#Turban shop near me

[dtfbooks]

Polycotton Turbans Redefining Sikh Fashion Dynamics.

Unveiling the Resilience of Polycotton:

Polycotton turbans are making waves in Sikh fashion due to their robust nature. This blend of polyester and cotton brings together the best of both worlds, creating a turban material that not only exudes style but also stands the test of time. The durability of polycotton turbans makes them a practical and long-lasting choice for Sikh individuals who seek a balance between tradition and modernity.

Contemporary Appeal of Polycotton Turbans:

Beyond their resilience, polycotton turbans are riding the wave of contemporary trends. As fashion evolves, Sikhs are embracing the versatility of polycotton turbans, incorporating them seamlessly into both casual and formal settings. The fabric's adaptability to various styles and colors adds a fashionable touch to Sikh attire, making it a sought-after choice among the fashion-forward Sikh community.

Optimizing Sikh Turban Material:

Polycotton proves to be an optimal choice for Sikh turban material, meeting the community's unique needs. The blend's breathability and comfort factor align perfectly with the practical requirements of a turban. Sikhs find that polycotton turbans strike the right balance, providing comfort for daily wear while maintaining an elegant appearance that reflects the rich cultural heritage of the Sikh community.

Embracing the Future of Sikh Fashion:

In conclusion, the robust nature of polycotton turbans positions them as a trendsetter in Sikh fashion. This blend of tradition and innovation not only withstands the rigors of daily wear but also aligns seamlessly with the evolving style preferences of the Sikh community. As Sikhs embrace the contemporary allure of polycotton turbans, they are not just following a trend; they are setting a new standard for Sikh fashion.

[kvetchlandia]

Camille Ruf James Joyce, Zurich c.1918

“…they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas 2 glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.“

–James Joyce, "Molly Bloom's Soliloquy" from “Ulysses” 1922

Happy Bloomsday, everyone.

[thequietabsolute]

i read three or four pages of Ulysses each day, and this morning i finished the book once again, with tears in my eyes at Molly Bloom’s immortal reverie at the very end. curiously, i seem to be getting through it faster somehow. last time it took 18 months, this time only 14. i think perhaps the denser episodes like Oxen of the Sun, Cyclops and Ithaca are more familiar to me now and less of an intense, close, and therefore slower read.

��� the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Trieste-Zurich-Paris, 1914-1921.

[krsnaradhika]

A snippet from Krishavyayam hehe-

Small points to be noted before you get started—

Kamalnayani/ Hridayaa/ Mohini are the same person. The same oc has multiple names.

Mohini is also Hari here, as we know. Hence, Mohini and Mohini it is hehe-

Please if this offends you, tell me and I'll pull it down. This is purely fiction and does not intend to offend any religious beliefs and sentiments.

You'll find the whole book on Wattpad, so cheers! ✨

She was bewitching. The woman before whom demons swooned and caelitis were rendered wordless. Dark as the zenith hour of dusk and as radiant as a nymph who rose from the cerulean waves, she had her wife in a daze for she had poof-ed out of the blue (god).

Kamalnayani looked half amused, half moonstruck as Mohini grinned at her, winking notoriously. She sported a red and black lehenga of chiffon, diamantes stuck to the flowy fringes as well as her kohl-lined eyes and she swung a vial of mead in her willowy fingers— all too coquettishly.

Why, you ask?

"Because I last saw her so long ago," Hridayaa accentuated, sheepishly batting her eyes at Kanha and linking an arm of his to hers. The latter had mirth dancing in his very handsome features and it wouldn't be wrong to say he missed those precious moments either.

Ogres raced hither and thither for one touch of Mohini who swaggered through the waves, effortlessly charming all. Flowy tresses wrapped in the whiff of lotus and pearl ornaments dangled on her voluptuous form. She was beautiful and lethal. Woman and vulpine.

"And I miss her."

He snorted out a laugh, tendrils jumping up to his forehead to kiss them and then he obstructed them with a rake of his sculpted fingers, "I am literally right here, Hridayae."

