#ply staircase

[mortalclace]

Library - Beach Style Living Room

Living room library idea with beige flooring, white walls, and no fireplace or television in a medium-sized coastal loft design with porcelain tile.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

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If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh—it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

[fortheloveof-sebastian]

Lovebirds

Pairings: Sebastian x F!Reader

Summary: You almost miss curfew (again) coming back from a study session with Sebastian. The gentleman he is, he walks you back to your common room and his feelings for you accidentally slip out.

Warnings: kissing, fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: For some reason I just really love the idea of Ominis being the disgruntled mother of the friend group having to deal with you and Sebastian’s shit. Mommy Omi.

Not gonna lie this one put me in my feels.

I intentionally didn’t specify a certain House in this oneshot. It probably doesn’t work as well if you’re in Slytherin, but then maybe just imagine Sebastian is walking you to the girls side😉

The rosiness of Sebastian’s freckled cheeks reminds you of the wintery dusk settling behind you, backlighting Hogsmeade and the snow-covered wilderness. A cold wind cuts through your school cloaks and, without thinking, you lean closer into Sebastian’s side as you both laugh. Naturally, his arm falls around your shoulders, and you walk like that into the castle.

“Well, it’s about time,” came Ominis’s cutting voice. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

Ominis emerges from the shadows.

“Ominis.” Sebastian presses a hand to his chest. “Were you worried about us?“

“Be still my heart,” you say, pretending to swoon.

Ominis clicks his tongue. “I was more worried that I would have to venture out at an untimely hour to drag you back. Who knows what shenanigans you two get up to, I should never leave you alone.”

The three of you scurry up the grand staircase.

“We asked you to come with,” Sebastian points out. His arm leaves your shoulders, and there’s a twinge of disappointment in your chest.

“Well, I don’t need to study last minute,” Ominis declares hauntily.

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“No studying actually happened,” you say. “Your integrity would’ve remained intact.”

Ominis scoffs, and you and Sebastian snicker in response.

You did have all of the intentions to study for Potions. But once you picked up the necessary ingredients from The Magic Neep for practice, the sun began to sink and a chill set in, and you shuffled into The Three Broomsticks together. Sinora ended up plying you with new variations of Butterbeer she was experimenting with, and Potions quickly fell to the wayside.

You actually had been laughing earlier because Sebastian had a smudge of foam on his upper lip, and he playfully nipped at your thumb when you went to swipe it away.

“I’m not spending another detention with the likes of you two,” Ominis says. There’s a curl of affectionate amusement in his voice. “We ought to get to the common room before someone catches us.”

Sebastian says, “Go on without me, Omi.”

“Are you not coming?”

“I’m going to drop off my fellow delinquent here,” Sebastian tells him. “Make sure that she doesn’t run into anymore trouble without me.”

“I’m fine, Sebastian,” you say.

“Well what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go alone? All kinds of frightful things traverse these hallowed halls.”

You tap the side of your chin. “I can’t remember, was it you or me who won our duel?”

“I was going easy on you,” Sebastian chides. “You know, being a gentleman and all.”

Ominis waves a hand. “I’m leaving, I don’t have the energy to discuss this duel again. Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t lose your way, Sebastian, I don’t want to hear you bumbling your way into the room again.”

Sebastian and you watch Ominis’s retreating form, and the crimson glow of his wand.

“He loves us,” he says.

“How could be not?”

Your conversation lulls into comfortable silence. Even with your history of banter, you also enjoyed the moments when you weren’t talking, just walking together in your companionship.

The last handful of students were rushing by. Shadows had begun to stretch and take form on the tiled floors.

Finally you approach the entrance to your common room, and you’re reluctant to leave Sebastian. You turn to him, hoping to steal just a few more seconds.

“Tomorrow’s Potions class should be interesting,” you say.

Sebastian shrugs. “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t sit by Garreth again. Class might be a touch boring, but much less explosive.”

“I had a good day with you,” you blurt. Your desire to elongate these late fleeting moments backfires, and you feel your cheeks burn. Did you really just say that?

“I did too,” Sebastian says, softly, and gratefully without a stitch of taunting in his voice.

You mutter the password and the entrance opens. You step inside, one foot in and one foot out. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yep.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

“Sleep tight,” you add. You haven’t budged.

Sebastian smiles. Casually, he says, “Goodnight, Y/N. I love you.”

His face spasms, and for the first time you think you see a light dusting of color cover his cheeks. You freeze, then, invigorated, say, “You love me?”

“Well, um, yeah,” Sebastian awkwardly replies. He coughs a little. “You know we were just talking about how Ominis loves us and perhaps my mind was still there. I didn’t mean anything by —”

You climb down and interrupt Sebastian’s nervous rambles by grabbing the front of his robes. He blinks at you in rapid succession, mouth ajar, obviously still fumbling for an appropriate response to accidentally confessing his love for you.

“I love you too, Sebastian,” you tell him.

You’re not sure who kisses who first, but soon he’s captured you with his mouth, pressing it firmly against yours. Faintly you taste the trace of Butterbeer, which makes you smile. In response Sebastian moans softly and then draws you in closer, deepening the kiss. Your fingers slip into his hair. This moment is everything that you’ve wanted and more and —

“OOO KISSY KISSY!”

A familiar blur of color soars overhead. Instantly, Sebastian and you tear apart, slightly out of breath and pink-cheeked.

Peeves circles back around and makes a face. He sings:

“What do we have here?

A pair of lovebirds

Caught in the act, oh dear

Kissing like they have no fear!”

He cackles, high pitched and splitting, the sound ringing through the halls.

“Oh, bugger off, Peeves,” Sebastian snaps. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Caught red handed, in this moment of bliss

A moment like this they surely won’t miss

But it’s not a secret, they can’t dismiss,” Peeves continues to bellow, laughing devilishly.

You grab Sebastian’s arm. “Don’t bother giving him the time of day. He won’t quit.”

Sebastian looks back at you, and his face softens.

He sighs. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

“I tend to be quite often, yet people are always surprised.”

Sebastian chuckles, then pulls you in for a hug. Your cheek ends up in the crook of his neck, and the feel of him is so warm and safe and good. Peeves resumes his mocking but you both ignore it, and in good time he leaves to wreck havoc elsewhere.

“Told you,” you say.

“Say it again.”

You raise a brow. “Told you?”

He smiles again, and rolls his eyes. “No, what you said before. I want to hear it again.”

You rack your brain, then realize what he means. Your heart pounds. Mirroring his smile, you lean in and whisper, “I love you, Sebastian.”

[dragonjadearts]

Who wants to hear me lore dump about my little guy?

Rusty is a kobold from deep in the Underdark. While actually from a little village called Ring's Hollow -- so named for silver translucent mushroom rings that grow in the area -- he often visited the nearby "big city" growing up. The city was called Iskternesj or "Star Stone" in draconic, named for the glittering mineral that made up the whole space, like sparkling starlight in the void. Towering spires of the curving, otherworldly black mineral arch and bend, creaking and whistling as dry winds from deep in the cavernous pit send gusts of cold air spiraling through. Homes and businesses are carved into the rocks, glowing from within with soft golden light -- although most prefer to remain in darkness, learning to ply their trade by touch and memory rather than sight. Treacherous rope bridges cross over the spires where kobolds leap and scamper in the shadows. In the center of the city, a sheer cliff-face stands, only a single narrow staircase carved into the ancient rock, crumbling and in ruins, leads to the very top. There, a great shadow dragon sits, idly swishing his tail and watching the citizens travel about their little lives. Rarely does he come down, barking orders from above for new conquests, new territory, more, more, more. His red eyes always watching. Always.

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Stop right now. I need some adventures of tiny batmom!?

Dr. Abigail Smith had never wanted children. They were loud, unruly, and messy. And in her perfectly ordered life there was no room for that nonsense.

