#Blue Cheese Dip Ii

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 1

The Arrangement

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Preparations for Oberyn's future are made. WC: 4.7K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, allusions to vaginal sex, Oberyn being a sexy little shit. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: Hello besties! Welcome to my first foray into a multi-chapter GoT fic. Before we dive in, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically. I'm excited to play around with two tropes I don't write (arranged marriages and soulmates) and try something different! Thank you for joining me on this little journey!

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

>>> Part 2

Arrange yourself for my heart

Plan for it, in all its splendor

Prepare and shape and mold yourself

To me, For me, With me

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

Oberyn had always considered Dorne to be the center of Westeros. The thought was born out of bias, his love for his home and his people always tilting the scales in a way most would deem unfair. But it was more than just a loyalty birthed from love that tied his heart to the southernmost part of the map. Dorne was beautiful - hills of sand, a burning sun, and two seas with water so blue and waves so deep. The fruit was sweeter, the wine stronger, the days dipped in languid honey gold. 

With the war over and justice delivered in more ways than one, Oberyn had thought there would be no better feeling than his return to the sandy shores of Sunspear. Even with his heartbeat muted with grief for a beloved sister lost, he still felt a soft swell of peace when his feet touched those first sandy dunes, the sound of crashing waves filling his head, the sun-soaked air coating his lungs.

Oberyn did not think it possible for that peace to be so easily taken.

“Marriage?”

“Yes, brother. Marriage.”

Funny how one word can skew the direction of one’s life so quickly. How the prospect of something that most would easily agree to, perhaps even take joy in, could shake and shatter an easy landing.

Doran says the word so matter of factly, leaning back in his wheelchair, regarding Oberyn across the long width of the table, his studious gaze more piercing than it has any right to be. A full breakfast is spread out between them — berries and cheese and honey-glazed breads sweeter than sin — meant as a welcome home in honor of the second-born prince, a celebration for his triumph over The Mountain. Tonight there would be a feast, one to mark the end of the war and the Lannister’s reign; a newly crowned King of Westeros to toast to. 

Oberyn had been looking forward to the pomp and circumstance, if only to give him a chance to drown himself in Dornish wine, the promise of sleeping off the effects in Ellaria’s arms in his own bed a tempting reward for his troubles. He had expected a lecture of some sort from his brother in the between of it all; a request he take a seat on some council or maybe a post within the city watch. He would have even entertained an encouragement to begin the search anew for his soulmate.

But now he sees his brother’s ploy for what it truly is. 

A trick.

A game.

An arrangement.

Tension stretches out between the two men, years of twisted perception coloring their opinions of one another, all manner of things unsaid mixed amongst the decadent feast that now lies untouched.

“I have never entertained the idea of a wife. Not once. I hardly see why you think I would now, my Lord.” Oberyn lets the last word drip from his lips with utter disdain, refusing to acknowledge the propriety of station when his brother has tried to trick him so. One of the many benefits of being second born was the lack of obligation on his part, and he had exploited the fact in excess, happy to allow his brother all the privilege of a crown. 

A privilege, it seemed in his brother’s mind, had run its due course.

“Because, Prince Oberyn,” Doran starts, his words spoken with a careful pace, “you are to be named my heir.”

The ground falls out from beneath his chair, every single sound within the great hall expanding and focusing in on him; every color too bright, every noise too loud. The crash of the waves against the palace walls is suddenly overwhelming, a sound that once reminded him of his home now a painful cacophony in his ears.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Oberyn is standing, one word heavy on the tip of his tongue, and yet it will not come. 

Doran, ever patient, continues on. “You will be Lord of Sunspear, Oberyn, as is your right by birth and by decree.”

“And if I refuse?” He murmurs, eyes trained on the grainy wood of the table below. “The marriage? Your throne?”

His eyes flit to the other man just in time to see his reaction. Doran, for his part, looks surprised, the sentiment pulling a chuckle from deep within Oberyn’s chest. Could his brother really be so obtuse? So set in his own ways? Was he truly incapable of accepting that some may not long for power? 

At the sound of his laughter, the older man scowls, dark eyes set upon him with barely cloaked anger. For a moment, Oberyn thinks he sees his brother move to stand, a pained look stealing across his features briefly before settles back further into his seat and speaks again. 

“Have you no sense of honor left, my brother? Did your battle with The Mountain steal the last of your love for your family away? Or perhaps justice was the only thing keeping you tethered to us?”

“I avenged our sister–”

“Who is gone! She is gone, Oberyn,” Doran urges, one finger pushing down onto the table, emphasizing his point with practiced precision. “And it is us who remain! To carry on, just the same as those who came before. It is our right! Our duty! We need an heir. A legitimate hei–”

“My daughters are legitimate!” The interruption is roared, the scream of his voice echoing up into the wide open ceilings, coated in an anger he had thought he left to die beneath the suffocating rubble of the Red Keep. The fury leaves him as fast as it came, and in its wake there seems to be only one option left.

He turns away abruptly, icy cold spite bleeding out between the brothers with every step he takes away.

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

The charcoal in her hand smells of smoke, earthy and bitter, a scent that will cling to her fingers long after the day is done. It’s a perfect bedfellow to the fire crackling in the far corner of the room, the bright blend of reds and yellows giving just the barest illusion of warmth. 

Winterfell was named well. Even with winter fading into the pages of the history books, the north still carried a bitter cold, one she feared she would never be fond of. 

Her entire lifetime had been spent between the cold stone, searching for moments of warmth beneath her mother’s skirts or father’s arms. They were stolen, like bits of bread or cheese when the cooks had their backs turned, a tiny treat to melt on her tongue when nothing else in the frigid halls of Winterfell could. 

Her parents were gone now, casualties of time and its ever pressing need to march forward. She counts the smallest of blessings that they were gone before the Walkers came, thankful at least that they were spared the heartache of war.

They passed quietly, together in their bed, hands intertwined, palms pressed tightly; soulmates destined to walk those last steps together. A strange twinge dips down low in her belly; something like jealousy, she thinks, that her parents found each other so easily. They moved together with such certainty. A confidence given by fate or the Gods or whatever it was that made the world exist as it did. 

And in contrast, she had decided long ago, that she would gladly trade the suredness of a match to her soul if it meant she got a say in the outcome of her life.

Still – did her life look any different now than it did back then? Perhaps in the grandest of schemes. But…

Her father had been in charge of the stables, her mother a close companion to Lady Stark. And now she held a similar seat, sitting near the side of Sansa Stark, once her childhood playmate, grown into the Queen of the North. School lessons and daydreaming exchanged for talks of trade agreements and wall management. If she closed her eyes it would be easy to imagine two young girls in thick dresses and fur lined coats giggling over future soulmates and happily ever afters.

For the smallest moment in time, Sansa had hoped her soul’s match to be Joffrey, waxing poetic about true love and blonde haired babies. Though there had been endless heartache surrounding the truth, it had been a day she celebrated when the raven arrived from King’s Landing, Sansa’s elegant handwriting informing her that she and Joffrey were not to be wed. 

So many things never came to pass, for either of them. Soulmates and love stories set aside in the name of survival, and through it all, she watched as the younger girl grew to hold the weight of a crown she was born to wear. And she was content to live the rest of her days honoring the Starks the same as her parents did, ever aware of all she has to thank them for.

A roof over her head and a job to do – a noblewoman by the queen’s decree – she helped uphold House Stark at Sansa’s behest and in return, was given the freedom to do as she pleases within the confines of Winterfell’s stone walls. Council meetings littered with talks of policy and procedures sitting neatly between walks through the woods and time spent fireside, her fingers stained black, her dresses soaked with snow, her head swimming with negotiations. Lineage and duty tied her to this cold place, history and love filled it with warmth. 

She considers the scrap of parchment in her lap, the blacks blended into varied shades of grey, a picture of an empty chair staring back at her. She traces the shape of it, a regal rendering, more throne than chair, but it looked lonely in the bleak streaks of black and white. Something missing that she couldn’t put a name to. 

The image had come to her in a dream, the compulsion to sketch it following quickly after. When the queen had dismissed her for the day, she retreated quickly and quietly to the main sitting room, fingers itching for the warmth of charcoal, for the smooth feel of parchment, the empty chair sitting heavy at the back of her dream.

Perhaps if she could see it, hold it, in more than just her mind’s eye, then its purpose would present itself. 

The only answer she’s given is the snap of the fire at the far end of the room. 

