulging in the local cuisine. Agra is famous for its delectable street food, with delights such as petha (a sweet made from ash gourd) and various types of kebabs beckoning to be tasted. Take a stroll through the vibrant markets, where you can bask in the lively atmosphere, shop for handicrafts, and perhaps pick up a unique souvenir to commemorate your journey.

Tips for Capturing the Perfect Photos

Capturing the essence of the Taj Mahal is an art in itself, and with the right tips, you can turn your snapshots into stunning masterpieces that encapsulate the beauty of this iconic wonder. Start your day early to take advantage of the soft morning light, which bathes the monument in a warm glow and creates dramatic shadows that enhance its intricate details. The first rays of sunlight not only illuminate the marble façade but also provide a serene atmosphere with fewer crowds, allowing for unobstructed shots.

When framing your photos, consider the classic perspectives. The view from the main entrance gate, with the Taj Mahal perfectly centered in the background, is a must-have shot. Experiment with different angles, such as capturing reflections in the serene pools or incorporating the lush gardens that lead up to the monument. Don’t forget to focus on the architectural details — ornate carvings, inlaid gemstones, and the majestic dome — these elements will add depth and interest to your collection.

To add a unique touch, consider including people in your photographs. Whether it’s a candid moment of visitors admiring the view or a posed shot with friends and family, these images can evoke a sense of scale and tell a story. Use a wide-angle lens to capture the grandeur of the scene or a zoom lens to highlight intricate details from a distance.

Why Choose Us

Opting for our Unforgettable Taj Mahal day Tour means choosing an experience that transcends the ordinary, immersing you in the rich tapestry of history, culture, and breathtaking beauty that the Taj Mahal embodies. Our team is passionate about sharing the stories and secrets of this iconic wonder, ensuring that your visit is not just a sightseeing trip but a journey through the heart of India’s heritage.

We pride ourselves on our expert guides, who possess an in-depth knowledge of Mughal history and architecture. They are not only well-versed in the facts but also adept at weaving captivating narratives that bring the Taj Mahal to life. As you stroll through the serene gardens and admire the intricate details of the marble façade, our guides will share insider insights that you won’t find in guidebooks, enhancing your understanding of this architectural marvel.

Moreover, we prioritize your comfort and convenience. Our tours are designed with flexibility in mind, accommodating different interests and schedules. We provide transportation in air-conditioned vehicles, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free experience from start to finish. Our small group sizes foster a more intimate atmosphere, allowing for personalized attention and the opportunity to ask questions and engage in meaningful discussions.

In addition to the Taj Mahal, we curate a well-rounded itinerary that may include visits to nearby attractions such as the Agra Fort and local markets, where you can immerse yourself in the vibrant culture of Agra. Whether you are a history enthusiast, a photography lover, or simply seeking to witness one of the world’s most breathtaking landmarks, our tour is tailored to meet your needs.

Lastly, we are committed to sustainable tourism practices, ensuring that your visit supports local communities and preserves the environment. By choosing us, you are not just seeing the Taj Mahal; you are contributing to responsible travel that benefits both people and places.

Join us for an unforgettable experience at the Taj Mahal, and create memories that will last a lifetime!

Conclusion

In conclusion, a day tour to the Taj Mahal is not just a visit to a monument; it’s an immersive experience that weaves together the rich tapestry of history, culture, and personal reflection. As you stand before this majestic mausoleum, with its pristine white marble glistening in the sunlight and its intricate carvings telling tales of love and devotion, you can’t help but feel a connection to the countless souls who have marveled at its beauty throughout the centuries. The journey through the lush gardens, the serene Yamuna River, and the surrounding architecture only enhances the overall experience, providing a backdrop that complements the grandeur of the Taj.

For More info Visit :- helloindiatour.com G mail :- info@helloindiatour.com Mobile :- +91 730 204 8701

[coreymichaelsmithson]

Debussy in the Boneyard

I've always been drawn to the gardens of the dead.

McEwen, the town I live in, has two cemeteries. The smaller one, technically speaking, is a graveyard, as the property belongs to a nearby Irish Catholic church. Its oldest section holds parishioners born in the early 1800s, emigrants from Kilkenny or Galway or Cork who might have fled the '40s famine and the crushing poverty that ensued, or those who followed the promise of work on the Nashville and Northwestern railroads. I imagine that many of the second wave who arrived in the '90s endured the traumatizing queues of Ellis Island, maybe even squeezing through the inoculating bottleneck of quarantine on Swinburne. All of them died as Americans in Tennessee.

The graveyard is just a few blocks from my house on Main Street, and I often go there when I need to take long phone calls or clear my head. The stones dating back to the 1850s are attractively mossy and worn, with many words eroded into illegibility, while the ones from this century feature elaborate etchings, embedded photographs, or even mounted souvenirs. There are a few shade trees, some benches to sit upon, and a surprising number of memorials with only a single date. The most touching grave belongs to Beau, stillborn on Valentine's Day, now attended by toy trucks and a teddy bear. Children's graves often bear gifts.

The younger and grander of the two boneyards is McEwen Cemetery. The walk there is also fairly short, but it's a far more satisfying journey, especially during the late afternoon. I like the cross-section of town it provides, its string of small but evocative details. Most of my route follows Railroad Street ... which, as you might imagine, runs alongside the train tracks, rising and falling for less than a mile before terminating in the cemetery. The road takes me past a few plain little prefabs, an ancient tupelo tree, a pink crêpe myrtle as gay as a spray of confetti, a mildewy white trailer, some crooked toolsheds, signs reading WELCOME in wooden letters, and hooded signal lamps hanging from the crossbucks.

Autumn is here, and the maples are the first to announce themselves. Throughout the town, people are lighting the fires of fall: leaves, trash, burn pits. The smell of their smoke seems specific to autumn ... perhaps it's the first snap of cool air, that quality people describe as "crisp", that lends these odors such vividness. You have a sense of things being taken in, the harvest nearing completion, a withdrawal into the warmth of home. Even the tacky décor of Halloween ... the orange wreaths, the faux skeletons, the polythene witches ... somehow hints at the shift towards winter and its gelid quietude, the annual death that is not really death but rather dormancy, of the inevitable cyclic renewal that requires some form of sacrifice from all living things. If you were to live long enough, for millennia rather than decades, you'd see everything sped up, as if you were holding the fast-forward button on a remote ... the rails obscured by ivy, the ravine choked with thistle, the lawns conquered by sumac, the asphalt shattered by dandelions, the road blocked by blackberry, the houses darkening with mold and falling inwards. At such a scale all human concerns would shrink to the busyness of ants, while the sun and moon chased each other through the flickering sky.

The plants along the railroad embankment are engaged in a battle for supremacy, with kudzu emerging as the obvious winner. I see long seedpods drooping from catalpas, a forgotten tire swing, a ramshackle trampoline. I hear the high school's marching band, and distant gunshots, and that insistent cricket song which sounds like power lines. There is one last yard, a pair of rusted tractors, a joyless swing set, some hollowed gourds meant for martins and wrens, a row of fruit trees, and then an empty field that somehow suggests Elysium. Finally, the narrowing and now nameless lane lifts above a long pond in a copse. I've come to think of this puddle as McEwen's version of the river Styx ... for as soon as we cross it, we'll be wandering among the departed.

While exploring the cemetery, I'll connect my phone to its earpiece, while keeping the other ear free for birdsong and barking dogs. Lately, I've been playing a few of my favorite pieces by Debussy ... "Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune", "La fille aux cheveux de lin", and especially his "Danse profane". The lilting strings and rippling harp create a soft but stirring soundtrack for my communion with the dead.

Strangely, though, this place doesn't feel funereal. In fact, the cemetery throbs with life. I watch as a monarch lifts from the knotweed. A pit bull from the nearby farm trots over, tail wagging, to greet me. Behind a fence, a swaybacked mare nibbles on some fescue. Caterpillar nests gleam like silver on the elms, and poison ivy stamps its scarlet on the undergrowth. The orderly rows of monuments get disrupted here and there by natural features, such as hills or trees, and the ground settles unevenly, revealing the mounds of coffins. A few families elect to delineate their plots with low blocks of masonry or ornamental gates ... though the worms and beetles and mycelia will observe no such borders. Flags and plastic flowers abound. I visit a man who died on his 29th birthday, and a mother who perished on the same day as her two toddlers. A lone tombstone leans against a Spanish oak. Some of the smallest markers say, simply, "DADDY" or "MAMA" or "WIFE". As the sun sinks lower and drops behind trees, the remaining alleys of light grow narrower, until only the tallest obelisks stand bright and orange in the beams.

I look to the sky, at a froth of cirrus blown sideways, and think of how thin our atmosphere actually is. All that protects us from the chilling vacuum of space is this fragile blue blanket of vapors, doomed to disappear in the next 2-3 billion years. We'll be long gone by then, along with the oceans and plants.

I consider the blip we represent in the galactic timeline ... and of the ecologies that must be thriving elsewhere in the cosmos. I think of the countless beasts on distant planets that are swimming or flying or fighting the peculiar battles of their biomes, beings as ignorant of us as we are of them, each creature obeying its native imperatives, each destined to its private oblivion. I think of asteroids and rogue proto-planets and unfortunate trajectories. On some ill-fated world somewhere, ruminants will stop grazing and lift their shaggy heads, blinking with incomprehension as the conclusive comet plunges and ignites in their atmosphere. But their nullification will not be for naught. The atoms that fashioned them will still exist. Heat and electricity and magnetism will still exist. All their matter will be recycled, each molecule being torn asunder so that new and more exotic configurations may be born, each particle playing but a bit part in an endless continuum. Death is only a singularity, a point through which life contracts and expands again. Dying stars seed space with carbon, magnesium, calcium, zinc. The hare surrenders to the grass, and the mushroom heralds a miracle, and bone meal betters our roses.

Meanwhile, I keep tapping on my phone to repeat the Debussy. Something about his music in this setting feels both melancholy and warming, plaintive and romantic. The word that comes to mind is "bittersweet". Claude Debussy has been dead for over a century ... yet he accompanies me now, on this fine autumn evening, chaperoning me as I consider the illusory boundary between life and death. His ghost makes for good company.

As I stroll among the graves, it occurs to me that the lives buried between these markers are not just a bunch of discrete units, self-contained and aloof from the stirrings of the world, but rather they form an occulted plexus of connection: families, businesses, churches, catastrophes, commencements, picnics, reunions, love affairs, scandals, marriages, maladies, baptisms ... and, of course, funerals.  The space between the stones seems at first to be measured by the standard span of coffins ... but in truth the cemetery chronicles a cumulative tale, a ceaseless and bewildering concurrence of human narratives, forever bubbling and piling and collapsing upon itself like foam on the surf. There is a message to be found in the muster of plots.

One of the best things you can do for your spirit is to spend some time in the presence of the deceased ... so I suggest that you avail yourself, at the next available opportunity, of the boneyard's splendid gifts, preferably during the golden hour that leads to dusk, and as you pass through the gate please make a point of turning towards the setting sun, and watch as its last slanting ray sets fire to the trees and outlines the edges of leaves and lights the Brownian dance of gnats ... and in this one enormous expanding instant, you may apprehend, in its entirety, life itself, life ever surging, ever swarming, proliferating, bursting free of rocks and ponds, rising from the loam in long unfurling gestures, clutching at the sky, vying for sunlight, and in all likelihood you will fall in love with the naked face of existence all over again, even with its grim chaotic terrors, even with its throttling vines, its tumors, its housefires, and you will find every process to be in order, every animate thing to be in perfect alignment with its purpose, and your mind will assign equal merit to the acorn and the oak that opens from it, and you will consider with an untroubled eye the upended armadillo, the ruined document, the torturous divorce, the smoke that curls into the sky, the vulture with clotted blood on its beak, the limping dog, the sagging porch, the leaning fence, and you will find mirth in the collapsing leer of the Jack O' Lantern, and you will see the world for all of its punctual cycles, its fecundity and decay, its apparent tumult and hidden patterns ... and you'll understand that one day, a day not very far from now, your newly unfettered consciousness will be at liberty to roam, to go further, to fly far from the shore towards the middle of the ocean, and that your mind may arrive at a calm expanse, a place with only one horizon, and there you will be truly free, free to explore, free to swim without the need for body or breath, to plunge beneath the surface and zip among the wriggling fish, to go below the bloated whale, to praise the cetacean that falls in soft white clumps towards the benthic midnight, to descend the cold column of dark that spans from blue to indigo to black, to sink amid the snowy detritus of plankton and hake scales twirling into the depths, to be gobbled by hagfish and crabs or lost among the fronds of sessile things, to be broken by worms, to molder into bare and quiescent motes, to become a carbonate slush on the sea floor ... and then you will know, know for certain, that nothing ever ends without beginning anew, and that you have always been and will always be, and you shall find yourself satisfied once again by the transitional nature of death, pleased to greet yet another death in a long unbroken line of them, and you will await with serenity all the deaths to come, and you will treasure the fleeting lives between them, and you will be at peace, assured that nothing dies forever, for life is forever, and forever is forever, amen.

[double-knots-archive]

Huli Jing the nine-tailed fox spirit by SombreClair

[ DO NOT REBLOG ]

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 19 October 1838

7

12 20

fine but coolish morning F58 ½° at 8 am – A- seems better this morning – breakfast at 8 ¾ to 9 55 off A- and I, and took George in landau and pair of horses at 10 18 to the Pont du Gard – in 50 minutes at St. Gervasy little post town 1 1/4p. and on the top of the hill (left) the chapel of this saint – in 10 minutes more pass thro’ a good village – at 12 pass the poste aux chevaux and hotel de la poste of Mr. Fabre at the good little village of La Foux (1 1/2p. from St. Gervasy) directly after pass close by (right) the suspension bridge across the Gardon to Remoulins and at 12 ½ alight at the Pont du Gard (1/4 lieue from La Foux) – the coachman took his horses to La poste at La Foux, to bait, and we kept George and examined the pont – the effect much spoilt by the road adossée against the east side of the point – the great breadth given to the lower étage destroys the light aerial effect, that must have been very striking while this magnificent pont (aqueduct) remained in its original state – East of the Pont the valley immediately widens out into an extensive plain – west of the pont the narrow valley of the Gardon (Gard) winding north westward amid low, round rocky quercus-ilex-wooded hills, or where not wooded covered with thyme, rosemary, rock-cistus with white, thick, soft leaf lavender, common juniper and box – Olive trees at the foot of the hills or vines, but much mixed (vines and olives) all the way from Nîmes – very pretty drive – a range of low rocky Ilex wooded hill pretty near all along left, and right, at some distance, the rising ground and rage of picturesque viny ilexy hill that parts our valley from the valley of the Rhone – La Foux a small neat village and here turn left (west) and the Pont du Gard ¼ lieue from La Foux – just out of La Foux pass close (right) the neat, handsome, but narrow suspension bridge over the Gardon to Remoulins, a good looking little town in the direct highroad from Nîmes to Avignon and from Beaucaire to Alais [Alaix] a thriving fast increasing little town, the principal proprietors of the Cette [Séte] railroad having opened at A- a large colliery and large iron foundry where all the rails etc. etc. are made – A- delighted with the pont du Gard and I perhaps admire it more now than when I saw it first in 1830 – I am more sensible now of its merit as a work of art – sought in vain this time as before for the ‘figure de Priape sculptée en bas relief sur une des voussoirs de la 3me arche du 2nd pont entre les retombées – il a une sonnette au con, et est termine par 3 queues retroussées qui forment 3 antres phallus, mais plus petits que le précédent’  96/150 Histoire des antiques de Nîmes par M. Ménard 7me edition Nîmes 1838. walked the ancient water course, and examined the pont from below and above and from both sides till 2 40 when sent George to La Foux for carriage – A- and I in the meantime scrambled up the hill on the left band of the river (a good stream) west of the Pont thro’ thyme and rosemary etc. and tall thick Ilex cops, and vineyard to more remains of the old aqueduct – regretted we had not another hour to spare which would have enabled to reach the next village and the line of old arches still looking tolerably perfect – but these remains are wasting fast – the people wall off their vineyards with stones, and will probably clear the ground by and by or do as much towards it as they can – it was 3 ¾ before we got into the carriage which we fund waiting for us with a new driver, the other being so drunk George would not let him attempt to drive us back – off home again at 3 48 – back at La Foux of the railroad in progress from Beaucaire by Nîmes to Alaix, and to go to Cette [Séte]? the railroad will cross the route royale here – home at 5 52 – dinner at 6 ¼ to 7 50 then had Mr. Bedos with his etchings à la plume of the antiquities of Nîmes etc. had him near an hour and A- bought the Pont du Gard 10/. and I a collection of the antiquities placed within the grille of the maison Carrée 10/. – then looked over books the waiter brought me this morning (for sale) – then ate grapes with A- then till 11 40 wrote all the above of today – fine day – fine air – a little bise but not much – F61 ½° now at 11 ¾ pm

[azritesx3]

Coming Down - Lucifer & F!Reader

Anon: Hey I don't know if you do fics based on songs ( im kinda new here after suddenly thirsting for Lucifer— ) But I was wondering if you could a Lucifer x Reader based on ‘Coming Down’ by Halsey? Maybe this had been done, I don't really know. Nothing specific just whatever speaks to you if you do make this! Thank you!!