But. When a 12-year-old girl got the drop on them and tore the cult they'd been sent to stop apart with some well placed Molotov cocktails thrown at ammunition they didn't know existed. When she screamed and it was this primal, furious sound that made her heart break. Screaming for a baby they'd ripped out of her body- Dr. Abigail Smith couldn't just leave her behind.

Intelligent though practically illiterate- it was decided that the best place for her was in the care of the female operatives. Where she could be trained and educated. Men scared her. Loud noises scared her. She crept through the tunnels always expecting to be hit. Any minor mistake set her to flinching when you walked towards her.

In the last two weeks, no one had gotten more than a few words out of her. She ate- a lot. Anything they'd give her. Snacks, meals if Abigail hadn't seen the medical reports, she'd suspect a tapeworm OR that the girl was powered by a small black hole.

And now, she stood, tucked in a shadowy corner near a staircase, following the sound of the agents laughing. Watching as they settled in to watch movies. Tense- ready to bolt at the first sign someone noticed her. Abigail moved slowly keeping her hands relaxed and visible, "76?"

"Doctor," you answered, your eyes not meeting Abigail's.

"We've got some snacks for the movie," she coaxed, feeling ridiculous. This wasn't a wild animal. But it was the only thing she knew that might keep you from hiding in your closet. The bed being too soft and too exposed for sleeping on. "Are you hungry? I think Chelle and Danya made some cookies. And there's popcorn."

Abigail held out a hand for you to take and wiggled her fingers, feeling oddly comforted when tiny, freezing fingers wrap around hers carefully.

If the other agents noticed, no one said anything as they watched Abbie put her new pet project on a stool and ply her with snacks- you were too cute and too traumatized for any of them to dislike you.

The lights turned down and the movie started and Abbie quietly took a seat- far enough from you to give you space to bolt but close enough that you could speak to her- and when the movie credits started, her heart broke.

You leaned forward just a little, entranced. The only sign you were paying attention was your stillness. The snacks she'd put on a plate for you were ignored and your pupils were huge. Reminding her irresistibly of a cat with a laser pointer. At points, tears slid down your little face and it wasn't until the movie ended and the lights went up that you looked around, blinking at the change.

"Got something you want to ask Santa for?" she tried.

"Santa wouldn't care about me," you shrug, "Even if he was real."

"How do you know-"

"Father said he was made up. And Christmas was just pagan-"

"Well if your father said it, isn't that a better reason to believe?" she asked, teasing lightly. This was the most you'd said since you gave your statement for their records.

"Pretty sure murderers don't get put on the nice list."

And before she can say anything, you're gone. With your snacks. Suddenly feeling too exposed and too anxious to be anywhere but the corner of your closet where you'd made your little nest.

[glamrpevents]

Perched atop the Panier hill, in the oldest quarter of Marseille, the InterContinental Marseille – Hotel Dieu, is the most majestic of the luxury hotels in the city. Overlooking the Vieux Port, its massive staircases, vaulted passages and magnificent terraces all bear witness to the former status of the building: the Hôtel-Dieu, a superb 18th century edifice, inaugurated by Napoleon III, in person. This classified historical monument, with its unique setting, offers an inimitable view of the landmark Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde Basilica, while firmly seated in the present-day, modern and very contemporary Marseille. The MuCEM (museum for Europe and the Mediterranean) that opened its doors in 2013, is a short walk away, as are the old Joliette Docks with their animated business quarter, shopping outlets and ever-growing trade and commerce. The Hôtel-Dieu continues to stand tall above the city, as it has done for centuries: it is an ideal venue for anyone wishing to really get to know Marseille, both past and present.

Nestled within the historic setting of Marseille's iconic Hotel Dieu, the InterContinental Marseille boasts a blend of timeless elegance and modern luxury. With breathtaking views of the Vieux Port and the Mediterranean Sea, this five-star hotel offers impeccable service, exquisite dining options, and indulgent spa facilities. Each room and suite is meticulously designed to provide the utmost comfort and sophistication, ensuring a memorable stay for discerning travelers seeking an unforgettable experience in the heart of Provence.

Elevate your experience at the rooftop bar, where sophistication meets skyline panoramas. Offering a stylish ambiance and unparalleled views of Marseille's historic Vieux Port and the azure Mediterranean, this rooftop oasis invites guests to indulge in handcrafted cocktails, fine wines, and gourmet bites. Whether basking in the glow of a sunset or reveling in the city's nightlife against a backdrop of twinkling lights, the rooftop bar promises an unforgettable rendezvous high above the bustling streets of Provence's vibrant capital.

It’s no secret locally, that the Capian bar is one of the trendiest in Marseille, and a huge favourite among cocktail enthusiasts. The word ‘capian’ derives from the local word for the pointed prow of the emblematic, brightly-coloured fishing boats, with their generous curves, that ply their trade in the ports of the Mediterranean. This bar has it all! An elegant décor, a superb terrace, a view of the Vieux-Port, the protection of Notre-Dame de la Garde and to cap it all, a head bartender, Xavier Gilly, national and international award winner.. Together with his talented barmen, Xavier has created over 50 inimitable cocktails for a drinks menu with over 200 international alcohol brand references, including a magnificent collection of premium spirits.

LES FENÊTRES: In a brasserie that is at once modern and chic and extends unto a magnificent outdoor terrace in summer, our Chef’s cuisine draws its inspiration from all things Provencal, for contemporary, audacious dining.

THE TERRACE: Grandiose, sublime, glamorous, extraordinary: these are but a few of the adjectives to describe the 750 m2 that are your best introduction to the capital of Provence, the city of Marseille and its 300 days of annual sunshine. The terrace of the InterContinental Marseille – Hotel Dieu is set above and slightly back from the Vieux-Port, under the benign gaze of Notre-Dame de la Garde, emblem of the city.. All year round our staff is delighted to share this paradise with you. The life and times of the Provence is well represented here, as is the very soul of the wonderfully fashionable city of Marseille and the eternally-beautiful Provence Here you can contemplate the Lacydon cove (calanque) where the local art de vivre finds its origins: and the art de vivre in Marseille is well-known indeed!

ROOM SERVICE: Room service is gastronomy at your fingertips, when you wish. Dishes prepared by our Chefs are delivered to your room by staff there to ensure that you enjoy every moment of your stay. Whether you opt for a Continental breakfast, a healthy choice meal, à la carte, starters and salads, regional dishes, in season dishes of the da, pasta, pizzas, sandwiches, burgers, desserts, the wine menu and so much more… At Room Service there’s a lot to choose from.

The pool is perfectly secluded, protected from public view and from the sun’s rays, with water at 28°C, in an infinitely peaceful setting. The decor is reminiscent of the fountains and lavoirs (communal clothes-washing places) of traditional Provence. The decor draws its inspiration from the Palais Longchamp, built to celebrate the arrival of water in the city of Marseille in the 19th century. The pool is enclosed on one side by a stone wall down which water gently cascades into the pool, providing a charming, pleasant backdrop. The lighting, both subtle and discreet, with a mix of warm and cool tones, evokes the changing luminosity of the city and reinforces the sense of peace.

BEACHES NEARBY:

Plage des Catalans: Located just a short distance from the hotel, Plage des Catalans is a popular urban beach offering golden sand, clear waters, and stunning views of the Château d'If and the Frioul Islands.

Plage du Prophète: Situated to the south of Vieux Port, Plage du Prophète is another nearby option known for its relaxed atmosphere, calm waters, and picturesque setting against the backdrop of the Corniche Kennedy.

Plage de la Pointe Rouge: A bit further from the hotel but still easily accessible, Plage de la Pointe Rouge is one of Marseille's largest beaches, featuring fine sand, various water sports activities, and a vibrant beachfront promenade with restaurants and cafes.

Plage de la Vieille Chapelle: Tucked away in the charming Vallon des Auffes neighborhood, Plage de la Vieille Chapelle offers a more secluded and intimate beach experience, surrounded by rugged cliffs and traditional fishing boats.