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

Oberyn has no desire to make mention of Doran’s plans to Ellaria. Upon his arrival to his quarters he sends for her, the servant given the task in a venomous tongue that he’ll remind himself to apologize for later. For now he kicks off his boots and strips down to his trousers, pacing the room from end to end, the monotony doing nothing to contain his frustrations. 

He considers the how and the why and the who of his current situation, anxious for someone to blame, desperate for a way out. He snaps his jaw and bites his teeth, sinking deeper into memories as he stalks about his quarters; marriage, to whatever end, never seemed as advantageous as most made it out to be. He had learned a whole lifetime’s history on the subject within the walls of the citadel, his own familial experiences confirming what books had taught him. 

A sister wed to a dragon in the name of peace —dead. A brother betrothed to his soul’s true match — alone. 

And now he…

No. 

Oberyn refuses to even consider the ridiculous notion coming to fruition.  

He leaves the very idea of weddings and brides and political good-will behind him, moving to the open terrace just off of his sitting room, intent to sulk in silence beneath the late morning sun. He throws himself down onto the nearest chaise, pouring himself a full glass of wine, and then a second, urging the sweet liquid to wash away the bitter taste of breakfast. His eyes close, the crash of the waves lulling him into a restless sleep, the heat of Dorne burning the backs of his eyelids as he ignores the reality of his brother’s sensible voice.

A different voice of reason is what drags him back from the flames. 

“Something troubles you.”

Ellaria Sand has always been too clever for Oberyn’s own good. She watches him with a calculating eye, a patience that matches his impetuous nature in more ways than he could bother to count, and in many ways she is his perfect match. There was no one better to lead his fledglings, his sandsnakes, his family. Even now, after years of sharing in each other, bending and curving to match their hearts together over time. They know what makes the other moan, cry, beg, and he is more than confident in his affections for her. 

But oh, how she vexes him so. 

“The only thing that troubles me is that it has been too long since I felt the curve of your body beneath my own.” 

She smiles, her lips yielding sweetly to him, but something curls at the back of her dark eyes, some sort of secret that he’s certain he should already know but cannot remember. He will not ask and she does not speak it. Neither would dare in the state that he’s in. Instead she steps between his spread legs, thin fingers loosening the sash that barely holds her dress to her skin, revealing herself to the Dornish sun above. 

Oberyn sits up, large palms smoothing around the dip of Ellaria’s hips to cup her backside and pull her forward until the weight of her settles in his lap. She fits to him, molds herself around his body, hard edges and soft curves matched in a way he knows and loves and craves more than words allow, the hard length of his cock fitting deep inside her warmth.

His lips find her skin, mapping a steady path up the column of her neck until finally they meet in a long overdue kiss. Their lips slant together, a soft press at first, just enough to remind him that she is here before he dips his tongue, eager to remind himself of her taste. She’s spiced honey and burning smoke, biting at the corners of his mouth, and Oberyn would gladly suffocate on her if given the chance. 

When he breaks away, it’s with a broken sob masked behind a curse, his forehead falling to her own. A wish neither of them would ever dare to say out loud hangs like a cloud above them, blocking out the heat of the sun. But it does not stop Oberyn from pressing himself to every inch of Ellaria’s skin, hoping against his own foolish heart that this is the day their match is revealed. 

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

Sansa Stark strikes an imposing figure. Her red hair and piercing blue eyes burn bright against the soft greys of Winterfell and yet she does not seem out of place. She moved through the halls with purpose, each step taken with intent, each decision made with a warm heart. She cared for her birthright with both her hands, holding it in a way so much like her father but in other ways not. 

She was born for it. Then bred for it.

 

And still, it exhausted her.

 

Sansa sits before her now, boots kicked off, wiggling her stocking-covered toes just out of reach of the fire, her head tipped back and her eyes closed, content in what must be her first moment’s peace since she walked into the great hall this morning.

 

“I’ve had a taxing day, and I’m not sure where to start.”

“Can I suggest the beginning?”

A sharp glare peeks out between long lashes before a crooked smile and the poke of a tongue are pointed her way. She can’t help but tease the queen. Their companionship has always bordered on familiarity, a shared affection between them born from a childhood raised together, a lifelong friendship cemented in the hours of war. Most nights were spent in a manner such as this, idle chit chat fractured between the complaints of leadership while the scratch of charcoal and the crack of the fire kept cadence with both women’s words. Tonight was no different, save for the topic at hand.

“Prince Doran has made a request of me.”

“A request?”

It was not unheard of but still strange to hear from so far south, especially in a time of peace.

 

“A lady for a betrothal to his younger brother.”

 

“The Red Viper?”

Sansa sits up, then nods, eyes trained on the fire, the flames seemingly giving her the strength to carry on. She makes no mention of her time at King’s Landing or her brief passing with the second-born son of Sunspear, her bottom lip caught between the uncomfortable snare of her teeth. If there is a statement to be made on him, on his character or his choices, the queen does not share it, instead watching as the shades of reds and yellows dance before her.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t found his soulmate yet. If the rumors are even considered to be half true, the numbers should be in his favor.”

Girlish snickers ring up high into rafters, the pair of them moving down to the floor, knees folded beneath them, goblets of wine tipping but not spilling in the process. They scoot forward, just enough to feel the warmth of the fire staining their cheeks, sneaky smiles shared between sips of wine.

“Were they asking after Arya?”

Sansa snorts with a roll of her eyes. “I think the entirety of Westeros knows what a fool’s errand that would be.”

 

“You, then?”

Her old friend tracks her gaze from the side of her eyes and they both smile and laugh. A fool's errand, indeed.

 

“Truthfully, Doran did not ask for anyone specific. I think he would be fine if I sent one of our mules as long as Oberyn is wed before summer arrives. No…the decision has fallen to me and my council.”

 

There is something Sansa is not saying, an annoyance left unspoken, digging a trench between the two women. Finally, with a huff and a laugh, she says what the queen is unable to.

 

“The council suggested I make the journey south and accept the Prince’s hand.”

The truth is what finally steals Sansa’s attention from the fireplace, and suddenly she is turning, grasping her hands and speaking with conviction. “I cannot make you. I would never. I…I know the agony of a forced nuptial.”

And then, softly, “But yes. Your name was the first.”

“I am not surprised,” she smiles despite herself. “I do vex the council so.”

 

“A woman of your nature, unmarried and unmatched, allowed to sit at your station is difficult for them to understand. But they forget that it is not their role to object to your presence.”

For a moment’s time neither woman speaks, choosing instead to sit together in silence, fingers tangled, the smell of charcoal and cherry wine permeating the air between them. A life of quiet snow and solid stone is considered, matched to the steady steps of duty and honor mixed with memories of love. She remembers her parents, the love they had for each other, and the love they held for Winterfell and the Starks. She matches it to her own heart, her own dedication, a life promised in honor of the north and to the woman sitting right beside her. 

The only answer possible presents itself clearly.

“I will go.”

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

The knock on the door is insistent, dragging Oberyn from sleep in a way he vows revenge for. He had been ignoring it the best he could, burying his face in the curve of Ellaria’s breast, lips finding the pulse of her heart, taking comfort in the beat of it. He’d be content to lay here, his cock hard between his legs, his lips shifting lower to capture the swell of her tit, but the knocking has yet to stop and it isn’t long before she’s pushing on his shoulder, telling him to take care of his business and hurry back to her.

He drags himself from the bed with a curse and a grunt, a cursory glance spared towards the open windows. The violet bursts coloring the sky tell him that dusk is fast approaching, and he can only assume it is a servant on the other side of the door to alert him that the celebrations will be starting soon. He makes the calculated decision to leave his robe on the floor, hoping to either scare whoever it is back to the kitchens or perhaps to tempt them inside to his bed.

 

Oberyn strokes himself slowly, his cock heavy in his hand, still slick with Ellaria’s arousal. He flings the door wide with an exaggerated flourish, a cheeky greeting dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“You can tell my brother I will be dining here tonight, but you’re welcome to jo-”

He stops short at the sight of Doran, dressed head to toe in regal shades of gold, seeming so tall when it’s Oberyn who stands and the Lord of Sunspear sits, his wheelchair pushed to the threshold of his little brother’s sanctuary.

 

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My tastes do match that of Dornish tradition but I’ll stop short of laying with my brother. We’ll leave that sort of thing to lions and dragons, yes?”

There is suddenly the weight of a robe around Oberyn’s shoulders and warm breath in his ear, Ellaria greeting Doran with a nod and a smile.

“It is good to see you, Prince Doran.”

“And you as well, my dear. How fare the girls?”

“Growing like weeds and twice a thorn in my side. They take after their father that way.”

