#Himalayan Escapes

[boanerges20]

Lost & Found Royal Enfield Himalayan

[manojnaironline]

Beach or mountains? Which do you prefer? Why?

For me, the choice between beach or mountains often tilts towards the mountains. Living in two vibrant Indian cities, Mumbai and Thiruvananthapuram—both blessed with gorgeous beaches—means I have had my fair share of seaside moments. Yet, the allure of mountains feels refreshingly different, almost irresistible. Mountains possess a majestic calmness that is hard to describe. Their soothing…

[sammelantoursandtravels]

Bhutan Travel Packages | Unveil the Hidden Kingdom

Discover Bhutan's mystical monasteries, breathtaking hikes & vibrant culture. Explore our travel packages!

[lelifeholidays]

Explore the Himalayas: Unforgettable Tour Packages with Lelife Holidays

Embark on an extraordinary journey through the majestic Himalayas with Lelife Holidays, and make it happen with our convenient travel loan options. Contact us at +91-9147376628/9871450349 or llgspl2020@gmail.com. Visit www.lelifeholidays.in for more.

[spanresortandspa]

Best Riverside Hotel in Manali | Span Resort

Discover the perfect blend of nature's beauty and luxury at Span Resort, the best riverside hotel in Manali. Nestled along the serene banks of the Beas River and surrounded by the awe-inspiring Himalayan mountains, this resort offers a magical escape from everyday life. Feel the soothing embrace of the crisp mountain air, listen to the gentle flow of the river, and unwind in spacious, elegantly designed rooms that reflect the charm of the region. With lush green landscapes, riverside dining, and exceptional service, Span Resort is where memories are made, and your heart finds peace. Read more…

Contact-  +91 9816092413

Website:- www.spanresorts.com

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

The Oriental Blue Clearwing Moth: these moths were regarded as a "lost species" for more than 130 years, until they were finally sighted again in 2013

For more than 130 years, the Oriental blue clearwing moth (Heterosphecia tawonoides) was known only from a single, badly damaged specimen that was collected in Sumatra in 1887. There were no recorded sightings of this species again until 2013, when entomologist Dr. Marta Skowron Volponi unexpectedly found the moths feeding on salt deposits that had accumulated along the riverbanks in Malaysia's lowland rainforest.

These moths were observed by researchers again in 2016 and 2017, and research indicates that the moths are actually bee-mimics, as they mimic the appearance, sound, behavior, and flight patterns of local bees. Their fuzzy, bright blue appearance might seem a little out of place for a bee-mimic, but those features do appear in several different bee species throughout Southeast Asia.

When the moths are in flight, they bear a particularly strong resemblance to the bees of the genus Thyreus (i.e. cuckoo bees, otherwise known as cloak-and-dagger bees), several of which are also bright blue, with banded markings, dark blue wings, fuzzy legs, and smooth, rounded antennae. The physical resemblance is compounded by the acoustic and behavioral mimicry that occurs when the moths are in flight.

Cloak-and-Dagger Bees: the image at the top shows an Indo-Malayan cloak-and-dagger bee (Thyreus novaehollandiae) in a sleeping position, holding itself upright with its mandibles clamped onto a twig, while the image at the bottom shows a Himalayan cloak-and-dagger bee (T. himalayensis) resting in the same position

The moths also engage in "mud-puddling" among the various bees that congregate along the riverbanks; mud-puddling is the process whereby an insect (usually a bee or a butterfly) draws nutrients from the fluids found in puddles, wet sand, decaying plant matter, carrion, animal waste, sweat, tears, and/or blood. According to researchers, the Oriental blue clearwing moth was the only lepidopteran that was seen mud-puddling among the local bees.

Dr. Skowron Volponi commented on the unusual appearance and behavior of these moths:

You think about moths and you envision a grey, hairy insect that is attracted to light. But this species is dramatically different—it is beautiful, shiny blue in sunlight and it comes out during the day; and it is a master of disguise, mimicking bees on multiple levels and even hanging out with them. The Oriental blue clearwing is just two centimeters in size, but there are so many fascinating things about them and so much more we hope to learn.