"No, Mohini." She whined, almost hopping in her place but he disciplined her with quasi glare. Krishu pouted, seeming more of a child than a mother— as if demanding not a woman but a candy. "I want Mohini! She can give me excellent company these days and you know we're nearing the due date. Also she had a kid so she can give me great parenting tips meant for mothers. Kanha pleaseeeeee?"

"As my queen pleases."

And so, Mohini and Mohini were now face to face after ages— giggling vivaciously and maniacally at each other's sight.

"So where should I escort you now, wife?"

"Jhumka shopping!" Krishu tugged her, then waddling around to the brass and copper caskets to arrange for casual robes for herself. Mohini hummed and slipped herself in the quilts of the soigne bed, then spat her beverage right through her mauve lips out of pure whammy when the whims of Kamalnayani surprised her again.

"And we're hitched. We are begetting a kid through the blessing of an austere sage. I don't want anyone ogling at you in the marketplace, hmm? They don't have any right to."

She shortly inclined her head in a yes, inarticulate. Of course, they were married.

"Right. Only you do." The goddess simpered through the chalice sitting on her mouth. Then she clipped her bracelet against her dainty wrists, kissing where the pulse chanted the name of an archeress.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

"This for Bhadra Jiji, this for Lakshu Jiji and oh— Jambavati Jiji adores teals and turquoise!"

Oxidized silver bracelets, bronze armbands, floral rings and arabesque silks brimmed the tawny stalls on wheels as the two goddesses stirred past them, riveted by the grandeur of the city that was their latibule. Krisha and Mohini walked hand in hand, occasionally picking a bloom or two to profess their love in dramatic whispers as their secretive chortles became the fantasies of little girls who watched them from afar.

The ivory and maroon turban with pearl motifs caught her attention and then she waved her hand at her husband- urhm, wife.

Kamalnayani smiled at the lady vendor who beamed at her with gentle eyes. "What do you expect?"

"A healthy baby. Nothing more." She shrugged cordially, looking over her shoulder to find Mohini partially veiling herself as she peered at the bustling streets through the rich translucence of her raiments.

"She seems new here. Do you know her?" The genial old woman squinted, "Why would she do that? Does she not know it's not normal to mantle her face in Aryan practices?"

"She's new here, Kaaki," Hridayaa answered in a jiffy as Mohini sprang to catch up with her, flashing the gleam of her cloaked dagger to the bandits who gawked at her. The bunch inhaled sharply, going about their own businesses when they recognised her as a beguiling mirage. An elusive dream.

Women with lethal beauty were to be feared. It was doltish to trust her who had other eyes trailing on every gait she took.

"Mohini. She's enchanting and gravitates a lot of attention to herself she doesn't wish for."

"Oh. Your friend?"

"This is my wife, aunt." Mohini giggled instead as the seller flushed, then ducked her head while murmuring a small apology. "No worries."

"Exquisite couple, best wishes to both of you." She fished out a leaf of tamarind from her purse, then slid the velvet turban from the honey-eyed woman to the one whose smile was as sweet as it. Kanha— now Mohini, brought a pair of suryakanthi jhumkas and slipped in Hridayaa's lotus palms.

"Pretty moms make pretty babies."

Kaaki Sulochanaa— with eyes as pulchritudinous as her name— chuckled once again at the flushed women who squirmed a little closer to each other, surreptitiously stealing gazes and then shuffling in opposite ways, the presents never seeming enough.

"Oh, so you both aren't yet out of the mushy-mushy phase?"

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The dusk and the moon and their realm in Dvaravati wasn't exotic to their ardor for each other. It was the atelier of the art they painted each other in.

The scarlet roses and ivory jasmines embraced each other in the curls of the enchantress who sat between the legs of her wife, inclining her swan neck to the side as her eyes shut themselves when ivory fingertips skimmed through her scalps and skin. The sleek obsidian waterfalls and warm breaths of the woman of flames fondled her nape and Mohini wanted to flee into the aisles to escape from her namesake, but she knew the sacred smokes and ambrosia would chase her still. For the woman who carried their child was said to have seized the sense of a thousand men too around her.

"You are seducing me, good lady Kamya?" She crooned, her voice as soothing as the psithurism of the forest they promised to be each other's.