“The best of us do. Speaking of, do you mind if I borrow your dearest paramour? I promise to only take a moment of his time from you.”

Oberyn watches the exchange through a frowned pout, arms crossed in a petulance he’s been wearing since this morning. The pair of them speak as if he isn’t even present, and before he has a chance to object to any of it, Ellaria is pushing him out into the hallway as he hastily ties his robe closed.

 

“I can only assume you are here to promise me that all plans of weddings and succession are done with. Perhaps even an apology to go along with this vow?”

“I think you know that I am decidedly not.”

“Well then you will be disappointed, dearest brother, to find that my stance on the matter has not changed.”

Doran sighs, his forehead falling to his hand, the years more apparent to Oberyn now than ever before. He thinks of maybe lightening the blow, an apology or an offer to sit at his right hand, to alleviate the sting of his refusal, but the words die on his tongue, his brother finding his voice first.

 

“You were given much leeway, Oberyn. Freedom. Mother and Father framed it beneath the guise of looking for your soulmate. A part of me had foolishly hoped, dearest brother, that you were doing just that.”

 

Oberyn wants to laugh, tries to, knocking his knuckles against the wall with a forced chuckle. But the sound breaks too soon and he looks away, considering the high arches and wide open space of his childhood home. How strange that all of sudden it feels entirely too small for his liking. When he finally turns back to Doran, he smiles.

 

“Who’s to say I wasn’t, brother? Skin to skin contact to find the true match to your heart. Is that not what the ancient tomes say?”

 

“You treat it like some game,” his older brother hisses, what sounds like a sneer chasing after his words. “But you do not know what it feels like. To find the other half of your heart, your soulmate. The whole world falls away. It’s a feeling unlike any other and you dismiss it, as if it is this fleeting thing you are too good for.”

Doran’s voice trails off, his eyes misting over in a way that Oberyn has only seen once before. He knows his older brother is thinking of his own love, his own loss; lucky enough to find his soulmate early on, unfortunate enough to lose her not long after. The pain had stolen the light from his brother’s life, any and all joy relegated to the back of his heart. Even the idea of taking a second wife in the name of duty had been too much for Doran to bear.

 

Oberyn was sick for the thought of it.

It hadn’t been hard for him to decide there and then that his love would never hold such rigid definitions

“But you do not know,” Doran keeps going, his voice crushed in frustration. “You run around with that Sand girl—“

“I love her.”

The admission rings out loud in the empty hallway, and Oberyn reveals in it, satisfied in his honesty, no matter the cost. 

“I have no doubt,” Doran agrees quietly. “But if you had found your soulmate, whether they be in the brothels or the beaches, what then? Could you bring yourself to choose?”

He refuses to look away, mournful eyes tracing Oberyn from top to bottom, and for a hair of a second he feels himself so small. Merely a lad desperate to ask his older brother what choice he should make. But the moment passes, impetuous frustration filling up the space between them yet again, his words boiling over the curve of his lips. 

“Why?” Oberyn hisses, bending down until he and Doran are nose to nose, as level a playing field as he can give himself. “Why now? When peace has finally found its way to us?”

“I am dying.”

He forgets how to breathe.

His vision blurs as his face goes numb. His fingers clench around empty air, fingernails digging deep enough to scar the skin of his palm. His skin pulls too tight. His blood burns too hot.

 

He stumbles back, can’t help but, another punch to his overwrought gut, his bare feet tripping as he tries and fails to find his footing.

“No…n-no. It is…you are…” He is muttering, mumbling in disbelief, unable to comprehend this one final truth laid down at his feet. His brother, the one he loves so dearly but resents more than he knows how to say…dying? Taken away? No.

“No.”

“The maesters have done all that they can, and still I grow weaker every day. There is no measure of time they can predict for me, but something in my bones tells me that any day marked as past is a gift that brings me closer to Mellario.”

“And you…have no heir,” Oberyn breathes out, the actuality of his brother’s request finally bearing witness before his eyes.

“I do, little brother.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw and turns away, ignoring the sting of tears in favor of facing the solution head on. There was no way about it now – he would become Lord of Sunspear – or risk allowing the decisions of Dorne’s leadership to fall to the new, and still so very young, king. And though he has no desire to play the game of thrones, it is not lost on him the rules that follow. 

Marriage.

Children.

This will fall to him now.

“Tell me about the girl.”

Doran gives a name; the same given by Sansa Stark, sent by raven only a few nights prior. 

“From the North?” He can’t help the incredulous sound of his voice, and he cringes inwardly at his own knee-jerk assumptions.

“Did your conquest of The Mountain and the end of the Lannister reign not appease you, little brother? Are you still carrying that thirst for vengeance inside you?

Oberyn scoffs. “Certainly not. The Starks were a victim of circumstance, same as most of us. I am just surprised. I thought they named the eldest girl their queen.”

“They did,” Doran confirms, his stance as steady as his answer.

“I did not think she was a fan of forced marriage, what with her messy history with them.”

“She was a little girl then. She is a queen now. Though if it helps alleviate your own feelings towards this particular arrangement, the lady took it upon herself to volunteer. Perhaps a desperation to hold on to her own agency. Not unlike someone else I know.”

“Volunteer? She has agreed to this? Then surely you will call her what she is, Doran – a crown-chasing child.”

“I can assure you she is neither. She is a woman grown and it is her allegiance to the north and her queen that has her agreeing to this arrangement. Nothing more.”

“Then she’s more fool than I feared,” Oberyn murmurs, touching his thumb to his bottom lip. 

“Well then, you’ll be two fools in matrimony. Rest well, my lord. Your bride arrives within the month.”

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

Dedications:

Biggest hugest thanks to @jazzelsaur and @astroboots and one poorly timed apple watch notification that inspired this fever dream insanity of a story. If not for the truly unhinged and chaotic nature of our DM's, this fic would never have been borne. Also shout-out to these two hoes for listening to me prattle on about GoT lore, soulmates, and all manner of "giving characters agency" discussion. I love you both a not normal amount.

Follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications for fic updates.

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell fic #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn martell x fem!oc #pedro pascal characters #radiowallet writes

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

STILL ON THAT TIGHTROPE

<the night circus magical realism kanej au>

chapter 2: INEJ ii

*

In the early afternoon, familiar voices wake her from slumber. She’s high above the ground in her hammock, cocooned safely by the familiar material of her blanket and the syrup-thick haze of dreams, but she can hear them even here; Nina’s voice clashing with Jesper’s, occasionally interrupted by Matthias’ deep rumble.

With a groan, Inej turns on her side and covers her head with a blanket. Trust Nina to wake up early the one and only time when Inej actually wanted to sleep in.

“Rise and shine, sweetcakes!” someone calls from down below. 

Inej untangles her hand from the material and flashes a middle finger from the edge of her hammock. A burst of laughter erupts on the ground.

“Someone’s cranky,” Nina snickers. “Did Brekker keep you overtime again, ‘Nej?” 

Something cold and heavy drops inside Inej’s stomach at these words, jolting her wide awake. Working overtime, little Lynx? 

But then the familiar sounds of the Circus wash over her, filling her ears, and she feels grounded again. She blinks her eyes open and fixes her eyes on the sight above her head; crimson and silver, crimson and silver. 

I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m home. 

“Why are you bullying everyone first thing in the morning, Nina?” she grumbles.

“Not first thing! There are waffles, come down or else there will be nothing left for you!” 

Now that Nina said it, Inej can smell them; the sweet, buttery smell filling the air and making her mouth water. She twists in a hammock and drops down; she’s on the ground before Nina can stop laughing at her hurry.

The four of them are already sitting around the table when she gets to them: Nina and Matthias on the one side, and Wylan and Jesper on the other. The food spread between them is glorious, golden, and perfect - Inej’s portion, served on her favorite white-and-blue chipped plate, is topped with thick sweet cream and strawberries. Kaz’s waits for him undisturbed at the head of the table - crispy and dusted with powdered sugar, and nothing else besides his usual mug of scalding black coffee.

Inej mumbles good mornings and slides to her seat, reaching for the cutlery. The first bite tastes so heavenly that she would gasp in delight if not for Wylan, who sits by her right side and moans so loudly that everyone at the table bursts into laughter. The poor boy turns beetroot red. She pats his hand in reassurance. 

“Ignore them,” she says and licks cream from the corners of her mouth. “Nina moans louder.”

“I sure do.” Nina purrs at that and bats her eyelashes at Matthias, all fake innocence. “And whose fault is that?”

Matthias cuts a corner of his waffle and dips it in cramberry jam stoically. “The kitchen’s, my dear.” 