Description: You married a religious man to get away from the abusers. Who knew that he'd not only turn out to be one too, but that your savior would call himself the Devil and you agree to be his lover?

Rating: Mature Warning(s): Domestic Abuse, Implied Smut, Fluff, Angst, Angst but with a Happy Ending

AO3, FanfictionNet, Wattpad, DeviantArt

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

Tighter and tighter. Cold hands on your throat.

"Why won't you just do what God made you for?!" John, your loving Christian husband, hisses. His hair falls in front of his face as he leans over you on the bed.

You claw at his hands. Your eyes begin to water. Cold sweat drops from his brow and falls into your agape mouth.

This was it. This was finally it.

"LAPD! Open the door!" John whips his head up, then snarls back down at you. He releases his hold and slaps you hard across the face, almost knocking you out.

Thinking he knocked you out.

You listen to him walk down the hall and open the door. There's chatter, and you hear people walking in. You hear footsteps coming back towards you.

"Excuse me sir, please don't go in the bedroom! My wife is sleeping." You hear John call out.

"Detective! A 'home search' is searching the entire home, correct?" A different voice calls out in the hall, a British voice. You don't hear it, but the British voice gets a reply, "As I thought. I shall ever be a gentleman around your wife."

"Please take no offense, sir. I was simply weary because-"

"Of my name, yes?" You hear footsteps enter the bedroom and the British voice becomes loud and clear, "Your decor taste is quite poor."

You listen intently as the new man looks around the space. His last stop is coming to your side of the bed. He doesn't look at you.

Please.

Before he leaves your sight you manage to grab hold of the man's finger. He stops and finally looks down at you. You pull on his finger and he kneels down to face you.

"Sir please-"

"Shut up." The man says to your husband. He stares at your face, taking in your red cheek, dry lips, and tear streaks.

You move your mouth, but your voice is too dry to make a sound. You mouth:

Help me.

"Detective! It seems the call in on violence was correct!" The man calls out. He stands and starts to gather you in his arms.

"Don't you dare-" John is cut off by a punch to the back of his neck and knees, making him fall face first on the floor.

"You're under arrest for domestic abuse." A woman's voice says. In the man's arms you see her cuff your husband.

You begin to cry again.

"Hey now, darling." Voice so soft. You look up at the man. His eyes are sparkling and his smile is comforting, "Rest now, dear. You're safe."

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

"A toast, darling!" Lucifer cheers. He raises his wine glass and gives you a bright smile. You laugh and follow his lead, "To one marvelous year of being together!"

"And to being free!" You add in. Both of you cling your glasses together and take a sip. You begin to giggle causing a sly smile to pull across Lucifer's lips and a perfectly teased brow to raise, "Penny for your thoughts, my dear?"

You continue to giggle, "Oh, just thinking of the irony of all this."

"Oh?" Lucifer smiles and takes hold of your empty hand across the table. He kisses the top of it, "Do tell."

"Oh you know," you blush at his actions and smile joyfully, "Being abused by a Christian husband for many years, only to be saved by a man who calls himself the Devil and having a better life with him."

Lucifer chuckles softly, then turns your wrist to kiss your palm, "A beautiful irony indeed."

After the celebration dinner he takes you to his lavish hotel suite in Las Vegas, and enjoys the wonderful dessert between your legs. You sigh in bliss and relish in the pleasure, the feeling of real love. You thank God for sending you such a savior, even if he does claim to be the Devil.

No one's perfect, after all.

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

It was true. Everything he said was true. He didn't lie, after all.

And now here you are, in a room that was now being swarmed with demon possessed dead humans.

They crowd around you and Lucifer, taking hold of you to pull you away from him. You scream and reach out to Lucifer. He stretches his arm too you, but the demons keep a strong hold against you. You watch his arm fall, and despite the shock on his face, you see a painful decision cross his eyes.

He turns from you and stands on the stage. He releases his full Devil form, causing his shirt to tear off. The demons around you stand frozen and look up to their King. You do the same, memorized by the scarred beauty.

"YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE. GO HOME!" Lucifer yells to them, and they listen. The bodies fall instantly.

You stay standing and just watch as Lucifer returns to his normal self. He studies your face. After regaining yourself tears well up in your eyes and you run up to him. He lifts you in his arms and cradles your body against his.

Back at the penthouse, after what you learned too late was one final night of passion, he tells you he loves you and returns to Hell to keep you, all of earth, safe.

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

You've been a broken soul ever since that night.

Every day after sleepless nights you wake to see your Lightbringer's sun rise, and pray for his return. Every night you pray that when you wake it won't be alone. That he'll be with you once more to watch his star rise together.

Years pass. The prayers don't work.

You now lay in a hospital bed, not very old but with a heart so broken it can't last any longer. You and Lucifer's friends surround your death bed, and cry when you let your heart shatter completely.

You wake in a sort of limbo space, in a queue with other dead souls. You teleport to the front of the line and are in the presence of the Angel of Death.

She looks at you somber, "You died far too early."

You stare back at the angel, "I couldn't take it any longer."

The angel nods, "You're destined for Heaven-"

"No!" You interrupt her, "No, please. He cannot be with me there! Please, send me to Hell instead!"

She looks confused, "But you are guilty of nothing. You'd be tortured for nothing."

"Being without him even in death would be torture itself." The angel studies you. Then looks up where a blinding light shines down on her. She closes her eyes and seems to listen to the light.

The light disappears, and she looks back at you, "Very well."

The next moment you are in a dark, hot space. Around you are stone black pillars with doors etched into them. Some doors were chained up, some unlocked but shook from inside.

"Y/N?"

Your breath hitches at your name being called by the voice you loved and missed so much. You look behind you to see Lucifer in the same suit he wore when he left, but he looked older in the eyes. Hell affects every being.

You run and embrace him. He returns the embrace hesitantly, "You shouldn't be here, love."

"I cannot be in a place without you anymore, Lucifer." You move back slightly so you can look him in the eyes. Your tearful eyes shine with joy and you smile at him, "You are my savior. The one I made into my own personal religion." You cup his now tear streaked face, "I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

He embraces you back with just as much passion and kisses you passionately. He then buries his head in your neck, "I love you too, Y/N, and I've missed you terribly."

You scratch the back of his neck lightly and whisper, "So, you're not angry that I chose to be here?"

He laughs in your neck, something he hasn't done in thousands of years, "Are you kidding?" He removes himself from you and smiles while getting down on one knee, "I have my Queen with me again. How could I be mad over that?"

You laugh in joy and tackle him to the cold, yet hot, cracked ground. You both stay like that. Crying and laughing together at your eternal partnership.

[mellifluoushood]

okay since you said someone (I forget the tag, my apologies!) bought you edibles, I’m assuming you have some sort of experience with them, so would you ever be willing to write about getting high/doing edibles with Calum or better yet Cashton? I love your writing so much! xx

ah yes, @calumscalm bought me edibles because she is a doll and i love nadya

i have experience smoking, but i don’t have any experience with edibles, that’s why nadya decided to order some for me lol. but, i have several fics about getting stoned with calum, but i don’t have any with both calum and ashton. so, here you go my dear! i hope smoking with the both of them will do! if not, send in another request about edibles specifically and i’ll write it after i’ve tried them!

here are the calum fics i was talking about: (thin white lies) and today, i saw the whole world, and it was right in front of me (this contains smut!)

A/N: also, warning, this got a lot smuttier than i intended, but hey uh, here we are. there’s no sex but there’s sexual imagery. 

“Why are we listening to Kid Cudi?” Ashton asks, his nimble fingers taking the joint from his mate’s grasp. Calum rolls his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa, looking at the dark, curly haired man with absolute annoyance.

“Because why not?” He scoffs, letting his eyes flutter shut as he listens to the remix she had gotten him hooked on. 

“There’s two types of music you listen to when you’re stoned,” Ashton comments, wrapping his lips around the roach and inhaling. He feels the smooth smoke coat his mouth and throat, dissipating into his bloodstream before he inhales again, bringing the smoke into his lungs. He sits, holding in the breath before exhaling slowly, feeling the warmth of the buzz weaving into his brain and his eyelids. He repeats his motions, each time experimenting with the way he exhales: the first was through his nose, then letting it drift out his mouth and inhaling the smoke through his nose before letting it out again, then through circular rings. She watches with curiosity, surprised that he was able to French inhale.

“You guys and me,” he finishes his thoughts from minutes before. Calum rolls his eyes again,

“You’re telling me smooth rap with a strong beat that hits your chest is not the music to listen to when you’re stoned?” Calum asks. She stands up from the couch, stretching slightly. Ashton uses his free hand to tap his friend’s ass. She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes at him before smiling,

“Cheeky bastard,” her accent is thick and wraps around the words like Ashton’s lips continue to wrap around the joint. She pushes the coffee table in front of the sofa to the side so she can lay on the plush carpet of Calum’s living room. It’s soft to the touch, caressing the skin of her midsection that her crop top and gym shorts didn’t cover. Her eyes are hazy, looking up at the two men on the sofa in front of her. Ashton’s thighs are covered in gym shorts whilst Calum sports grey sweatpants. Both opt to remain shirtless, the heat of the summer seeping through each crack and crevice of Calum’s house.

“You enjoy it,” Ashton muses, taking one last, long toke before passing the woman on the floor the joint. She sits up, aware of their gazes as she takes the first hit off this specific joint. This one was Calum’s, both Ashton and her’s had already made it around the small group. She tilts her head back, basking in the feeling of warmth that hits the back of her head, heating her cheeks and fading her inhibitions. They watch her throat as it bobs around the breath of smoke, bringing it into her lungs. She opens her mouth, not necessarily exhaling, but letting the smoke escape through her parted lips.

“Eh,” the pitch of her voices raises and Ashton can’t help a deep chuckle that escapes his chest. She lays back again, taking another hit off the spliff in between her fingers. Her chest expands and she knows that they’re shamelessly staring at the movement of her breasts.

“Dogs,” she mutters with a small smile on her face. This catches their attention and their eyes land on her’s. Each set of eyes is ringed with red, glazing over as each and every molecule of THC makes a home in their blood cells. She almost laughs at how stereotypically stoned they look, but laughing takes too much effort, and she’s too stoned to give a shit. She sticks the joint in between her lips before mumbling around it, “If I were to take off my shirt and just lay here in my bralette, would you care?”

The men share a look, as if to say to the other, since when would we ever care and shrug their shoulders in response. Her head lulls to the side, looking at them head on, “Good enough for me.” The joint sits on her lips as she fumbles with the bottom of her shirt, pulling the material over her chest and over her shoulders. She’s careful to not bump the lit end and spill ash over herself. She lifts her back and shoulders to rid herself of the shirt and she lays back down, only clad in small shorts and a PINK bralette.

“Why are you lying on the floor?” Calum asks and she rolls her eyes,

“Why aren’t you lying on the floor?” She challenges. Calum shrugs, again, as if it’s the only response he’s capable to giving to other people’s questions. He slides off the couch, joining her and laying on her right side. He admires the soft tickle of the carpet against his sweat licked skin. He turns his head to Ashton,

“Now, you’re the odd one out, again,” he jokes, referencing Ashton’s music comment from earlier. It’s Ashton turn to roll his eyes, before getting up from the couch and occupying her left side. The three of them lay on the floor, height differences between the men and the woman quite humourous. They lay shirtless, skin damp with perspiration as their heads float away. She takes another hit, inhaling into her lungs nearly straight away with another breath. She holds it again for a few seconds before blowing it out. 

“Post Malone?” Ashton nearly groans, his voice a near whine when the music switches.

“Oh my god, mate,” Calum groans in return, “shut up and stop fucking complaining.” Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ashton mimicking Calum’s mouth movements with a scowl. She just chuckles to herself, inhaling again. The room starts to tilt a little, so she takes another hit and passes it to Calum. Calum grabs it with his right hand, clasping onto her thigh with his left in gratitude. His skin his hot but his rings are ice cold, the platinum freezing marks into her skin, causing the flesh of her thighs to erupt in goosebumps. The heat of her high carries towards her centre as she acknowledges the height of Calum’s hand on her leg. His fingers tickle her inner thigh, barely pressing into the skin. She swallows, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, trying to forget the heat of his touch. She exhales, focusing on the sensations that run through her system.

For a while, the only thing she could smell was the weed, but as Ashton and Calum lay close to her, she can smell their cologne sticking to their skin. Ashton’s cologne is bright, refreshing, contrasting to the heavy smell of the weed. Calum’s cologne seems to mix just right, the smell of cigarettes lingering on his fingers adding to the heaviness and woodsiness of his fragrance. She had laid on the ground, hoping to cool down, but the men’s bodies are almost touching her’s, heating radiating off them like they were on fire. She can feel sweat starting to lick the crevice of her breasts and behind her knees at the sudden increase in body heat. The carpet starts to warm up the longer they lay there, but all of a sudden, she’s too tired to move. 

Her mind begins to float, listening to some ‘Rockstar’ remix that Calum had put on the queue after her remix of Kid Cudi’s ‘Day ‘N Nite’. The beat of the song thumps through her chest, off rhythm with the beat of her own heart. Her heart is racing, both with the high and the proximity of the two men. She swallows, letting her eyes flutter open at their silence. She turns to look at Calum, to see if he was still puffing on his joint, which he was. He looks down at her, his brown eyes hazy, pupils blown. She smiles up at him and he doesn’t hesitate to respond. He brings the joint to his lips again, the bracelet around his wrist moving and twinkling in the dim light. The chain matches the longer one that dangles around his neck, laying on top of his tattoos. Her eyes cast down to the black ink etched into his skin, admiring the way the black contrasts, yet blends with his brown skin. The sun had tinted it even darker, the melanin casting his complexion the true brown it was when it was tanned by the sun, almost like the Australian sun he had grown up with. 

He notices her zoning out and takes the second to tap her inner thigh, she jumps slightly, the sudden pressure dragging her out of her thoughts. She doesn’t bother to apologise, knowing that Calum had seen her admiring him on multiple occasions, and him returning the favour on more than one occasion as well. He hands her the joint, hearing Ashton huff next to her,

“Greedy prick,” Calum mutters as she just laughs, shaking her head and inhaling again. Her gaze turns to Ashton next, who’s already gazing at her. His green eyes are electric, sharply contrasted against the red staining the whites of his eyes. The dark dye of his hair only adds to the contrast, the green and hazel flecks popping. His complexion doesn’t have the same brown undertone to Calum, but he’s tan just the same. Hairs tickle his broad chest, his arms thick as they cross over his chest, in a relaxed manner. He gives her an earth shattering smile, the scruff forming on his cheeks and jaw only emphasising the whiteness of his teeth. 

“No, you just suck at sharing,” Ashton comments, eyes never leaving the woman next to him. If both men were to say they hadn’t at least admired her shape at least once that night, they would’ve been caught in a dead lie. They couldn’t help but notice the curve of her breasts, covered with a lacey patterned bralette. The shade of the fabric went nicely with her skin tone. The black gym shorts she had on left little to the imagination, the curvature and girth of her hips stretching the material. A matching lace print could be seen peeking out the top of her shorts. Her legs looked heavenly, moisturised with lotion and absolutely shining luxuriously under the light. Her hair was splayed out beneath her head, leaving her shoulders and collarbones fully exposed. She hadn’t bothered to take out her hoops before laying down. The light bounces off the reflective metal. Her eyes are the most fucked out of the three of them even though her tolerance was better. When Ashton had gone to pick her up from her apartment, her eyes were already burning with red, glassy to soothe the irritation.

“You done?” She asks, taking one last hit of the joint and passing it to Ashton.

“Hm, not yet.” She feels Calum’s hand trail even further up her thigh and she has to resist coughing out her last toke. She manages to swallow down the cough, keeping the smoke in her lungs and exhaling when she was ready. Ashton’s eyes notice Calum’s hand. He places his own hand on her left thigh and she lets out a shaky breath. Their proximity allows to hear the exhalation over the music still playing from the speaker. 

