#canal dark no canva | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingforstraykids · 7 months ago

Note

THIS CHAN?? I WENT FERAL???!????

anyways 🤭 imagine you taking chan and him forcing you to look into the mirror behind the bed as he absolutely destroys your sweet little cunt😼

Ohh believe me, that pic made my thoughts run wild already so thank you!! Your request hasn't left my mind all morning so yeah...this happened real quick😂🖤

Right here with you, always

Pairing: Chan x femReader

Word Count: 1915

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, p in v, unprotected sex

A/N: Hope you like it, love🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-

male!version here

The cobblestone streets of Milan seemed to sparkle under the golden hues of the early evening sun as you and Chan made your way through the city. Milan was pulsing with life, its vibrant energy matching the excitement in your heart. Chan had invited you to join him on this glamorous outing, blending the worlds of high fashion and intimate togetherness.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, admiration blooming inside you. He was dressed in a blue shirt that highlighted the warmth of his eyes and complemented his dark hair. Chan suggested dinner at a small, elegant restaurant known for its secluded ambiance and exquisite Italian cuisine. Over plates of creamy risotto and perfectly aged wine, you shared stories and dreams, his laughter blending harmoniously with the soft notes of a violin playing somewhere in the background.

As the sky deepened into a velvety blue, Chan took your hand, leading you out into the enchanting night. Milan at night was a different kind of beautiful; the lights of the city reflected in the gentle ripple of the canals, the air filled with the subtle aroma of blooming jasmine. Walking through this cityscape with Chan, you felt as if you were part of a living canvas, every step painting a stroke of memories in your shared story.

Eventually, the night led you to his hotel, a place of refined elegance. Inside, the world quieted down to just the two of you. Chan guided you to the sofa in his suite, a soft, inviting piece that seemed to echo the plush luxury of your surroundings. As you settled into the comfort of the sofa, he pulled you gently into his lap, a smile playing on his lips.

At first, Chan blushed, a shy smile curving his lips as his gaze flickered away. It wasn't often that he heard such open adoration, even from you, his partner. Yet, the honesty in your voice and the warmth in your eyes encouraged him to accept your compliments. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his own confidence growing with the realization of how much you needed him in this moment.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. His hands were gentle but firm on your back, making every nerve in your body sing with a pleasant tension. The room around you seemed to fade, the sounds of Milan's nightlife a distant echo to the intimacy that unfolded between the two of you. “Love how pretty you look in that dress,” he told you, hands fondling up your thighs and below the skirt. “Love how your body always searches mine,” he confessed, biting back a soft groan as you pressed down against him.

His lips met yours in a fierce kiss, hand shooting up into your hair. You kissed back eagerly, grinding down against him with soft, needy sounds. Chan's grip on your hair tightens, his hips chasing yours with a low groan.

As the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the gentle yet insistent passion between you, the world outside seemed to vanish completely. Chan’s hands moved with a tenderness that contrasted and complemented the growing intensity of the moment. He was skilled, knowing exactly how to make you feel cherished and desired all at once.

Your panties met the floor as Chan lifted his hips, shuffling his pants down enough to free his aching dick. He made quick work of preparing you, stretching you out with his fingers and kissing down your neck hungrily. You sunk down on him soon, moaning out loudly as he stretched your fluttering walls just right.

Chan's hands found your hips, steadying you in his lap as he started thrusting into you. “Fuck,” he whispered needily. “You feel so good, baby girl,” he told you, setting a fast pace.

You matched his rhythm, your movements fueled by the shared desire that connected you. The heat of the moment intensified, your bodies moving in sync as you rode him, each thrust deepening the bond between you. Chan’s eyes were locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making you feel both powerful and utterly vulnerable at the same time.

“Chan, please,” you whispered, your voice breathy and filled with raw emotion. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice a mix of passion and reassurance. His grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing more urgent. “I’m right here with you, always, pretty girl.” You hid your face in his shoulder, embarrassed of the weak sounds he pulled from you with each thrust. Chan's hand sunk into your hair, pulling you back up. “I want you to look at yourself,” he said, nodding at the mirror wall right behind him. “Want you to see how pretty you are like this.”

“Channie,” you whined softly but did as he told you. “Fuck,” you whimpered as his pace fastened, making you bounce on him.

His grip on your hips was firm as he guided you up and down, his thrusts growing more insistent with each passing second. The sight of yourself in the mirror, bouncing on his lap, your dress hitched up around your waist, your face flushed with pleasure, was almost too much to bear. The raw intensity of the moment made you feel exposed yet profoundly connected to Chan.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" he murmured, his voice a low, guttural whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Do you see how perfect you are for me? Only for me?"

The combination of his words and the image in the mirror heightened your senses, your body responding to him with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Your hands clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, the rhythm of your movements becoming frantic.

"Yes, Chan," you gasped, your voice catching in your throat. "I'm yours."

Chan's eyes never left your face, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and raw desire. "Good girl," he praised, his hands guiding your movements with a steady, unrelenting pace. "I want you to feel everything, baby girl. I want you to feel how much I need you."

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the intensity of your impending climax. "Chan, I'm so close," you moaned, your head falling back as the pleasure built to a crescendo.

Chan growled softly, reaching down between your bodies and playing with your clit. The touch sent shivers up your spine, making you arch into him with a loud, whimpery moan. “Such a good girl,” he moaned, thrusting into you harshly, feeling his own climax creeping up on him.

“Please, Chan~,” you almost sobbed, a little overwhelmed by all the pleasure coursing through your body. “Need to - please.”

"Let go for me," he urged, his voice thick with emotion. "Let go, pretty girl. I've got you."

With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your release washing over you in waves of pure ecstasy. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, mingling with Chan's own groans as he followed you over the edge, his body tensing beneath you as he found his release.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless and spent, your bodies trembling from the intensity of the experience. Chan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

"You did so well," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your hair. "So beautiful, so perfect."

You snuggled closer to him, feeling a deep sense of contentment and love. "Thank you, Chan," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. "For everything."

He smiled, his eyes softening with affection. "Always, baby girl. Always."

The world outside the hotel room was a distant memory, the night in Milan a backdrop to the profound connection you shared with Chan. As you lay in his arms, the city lights twinkling outside the window, you knew that no matter where life took you, moments like these would always bring you back to each other.

Later, after you had both cleaned up and settled into the luxurious bed, the quiet intimacy continued to envelop you. Chan's gentle touches and soft murmurs of affection filled the space between you, making even the simplest moments feel special.

"Do you remember our first trip together?" Chan asked, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness.

You smiled, recalling the memory fondly. "Of course I do. How could I forget? It was magical."

"It was," he agreed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "But this... tonight... it's even better."

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting in the dim light. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we're here together," he replied simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "Because every moment with you is better than the last."

Your heart swelled with love for him, and you leaned in to kiss him softly. "I feel the same way," you whispered against his lips. "Every moment with you is a gift."

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that no matter what challenges or adventures lay ahead, you and Chan would face them together, your love growing stronger with each passing day.

The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke up to the feeling of Chan’s fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, his touch a comforting presence.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, turning to face him. His eyes were warm and filled with love, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Chan leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. “How did you sleep?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Perfectly,” you said, your heart swelling with happiness. “How about you?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” he admitted, his smile widening. “Being with you always makes everything better.”

You snuggled closer to him, savoring the peaceful morning. “I feel the same way,” you confessed, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

As the morning progressed, you both took your time getting ready, enjoying the relaxed pace of the day. The streets of Milan called to you, promising new adventures and memories to be made. But no matter what the day held, you knew that the connection you shared with Chan would remain the most beautiful part of your journey together.

Walking through the bustling streets of Milan once more, hand in hand with Chan, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the love and happiness you had found. The city seemed to sparkle with the promise of new experiences, each moment adding to the rich tapestry of your shared life.