In a decor inspired by the traditional Provencal fountains and lavoirs (communal clothes’ washing places) the Spa by Clarins offers time out: a moment of sheer revitalizing relaxation in an ambience redolent of the warmth and sensuality of the Mediterranean basin. There are 5 treatment booths including a double VIP booth, indoor swimming pool, indoor relaxation areas and a spacious fitness centre: the spa offers you a bubble of physical and spiritual relaxation, restful with Provencal tones. The Marseille Spa by Clarins is the first ever care and beauty treatment centre from this world-famous brand to open in the city of Marseille and indeed the first ever partnership between the brand and an InterContinental hotel in France.

Endowed on three sides with large French windows, the fitness center benefits from pervasive light and has an incomparable view of the Hôtel Dieu and the Vieux Port. It is fitted with the very latest, high quality Technogym equipment, WIFI connections and personalized, touch-sensitive screens:

Treadmill

Indoor cycles

Elliptical trainer

Rowing machine

Muscular strength exercise machine

Aqua jogging

Our personal trainer, several-times French champion in Taekwondo and Olympic coach in the 2012 games in London, is on hand should you request her services, to help you get back in shape, with the methods best adapted to you, personally.

Bedroom 1: 1 King

Bedroom 2: 2 Queen(s)

Sofa bed

Rollaway beds not permitted

Cribs permitted: 1

Common Area

Each room provided with a terrace

Ana De Armas, Hayley Williams & Jake Gyllenhaal

Anne Hathaway, Kendall Jenner & Andy Samberg

Joe Keery, Candice Swanepoel & Camila Morrone

Danielle Campbell, Louis Tomlinson & Harry Styles

Damiano David, Dove Cameron & Bella Hadid

Elsa Hosk, Charlie Hunnam & Madelyn Cline

Nicholas Galztine, Aaron Tveit & Taylor Zakhar Perez

Jenna Ortega, Jennifer Lawrence & Sophia Bush

Madison Bailey, Michael Clifford & Ashton Irwin

Kim Kardashian, Pete Davidson & Ariana Grande

Joe Jonas, Taylor Swift, Travis Kelce

Madison Beer, Zendaya Coleman & Mason Gooding

Andrew Hozier Byrne, Paul Wesley & Nina Dobrev

Ross Lynch, Jacob Elordi & Troye Sivan

Victoria De Angelis, Cari Fletcher & Renee Rapp

Romee Strijd, Austin Butler & Chris Evans

Zoey Deutch, Selena Gomez & Justin Bieber

Andrew Garfield, Callum Turner & Dua Lipa

Kaia Gerber, Nick Jonas & Justin Hartley

Barry Keoghan, Shawn Mendes & Sabrina Carpenter,

David Corenswet, Florence Pugh & Henry Cavill

Chase Stokes, Sydney Sweeney & Kelsea Ballerini

Chris Hemsworth, Emily Ratajkowski & Dacre Montgomery

Drew Starkey, Rudy Pankow & Grant Gustin

Glen Powell, Cindy Kimberly & Dylan O’Brien

Kylie Jenner & Liam Payne, Thomas Doherty

Mike Faist, Phoebe Tonkin & Steven R. McQueen

Olivia Rodrigo, Luke Hemmings & Calum Hood

Ryan Gosling & Gigi Hadid, Camila Mendes

Ryan Reynolds, Sophie Turner & Blake Lively

Hailee Steinfeld, Niall Horan & Barbara Palvin

Tom Holland, Joe Burrow & Hailey Baldwin

Perrie Edwards & Zayn Malik, Cody Christian

Billie Eilish, Jessica Alexander & Odessa A'Zion

Robert Pattinson, Chase Matthew & Suki Waterhouse

Maggie Lindemann, Kevin Jonas & Josephine Langford

Dianna Agron, Tom Hiddleston & Riley Keough

Margot Robbie, Melissa Barrera & Alycia Debnam-Carey

Ryan McCartan, Greta Onieogou & Lauren Jauregui

Anna Kendrick, Dakota Fanning & Avan Jogia

As per our usual routine, we'll be switching rooms mid-week.

[teaandransacking]

I'm a fan of yours on ao3 and I binged your The Devil All the Time series this week - so good OMFG - and your soft smut is immaculate.

Would you bless us with some Lucy/Lockwood first time smut including the Lockwood Pajamas (tm)?

First of all YOU HAVE READ THAT FIC? I feel like only about 10 people in the world read that, and I loved writing it. Thankyou.

Just for you, please enjoy some 5-ply soft, non explicit smut.

Let's pretend these characters are 18 or older, OK? OK.

except when we went from friends to this

Words: 2500 ~ Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle ~ Content: super soft non explicit, dreamy first-time sex.

It all begins with a present from Flo.

Lockwood is confused at first. A hotel? He hasn’t been inside a hotel - the ones that are unhaunted, anyway - since he was a small boy in a boy size suit, eating afternoon tea with his parents on his birthday. The memory makes him feel funny, and he rubs his hand over his chest as he looks down at the shiny voucher, out of place against the cheap formica of the cafe tabletop.

Flo frowns. “I hope I didn’t overstep, Locky. It’s your birthday, after all, and I thought - well, you could take Lucy with you-”

He looks up at that, and a different sort of emotion makes his chest tight. Fantasy snapshots flit through his mind. Lucy, walking down the grand staircase of a fancy hotel, a cocktail dress flaring out from her hips. Lucy, covered up to her neck in bubbles in a fancy hotel bathtub.

He could give her that.

He traces his finger along the edge of the card. “How did you get this?”

“Bartered for it, didn’t I. Amazing what you can get when you’ve got an… eclectic skill set like mine.”

Lockwood thinks it’s best he doesn’t ask any more questions about that.

“What about George?” he blurts out, wondering if the other young man will feel left out.

Flo smiles slowly. “You know I’ve never been entirely altruistic, Locky. If you and Lucy are out, well, I’ll have George and his ghormeh sabzi all to myself, won’t I?”

Oh. Lockwood looks down into his cup of tea, feeling a flush creep up his neck. “Right. And he’s…. Okay with it?”

“Would I have asked if he wasn’t?” She grins. 

Thinking about the implications of her smile and her words too long makes Lockwood think of the time with the yoga, so he blinks the image away, sipping tea. “Thankyou,” he says eventually. “This is really kind. I appreciate it.”

Flo grins that cheshire cat grin again. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, but tucks the gold-edged voucher away safely inside his coat.

He knows what Flo thinks is going to happen if he takes Lucy to the hotel. Maybe it will, and maybe it won’t, but what Lockwood wants most is just to be with her, uninterrupted time, where they can talk and cuddle and laugh and relax, without the threat of Visitors - or any other kind of unwanted guests.

Perhaps he’ll get the Do Not Disturb sign and hang it on the door as soon as they arrive.

If Lucy agrees to go, that is.

#### 

“The Connaught?” Lucy exclaims, almost knocking over her mug of tea. She grabs it just in time, so that only a few drops spill over the edge. Her eyes are wide with excitement, and Lockwood could just drown in them, wade into those clear depths and never look back, not for anything. “That’s the poshest hotel in England!”

“So you want to go, then?” He asks, nerves cramping his stomach. “With me, I mean.”

She gives him a funny look. “Who else would I want to go with?”

He reaches across the table, from his position opposite her, runs his index finger over the back of her hand. “I wanted to be sure.”

Lucy turns her hand over, palm upwards, and tangles their fingers together. “You are a bit of an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

Relief makes his shoulders slump, and he feels the grin spread across his face. “I am well aware.”

#### 

Dinner’s at eight, the desk clerk informs them, but it’s not included in their room rate.

“Not to worry,” Lucy murmurs as they head off towards the stairs with their room key, “I packed a picnic we can eat on the carpet.”

He loves her. If he wasn’t entirely sure of it before, he is now.

The room somehow manages to be cavernous but cosy. How that’s achieved, he has no idea, and right now, he can’t bring himself to care as he watches Lucy run for the huge bed and launch herself on to it. She bounces, laughing, and it’s been so long since he’s heard her laugh like that, carefree, and when she lands, her gaze finds him.