“Definitely, not yet,” Calum murmurs turning on his side. Ashton repeats his motions, reaching above his head and stubbing out the joint that wasn’t nearly finished, but something had caught his attention instead.

And she didn’t mind one fucking bit.

taglist: @gigglyirwin​  @loveroflrh​​ @ammwritings​​ @calumscalm​​ @dukehoods​ @toofadedtofight​ @babylon-corgis @talkfastromance4 @thesubtweeter

[elsanna-shenanigans]

October Contest Submisson #9: Never Gonna Be Alone

setting: other AU (vampire + vampire hunter) lemon: yes cw: descriptive mental and physical torture, unlawful imprisonment/kidnapping, violence, non-sexual abuse, blood, forced feeding, forced blood drinking, angst, potentially triggering story

Consciousness returned slowly to Elsa. Her eyelids felt heavy like dead weights, rebelling against her efforts to pry them open. She was welcomed by a painful throbbing at the base of her skull, making her head spinning like a rogue tornado. She felt weak and lethargic; no doubt was a result of power suppressant drugs running in her veins. The stomach twisted in fear when Elsa realised she was immobilised. Metal shackles encasing her wrist held her hands together above her head. Elsa’s upper body was dangling from the high ceiling. The length of the chain provided limited range of movement; she could only stand within the given distance but it was not enough for her to stretch and relieve the dull ache in her joints.  It did not permit her to lie down either; something that her lethargic body needed. Fear bubbled inside her; she could feel the pangs of hunger stirring in the pits of her stomach. Starving and weakened, Elsa was an easy target for both humans and vampires alike. 

I need to get out of here.

Elsa blinked slowly, forcing herself to take stock of her surroundings. The room she was in was pitch dark; there were no windows to allow any kind of lighting in. A heavy wooden door situated at the end of a room, no doubt was locked from outside. Her impeccable vision focussed on a line of scribblings on the stone floor. It formed a circle around her, glowing weakly in a soft yellow hue. A frown etched her face as she studied the runes imprinted on the stony surface. Elsa recognised them as Laknak, an ancient language used in the times of the Bloodbath Period to cast spells and dark magic typically used by vampire hunters to tame rogue vampires. Whoever her captive was had thought out the plan thoroughly and spared no effort to subdue her. She shuffled closer to examine the etched symbols but was unpleasantly surprised by a painful shock when she came too near to them. 

“Tsk tsk, always the curious one, aren’t you, Princess?” a sweet voice spoke. 

Although her concentration is dulled by the drugs in her system, it did not stunt Elsa’s olfactory senses. Her nose picked up a foreign presence masked beneath the antiseptic cloud in the air. 

“Hans…” she growled. “You’re behind this?”

��Do you find your accommodation up to your liking, Winters? I had it ready for you months in advance.” he responded nonchalantly, twirling a circle of keys around his forefinger. “All I gotta do is to pull some strings and pay a small sum to shut the hunters up.”  

“Hurting and kidnapping a pureblood is a serious offence, Hans. You won’t get away with this.” she reprimanded. Despite her calm demeanor, every instinct in the fiber of her body was screaming at her to flee at this very moment. Her retort was cut short by a heavy slap across her cheeks, leaving a red welt behind. “Man, that feels good. You have no idea how much I longed to do that.” Hans commented, shaking his wrist. 

Bruising fingers captured the woman’s jaw, forcing her to level her sight to the man. “For centuries, you purebloods have used your position and power to oppress lower rank vampire classes to fulfill your selfish desires. Fear has been ingrained into our being to fear purebloods, making us unwilling worshippers, puppets and slaves. However, this is going to change from now on and you, my princess, will be supporting this revolutionary move. But first I need to ensure you will cooperate…” 

As though on queue, the door slammed open revealing a six foot man wheeling in a cart filled of torture instruments. The red haired  vampire picked up a multi-tailed whip that looked like a modified cat o’ nine tails. 

“Restrain her.” 

Elsa fought back with a furious snarl when his assistant approached her with a muzzle  in his hand. A few jolts of electricity ended the pureblood’s struggles, giving the other ample time to put the degenerate equipment on her. Cruel fingers pried her jaw open;  a ball gag bit slid in between preventing her from closing her mouth. Elsa protested weakly when the straps connecting the bit were tightly fastened behind her head. 

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this but you gave me no choice…”

Pain seared and rippled in waves through her as Hans mercilessly rained lashes on her. They came at different angles simultaneously, curved metal claws cut and left angry welts on her torso, back, arms and legs. Had she not been heavily drugged, such physical beating wouldn’t even hurt her. Her pureblood power would heal the damage done instantly, leaving no scars behind. The substance pumped inside her disabled her powers, leaving her highly sensitive and vulnerable. That conniving bastard knew this and turned it into his advantage, planting encasing silver tips on the whip’s tails to add more damage. Elsa  barely held her feet under the onslaught, swaying and gripping onto the chain above him not allowing herself to break in front of her enemy. 

However as time passed, she felt her act of bravado slipping under the weight of her beating. The pain was taking a toll on her; some of the angry welts on her body were already bleeding. The smell of blood stirred the vampire into greater cruelty. She did cry out eventually, muffled screams filled the room as the weapon flayed her alive. The pureblood’s legs finally gave way; she collapsed on her knees, shifting her weight support to the chains that bound her. To her relief, Hans took this as a sign to stop the cruel ministrations. 

“I’ll stop here for today. Can’t have you dead before you fulfill your purpose." 

Elsa’s vision was wavering when Hans slammed the door shut, locking the wounded pureblood in. Once she made sure she was truly alone, she let the welcoming darkness consume her. 

— 

How long had it been? A week or two? Three perhaps? 

Elsa had lost track of time, courtesy of her drugs inside of her. Her caretakers made sure to keep her sedated, not wanting to take any chances. They would inject with a heavy dose of power suppressant prior initiating her torture session as precaution and another time before they fed her. The bridle was also secured on her mouth at all times; only the ball gag was removed during the feeding session. She had become accustomed to having a tube being forced into her mouth, channeling disgusting gruel down her abused throat. The amount was sufficient to keep her alive but did absolutely nothing to sate her bloodthirst, indirectly adding to the torment inflicted on her. Her agony was the worst whenever Hans bled her profusely to harvest her blood. 

There were times when Elsa wanted to give up and let death claim her life to escape this never ending horror. However, the thought of revenge always foiled her attempts; Elsa wanted nothing more than to have her hands on the pompous bastard and made him suffer like he did to her. Her hatred for Hans and his men grew with each beating, tainting her soul like a pollutant but it was a lifeline she held onto to survive the dark hours of her captivity. 

Not all his motivators were negative. There was also Anna. The selfless human girl who loved her unconditionally since the first time they met.  

It’s not true. There was also her.

Anna Summers. 

The selfless human girl who loved her unconditionally despite who Elsa was or what she almost did. Anna and Elsa met under unusual circumstances that wouldn’t have happened had the Summers not crossed paths with human harvesters. Their unfortunate end had led Anna to Elsa in a form of human sacrifice, offered as a gift to celebrate the young pureblood’s coming of age. 

———————-[Flashback] Fifteen years ago—————————-

The little girl looked so frail, as though watching a flame that is going to be snuffed out by strong wind. Young Elsa couldn’t help but to be reminded of herself when she observed the redhead. 

//Alone and helpless.//

Since her parents’ passing, Elsa had been kept under close surveillance by the aristocrats who were nothing more than the puppet to their powerful master. The last bloodline of Winters was to be preserved in any circumstances; even if it meant having Elsa under house arrest until she was old enough to take over her position. Her sense of duty to her people compelled her to obey her parents’ dying wish. It was rather ironic how powerless she felt despite inheriting the most powerful bloodline from a generation of vampires.  

"Are you the master they are referring to? The one who is going to eat me?”

Elsa blinked. 

“Oh my. I forgot my manners. My name is Anna Summers. What’s yours?” she asked, flashing a smile. 

The young pureblood found herself responding. “Elsa Winters…" 

//What is wrong with this girl? Has she no self preservation? I am going to take her life, for crying out loud!!// 

"Elsa…What a beautiful name." 

Elsa visibly gulped, awkwardness crept in, forming into a shade of crimson on her cheeks. This was the first time anyone had genuinely complimented her. 

"Thank you, Summers." 

Elsa’s heart skipped a beat when Anna twirled with one of pigtails with her fingers. 

//She’s cute.//

"Will it be enough if you have me?" 

Elsa’s face combusted in red.

"What..do you mean?”

“I heard from the harvesters that you will be feeding on us as part of a ritual. Can you let the others go if I stay? They did nothing wrong to deserve this.” Anna said, sad eyes shifted to the opposite cage containing children around her age. 

//How about you? Do you deserve this?//

That question lingered on Elsa’s tongue, left unspoken. 

“I’m sorry.” she croaked, ashamed of her helplessness. 

“It’s okay. Maybe it’s for the best. I can see Papa and Mama again. I didn’t get to say goodbye to them." 

//Neither did I…//

Bitter memories flashed before the pureblood’s eyes when she received the news of her parents’ demise in the Dark Sea. The abysmal depths of despair and hopelessness…

//No, I would not let her go through what I suffered. Not when I can change her fate.//

"Hang on a moment. Maybe I do have a plan…" 

———————————–End of flashback——————————–

In her darkest hours, Elsa would conjure Anna’s face into her mind. Her radiant smile - her fondest memory of the girl gave her strength she needed to carry on when things were bleak or she almost lost herself to her inner demons. Whilst Anna proved to be an effective coping mechanism, Elsa was not sure if her physical being could persevere much longer without proper nourishment. The thought of perishing before fulfilling their promise they made in the pale moonlight saddened the pureblood. 

“When the time is right, I will come for you Anna. I promise.” 

“I will be waiting, Elsa.” the redhead smiled, hugging a puffin-shaped doll in her arms. 

The pureblood’s eyes widened when Anna pecked a chaste kiss on her lips.

//Thank you. I will cherish this forever.//

Elsa cradled her friend’s head and murmured a spell. Anna’s body went limp into a deep slumber; sweet dreams masking the spell’s working to suppress her memory. This would do for now to keep Anna from harm’s way. 

With a flick of her wrist, a crystal horse shimmered into existence. 

“Nokk, send Anna to Kai’s.”

Elsa’s body tensed at ominous thudding of footsteps approaching the door. She hated how deeply these sounds affected her; the endless beatings had conditioned her to fear them. Her unwilling feet shuffled backwards, covering much space as her restraints allowed her. Her heart raced in sickening fear. Her senses were yelling at her, warning that she was reaching her limits. Elsa barely healed from the previous lashing and now they were coming back for more. She despised how Hans mindfucked her, pushing her to overcome her limits, adding to the intensity of her pain with each session. Until now, Elsa had no clue what the noble vampire was getting at with his repeated ministrations. He remained silent whenever she asked him about his motives, rewarding the pureblood with more lashes until she stopped asking the question altogether. Whether it was to seek revenge or fulfill his sadistic glee, Elsa would never know. But one thing’s for sure, she would never yield to the psycho.   

“I bring a gift for you, Winters.”

Elsa snapped out of her musings when she picked up another scent entering the room. It was pleasant and disturbingly familiar, like a mix of daisy and strawberries. Her head jerked up suddenly, eyes widened with shock when her sluggish mind deciphered who the person was. 

No…it couldn’t be…

Standing in front of her was no one other than Anna, her companion she last saw fifteen years ago. She had outgrown her petite frame, possessing the shape of a mature woman. The baby fat on her face had disappeared completely leaving behind a well defined heart-shaped face. Her rosy complexion was mesmerising and did a great job of  highlighting her freckles under the low light. The pigtails she once had been replaced with a double braid hairstyle, leaving lush auburn hair flowing freely on her shoulders. 

Rivalling her awe for Anna’s transformation was a growing dread. Multiple unanswered questions bombarded her head. 

How did Hans find her? 

What is she doing here?  

Does she remember me? 

The possibility of Hans tampering with Anna’s memories made the pureblood’s stomach lurched. She would be utterly devastated if she lost the only friend she ever had. Her doubts immediately disappeared when she heard Anna utter her name. Her angelic voice confirmed that Anna was indeed here, not some apparition that her mind conjured.  

"El…sa?" 

Robbed of her ability to speak, Elsa nodded weakly in response. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, giddy with happiness that Anna remembered her. 

“Elsa!”

The pureblood mentally chastised herself for flinching when Anna cupped her bruised cheeks. Her heart ached taking in Anna’s teary eyed face. She silently burned in shame, having Anna seen her in such a pathetic state. Terror clawed her insides knowing that she was incapable to protect her friend from the incoming threat. 

"Oh my goodness, you’re badly hurt!"  

Elsa trembled like a leaf as Anna’s fingers gently caressed her. After a long period of abuse, she had forgotten the feeling of being touched without experiencing any pain in return. She couldn’t help herself but to indulge in Anna’s kind touches, bathing in her kind gesture. Tension from her body slowly ebbed away with each tender stroke, providing her a brief comfort. A teardrop splashed on her face. 

“How could you do this to her?” 

Elsa’s heart raced when she felt the straps behind her head loosened. She let out a painful whimper when Anna tried to unbuckle the clasps on her jaw. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m getting this thing off you.” 

Run, Anna. Can’t you see I am extremely dangerous to be around right now?

After days of suppressed hunger, Elsa’s blood lust began to rear its ugly head. Having Anna in such close proximity further aggravated her hunger. Her pupils were dilating into full blown crimson. She could feel her fangs extending in response to her friend’s intoxicating scent. Her stomach cramped badly urging the pureblood to sink her teeth into the other’s neck. She nearly choked when Anna’s fingers accidentally brushed her fangs to examine the damage caused by the bridle.    

"Anna…” she rasped. “Get away, please… ” she pleaded, hoping Anna caught the tone of her urgency. 

“What? No, Elsa. I’m not leaving you.”

Elsa gritted her teeth and tried again. 

“Anna, I beg you. Please…” the voice edging in desperation. 

Elsa inhaled sharply when the redhead soft lips grazed across hers, leaving her senses singing. She continued to kiss the broken skin where the metal made a dent, murmuring reassuring words in her ears. 

“Everything is going to be alright.” she said, hands fidgeting with cuffs on Elsa’s wrist, trying to unlock them.

“Anna…”

A sudden voice rudely interrupted their conversation. 

“I think this conversation is over.” 

Elsa screamed murder, face paled like a white sheet when Hans grabbed Anna’s wrist and threw her to the concrete floor. She thrashed wildly against her restraints seeing the vampire lowering his head, his fangs teasing the nape of the frightened woman’s neck.

“Stay away from her!”

“How rude. Here I thought you would appreciate my effort. A feast fit for the Queen of vampires.” he commented.

Elsa’s heart sank. The implication of Hans’s words finally got to her head. He had deliberately wounded her to the point of starvation, leaving her no choice but to feed on Anna to compensate for the blood loss. Not only would Anna be sucked dry to sate her unbridled hunger, she would be forced to undergo a painful transformation into a low-level vampire from her bite. Knowing Hans’s twisted nature, he would not allow Anna to drink from Elsa to stabilize her condition, dooming her to madness. 

Terror gripped her when the aristocrat dragged Anna up and led her towards Elsa. He made her kneel in front of Elsa, pulling her arms around the pureblood’s neck before binding them with a thick rope. The slanting of her body left Anna’s neck area accessible to Elsa’s mouth. Her scent overwhelmed her senses, tempting the starving pureblood to sink her fangs into the soft skin beneath..

No! I will not let my instincts get the better of me. She screwed her eyes shut, willing her hunger away. She shot Hans a death glare and stayed still. She would not succumb to her base needs and act as he was expecting her to.  If defiance was the only way she could to keep Anna safe, so be it. 

Hans clearly did not look amused. “Playing hard ball, aren’t we? Perhaps this will give you some push.” The vampire raked her fingernails across Anna’s neck, earning a yelp from the human. A wave of disgust filled Elsa’s core when she instinctively licked a few droplets of blood trickling down Hans’s fingers. She drank it like it was a lost man discovering an oasis in the middle of the desert. A strangled sob escaped her as she battled her inner struggles; her body demanded for more after tasting the ambrosial liquid. 

The aristocrat watched Elsa’s suffering with a joyful glee. It wouldn’t be long before she caved in to her desire, as most vampires do, enslaved by their basest instinct. He would be there to watch her downfall and savour every drop of her willing surrender. He laughed when he caught an eye on Anna’s silent stare. 

“Silly girl, do you have any idea how much suffering you are causing her? Her denial won’t stop the growing hunger inside of her. She will die if she doesn’t drink, not immediately though. After all, purebloods are stronger than any other vampire.”