This species is still incredibly vulnerable, as it faces threats like deforestation, pollution, and climate change. The president of Global Wildlife Conservation, which is an organization that seeks to rediscover "lost species," added:

After learning about this incredible rediscovery, we hope that tourists visiting Taman Negara National Park and picnicking on the riverbanks—the home of these beautiful clearwing moths—will remember to tread lightly and to take their trash out of the park with them. We also recommend that Americans learn about palm oil production, which is one of the primary causes of deforestation in Malaysia.

Sources & More Info:

Phys.org: Bee-Mimicking Clearwing Moth Buzzes Back to Life After 130 Years

Mongabay News: Moth Rediscovered in Malaysia Mimics Appearance and Behavior of Bees to Escape Predators

Journal of Tropical Conservation Science: Lost Species of Bee-Mimicking Clearwing Moth, H. tawonoides, Rediscovered in Peninsular Malaysia's Primary Rainforest

Frontiers in Zoology: Southeast Asian Clearwing Moths Buzz like their Model Bees

Royal Society Publishing: Moving like a Model - mimicry of hymenopteran flight trajectories by clearwing moths of Southeast Asian rainforests

Medium: Rediscovery in a Glint of Blue

re:wild.org: The "Search for Lost Species" Project

[cushfuddled]

When I first started shoveling Jayvik fanfic into my mouth a month and a half ago, I was shocked and delighted at the avalanche buffet of top Viktor and dom Viktor content. But I've started to feel like the detective who kneels down and touches some footprints in the dirt like, "Something happened here..."

Because I can't remember the last time I saw a fanon concept become...so ubiquitous? Even in fics where Viktor bottoms, he's a power bottom/topping from the bottom. Spotting a fic with an overwhelmed sub bottom Vik in the Ao3 tag feels a bit like the moment a snow leopard graces your Himalayan trail cam.

I DO NOT mean to suggest anyone "should" write more inexperienced/bottom/sub Viktor! It's just...as someone who likely missed whatever ancient discourse might've plagued the Arcane fandom years hence, I've been through this fandom song and dance enough times to recognize the smell of...what say, capital-O Obligation.

I just want people to know they can write whatever kind of fanfic they want. That's the point of this post. I hope someone somewhere reads this and feels emboldened to let loose/goof off/get freaky/whatever.

Because I can see why people would feel Obligated to portray Viktor as a top/dom/the sexually experienced one. He's physically disabled and chronically ill. Ableism so often takes the form of paternalism and infantilization. There's this pervasive notion that disabled people don't have sex. People think we're too "pure" for sex, or assume we're "undesirable" as romantic partners/that our physical or mental disabilities would make sex impossible. With that cultural context, it's a radical act for so many people to come together and choose to portray Viktor—a disabled, terminally ill man who struggles with suicide ideation—as a sexually experienced top.

One of the hardest things about being disabled/ill is the lack of control. You can't plan for the future; you don't know whether your pain levels will be better tomorrow or demand another trip to the ER; your life is totally in the hands of overworked doctors who don't care about you. So it feels kind of like an act of reclamation to put Viktor in a dominant position. In a safe, sane, consensual arrangement, all parties have control over the situation, but with topping and/or domming comes the Role of authority/power. Making Viktor an experienced, sly top/dom gives back Viktor's autonomy and agency.

So yeah. I get why this trend is pervasive within the fandom! It's fantastically subversive. I just hope nobody feels like they HAVE to fall into this dynamic.

I remember a Tumblr post from years ago where someone described the drawbacks of a supposedly "feminist retelling" of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, wherein the heroin saves herself by her own strength and wits. This, I would argue, is a perfectly fine story to tell...but its lack of intersectionality betrays a shallow definition of feminism. In casting those retold fairy tales in a feminist, "empowering" light, one ignores the realities of the people who found escapism in those helpless damsels.