“Come on, then! You can’t come all the way here and not bounce on this bed.”

“It’s only Mayfair,” he points out, but the smile on his face is completely irrepressible. He feels like he has to add, “at least take off your shoes.”

Lucy laughs, but wiggles to the end of the bed and shucks off her boots. “Come on, Lockwood. Remove the stick from up your arse for once.”

She says it so fondly that he can’t be annoyed, even a little bit. Truth be told, he was a bit of a stick in the mud before her, before George.

He toes off his trainers and shoves them aside before walking to the bed. For a second he falters, wondering what to do. He would have known, once, before his entire family was taken from him, before-

Lucy grabs his hand and tugs him, and he falls on top of her, their bodies flush, and she looks up at him in surprise, her lips parted slightly, and it’s an invitation he simply can’t refuse. He settles his forearms either side of her head and then he touches his mouth to hers.

It starts off soft and sweet, like many of their kisses, mostly chaste, and then she slides a hand up into his hair and sighs into his mouth, and suddenly everything inside him is on fire.

“Lucy,” he groans, drawing back to look at her. Her lips are kiss-swollen and her titian hair is spread out over the crisp, snow-white bedsheets. He’s seen some of the finest art in the known world, and none of it, not a single painting, compares to having Lucy Carlyle warm and willing under him, her gaze lust-soft and her cheeks flushed.

She smooths his hair back from where it falls over his forehead. “I did really want to see you jump on the bed, but I think this is better.”

It’s very difficult to think when their bodies are so perfectly lined up, especially since he’s never been this close to her without interruption, but he concentrates and makes himself form a reply. “I’ll do a cartwheel over the bed later if it’ll make you laugh, but for now - wild horses couldn’t pull me away from this moment.”

“You can do a cartwheel?” she asks, her brows arching up, but his expression must be a reply all in itself, because she presses her lips closed and then frames his face between her hands. “I love it here, too. I’ve, er, been thinking for a while that it’d be nice to have some time together. Hard to relax when anyone might overhear.”

“Yeah. That’s not really my thing,” Lockwood agrees.

Mischief flits across Lucy’s beautiful face. “I’d like to find out what is your thing.” And she lets her body go soft under his, spreading her legs so he’s cradled right there and his brain completely short circuits at the sensation, even through their layers of clothes.

“Have mercy,” he manages to whisper.

“On the great Anthony bloody Lockwood? Never,” she whispers, but there’s gentleness in her voice. “How about a bath, first?”

That makes him immediately imagine her naked, and for another second he can’t form a single coherent thought.

Lucy shakes her head, laughs softly, but it’s a sweet laugh, a kind, warm one. He doesn’t protest when she rolls their bodies and then hops off him, standing and holding out her hand. “Come on. A proper bath, in a proper big bath tub, with fancy bubbles! I have never had fancy bubbles!”

Lockwood has to blink again to get the cogs in his brain to turn, and then he lets himself be led into what turns out to be a palatial bathroom. It’s all sleek marble floor tiles and travertine walls, and the claw foot tub rises from the floor, a porcelain leviathan, waiting to be filled, and all he can do is stand there and imagine Lucy in it, the water fanning out her hair, and her eyes closed, long lashes resting on her cheeks.

She turns on the taps, fits the plug in the circular hole, and then eyes him. “Clothes.”

He blinks at her. “Yes. I packed them.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “We can’t get in the bath with clothes on, Lockwood.” She grins at him, and there she is, sarcastic as ever, and suddenly he feels at home again. “I’ll turn around if you like.”

Heat floods his face, and he starts to acquiesce, and then he realises, he doesn’t want her to turn around. He wants to feel her gaze on him as he undresses, and then he wants to see her peel her own layers away, and he wants to sink into the hot water with her, feel the silk of her skin and slide soapy hands over her-

And then he’s obviously dawdled too long, because Lucy crosses the space between them and starts unwinding his tie. He gazes down at her, at the overhead lights glinting off her gorgeous, silky red hair, and he drops a kiss on her forehead.

She looks up, a small smile on her lips, and continues with her ministrations until his tie lies limp around his neck, either side of the collar of his white shirt.

“I can do the rest,” he says softly.

She steps back, grinning, her eyes eating him up, and in that moment, he feels like he could take on the world, if only he could carry the light in her gaze with him always.

He discards the tie, unbuttons the shirt. He’s been shirtless in front of her before, for short periods - one memorable time when she couldn’t sleep and came to talk to him at midnight when he was already undressed - but never like this, with this superheated air between their bodies.

Lockwood shrugs the shirt off and it falls to the floor in a whisper of cotton. He doesn’t look at what he’s doing, only at her, and the naked want in her eyes could sustain him for days.

The metal buckle of his belt clinks loudly as he unbuckles it, stepping out of his trousers and pulling off his socks, and then he’s barefoot in the fancy, high-ceiling bathroom, wearing only black boxers, and for a moment, nerves shred his stomach, but then Lucy hooks a finger in the waistband of his underwear and pulls him close to kiss him, and his fears unravel into warm yearning. His arms go around her and he holds her as their mouths whisper over each other. 

Then she draws back, smiling a little, and moves to turn off the taps. “Nice and full. Water’s going to get cold. Can’t waste it.”

He glances over at the veritable lake. No bubbles, but they’ve got all night. They can always have another bath later. He opens his mouth to tell her that it’s her turn to take off her clothes, but instead hears himself say, “Might I - can I - undress you?”

Her eyes spark. “Since you ask so nicely. Come here, then.”

Lockwood joins her by the rolltop side of the bath, his hands going to the hem of her jumper, fingers curling in the softness of it, and then she lifts her arms obligingly, and he gently tugs it off. It goes the way of his clothes, unmissed, and her tank top and jeans and socks follow, and then she stands, pale and perfect in her underwear, and the shape of her blows every one of his fantasies out of the water.

Lucy whispers, “I think we’re still wearing too many clothes for a bath,” and he grins at her, and they help each other with the last of their garments, and then climb into the tub, gazing at each other.

The bottle of body wash is glass, and scented with citrus and bergamot, and it’s silky-smooth when they wash each other with it, learning the angles and curves and lines and soft spaces of each other’s bodies. There’s no words, but there’s no need for any, not when they’re cocooned here together, warm and wet and safe and together.

The water is tepid, almost cold, when they leave the bath, and Lockwood wraps Lucy in a huge, soft bath towel, and then himself, and she laughs when they run to the bed together, snuggling under the covers until they’re warm again.

Lockwood isn’t sure who makes the first move - he’s pretty sure it’s Lucy, of course it is - but one moment they’re cuddling, talking softly, and then next moment, she’s straddling his hips, looking down at him with large, soft eyes, and being under her is bliss unlike any he’s ever experienced.

“I haven’t ever - that is…” he begins, settling his hands on her hips, wanting something, wanting everything, except to disappoint her. He couldn’t bear it.

She drops a kiss on his mouth. “I haven’t either, but I’m almost certain we’ll figure it out together.”

And they do, for the first time, and the pleasure is intense and overwhelming and so much more than he could ever have expected.

He learns what to do to make Lucy sigh his name, how to make her hands fist in the bedsheets, and he does it several more times, before they eventually remember that picnic, and they eat it wearing their pajamas, sat on the carpet, looking through the big picture window up at the stars.

“I wanted to give you something special,” Lockwood begins as they lie together, after midnight, curled up sleepily in the enormous bed. “I thought about you in a pretty dress, on the big grand staircase… having a fancy dinner…”

Lucy chuckles. “Is that what you think I want? Fancy dinners? Do I need to remind you about my feelings on horseradish?”

He grins into the dark room. “No, you don’t.” He sighs, kissing her hair. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Anthony Lockwood, you never know when to bloody shut up, do you? It is perfect.” She snuggles into it, slides a leg over his. “And if you really want to make up for the lack of fancy dinner, you can order breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

[up-to-some-good]

Traditions (7/9)

So close!