Everyone snorts into their plates. 

“Have you devoured my portion already, Zenik?”

Kaz’s low voice cuts through the cheer when he steps inside the place, already immaculately dressed in one of his black suits despite the early hour. He drops to his seat opposite Inej, and she catches a flash of a smile on his face when he glances down at his plate.

“I would’ve, were they not as terribly bland and boring.” Nina quips back, waving a hand above her own portion which is swimming in thick honey, sweet cottage cheese, and plentiful fruit. “Just like you are. Fitting.”

“It’s your insults that are getting boring, Nina dear. You are losing your touch.”

Inej lets the familiar banter and clatter of cutlery fade into background noise. She takes a bite of one of the strawberries, crunching its little seeds between her teeth. On her right, Wylan swirls a spoon in his mug, watching everyone else at the table, doe-eyed. 

She doesn’t even remember it now, her first breakfast. Who was sitting at the table with her back then besides Kaz and Jes? She thinks Anika was there, with her blonde hair and wicked smile. And Pim and Rotty. It was so long ago, it feels like a dream within a dream, yet another layer of it. 

If she came to Nina’s tent tonight and asked her to show her the most desperate need of her heart, would it show her this? The need to unravel this beautiful illusion she is living in and see the sad, terrible truth underneath it, years gone by and unaccounted for? Or would it tell her that she wants this dream forever, wants to never wake up again? 

“Is there any truth in what you’re telling all these people?” she asked Nina once, emboldened by the bottle of peach kvas they were sharing. “In the tall handsome strangers and unexpected fortunes you promise them?”

Nina took a swig of alcohol before answering. 

“What does it even mean, truth? Is all this true ?” she’d spread her arms as if to encompass everything surrounding them: the grass, the camp, the bowl of fruit between them.

“You sound like Kaz,” Inej quipped, and Nina gasped, theatrically pressing her hands to her chest. “You know what I mean.”

With a sigh, Nina rolled over on her belly and rested her chin on her hand. She fished an apple out of the bowl, avoiding Inej’s eyes. 

“They get what they come for. Hear what they need to hear. They come out of my tent comforted, safe in the knowledge that they’re gonna pay off that loan or that they’re gonna get that girl. That everything will work out in the end. Who knows if it comes true or not?”

Inej shook her head. “Sweet lies and nothing more, then?”

Nina considered her for a moment and then shrugged. When she bit into an apple, the juice spilled down her wrist. The fruit had such a shiny crimson skin it looked as if it were a prop made out of wax and paint. 

“People need them like air, Inej.” 

And Inej, as she chews on her perfect waffle and catches the way Kaz smiles at her from the opposite side of the table, cannot, with a clear conscience, argue with this logic. 

-------read more on ao3------------

#kanej #kanej fanfiction #kanej fic #soc #soc fanfiction #soc fic #six of crows

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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[hussonbookstore]

Blue cheese crumbles kindly lend their distinctive flavor to this simple, smooth mixture. Serve with corn chips. This dip tastes better the longer it chills before serving.

#Blue Cheese Dip Ii #Blue #Cheese #Dip #Ii

[evanescible]

Blue cheese crumbles kindly lend their distinctive flavor to this simple, smooth mixture. Serve with corn chips. This dip tastes better the longer it chills before serving.

#Blue Cheese Dip Ii #Blue #Cheese #Dip #Ii

[bitsbobbins]

Blue cheese crumbles kindly lend their distinctive flavor to this simple, smooth mixture. Serve with corn chips. This dip tastes better the longer it chills before serving.

#Blue Cheese Dip Ii #Blue #Cheese #Dip #Ii

[trillian-anders]

the harlot - ii

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn

word count: 3k

description: harlots inspired au;

one last run before shipping off steve rogers is brought to a brothel to love a woman in case of his untimely demise at war. he meets the reader, young and fresh, not yet tainted by the world they’d been born into. a torrid one night love affair that costs their mother greatly. a promise and years later they meet again, the reader resentful and distrustful. the charming, now captain rogers, seems as captivated in reader as ever. but it’s never meant to be. and you both know that.

The rowhome squeezed tightly between others just like it, sat silent in the early morning hours where most would be beginning their days. Men stepping out onto the street, carriages waiting, or maybe a conversational stroll to their office. Women enjoying the early morning air, crisp and a little damp, but cooler than it would be later as the sun reached its peak and their breath would be stolen by the damp heat.

Houses would start bustling with activity. Maids cleaning and preparing the day’s meals. Baking the day’s bread. Their children would be up and ready for tutoring or screaming over an unshared doll. Fresh linens being placed on beds and chamber pots emptied. In Alexander Pierce’s home it was much different.

The maid still worked, the bread still baked, the chamber pots still emptied. But the rest of the house, it was silent. You hadn’t the energy to get out of bed.

Not today.

Today the walls, a powder blue and gold, were far more interesting than any other social thing you could possibly do. How could you ever get out of bed when Steve was any number of feet away? You’d desperately wanted to see him. But you couldn’t face him.

Not today.

You head was a little foggy from the wine the night before, flinching in the sun as you first opened your eyes, rolling onto your back and stretching out feeling your bones crack and your muscles burn as you arched your back and stretched your legs out beneath your sheets.

Pierce would be gone by now. Far gone at work. He’d leave tonight to go to his country estate, see his wife. You could go out tomorrow, tomorrow would work far better.

You sat in your shift and stockings on your bed. Picking at the plate of meat, cheese, and fruit that had been brought to you. The cup of tea hardly sipped. He was home.

After ten years Steve was home. And you hadn’t even let him speak to you. Not as badly as you wanted him to. As you walked back into the well-lit parlor room with that bottle of wine, you wanted him to grab you. You wanted him to pull you back into the kitchen and kiss you. Apologize. Say that the war kept him away. That you could leave tonight. A whisper against your lips about the English countryside and a carriage waiting.

But that wasn’t your life.

This was. You finger digging into the side of half of the exotic mango Pierce had been so pleased to bring to you. “A sweet and succulent taste, like no other.” He charmed, “Just like you.”

You had money.

You had your own money in a world where no woman could own property. Where no woman could decide anything for their own. As a child you belong to your father. As an adult you belong to your husband. And as a harlot you belong to your master.

The sticky mango was under your fingernails. Sitting back against the headboard as you cleaned them with your mouth you try to forget about the fuzzy peach that Steve dug his fingernails into in the kitchen of your Ma’s house. How you watched the juice drip over his hand. The stickiness on his lips and fingers.

A rough sigh, hitting your head against the wall. Maybe you did need to get out of this house.

No one would look twice, for you’re not a noblewoman, of you pinning your own hair. An easy soft pink dress, thin gold thread. You’d maybe run into your Ma. Maybe run into Peter. If you could manage it.

Peirce’s watchdog at the door. He was the first hurdle. A grim man with a strong jaw and a crooked nose. He would nip at your heels and shepherd you where Pierce wanted. Keep you from exiting when Pierce wouldn’t grant it for you. His leash was tight, but yours was even tighter.

It’s how Pierce kept control.

It’s funny how that this money was supposed to give you power. When Pierce tired of you that you would still get your salary. But it sat unspent in a bank account only he had access to, “You’ll get it when I’m done with you.” He would say. But when would that be? It’d been ten years, you’d hoped he would find himself someone younger, but he liked the practice he put into you, “You’re just the way I want you.”

So, you were stuck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” As if it were a joke. You attempt to walk by him, and he steps before you.

“I’m going for a walk.” He barks a laugh. It is a joke.

“Pierce doesn’t want you to leave the house today.” His arms crossing over his chest. “He wants you to be here when he gets home.”

“And I will be.” You aim to walk around, but his arm shoots out and grips yours tightly, “Brock.”

“Y/N.” A smirk. You wanted to slap him.

“Let go of me.” He shakes his head,

“You’re not leaving.” He liked this. This little bit of power that he finds in telling you no. Like a surrogate Master of the house. When he was simply an employee, just like you, except his work was done with his fists and not on his back.  

“I said I would be back when he gets home,” You attempt to pull your arm from his grip, “Let me leave.”

“I’ll just have to come with you then.”

Brock stayed a step behind, keeping the hair on the back of your neck standing up in wariness and fear. But he wouldn’t do anything out here. Not with all these people. Pierce didn’t like getting his hands dirty, and while the business man ran a prosperous front, good money made real honest on the backs of slaves in various plantations over the America’s, he was a brute of a business man with gambling debts and a monopoly over the racing of horses. It made him impenetrable.