"Keep dreaming. I have always wanted to do your shringara," Agneyaa murmured lying through her teeth and when she felt a frisson run down below her touch she smirked. "Hesitate for nothing though, darling. I am quite a charmer I am told."

Mohini let out a shuddered breath, rolling her eyes and then she caught the hand of Mohini who was yet sniggering at her. "Enough now. Your skills are laudable. I have never looked this beautiful." Her gaze traversed to the mirror which gaped at two women like long lost lovers. The stones of lapis lazuli and rubies and diamonds were bestrewed upon her lithe physique like stars on the ether. A spark birthed in her guts and she was an art. An art to be ravished by her lover.

Kamalnayani giggled and pressed a chaste kiss to the cheeks of that beauty who turned pink. Then she filled the dips of the curves of Mohini's spine with her fingers binding the kamarbandh, husking near her earlobes, "Lies."

She stifled the throes of her heart and an amaranthine smile stayed on her visage. As they multiplied and she was unwavered, she was the epitome of every mother. Mohini whisked around and pulled her in a slow dance, unhurried and buoyant as their limbs swayed in poised waves— grinning as they found forelsket again and again.

Afterall, nightmares were dreams too. The heart of Keshava was living a vision of a lover for now.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

Kanha found blue roses, azure water lilies and peacock feathers all tied together by a string as a gauzy navy robe enveloped them. "They reminded me of you, love." The whimsical note read, stuck to the spruce wood table and he grinned plucking them from it.

"And oh, I loved being with Mohini."

He was a fuchsia yet again.

The setting was an atelier of a picturesque art in making— born of the love of an archeress and the chakradhaari.

[charlesandmiranda]

Kyoto part 2: Nishiki Market Food and Drink, Liquor Museum (2/10 evening)

Nishiki Market is one our of first memories of Japan from our first trip in 2017. Similar to Tsukiji, it's a fish and produce market, but unlike Tsukiji, it's a long covered walkway of sellers and shops along the inside. Because it isn't exclusively considered a fish market, it's a good place to try out dishes and snack as you go, as well as pick up food for dinner.

We started with a quail egg stuffed baby octopus and a small beer, then grabbed a bottle of sake to bring home after tasting some local sake. We found a section that goes into the buildings on either side and has a bunch of smaller stalls with specific food and standing area for eating, and tried everything we thought might be nice. These pork gyoza (steamed or fried dumplings, in this case fried) are the best I have ever had. The stall also had great karaage (fried chicken). Another stall carried several different kinds of locally flavored beers and highballs using whisky and shochu. We tried matcha beer, which was very refreshing, and strawberry blended whisky highball. Also pictured but we did not try was beef sashimi and sushi and tempura.

We did, however, have turban in the shell and grilled tuna with garlic. Before we left, there was a stall probably geared to first time visitors who are unfamiliar with sake that had glasses of sake for 100 yen, around 75 cents. They were tasty, too.

I placed a lot of markers on our map from the last few years of watching videos and seeing posts about different bars and restaurants, not expecting to make it to all of them but considering stopping in if we were nearby. Near the market is a bar called Kyoto Liquor Museum, which is more of a top end Western style cocktail and whisky bar than an izakaya. When we got there, we were one of the only customers, and the bartender asked us to sit somewhere that we we would be close to him so we could chat. He was a recent resident of Kyoto, having moved for his new wife, and originally from Turkey. He was very knowledgeable, and a little opinionated, about whisky and that was helpful for discovering new whiskies. I tried several that would have put me into the easy $100+ bill situation in the US, but ours was around $50. One was specifically bottled for the bar.

We wanted to grab a real dinner, and there is a very well known omurice (omelette over rice) restaurant nearby, but it has been featured on some well knownYouTube channels, so it's now very popular, reservation only yadda yadda. We didn't plan ahead to get one, and that's ok. One of my takeaways from this trip is that if it's been talked about a bunch on the English speaking internet, it's going to be difficult to try. We came across a small shop that served an original version of okonomiyaki, a grilled savory pancake made from cabbage and batter than can include anything from bacon to seafood and cheese. This shop served negiyaki and used a lot of spring onion (negi = ねぎ = onion). It was delicious. The tofu steak was also really good, grilled tofu with sauce on top.