In a paradoxical way, when my MCAS knocked me flat on my ass for two years, I was always out of control of my life AND forced to take control all the time. All those overworked, traumatized, apathetic doctors meant I had to be my own patient advocate. I had to do my own research; figure out which treatment plans made the most sense; find doctors who took my insurance and could see me within six months; argue with Medicaid when they didn't want to pay for one of the drugs I'd been prescribed; find new and creative ways to feed myself when my body reacted like it was allergic to everything other than water and Cheerios. And god, I had to self-police myself all the time. At the doctor's office, you have to look sick enough that they believe you when you say you're hurting, but you don't want to seem TOO sick because the desperation will make the doctor diagnose you with "hysterical woman" (or they'll just assume you're fishing for drugs). At home, you want to project some amount of strength so you don't worry your loved ones or make yourself too much of a "burden." (You also don't want to have to manage other people's anxiety on top of your own.) My disability (autism) and chronic illness (MCAS) are invisible, but I imagine there's a lot of masking that goes into navigating public spaces with a visible disability/illness, too.

So...when everything's this constant battle for control—when you're forced to project strength every day regardless of your pain level—of course some people are going to find relief in stories where they're allowed to shut down. I think it's important to let disabled characters be vulnerable and overwhelmed and even dependent on someone else, because as often as disabled and chronically ill people are infantalized, so too are we expected to "overcome" our disabilities/illnesses through miracles of resilience and cunning. We're pushed to perform strength, cheer, and "normalcy" for the public, who find our disabilities "sad" and "uncomfortable." Every time someone refuses to put on a mask, or a relative tells us to simply get more exercise, or a politician rails against "wellfare queens," or a bus route gets cut or a bench gets removed or our doctors hand-wave our symptoms, our world reinforces the message that we are Too Much; that our needs are exorbitant, our very existence a drain on society. So many of us throw ourselves into self-sabotaging grasps at independence. We work ourselves far past our limits to prove we aren't a burden on society. We refuse help just to maintain that tiny sense of control over our lives.

I find it deeply comforting to read stories where ill and disabled characters are...allowed to be helpless, I guess. To break the fuck down and let someone else finally take the reigns for a while—to lift some of that burden off their shoulders. I love when ill and disabled characters trust someone enough to take off that heavy armor, revealing the pain and weakness beneath the facade they were forced to take up to survive, and are rewarded with warmth and reassurance and care.

At a certain point...is it not a little ableist in itself, to restrict a disabled, chronically ill character to one specific role? To essentially lock them out of a position where they're allowed to relinquish control and be taken care of?

In essence,

Disabled and chronically/terminally ill people are not a monolith. As I always say, what offends one person will uplift another. It's an uncomfortable reality, but there's really no such thing as perfect representation. I think part of intersectionality is being willing to accept that multiple things can be true at once, because everyone's lived reality is different. It's absolutely fine to prefer one trope over another. But if I find a fanfic offensive or uncomfortable, I can always click the back button with the knowledge that there's almost certainly someone out there who'll find that same so-called problematic content empowering. Whether fic writers prefer top Viktor, power bottom Viktor, bottom Viktor, switch Viktor, sub Viktor, dom Viktor, experienced Viktor, virgin Viktor, omega vs. alpha Viktor, and every niche in between...I just hope they go where their heart tells them and write what they want.

[haveihitanerve]