Chan squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same joy that filled your heart. “Ready for another day of adventures?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

“Absolutely,” you replied, smiling up at him. “As long as I’m with you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, you both stepped forward, ready to embrace whatever the day had in store, knowing that together, you could conquer the world.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @slutforchanlix

804 notes · View notes

nex-thegrimreaper · 1 year ago

Text

Oh Baby, do you wanna dance? —————-☆—

warnings and all that jazz- Mention of reader being smaller than hobie, fluffy domestic type shit to SMUT, hobie is a little flirt, reader is on birth control, still wrap it before you tap it, creampie, begging (from reader) i didn’t proofread

TILL THE FUCKIN BOAT SHAKES IM OBSESSED

Coming out of the shower on hobie’s canal boat you could hear the vinyl he was playing while he meticulously fiddled with the screwback studs on his jacket, from the soft, distant hum of the music you could tell it was the Ramones, louder than the music you could hear hobie mumbling lyrics here and there

by the time you get to Hobie’s (?) room you realized you didn’t have any of your large shirts to wear to sleep, you browse through Hobie’s side of the closet, his large black Ramones t-shirt catching your eyes, the kind of thing he would let you wear, just to see you in it

when you slip on Hobie’s shirt it does a decent enough job of covering your panties, the smell of his cologne engulfing you, you revel in that for a moment before padding out to the living room, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend from behind, he softly lays his head on you “hello darling” he speaks in his thick british accent, his eyes not leaving his jacket

“hello my love” you say softly, snuggling your head into his shoulder “your jacket coming along?” he pauses briefly to shift his head around, looking at it throughly, like an artist giving the canvas a second look “yeah, i think it’s looking good” he says, shifting his head to look over at you, slowly looking you up and down, a specific glint in his eyes “my Ramones shirt aye?”he says his british accent thicker than usual, he can feel you softly nod, he breathes deeply

“fuck, so much for my jacket..” he says, his voice deeper than before, he shifts around, grabbing your waist, whispering in your ear “i was going to do this after i was done, just so you know” he picks you up, wrapping his arms around you and waking to the bedroom, softly laying you on the bed, giving you a smirk, presumably directed toward the deer in headlights look on your face

it didn’t take you long to gingerly spread your legs for your boyfriend, revealing the lacy red panties you wore, and you gave him the cutest bedroom eyes you could pull off, “quite the pretty little ting ain’t you?” hobie says, slipping off his shirt, you look at him innocently and he smirks

“don’ go pretending you didn’t want this, putting on that shirt…coming over there and distracting me..” he clicks his tongue, removing his belts and undoing his jeans, the outline of his thick cock poking through his boxers “how you gonna make up for that huh doll?” “by letting you have your way with me, in your t-shirt, to the ramones?” he smirks “ain’t you the clever one…”

he pushes your panties to the side, grabbing your hip underneath his shirt and taking out his cock with the other, already leaking pre-cum he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing into you quickly, barely giving you time to adjust before he begins to pound into you, his other hand on your waist, as you moan out he looks at you with a smirk on his face, letting out moans of his own as you tighten around him

“h..hobie fuck~” you moan out, and this only seems to spur him on more, his thrusts speeding up, practically fucking you dumb “good girl, taking….takin’ my cock s’ good” he speaks practically into your ear, he kisses your neck as he continues to fuck you roughly, pressed so close to you that you can feel his heartbeat before he pulls back, reaching one of his hands down to softly rub your clit, looking you up and down like a steak

the passion is painted in his soul before he softly grins, showing his canines, his look going slightly dark as you whimper beneath him, trying oh so very hard to keep eye contact with him, he sharply inhales before pounding into rougher making your eyes “look at me doll” he says, you look at his face, his gorgeous body, then you look at the way his dick enters and exits your cunt, a ring of your mixed juices forming at his base “good fuckin’ pussy aye?” he slams into you

“your gettin’ hot baby..” you moan at his words knowing what he’s implying “shit, im close myself..” he grips your hips nearly bruisingly as you grip the sheets “Cum for me, Y/n” he says biting his lip as he takes in the view, watching your legs spasm and your eyes roll back, watching you cum hard, still wearing his t-shirt “yeah, good girl” he says, changing pace to chase his own orgasm after you finish yours, asking you where

it’s not very long before Hobie buries himself deep inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you, Hobie’s gorgeous moans filling your ears as do your own, slowly he pulls out of you, leaving you with the sensation of being stretched and filled with cum

“you did such a good job baby” he says softly before leaving and returning with a wet towel cleaning the two of you up as his cum drops out of you, he discards of the towel before kissing your cheek and laying in bed, you lay next to him and he wraps his arms around you “your a damn good distraction..” he says and you softly smile against him, the two of you fall asleep not long after, you wake up to him out of bed and working on his jacket, because of course he would.

pls “good girl” with his britishness kill me also he would be like a toddler if you were mad i love him

#Spotify #hobie brown smut #spider punk smut #hobie x reader smut #Hobie brown is the only british person i like

420 notes · View notes

dollwrites · 1 year ago

Note

I want Rui to cum on my face

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )

oh and you just know how grateful he is for the opportunity, you can tell by the way his cheeks burn cherry and his golden eyes twinkle when he caressed your cheek. his fingertips, lithe and nimble, are surprisingly gentle and sweet, though they do have the tiniest tremble in them.

“You spoil me so much,” he purrs, content, “not only letting me make you my masterpiece, but begging me for it.”

and he was right, of course, because you had begged him, desperation dripping from your sultry moans as you worked him over with both hands�� jerking him off with one and fondling his tender balls with the other.

“I need you to mark me.” you breathe out, inching close on your knees. you allow your breath, heavy and thick with anticipation, to fan the swollen, pinky tip of his cock and he mewls in delight, rolling his head on his shoulders, dipping his chin towards his clavicle. “Paint me, Rui, please. Come on, baby, give it to me.”

“S—so impatient,” Rui whispers, but it’s caught in his throat as his eyelashes flutter, and both hands grasp handfuls of the sheets beneath him. “Almost… a—almost there, love, just a little more…” you could see the muscles in one brow start to twitch, his face contorting in pleasure as you grip him, pumping the full length of his cock.

“Are you gonna paint my face? Make me pretty?” you tease, but your heart is pounding hard against your rib cage.

god knows you want it just as much, if not more than he does.

Rui’s blush deepens, but his playful smile attempts to tug at the corners of his open mouth as he pushes his hips forward, meeting your thrusting, letting his cock glide through the canal formed by your grip. “Mhm… S-so pretty,” he agrees, shifting his weight as his hips start to stutter. you know then, he’s coming undone. Rui let’s out a ragged, excited breath as he presses the tips of his fingers underneath your chin to tilt and angle your head towards him until he’s satisfied with his canvas’ position, before he moans and streamers of milky white adorn your cheek and your sealed couplet, “My sticky, little sweetheart.”

#doll’s dizzy drabblin’ ⟡#rui kamishiro x you #rui x you #rui #rui kamishiro #rui kamishiro smut #rui kamishiro x reader #rui x reader #rui smut #hatsune miku: colorful stage #colorful stage x reader #colorful stage rui #colorful stage smut #project sekai rui #project sekai #project sekai smut #project sekai x you

298 notes · View notes

tmwcs · 8 months ago

Note

Reina this has been on my mind ever since I read the seven series what is your story or explanation of the Devil having heeeeungs appearance like as in appearing as a Korean man along with his brothers. I’ve always been curious about that and I am dying to hear what your thoughts are on it. I love seven so much and heelel and Levi have me on my knees. 🤒🥴

Actually, this is something I’ve thought about ever since I drafted the series. Your curiosity is warranted, back when I initially drafted the storyline, I knew I was going to have to provide an explanation, and I am happy to do it now, and take a break from all these lovely requests in my inbox lol.