“Stop…” Elsa hissed, wishing the ground would open and swallow her whole. 

Hans titled Anna’s head, sinister emerald orbs bore into teal. 

“As much as she claims that she loves you, know that she will choose her life over yours when the time comes.” He tipped her head to the side. “For now, I will not let this opportunity go to waste.” Hans sunk his fangs into Anna’s neck in one swift bite.

“HANS! Get your filthy teeth off her!” 

Elsa howled in pure anger, piercing sound reverberating the room and penetrating the thick walls of her prison. She wrenched her restraints viciously until the manacles bit into her wrists. She very much wanted to tear off the ill begotten vampire’s head and eat it herself. Hans paid no heed to the berserk pureblood and continued to drink his fill. 

“Elsa…” Anna said, hands clung onto the pureblood’s back. “Please hold me.” she pleaded, fighting back the urge to close her eyes and surrender to the welcoming darkness. Her body shivered from the loss of blood, she huddled closer to Elsa’s body for heat. Realising Anna’s discomfort, Elsa snapped out her rage and did what her friend requested. She buried her head into her hair, sobbing hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, Anna. So so sorry…”

I did this to her.  I destroy everything I touch. Had I left her alone in the first place, she wouldn’t be here bleeding to death right now. 

Taking a cue from Elsa’s despondency, Hans stopped his feeding. The amount he took from her was not substantial enough to kill the human, but sufficient to weaken her. Times like this Hans wished he possessed the power of a pureblood; his victim would have turned by now judging by the amount of blood he drank from her. For now, he would need to leave the girl’s fate in Elsa’s hands. If she was in a merciful mood, perhaps the pureblood would consider granting her a painless death with one powerful snap of her jaws. 

“You have no idea what you are missing out, Winters. There is still time to reconsider…”

Hans blinked when a spear head pierced his chest.

“What the…Arghh!” 

A bloodied, severed head rolled across the concrete surface. The vampire’s decapitated body landed on the ground with a thud and vanished into ashes a few seconds later. A stocky five foot seven male in leather barged into the room, twin axes cleaving down incoming enemies with ease. The sudden commotion stirred Elsa from her dazed state,  causing her to panic momentarily. She made an attempt to huddle closer to a now unconscious Anna, using her body to shield her from any incoming attack. 

“Elsa!” 

That voice. 

There was only one person who called her by her first name. A flash of sandy blonde locks confirmed it. 

“Kristoff?”

“I came as soon as I could. Seriously, Elsa. You really need to work on your familiar. I had a hard time understanding Gale. Woah…” He was distracted by the unconscious figure bound around his friend’s neck. “Who is this..?”

“She’s Anna, the human who is under my protection. I will fill you in later. Could you help her, please?” 

“Sure. One moment.”

He ripped off Anna’s biddings with his bare hands, her limp body slipped easily into his arms with ease. 

“She’s in pretty bad shape.” 

“Hans drained her too much. She needs to drink my blood. Unchain me quickly.”

“On it!” 

Kristoff retrieved a vial from his pocket and poured its content on the manacles. The metal crackled for a moment before dissolving into liquid. With one forceful pull, Elsa broke free from her restraints.

“Oaken’s counter spell. Work wonders everytime.” he grinned.

“Give her to me.”

Elsa adjusted herself into a sitting position so she could support Anna’s figure. Her pulse was hammering in her ears when she saw her friend’s pale face. Without any hesitation, she extended her claws and gouged the open wound on her wrist, drawing fresh blood. She then brought her hand to Anna’s face, angling the bleeding appendage so the liquid would flow into her mouth. Anna stirred to the foreign taste of copper and clamped her mouth shut, much to Elsa’s frustration. 

“Please Anna, drink..” she coaxed, slowly adjusting her friend’s limp body so she wouldn’t choke on the liquid. Her voice gradually calmed Anna down enough for her to  ingest her blood. The power of her blood started to take effect over the next few minutes and her bleeding stopped completely, much to Elsa’s relief, leaving behind only faint claw marks and puncture wounds.  

“Kristoff, listen very carefully. This is what I need you to do.” 

……

Dry, yellow leaves crunched under the weight of Elsa’s heels as she traversed deeper into the Enchanted forest. The cold breeze caressed her face and occasionally played with her platinum blonde locks. The lush canopy of green had turned into fiery red, a prelude to Autumn. Some trees were already stripped bare of their leaves, leaving gaps for sunlight to pierce through and illuminate the golden floor. 

She took a spot underneath an oak tree, admiring the mesmerising sight. Elsa smiled to herself. The fondest recollection of her childhood was spent in this forest. This place used to be her family’s favourite picnic spot. Her dad would play the fiddle as she and her mum dance to his melody. Everything was much simpler then. No responsibilities or worries. Just three of them laughing and playing until the sun set. It was paradise. 

But such happiness did not last for her, as fated for her kind. Tears welled up in her eyes replaying the moment when the elder aristocrats broke the news of her parents’ demise to her and took over her life. She folded her arms around herself, burying her head into them.

Mama. Papa. I miss you.

The deafening silence made her feel lonelier. 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding all this time." 

The foreign voice jolted her out of her musings. She masked her scent prior entering the forest. No one should be able to find her here. Elsa pressed her back against the tree trunk. Her heart raced as she felt the other’s presence. She curled her hands into tight fists, charging them with magic. Sweat trickled down her forehead. The trespasser had successfully intercepted her magic barrier and sneaked up on her without being detected - something that was near to impossible. Who knows what other abilities this person is capable of? A flash of green flickered from the corner of her eyes, triggering the pureblood to thrust her hand forward. A blast of ice spikes shot out from her open palms but they were too slow to hit the target. The figure moved at the speed of light, avoiding all her attacks with ease. Her attacker somersaulted into the air like a graceful cat and landed on Elsa at full throttle, sending her sprawling on the ground. Before she could recover, the person came on top of her and used her body weight to pin her down.  

“I win!” 

“Anna? What..”

Soft, moist lips crushed against hers, silencing the pureblood immediately. The initial shock was quickly overcome and now replaced with unbridled happiness. Elsa reciprocated the gesture with equal fervour, savouring the taste of the woman she long desired. Their kiss broke off with ragged breaths, swollen lips tingling at the loss of contact. 

“Never run away to a place where I cannot follow, Elsa.” Anna whispered, tears rimmed her teal eyes. 

Elsa nodded, sniffing. 

“Yes, never again.”

“Good. Let’s continue this at your place? I am starving.”

Elsa smacked Anna’s head lightly. 

“We just had the most important moment of our lives and all you could think is food?” 

“Not all of us are blessed with immortality, you know. You can have me as dessert in bed if you want.”

Anna cackled at Elsa’s tomato red face. 

………………….

Elsa swallowed thickly. Anna had ever looked so good in person. Nothing she imagined in her hours of loneliness came close to this. Standing before her was the woman of her dreams in all her naked glory, made more alluring under the moonlight. Silvery light played teasingly on Anna’s flushed skin, stirring a burning desire at the bottom of Elsa’s stomach. Her lips smacked drily, drinking in the angelic sight of her lover. 

“Like what you see?” ask Anna coyly. 

Elsa averted her eyes, face turned beet red. Her hand subconsciously wrapped around her own body, suddenly too self aware of her physique.

“You look so beautiful. Nothing like me…” she muttered. 

“Nonsense. You are gorgeous, inside out.” 

Elsa sucked in her breath when Anna captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. She closed her eyes, letting her lover take the lead. Hungry tongues met again in a familiar dance, each licking and thrusting to get each other’s fill. The pureblood’s heart stopped when Anna flashed a sultry smile after she broke the kiss.

“You can touch me, you know. I won’t bite.” she said, guiding Elsa’s trembling hand to cup one of her breasts. Her action was pretty clumsy at the beginning, owing to the lack of sexual experience and irrational fear but slowly became bolder once her instincts kicked in. The supple mounds drew her mouth in like a moth to the candle; her ministrations elicited a joyful sigh from Anna. 

If this is what it takes to get a reaction from her, then… she gulped. I wonder what will happen if I touch her there..

As though she could read her mind, Anna coaxed Elsa’s hand to travel south. The pureblood looked totally fascinated to discover her wet core. She shot her partner a glance, face flustered, unsure on how to proceed. 

“Massage here.” Anna pointed at the tip of her opening, using her own fingers to demonstrate the motion. Elsa watched in awe how it drew out a rapturous gasp from her partner and was eager to take over. She could feel the little nub erecting from her attention and that motivated her to experiment on other parts of her body as well to which Anna was glad to help. It didn’t take long for Elsa to learn all the tricks to make Anna’s body sing with pleasure. 

“I need you to do one last thing for me.”

“Anything for you, Anna.”

“Bite me, Elsa.”

Elsa fangs throbbed at Anna’s request. 

“I can’t. I can’t put you into more suffering than I already have. You will be bound to me forever. Society will not take light of this..” 

“I don’t care, Elsa. I don’t care what the people think or say about us as long as we can be together. Unless you don’t want to..?” she asked, hurt visible on her face. 

“Of course not. I want to…You have no idea how much I want you, Anna.” Elsa retorted, hands curled against her lap. 

Anna cupped the pureblood’s face tenderly, thumbing away a stray tear from her cheek. 

“I know, Elsa. I know. Your blood tells me so…”

Elsa’s eyes widened when Anna tilted her head, exposing her neck for the other to access.     

“Are you sure you want to do this, Anna? There is no going back.”

Anna nodded. 

“Yes. Make me yours, Elsa Winters.”

And so she did.

THE END

[papipopsicle]

CLOUDS

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Teleporter!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint real hard

Summary: In which Y/N finds comfort in things, items owned by the people she trusts most. Nobody expected Bucky to be one of those people though. AU AWAY FROM IW&Endgame, ALSO THERE ARE X-MEN

Song: Clouds by BØRNS

Warnings: swearing

Words: 3K

a/n: this took me about three months to write, i’m so damn proud of it i hope you like it as much as i do!!

feedback is always appreciated

"You cold?" Tony nodded over to the figure on the plush couch. He knew it was Y/N without a second glance, of course she'd be sitting alone in the small nook to the side of the kitchen. It was the best view from the compound, she always liked to remind the team. The roof was an exception to that, she always added a beat later.

Y/N would find a way to feel freezing on the hottest day of the year, she couldn't stand the cold one bit.

It was late at night or early morning by now. Either way, the recreational floor only seemed to be inhabited at this time by those whose dreams are plagued to be nothing but a deathly desolate horror show. Tony was simply getting a glass of water for Pepper, since she argued fridge water tasted better than their bathroom tap water, though he never noticed the difference. At this point there was no use questioning it.

Y/N joined the disjointed family of broken superheroes six months ago, her existence uncovered after an operation went south and she teleported right into Iron Man's ruby red arms. He practically adopted her then and there. She kept to herself mostly, always quiet and kind whenever anyone spoke to her. Wanda sensed the torment in her mind though as soon as they met, hugging the girl tightly in comfort only to make her jump to the other side of the compound out of pure shock. Y/N couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her with such genuine compassion.

She'd become less skittish after a few months, only jumping away in truly uncomfortable moments; like when Steve walked into the med bay to find her mid-way through changing her clothes. The poor super soldier was probably more scarred from the memory than the y/h/c haired girl.

"I'm good, thanks though." Y/N responded simply, the burgundy hoodie hugging her torso feeling even softer and more comforting at the thought of being cold.

Tony lifted his head from the sink to find the scene playing out, and smiled contently as she snuggled into the plush sofa while some lighthearted sitcom played quietly in the background.

"Goodnight, Shortcut." The male called softly, knowing it was no use to corral her into bed. She'd either jump back a few seconds later when the coast was clear or find a new place to explore and settle in for the night. Y/N returned the greeting and let the scent of Tony's own aftershave lull her into a calm sleep.

"Night, Tone."

When morning finally shone through the large floor to ceiling windows, the teleporter found herself unusually warm. She let out a groggy noise resembling a grunt, and her nose was met with the delicious scent of her favourite fruit as she inhaled. Y/N blinked a few times, her hands coming into contact with the fluffy material of a cream coloured blanket before her eyes could fully focus on it.

"You were shivering, Angel. Couldn't let my favourite superhuman freeze to death." Bucky cut through her thoughts like a butterknife, Y/N's gaze tearing away from the soft fabric to find the veteran flipping pancakes nonchalantly.

His voice felt softer than usual, not blunt and sarcastic like when he'd talk to Sam or Natasha, nor did it feel natural like when it came to Steve. It was warm and raspy, not coddling and protective like Tony and Pepper's. Y/N decided she liked this and wanted to here it more.

She didn't know whether to ask for the time or how she was his 'favourite superhuman' when their conversations were less than four seconds long at best. His mellow attitude wasn't helping either and Y/N soon found her brows so furrowed they almost touched. But for some reason it put all her senses on high alert- rose tinting her cheeks at the thought of someone thinking about her in a good way with no reasoning.

She didn't really think anyone thought about her existence unless they needed something.

When she first arrived, Y/N noticed a lot of chatter behind her back. They were welcoming and made sure she was comfortable, but it was obvious they didn't trust her. She never took it to heart, they knew absolutely nothing about her. Sam had the decency to ask her everything whizzing through his mind, genuinely wanting to keep his friends safe and know if she was a threat. Maybe that's why Y/N liked him so much, he was honest but never made her nervous or self conscious.

The girl let the warmth of the blanket fall from her body as she jumped to the kitchen counter behind Bucky. He shifted at the small noise she made, sensing purple whirls of energy over his shoulder. The soldier turned with a half-smirk, holding a plate of delicious cherry pancakes out for Y/N. Bucky's smile faltered and he let out a chuckle as she continued to look down at the plate then up into his eyes in curiosity, "You see, Sweetheart- where I'm from - if someone offers you food, you take it and say thank you."

Y/N finally took the plate, not noticing Bucky's lingering gaze as he could practically hear the cogs whirring in her head, her expression adorably flustered.

"Thank you, James." She mumbled happily, head lowered to hide her pinkish cheeks. He picked her emotions up and dropped them half way between confusion and fascination.

The girl didn't grow up with parents as role models, and siblings to be friends with; she'd been genetically engineered by a small research team in Norway. Bucky didn't know much else, other than one day eight months ago the lab was attacked and Y/N escaped by jumping to New Zealand.

"How'd you know?" She asked after taming her racing heart, her hair flicking in every which direction while jumping down from the counter to retrieve cutlery. He hummed in response, showing he was listening while not wanting to take his eyes off of the newly simmering batter, "I don't think I've been able to hold a conversation long enough with you to ask an obligatory how're you, let alone tell you my favourite food."

Bucky let out a scoff and shook his head, the smile she'd given him not leaving his lips, "You have cherries with everything you can, you'd have them on a roast dinner if you could."

Y/N silently groaned to herself. Long gone was the brainwashed assassin, but years of regimented training lay etched into his mind still, of course he was more observant than most. It was the first food she found after her great escape. A cherry tree at the bottom of a fairytale garden. She didn't have the energy to find shelter after using her powers to such an extent, and so the next morning an elderly woman was given the shock of her life when she found a body sleeping under her cherry tree. Gloria, her name was, took Y/N under her wing and taught her how to act even remotely human.

Bucky stacked up his own fluffy pancakes and took to a chair at the breakfast bar, not having time to register the fast pace of his heart. While he waited for her response and began stuffing his face, Y/N furrowed her brows once again. She wasn't a soldier, that was for sure. She wore her heart on her sleeve and every emotion on her face. None of her teachers ever showed her how to hide things like that, she didn't know it was possible.

It was so easy for Bucky to tell what she was thinking; if she truly found something funny or was just laughing along to be polite. He saw the broken girl under her smile as soon as she'd arrived, but also the girl fighting to be free under that too.

"Well," Y/N shrugged as if the ex assassin hadn't just flicked through her thoughts and uncovered all her secrets, pulling a cherry stem from her mouth before pelting the small stone at the middle of his forehead, "you don't like gravy and you click your knuckles every twenty minutes, so, whose the real weirdo?"

The cherry stone hit Y/N in her cheek seconds later, "You always ask Friday to check on everyone and report back before falling asleep. If something's wrong then you stay with them until it's not anymore."

Her lips fell agape at that and blood rushed to her cheeks, "How could you possible know that? I was denied access to you by Friday."

Bucky stuffed his mouth once again with the fluffy food and watched her for a few seconds. He could stay like this forever if he was honest with himself, Y/N was extremely easy to get along with. She was innocent and all consuming to someone with as dark of a past as Bucky. Her wide eyes dug deeper into his grave, full of wonder and life and love.