You Can Cry If You Want To-

Bruce Wayne was just on his way to bed when he paused in the hallway. He hadn't checked on anyones bedroom since steph and tim had moved out, and damian didn't seem the type to sleep heavy and feel secure if his father poked his head in the door at midnight. But Bruce missed watching his children sleep, missed watching as their chest rose and fell, missed seeing all the tension leave their bodies as they relaxed. Got to be children. Young. For the night. So quietly, in a way only a man trained by ninjas in the himalayans can move, bruce snuck over to his youngest sons bedroom, and gently pushed open the door. He frowned when the light fell onto an empty bed, his heart starting to race. He had checked all the cameras, he had raised dick grayson and jason todd, there was no way to escape the Manor without Bruce knowing and letting it happen. And no one could come in either. Cautiously, he stepped a bit further in, looking around. Maybe for signs of a struggle, or a packed bag or anything. But he found nothing. Bruces frown deepened and he walked in further, scanning. That was when he heard the sniffling. Bruce tensed, but realized it was… the sound of crying? He turned slowly, and spotted the closet door cracked open slightly, a small light, probably from a flashlight, shining through the slats in the door. So bruce crouched down and crept forward slowly, opening the door further. “Damian?” he whispered. The crying cut off. “F-father?” Damian's shaky voice floated out to him from behind a few racks of clothes and he let out a sigh of relief. “Hey dami. You alright Prince?” Bruce pushed aside the hangers and peered down at his youngest, huddled in the corner, alfred the cat curled up next to him, his knees up to his chest and tears streaked across his cheeks. “Oh baby.” Bruce reached out a hand, slowly, so that damian wouldn't tense, and gently wiped his tears away. “Whats wrong?” he asked. Damian blinked, and the confusion at the kindness, the simple act of fatherly behavior, made bruce want to snap Talia Al Ghul's neck. But he kept the anger off his face, instead crawling deeper into the clothes and pulling damian onto his lap. He carded his fingers through the soft brown curls and damian cuddled closer, digging his hands into bruces chest. “What happened?” Bruce asked softly, reaching out a hand to rub alfreds chin when the cat let out a put out meow. “I-I had a bad dream.” Damian answered quietly and the doubt and fear in his voice made bruce see red. But he pushed it away, focusing instead on the small, scared little boy in his arms. His heart squeezed. How many times had he been in this position before? How many times had he held dick, held jason, tim, cass, steph, and even babs when the things they had seen had been too much or memories of their past flooded their senses. And in that moment Bruce hated his sons mother. Hated the League of Assassins. He had kept damian’s conceiving quiet, not revealing anything to alfred as to how the child had actually come to be, for he knew that if the butler got even a whiff of it, or the exact details of what life had been like for damian there, he would tear the place apart to get to those who had hurt him. But in that moment, as he held his son who had been kept from him for so many years, had been hurt and trained to be a weapon, had been beaten for showing emotions so much so to the point where showing any here, in a place he was safe, when he had a nightmare and wanted comfort(if the vice grip he had on bruce was any indication) had scarred him so severely, bruce didn't know if he wanted to keep the secret any longer. Or hold alfred back when he did. 

But Bruce shoved all his emotions, his feelings of rage aside, in favor of calming the little boy in his arms. “Thats okay baby. Sometimes i have nightmares too.” He kissed damian’s head. “You wanna talk about it?” Damian shook his head, but he cuddled closer. “Alright.” Bruce said softly, wrapping his arms tighter around the boy. “Grandfather said we’re not to cry.” Damian whispered pitifully. Bruce felt a growl build up in his throat, but he swallowed it down, rubbing damian’s back soothingly. “That is because Ras Al Ghul is incapable of human emotion.” he kissed damian’s head. “You are ten. You can cry if you want to.” Damian didn't answer, but bruce felt his shirt grow wet. He didn't move, just held the boy closer. “You wanna sleep with me tonight?” He asked quietly. Damian hiccuped, nodding. “Y-yes. Yes please.” “okay.” Bruce stood and damian moved to get back on the ground, but bruce just held him, cradling him as he walked to his own room, alfred the cat trailing behind him. Damian sniffed, wiping his nose as bruce pushed open the door to his bedroom and walked to the bed. “Wait here okay? Ill be right back.” he promised. Damian nodded, hugging alfred close to his chest when the cat leapt onto the bed. Bruce hurried to get changed, slipping into his bed clothes before half running back out. Damian was seated in the same spot as before, alfred in his lap. Bruce smiled softly, coming over and slipping under the covers. “Come here.” he bade his son softly. Damian crawled over to him, snuggling underneath his arm. Bruce kissed his head and wrapped the blanket around them, pulling alfred in as well for damian to cuddle. Damian's eyes drooped and bruce smiled, opening his mouth to sing. He had used to sing goodnight lullabies all the time when dick and jason had been younger, but had stopped after a while. Damian let out a yawn, and his eyes slid shut. Bruce smiled, finishing the song and switched off the light. Damian rolled in his arms, snuggling closer.  “I love you baba.” he murmured, drowsily, before wrapping his arms around alfred and passing out. Bruce wiped at his eyes and kissed his sons head again. “I love you too Princeling.” He whispered. Neither noticed the flash of the camera, or the butler, watching from the hall with a smile. 

based on this little short but changed slightly because, come on, gotta give bruce some good dad points. he would so stand by his kids if they cried. he might not understand the emotion because hes been through too much, but he would let them cry

[roguephenon]

My fan lore on Hoagie’s Dog

Hoagie P. Gilligan Junior-Junior. Double J. “DJ”

Old English Sheepdog with some border collie.