Shape of You

Warnings: short Drabble, canon, historical references (some factual and some fiction), yandere love, some dark concepts, devil Heeseung is in love with you, some fluff, hints of smutty things.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You lean back, relaxing the blades of your shoulders against his broad chest. His partially gloved hand swoops from behind and plays with your hair over collar bone. His black blouse remains unbuttoned, allowing you to fall into the soft, white long sleeve and the loose tie around his neck. “Mmhmm.” He hums out tenderly as his hand taps against your belly; tips of his fingers walking up and down, trailing the northern and southern borders of your abdominal canvas. The both of you enjoying a moment of leisure, relaxing on his throne and gazing up at the stars. It was moments such as this, that made you realize the devil truly meant it when he says that you are everything, and that he loves you more than anything.

“Do you purposely portray yourself as an Asian male or is that truly how you were created?”

You were blunt, which he always preferred. He always reassured you that he would be truthful, and that you never had to feel discomfort when asking him anything your mind yearns to inherit. Tilting his face to the side, he admires the depth of your side profile and kisses the center of your ear, gently whispering.

“What makes you think I would portray myself as anything other than what is the truth?”

He partially jests as he chuckles against your ear canal. One of the gestures he was fond of doing, because he knew it tickled yet brought a pleasurable sense inside you. “It’s just—ah…” a subtle gasp escapes your lips as he slowly licks your neck, pushing the tip of his nose into your ear as he gently nibbles your jawline. “Mmhmm…you were saying, baby?” He antagonizes as he keeps his oral movements going, encouraging for you to finish your statement.

“Before you brought me here…you know, all those churches in the world talked about how the devil would shapeshift and deceive people…so I just…didn’t know if y-you…were really showing…y-your trrrrrue—ah!”

You help as he picks up the pace and sucks in your skin, harshly pinching it between teeth as he leaves discoloration and a subtle bite mark. Meanwhile his hand slips into the high slit of your silky gown, taking advantage of the fact that he never allowed you to eat panties, and began probing your slit. You desperately slap your hands on his forearms as you stabilize your posture. He chuckles in seeing you struggle as you lean away a tad, just so you could get him to answer the question without fondling you the entire time.

His chuckling transfers to a deep sigh of ceasefire, amused by your gasping for air as you propped yourself high and straight, yet your derrière looked even more appealing as it plumps against his throbbing bulge. But he figured he owed you an answer…for now.

“What else did the Bible tell you? Hmm? Did it tell you how bad the devil was? That I violated maidens and killed off Gods angels?” He releases a laconic scoff. “What a joke.”

“S-so…it’s all not true?” You inquired as you finally composed your breathing, and felt safe enough to lean back once more, which he relished and expressed contentment by embracing your waist, interlocking his fingers around your bellybutton. Unbeknownst to you, he really was doing his best to behave and display some self restraint as he continued to answer.

“Well beautiful, there’s a lot that goes into it. But let’s just say that a lot of the things that were drafted about me were over exaggerated, or drafted untruthfully, all for the mere sake of installing fear—fear to control.” He takes your hand in his palm and tenderly enclosed it. “But that’s a conversation for another time.” He whispered against your cheek.

“As for your question, this is how I was brought into life.”

“Any particular reason why you were made to specifically look and speak Korean?”

He smirks. “Well, truth be told, my former master loves diversity. Before he created mortals, he used his angels to form a baseline on what he wanted humans to replicate. There are many that come in all varieties. It just so happens my brothers and I all came out reflecting an oriental appearance. As for the language well, you already know we speak all dialects, even the lost ancient ones.”

Whispering in Arabic, he professes sweet words of love and tenderness in the language. “See? And now that you you’re my wife, you understand and speak all that of which exists.”

It’s true. The moment he brought you back to life as his Queen, you inherited a wide list of inhuman abilities, one of them was the suddenness of speaking and understanding all languages.

You spoke back in ancient Egyptian dialect, responding subtly. He smiles. “Good girl.”

“So, did he create all his other angels the same way?” He leans his head back, resting it against the grand head rest of the throne as he gazes and admires the outline of your profile. “Some. Some do them took after the fair skinned with hair and eyes to match, while others came out bolder and exotic in appearance. Michael, for instance, was created with a Mediterranean appearance, contrary to what mortals would imagine.”

“The arch angel Michael?” You asked in shock. He nods.

“My former master had an idea of how he wanted humans to become, but really couldn’t think of any other way to form their appearance. So he used his angels and guide.”

“But I thought the Bible described angels to appear differently…it described them as nonhuman entities, just a large eye with six wings that rotated.”

He smirks upon your oblivious nature. He has so much to teach you. “The original angels, such as myself, served as the original draft of what humans should take after. Those created after are nothing like us…you remember.” He raises a brow as he takes an expectant tone. You do remember those humanoid metallic figures, whom appeared more monstrous than anything else.

“Why don’t we take a walk and talk about all that’s in your mind. Whatever questions you have, we can spend the day feeding your curiosity…” he grips your waist and gently lifts you, only to slowly drag you back down and ride your slit against his lengthy bulge. “In a little while…hm baby?”

You fling your head back over his shoulder. “Uh…uh-huh.”

Moving you back and forth, he forced you to take on a riding momentum as he sets the pace; his hands never losing grip along your waistline. Your hands slam on the elegant rails of the arm chair. You didn’t care what they landed on, you just needed something to grip and dig your fingers into. “Fuuuuuuuck yeeeeeeah.” He whispers against your ear, dragging out his tone to be deep and creaky as he continued to move your hips in waving motion.

“Relax baby, I’ll tell you whatever you wanna hear…I’ll answer all of your questions…just let me fuck you first.

It’s too bad your mind went entirely blank. By the time he was finished with you, you were senselessly incoherent and just a moaning mess, fucked too dumb to think of anything other than the soreness of your opening struggling to close after the constant thrusting, and the juices flowing out, stringing your thighs. When all was said and done, nearly hours after the initial conversation, the only lesson you learned from all of this was that you should never show the devil how curious you can get….because he’ll get curious right back. And the devil doesn’t sleep, until his curiosity is no longer peaked.

- Fin

24 notes · View notes

jazzythursday · 1 year ago

Text

Prompts: Diamond | Longing | Corrosion (876 words)

A sharp intake of breath, only to be met with brackish water climbing up his nose and through his airways. The cold and harsh slap of it, fresh and stinging with remembered wounds.

In dreams, it came all at once, shifting and writhing like the letters on ledgers he couldn’t ever read, couldn’t ever touch. Memories corroded with salt-brine and time, gone hazy and altogether larger in his head than they could have possibly been in real life. Linearity was a thing made impossible, and life was circle.

In dreams it was hands, it was water, it was falling.

In dreams he was choking, and it was Prior’s hands, until it was his father’s. Wylan was on the boat, and he was dying. He was in his father’s office, and those same hands wrapped around his neck with hatred burning in ice blue eyes like nothing that Wylan could ever hope to change. He was swimming, he was walking, he was floating, he was gone.

He was looking up at stars shining like diamonds in the dark, and his mother was next to him. They were lying on their backs on a blanket in the yard, and he was smiling. Looking up at clusters of light that he was told made shapes. Made stories. She was teaching him the lines and shapes of them, holding his hand up to trace the pinpricks of white on the dark canvas with hers, like she did when they were painting.

She was pointing at the Great Bear and the Small Bear that lived together in the sky. A mother and her son. So they could be together, always. Safe in the stars.

Like us, Mamma? he asked. But she blew away with the breeze like dust shimmering in the sunlight, before she could answer.