Previous Part

Next Part

December 1977

James Potter was done. He was done with the longing glances and pining from afar. Done with the soft touches and blushing cheeks. If he and Lily could get their shit together in time for the Christmas holidays, then there was no reason Sirius and Remus couldn't do the same. The annual Potter Christmas Eve party was coming up fast, and James was determined that his brother would be attending with Remus Lupin on his arm.

It was the last night of term before the students went home for Christmas. The Gryffindor common room was packed with people, food, and drinks. The party, James thought, was the perfect opportunity for some well-intentioned meddling. He tried to get Lily to join him on his scheming, but she had denied him, arguing that they would "figure it out themselves" and that "meddling would only cause problems". Whatever. He knew what he was doing, and Peter would be a perfectly adequate assistant.

Plan A: Get Sirius to Drunkenly Confess

James spent the evening plying Padfoot with drinks, trying to get him drunk enough that he would either get into his feelings and confess everything to Remus, or get extra touchy and finally make the first move. It was a foolproof plan.

Except that it wasn't. He forgot to account for Remus, who looked after Sirius at all times, and kept swapping Sirius's drinks for water, keeping him hydrated and barely even tipsy. Remus himself was staying sober for the evening, so Plan B (Get Remus to Drunkenly Confess) also went out the window.

Plan C: Spin the Bottle

James got Peter to suggest the game to avoid suspicion. It didn't work, as Lily narrowed her eyes at him immediately, but Sirius and Remus seemed none the wiser. He tried to place them strategically in the circle, encouraging Sirius to sit next to Mary so he'd be directly across from Remus, but Remus refused to cooperate and planted himself on Sirius's other side.

The game did not go well. At least, not for James. He watched Sirius kiss three different people in their year as Remus scowled at them, and then had to watch his own girlfriend kiss some Ravenclaw fifth year, at which point he ended the game. Peter, on the other hand, ended up spending the rest of the night dancing with Emmeline Vance after their first kiss in the circle. This, unfortunately, also left James without his assistant for the remainder of his schemes.

Throughout the night, he tried everything. He tried making them dance together, and dance with other people. He tripped Sirius three times, trying to get him to fall into Remus's arms. He suggested playing Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever to no avail. He even tried persuading Mary to flirt with Sirius, but she only laughed and told him she didn't plan on pissing Remus off.

By the end of the night, James was seriously considering spiking one of their drinks with Veritaserum, when Lily came to sit by him. He buried her face in her neck and groaned in frustration as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"They're idiots," he said. "Complete idiots who are going to die alone."

Lily chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead before lifting his head and point him in Remus's direction.

"Just watch," she whispered.

So he did.

He watched Remus beckon Sirius over to him, near the entrance to the staircase. He watched Sirius smile as Remus said something about a new Christmas tradition, before taking his hand and walking him over to the stairs. Remus stopped there and gently touched Sirius's chin, tilting his head up to the ceiling, where he spotted a sprig of mistletoe. Sirius smiled even wider, then leaned up to meet Remus in a kiss, his hands tangling in golden curls.

"They did it," James whispered in amazement.

Lily hummed her agreement.

"All by themselves!" he added.

She hummed again and pulled him closer.

"I'm an idiot," he said, finally.

"You are," she responded. "But you're my favourite idiot."

[endcant]

spent the past week in connecticut

asked where the side door out of the building we were staying at was and the security guard couldnt remember but tried to take us there and instead accidentally led us to a spiral staircase that extended down below the building so deep that i couldnt see the bottom and it exuded a strong dead animal smell and we all peered down at the staircase’s dizzying descent into darkness and the guard was like lol we are NOT going to go down there. lets just go ask the person working late in the office where the door is

on day 1 of actually working we went to take photos for a bar and found out that they had people living inside the bar. like 4 tenants. there was just a door next to the staircase from the 2nd story bar area to the 3rd story rooftop lounge and the owner of the bar was like yeah you can go wherever just dont go in that door there people live in there. apparently the current 4 tenants are chill but the previous tenant would call the cops on the bar she lived in for being too loud and throwing parties late at night

i got some kind of horrible sore throat sickness or allergy that irritated my asthma the next day and tried to get a telehealth appointment and the doctor straight up just didnt call until like an hour after my appointment was supposed to be so i didnt have time to get my inhaler after bc the walgreens my tele-doctor sent the perscription to had their pharmacy closed Most Of The Time

the day after that (or maybe the day after the day after that) when we went to go finally get my inhaler, a person followed us for like 6 blocks and we couldnt actually walk back to the airbnb or our workplace for the week while they were obviously following us. they did stop us and engage us in a conversation too uncomfortable for me to repeat here

at some point after that we had to go take photos in the kitchen of a restaurant thats like if cracker barrel were italian and had no decorations. and the kitchen was so full of aerosolized onion and garlic stank that i felt it burning my lungs (thanks alliums allergy) but i stuck it out for as long as possible bc i like photography and the kitchen staff were fun. after that point i sounded and felt like i had some kind of horrible respitatory infection between my already sore throat and the horrible burning in my lungs and the phlegm my body produced as a result

almost every night we tried to go eat after work and people were like “everything here is open late!” but then when we went to a restaurant that every human person we spoke to and also google swore would be open it would either be the one day they werent open at that time or just closed for no known reason

while we were at the air bnb the a state police marshal or something came to the door and served us an eviction notice because our air bnb host wasnt paying her rent to the building owners. this surprised us because we were being charged an arm and a leg for a barren millennial landlord grey cell with a couch, a bed consisting of 2 tempur pedics stacked one upon the other, a roll of less-than-one-ply toilet paper, a keurig with mostly decaf kcups, and a mustard packet

we ended up moving to a hotel (unrelated to the eviction) and the lady who checked us in gave us a much shittier room than what was paid for and thought we werent gonna notice and when one of us went down to ask about it she was like “oh its an upgrade because you have a view now” and when i heard that she had said that and looked out the window at our view of 2 different concrete highway overpasses i was like this is fishy and went down and asked the other front desk attendant and he put us in the room we got and there was actually like room for us to stand and to have our belongings and there was a fridge and we were like ok so that one front desk attendant was just fucking with us. like it didnt even take any time whatsoever for the other guy to change our rooms and there was no one in line either time we asked. she just did that bc she saw us and was like no i dont think so

staying in the city we stayed in was interesting bc it was a bustling downtown area but had an incredibly small town vibe. we found out a bunch of lore about everybody and every place in the local restaurant/bar industry including how people climb the ranks in the industry there, why people with prestigious degrees in cool areas of study were likely to stick around as a bartender or cook for like a decade and a half, which places were ripping other places off, and which restaurants were mostly venues for cocaine consumption (bc they serve mostly cops i guess?) and a bunch of shit like that.

we also learned non-restaurant lore about the city we stayed in like how the streets were incredibly powerfully windy by design bc the people who planned the downtown district designed it as a funnel to suck the sewage stink from the city out to sea??? and also that theres underground tunnels and that most buildings extend underground farther than we expected

we learned that connecticut is very proud of its seafood and town-sized casinos and its special pizza style that is flat like new york pizza but slightly different in some ways. we also learned that the driving is allegedly the worst in the country and that they cant get waves on their beaches because long island is in the way. we also also learned that some places are still separated into “xtown” and “xville” in the same way places were separated into town and village during the colonial period. they just never merged the names i guess.