On the way home we passed a liquor store that carried large cans of the sake we drank when we got engaged and this giant bottle of Japanese whisky for somewhere between $6 to 7 dollars. I cannot explain her mischievous face. Miranda got the glass bottle of sake with the sakura flower in it, as expected, because it's cute.

To be clear, we did NOT buy that bottle of whisky.

--Charles

[yellowturbanindia]

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[45minutenap]

for you he said the day we were lying among the rohedendrons on howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day i got him to propose to me yes first i gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leap year like now yes 16 years ago my god after that long kiss i near lost my breath yes he said i was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why i liked him because i saw he understood or felt what a woman is and i knew i could always get round him and i gave him all the pleasure i could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and i wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky i was thinking of so many things he didnt know of mulvey and mr stanhope and hester and father and old captain groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and i say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governers house with the thing round his white helmet poor half devil half roasted and the spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the greeks and the jews and the arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of europe and duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside larby sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the nigth we missed the boat at algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and o that awful deepdown torrent o and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and gibraltar as a girl where i was a flower of the mountain yes when i put the rose in my hair like the andalusian girls used or shall i wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the moorish wall and i thought well as well him as another and then i asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would i yes to say yes my mountain flower and first i put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes i said yes i will yes

[avhturbans]

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[kousaka-ayumu]

Christmas fic Day 2: KalRid

Background ships: Ace X Malleus, Jamil X Azul, Deuce X Jade, Neige X Vil.

Ever since Riddle's parents are divorced, the red haired boy began living with his father, and surprisingly he was a kind, laid back and sweet man the opposite of his asshole of a mother.

When he met Kalim Al Asim, son of the Asim family, Dorm Leader of Scarabia and last but not least his crush.

You see Riddle have a some sort of crush on the white haired boy ever since their first year at NRC.

He always thought that Kalim was the sun to his moon, the light to his darkness, and his shining starlight.

He was upset that Kalim was oblivious to everything around him, even when he tried to confess his feelings for the white haired boy.

But what he loves about Kalim is that he's a kind and passionate boy who was always there for his friends.

And he has to wait for the right time to cofess his feelings to the white haired boy and avoiding his "mother".

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

It was Christmas and everyone was spending time with their loved ones Malleus invited Ace to the Valley of Thorns, Azul went to a fancy restaurant with Jamil(Well forced) , and having a double date with Deuce and Jade, and finally Vil and Neige we're shooting a film with both of them as protagonis.

Everyone was having a time of their lives but Riddle was in distress. He had no idea on how to confess his feelings for Kalim.

He had to calm himself down and try to recollect himself.

He decided to confess his feelings for Kalim on Christmas day with a help of a certain Ace of Hearts soldier.

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

At the Rose Queendom.

Riddle was at the train station waiting for the white haired boy to arrive with a present in his hands.

'Thank you Ace for giving me an advice for it.' The red haired boy thought to himself, a cheerful voice yelled out "Riddle!" Just then Kalim arrived wearing his winter outfit. Riddle blushed at the sight 'Holy great seven he is so adorable!' Riddle thought as he saw Riddle unfortunately the red haired boy has been staring at Kalim for too long that the white haired boy waved his hand at the red haired boy's face.

Riddle have shook his head and saw Kalim "So, wanna walk somewhere?" He said Kalim nodded, the 2 walked towards the district of the Rose Queendom, spending some time together at the cafe, shopping some clothes together, ect.

When it's evening and the 2 of them we're near a Christmas tree that was decorated with fairy lights, Riddle took a deep breath.

"Kalim." He said giving out his present to the white haired boy "Here." He said, Kalim opened up the present and it was a black turban-like bandana with red rose patterns and gold lining, the white haired boy gasp in amazement at the present.

"Oh my god, I love it!" He said happily, doing his signature smile.

Riddle felt like his heart had burst from Kalim, "Thank you Riddle!" He said only to receive a kiss from the red haired boy.