She was gone, and he longed to be held in a way that didn’t hurt. He longed to be touched in a way that didn’t bruise. He was looking up at stars that didn’t speak, couldn’t help, didn’t hear. He was choking on the alphabet, words forced down his throat by hands that used to brush his hair and kiss his head. He was swimming to the Barrel but he was still a child, the child he’d been. The child that, no matter how he tried to hide it, he still felt he was. The child that cried for her, though she was too far away to hear. The child that cried for the solitary mother bear in the sky, and he was alone.

He was at the bottom the canal, where the light couldn’t reach, where stars didn’t shine, forgotten like the bodies in the barge, left to rot like a living corpse, like a bloodstain on a cream carpet. A beaten cheek resting tiredly above. A body left to pick itself up or else die with it’s shame spilling out in ruby red and tarnished gold and saltwater.

He was alone, always alone, and it was worse than the rising waters and cruel words and crushing hands. It was worse.

Wylan woke gasping, hands immediately pulling the collar of his nightshirt away from his throat to press to his beating pulse and hold himself there, chest heaving. His eyes clenched tightly on their own accord, and he pinched his mouth shut as nausea raced through him with the fear that pounded in his heart.

Dreams, always in dreams. It was reality falsified, memory made gruesome. The nightmares slipped through his fingers, ephemeral. Fear and remembrance and cursed imagination, coming for him with claws.

In dreams, Wylan drowned, but in waking it was this:

A warm body, just next to his. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. A boon in a black sea. Ghost light in the shadows. Stars, shining through the dark.

Wylan breathed.

There was soft tones and honeyed words. Gentle murmurs in his ear and quiet comforts, calling him home. A hand smoothed lightly over his hair, a kiss pressed softly to his temple.

Wylan opened his eyes.

He saw the question in Jesper’s eyes, and he nodded. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him gently back, and he went without hesitation. Everything was still, if not for the way his breathing was unsteady and rough. If not for how he shook. He buried his face in the crook of Jesper’s neck, and hid.

Jesper’s hands were sure, and steady. They smoothed over his hair and rubbed softly against his shoulders until the tenseness of his muscles started to loosen. Jesper kept speaking, dulcet tones and soothing reassurance and, It’s okay, love—We’re home—We’re safe—I’ve got you—It’s okay—Wylan held onto the words as much as he could (held onto Jesper even tighter). He let them guide him back until his heart stopped pounding and his hands stopped shaking and the world felt a little more real.

“Jes,” he croaked.

“Back with me, love?”

Wylan nodded, burrowing closer.

“You’re here,” he said. He did not mean for it to sound surprised.

“Always,” Jesper said, lips pressed into Wylan’s hair, hands holding him together at his sides. He did not ask what Wylan meant, he already knew. “I’ll always be here.”

In dreams Wylan drowned, but he always had this to wake up to, every time. And every time he did, Wylan knew, without a doubt, that he was no longer alone.

#I can’t decide if this is Geldstraat or the Slat era honestly #a drabble for your troubles?#poetic prose?#me??#more likely than you think #jazzy writes #jazzy writes fanfic #wesper fic club #shadow and bone #wylan van eck #six of crows #wesper #jesper fahey #soc fanfic #sab fanfiction #wesper fanfic

39 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 2 years ago

Text

The War Magician: Jasper Maskelyne

His magic fooled Hitler’s army.

Jasper Maskelyne was a British magician who created monumental illusions that tricked the German army and helped the Allies win World War II.

Jasper was born in London in 1902 to a family of magicians. His grandfather John Nevil Maskelyne was the inventor of the classic levitation trick that is still popular today.

At the beginning of World War II, Jasper joined the Royal Engineers, a corps of the British Army. He suggested to his superiors that his unique skill set could be useful to the war effort. They were skeptical, until Jasper created the illusion of a German warship on the Thames using mirrors and a cardboard model.

Jasper was recruited to work for military intelligence in Cairo. He created ingenious devices to help soldiers escape if they were captured. These life-saving tricks included saw blades inside combs, and maps hidden in playing cards.

In 1941, Jasper was assigned to a new deception department known as “A Force.” He immediately gathered a group of talented artisans including a carpenter, electrician, architect, set designer, artist, and art restorer. They called themselves the Magic Gang.

The Gang’s first job was disguising army vehicles, using painted canvas and plywood to make jeeps look like tanks and tanks look like jeeps. They then moved on to a much bigger project: protecting the harbor in Alexandria, Egypt from attacks by the German air force.

Incredibly, Jasper and the Magic Gang created a fake harbor near the real Alexandria harbor, using dummy ships and houses made of mud and cardboard. They lit up the fake one, and turned off all the lights in the real one. During a German raid, Jasper set off bombs in the fake harbor. The Germans were confused and assumed other pilots were hitting the target, so they dropped their missiles on the fake harbor, thereby protecting the real port of Alexandria.

Jasper’s next project involved the Suez canal. He was instructed to increase anti-aircraft lights around the canal so British soldiers could spot Nazi planes in the dark. Instead, Jasper created a revolving cone of mirrors that turned regular lights into strobe lights. This disoriented German pilots and made them crash into each other.

The Magic Gang’s biggest illusion occurred in July 1942, during the Battle of El Alamein. German Field Marshal Erwin Rommel had conquered large parts of North Africa, and British Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery wanted to capture back El Alamein, a town on Egypt’s Mediterranean coast.

Jasper’s job was to mislead the Germans into believing that the Allied attack was coming from the south rather than the north. In the north, he and his team disguised 1000 tanks as regular trucks, while in the south they created 2000 fake tanks. Using sound effects and other illusions, Jasper and his gang misled the Germans into heading south, while Montgomery attacked the north. The Allies won the battle – the first decisive victory against the Axis powers in North Africa.

The Magic Gang split up after the Battle of El Alamein, and Jasper spent the rest of the war entertaining troops. Winston Churchill thanked him for his valuable service, but the magician was frustrated that he never received formal recognition for his heroic actions.

After the war, Jasper created a traveling magic show which performed in small towns around the United Kingdom. The troupe began by headlining at top-level venues, but Jasper began drinking heavily and gradually the venues got smaller and seedier.

With his second wife Mary, Jasper moved to Kenya, where he bought a farm and gave magic lessons to residents and tourists. He died in 1973.

Under the British Official Secrets Act, the complete story of the Magic Gang can only be made public in 2046.

For using his incredible talent as a magician to fight Hitler, we honor Jasper Maskelyne as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero.

43 notes · View notes

askthelordofdespair · 1 year ago

Text

Arachnophobia part two

Bad English my bad x2!

He woke up in some basement, tied to a chair. He struggled, but it was no use. His arms and legs were bound not by ropes, but by bindings, like on an electric chair. He looked around: the setting was like a horror movie. A scratched, old table with some chemical equipment on it, shelves with a lot of tubes and vials, a floor piled with books and papers. And on top of the cabinet was a bird's nest. In it sat a black bird, staring at the unwilling guest with an evil look. Jeff didn't know much about birds, but he assumed it was a raven. Suddenly the bird cawed and circled a little, sat down on the arm of the chair, twirled its head, reached for the collar of his shirt and tore off a piece of cloth. The satisfied crow immediately flew away, taking its prey to its nest.

"What?!" - shouted an exasperated Jeff.

Whether it was the residue of alcohol or not, or whether he didn't realize the danger of the situation he was in, he wasn't afraid. Suddenly there were hurried footsteps. Someone was coming downstairs to the lab.

Ah, awake already. Well, happy awakening," the black figure said snidely.

Jeff could see the stranger closer now, his tattered black robe hanging just below his knees, his hands clad in dark blue fingerless gloves, his tall, pointed hat adding to the menace. But the creepiest thing of all were the eyes. Large and red, they burned from beneath a white canvas mask. Oh, shit. It was the Scarecrow.