Found by Hoagie as a young pup during a time Hoagie ran away from home. Adopted by Betty after the dog guided him back.

Bonded with the Gilligans but is a free spirit. He likes to wander.

Likes watermelon.

Loves kids.

Hates Lydia. Forcibly herds her back to Sure Would Retirement Home when he is around.

Nigel and Kuki know him. Abby and Wally do not. The latter two just always miss him somehow.

Is an ESA.

Either guides lost kids back home or to KND bases to escape abuse.

Carries emergency root beer in his collar, brewed from fresh Himalayan soda water.

Somehow has an accredited doctorate in being a good boy.

Is the reincarnation of Hoagie’s dad.

[anamelessfool]

I visited the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors for their Autumnal Equinox Celebration. I had a lovely time catching up with a painter friend of mine and really chatting about the art on a deep level with her. She is an esoteric artist as well. There was a party with live painting and the museum was open until nearly midnight.

I personally do not enjoy the heavy drug culture associated with psychedelic/revelatory works. It was pretty pervasive at this party. I know substances exist but there's a difference between ritual use and just blowing yourself away as an escape. There was definitely a different energy last night versus when I explored the museum alone in February, and not an improvement. I don't think you need substances to enjoy this work. I think the work awakens something in you on its own. There was a little lecture and I looked at the painting next to me for nearly an hour. Its a rare opportunity for me to look at a work for an extended period.

I find the topic of divine revelation to be a fascinating idea, and I enjoy appreciating works that study this topic. Especially medieval/Renaissance works, and Himalayan art.

[saintmaudes]

The penetration of China by Buddhism not only gave the Chinese a new religion but, of central importance to this narrative, it gave to the world an entirely new style of art which has come to be known as Serindian. This term is coined from the two words Seres (China) and India. Logically it should have been simply a fusion of Indian Buddhist art and the art of contemporary Han China. It almost certainly would have been had it not been for the great Himalayan massif which so effectively isolated China from all direct contact with India. But faced by this impenetrable barrier, the gospel of Buddhism together with its art came to China by a roundabout route, gradually absorbing other influences on its way. Its real point of departure was not India proper but the Buddhist kingdom of Gandhara, situated in the Peshawar valley region of what is now north-western Pakistan. Here another artistic marriage had already taken place. This was between Indian Buddhist art, imported by the ruling Kushans (descendants of the Yueh-chih) in the first century AD, and Greek art, introduced to the region four hundred years earlier by Alexander the Great. The most revolutionary product of this Graeco-Buddhist, or Gandharan, school was the depiction of Buddha in human form, for it was the first time that artists anywhere had allowed themselves to show him thus. As a being who had ceased to exist, theologically speaking, by achieving Nirvana and thus escaping the endless cycle of rebirth, he had always been portrayed before by means of a mystical symbol such as a single footprint, a wheel, a tree, a stupa or Sanskrit characters. But the Gandharan Buddha is shown by sculptors with straight, sharply chiselled nose and brow, classical lips and wavy hair–all Hellenistic influences. Another obvious Mediterranean introduction is the diaphanous, toga-like robe he wears in place of the expected loin cloth. But his eyes are heavy-lidded and protruding, the lobes of the ears elongated, and the oval-shaped face fleshy–all characteristics of Indian iconography. The stretched ear lobes symbolise Buddha’s casting away of the heavy, jewelled and worldly earrings that he had worn as a wealthy prince before his conversion to a life of self-denial and teaching

—Peter Hopkirk, Foreign Devils on the Silk Road: The Search for the Lost Cities and Treasures of Chinese Central Asia

[partlystiles]

Hey uhh. Can you make a part 2 of Barty and reader talking about their dads but this time they meet in the future and hoe reader died? I sort of need some angst

PT 1

barty crouch jr x fem!reader

summary: a run-in with a relative of someone from his past makes Barty's head turn.

Warnings: swearing, use of alcohol, mentions of death.

sorry it's been a while!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dearest Barty,

Enclosed in this letter is an Occamy feather for you! You better like it because I nearly died getting it for you, I had to resort to the mating dance and screeching loudly so it wouldn't attack. They are very aggressive and protective over their eggs, just like I knew but I can't believe I managed to tame one.