"Sam and Nat don't shut up about you the next morning, apparently you know just the right thing to say to them. Plus, Steve keeps muttering about how Wanda's nearly always sleeping in because you cuddle with her."

The girl felt herself getting defensive as she pulled another cherry stem from between her teeth and launched the stone at Bucky's nose. How could he have possibly remembered this much about her? More so, why?

"She likes to be the little spoon, so what?" Y/N retorted, her head swimming in a sea of confusion.

Bucky all but beamed at her, he was enjoying this too much."You two together or something?"

"Only when she can't sleep."

It was here, both on there last pancake alone on the early spring morning, that the soldier wondered how human this girl before him truly was. She learnt social queues from a New Zealander in her eighties and a damaged band of superhumans. Had anyone even shown her kindness before now? Her bright ocean eyes and soft skin deserved love and happiness, but did she even know what they felt like?

"No-I mean are you two dating?" Bucky got up from the counter, taking both empty plates with him to the sink before Y/N appeared on the counter next to him with her usual intrigued eyes and pretty smile.

"James, women are truly beautiful creatures, but I'm not sexually attracted to them I know that much. Besides, I've never dated anyone before, not had the chance I guess." The girl shrugged, slipping off the counter and drying the dishes and cutlery Bucky had just washed up. He nodded thoughtfully at her response, taking the plates from her smaller hands and placing them back in the cupboard while she did the same with the knives and forks.

"Bucky." He said encouragingly with a warm smile gracing his features. Y/N's head perked up and it took everything in her not to jump to the opposite side of the compound as she found the most incredible thing.

The corner of James' eyes were crinkled slightly yet still shone bright, teeth creeping out just a bit as the low vibrations left his lips. She'd never felt this before, but before she could control herself she seemed to be smiling right back a the man in front of her, warmth flooding all of her senses.

"What?" She hummed happily. Suddenly, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and took a step back. Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment and she hoped to god that he hadn't noticed her staring.

If he had, he hid it well.

"You can call me Bucky, if you want." He paused and sent her the same stomach fluttering smile, "I just noticed you always call me James, everyone calls me Bucky, though."

But before she could even start to respond, Mantis and Pepper were entering the kitchen area giggling and chatting away, and Bucky felt a pulse of energy against his side, finding only purple whirls where the intriguing girl had stood seconds ago.

It wasn't until later that evening when he would find her next. She had a habit of popping up out of nowhere, even without using her powers. The team had eaten together, Scott and Clint were in charge of food tonight and it was a wonder anyone survived. But Y/N didn't show. At this point Bucky would probably admit he as a little disappointed she didn't jump in for even a few minutes, but she was probably tied up with something.

It wasn’t unusual though, he had to remind himself, Y/N didn’t always feel comfortable being around so many people, which was something Bucky understood well.

While on his walk back to his apartment, the soldier’s mind filled with beautiful images of Y/N’s elated expression, the way it contorted in confusion over the simplest act of kindness. He found it endearing, the raw innocence behind her wide eyes and bright smile warming his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

“Ow!” Y/N’s voice yelped, and Bucky blinked out of his hazy daydream, finding her smaller body sat uncomfortably on the floor before his feet. She looked up at him with that same wild yet sweet look of utter bashfulness.

“Jesus-” Bucky helped the teleporter to her feet, and he held onto her for a few moments more than necessary before letting go. He checked over her body for any signs of injury, worry flooding his features at the thought of causing her any more pain than she’d already lived through. “I’m so-so sorry, Bambi, are you okay? My mind was in the clouds I hadn’t even seen y-”

“Bambi?” Y/N questioned, seemingly not fazed by being knocked over by a very muscular super-soldier after the initial shock.

Bucky chuckled and allowed himself a second to memorise the look on her face, she was truly stunning, with dimples and mesmerising eyes. “Yeah.” He responded after a second, “It’s a Disney film about this little baby deer, you’d love it. Me and Steve saw it every chance we could back before all of this, I’d never have admitted that to a pretty girl back then though.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She gasped, choosing not to tease the two hundred pounds of muscle in front of her about his love for Disney because she physically couldn’t. Her body reacted on its own, cheeks burning and the words tumbling from her lips before she had the chance to catch them.

“Of course.” Bucky whispered matter of factly as if she was asking the easiest of questions. For him it was, they may not have had a friendship before today, and maybe it wouldn’t be friendship tomorrow, but to him she was the most stunning human this world had created.

“Of course I do.” He repeated ever so slightly louder, scared she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Y/N took his much larger flesh hand in her own, squeezing it and looking up at him with fondness and admiration etched onto her face.

“You’re pretty too, Bucky.” The girl hummed out with a shy smile, eyes now locked onto their intertwined fingers.

Bucky matched her grin, feeling the smooth skin of her hands cooling his burning palms, and it was only then that he took in how cold her body had felt when he helped her up off the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing.” He didn’t respond to her comment, yet kept it at the forefront of his mind because it felt important. Everything she said was important to him.

She registered his words and quickly withdrew her hand from his, shrugging her shoulders absentmindedly, “Sorry, it’s just part of me I guess, I’m fine- I should probably go.”

And just like earlier, Bucky was left with words stuck in his throat and purple tendrils of cold air curling around the space Y/N had inhabited. “Don’t apologise for being yourself.” He said into the air, shaking his head and entering his room for the night.

The teleporter’s mind was a mess of emotions and as much as she wanted to fall asleep in the comfort of the memory foam mattress Tony had supplied for her, her thoughts wouldn’t quieten. It wasn’t the usual ghosts from her past keeping her awake tonight, but the same chills greeted her body and she felt completely alone in the large dark room that was meant to bring solace to her worried head.

When the clock on her nightstand finally ticked over to two AM, she chose to go in search of Tony’s jumper she had left on the sofa last morning. Y/N jumped to the recreational level, just outside of the common area to make sure nobody was in there before she entered. After making her way over to the small nook, the blanket Bucky had lay over her was neatly folded in the corner and a smile pulled at her lips from the memory.

She hadn’t expected to see a small bundle in the opposite corner of the couch though, with a small handwritten note atop of it.

Don’t be sorry for feeling cold, I thought this might help a little though. James x

Y/N admired his script, expecting the tormented man to have scrawled writing, but instead she noticed it mirrored Steve’s. They must’ve learnt how to write together, she assumed.

She took off her own sweatshirt, pulling the soldiers top over her head and letting his scent calm her senses. It reminded her exactly of how his hand felt in hers- soothing and comforting in such an inexplicable way.

Bucky found her hours later, snuggled up on the plush sofa with his Henley practically falling off her, blanket engulfing her body as she hugged the teddy bear to her chest, blissfully unaware of how much the man wished he was holding her the same way.

[clarespace]

[part 2] and no one can tell me he didn't have to be reassured by eric/the staff repeatedly about bae's clean bill of health. 'you're sure he's ready to go? like, really sure? i can't go through this again.' idk i have a lot of feelings about overly-concerned-boyfriend-dele today!! and re: the lack of SM the past three weeks - the clothing stuff could've been posted by his brother who is also his agent (we know how that works by now, lol) [part 3 coming soon, ha]

concernedboyfriend!dele is my favourite and i completely agree and this is how ipersonally think it went down i am making things up btw bec ihave no idea what goes on in these clubs

-

‘Isn’t it too soon?’ asked Dele as they were having breakfast. He pointed his spoon at Eric. ‘You’re still recovering.’

Eric shrugged. ‘It’s reconditioning, you know how it goes.’

‘Yeah, for hamstrings and ankles but not for anything like surgery you had.’

‘I’m sure the physios know what they’re doing, Dele,’ said Eric with an amused smile, dropping a kiss on top of Dele’s hair as he passed him on his way to the sink.

-

‘Don’t push yourself too much, yeah?’ said Dele as they were unbuckling their seatbelts.

‘Yes, Mum,’ said Eric, twisting round to grab the bags in the backseat. No pain at all. He got out of the car and went round the front to open Dele’s door for him.

Dele smiled and then scowled at him. ‘I’m serious, Eric.’

‘So am I. Aren’t you glad we’re training together again?’

‘I am,’ said Dele reluctantly.

‘I’ll be fine, Dele. I am fine or did you forget last night when we - ‘

‘Shh, someone might hear you!’ Dele looked round the car park, giving Eric a light shove on the back. Eric stepped with the movement, laughing, and slung an arm across Dele’s shoulder.

‘You weren’t that concerned about being heard last night!’

‘Dier, shut up!’

-

‘Come on, move aside,’ said Dele, pushing his way through the well-wishers to stand next to Eric, who gave what he hoped was his last high five of the day. His wrist had begun to hurt. ‘Give the man some space.’

‘Looks like Dele’s got his good mood back,’ said Winks.

‘He was witherin’ away without you, mate,’ said Stones.

Dele scowled. ‘Was not.’

‘Can I see the scar?’ asked Stones, hand going to Eric’s waist.

Eric lifted his shirt up and over his head. There was a chorus of oohs when they saw the incisions, three on Eric’s lower belly, no more than a centimetre long. The stitches had dissolved and the redness and bruising had gone away. Eric caught Dele staring at the scars with more honest distress than he would normally show in public. Eric quickly put on his jersey and tugged it down over his abdomen.

‘No pain anymore?’ asked Sonny, concerned.

‘No, mate, I’m right as rain,’ said Eric and reached down to touch his toes to show them. And Dele.

Harry nodded and patted Eric on the shoulder. ‘Good to have you back in one piece, Eric. Well, minus the appendix.’

-

‘Should he be doing this so soon?’ Dele asked the physio assigned to Eric once they met up with him. Eric stretched his arms above his head, breathing in the cold air and the smell of grass.

‘Erm, yes, the doctor’s signed off on it and everything,’ said the physio, glancing uncertainly at Dele. Dele could be intimdating when he wanted to be although Eric’s first impulse was still to pinch his cheeks and keep him on his pocket whenever he made that face.

Eric grinned at Dele and nudged Dele’s knee with his foot. ‘Hear that, Delboy? The doctor signed off on it. Now, are you going to let me train in peace?’

-

‘Eric! Careful!’

-

‘Eric, your shoelaces, for fuck’s sake!’

-

‘Eric! It’s time for a break!’

-

‘Eric!’

-

‘Eric,’ said Harry, jogging up to him, eyebrows raising high when Eric jerked back to glare at him. ‘What?’

Letting out a long breath, Eric rubbed his forehead. ‘Sorry. It’s nothing.’

‘Dele driving you mad?’ Harry guessed with a knowing grin.

Eric shook his head. ‘That obvious?’

‘Lad’s got a pair of lungs on him and a sixth sense when it comes to you.’

‘Yeah.’ Eric grabbed the towel from the bench and wiped his face with it.

The smile faded from Harry’s face as he placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder. ‘You know he’s only worried about you, right? You should have seen his face when the gaffer told us what had happened to you - poor lad looked ready to cry and you know Dele, he’s not one for that sort of thing.’

Eric knew all too well what Harry meant. He’d been groggy from the anaesthesia to remember the first few hours after his surgery, but Dele’s first nightmare about it was sharply etched into his mind.

‘Still, Dele’s more relaxed now you’re back,’ said Harry, ‘hard as it is to believe with his constant fussing.’

‘You should see him at home,’ said Eric with a chuckle.

‘I can only imagine. Let’s go get lunch, yeah? Before Dele - ah, never mind, here he comes. Consistent, isn’t he?’

-

‘Oi, Dier, take it easy,’ and it was Dele again, magically appearing by Eric’s side with a water bottle in his hand. Eric was bent at the waist, hands on his knees, panting after a few last laps around the grounds. He straightened up, one hand clamped on his waist, and Dele’s face immediately fell.

‘Is it hurting? Are you alright? Should I call someone?’ he fretted, hands clutching at Eric’s shoulders.

Eric shook his head and grabbed Dele’s arm before he could raise hell. ‘S’fine, just a regular stitch.’

Dele watched him with bright, worried eyes. ‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. Come on, sit with me.’

Dele followed Eric down to the grass, handing over the water bottle. Eric took a deep glug and tossed it between his spread legs. His plucked at the grass and watched the rest of the team train though the intensity had passed as practice came to an end. Sonny and Lucas were passing the ball around and Skipp was doing keepy-uppy.

‘Fuck, I’m out of shape,’ said Eric with a rueful laugh.

‘Nah, mate,’ said Dele automatically, then smiled when he looked Eric up and down. ‘Yeah, alright, maybe slightly, but you’ve been out of it for three weeks.’

‘I hate feeling useless.’

‘You’re not. Well, you are right now, but soon you won’t be.’

‘I like how you defend me and insult me at the same time,’ said Eric, throwing a handful of crushed grass at him.

‘You’re welcome, Diet.’

Eric leant back on his hands and took a deep breath. ‘So, have you got it out of your system yet?’

Dele opened his mouth, looking annoyed, then said nothing. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, pulled at his snood with his fingers. ‘Are you angry?’ he eventually asked, embarrassment making him duck his head low. 

Eric shook his head and pressed their shoulders together. ‘It was annoying but I’m not angry with you. I would describe it as fondly exasperated.’

‘I might’ve gone a bit mental. Just a bit, mind you.’

‘Yeah? I’d hate to see you really go for it.’

Dele licked his lips and poked Eric’s foot with his. ‘Can’t blame me, Diet, you’re a danger to yourself and those around you. Someone has to make sure you dont do any more damage to yourself.’

‘And I reckon the responsibility falls to you, does it?’

‘As much as it burdens me, yes.’

‘Surely there’s someone else out there willing to do it, relieve you of this terrible work?’

Dele put his hand over his eyes to shade them and glanced around him. ‘Don’t see a queue forming anytime soon, mate.’ 

‘Then it’s just you, I suppose. I honestly couldn’t ask for better but tone it down a bit, please?’

Dele snorted and got to his feet, brushing off his ass before holding out a hand to Eric. ‘Up.’

Eric grabbed Dele’s hand and hauled himself up, grabbing the water bottle with his other hand. He refused to acknowledge how leaden his legs felt.  

‘Christ, you got heavy.’ Dele squeezed Eric’s hand before he let go, jogging ahead of him. He turned round and shouted, ‘Let’s whip you back into shape, hmm? No more coddling, I promise. This time I’ll work you until you wish you were back in hospital!’

‘Dele,’ Eric called after him with a frown, ‘you don’t have to go that far!’

[voidsettle]

Warm Flanders

Indulging our traveling desire and continuing the newly developed tradition of European Christmas markets, we bought tickets to Belgium. This trip had its peculiarities - and a unique aftertaste. Welcome to the capital of Europe!

Panorama of Bruges from Belfry (I assume, the point where Brendan Gleeson's character jumps off in the movie 'In Bruges'

I don't know how we chose Belgium - but it all started with just Brussels, and then grew to another three towns. I suspect we may have a psychological condition.

After Brussels, Bruges was an obvious addition to the trip. Possibly the most well-known of tourist destinations in Belgium, it features a well-preserved medieval town so quaint like it crawled out of a fairy tale.

The movie 'In Bruges' (a nice piece of popularized arthaus) added to the fame of the place. The town in this flick is a character of its own - it serves as the premise and the plot twist, it helps to make hard choices and aids the protagonist. Besides, the film has gorgeous cast. Seriously, look it up if you've never seen it - or rewatch if you have.

Being in Belgium (and, more importantly, its northern part, Flanders - probably the most history-heavy region), I absolutely had to see Antwerp. Ghent was a curious little addition that we didn't plan - but that happened between Bruges and Antwerp just because we had time and opportunity. Stay tuned for more.

Brussels: Art and Chocolate

Rue de la Chaufferette/Lollepotstraat, LGBTQ art street in the inner City of Brussels

Brussels is a weird city. Commonly I enjoy places that don't mind you roaming the streets (think Rome, Bangkok, New York). Brussels is however different. It etched into my memory as grey and rainy (I barely got a chance to snap a photo), and multifaceted to the point of utter incomprehensibility.

That is partly on national communities. Our free-tour guide mused on the immigration agenda of the city: nearly 80% of the current population (first and second generations) are not native to Belgium. The city, being the administrative and political center of Europe, is the very definition of a cultural melting pot.

Only a day before we arrived, French workers had a strike against ever-growing prices - thus all of Brussels was covered in barricades (not sure about the name, but something like Cheval de frise or knife-rest (aka Spanish rider) obstacles; all cold metal and barbwire, brutal).

But Brussels also flaunts its historic heritage and celebrates its art. The whole city is covered in street art - most notably scenes and characters from comics and statements in favor of LGBTQ community. Street decorations and overhead lamps of different designs and splendor turn the city into an exhibition of light.