It gave him the means to afford your extravagant employ. The bank records he would wave over your head just out of reach. Brock was his executioner. You’d seen things. Happenings you weren’t supposed to see. Brock’s bloodied fists giving way to someone’s jaw. A man with an uncontrollable vice whose wants outweighed his means. Money. Owed in full. Or else.

Always,

Or else.

It was a truly beautiful day. Tepid but sunny. A little damp, but when was London not? You’d had your route memorized. With the hope that your Ma would be out today. It had been made clear you weren’t allowed back there. Pierce had told you countless times that you didn’t belong there anymore, and you weren’t allowed back. Your feet hadn’t trod on the worn cobblestones of the London underbelly in a long time. You hardly thought now if you were to return that you’d even recognize it.

There was a street, straddling both worlds that allowed you to dip yourself into it. The careful steps of your feet leading you towards it with a prayer that your Ma would be there, taking a slow walk in effort to perhaps see you on these odd moments you’d be able to break out.

Your heart picks up pace as you see her. The curl of her brown hair now streaked in grey. Her fingers fumbling with fruit from a cart, bartering for price. It brought you an instant streak of joy, something hard searched for. Her eyes flickering up to yours with the feel of your gaze.

You remember for a moment how it feels to be held by her. And you wish whole heartedly to have that feeling again. A quick trip across the street and her basket of fruit forgotten as you walk into her arms. A sigh of relief from both. A full rush of happiness feeling yourself wrapped in her, just like you used to be.

“Oh my sweet girl.” You couldn’t cry out here, not in front of these people. But it was shelved and saved for later.

“Ma.” Brock made a gruff noise of disapproval from behind you. Pierce never said anything explicit about you not talking to your family, only that you weren’t allowed back onto those filthy streets. So, Brock would give you time here, before instructing you to move on with the guise that you’d need to get back to the house to await Pierce’s stabbing cock before he goes to the country to be with his frigid wife.

His wife… you couldn’t blame the woman. You’d met her a couple times over the years. You could see how she had been beautiful once. There were portraits in the house an example of her grace and virtue. A soft smile painted on her lips. She was a shell of that now, having buried four children and three in adulthood. She told you once, in a moment of weakness, that she thanks God for taking him from her bed. Drunk with wine and speaking to you plainly, you’d only been with him for a few months then, “I pray for a whore’s sin, but thank God or the blessings they provide.”

“I’ve missed you,” Your Ma, brushing the curls back from your face and taking a shifting glance behind you and her smile dropping a fraction, “Your Pa misses you too.” Guilt, more for the lack of the relationship between you than the position that you’re stuck in. “How are you feeling?” You smile,

“I’m doing just fine Ma,” You squeeze the hands now held in yours, “How’s Peter?” You could hear Brock’s shoe begin to tap against the stone. A clear sign of his impatience.

“He’s grown nearly a foot.” Your Ma laughs, “He’s just about as tall as Pa now… he asks about you all the time.” It breaks your heart to remember the child you left. Your baby brother, five years old when you left to go into Pierce’s employ. How he used to help you put ribbons in your hair and how you would sneak him cakes when Ma wasn’t around. Nearly a man now.

“Maybe next time—”

“We have to go.” Brock gripped your arm, none to gently, “We don’t have time for this, we need to keep moving or you’re going to get us both into trouble.” You look apologetically back on your Ma, her casting a steady glare at his back. You really hated this guy.

A comfortable distance away you rip your arm from his grip, “I rarely get to see her.” Clutching a fist by your side.

“You’re not supposed to see her anyway,” He scoffs, “Be thankful I even let you stop.” You had to try to drown the feelings welling in your chest. They would do no good to you here. A steady breath in and breath out. Save it for later.

A lot of women were out today it seemed. Pushing prams, walking with friends. A few more in your same position taking a stroll as the heat reached its peak of the day. Tolerable, but not comfortable. Peirce would be home soon to take a late lunch or early dinner before beginning the journey out to his country estate. The clock was ticking on.

A surprise on your steps, awaiting your return.

“Captain Steve Rogers,” Brock goes to stand in front of you, greeting the man and holding his hand out for a shake, “Alexander has told me a lot about you.” A tight smile,

“I know I’m a little early—” Brock stops him,

“He should be home shortly; you’re welcome to wait for him in the parlor.” Walking past the large man and to the front door. You give Steve a look of confusion before he stands to the side,

“After you.” You grasp your skirt, lifting it slightly to walk up the stairs, feeling him hot on your back and following you into the home. Brock looks past you and at the man behind you,

“I’ll have the maid prepare some tea, or if you would rather wine or brandy—” His eyes flit to you, “Go to your room, I’m sure he’ll call you when he needs you.” An order. A quiet sigh, you begin up the stairs, turning as you reach the top to look back at Steve, paused in the doorway before the room. You meet his eyes and you watch as his tongue wets his bottom lip before he disappears into the parlor.

Steve must be important for Rumlow to act that way. Fumbling over his words like a child. The excitement you could see in his face when he saw Steve standing on the doorstep. What had Steve been doing all these years? Something that made him a very important man it seemed.

But whatever business he had here with Pierce was no good. It sat bubbling in your belly, you’d realized you hadn’t really eaten that day, but now you didn’t know if you could. You wondered if Steve was working for Pierce in any way. Is that why he was at that party last night? Or was this just coincidence. You wouldn’t let the thought cross your mind that he would be here for you. You refused to even think it. Because he wasn’t.

Pierce invited him here.

That you realized as he joined the two of you for an early dinner. Surprising, seeing as usually before he leaves, Pierce would rut himself against you endlessly until he was spent. But he was getting older now, his cock wasn’t as hard anymore. Less virile.

“I’ve discussed with Barnes about a possible merger between us.” Over his soup, “Once I return, we could have a bit more of a professional meeting—” What did Steve do exactly? His Father was an aristocrat, or at least that’s what you remember him saying. You’d always been under the impression that Steve just had money, as a lot of them do, but Pierce was giving more of an air of nobility. He’d requested roasted duck for supper after all.

You’d avoided his eyes as you dined, being more of a pretty object placed at the table than a conversationalist as much as Steve’s eyes wandered across to yours. The careful means to avoid as Pierce’s fist found your skirt under the table. A promise for after the guest leaves.

“What do you think of the America’s splitting from us?” Steve asked, directing the question at you. It had been an ongoing conversation on the backdrop of current politics. The American Revolution freshly won.

Regardless Pierce’s business wouldn’t suffer. Those slaves he made money on filtered the funds back to him on an endless stream no matter who the country belonged to, “They should have been grateful for what they’ve got.” It was a clear energy that made many in Pierce’s friend group that the Americans were nothing but thieves and members of their own community exiled for crimes. Indentured servants sent to pay back their time.

“No decorum for war.” Pierce continues, whining because they didn’t follow the rules.

“They had no representation here,” As you cut a carrot in two, “It seems only fair to want a say in how much you should be giving to your patriarch, I’m sure if King James were to have given them choice they wouldn’t have wanted to revolutionize.” Pierce laughed,

“The majority of them are criminals or slaves,” His hand squeezes your knee, too tight to be affection, “They’re lucky for what we gave them.” You cast a sigh and a soft smile to him in apology as he let go of your knee. And then a brush under the table. Not from Pierce, but from the man across from you. A carried-on conversation as his ankle pressed against yours. You pull your legs back, out of reach. He doesn’t blink.

He would drift into your thoughts later. Long after Pierce was gone and you were alone in your bed, fingers finding their way between your thighs. A shaky orgasm panted into the sheets.

Life without Pierce around was significantly better than life with him around, granted Brock followed you around wherever you went, but without being able to displease his master your leash was loosened considerably.

“Captain Rogers.” Brock’s childish admiration. The familiar figure on your doorstep for the second time in two days. “You should know that Sir Pierce is gone.” This time as you stepped from your home and not to it. Steve sent cautionary smile at the man behind you,

“Yes, I just assumed since the lady was going to be lonely this week while her master is gone, I offered to keep her some company.” Surely a lie. Pierce was a jealous beast after all, and he wouldn’t willingly agree to let you keep company with someone younger and more abled than he. But Brock was simple, and this man before you had a lot of power. He wouldn’t question it.

“Of course.” A reply as Brock shut the door behind him. Steve turned to face the two of you fully.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” His arm held out to you. “I shall return her in time for supper.” Brock’s brow furrowed,

“I don’t think Sir Pierce would—”

“Then you can take that up with him on his return.” This wasn’t the shy boy you’d met years ago; this man was firm and unyielding. His lie was to go unquestioned, his jaw clenched as he had a silent argument with Brock. Challenge my word, he was saying, and surely there would be consequences.