Of course I didn't manage to get an egg, but I have a drawing of it in my case that I will bring back to you and tell you all about.

India is so much fun! I've learned Bollywood dancing, visited a lot of the temples, trekked in the Himalayans to get to the Occamy of course. I even came during Diwali and everything is so beautiful!

I wish you were here with me. You'd love the dancing, even if you think you wouldn't, I know it. I'll be home soon, happily back with you. Little Elijah or Eleanor, whichever one it is, has been kicking for their daddy. Misses you almost as much as I do.

I know you had your doubts about me going to India whilst five months pregnant but I've run into no trouble whatsoever, just a little kick here and there but you were there for the first one. It should be about 4 more days until I'm back and I'm so excited!

I'm hoping that everything is okay back home. I know there's been more recent disappearances, even Regulus Black. Poor boy. He was so nice to me, I can't imagine how his brother is feeling. As long as you're safe then I'm happy, very happy.

Four months until our baby comes into the world!

Boat is boarding soon, so I'll go post this letter now. I love you so much! See you soon.

Y/N x

Bartemius Crouch read the letter over and over again. And then again. Until he felt numb inside, numb all over until somebody had to physically force him out of his chair, let alone out of his house. His heart was shattered, crawling back together to try and attach itself again, but it didn't work. Everything just crumpled again, crumpled like the letter in Barty's hand that was stained with blood, tears and sweat.

Multiple times it had been fished out of the garbage, multiple times he had tried to smooth all of the wrinkles back out of the paper so he could read it one more time. Multiple times he had been on the verge of incinerating every inky last word...but he never did. Because he could never ever get rid of her, the thought of her, the knowledge of her. Her and his baby who was never ever birthed.

Little Elijah or Eleanor never met their daddy and their daddy never got to look into the eyes of his child and softly rock them from side to side whilst singing them to sleep. It was a loss greater than anything, but nothing will ever be greater than the loss of his wife. His sun, his moon, his eclipse. Without her, his nights were darkened, his days were lost and Bartemius Crouch Junior withered away in his grand house, wishing his love was still in his arms.

However, a knock at the door interrupted his nightmare of a daydream. A grunt escaped his lips at the sound of it, his hand's grip on his glass of alcohol tightening at the rim as his other hand wiped at his spiked stubble around his chin in an uninterested gleam.

"Go away." Barty raised his voice a little, stumbling up from his dishevelled armchair and letting the rest of the letter from his wife's travel that sat on his lap fall to the wooden floor below him. "No one's home."

As he tried to stumble away again, tipping the last of the alcohol down his throat, he heard his door open anyway. Despite the obvious want of not having someone with him at that current time, he could hear footsteps behind him, entering the grand room with an air of purpose and especially an air of arrogance.

"I said GO AWAY." Barty swivelled around, chucking his glass at the doorway that the person was stood in. They didn't flinch at all, but the glass smashed above the archway and the shattered pieces fell down to the floor. "Fucking...fuckin bitch. Fuckin leave."

"Mr. Crouch, please." The man in the doorway removed his hat from his head, holding it in front of him as he watched the broken man trip around his drawing room, walking to his fireplace. "I'm here to talk about my daughter. I believe you knew her. Her name was Y/N."

At once, Barty paused in his place beside the fireplace, his hand grappled on the mantelpiece as his eyes narrowed into fierce slits at the mention of the name. The man grunted drunkenly again, shaking his head as his hands slapped against the mantelpiece multiple times before he decided to hit his head instead.

"Don't..." He drawled, his voice like gravel scraping against his vocal chords before he looked at the man in the doorway. The man had a shadow cast over his face but the firelight highlighting his nose told Barty that he was a spitting image of his dear Y/N. "Don't act like you fuckin' cared about...about her. I know what you did."

"I-I didn't do anything. My girl ran away when she was 17...I've been trying to find her for years. They led me here."

"Well, you're about a year too late, old man." Barty chuckled darkly, pushing himself away from the fireplace to swipe his bottle of alcohol off of his coffee table, pouring a hefty bit into a new glass. "She's dead."