Altmejd, 2015. Musees royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique/Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van Belgie

The more traditional artistry is spread within the cluster of museums of Mont des Arts/Kunstberg, most notably the Royal Museu of Fine Arts that features both old masters (David, Rembrandt, Rubens - and a whole hall and Google-partnered tour program dedicated to Bruegel) and new masters (some of my beloved Impressionists including Van Gogh, Serat, Gaugin, and a couple of Rodins). Another pearl, Magritte's museum is just down the stairs.

We've also followed one of the most bizarre quests I've ever had, looking for all three pissing monuments of Brussels - the symbol-status Manneken Pis, his female version Jeanneke Pis and a non-fountain canine variation Het Zinneke. Belgian people are weird.

We had some hysterical fun trying to decipher one of the ads on a bus stop. It claimed certain Subea was the best gift for your loved ones on Christmas. Passersby undoubtedly believed us crazy as we tried to identify the thing - and never came close to guessing. Look it up, it's hilarious.

Blue street art, Brussels

Built on the time-tested principles of trading cities, Brussels preserves the tradition of market squares. In early December, the downtown is covered in Christmas towns and motley crowds, framed in softly shimmering lights. It's full of flavors of waffles with cream, and frites, and gluhwein, and seafood, and sausages.

Brussels is full of cyclists (even more so than Copenhagen), full of churches, and homeless, and nationalities - cuisines, skin tones, languages. The signs duplicated in French and Dutch do not help location purposes in any significant way.

Nevermind the confusing feelings I developed for Brussels, there is one thing I should mention with firm praise - chocolate. Walk the streets and have a cup of hot chocolate - it's literally chocolate of your choice melted in hot milk. Eat warm Liege waffles topped with chocolate and cream. Buy a set of (regular) chocolate boxes with discount - or pay a visit to Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert to learn about chocolate as art. It's expensive, yes, but oh is it worth every cent!

Break a chocolate bar of preference - dark works best - into pieces, add to the cup and pour with hot milk. Stir until it melts. Enjoy the taste of Belgium.

St Michael and Gudula Cathedral, Brussels

What to see in Brussels:

Grand Place

Brussels Town Hall

Residence of the Dukes of Brabant

Maison du Roi/Broodhuis

Manneken Pis

Jeanneke Pis

Het Zinneke

Bourse/Beurs (stock exchange)

Galleries Royales Saint-Hubert

St Michael and Gudula Cathedral

chapelle de la Madeleine/Magdalenakapel

Mont des Arts/Kunstberg

Musees royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique/Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van Belgie (Musee Oldmasters, Musee Magritte, musical instruments museum)

Royal Palace

Parc de Bruxelles/Warandepark

eglise Notre-Dame au Sablon/Onze-Lieve-Vrouw ten Zavelkerk

eglise royale Sainte-Marie/Koninklijke Sint-Mariakerk

National Basilica of the Sacred Heart

Atomium

Royal Palace of Laeken

Bruges: The Belfry and the Waffle Houses

Rozenhoedkaai, Bruges

Belgian capital is the least Flemish city among those I've visited. Bruges, on the other hand, seems to bear the imprint of one of the richest regions of medieval Europe. The town is neat and cute, full of waffle houses with stair-step facades, all red brick and yellowish stone. The streets are carefully crafted and well-groomed; they stretch in slow curves, and the houses crowding each side chant their stories to the tourists in a never-ending lullaby.

Houses plaster all over each other - it feels like each street has only one building that was actually constructed with 4 walls. The rest figured 'hey, here's a perfectly good empty wall right there, with nothing attached, why not stick to the side'.

The whole country is like that, one of the signature traits of Belgium, alongside angry cyclists and painted waffle houses.

Before walking to the main attraction (Belfry, naturally), we've decided to have a glass of beer in Halve Maan, one of the oldest breweries in town. We were pleasantly surprised by the sleepy emptiness, the fireside couches and craft beer (I've never had an 11° beer before, it felt almost as a shot of whiskey). In a slumbery, sheepish haze we walked around the Minnewaterpark with its swans and gardens dipped in green moisture.

Minnewaterpark. After the rainy, grey-ish Brussels, Bruges met us with sun-through-the-clouds and warmth worthy of mid-October. I finally got out my camera and snapped my way through the cute medieval city

The territory of Bruges is covered in canals - no wonder it's called the small Venice of the North, and the centuries-old architecture covers the town in a romantic blur. Even the long queues of Belfry (one person in, one out, and around half a hundred waiting for their turn) didn't disturb our dreamy mood. The view from above maps the whole town on the palm of your hands, and the stone parapet is covered in numbers and names of cities with arrows pointing the direction.

Carillon, a fascinating musical instrument that has several dozen bells connected to play melodies. The Belfry carillon plays a different melody every quarter of an hour

Belfry is gorgeous at sunset, especially observed from Grote Markt - towering, starkly contrasted against the fading skies.

Bruges is probably best-known for its streets - after you've seen the main attractions, there's no clear itinerary, but just wander around and get lost in the medieval brick labyrinth. You can visit the old windmills - each with its own unique name - and the corner of Groenerei, which is less romantic in winter but still a nice place for a romantic rendezvous. Or just roam the streets and inhale the ambiance of this old town that looks like it jumped straight out of a fairytale with enchanted castles, simplistic plotline where good always conquers evil and a set of enjoyably cardboard characters.

Sometimes it's fun to experience something so far from real life. Can't disagree with the philosophic view of Fiennes's character from 'In Bruges'.

What to see in Bruges:

Kasteel de la Faille

Sashuis

Minnewaterpark

Sint-Janshospitaal-Memlingmuseum

St Salvator's cathedral

Church of Our Lady (featuring Michelangelo's Madonna met Kind)

Bonifaciusbrug

the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Rozenhoedkaai (the most photographed spot in Bruges)

't Brugse Vrije

City Hall

Basilique du Saint-Sang

Brugge markt

Belfry and Market Halls

Provinciaal Hof

Jan Breydel en pieter de Coeninck memorial

St James's church

Jan Van Eyck memorial

windmills (de Coelewey, de Nieuwe Papegaai, Sint Janshuismolen, Bonne Chiere)

Sint-Annakerk

Gronerei

Train Tales

​Belgium is unexpectedly bad at doing trains. We heard the first bell as we tried to get out of Brussels. The Northern train station has a clear division between two worlds. The ground floor belongs to hobos and (most probably) unemployed immigrants - this is the world of half-light, scary coughs and little noises, empty food wrappings, garbage, people wrapped in multiple layers of dirty blankets and coats. The upper floors are obviously European, well-lit, with shops, 24/7 information desks and wending machines. The contrast is so stark that it's frightening.

(Under)ground floors of Antwerpen-Centraal

Yet this was but a warning. For some unknown reason, the schedule of Belgian trains is really complicated - we couldn't make sense of it using just timetables and scoreboards. This was a shock for me specifically - I just went to Italy a month prior, where I didn't even need to talk to anyone to understand where to buy tickets and how to get from point A to point B.

Obviously we were not alone confused by the whole system - by the machine selling tickets, a nice lady was spending her working hours explaining stupid tourists how this works. She offered us a ticket we didn't consider - it could take us to 10 destinations (we needed 6, and decided to spend 2 more for a short detour to Ghent before Antwerp; profit).

The complications started when we failed to notice the class of the coach we were boarding. Truth to be told, there was a number '1' on the side - but the inside didn't look any different from second class, so I'm not sure what's the deal. 10 minutes into the ride, a railway employee walked in and aggressively started to demand extra payment to 'upgrade' our tickets - about 10 euro per person. None of us were allowed to leave the first class coach for the second.

The thing about that whole situation was: of all the people in the coach, only one woman was aware of its first class status. The rest were bewildered and looked like lost tourists (some of us surely were) who forgot to check the number on the side of the carriage. Which, frankly, didn't feel like the people's fault. A Spanish family nearly started a brawl with the guy - which earned my compassion but also a portion of solid mirth.

Hilarious experience - but also quite frustrating. Not too fond of Belgian train system.

Ghent: The Castle and the Histrionic Weather

Gravensteen, Ghent

I didn't expect this short detour would turn out this satisfying. Don't get me wrong, there's not much to do in Ghent in the evening. In a manner traditional for the whole country, life dies away after 6PM. As nightfall covers the streets, the shops and restaurants close, and the whole city seems deserted. There are some late passersby, some groups of youth and random tourists but they're not common, especially further from downtown.

But the architecture is spectacular nonetheless. Korenmarkt (basically, central square) with Church of Saint Nicholas is the heart of the city. The sites are mostly all on the same line - Stadhuis Gent and Belfort, Saint Bavo cathedral and a couple of nearby 'palaces' that were actually residences of (very) wealthy merchants, and Saint Michael's church on the other side of Korenmarkt, across the Leie river.

It was enjoyable to just wander the empty streets quite aimlessly, bumping into architectural sites curious things here and there

Gravensteen is exactly the prototype you imagine when someone says 'a castle'. It's the type of medieval structure you drew as a kid, with the battlements and turrets. This is where a valiant knight came to rescue a fair maiden from an evil king. It's The Ultimate Castle.

In yet another plot twist, the weather in Ghent was unpredictably fun. It made us giggle at its hysterical fits.

Rain, wind and damp autumnal warmth changed each other in bizarre epileptic seizures.

One moment, it decided to rain - and the downpour started as soon as we opened our umbrellas. 2 minutes later it all stopped as if nothing happened. Ten minutes passed - and terrible gusts of wind that nearly knocked us down. Sure enough, soon it was warm and mellow again. Best advice when the weather is in such a theatrical mood: keep an umbrella with you at all times.

The walk from the city center to the train station is quite long, about an hour. But at least the building of the train station is worth exploring - it has great inner decorations all over the ceiling that imitate medieval style. Outside, by the largest bike parking I've seen after Copenhagen's sleeping districts, a sad man was playing his wistful sax; there seems to be something about Belgium and saxophones.

What to see in Ghent:

Korenmarkt (basically, central square)

Church of Saint Nicholas

Saint Michael's church

Gravensteen

Stadhuis Gent

Belfort

Saint Bavo cathedral

Antwerp: The Train Station and the Sky

Antwerpen-Centraal Train Station, Antwerp

After the grey cold rain of Brussels and the crazy run of tourist-packed Bruges and (devastatingly) empty Ghent, Antwerp was all sunshine and warmth. Easily the most enjoyable time I've had in Belgium.

Antwerp is a mild, soft city, quite self-indulgent - it has less tourists than either Brussels or Bruges - and completely immersed in its own thoughts. Traces of the eternal, undying energy that preserves big cities can be found everywhere.

First things first, we went to see the jewel of Antwerp's sightseeing itinerary - Antwerpen-Centraal, the main train station of the city. It has 4 floors, with trains arriving on each of them - it is really impressive, especially as the whole structure is sunlit through the ribbed glass roof and the underground floors are dipped in orange-and-purple lights, the true impressionist study of light and color.

Antwerp has a clear itinerary, as if the city was built with the idea of easy navigation in mind. Starting from Antwerpen-Centraal and past the diamond district, the shopping streets of Antwerp start and run right to the heart of the city, Grote Markt. The walk there is short if one ignores the detour sites like the beautiful neoclassical Bourla theater with round-ish colonnade façade, the house of Rubens turned museum, the oldest house in Antwerp build circa 1480, completely wooden and still inhabited, or the baroque St Charles Borromeo church, which simplistic interior is decorated with astonishing woodwork.

The notorious diamond district of Antwerp is located right beside the train station. History has it that it all started with shops opening here so that rich people coming to Antwerp to buy diamonds could keep their incognito and leave as soon as the deal was sealed, without the need to visit the town.

Grote Markt and the nearby Groenplaats are connected with a short street that features another pearl of Antwerp, the Cathedral of Our Lady. This majestic Gothic temple is narrowly surrounded by the old houses of trading guilds glued to its every side. You cannot actually see the side walls of the Cathedral (which is another trademark feature of Flemish towns - a dead giveaway that trade was of utmost importance, and that secular and religious matters were closely connected).

Grote Markt itself looks just like other main squares in Belgium - a lot of space adapted for Christmas markets during this time of year, crowded by waffle houses with gilded statues and inscriptions dating back to the Autumn of the Middle Ages, and towering Brabantine Gothic spire, the cynosure of the city.

Stroh violin player. Stroviol is a popular instrument of street musicians, seen all over Flanders

The next thing I was agitated to see was Sint-Annatunnel - a 1/2 km tunnel under the riverbed, fully built for walking on foot, riding on bicycles and even for motorized vehicles. The escalators are wood-paneled and lacquered, the photos on the walls tell the history of construction of the tunnel as one descends.

Quay along river Scheldt, shipyard and windmills

On our way to MAS, we've taken a turn into the Antwerp red lights district. As I was quite shamelessly staring at the girls (literally) displayed in the windows, my friend surprised me, hilariously paying attention to some nesting boxes on a random tree instead. Some way to explore the city.

Don't miss on the chance to visit MAS museum. For a tourist, it's a golden opportunity: free entrance to the rooftop with stunning night panorama of Antwerp lights. From up above, the lights on the windmills twinkle red, painting an ominous image in the night skies. The walls of the interior are covered with posters of modern art (sometimes inspiring, sometimes hilarious, sometimes frightening). Besides, MAS is open till 10 PM, a rare case for Belgium.

MAS pays the oddest homages, and one of them is to Harry Potter franchise: the building features floor 9 and 1/2.

While on the roof of MAS, the pragmatism and commercial genes of Flemish people deliver nothing but pure delight. The nearby houses host advertisements for the visitors of the museum: cafes and restaurants ornament their awnings with offers of hot drinks and rich meals.

What to see in Antwerp:

Antwerpen-Centraal

diamond block

Leysstraat 32-34 and 27 (twin buildings)

Meir (shopping street)

Rubenshuis

Bourlaschouwburg

Boerentoren

Sint-Carolus Borromeuskerk

Groenplaats

Cathedral of Our Lady

Grote Markt

Brabo fountain

Stadhuis Antwerpen

Het Steen and Lange Wapper memorial

Sint-Annatunnel

Stoelstraat 11 (the oldest house of Antwerp)

Sint-Pauluskerk

Schipperskwartier (red lights district)

MAS museum (rooftop viewpoint)

What to eat:

chocolate (in all forms, whether it's box of finest pralines, a chocolate bar, or a cup of hot chocolate)

waffles (fillings vary; I personally prefer dark chocolate and whipped cream. Belgian people however have plain waffle with sugar powder)

beer (one of the oldest and most important produces of the region; brewing beer is fine art here)

frites (basically French fries, but don't call them that - it's offensive, given the fact they were not invented in France; the locals still hold their grudge over the matter)

mussels (Brussels specialty, usually go with frites on the side)

Flanders As It Is

Wandelterras Noord, quay of Antwerp, near Sint-Annatunnel. The sun gave us its last warmth of the day as we strolled along the Antwerp quay, the dark silhouettes of seagulls scattering sunbeams as we scared them off the railings

The towns of Flanders are easily recognizable. The main square is always called 'Grote Markt'; the combination of a cathedral (usually of Our Lady), a stadhuis and a belfry impending over the town is mandatory. Old houses of stone (and sometimes even wood), with stepped roofs and intricate ornaments. Waffles and chocolate on every corner, infinite varieties of beer in any pub. Add cyclists during the day or bicycle parking at night, cobblestone streets, a culture co-depending with trade - and you have a perfect portrait of a Flemish city.

It was a little vacation we all need from time to time - not spectacular but fun, warm and surprisingly full of color in this grim, gray time of the year.