To be fair, you were torn about wanting to go with him and wanting to walk right back into the house. You didn’t want to do this, truly, but at the same time… You watched his tongue wet his bottom lip and thrum in your core at the sight. A brief memory of peaches. His arm offered to you again, “She’ll return for supper.” And Brock let you go.

A glance back towards him as he glared at Steve’s back.

Brock just let you go.

So how powerful was Steve, really?

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #brock rumlow #alexander pierce #tfatws #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #chris evans

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part II)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part II:

Remus stood in front of a piece of art, plate in hand, filled with cubes of cheese and assorted crackers. He stared intently at the brushstrokes, the way they danced across the canvas, the texture of the paint. There was intention to every stroke, every line, every point where the brush kissed the canvas. It was purposeful.

"What do you think of it?"

Remus glanced to the side, where a young man in an expensive looking suit had sidled in beside him. Remus raised an eyebrow and smiled politely, taking in the man's appearance. He had rich mahogany skin, almost a burnt umber. It took a cool tone in the stark gallery lighting, but had a hint of redness just beneath the surface. The man had dark hair, a warm black, just a shade lighter than his suit. He was wearing a burgundy tie with yellow ochre stripes, matching his completion perfectly. He had red-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose, ever so slightly askew. When he grinned, the man flashed a set of ivory teeth, perfectly straight and sparkling in the light.

"It's nice. You didn't paint it, did you?" Remus responded with a grin. It was Remus' own little joke, funny only to a particular few who had the same odd sense of humour as himself; nice was never used as a compliment.

The man returned the smile, russet eyes gleaming with something akin to excitement.

"If I said yes?"

"Then I'd tell you that your work is lovely and congratulations on the gallery show." Remus nodded, keeping his feigned confidence.

"And if I said no?" The man asked, a twinkle in his eyes and a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Then I'd tell you the work is adequate… for a contemporary piece of abstract painting. It's a pity that it's been done a thousand times before." Remus finished his thought with a grin of his own.

The man let out a sharp laugh, garnering the attention and glares of other patrons of the arts. Remus chuckled along, happy to have met someone who didn't take the art world so seriously. 

The man thrust his hand forward, grinning from ear to ear.

"James," he said, beaming.

Remus smiled and grasped the man's hand, giving a firm handshake. 

"Remus."

"Pleasure to meet you, Remus."

"Are you an artist?" Remus asked, trying to glean more information from his newfound acquaintance. James laughed again, running a hand through his already messy hair. 

"Me? No. Not even a little bit. I couldn't paint to save my life!"

Remus gave a casual shrug, glancing around at the other pieces of art on display in the gallery. 

"You don't have to paint to be an artist."

James shook his head with a playful sigh.

"Alas, I was born without a creative bone in my body. My wife, on the other hand…" James nodded towards the artist statement located next to the painting.

Remus felt the colour drain completely from his face as he realized James' implication, immediately regretting his decision of engaging the stranger.

"Oh, I am so sorry— " Remus began.

"Don't be!" James laughed, giving Remus a playful nudge with his elbow. "She hates this one, too."

"But I— "

"Honestly! She was gonna toss this one, but Sirius insisted on using it for his exhibition. Matched his aesthetic, apparently."

Oh.

James and his wife knew Sirius. Sirius Black. Owner of the gallery and curator of the show. Perhaps if Remus asked, he would be able to convince James to facilitate a meeting for him. 

"Oh!" James' exclamation interrupted Remus' thoughts. "I have to go. Sorry for cutting this short. It was a pleasure meeting you, Remus. I hope to see you around." 

Remus flashed James a well-practiced smile as he shook the man's hand, internally regretting not asking more about Sirius. As James disappeared into the crowd, it dawned on Remus that he had forgotten to exchange business cards with the other man. He groaned as he popped a cube of cheese into his mouth, mentally berating himself for his terrible networking skills.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice called from across the room, and Remus glanced up from his plate. "And everyone in between... I would like to welcome you here tonight, to the opening of Black and White."

The man who was speaking was unlike any person Remus had ever seen. He had alabaster skin that looked like it could have been carved from marble for all its perfection. A chiseled jawline, cheekbones so sharp, they could cut steel. His eyes were a shade of silvery blue, the exact colour of the sky on a perfectly stormy day, deep and expressive and frustratingly unreadable. He was wearing a navy blue suit with fabric that shimmered slightly in the light, paired with a tie that matched his irises. The man had long, dark hair, tied back in a slick ponytail, a brush expertly dipped in a bottle of ink. Remus couldn't help but admire this man who captured the attention of the entire room, his presence captivating the audience, radiating remarkable power and grandeur.

"As many of you know, this project has been in the works for some time now. Our exhibit, Foreshadow, is a perfect representation of things to come, of what you can expect to see from the gallery in the future. So, without further ado, enjoy the wine and the food and most importantly, the art!"

A round of applause broke out amongst the audience as the dapper man gave a dramatic little bow before turning away and greeting some of the gallery patrons. Remus couldn't help but stare as the man clasped James' shoulder, a bright smile flashing across his face. He shook the hand of a woman who wove her arm through James', presumably his wife. 

All three of them radiated light and joy, a warm glow surrounding them as they talked and laughed, greeting one another with broad smiles and kisses on the cheek. Standing alone by the edge of the room, Remus couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He longed for the types of interactions that these people had, the types of lives that they led. Living in the lap of luxury, these upper-class people had no worries, not a care in the world; they were able to follow their passions and have the security blanket of financial stability to catch them if their plans failed. 

Remus finished his plate of appetizers and turned towards the door. Today had been long enough, he didn't need to make it harder on himself by dwelling on things that could never be. 

"Remus!" A voice called out, right before he had reached the exit. He turned around to find James waving to him, a gregarious smile spread wide across his face. He beckoned Remus over and after a moment's hesitation, Remus decided to join the trio.

"Remus, this is my wife, Lily. She's the one who did that painting you were admiring." James gave a playful wink as Remus felt his chest tighten from embarrassment. 

Lily was tall and slender, with auburn hair that cascaded down past her shoulders. Her pale skin was dusted with freckles, Pollock-esque and surprisingly alluring. She had emerald green eyes, shining with the same depth that a real gemstone would, sparkling facets each releasing a different shade of brilliant green. Ruby read lips were parted in a genuine smile as a flush of pink spread across her cheeks.

Lily groaned and rolled her eyes before offering her hand for Remus to shake. 

"Please tell me he's not referring to the one near the entrance," she said, her smile never wavering.

Remus grasped her hand and shook it before responding.

"I had been looking at it earlier—" Remus began, unsure of where that sentence was headed.

"I can't believe Sirius put that one on display! It's wretched! It's so… derivative. It's been done a million times before. I think this idiot just liked the colours."

Remus smiled, grateful for Lily's honesty and humility. She was the type of artist that Remus could see himself working with.

"Speaking of this idiot," James said, turning to the person that Remus assumed was the illustrious gallerist. "Remus, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, this is Remus. We met while discussing art."

Remus extended his hand to Sirius, keeping his smile polite and professional, despite the sense of awe and terror threatening to bubble out. Sirius shook his hand, a confident smirk playing at his lips.

"A pleasure," Sirius said in his posh accent, his stormy grey eyes endless pools that Remus found himself sinking into. 

"The pleasure is all mine," Remus offered before tearing his gaze away.

"What is it that you do, Remus?" Sirius' question made Remus' heart skip a beat. This was his chance. The opportunity fell right into his lap, presenting itself on a silver platter. 

"I'm an artist, actually." Remus' cheeks were beginning to ache from his forced smile, but he kept it up. "I've been looking for the right gallery to show in for some time now."

"Well then," Sirius responded, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth turned up. "You'll have to stop by with your portfolio at some point. I'd be remiss if I didn't give James' friend an opportunity to show me his work." He put a particular emphasis on the word friend, as if he was entirely aware of the fact that Remus and James had only just met a few moments before.

"That would be amazing, thank you!" Remus had to strain to keep the excitement from his voice and remain calm in front of the gallery owner. 

"Excellent. In that case, I'll see you around, Remus." Sirius turned, gave Lily a kiss on the cheek, patted James on the shoulder, and went about mingling with his other guests. Sirius' lips wrapped around Remus' name hung precariously in the air, filling Remus up with a sense of— something— he didn't quite know what.

"Thank you," Remus sighed, feeling eternally grateful to James and his kindness.