The red haired boy looked at the white haired boy who was shocked from the sudden kiss "I-I'm so sorry, it just that y-you're too cute that I wanted to kiss you so badly-I-I mean-" But before the red haired boy could say anything Kalim kissed him on the cheek "I feel the same way too Riddle."

The red haired boy was so flustered by Kalim's confession that he nuzzled unto the white haired boy's chest "Boyfriends?" The red haired boy said, "Yup, boyfriends." Kalim said hugging Riddle.

❃The End❃

[brooklynislandgirl]

3. Describe your muse’s ideal holiday.

A Little Bit Of This and That || Accepting Beth is not sure in what sense Cory means the word, one of the things she actually hates about English. Or maybe her own understanding of it which is to say there's something lacking; not the wordage per se or poor quality of education but in the technicality. And it is especially bad when they're surrounded by a lack of context. The room is bright and shaded in pastels, the recliners large and padded. Turbans in their hair, fluffy bathrobes adorning them as they sit side by side with avocado and clay face-masks, while currently receiving matching pedicures. Thankfully, the much needed day of pampering gives Beth a chance to think about the question, break it down into its constituent parts, and reassemble into something comfortable in the space of drawn out seconds. "Well, Andy an' I always plan f' goin' on a world tour. Start in Hampsta-dam..." She pauses, eyes narrowing at the corners as she corrects herself. "...ah... Amb... Ams ...you know, da place where is da Hague, capital of Neddahlan'. He wan' visit certain...coffee shops, an' I wan stay see Van Gogh museum. From Dere, we cruise da Danube, or mebbe fly t' Moscow in time f's see da Bolshoi ballet. Den cut to Africa, cause we gonna hike up Moun' Kilimanjaro. Surf ovah New Zealan' way, whole bunch'a t'ings, I guess. Except he's not really up for it now, prefers to stay here or drive so it limit chances, ya know?"

Not a single word is spoken harshly, no ounce of condemnation lives between the things she says. If anything her eyes gleam brightly, she is the portrait of a woman who can see no wrong in one particular man no matter what he says or does or how he might accidentally crush fragile dreams when he isn't careful. He might be the only person to be able to claim that with any surety.

After a moment though, Beth grows softer and somewhat shyer; whenever asked about herself she becomes somewhat apologetic, her eyes lowering to her nails in lieu of coffee or wine. "More personally? Any time I can ge' away f' da sea. Even if it smoo'd like glass, impossible surf, jus' havin' her near's a comfort. Could sit on a deck, wrap in a blanket, starin' at da waves an' lissen t' her sing me her songs. Warmer times, her whisper...beckons. Tells me f' visit, t' be out in her arms an' she'll wash away every kine dat nevah feel right. Sea loves me sometimes as much as Andy does. Sometimes more. Sorta the same way I feel sometimes, lissen f' Eddie Vedder. Which I t'ink is why I love his music so much." She pauses a moment though it's almost not much of a difference. She isn't loud any more than she takes up space; she doesn't. "So yeah, somewhere... a beach house, where I can go out to waddah's edge or bring one of my boards or mebbe more dan one. Somewhere quiet an' far away from people. Might lissen f' Pearl Jam on repeat, with some basic food stores. I'd like f' catch up on readin' or knittin'. Spend time in da garden wi' rich soil benea'd my fingers an' toes. Somet'ing simple, harmless." ~*~ Beth honestly dreams of living a quiet and useful existence, where she does more good for the earth and particularly the sea than she wants the life she has. It isn't that she's got spoiled rich kid syndrome; it's more a reflection of her cultural identity, personal beliefs, and a desire to get away from the Admiral as best she can, and everything the man stands for. She'd dearly love to have enough space to take in strays, whether human children or animals. And her ideal 'vacation' are small slices of that life.

[kvetchlandia]

Conrad Ruf     James Joyce, Zürich     c.1918

“…they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he  said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my

breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas 2 glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.“ –James Joyce, "Molly Bloom's Soliloquy" from “Ulysses”  1922

--

Happy Bloomsday, everyone.