Many things had been heard about the Scarecrow, but no one could say anything with certainty. Except for a few things. Supervillain. Possessed by fear and extremely dangerous. Name, Jonathan Crane. Past history, unknown. If you recognize him on the street, don't panic or let him see you. If he's interested in you and kidnaps you, pray to God, but rely on Batman. God won't help you. Why has Jeff never had any luck? Why Scarecrow? Why not any of Gotham's other supervillains? He would have settled for the Ventriloquist. Shape Shifter. Maybe even the White Shark. All but the Joker and the Scarecrow. But it was a monotonous voice that brought him out of his musings on the unfairness of life:

"What's your name?"

"Jeff Carter." Easy, Jeff, easy. Don't show fear. But don't be cocky. Answer all his questions. Hold out until Batman gets here. He's probably already looking for you. Sarah was supposed to file a missing persons report.

"Great. What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know."

"That's a shame. Okay, well, then I'll take a wild guess. Insectophobia?"

"W-what?"

"Ah, yes. Insectophobia is a fear of insects. Are you afraid of insects, Jeff?"

"How do you know?"

"Did I guess?"

"Let's say you did."

That's good. What's good, asshole? What's good about it? Oh, God, I wish I had help in time.

The madman went to the racks, ran his fingers over the vials, looking at them lovingly, and finally pulled one out. He hummed a tune. He began to draw the liquid into the syringe. Halfway through, he stopped and approached Jeff.

"Stay away from me, you freak! Stay away!"

The syringe jammed into his arm. The poison started to enter the bloodstream. Jeff started to twitch as hard as he could, but the chair held him tightly in its grasp. Suddenly he saw an insect on his lap. Slowly it crawled over him. A second one appeared. A third. A fourth. Soon there was already a horde of insects crawling upward, toward Jeff's face. They covered him in a moving carpet. He covered his mouth, hoping they wouldn't get inside. But in vain. They penetrated through his ears. Their rustling echoed. You could feel them crawling up the ear canal to the brain. They got to the insides. They started gnawing on them. Devouring his lungs, his heart, his spleen, they laid eggs in the ruins of his body. Soon his stomach was bloated and moving with insects. They were breeding and hatching every second. Enjoyed his torment. Made him their sanctuary. Jeff screamed like he'd never screamed in his life. The dark figure unbuckled him, dragged him across the floor, and tossed his body into the metal cage. They would have plenty of time together.

Jeff lost track of time. How long had he been here? A day? Two? A month? A year? If he could still think straight, he'd realize it hadn't been that long. After all, he hadn't died of hunger and thirst. But all that was left of his body was a shell, unable to think. Unable to fear. Soon the Scarecrow dragged him outside for the umpteenth time. But he did not tie the body to the chair as before, but left it lying on the floor. He said slowly and measuredly:

"It seems our paths are parting. I am grateful to you, Jeff Carter, for your invaluable contribution to science. However, your body's resources are exhausted."

He walked to a corner of the basement, reached down and picked up the scythe that had been standing in the darkness before. Raised it high above the head of the man who had once been Jeff Carter. Carter stared blankly into the void. He seemed even glad of this turn of events.

"It's time for us to say goodbye."

Swing. Whistle. Crunch. Darkness.

#askthelordofdespair #jonathan crane #ask blog #ic post #scarecrow

6 notes · View notes

trevellooo · 6 months ago

Text

Dubai by Night: Best Evening Tours and Nightlife Hotspots

Dubai, the glittering gem of the Middle East, transforms into a mesmerizing wonderland as the sun sets. From stunning architectural marvels to vibrant nightlife scenes, the city offers a kaleidoscope of experiences that come alive after dark. Whether you're a first-time visitor or a seasoned traveler, exploring Dubai by night promises unforgettable moments. Let’s dive into the best evening tours and nightlife hotspots that make Dubai shine after sunset.

Dubai Frame: A Modern Icon

Our journey through Dubai's evening splendor begins with a visit to one of its most iconic landmarks, the Dubai Frame. Located in Zabeel Park, this architectural marvel stands tall at 150 meters and offers breathtaking views of both old and new Dubai. As the sun sets, the Frame becomes a glowing beacon, showcasing the city's transition from past to present. Step into the Sky Deck for panoramic vistas that include the glittering lights of downtown and the historic neighborhoods surrounding the Creek.

Burj Khalifa: The Nighttime Spectacle

No visit to Dubai is complete without experiencing the majesty of the Burj Khalifa, the world's tallest building. At night, this towering skyscraper becomes a canvas for a spectacular light and fountain show. The Dubai Fountain, located at the base of the Burj Khalifa, dances to music and lights, creating a magical ambiance that captivates visitors of all ages. Capture the perfect Instagram-worthy shot as the water jets sway in harmony with the illuminated skyscraper above.

Evening Desert Safari: Adventure under the Stars

For those seeking a taste of adventure, an evening desert safari is an absolute must-do in Dubai. Escape the city's hustle and bustle and venture into the tranquil desert landscape just outside Dubai. Ride over the dunes in a 4x4 vehicle as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Arrive at a Bedouin-style desert camp where you can indulge in traditional Arabic hospitality. Enjoy a sumptuous BBQ dinner under the stars while being entertained by belly dancers and traditional performances.

Dubai Marina: Glitz and Glamour

Dubai Marina is synonymous with sophistication and nightlife. Take a leisurely stroll along the Marina Walk, lined with chic cafes and trendy boutiques. Opt for a dinner cruise aboard a traditional dhow boat and sail along the Marina's shimmering waters. Marvel at the skyline as it lights up, with skyscrapers reflecting in the tranquil waters below. Dubai Marina Mall offers an array of dining options and entertainment venues, ensuring there's something for everyone to enjoy well into the night.

Souk Madinat Jumeirah: Arabian Nights Come Alive

Step into a world of Arabian charm at Souk Madinat Jumeirah, a modern interpretation of a traditional Middle Eastern marketplace. This labyrinth of narrow alleyways and waterways is particularly enchanting at night. Enjoy dinner at one of the many restaurants overlooking the serene water canals, with the iconic Burj Al Arab standing tall in the distance. Souk Madinat Jumeirah blends old-world charm with modern amenities, offering a unique shopping and dining experience that captures the essence of Dubai’s cultural heritage.

Nightlife Hotspots: Where the City Comes Alive

Dubai boasts a vibrant nightlife scene that caters to every taste. From chic rooftop bars offering panoramic views to pulsating nightclubs where international DJs spin the latest beats, the city ensures that nights are as vibrant as its days. Visit JBR (Jumeirah Beach Residence) for beachside lounges and clubs that host themed parties and live music events. Downtown Dubai offers exclusive lounges with views of the Burj Khalifa, perfect for enjoying cocktails against the backdrop of the city's glittering skyline.

Dubai Opera: Cultural Evenings

For a more refined evening experience, Dubai Opera presents a diverse program of world-class performances. From opera and ballet to concerts and theater productions, this architectural marvel nestled in Downtown Dubai offers cultural enrichment in a spectacular setting. Enjoy pre-show dining at one of the Opera’s elegant restaurants before experiencing a mesmerizing performance that showcases Dubai's commitment to arts and culture.

Conclusion

Dubai by night is a tapestry of experiences that blend modernity with tradition, luxury with adventure. Whether you're gazing at the city from the Dubai Frame, marveling at the Burj Khalifa's nighttime spectacle, or enjoying a desert safari under the stars, each moment promises to be unforgettable. Explore Dubai’s nightlife hotspots, from Dubai Marina's glamour to the cultural charm of Souk Madinat Jumeirah, and immerse yourself in a city that never sleeps.