"It was all Lily's idea," he said, flashing his wife a look of admiration. "She's the mastermind in this family."

Remus turned to thank Lily, but she cut him off before he could even begin.

"You're welcome, Remus. It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again soon."

As the couple walked away, Remus couldn't help but stare at their backs in disbelief. 

Did that really just happen? Had Remus actually just connected with one of the most influential names in the London art scene after a happenstance conversation with a stranger? As he walked back to his flat, the memories of the night replayed through his mind, over and over again, wondering how on earth he got so lucky. 

#my writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic #Wolfstar fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #remus/sirius #remus x sirius #au #Gallery Owner Sirius #Artist!Remus #Drabble #Just a little thing I wrote and then continued! #Hope you enjoy it!! #harry potter fandom #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction

[emma-poole]

Maryanne.

You’re in my prayers every morning, she tells me on the sidewalk, casually slipping my 65 pound pitbull, Robin, a treat from her fanny pack. She tells me this every time we cross paths, which, if I am lucky, is a weekly occurrence. Maryanne should really have an ‘outfit of the day’ column in the New York Times. She is easily spotted a block away, not only by my dog’s nose, but in her perfectly coordinated clothing choices; bright red rain boots, wide-brimmed red hat, cherry earrings, and the color red lipstick that reminds me of my grandmother, who resembled Marilyn Monroe, smelled like old perfume, and never left the house without it.

Sometimes I wish I could shrink Maryanne to barbie-doll size and carry her around in my pocket. Maryanne never shames Robin for her plump figure. Her very spirit elicits joy- on evening walks in the neighborhood, when my mind jumps fifty years into the future, I think, when I grow older, I’d like to be like Maryanne.

Tell me about your outfits, I say one day, on the corner of Pinehurst and 184th. She recounts her days as a nurse in World War II, how although she loved her work, she was required to wear white every day. Now, I can wear whatever I want! She looks up at me with watery blue eyes lined in brown pencil, tiny, delicate hands roped in purple vein and beautiful. I have the overwhelming desire to scoop her into a hug.

Maryanne is a widow. She saves animals around the neighborhood and always carries treats in her purse. We commiserate about the state of the world, how humans don’t deserve dogs, and sometimes, my dating life. I often imagine her as the girl she used to be, fixed up in nursing whites, young and in love. And yet, how grateful I am to experience her in this phase of her life, just barely five feet tall, aged only by a number but towering in presence and charm.

I would like to think the universe created Maryanne as a reminder of the magic that exists here on earth. There is something about her aura- otherworldly, fairy-esque, that makes my breath catch in my throat each time I see her. As if the trees she passes suddenly begin to sway. And the light the sky emits at once becomes softer.

24 Hour Deli.

I don’t care about cohesion. Aesthetic is a non-issue. I want my salads big and overflowing, a picasso of flavor, texture, and crunch. Some (most) days I request a side of blue cheese dressing to use as dip for the potato chips I will inevitably buy no matter how many times I tell myself you don’t need them. I leave the store, plastic bag in hand, excitement stirring at the enjoyment to come- quiet room, a cornucopia of television options, peace to consume my masterpiece as if I am animal who has been deprived of food for months.

The 24 Hour Deli— I don’t know why I call it that- it’s actually called the Gourmet Deli, is approximately a one-minute walk from my apartment. Its marquee, bright, blocky and red, thrives with activity at all hours of the day. The 24 Hour Deli recently got a makeover. It now has more than five fancy gelato flavors and the miniature containers of cabot sour cream I like to destroy in one sitting. On the outside of the door, there is a clear no pets allowed sign. Yet magically, each time I walk into the deli with Robin, who suffers from separation anxiety, the cashier says nothing. Robin is no more than a sweet-demeanored curvy burrito, but being a pitbull, people tend to act strange at the sight of her.

The staff at the deli understand us. They let Robin sniff the endless line of Little Debbie snack cakes, and even sometimes offer their hand for a lick. Robin is overjoyed anytime she is allowed to enter an establishment, and this small gesture does not go unnoticed. The man who makes my salads sees me. He doesn’t laugh when he tosses in the eighteenth vegetable choice, rather tilts his head to one side and softly, almost lovingly, asks what else miss? I am always in awe watching him mix the ingredients together and making the whole ordeal fit perfectly under the flat plastic lid.

The 24 Hour Deli, like most local New York City bodegas, is more than just a deli. It is a meeting spot for conversation, gossip and respite from the street. It contains everything from beef jerky to pregnancy tests, the latter which I have sheepishly purchased among familiar faces that gave me kind smiles and a paper bag to carry it out in. It is run by a family whose hospitality has held me for the seven years I’ve lived in this gem of a neighborhood, quirky but inviting, not without its rough history and continued adoration of pungent marijuana and backwoods blunt wrappers, the latter which I have had my fair share of romantic neighborhood partners purchase before heading to my room on balmy summer evenings, knowing they’d be promised candlelight and a soft body.

Perhaps I will go to the deli soon to buy fresh flowers for my bathroom. They are not the best quality, but I like the way they look perched in my windowsill, trying mightily to stay alive.

The ladies at the Nail salon.

I have a paper card in my wallet that keeps track of the number of times I get my nails done. It is a rewards card, promising half off after I have completed six sessions. Over the last seven years, I am probably on my tenth card. The ladies at Diamond Nails know me by name. They compliment my hair, smile when they see me walking Robin, and massage my shoulders generously. They are motherly and kind, always assuring me of my nail polish color choice and warmly welcoming me into their establishment for however long I choose to stay.

I often get my nails done on days I feel sad. The budding of a new relationship gone awry, boredom at the state of things, the staggering injustice of healthcare in this country. Maybe I will get a manicure! Suddenly I am walking out the door, a quick left, the smell of acetone.

The ladies are drinking coffee. I smell takeout in the back room. I grab a handful of People magazines, propping myself in the oversized cushy chair and its complementary foot basin that will transform my toes into appealing seashells. Two women walk in- one is disabled and blind; her aid walks beside her. I take in this odd pair and am immediately brought back to my childhood, accompanying my dad to the house for the deaf he briefly worked at. My memories are mini movie reels- Sheri, a redhead, walking on the treadmill, calling my father Toli instead of Tony, over and over. My six-year old eyes, wide and observant, taught not to judge but understand. The blind woman chooses hot pink for her nails. The ladies tell her it is a lovely choice.

One day, while waiting for my nails to dry, my scalp tingles as hands weave in and out of my hair loops. I think perhaps I am receiving an extended shoulder massage, and close my eyes. The fingers move swiftly, repeating patterns and directions. I realize my hair is being braided, unsure as to why or if I should interject. I decide to let it happen. When she is finished, she proudly holds up a mirror so I can see the back. Beautiful! I reply. I laugh on my way out the door- amused that I came in for a manicure and left with a french braid. One month later, it happens again. I accept that it’s a package deal, and look forward to the next time.

I don’t know the lives of the ladies beyond the four walls of the salon, but I would like to imagine that they are filled with loving families, and warm homes that nurture them after a long day’s work. Their work is so giving, and far underappreciated. Having one’s nails done, similarly to getting a haircut or sitting at a bar nursing a cocktail, is never just about the monetary exchange. It is therapy. And the ladies, with their strong hands and tender demeanors, are my therapists.

Do yourself a favor and go to Diamond Nails. Make sure to tip generously.

An Ode to Morning Coffee.

If I collected all of the money I spend each day on neighborhood coffee, I’d have a jar amassing thousands of dollars by now. This is both depressing and impressive; on one hand, I’ve procured an awfully expensive habit. On the other, I honor my commitment to ritual. It all began when I adopted Robin. Robin wakes up each morning around eight am. It takes me approximately thirty minutes to make the bed, shower, get dressed, throw together some hair and makeup, and toss my keys in the mini purse I carry, along with plenty of poop bags and of course, coffee money.

Hudson Heights is lucky to have a rich coffee culture. There are multiple cups of coffee on each street corner, from the rudimentary but delicious cafe Bustelo at the bodega (low on ambiance, strong on flavor) to the cozy hole-in-the-wall, beloved Cafe Bunni. Nestled on the corner of 187 and Pinehurst, Bunni is a locally owned Ethiopian dream, serving everything from feta scones to frothy oat milk lattes. Tactically, it is the place I choose most often, mostly because Robin can rest her loins on the bench outside while watching my every move once I am in line to order.