when we tried to leave the city, the flight we were supposed to be on was overbooked and like 20 different people who were trying to go to tennessee were left to fend for themselves. we arrived later than most of the rest but the flight did still take off before its scheduled time and when we went to check our bags the lady at the desk was like “oh honey that plane is gone” so all us tennesseegoers heading out of connecticut there ended up independently finding our way on to the same flight out of the hartford airport, where we all met up again at the gate like “wow glad thats over and we’re going to get on this flight to a luxuriant DC layover and then the connecting flight to nashville all together (: we did it!” and then the president decided to land in DC unexpectedly so our flight was delayed by an hour and a half so us and the other flyers-to-tennessee had to pathetically jog from one end of the DC airport to the other as a large huffing and puffing gaggle of randomized but average and not particularly athletic citizens encumbered by our comical amount of barely-cutting-it carry on baggage and heavy “personal item” backpacks. we got on our flight barely on time and then that flight was late to take off anyway and we probably couldve walked and been fine

final note about CT: i have never seen a TSA line so jam-packed with homeland security and pro army propaganda. like the whole thing was packed into a relatively small space with a billboard sized ad about how the army is about love or something, a huge banner across the ceiling of the whole hall about how dope and patriotic the TSA and DHS are, a triangle folded american flag over a black and white memorial photo of some army person on a wall, and several TVs showing us an official looking guy in front of an american flag giving an ever looping speech on the importance of the TSA security check. modt places are just like. follow the rules and dont do anything stupid so we can all get on with our day. and hartford is like in GOD and HOMELAND SECURITY we trust if you SEE SOMETHING then SAY SOMETHING we rely on CITIZENS LIKE YOU to SUPPORT OUR TROOPS by PROTECTING AMERICA from THE ENEMY

connecticut was kinda like a normcore cliche-american-but-not-in-a-texas-way fever dream. some of my strange or bad experiences were not the fault of the state of connecticut nor its citizens but the whole trip had the same vibe

5/10

thats my review of my connecticut trip

[dracoqueen22]

Death Deferred- Fic Snippet

There's only one type of ghost hunter.

That's the answer Newlyn gave anytime someone questioned his legitimacy or his capability. Ghosts existed, in several different forms, this was a provable fact. Haunts. Spirits. Banshees. Lingerers. Wraiths.

There were as many different types of ghosts as there were concoctions in Newlyn's alchemy book. The dead rarely rested in peace, and they always had something to say after the fact, very loudly if no one was listening. They didn't like to be ignored. It made them angry, and angry ghosts were dangerous ghosts.

Newlyn's hope was to get to them before they got angry, but that rarely happened. People tended to ignore their hauntings until they got deadly, because again, ghosts didn't like to be ignored.

So. Was Newlyn a real ghost hunter?

If asked, he'd smile and say, "there's only one type of ghost hunter," and then he'd launch into a summary of all the methods at his disposal. As long as he knew what he was getting into, he could be effective. It was knowing what he was up against that was the trick. That and plying his trade with a wealthy, but impressionable mark. 

There's only one kind of ghost hunter, and Newlyn was the best at what he did. All you had to do was ask him.

Which was why he stood outside the Nightsworn gates, watching them swing open with nary a creak. The rich, the elite, nothing they owned made a noise of disuse. The hinges were well-oiled, the ornate metal curved and gleaming.

Newlyn adjusted his vest and stepped inside as soon as there was room for him to pass. The gates immediately shifted to close again behind him, emanating magical energy. This was no cheap enchantment. Trust the obscenely wealthy to expend unnecessary arcane resources when hiring someone would do the job just as well.

Mica Nightsworn, current matriarch of the Nightsworn family, definitely counted herself among the obscenely wealthy, though most of her coin was generational wealth. Rumor had it that her husband, the original Nightsworn, died under mysterious circumstances. Perhaps that's why Newlyn had been summoned. Had the late Nightsworn made a nuisance of himself?

Nightsworn Manor loomed in front of him, a three-story construction of wood and stone, ivy crawling up the sides, and a balcony wrapping around the east side of the building. The Nightsworn crest hung in gilded platinum above the double front-doors, which opened as Newlyn climbed the stone-carved steps with taps of his boots.

More enchantments, more excess of magic.

Newlyn sighed. Oh, to have that much coin to waste. He stepped into a foyer, lit by a massive chandelier with a thousand tiny everlights casting tiny flickers in all directions. A pair of curved staircases led up to a second floor, and he counted no less than five doors from his vantage point. Huge tapestries decorated the walls, the Nightsworn crest most prominent in the handwoven fabrics.

"You must be the hunter." The cool, cultured voice echoed throughout the foyer.

Newlyn followed the statement to an adjoining door where Lady Mica Nightsworn herself stood, draped in shades of cream and purple, her hands clasped genteel in front of her. She dripped with poise, her lips painted in mauve to match her eyes, the poke of delicately adorned tusks barely visible. She was darker than Newlyn’s tawny-brown, and the coil of her long, black hair had been arranged in a careful twist of knots and braids atop her head. 

A servant would have spent at least fifteen minutes on those braids. 

"I am." Newlyn planted his most convincing smile on his face, dipping into a polite bow that was low enough not to offend even the most arrogant of nobility. "Zhem-Newlyn Grym, at your service."

[fishrpg]

2024-10-27: Area 27 (Regency Sweets)

Among the many vices that cattlemen and timber workers is of course a close affiliation with the women of the evening who ply the world's oldest profession. The Regency Sweets is the town's fancy house, which indicates a brothel with at least some standards. Those standards aren't necessarily high, but they are there.

The building is a two-story house with a steep gabled roof enclosing an attic. Slate-gray wooden tiles on the side give the building the appearance of a stone keep from a distance, and the front door is emblazoned with a fictional shield depicting a stylized lion. Everyone who isn't an employee must ring the doorbell in order to gain access to the house, which is a literal bell that is rung by twisting a lever attached to the door.

Immediately inside is a small foyer where deals, expectations, and client selection is hashed out. One door leads to the kitchen and small walk-in pantry used by the girls, while another leads to a small hallway for the bedrooms on the first floor. A staircase on the west wall heads up to the second floor, stopping in front of a locked door leading to the attic.

On the second floor, there are two large bedrooms that each house girls living communally in a single room stacked with bunk beds. The rest of the second floor is a collection of rooms that are little more than a closet with a bed for "hired activities." No one is in these small rooms unless money is changing hands.

Speaking of money... The town officially bans activities where money is exchanged for these kinds of services, even out here in the Indian Acre. However, Regency Sweets gets around that issue in a creative way. They sell short-time candles that burn for 5-7 minutes*. Officially, the business is just a reseller of candles that happens to staff a bunch of attractive and enthusiastic girls with varying degrees of adherence to traditional moral values. Everything that comes after the purchase of candles is technically free so the business never actually sold such favors as money.

This particular business scheme was created by madam of the house, Vera Potts, who is also the de facto owner of the building (though the property is officially titled in the name of one of Vera's male cousins in case political opinions shift regarding women being able to own property). Vera is in her early 20s, though she is constantly bruised and sore from a joint hypermobility condition (which would be called classical Ehlers-Danlos syndrome today, but likely known only as delicate joints or something similar on the frontier). She's exceptionally well-read and also unnervingly perceptive of client's hidden intentions. Vera also keeps a list of "influential" clients who she can threaten to name in order to keep the local government and business environment operating in her favor.

*The story of the brothel candle is likely more an urban legend than an actual historical occurrence, but I'm including it because it allows for potentially interesting gameplay situations regarding obtaining and bargaining for candles.

[jassrain]

Pirate Adventure Epilogue

Rain adjusted her dress and tugged at her corset again, then sighed as she looked up at the house. It had been at least fifty years, maybe more since she saw young Jimmy, her cabin boy. After leaving her service he went on to join the royal navy and rise to the rank of admiral. “Right,” she muttered to herself and gave the knocker a solid pounding. After a few moments the door was opened by a young woman in a white dress of lace and frills, she was an inch shorter than Rain with sandy brown hair pulled into a tight bun giving the young woman a severe look.

“May I help you?” The woman asked, looking Rain over, her expression was of annoyance that some woman was at her grandfather’s door. “You are not welcome here today, ply your trade somewhere else, my uncle has been warned about this day.”

“I’m not here for your uncle and I’m not that kind of lady, my grandmother was captain Crimvarinova, I have a message for the admiral,” Rain half truthed, being a half dragon granted her a long life and slow aging after she came of the age of twenty, now a melinia and a half later she still looked in her twenties, almost thirty if she was honest with herself.