[lforlimbo]

Bloomsday, June 16

…I love flowers I’d love to have the whole place swimming in roses God of heaven there’s nothing like nature the wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying there’s no God I wouldn’t give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning why don’t they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whatever they call themselves go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because they’re afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they don’t know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a woman’s body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldn’t answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didn’t know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the Jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharans and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down Jo me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

[yellowturbanindia]

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[boxboysandotherwhump]

Paxton and Amal chapter 6

Sorry it took a while^^ But now the baby’s are back! This Chapter was lovingly edited by the amazing: @finder-of-rings

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @orchidscript @finder-of-rings @haro-whumps please let me know if I forgot someone.

 CW: modernized slavery tipical for the boxbox-universe

Paxton was awoken by a foot in his face. 

Fingers closed around his ankle in a fierce grip and pulled, shifting his upside down world right side up again. He’d known that even his master’s gentle hands would find their way into fists. Deep down, he’d known his body wasn’t deserving of such tender touch. But even so, Paxton had hoped he could bask in his master’s lenience for just a few days longer. 

Forcing heavy eyelids open, ready to serve Amal in every way he pleased, Paxton realized that he wasn’t lying on the cozy couch in the warm living room anymore. 

Instead, his hazy eyes gazed up at a high ceiling, found the wood planks mounted to the wall stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling. They were over-stuffed, littered with books and tiny succulents in colorful pots. 

His master’s room, Paxton remembered. After Amal had collapsed in the bathroom, Paxton had insisted on staying by his master’s side. Amal hadn’t been pleased as Paxton had kneeled down at his bedside.  He’d ordered Paxton in bed with him after trying to shoo him out had resulted in Paxton dissolving in tears, torn between following his masters’ order or properly caring for him. 

Heat creeped into Paxton’s cheeks as he felt something warm and heavy press him into a mattress. A warm puff of air tickled his ankle accompanied by a quiet grumbling near his feet. 

He lifted his head. Amal lay splayed over him, arms wrapped around his calf and face pressed against his foot, squirming and shifting against Paxton in his dream. Amal’s leg twitched, tapping against Paxton’s face again.

A little relieved laugh bubbled out of him as he watched Amal, his neck aching faintly from the awkward position. 

How could he ever have doubted his master? 

Guilt gnawed at Paxton in sync with the teeth chewing on his bottom lip but he had no time to dwell in it as Amal blinked his eyes open. 

“What? Who? What’s going-“ 

Releasing Paxton’s leg, his master scrambled off of him, red blotches blossoming on his cheeks, the tips of his ears. 

Golden morning light danced in green curls, kissing the pale shoulder left exposed from where his nightshirt had slipped off. 

Paxton’s breath hitched. 

His master coughed, tugging the shirt into place. 

“Gd’morning. Hope you slept well,” he mumbled as his hand ran through mussed green curls.  “Even with my… foot in your face.” 

“It was the gentlest foot to the face I’ve ever received.” Paxton bit his lip with a grin, daring to give into this odd cheekiness. The words prickled on his tongue pleasantly like a fizzy sweet powder. 

His master’s lip twitched into a rueful smile. 

Both jumped at the sudden pounding against Amal’s bedroom door. 

Meryem yanked the door open, panting, her flower headscarf slightly askew and bound in a hasty turban. 

“Amal! Amal, Paxton is gone! He is not in the living- oh.” 

Paxton scrambled backwards, pulling the blanket up all the way under his chin and hid behind the barrier of softness. His master’s scent surrounded him as he pressed himself into the headboard, long limbs curling into the tiniest ball possible. 

The panicked expression fell from Meryem’s face, eyebrows shooting up and lips stretching into a wide toothy grin in its place. 

“Ooooooh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt you two wi-“ 

Amal launched forward lightning-fast, giving Paxton no chance to react, no time to be scared, as he grabbed the pillow beside him and hurled it at Meryem. 

Dodging with a graceful little twirl, she adjusted her headscarf one handed, grin unfaltering. 

“C’mon you know I didn’t mean it.” 

Amal brandished the next pillow, ready to launch. 

“And I thought you were a pious muslimah.” 

Meryem burst into laughter at the expression of mock scandal on her roommate’s face. “Yes indeed. And that’s why I decided to go shopping with Paxton!” 