[double-knots-archive]

tag drop;

WEAR MY TALENT LIKE A MASK. || MAX ART; I CAN SIDE-EYE THAT SHIT. || COMMENTARY; DANCING IN THE PANIC ROOM! || CRACK; ALL I AM'S A SILLY INTROVERT. || DASH GAMES; PICK APART A HUNDRED FLOWERS. || INBOX CALL; HOPE IT MAGICALLY DISTRACTS YOU. || MEMES. || SPECIFY MUSE; I KEEP YOU UP PAST MIDNIGHT. || META; mobile tag here; I CAN'T ADMIT THE HALF OF IT THAT I WANT TO SAY. || MAX; THE ABUSE OF THE BACKSPACE KEY. || MAX ANSWERED; NO TRAGEDY NO POETRY. || ASK MAX; I CAN'T PERFORM IF THERE'S ANYONE WATCHING. || OFFLINE; I'M JET LAGGIN' MCCRACKEN. || OOC; IN THE CLOUDS MY HEAD IS CLEAR. || OPEN; WE'RE BACK HERE SNAPPIN' POLAROIDS. || PROMOS; I SOUND LIKE I'M MORE TROUBLE THAN I'M WORTH. || PSA; NOT ETCHED IN TREES OR CARVED IN STONE. || QUEUE; JUST A LITTLE NOSTALGIC FOR SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE PURE. || SAVE; SO OF COURSE I'M GON' READ IT. || SELF PROMOS; I GOT BETTER AND A POINT TO PROVE. || MAX FACE; IN THE ROUGH DRAFT SHE LOVED YOU. || SHIPPING CALL; BUT WE'RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HURT. || STARTER CALL; MAKE A FASHION MISTAKE AND WEAR A POCKETLESS SWEATER. || WISHLIST;

[ofthepuzzle]

@mgicians​ said: [ CATCH ]: sender manages to intervene and catch the falling receiver before they fall to their death. // have no fear, dark magician is here 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

       The temple’s halls are long and dark and the cool air inside sends chills down Atem’s spine. It’s like fate brought him here with a message. A man in a robe ran into this place but who knows where he’d gone to. There are many stairs and the halls branch into two more with doors in every corner.

      The Pharaoh climbs up the stairs to the next level, seemingly to have spotted an unknown shadow. His steps echo to the farthest depths of the spacious environment, the soles scratching the stone surface of the ground. He stops on his tracks and falls still in his position. A tremor of walls and floor informs him of danger. It starts light and eventually he could feel it better the louder it gets.

      “Oh no!” Caught off guard, Atem’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “Why did you lead me in here??” He shouts out, though it’s deafened by the stone walls beginning to crack. He doesn’t understand this. Did the man in the robe want him here or not? Either way, this is Atem’s queue to get out of here. He turns on his heel and runs back down the stairs.

      At the worst time halfway, the unsteady stairs begin to crumble, appearing to be hollow from beneath. A pit that is metres deep to the bottom of the building. After Atem’s last step he could sense the loss of his balance, gravity immediately pulling him down. An expression of horror is etched onto regal facial features as Atem reaches out with his hand in the hope to grab onto something but to no avail. It all feels too quick for him to comprehend. Too terrified to even let out a sound.

      The pure acceptance of death has been ultimately shattered when his loyal companion captures him before he could reach the lowest point. The impact comes like a bit of a whiplash but doesn’t do anything more than cause the Pharaoh to inhale deeply and gasp out. By instinct he hangs onto the armor. The ceiling has a clear opening, a dapple light shimmering above them. Their chance to escape.

     “Dark Magician !” the shock has him in a bit of a daze but he quickly notices the opening. He points, though certainly the mage has already understood what he has to do. Numerous of times Mahad has saved him. He would need to catch a breather first to show his gratitude. Until they are safe and sound...

[dojooned-blog]

TWICE LUCKY

—park dojoon x reader —requested by anonymous —genre; slice of life —number of words; 761 —request notes here!

You were feeling blessed. Some people don’t get a chance to catch The Rose even once. But you, it was your second concert that year. And as you made your way to the concert venue, you were thanking the heavens once again.

Your first experience had been nothing short of spectacular. Every detail, every song, the thrilling atmosphere; it had all been etched into your memories like carvings on stone.

This second concert, you had gotten lucky. When you had sat down to buy the tickets online, they had just been sold out. But as fate were to have it, with a simple click on the refresh button, tickets became available again.

Previously, your sister had accompanied you. Tonight however, it was your boisterous best friend. “I think I might wet my pants,” Il Ri whispered jokingly. You chuckled in return, giving her a bemused expression.

“By wet you mean urinate right?” You queried, narrowing your eyes at her. In response, she raised her eyebrows suggestively, prompting the both of you to burst into a fit of laughter.

You cheekily slapped her shoulder, “I hate you.” The two of you quickly joined the growing queue. Before you knew it, you were already inside the venue. It was different from your previous concert, but a welcoming change.

It was much bigger, and after much squeezing and shuffling, you even managed to find yourself right in front of the stage. “This is going to be amazing!” Il Ri screamed beside you.

You exchanged glances with her, and then the both of you began squealing excitedly. “I just know we’re going to have the time of our lives tonight,” you squeezed her hand, “just like last time around.”

Il Ri turned to you, “so you said last time around, Dojoon was eyeing you like a hawk. Do you think he’ll remember you tonight?”

“Okay first of all, I never said eyed me like a hawk; I just said he saw me,” you gave her a look, to which she smiled knowingly in return. “And secondly, of course he won’t remember me. It’s been months!”

Your last concert had been exactly four months ago. And unlike what Il Ri had implied, you merely met Dojoon’s eyes a couple of times. “How many times did you make eye contact again?” She asked as if she had just read your mind.

“A few times,” you replied coolly. To be specific, you had lost count. Il Ri laughed loudly, trying to be heard above the din. “He’ll definitely remember you,” she teasingly stroked your cheek just as the lights dimmed.

You merely rolled your eyes at her, not wanting to believe you’d be that lucky. You had already been lucky once, surely lightning never strikes twice in the same place.

Not long after, the boys entered the stage to the roaring of fans. You were quick to join the mass, screaming your lungs out like everyone else. 

Woosung took his place with his guitar, Jaehyeong with his bass and Hajoon at his drum set. You noticed Dojoon was last to be at his instrument. He smiled brightly, as usual, and began waving at the crowd eagerly.

And just like last time, you couldn’t wipe that massive smile off your own face as you watched him. In the next moment however, something you’d like to call magical happened.

He began scanning the crowd, when suddenly his eyes landed on you. Your eyes met instantly, like magnets attracted to each other. And it was as if everything else vanished, and it was just you and him in that very moment.

There was a massive grin on your face, and you feebly lifted a hand to wave at him. Initially he seemed shocked. Then, an expression of familiarity and recognition passed his features.

Finally, a smile gradually built up on his lips, and he quickly returned the wave.

“Dojoon!” Woosung’s voice called through the microphone, causing the both of you to turn to him. “What are you looking at, man?” Woosung teased, “are our fans too beautiful for you?”

The crowd began cheering at his words, and you could almost see Dojoon’s cheeks turn pink as his eyes found yours once again. That sheepish smile on his face returned, and you could feel the heat rising to your own cheeks.

“Yeah,” he responded, not looking away from you, “they are very beautiful.”

And in that very moment, you decided that Lady Luck was smiling down on you. Because you were definitely going to have the time of your life that day.

[xtruss]

A City Run By Muslim Americans

— Zhaoyin Feng | BBC News Michigan | Tuesday November 16, 2021

A walk down the main street in Hamtramck, Michigan, feels like a tour around the world.

A Polish sausage store and an Eastern European bakery sit alongside a Yemeni department store and a Bengali clothing shop. Church bells ring out along with the Islamic call to prayer.

"The world in two square miles" - Hamtramck lives up to its slogan, with around 30 languages spoken within its 5 sq km area.

This month, the Midwestern city of 28,000 has reached a milestone. Hamtramck has elected an all-Muslim City Council and a Muslim mayor, becoming the first in the US to have a Muslim-American government.

Once faced with discrimination, Muslim residents have become integral to this multicultural city, and now make up more than half its population.

And despite economic challenges and intense cultural debates, residents in Hamtramck from different religious and cultural backgrounds coexist in harmony, making the city a meaningful case study for America's future of rising diversity.

But will Hamtramck be an exception or a rule?

The arc of Hamtramck's history from beginnings as a town of German settlers to the modern day - it was America's first majority-Muslim city - is etched in its streets.

Storefronts display signs in Arabic and Bengali, embroidered Bangladeshi garments and Jambiyas, a type of short curved blade from Yemen, are seen in store windows. Muslim residents queue up to buy paczki, a kind of custard-filled Polish doughnut.

"It's not unusual to see some with miniskirts and tattoos and some in burqas walking on the same street. This is all about us," said Zlatan Sadikovic, a Bosnian immigrant who owns a café in downtown Hamtramck.

A stone's throw outside Detroit, which partly envelops the city, Hamtramck was once part of the epicentre of America's automotive industry, dominated by the General Motors plant that straddled its border with 'Motor City'. The first Cadillac Eldorado rolled off the assembly line in Hamtramck in the 1980s.

Over the course of the 20th Century, it became known as "Little Warsaw", as Polish immigrants flocked in for the blue-collar jobs. The city was one of the stops of Polish-born Pope John Paul II's US tour in 1987. In 1970, as much as 90% of the city was of Polish origin.

However, that decade saw the beginning of the long decline of US car manufacturing, and younger, wealthier Polish Americans began moving to the suburbs. The change made Hamtramck one of Michigan's poorest cities, but the affordability attracted immigrants.

Over the last 30 years, Hamtramck transformed again, to become a landing pad for Arab and Asian immigrants, notably those from Yemen and Bangladesh. A significant portion of the city's residents today - 42% - are foreign born. More than half are believed to be practising Muslims.

The newly elected government's makeup reflects the changing demographics in Hamtramck. The city council will include two Bengali Americans, three Yemeni Americans and a Polish-American convert to Islam.

Winning 68% of the vote, Amer Ghalib will be the first Yemeni-American mayor in the US.

"I feel honoured and proud, but I know it's a big responsibility," Mr Ghalib, 41, said.

Born in a village in Yemen, he moved to the US when he was 17, first working in a factory making plastic car parts near Hamtramck. He later learned English and received medical training, and now works as a healthcare professional.

Rather than being a "melting pot" or "salad bowl", Hamtramck is more like a "seven-layer cake" where different groups retain their distinct cultures while closely co-existing with each other, said city councilmember-elect Amanda Jaczkowski. "People are still proud of their culture specifically, whereas if it's assimilation, we would lose the uniqueness."

"When you live this close to each other, you are forced to overcome those differences," Ms Jaczkowski, 29, said.

But Hamtramck "is not Disneyland", said Karen Majewski, the outgoing mayor who will have served in office for 15 years before stepping down. "It's just a small place. And we do have conflicts."

Friction arose in 2004 following a vote to broadcast the Islamic call to prayer in public. Some residents have argued that a ban on bars near mosques hurts the local economy.

Six years ago, when it became the first American city to elect a Muslim-majority government, press from all over the world descended upon Hamtramck. Some media reports at the time painted a picture of a "tense" town with an influx of Muslims. A national TV anchor asked whether Ms Majewski was afraid of being mayor.

There was even speculation from some that a Muslim-controlled city council might impose Shariah law.

"In Hamtramck, people roll their eyes at that kind of talk," said Ms Majewski.

She was "gratified" that Hamtramck has been a welcoming community, she said, and it's "natural" for new residents to vote for those who understand their experience and their languages.

The US Census Bureau does not collect information about religion, but the Pew Research Center think tank estimates that there were about 3.85 million Muslims living in the US in 2020, making up about 1.1% of the total population. By 2040, Muslims are projected to become the second largest religious group in the US, after Christians.

Despite their growing presence, Muslims in America have often been subjected to prejudice.

Twenty years after the 9/11 attack, Islamophobia still haunts Muslims and other Arab Americans. Close to half of Muslim-American adults told Pew in 2016 that they had personally experienced some form of discrimination, when the then-candidate Donald Trump proposed a ban on immigrants from Muslim-majority countries entering the US. Researchers also found that among all religious groups, Muslims still face the most negative views from the American public.

More than half of Americans say they do not personally know any Muslims, but those who personally know a believer are less likely to think that Islam encourages violence more than other religions.

Hamtramck is a living example of how personal knowledge curtails Islamophobia.

When Shahab Ahmed ran for city councilmember shortly after the 9/11 attack, he faced an uphill battle.

"There were flyers all over the city saying I am the 20th hijacker that didn't make it to the airplanes," the Bengali American said. After he lost the election in 2001, Mr Ahmed knocked on neighbours' doors to introduce himself. He was elected two years later, becoming Hamtramck's first Muslim city official.

Since then, support for the Muslim community has grown in the city.

In 2017, when the Trump administration imposed the entry ban, residents came together to protest.

"In a way it mobilised and unified a lot of people because everybody knows that in order to live in Hamtramck, you have to respect other people," said Razi Jafri, co-director of documentary film "Hamtramck, USA".

Nationally, Muslim Americans have also become more politically visible. In 2007, Minnesotan Democrat Keith Ellison became the first Muslim congressman. The current US Congress has four Muslim members.

On Hamtramck election day this month, dozens of residents gathered in front of a polling station to greet each other, many showing off their Election Day souvenir, the "I voted" sticker.

Immigrants were excited to participate in democracy, Ms Jaczkowski said. "It's a very American thing to be able to bring people together".

But as with the rest of the country, intense cultural debates are taking place in the city.

In June, when the city government approved flying a gay pride flag in front of the city hall, some residents were incensed. Several pride flags hanging outside of private businesses and homes were torn down, including one outside of a vintage clothing store downtown owned by Ms Majewski. "That sends a really alarming message to people," she said.

Marijuana has also become a source of controversy. Three dispensaries opening in Hamtramck have prompted dismay from some in both Muslim and Polish-Catholic communities.

Other residents are concerned about a lack of women's political participation in conservative Muslim communities.

On election night, Mr Ghalib, the mayor-elect, was surrounded by a jubilant Yemeni-American crowd in a post-election party serving baklava and kebabs. More than 100 supporters were there, all of them men.

Women participated in his campaign, Mr Ghalib said, but segregation of the sexes remains traditional, even as it is being challenged by younger generations who have become more "Americanised", he said.

Hamtramck also faces challenges common to Rust Belt cities, from decayed infrastructure to limited economic opportunity. Heavy rains over the summer overwhelmed the city's sewers and flooded many homes. High levels of lead were found in city drinking water samples, garnering national attention. Nearly half of the city is below the poverty line. These are just some of the pressing issues that the new city leadership would have to grapple with.

"What does democracy look like in a Muslim majority city? Like everywhere else, messy and complicated," said the documentary filmmaker Mr Jafri, "So when the novelty wears off, the work needs to be done."

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 15: By the Ballocks

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 14 : The Crowded Bed Two is company. Four is a crowd.

“There’s men as are sensible,” she said to me, with a wicked smile, “and beasts as are biddable. Others ye’ll do nothing with, unless ye have ’em by the ballocks. Now, ye can listen to me in a civil way,” she said to her brother, “or I can twist a bit. Hey?” (Outlander 588).

     “Daddy…Daddy…Da!!” The voice got progressively louder, until finally Jamie woke from his sleep. He opened one eye first. He had been sleeping on Jenny and Ian’s couch, and there was a patch of spittle left on the brocade where he must have been sleeping with his mouth open.

    “I’m an old man!” Jamie grumbled, his voice still gritty with sleep. “Snorin’ and droolin’!”

    Joanie laughed as he sat up, and came close to him to smooth out his hair and retie his queue. “Yer hair looked fair awful!” she giggled. “But I fixed it.”

    “Now, wee lassie, why are ye wakin’ yer father from his deep slumber?” Jamie rubbed his eyes, feeling ridges in the skin of his cheek. The pattern on Jenny and Ian’s couch was now imprinted on his face. Wonderful.

    “I want to go swimming in the mill pond,” she said. “But Ma said I canna go alone. Would you come watch me?”

    “But wee one, ye didna bring any extra clothes for swimming,” Jamie said.

    “That’s not stopping Ian, Michael, Janet, and Marsali,” she said, pouting. Jamie’s eyes widened.

    “What do you mean, Joanie?” Jamie asked, attempting to keep his voice calm.

    “They took their clothes off to go swimming,” Joanie announced confidently.

    Jamie stared at her, his forehead wrinkled. Then he jerked alert, startled, realization flooding his features. “Joanie, where’s yer ma?”

    “She’s upstairs, sleepin',” Joan answered. “Or, she was until I asked her if I could go swimming.”

    “But she went back to sleep after ye left her room?”

    “No,” Joanie responded reassuringly, shaking her head and frowning. “When I told her I didna need a swimming costume cause Marsali, Michael, and Ian weren’t wearing any, she woke up. And she said, ‘Go get yer da,’ so I figured she wanted you to help me swim.”

    “Oh, Christ,” Jamie swore, pulling on his boots as quickly as he could.

    “What’s wrong?” Joan asked, concerned. Jamie generally tried not to swear around the girls.

    “If Marsali is swimming wi’ boys wi’out her clothes on, yer ma is going to kill first her and then me…Or first me and then her.” He shook the last remnants of sleep out of his head, grabbed a large blanket, and headed quickly towards the mill.