As you plan your evening adventures in Dubai, remember to include the Dubai Frame and Burj Khalifa in your itinerary. These iconic landmarks not only offer stunning views but also embody the spirit of Dubai’s dynamic evolution. Discover why Dubai is a beacon of light in the desert, where every night holds the promise of new experiences and unforgettable memories.

This blog captures the essence of Dubai's vibrant nightlife while integrating the keywords 'Dubai Frame' and 'Burj Khalifa' seamlessly into the narrative. Let me know if you need any further adjustments or additional details

0 notes

aequoranimae · 6 months ago

Text

20-21 june

I awoke early again, rising as silently as I could while my roommates still slept on. The American staying here, Faith, is not so cautious—she tends to move about more recklessly, letting her locker door slam shut as she flings Midwest-blonde hair over her shoulder. My exit style is more of a creep; I slipped down the hall into a mild, overcast day and made my way back down the street to the same bakery I visited the day before. I bought my pain au chocolat and skirted the edge of the inner city, crossing the canal, until I had passed through an office district and arrived in the botanic gardens. There was a pair of grey geese paddling about in the leafy pond, and a few common turtles floating with their faces poking above the water.

Brussels has a thriving economy of pretentious coffee shops, and after purchasing my ice latte (presented creatively in a can rather than a cup), I walked on through Brussels Park, whose broad avenues were lined with all kinds of neoclassical statues. I saw two small brown rats scurrying about in the children’s playground and a few more waterbirds staking their claim to the parkland while most of the neighbourhood was still at rest. Over the line of the trees I saw the blue and gold-gilded dome of the Palais de Justice and the walls of the Royal Palace—I had come back around to the same old and grand part of Brussels had visited the day before. So it was a familiar journey as I made once more for the Grand Place marked on the horizon by the city hall spire.

I was there on time to enter the Musée de la Ville de Bruxelles as it opened at ten o’clock. The collection includes the building that houses it, opposite the Hotel de Ville in the Grand Place. This black gothic creature stands out from the white and gold things that line the rest of the square—the Maison du Roi in its current form is little more than a century old, but the house that stood there before belonged to Charles V of Spain, and so it has its French name. But the Dutch language knows it as Broodhuis, because there was once a bread market in the square.

The museum is one of the most interesting collections I have been to because it is as much about the city of Brussels in the late 19th century as it is about the Brussels of antiquity. The first floor contains statues and altarpieces and pieces of façade from across the city which were replaced with replicas as city administrators of the 19th century sought to restore and preserve the old Brussels that had long been crumbling. Even the weather vane from the top of the town hall’s spire that shows the patron Saint Michael was eventually taken down and replaced with a copy, while his original form rests in the city museum. Climbing past the stained glass windows that showed the crests of noble families, I went through rooms of paintings that showed the city landscape and its people over the centuries—the same statues I had seen in the park an hour ago peered back at me from canvas, and I saw the square outside as it had been before, when tourists taking photos were traders selling dogs and racing pigeons.

There was also a large collection of Belgian china and a dark room hung with tapestries not unlike the ones I had seen across the road—these are rotated regularly to keep them safe from the light. The only permanent fixture was the huge cartoon on the wall, which is one of the few surviving examples of those works used as guides for the production of the tapestries themselves. It showed the martyrdom of Saint Paul in the style of Ruebens, pale and stuck with the pinholes that showed it must have been copied in thread at least once.

I had a midday train ticket, so I hurried up the street to Bruxelles Centrale, stopping along the way to buy a small book on the history of ancient Rome in case I was bored and needed to preserve my phone battery. My train was to Bruges and took about an hour, so I ate my supermarket sandwich and snacks on the way, watching the endless fields of horses and cows blur into green as we journeyed west. Bruges is unassuming from the view offered of it from the station square, but the moment one crosses the highway and enters the winding alleys it is clear why it has captured so much attention. Unlike Brussels its streets have not been invaded by the horrors of cheap post-war architecture, though they are no less a victim to the souvenir shops and chains of Belgian chocolate stores, so numerous on the main shopping street they became indecipherable from one another.

On my way into the heart of town I passed over my first canals with the flower box bridges—overlooking the water I saw a mother and father swan watching over their fluffy grey cygnets curled up on the bank for a nap. This peaceful scene was quickly eclipsed by the tourist throng as I turned onto one of the main streets and passed the largest church, taking a peek inside but deciding it was still too early in the day to pay to see ten more paintings of the crucifixion (I was feeling stronger by mid-afternoon). Instead I weaved on through the crowd to the main square, which was absolutely heaving with all kinds of family groups taking their photos and eating their waffles.

The highlight of the square is, of course, the bell tower, rising above the entire town skyline. Every fifteen minutes it would ring some melodic tune, like a wind chime. But I was more intrigued by its alleged 362 steps, and was surprised again to find that almost nobody from the crowd of hundreds was curious about the inside of the building they stood milling around—I bought a Bruges museum pass for the day and began the climb. The first spiral of the belfry’s steps is deceiving, broad and flat and made from modern, level stone. Once I had passed the first chamber (the room where the city administration stored their precious documents in ancient times to protect them from fire), the stairs narrowed to that classic worn-down configuration and it became necessary to clutch at the thick winding rope around the centre for balance.

I sped up as fast as I could even though I was sweating quite a bit, only pausing when someone was coming the other way and the width of the passage became problematic. There was a certain satisfaction to leaving behind all those shallow travellers and their commercial interests down below; also, I was raised in such a way that there is no question of if when it comes to towers, belfries and domes. One must at least pay their respects to whatever poor person had the job of climbing every day to ring the giant bells manually in times past. I emerged victorious at the top of the final staircase, which was more of a ladder than anything else, and saw the beautiful panoramic view of Bruges, well worth the climb. The town from above was a uniform sprawl of two-storey houses broken up only by the occasional church spire and patches of green, larger from above than the quaint streets implied below. While I was up there the bells chimed and everybody got a fright. The stairs seemed impossibly steeper on the way down. I was somewhat more cautious on the descent.

Having proved myself, I decided it was time to join in with everyone else, so I went to a highly recommended waffle shop and bought the plain Liège waffle, since I still have my principles. Most are drawn in by the array of sweet sauce and candy toppings offered (though to be fair, this shop was a little more restrained than the tacky places populating Brussels), but I understand the only correct way to eat the Liège waffle (which is different to the Brussels waffle), is in its classic form. It came hot from the press, oval-shaped with the layer of caramelised sugar that makes the Liège waffle—proud of this too, I took it back to the main square to show off. It was genuinely very good, better than the stuff in Brussels would be, I think, and after speed-running that belfry climb it was a needed restorative. I had a museum pass that I had to use on at least one more attraction to get my money’s worth.

Bruges hosts the works of great Flemish masters in the Groeningemuseum, tucked away down a path that winds through a small garden off the main canal. I came in just in time to eavesdrop a little on one of the gallery tour guides and his collection of elderly listeners—I was just about the only person younger than sixty-five in the whole building. The most significant work in the museum’s care is Jheronimus Bosch’s Last Judgement, which is absolutely wonderful, and may even beat the Brueghel I saw the day before. The three-panel picture depicts a very strange reckoning for the human race, in which the land is covered with the strangest little creatures, not so much monstrous as they are disconcerting. A devil tortures a man over a giant butterknife, another sits on the back of a kind of rabbit thing carrying his cage of humans enslaved, another—a harpy—perches with a person half sticking of her obscenely large maw as she chews them up. But the picture is so unusual and charming that it fails to disgust the modern eye. You have more of a feeling like you’d want to put one of these little things in your pocket and carry it about like a pet than a desire to run and repent. The museum seems to understand this; they sell very nice metal charms and pins of the most memorable creatures.