"I was afraid of that." The man sighed, shaking his head and Barty downed about half of his drink before squinting and facing the man again. This time with more suspicion as he began to wring his hat in his hands. "She always was reckless. Running off, wanting to explore the world when I had a perfectly good job lined up for her at the ministry."

"Maybe she didn't want to be a fucking brainless clone." Barty spat, placing his glass down on the table before running his hands through his growing hair and over his face disappointedly. "And why the hell did it take you five fucking years to go looking for her? Ask anyone, it would've led you to me. You wanna fucking know why?"

"I don't-"

"I was the one who convinced her to run away." He whispered comically, pointing to himself with a crazed laugh as his lover's father straightened up a little at the amusement Barty was taking. "Right after I put a ring on her finger, we ran all the way to fucking Glasglow and got married in a stable. How's that for your precious little girl?"

"You drove my daughter away from me!" The man walked towards Barty, who picked up his glass and downed the rest of the alcohol before turning until he was chest to chest with the man. "She could've had a great life. A great job with a great salary and a great husband with a son and a daughter. You took that from her?"

"You drove her away from you yourself!" Barty stumbled more, but poked a finger onto the man's chest anyway, eyeing his own wand on the table just metres away. "It was her dream to travel the world and that's exactly what I...what I let her do, what I encouraged her to do. She was fucking happy, fuckin' joyful. With me. With my child inside of her. But of course you and your fucking ministry can't leave a man alone for two seconds-"

"You see, she was coming home from India, 5 months pregnant with my baby- and she- and she, she was on the same boat as another Death Eater. I didn't even know the guy that well. You ministry Aurors showed up, and she was caught in the crossfire. She died. My baby died. My whole life was ripped away from me because of YOU. YOU AND YOUR FUCKING- YOU'RE FUCKING..."

"Spit it out, son." The ministry worker said, stepping back from the boy as Barty reached into his pocket and yanked out her goodbye letter, crumpling it again in his hand before he looked back at the man, quivering with rage.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. GO." He shoved his hands out, hitting the man away from him, but the elder one didn't even budge as Barty's weak drunken form pushed and pushed at the body. "GET OUT. SHE WOULDN'T WANT YOU HERE. LEAVE. Fuckin-"

Bartemius reached his hand out, bending down in his pause from slapping his late wife's father to walk over to the coffee table where his wand sat. He picked up his wand, pointing it at the man in front of him who now did stumble backwards at the sight of the crazed man threatening him with his wand. Although it seemed as though Barty couldn't get a clear shot.

"Avada Kedavra." A blinding flash of light and a thud reverberated around the room as Barty was left alone, stumbling again though he didn't bother to pour himself another drink, he just grabbed the bottle and let it slide down his throat. "Fuckin' bitch, freakin' fucker...

... I want my baby."

[writernopal]

OC Musical Tag

Thanks to @noblebs for tagging me here!

Rules: Share 1-3 songs you feel best embody a character from your WIP/s, either in general or at this moment in the plot.

I'm going to do this one for my snake boy Hartim because I feel like I haven't talked about him a hot minute, which is weird. I miss him 😭

It ain't the letting go, it's more about the things that you take with Uh-uh And I can feel it getting closer with every kiss You gotta beat or join them Try to act surprised Just flip a coin 'cause I'm too bored to lie [...] Always said, "I should work on my escape" Have a heart too long, it's bound to break Acting out the opus of your last eternal ache Boy, just sing the song for heaven's sake

Do you hear me through your speakers? So much distance, space between us Say you're dreamin', and I've been too And no one knows what you been through And I been thinkin' a little deeper Contemplation, gettin' cleaner See no leaders, need more teachers I'm in shambles, I don't sleep much Life don't stop the more we pray All your wrongs from yesterday Smokin' Himalayan haze Won't wash all your sins away

You've lost (too much love) To fear, doubt and distrust (not enough) You just threw away the key (to your heart) You don't get burned ('cause nothing gets through) It makes it easier (easier on you) But that much more difficult for me To make you see Love ain't fair So there you are, my love Your heart's a mess You won't admit to it It makes no sense, but I'm desperate to connect And you, you can't live like this

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