    In the years since Jamie lost his shirt on the water wheel, Ian and the boys had excavated a large area below the mill which they had turned into a pond, for a reservoir. They used the power of the mill to pump some water to the grain fields, and it assured them a water supply in case of drought. Of course, it was Scotland, so that was rare. The children liked to use the mill pond for refreshing on hot days, or just to amuse themselves. Today fell into the amusement category, as it was May, and the sky was still gray and overcast.

    Jamie muttered to himself as he approached the mill pond. Looking ahead, he could see black and golden heads of hair, both on women’s bodies, wearing skirts and shawls. Jenny. . .and Laoghaire. For a moment, he considered turning around and heading back to the house. Jenny could oversee her own children; Laoghaire could take care of Marsali.

    But remembering Laoghaire’s reaction to Marsali starting her courses, he realized it would be cowardly of him and more traumatic for Marsali for him to stay away.

    “Ian Murray, Michael Murray!” Jenny was exclaiming sharply. “Get out of the water this instant!! What on earth are you thinkin'?” The boys were pulling themselves out of the water, cupping their hands around their ballocks and arses. Jenny sharply swatted each of them on the side of the head as they skittered past her to the piles of clothing on the rocks by the gravel entry to the pond. Jamie stretched the blanket out like a curtain and stood between the boys and the pond as they hastily tried to pull shirts and breeks on over wet skin. He told them with his eyes and eyebrows, no words needed, that as soon as they were dressed, they’d better make themselves scarce.

    “Thanks, Uncle Jamie,” said Ian, making a face.

    “Aye, thanks Uncle,” Michael agreed.

    “We didna do anything,” feisty Janet insisted to the indignant mothers as the boys dashed away over the grassy fields toward Lallybroch in the distance. She and Marsali were still huddled shoulder-deep in the water. “The lads turned their backs to let us get in first, and then we looked away for them. Ye canna see far in the water. We thought you’d prefer it to us getting our clothing all wet.”

    Jamie could see, from the tight set of Laoghaire’s lips, that Janet’s explanation was not adequate.

    “Shall we let the girls get out?” Jamie asked. “I can turn my back, Jenny, and you and Laoghaire can hold the blanket to give the lassies a place to dress. I dinna want them to catch their death of cold just because you’re angry at them.” He handed off the blanket and turned his back, shaking his head. Lassies were so much more complicated than lads, that was for certain. Of course, he wasn’t convinced that Ian and Michael would have kept their end of the bargain. He knew he’d seen Jenny a time or two as a teenager. Education, he figured. Living on a farm you saw a lot more than just private parts. It wasn’t a perfect education however, he considered ruefully, remembering a young man with some misconceptions needing to be kindly corrected on his wedding night.

    After attempting to squeeze any extra water out of their hair, the girls dressed, and the five headed back to the house. He’d warned Joanie to find something else to do. He imagined there’d be some heated discussions on their return.

    When they entered the house and found their way into the front parlor, Marsali and Janet huddled next to each other on one couch, and Jenny, Laoghaire, and Jamie sat on the other one, facing them. Jamie noted that Laoghaire was already starting to sniffle.

    “Where are the lads?” Janet snipped. “We arna the only ones to blame.”

    “No doubt they’ll have their own sort of consequence later,” Jamie said. “Ian and I will discuss it.”

    “Janet already told you,” Marsali said, stubbornly lifting her chin. “We chose to swim this way to save wash, and it wasna a problem. We didna do anything wrong.”

    “The boys didna touch you, Marsali?” Laoghaire asked, obviously speaking over a sizeable lump in her throat.

    “Ma!” Marsali exclaimed. “Ye dinna think I’d do any such thing wi’ my cousins, d’ye?”

    “Nor me, wi’ my brothers?” Janet piped up. “Other than that I’ve seen them nekkid since they were wee little things.”

    Jamie raised a finger, seeking permission to speak. “I will say, Janet, that yer bodies are not the same as when ye were wee little things. A time comes when it isna right for boys and girls to be in each other’s company nude!”

    Laoghaire had started quietly weeping. Jenny and Jamie met each other’s eyes in confusion.

    “Laoghaire,” Jamie said. “I dinna think ye need to worry. When Jenny and I were children, if I wasna listening to her well enough, she would reach under my kilt and grab me by the bollocks to make me listen to her.”

    Wee Janet burst out laughing as Jenny blushed and glared at Jamie. “Ma, really? Well, I never did that wi’ Ian or Michael.”

    Marsali got up from the couch and knelt at Laoghaire’s feet, then grabbed her hands. Looking up at her mother, she said seriously, “Mama, I know how important it is to you that I marry well. I willna do anything that could endanger that. We were just swimmin’.”

    Laoghaire tried to quell her tears. Jamie reached over to pat her shoulder. He felt her stiffen slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

    “I need to check the roasting chicken,” Laoghaire sniffled, getting up from the couch. She and Marsali headed to the kitchen, wee Janet following behind. Brother and sister sighed as they met each other's eyes.

    “Shall we walk?”

    They walked in silence for a time, Jamie moderating the length of his strides so that Jenny could keep up with him. Without intending to, Jamie turned them toward the Fraser cemetery up on the top of a hill, with a view of fields, lake, mountains, and farms.

    Since they were already there, the siblings met each other’s eyes and climbed up through the break in the wall, gently laying their hands on the precariously balanced stones as they passed them. Jenny followed as Jamie wended his way through the lichen-covered gravestones towards the ones that marked the graves of Brian Dubh Fraser and Ellen MacKenzie Fraser. And Matthew Fraser. They stood, looking at the trio of stones etched with names and dates.

    “Where shall we put ye, Jamie?” Jenny asked sharply.

    “Put me?” Jamie turned to her. “What an odd question, Janet. Where there’s room. By Da.”

    “No, ye clot-heid. Not when you die. Now. Because yer actin’ like ye’re already dead.”

    But he was dead, Jamie thought, absurdly. He had died back at Culloden Moor; no, he had died at the stones—at Craigh na Dun.

    He realized how foolish those thoughts were. “I’m not dead, Janet, nor am I acting like it. I came out and helped wi’ getting the wee fools out of the pond. I at least thought to bring a blanket. And I brought my family here for Marsali’s birthday."

    “I grant ye that,” Jenny said. “But yer heart’s not in it.”

    Jamie put his fingers to his temples. “Ye women weary me. I’m surrounded wi’ them all day long, and now ye’ve got more to add to the ways I feel like I will ne’er be enough.”

    Jenny looked at her brother, and saw the lines of weariness on his face. And yet, she didn’t relent. “Ye are a man, James, so be one. She isna coming back.”

    Jamie turned to her, eyes narrowed.

    “This life,” Jenny said, her arm taking in the surrounding view. “This? This is what you get. Down there in that stone house? That’s the wife you get. Those are the daughters you get. I’m the only sister you get. Ian’s the only brother-in-law.”

    “Now, Janet,” Jamie had bristled at the mention of Joanie and Marsali. “I love those little lassies like they were my own. I live each day as if it’s the only one I have because I know how precious time is.”

    “What about yer wife, then?” Jenny asked. She put her hands on her hips, making herself resemble a fierce little bantam hen.

    “What have ye been wheedling out of Laoghaire?” Jamie asked accusingly.

    “She says you try. But she also says that you come to her as if you expect something of her, and she always feels like she’s disappointing you!”

    Jamie turned away with a gruff grumble. “I dinna ken that I ever feel I’ve ended a day with Laoghaire happy.”

    “Ye canna expect this marriage to be the same as what you had with Claire. This is what there is, Jamie. Did you hear me? Stop lookin' for what ye had before.”

    Jamie gazed out over the countryside, then began to speak contemplatively.

    “Tell me, Jenny, having known love with Ian, would you be satisfied with a shadow of that love?”

    “I would try,” Jenny responded.

    “I have tried, Janet,” Jamie said quietly. “But ‘tisna even a shadow. She’s a wall, a darkness that absorbs everything I give and shines nothing back to me. I’m weary. I canna be myself with Laoghaire. I make a wee joke? It hurts her feelings. I come to her in our bedroom, and the next day she’s screamin' and cryin' and willna tell me what I’ve done.”

    The two stared at each other, foreheads wrinkled. Finally, Jenny chuckled wryly.

    “D’ye think marriage is easy, Jamie?” Jenny said. “Ye were married for three years; now ye’ve been married for four months. Ian and I have been married for twenty-four years. Do ye not know that sometimes Ian and I hate each other? Sometimes I canna bear the sight of the man. Sometimes he thinks I’m a shrew and a harpy.”

    She saw the look on her brother’s face and glared at him. “And dinna say that sometimes I am a shrew and a harpy. For I ken that’s what ye were thinkin’, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

    Jamie recited a proverb he’d heard from his father:

    “Ceannsaichidh a h-uile fear an droch bhean, Ach an duin' aig am bi ì,”*

    At Jenny’s lowered brows he translated: “Everyone can rule a shrew, Except the one she’s married to.” Jamie drew his sister to him, her head underneath his chin. “Ah, Janet,” he said. “Ye are a shrew and a harpy. And I love ye anyway.” He kissed her on the forehead, grabbed her by the hand, and led her away from the stones.

    They stopped at the crest of the hill to look over the land.

    “This, Janet?” Jamie asked, a question in his voice.

    “This is what there is, Jamie.”

    Jamie sighed deeply. “Janet,” he asked, as he stepped down before her and reached a hand back to help her down. “I’m no wearin’ a kilt. But why do my ballocks hurt?”

    She scoffed, and gently boxed his ear. “Gille gòrach*. I love ye, too.”

* foolish boy

On to Chapter 16 : Comfort She needed to go somewhere for comfort...

[metamoraacademy]

Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where misfortune had abandoned us. [1961] INSTEAD OF A PREFACE During the frightening years of the Yezhov terror, I spent seventeen months waiting in prison queues in Leningrad. One day, somehow, someone 'picked me out'. On that occasion there was a woman standing behind me, her lips blue with cold, who, of course, had never in her life heard my name. Jolted out of the torpor characteristic of all of us, she said into my ear (everyone whispered there) - 'Could one ever describe this?' And I answered - 'I can.' It was then that something like a smile slid across what had previously been just a face. [The 1st of April in the year 1957. Leningrad] DEDICATION Mountains fall before this grief, A mighty river stops its flow, But prison doors stay firmly bolted Shutting off the convict burrows And an anguish close to death. Fresh winds softly blow for someone, Gentle sunsets warm them through; we don't know this, We are everywhere the same, listening To the scrape and turn of hateful keys And the heavy tread of marching soldiers. Waking early, as if for early mass, Walking through the capital run wild, gone to seed, We'd meet - the dead, lifeless; the sun, Lower every day; the Neva, mistier: But hope still sings forever in the distance. The verdict. Immediately a flood of tears, Followed by a total isolation, As if a beating heart is painfully ripped out, or, Thumped, she lies there brutally laid out, But she still manages to walk, hesitantly, alone. Where are you, my unwilling friends, Captives of my two satanic years? What miracle do you see in a Siberian blizzard? What shimmering mirage around the circle of the moon? I send each one of you my salutation, and farewell. [March 1940] INTRODUCTION [PRELUDE] It happened like this when only the dead Were smiling, glad of their release, That Leningrad hung around its prisons Like a worthless emblem, flapping its piece. Shrill and sharp, the steam-whistles sang Short songs of farewell To the ranks of convicted, demented by suffering, As they, in regiments, walked along - Stars of death stood over us As innocent Russia squirmed Under the blood-spattered boots and tyres Of the black marias. I You were taken away at dawn. I followed you As one does when a corpse is being removed. Children were crying in the darkened house. A candle flared, illuminating the Mother of God. . . The cold of an icon was on your lips, a death-cold sweat On your brow - I will never forget this; I will gather To wail with the wives of the murdered streltsy (1) Inconsolably, beneath the Kremlin towers. [1935. Autumn. Moscow] II Silent flows the river Don A yellow moon looks quietly on Swanking about, with cap askew It sees through the window a shadow of you Gravely ill, all alone The moon sees a woman lying at home Her son is in jail, her husband is dead Say a prayer for her instead. III It isn't me, someone else is suffering. I couldn't. Not like this. Everything that has happened, Cover it with a black cloth, Then let the torches be removed. . . Night. IV Giggling, poking fun, everyone's darling, The carefree sinner of Tsarskoye Selo (2) If only you could have foreseen What life would do with you - That you would stand, parcel in hand, Beneath the Crosses (3), three hundredth in line, Burning the new year's ice With your hot tears. Back and forth the prison poplar sways With not a sound - how many innocent Blameless lives are being taken away. . . [1938] V For seventeen months I have been screaming, Calling you home. I've thrown myself at the feet of butchers For you, my son and my horror. Everything has become muddled forever - I can no longer distinguish Who is an animal, who a person, and how long The wait can be for an execution. There are now only dusty flowers, The chinking of the thurible, Tracks from somewhere into nowhere And, staring me in the face And threatening me with swift annihilation, An enormous star. [1939] VI Weeks fly lightly by. Even so, I cannot understand what has arisen, How, my son, into your prison White nights stare so brilliantly. Now once more they burn, Eyes that focus like a hawk, And, upon your cross, the talk Is again of death. [1939. Spring] VII THE VERDICT The word landed with a stony thud Onto my still-beating breast. Nevermind, I was prepared, I will manage with the rest. I have a lot of work to do today; I need to slaughter memory, Turn my living soul to stone Then teach myself to live again. . . But how. The hot summer rustles Like a carnival outside my window; I have long had this premonition Of a bright day and a deserted house. [22 June 1939. Summer. Fontannyi Dom (4)] VIII TO DEATH You will come anyway - so why not now? I wait for you; things have become too hard. I have turned out the lights and opened the door For you, so simple and so wonderful. Assume whatever shape you wish. Burst in Like a shell of noxious gas. Creep up on me Like a practised bandit with a heavy weapon. Poison me, if you want, with a typhoid exhalation, Or, with a simple tale prepared by you (And known by all to the point of nausea), take me Before the commander of the blue caps and let me glimpse The house administrator's terrified white face. I don't care anymore. The river Yenisey Swirls on. The Pole star blazes. The blue sparks of those much-loved eyes Close over and cover the final horror. [19 August 1939. Fontannyi Dom] IX Madness with its wings Has covered half my soul It feeds me fiery wine And lures me into the abyss. That's when I understood While listening to my alien delirium That I must hand the victory To it. However much I nag However much I beg It will not let me take One single thing away: Not my son's frightening eyes - A suffering set in stone, Or prison visiting hours Or days that end in storms Nor the sweet coolness of a hand The anxious shade of lime trees Nor the light distant sound Of final comforting words. [14 May 1940. Fontannyi Dom] X CRUCIFIXION Weep not for me, mother. I am alive in my grave. 1. A choir of angels glorified the greatest hour, The heavens melted into flames. To his father he said, 'Why hast thou forsaken me!' But to his mother, 'Weep not for me. . .' [1940. Fontannyi Dom] 2. Magdalena smote herself and wept, The favourite disciple turned to stone, But there, where the mother stood silent, Not one person dared to look. [1943. Tashkent] EPILOGUE 1. I have learned how faces fall, How terror can escape from lowered eyes, How suffering can etch cruel pages Of cuneiform-like marks upon the cheeks. I know how dark or ash-blond strands of hair Can suddenly turn white. I've learned to recognise The fading smiles upon submissive lips, The trembling fear inside a hollow laugh. That's why I pray not for myself But all of you who stood there with me Through fiercest cold and scorching July heat Under a towering, completely blind red wall. 2. The hour has come to remember the dead. I see you, I hear you, I feel you: The one who resisted the long drag to the open window; The one who could no longer feel the kick of familiar soil beneath her feet; The one who, with a sudden flick of her head, replied, 'I arrive here as if I've come home!' I'd like to name you all by name, but the list Has been removed and there is nowhere else to look. So, I have woven you this wide shroud out of the humble words I overheard you use. Everywhere, forever and always, I will never forget one single thing. Even in new grief. Even if they clamp shut my tormented mouth Through which one hundred million people scream; That's how I wish them to remember me when I am dead On the eve of my remembrance day. If someone someday in this country Decides to raise a memorial to me, I give my consent to this festivity But only on this condition - do not build it By the sea where I was born, I have severed my last ties with the sea; Nor in the Tsar's Park by the hallowed stump Where an inconsolable shadow looks for me; Build it here where I stood for three hundred hours And no-one slid open the bolt. Listen, even in blissful death I fear That I will forget the Black Marias, Forget how hatefully the door slammed and an old woman Howled like a wounded beast. Let the thawing ice flow like tears From my immovable bronze eyelids And let the prison dove coo in the distance While ships sail quietly along the river.

Requiem, Anna Akhmatova