The woman narrowed her eyes and started to close the door, “we’ll have no further dealings with that privateer and pirate,” she finally snapped out. She was about to slam the door dramatically when a white gloved hand stopped her.

“The Admiral has been expecting her,” Rain recognized Hawk, the large man was now withered and lean, though the years seemed to have been kind to him. The young woman looked between Hawk and Rain, then huffed and stormed off, it would have been quite dramatic if her ruffle didn’t catch on one of the stuffed bear’s claws, yanking her to fall on her rear. Hawk snorted a laugh as did Rain. Once the young woman was aided to her feet, by a passing maid, and gone, Hawk waved Rain inside, “this way, captain, as I said the admiral has been expecting you.”

“Never any pretense with you Mr Hawk,” Rain chuckled following her former first mate, “how long have you been in Jimmy’s employ?” She asked to both make conversation and confirm that Hawk was not one of the servants that the girl could order around.

“Going on forty five years captain, I hit some rough seas after we parted and young Jimmy, just promoted to Commodore James, at the time helped me out, and I became his valet. There have been a few campaigns where we wondered what captain Crimvarinova would do?” Hawk chuckled.

“Considering that Jimmy made admiral, I’d say you guessed correctly,” Rain smiled proud of both men. “Sorry to hear you hit rough times and I wasn't there.”

“After we disbanded I tried looking for you, you were like a ghost” Hawk waved his hand to dismiss the thought.

As they talked he lead her through several halls and up several staircases.

“Place is like a maze, Jimmy did well,” Rain commented.

“At the admiral’s insistence,” Hawk chuckled, “he wanted coming to him to feel like an adventure.”

Rain nodded in appreciation, and began looking closer at her path through the admiral’s house. Halls had mirrors angled just so to extend the hall and not see oneself in the reflection. Alcoves along the hall had full sized and almost lifelike paintings of different landscapes, one had mountains, one a tropical beach, another a frozen tundra. The last alcove before the admiral’s office was of the fae sea they were on decades ago.

“That one is a favorite of the children that visit me, or visited me, my granddaughter feels they over excite me.” Jimmy grunted annoyed. “It’s good to see you, captain.”

Rain turned from the painting to Jimmy, “admiral, cabin boy,” she returned his salute and winked, “I must say you’ve done well for yourself.” He wore a dark suit and bowtie, a few distinguishing medals hung on his chest none were of significant note, but that he wore them made them valuable and important to him. He also wore a powder white wig and held a battered black cocked hat under his arm, though stooped he was now a few inches taller than Rain.

“Thank you kindly,” Jimmy responded, now the years showed more in his voice and stature. “Now I am concerned, since we parted ways, I have looked for you like most of the crew, ignoring your warning that when next we meet will be at the end, is, is it time?”

“Yes, it is time admiral, the end of your time here. Like many who have traveled with me you’re given a chance to start anew in the fae world if you choose. Both of you.” Rain looked from Jimmy to Hawk.

Jimmy looked to know his answer, Hawk seemed to be struggling with the thought, something she never saw on the big man’s face before.

“You can’t! Grandfather you can’t!” The young women from the door protested and stormed to them through the hall.

“Being dramatic Pheobe?” Jimmy smiled, “my granddaughter, I love her and dote, she dotes on me a little too much, she should be married and presenting me with great grandchildren to tell stories too.” Jimmy's voice got louder so Pheobe could hear him over her stomping, that stopped her in her tracks and turned her beat red.

Rain chuckled at the sight and walked to the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder sighed, “your grandfather has made his decision, long ago, but Celeste the fae princess wished that I make him the offer again.”

Pheobe regained her composure and looked from Jimmy to Rain, even Hawk seemed to relax some.

Jimmy nodded, a touch of sadness in his eyes, “the one story I never shared since it isn’t completely mine. Captain, with your permission, may I?”

“Yes, admiral, you have my permission and the permission of Celeste,” Rain nodded. “Hawk, the admiral has made his choice and now for you to make yours, do you wish to live in among the fae?”

Hawk looked to the admiral and Pheobe, then to painting of the fae sea and back to Rain. “I wish to stay captain. I wasn’t that pleased to adventure there with you or when I found myself there on my own.”

“I had to ask, Mr Hawk,” Rain smiled and on her toes kissed his cheek, “a gift from Elva, she remembers you fondly.” Hawk looked at Rain, his face a mix of surprise and relief, after a moment he started laughing.

[deadnightcoffeetime]

Nightmare-14

Chloe and Luke has arrived at the staircase, slowly sitting down as Chloe is still feeling the burning sensation. “How’s your back?”, said Luke. “Still burns.”, said Chloe. “Let me see what’s burning you.”, said Luke, Chloe places her hand held camera down, as she takes off her light jacket and removing her shirt, only leaving her bra on. “Do you see anything?”, said Chloe. He replies as he’s having a tough time seeing what it is. “Can’t tell, it’s too dark to see. Let me use the flashlight.”. Taking out his flashlight, he points it at Chloe’s back and is shocked to see something. In Luke’s wired camera screen, she’s been branded with the symbol. Like the rest of the female crew. Another 3 viewers has joined. “Whoa, that’s sick!”. “What is it?!”, said Chloe. “You’ve been branded with a symbol!, but you’re not bleeding”, said Luke. Chloe replies, as she’s concerned and shocked. “What? Show me!”. “Okay, hold up…”, said Luke. He takes a still photo on his hand held camera and shows it to her. Chloe freaks out. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!”. Luke tried to calm her down. “Calm down!”. “How can I fucking calm down, when something branded me like a cow!!”, said Chloe. “Okay, okay. Just put your shirt and jacket back on. I’ll contact Ezequio again.”, said Luke. Taking out his walkie-talkie again, he contacts Ezequio. “Ezequio, are you there?!”. Nothing but static again. Frustrated by only hearing white noise, he tries again. “Ezequio!?”. Again, only white noise. Annoyed by the white noise, Luke also decides to see Ezequio in person. “C’mon, we’re going back to Ezequio!”. Luke gets up while Chloe grabs her hand held camera, she then gets up, as both are going down the stairs.

It’s 11:15 p.m., fifteen minutes before their first break. Finishing viewing the emblem, Constance holds on the emblem, as Susan wonders if the other female crew have been branded. Taking out her walkie-talkie, she calls the other female crew. “Joanne! Chloe!”. Nothing, no response. She tries again. “Joanne! Chloe!”. Still nothing. “Fuck!…No response. I suggest we check up on the others, since we’re not getting any response.”, said Susan. “Okay.”, said Ezequio. As they’re about to leave, the piano starts playing on the background. They’ve stopped, turning around wondering who, or what, is plying the piano. In Ezequio’s wired camera screen, shows Elizabeth alongside with four ghostly deceased girls, watching her play the Moonlight Sanata.12 viewers has joined. Surprisingly their camera aren’t glitching. Nervous, scared, and shaky, the three slowly walks backwards, hoping not draw out attention. The floor creeks, making Elizabeth stop playing the piano. Each of the ghostly deceased girls looks them, making them more frighten and nervous. The sound of a small thud occurs, making Elizabeth getting up, while the ghostly deceased girls are looking at them. Ezequio turns to see what was the small thud noise. He sees Constance has bumped onto a small lamp table. He then looks back, standing in front of him is Elizabeth. Scarring him, Susan, and Constance, on the process, Elizabeth’s face feature changes to demonic again, as she walks towards them. “RUN!!”, said Ezequio. They all start to run in fear while Elizabeth is still walking to them.