My phone was threatening to accept death by this point, so I put it away and went for a walk towards the Begijnhof, the old religious women’s refuge which still acts as a community today. Before its gated entrance was a canal bank with a whole colony of waterbirds – a great throng of swans and ducks, so numerous the ground was littered white with downy feathers. Most of them were sleeping with their necks all twisted up and their beaks tucked away, protected from human advances by a handy fence. I continued through these green spaces along the banks of the canals, skirting the outside of town until I dropped back onto the main street (the quiet, local end) and bought some frites from the very kind people behind the counter. This, obviously, was the other necessity staying in Belgium, now I had crossed waffles off the list. They were so good, though I do think the Belgians go a little overboard with their mayonnaise portions. I like mayonnaise but not that much.

I could have stayed even longer, but my phone was on its last legs, and I was beginning to feel the day’s toll. Luckily I’d picked up a map at the info centre earlier and had been using that for navigation for the past hour or two since the phone map became untenable, and Belgium is very good with its street signs. When I was walking back over that same small bridge I saw the swan family from earlier, taking to the waters now. I watched them go—two sleek and white, two downy and grey—until they disappeared under the bridge and were gone from view. Bone tired, I slumped on the soonest train back to Brussels in a corner by myself. My phone, at least, made it back alive, and I went to bed after some takeaway dinner with great anticipation.

I was up bright and early for yet another train, this time northbound from Bruxelles-Centrale for Antwerp, where I would be meeting two of my close friends Connie and Maddy for the day. They have been staying in Amsterdam and seem to hate it with a passion, so the day trip was in their interest even though they had a much longer train journey than me. As I came up the stairs of Antwerpen Centraal I saw them waiting for me at the top, framed by the station’s ornate walls and domes from the turn of the 19th century—the spiralling stone and brass and wrought iron over glass that barely survived the war. We hugged and headed outside to a city still waking; my friends, who aren’t so used to Europe’s quirks, said they thought all the locals looked shellshocked as though we were in Soviet Russia. Having only been to Paris and Amsterdam so far, they are yet to appreciate the no man’s land of industrial European city streets before ten o’clock in the morning.

Since nothing was open yet, we stopped for coffee outside Antwerp’s cathedral, sheltered from the dreary day. The inside of the cathedral housed a few grand paintings by Ruebens and some beautiful chapels—we wandered around inside for a while and I enjoyed the commentary of Connie, who as an art history student always has something to say. The cathedral had that overwhelming Catholic air with its countless variations of Mother and Child; the right chapel had frames depicting Jesus carrying the cross while the left chapel, dedicated to Mary, showed the stages of her life from the Annunciation to the Resurrection. Connie and I agreed it was interesting to see a depiction where Mary was shown to age with time and grief rather than remain eternally young and beautiful. The cathedral of Antwerp is an ancient one, built between the 14th and 16th centuries upon earlier foundations. Fire, Protestants and French revolutionaries all took their turn at trying to destroy its walls over the many years, but none succeeded.

My friend Connie has an intense love of couture fashion, and apparently the clothes of Belgian designer Ann Demeulemeester can only be seen in store in Antwerp. Connie was desperate to try on a dream pair of laced boots, so after a little more than an hour of deliberation between sizes, we left with the heels of her new shoes clicking on the rain-soaked pavement. Maddy and I were a bit beside ourselves with hunger at this point—we ate in a Vietnamese restaurant around the corner while it continued to pour outside. Fortunately the Royal Arts Museum of Antwerp was almost only just across the road, so I dashed to cover while Connie and Maddy performed more of a creep under the shelter of Connie’s umbrella. The water pooled in the recesses of the worn tiled pavement and for once my tired canvas sneakers were not the least suitable choice of footwear between us.

The building of the Royal Arts museum is an old one with a huge painted entrance hall, and it feels like entering another world when you ascend to the first floor and find the modern masters artfully curated in stark white rooms. Climbing the stairs between galleries we ascended into darkness, into deep navy rooms of statuettes and quiet shadowy paintings, only to be thrown back into to piercing brightness. The arrangement of the gallery felt only more poignant as we at last reached the level containing the old masters, encircling a hall where more Ruebens were on display. In one corner of the room one of these Ruebens was frameless, turned up on its side while the museum’s conservation workers toiled peaceably at restoring the work in front of the public, removing its centuries-old varnish. In the other rooms were many of the same sort of paintings I’d become familiar with—Biblical allegories, portraits of families in black with their frilled collars, landscapes with fine houses and grazing livestock. I was most fond of Misbehaving, a Henriette Ronner-Knip, and the famous Madonna by Jean Fouquet. After laying out on the plush benches of the gallery for a while, we stepped back into the streets of the city; it was no longer raining.

We went for Belgian waffles, I had mine with chocolate and strawberries (which is allowed in this case, because it was the Brussels waffle rather than the Liège one) and went to see the main square, enclosed as usual with the familiar old municipal buildings. At the end of the street down by the water we sat for a while in the information centre, housed in what remains of a medieval castle. Their Eurostar back to Amsterdam was in the evening, so we had just enough time to eat some pasta at a nice Italian restaurant just off the main square before beginning the walk back to the station. The first train to Brussels was on the platform opposite theirs, so we parted ways but kept in sight until my train arrived to block them from view. I will see them again in Florence, but for now our destinations are very different. In Brussels I packed my bag ahead of my departure and curled up in bed with some dessert—ahead of me was my two-day journey to Prague across the German countryside.

0 notes

longlistshort · 7 months ago

Text

For Kazuyuki Takezaki’s exhibition Before Spring at 47 Canal, he presents distinctive versions of the landscape around his home in Marugame, Japan.

The press release provides more detail-

…His current painting practice is deeply informed by the landscape around Marugame, with its plains ringed by low mountains in the distance. Often employing a grayish, chalky palette highlighted by blushes of orange shading into purple or white, he paints studies of plant life or mountain ridges as quickly rendered silhouettes that evoke miniature frescoes. In another body of work, he attaches canvas to a board and then sets out in his van to find a spot in the countryside, where he records his impressions in situ using oil stick. Comparing this practice to old men playing board games outdoors, he often spends several days on these “Board/Table” pieces, trying to keep up with the atmospheric conditions as they change hour by hour and day by day.

Both the canvases and the “Board/Table” pieces retain an element of the windowness of the earlier works in allowing for a coexistence of transparency and opacity. “At dusk, I often see the town horizontally divided into upper and lower halves by transparent and opaque color,” Takezaki writes. Sometimes the sky looks like “solid gouache” while the town and trees are shot through with light, while at other times it’s the sky that takes on “a deeply transparent color” against the dark shadow of the town. The bands of color that occasionally bisect the small canvases at odd places, suggesting a horizon line but also arbitrary erasures, allude to this effect. They also come, Takezaki says, from a desire to work with multiple images at the same time. In a sense his works replicate the visual noise that accumulates on the surface of a window—replicate the agency of the window itself in simultaneously framing and interfering with the view.

But there is also a subtext to the works that pushes them beyond the tradition of the landscape-ranging from literati ink scrolls to amateur Sunday paintings and everything in between—into something that feels urgent and timely. According to Takezaki, the land around Marugame is dying. He can see it clearly in the sprawl being constructed in the plains, which drives away animal life, and the effects of fertilizer and other chemicals on the vegetation. The immediacy he strives for in his paintings—the way he tries to take everything all in at once, including the particles in the air and the brilliant light that illuminates the trees at dusk—is also an act of bearing witness to nature as a liminal zone between the worlds of the living and the dead. Communicating a profound yet fleeting sense of place, Takezaki’s windows onto this constantly shifting environment are also reflections on time, memory, and the porous overlaps between subject and object.

This exhibition closes 6/8/24.