“Wait. What, now?” 

Clutching the blanket tighter to his chest, Paxton dared to peak up at Meryem, uncertainty plainly written across his face. Wasn’t he supposed to serve his master? He knew that his own desires were meaningless, not supposed to even exist but he wanted badly to stay with his master. 

The young woman’s effervescence reminded him faintly of his former master’s unpredictability, rekindling the fear that smoldered deep in his bones. 

Choreographing his body’s every miniscule movement, Paxton scooted forward with care, abandoning the safety of the headboard for his master’s side. 

“Well, your clothes won’t fit him and he can’t stay in a shirt and pants all winter now, can he? And since I have more than enough savings, I thought why not help you two out? Don’t look so skeptical. Listen, I know you have to go register him later, so why don’t you fill out all the paperwork while I take him to the thrift store? You two can go to the nearest wru-store as soon as we’re back.” 

Amal’s face crumpled into a confused frown and Meryem’s smile diminished the tiniest bit. Paxton’s chest went tight. 

“Why would you do that though?” 

“Amal, we’ve been friends for over two years now. I just wanna help you out a bit,” Meryem burst out, earnest eyes holding Amal’s as her cheeky grin softened into a tender smile. “Just trust me, okay?” 

“You know, I’m not good at the whole… trust-thing.” Amal admitted, shoulders hunched and pouting. 

Paxton’s eyes hung on the jut of his lips and the urge to smooth them back into a smile tickled through his fingertips. His scared fingers fumbled with the blanket instead. 

“Okay.” Amal finally relented, lips twitching up. “And…thank you. Really.” 

Meryem pumped her fist in victory with a little cheer. Paxton’s stomach dropped. Maybe, he thought, he had to work on this whole trust-thing, too.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

 Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

 More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

 She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

 She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

 Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

 She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

 Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

 Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

 The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

 It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

 The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

 Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

 Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

 The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

 Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

 Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

 Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

 The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

 They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

 The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

 Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

 Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

 Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

 They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

 She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

 That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

 They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

 That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

 Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

 Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

 By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

 It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

 Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

 “Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

 “Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

 Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

 “He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

 “Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

 “Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

 “The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

 Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

 “Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

 Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

 He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

 The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

 “Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

 “You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

 “You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

 Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

 Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

 She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

 They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

 She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

 The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

 A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

 His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

 He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

 She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

 They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

 Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

 “Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

 The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

 “You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

 “I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

 “Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

 Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

 Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

 “We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

 Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

 That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

 Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

 One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

 She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

 “We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

 “I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

 “Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

 “Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

 Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

 She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

 Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

 The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

 -it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

 “It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

 His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

 “I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

 Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

 “It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

 “The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

 “Posy!” Iris calls out.

 Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

 Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

 “Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

 “Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

 Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

 “She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

 “How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

 Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

 “We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

 “We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

 “Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

 Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

 “Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

 Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

 Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

 In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

 He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

 He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

 Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

 It makes her too giddy for words.

 They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

 Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

 Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

 The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

 The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

 A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

 Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

 Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

 Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

 They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

 Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

 A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

 Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

 “You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

 “They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

 They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

 “I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

 Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

 He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

 Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

 “Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

 She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

 She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

 “I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

 He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

 Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

 It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

 Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s. 

 The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

 More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

 She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

 The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

 Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

 Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

 The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

 She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

 She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

 She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

 The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

 Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

 Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

 She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

 She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

 She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

 Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

 “I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

 It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

 Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

 She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

 Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

 She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

 Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

 She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

 They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

 Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

 They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

 She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

 Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

 The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

 She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

 His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

 She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

 She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

 The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

 He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

 One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

 “I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

 “How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

 She always looks ravishing to him.

 She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

 “If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

 Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

 Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

 She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

 He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

 “I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

 He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

 She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

 That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

 He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

 “I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

 “The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

 Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

 “It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

 “Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

 “Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

 Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

 “You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

 His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

 She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

 He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

 “Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

 “Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

 “To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

 His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

 “I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

 His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

 He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

 “You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

 “Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

 Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

 He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

 Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

 Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

 He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

 “I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

 Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

 “My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

 “Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

 Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

 “These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

 His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

 “I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

 She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

 Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

 “Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

 She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

 “Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

 She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

 He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

 The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

 She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

 The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

                                                    ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~