Across midway of the corridor, team 2 sees they’re almost about to approach the main hall, until Elva here the sound of crackling bones. She stops and looks back, sees nothing but darkness. Joanne notices Elva isn’t next to her. She stops also, looking back to see Elva staring at the dark. Cash stops, as Joanne speaks to Elva. “Elva, why did you stop?”. “Did you hear that?”, said Elva. Joanne and Casey looks at earth other. “Heard what?”, said Joanne. “I heard bone cracking behind us…”, said Elva. “Did you said bone cracking?”, said Casey. “Yes! I heard it beyond in the sark corridor.”, said Elva. The bone cracking sounds grew rapidly louder. Casey and Joanne grabs their flashlight, pointing the light towards the dark corridor. In Casey’s wired camera screen, shows the light revealing the same 4 ghostly deceased girls and the ghostly deceased woman, that they’ve encountered earlier, but this time, one of Elizabeth’s servants is present with the ghostly deceased victims. 10 viewers has joined. The servant is standing at the center of the corridor, as the ghostly deceased woman and girl with the knife, each stand beside the servant. The other 3 ghostly deceased girls starts crawling inhumanly like a spider with the bone cracking sounds, onto the walls. Two crawls on each side of the corridor walls, and one crawls on the ceiling while the ghostly deceased woman and girl, starts jerkingly walking towards them in a fast motion with bone cracking sounds as well. Horrified, they all scream. “SHIT! RUN!”, said Casey. Joanne goes to get Elva. “C’mon, let’s go!”, said Joanne. They all start to run, as the servant stayed behind while the ghostly deceased victims are chasing them

http://www.Tumblr.com/DeadNightCoffeeTime/Nightmare-14

[privatetrip]

THE BOSPORUS OR STRAITS OF CONSTANTINOPLE

Travellers can go up the Bosporus by the steamers that ply from the Stambul end of the G-alata Bridge. Those calling at stations on the European side fly a green, those at both shores a red and green flag. The time-tables published in the local papers give Turkish time, which varies throughout the year. The trip up to the Black Sea and back without landing takes about four hours, and this is most usually done by travellers. The fare from the bridge to the last village on the Bosporus or five villages below it is the same, viz. piastres (9d.). Overcoats and wraps should be taken, especially when the wind blows from the north. A good way to see the Bosporus and the Black Sea on a fine day from different points of view is to devote a whole day to it, and take provisions from the hoteL Start on an early steamer for Beikos; get out at Beikos and walk to the Giant’s Mountain (-| hr.), whence there is a beautiful view of the Bosporus and Black Sea.

Thence walk to the Genoese Castle at Anadoli Kavak (1-J hr.), where luncheon may be eaten; from Anadoli Kavak cross the Bosporus in a boat or caique (5 to 10 ps. = 10d. to Is. 8d.) to Buyukdereh or Therapia, which are reached in half an hour; visit either of those two villages, and proceed either by steamer back to Galata, or else drive or ride overland past the aqueducts back to Pera. This trip is recommended only to good pedestrians; a guide must be taken.

The Bosporus is one of the most picturesque places in Europe, and is a succession of woodland, hill and dale, covered with villages reaching down to the water’s edge, and dotted with white marble palaces and pretty summer residences, nestling among groves of trees, or surrounded with gardens. The beauty of the Bosporus is confined to the part between the city and Yeni Mahalleh, the last works are the Sultan’s stables, permission to see whicli can be obtained through the Embassy.

Next the square is Dolmah Baghcheh Palace,a com-bination of European and Oriental architecture, built of white marble by Sultan Abd-ul-Mejid in 1853. The principal objects of interest in the palace are the staircase, the baths of alabaster, and the Throne Room or Reception Hall, one of the most impressive halls in Europe, where H.I.M. the Sultan holds a lev6e twice a year. This was the residence of Sultan Abdul- Mejid and of his ill-fated brother Sultan Abd-ul-Aziz.

[bestours]

THE BOSPORUS OR STRAITS OF CONSTANTINOPLE

Travellers can go up the Bosporus by the steamers that ply from the Stambul end of the G-alata Bridge. Those calling at stations on the European side fly a green, those at both shores a red and green flag. The time-tables published in the local papers give Turkish time, which varies throughout the year. The trip up to the Black Sea and back without landing takes about four hours, and this is most usually done by travellers. The fare from the bridge to the last village on the Bosporus or five villages below it is the same, viz. piastres (9d.). Overcoats and wraps should be taken, especially when the wind blows from the north. A good way to see the Bosporus and the Black Sea on a fine day from different points of view is to devote a whole day to it, and take provisions from the hoteL Start on an early steamer for Beikos; get out at Beikos and walk to the Giant’s Mountain (-| hr.), whence there is a beautiful view of the Bosporus and Black Sea.

Thence walk to the Genoese Castle at Anadoli Kavak (1-J hr.), where luncheon may be eaten; from Anadoli Kavak cross the Bosporus in a boat or caique (5 to 10 ps. = 10d. to Is. 8d.) to Buyukdereh or Therapia, which are reached in half an hour; visit either of those two villages, and proceed either by steamer back to Galata, or else drive or ride overland past the aqueducts back to Pera. This trip is recommended only to good pedestrians; a guide must be taken.

The Bosporus is one of the most picturesque places in Europe, and is a succession of woodland, hill and dale, covered with villages reaching down to the water’s edge, and dotted with white marble palaces and pretty summer residences, nestling among groves of trees, or surrounded with gardens. The beauty of the Bosporus is confined to the part between the city and Yeni Mahalleh, the last works are the Sultan’s stables, permission to see whicli can be obtained through the Embassy.

Next the square is Dolmah Baghcheh Palace,a com-bination of European and Oriental architecture, built of white marble by Sultan Abd-ul-Mejid in 1853. The principal objects of interest in the palace are the staircase, the baths of alabaster, and the Throne Room or Reception Hall, one of the most impressive halls in Europe, where H.I.M. the Sultan holds a lev6e twice a year. This was the residence of Sultan Abdul- Mejid and of his ill-fated brother Sultan Abd-ul-Aziz.

[holidaysbalkan]

THE BOSPORUS OR STRAITS OF CONSTANTINOPLE

Travellers can go up the Bosporus by the steamers that ply from the Stambul end of the G-alata Bridge. Those calling at stations on the European side fly a green, those at both shores a red and green flag. The time-tables published in the local papers give Turkish time, which varies throughout the year. The trip up to the Black Sea and back without landing takes about four hours, and this is most usually done by travellers. The fare from the bridge to the last village on the Bosporus or five villages below it is the same, viz. piastres (9d.). Overcoats and wraps should be taken, especially when the wind blows from the north. A good way to see the Bosporus and the Black Sea on a fine day from different points of view is to devote a whole day to it, and take provisions from the hoteL Start on an early steamer for Beikos; get out at Beikos and walk to the Giant’s Mountain (-| hr.), whence there is a beautiful view of the Bosporus and Black Sea.

Thence walk to the Genoese Castle at Anadoli Kavak (1-J hr.), where luncheon may be eaten; from Anadoli Kavak cross the Bosporus in a boat or caique (5 to 10 ps. = 10d. to Is. 8d.) to Buyukdereh or Therapia, which are reached in half an hour; visit either of those two villages, and proceed either by steamer back to Galata, or else drive or ride overland past the aqueducts back to Pera. This trip is recommended only to good pedestrians; a guide must be taken.

The Bosporus is one of the most picturesque places in Europe, and is a succession of woodland, hill and dale, covered with villages reaching down to the water’s edge, and dotted with white marble palaces and pretty summer residences, nestling among groves of trees, or surrounded with gardens. The beauty of the Bosporus is confined to the part between the city and Yeni Mahalleh, the last works are the Sultan’s stables, permission to see whicli can be obtained through the Embassy.

Next the square is Dolmah Baghcheh Palace,a com-bination of European and Oriental architecture, built of white marble by Sultan Abd-ul-Mejid in 1853. The principal objects of interest in the palace are the staircase, the baths of alabaster, and the Throne Room or Reception Hall, one of the most impressive halls in Europe, where H.I.M. the Sultan holds a lev6e twice a year. This was the residence of Sultan Abdul- Mejid and of his ill-fated brother Sultan Abd-ul-Aziz.