#Kazuyuki Takezaki #47 Canal #Art #NYC Art Shows #Art Shows #Landscape Painting #Painting #Landscapes #Marugame #Mixed Media Painting #New York Art Shows

1 note · View note

writingforstraykids · 6 months ago

Note

Loved the Chan Milan fic! What about a male reader version with him fucking Chan's brain out instead?

Right here with you, always - m!reader version

Pairing: Chan x male!Reader

Word Count: 2282

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, sub!chan, mirror sex (partly)

A/N: Hope you like it, lovey. Framwork is the same, smut is changed ofc🖤

fem!version here

Eventually, the night led you to his hotel, a place of refined elegance. Inside, the world quieted down to just the two of you. You guided Chan to the sofa in his suite, a soft, inviting piece that seemed to echo the plush luxury of your surroundings. As you settled into the comfort of the sofa, you pulled him gently into your lap, a smile playing on your lips.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his muscular arms, feeling the strength that lay beneath his soft shirt. “This blue shirt… it’s perfect on you. It makes your eyes look like chocolate; deep and endlessly sweet.” At first, he blushed, a shy smile curving his lips as his gaze flickered away. It wasn't often that he heard such open adoration, even from you, his partner. Yet, the honesty in your voice and the warmth in your eyes encouraged him to accept your compliments. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your own confidence growing with the realization of how much he needed you in this moment.

“I love seeing you like this,” you murmured, your voice a soft rumble against his ear. Your hands were gentle but firm on his back, making every nerve in his body sing with a pleasant tension. The room around you seemed to fade, the sounds of Milan's nightlife a distant echo to the intimacy that unfolded between the two of you. “Love how handsome you look,” you told him, hands fondling up his thighs. “Love how your body always searches mine,” you confessed, biting back a soft groan as he pressed down against you.

Your lips met his in a fierce kiss, hand shooting up into his hair. Chan kissed back eagerly, grinding down against you with soft, needy sounds. Your grip on his hair tightened, your hips chasing his with a low groan.

As the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the gentle yet insistent passion between you, the world outside seemed to vanish completely. Your hands moved with a tenderness that contrasted and complemented the growing intensity of the moment. You were skilled, knowing exactly how to make him feel cherished and desired all at once.

Chan quickly got up, getting rid of his trousers and boxers in one go. After checking in with you, his shirt joined the rest of his clothes on the floor, and he stood bare before you. You lifted your hips, shuffling your pants down enough to free your aching length. Your hands found his hips, and you pulled him back into your lap, smiling at how thrilled Chan seemed. You made quick work of preparing him, stretching him out with your fingers and kissing down his neck hungrily. Chan sunk down on you soon, moaning out loudly as you stretched his fluttering walls just right.

Chan's hands found purchase on your shoulders, steadying himself as he began to move. His head tipped back, exposing the graceful line of his neck, his eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss. You held him closely, guiding him with a gentle yet insistent rhythm. The soft sounds of his pleasure mixed with the distant hum of the city night created a symphony of intimacy.

"You feel so amazing," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. You increased the pace, each thrust meeting him with a perfect alignment that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of your bodies.

Chan's response was to grip your shoulders tighter, his nails digging in slightly as the intensity built. His moans grew louder, more urgent, and he began to meet your movements with equal fervor. The connection between you deepened, a tangible thread of desire that pulled you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

In the mirror at the closet opposite the sofa, you could see your reflections entwined in a passionate dance. Chan's body was a perfect contrast against your own. His skin was bathed in the soft light that filtered through the windows, highlighting his features in a glow that seemed almost ethereal. The sight of your dick disappearing inside him made you moan loud enough to catch his attention. "Look at us," you urged him, wanting him to see the beauty of the moment as you saw it. Reluctantly, Chan opened his eyes, and his gaze met the mirror behind the sofa, seeing the reflection from the mirror across the room. The sight of the two of you, so closely connected, so lost in each other, brought a new flush to his cheeks, but his eyes shone with an emotion that was deep and raw.

"Fuck," Chan breathed out, his voice catching as your movements brought him higher. “Need more, please,” he whined, needily moving his hips. “Go rough on me, please.”

Your heart pounded with desire at his plea, and you responded by increasing the intensity of your movements. Chan's moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of his pleasure. When his moans reached a fever pitch, you decided to change positions. Gently, you lifted him off your lap, only to flip him around, settling him back onto you so he was facing the mirror on the closet. The new angle made him gasp, his eyes widening as he saw the full reflection of his own pleasure.

You wrapped one arm around his waist to steady him, your other hand coming up to cover his mouth, muffling his loud moans. "Shh," you whispered in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. "We don't want everyone to hear us."

The sensation of being silenced, coupled with the sight of himself in the mirror, seemed to drive Chan wild. His eyes locked onto yours in the reflection, his pupils dilated with lust. He started moving again, his hips grinding against you with a desperate urgency.

"Look at how beautiful you are," you murmured against his ear, your voice a low growl. "Look at how perfect we are together."

Chan's muffled moans vibrated against your palm, his body shivering with the intensity of the sensations. You kept your rhythm steady; each thrust hitting deeper, more precise, driving both of you closer to the edge.

Your eyes never left the mirror, watching the way Chan's body responded to your every move. The sight of him, completely undone, his face flushed and eyes filled with raw desire, spurred you on. "You're mine, Chan," you growled, your grip on his waist tightening. "Only mine."

He nodded, his eyes rolling back slightly as another wave of pleasure crashed over him. His body trembled, his muscles tightening around you in a way that sent shivers up your spine. You could feel your own release building, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust.

You thrust harder, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. The mirror reflected the raw intimacy of the moment, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, the connection between you palpable and undeniable.

Chan's eyes were locked onto the mirror, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The sight of you behind him, your hands steady and confident, was overwhelming. His skin was flushed, his lips parted, and the tension in his body was electric. You could see every muscle in his back tense with each thrust, the sight of your reflection in the mirror making the moment even more intense.

"Fuck, Y/n," Chan managed to moan through your hand, his voice barely audible but full of raw emotion. The sight of his flushed face, the way his body moved with yours, was almost too much to handle. You could see the ecstasy building in his eyes, the need, the desire, everything laid bare in the reflection.

"You're close, aren't you?" you whispered in his ear, your voice thick with lust. "I can feel it, Chan. Show me how much you need this."

With another hard thrust, Chan's body tensed, his eyes rolling back as he almost reached the peak of his pleasure. His muffled moans were drowned out by your hand, his body shaking with every wave of ecstasy. You could feel the tightening of his walls around you, the warmth of his climax making you lose control as well.

With a final, powerful thrust, you buried yourself deep inside him, your release hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Chan's muffled cries of pleasure filled the room, his body convulsing as he followed you over the edge.

You held him close, both of you riding out the aftershocks of your climax. Slowly, you removed your hand from his mouth, pressing soft kisses along his neck and shoulder. "You did so well," you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness. "So beautiful, so perfect."

Chan turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "You’re amazing.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for him. "With you, it’s always perfect," you replied, your hands gently caressing his sides.

The world outside the hotel room was a distant memory, the night in Milan a backdrop to the profound connection you shared with Chan. As he lay in your arms, the city lights twinkling outside the window, you knew that no matter where life took you, moments like these would always bring you back to each other.

"Do you remember our first trip together?" Chan asked, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness.

You smiled, recalling the memory fondly. "Of course I do. How could I forget? It was magical."

"It was," he agreed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "But this... tonight... it's even better."

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting in the dim light. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we're here together," he replied simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "Because every moment with you is better than the last."

Your heart swelled with love for him, and you leaned in to kiss him softly. "I feel the same way," you whispered against his lips. "Every moment with you is a gift."

As he drifted off to sleep in your arms, he knew that no matter what challenges or adventures lay ahead, you would face them together, your love growing stronger with each passing day.