Aesthetically pleasing bags of coffee beans line the cafe walls. Baked goods are displayed at the register, flirting with their puffed edges and swollen buttery insides. A long, communal wooden table is the main source of seating in this intimate space, as well as a window-seat bench. Robin, my oversized croissant, is perfectly visible on the other side of the glass. The whites of her eyes loom above seated coffee drinkers.

Cafe Bunni is approximately two hundred steps from the apartment of the first guy I dated when I moved to this neighborhood. He lives with his mother and drives an obnoxiously yellow pick-up truck. He asked me out while I was carrying laundry home. I should have known better. I was twenty-five and easily wooed by street flattery. He was twenty-one and desperate for attention. Bunni is a wonderful place to duck into when you spot ex boyfriends you’d rather not interact with. It is large enough to blend you into other bodies, and small enough that the whole event is not a big to-do. On many a summer morning, my eyes still waking to the day’s light, I have sought out anonymity in a paper coffee cup.

Perhaps my favorite fixture of Bunni is the way it inhabits the neighborhood. Between these walls, customers feel the understated, off-beat energy of the Hudson Heights residents. It is a tiny artist’s colony smack in the middle of a spa and a chinese restaurant. A place for those of us with less traditional jobs to post up, writing our dreams down in journals, people watching to feel less alone. We can sit there for hours, seen and supported by the comings and goings of both the patrons who fill the space and the baristas who are its undercurrent.

It’s difficult for me to pass Bunni without purchasing something. Sometimes I buy iced coffee just to have a cup in my hand while walking down the sidewalk. Other days, I never make it in, choosing to sit on the bench outside while watching the bustle of foot traffic go by. I once met a lady there who collects and sells crystals. She seemed a bit lonely, and happy to talk to anyone who’d listen. I complimented her necklace. We shared stories of moving to this neighborhood, coffees in hand, until Robin licked my ankle, alerting me it was time to go home.

Fort Tryon Park.

Imagine a maze. Giant and sprawling with lush greenery, gothic stone arches and secret roundabouts. Large enough to get lost in, small enough to find your way out.

Things I have done in Fort Tryon Park:

Cry. Clean up poop. Sing. Pick grass from the lawn while staring at the Hudson River. Smell flowers. Unintentionally photobomb a photoshoot. Meditate. Light sage. Sunbathe. Witness a quinceanera. Smoke weed. Talk to strangers. Watch a man masturbate behind a tree. Breathe deeply. Drink coffee. Pet dogs. Think about my life. Sit. Wait. Walk.

When I describe Fort Tryon Park to, say, a downtown person, I feel suddenly blessed, as though I am the keeper of a privileged secret that only a part of this city knows. Fort Tryon doesn’t belong to me, but it feels like it does. It is where my neighborhood ends, and Narnia begins.

On a good day, the park is about a fifteen minute walk North from my apartment. Each time we visit, I coerce my dog into posing for pictures. In the Fall, our earth-toned scarves blend in with the foliage; blankets of copper leaves illuminate a walking path, boots deliciously crunching with each step. In the summer, walks last up to two hours, trudging slowly from humidity and necessary water breaks. The park is both home, and home away from home. It receives me however I choose to show up. Nothing makes me feel more like a local than giving a visitor directions to the park, or its love child, the Cloisters. A simple head nod or wave in the right direction sends them on their way. I have paid forward Hudson Height’s most prized possession. My good deed for the day is done.

Years back, during one of my first visits to the park, I met a beautiful young woman roaming the grass with her giant snow angel, Zoe, and miniature tan taco, Zeta. Zaza, the owner of the eccentric dog duo and I became fast friends. We continued to meet for iced coffee and park walks. We watched my dog kill a gopher, and cried with hands held firmly as we heard it take its last breath. Meeting this Z trio changed my life; in the coming years, I would no longer feel like a mere resident of the neighborhood, but a fixture, with beautiful, lifelong friendships and last minute dinner dates to Refried Beans for oversized burritos and chips and salsa.

I am convinced the juju that permeates Fort Tryon is emboldened by the people who inhabit it each day. Much like the park itself, we span an array of colors and history, stories that give us character and scars to prove that although our lives haven’t been easy, we show up each day to smell fresh air and tilt our heads back to the sun. Thank you, Fort Tryon, for being my heartbeat at the tip of Manhattan.

The Lookout on Chittenden.

You know in the movies, when the grieving family member goes into the hospital chapel to pray by themselves? The lookout on Chittenden Avenue is Hudson Heights’ very own outdoor church, where on any given day, individuals can be spotted looking out the river’s horizon, asking for guidance from whatever higher power they believe in.

At least that is what I do. Usually at sunset, and most always, with Robin. Picking her up requires a deep squat and a tight grip around the underbelly. However, once I have it, we perch like bobbing lily pads in the ocean, peering out at New Jersey, waiting for a gust of wind or the smell of someone’s fried chicken to waft toward us.

The lookout is the kind of friend who doesn’t require every day interaction, but will always show up when you need them. Tucked away beneath a small hill, its presence is found rather than known, adding to its charm. Sometimes I imagine the narrative of the people who perch there alongside me- who is breaking up with who, who misses their mother, who also talks to the sky. Do they seek refuge here the way I do? At times not knowing what is being sought out but pulled to arrive anyway?

Or the residential voyeurs of the block, who put up fliers warning against drugs and littering, Chittenden’s silent army. My heart goes out to them. They know the real estate they live upon is neighborhood currency; they are only trying to preserve it.

I recall a visit to the lookout after a particularly painful heartbreak. The setting sun was so beautiful, it hurt. I couldn’t fathom how the world continued on as mine closed in on me. I knew in that moment that I would be ok, as I have always known, deep in my bones, that my small world spins within something much greater than me. It’s the staggering irony of life, that beauty can be found anywhere, even in the midst of agonizing pain. Nature has always known better than us. Embrace change, she whispers, and you will experience awe each day. It’s hard to walk yourself home with a broken heart. But then the sun sets. The skyline sparkles beneath a black sky. I smell the changing of seasons as the breeze hits the trees, releasing a single leaf on the ground beneath me.

Charles.

Charles has short white hair, olive skin, and piercing blue eyes. He is long-limbed and svelte, appearing almost fragile. Charles wears neutral colors and has long, elegant hands. He likes to eat dinner solo at the neighborhood restaurants, and always says hello to my dog.

I wonder often about Charles’s backstory. I have never asked, though I am confident if I did, he would share freely. There is a sadness in his demeanor that makes me want to reach my hands inside his chest and untwist the hurt. It is always the sad people who are kind, I’ve noticed. I have no idea if Charles is sad or not. Maybe melancholy is a better word. Or maybe it’s the way the deep lines around his eyes make him look like an etched painting, and the tiny blue half moons beneath them reflect longing, or wisdom.

I must have passed Charles at least ten times on the street before asking him his name. Now, I can’t stop using it. Hi Charles, I smile, walking down the giant stairs on 181st. He is on a bench with coffee, reading a newspaper. How’s it going, Charles? At 181 Cabrini, a spread of charcuterie and cheeses half eaten at his table. Robin sits down on his large feet. He pats her head. Oh, hi Charles! At the park, outside the laundromat, on my way to work.

I wonder how long he has lived here, what he does all day, if he has some large sum of money he lives on that pays for all his dinners out. I wonder if he is happy dining alone, savors it ritualistically, as I do my morning cup of coffee or the heady aroma of fresh cut flowers. Or if he longs for a partner, relying on the immersion of himself in the neighborhood as a way to feel more connected and less alone.

Of course, I could ask him. I think he would probably be flattered to know I’m thinking this much about the intricacies of his life. And yet. The mystique of not knowing somehow compels me. I have always imagined the inner lives of strangers; and though I am a truth seeker in nearly all aspects of my life, I am not sure I need to know the answers to the stories my brain creates. It’s like...foreplay. Or the titillating anticipation of an event nearly being better than the event itself. The hot sting of desire felt on the lips before the kiss. Must we spill over all our secrets? Or is the pleasure of them contained in the withholding?

The last time I saw Charles, he was sitting alongside a homeless man with pock-marked skin and gentle eyes. Another familiar face. They appeared to be friends. I smiled at the man, and said hello to Charles. Perhaps I will work up the courage someday to ask what brought him to this city. For now, I am grateful he is here, embedded into the scenery I call home.

Bennett Park.

Fun Fact- you’re standing on the highest natural point of elevation in New York City, I tell my soon-to-be boyfriend at the time. He is spending the weekend with me. It is our first time meeting each other in person. Ha.

I have probably spent more time in Bennett Park than any other place in Hudson Heights. When I first moved to the area, it was an all day stomping ground for the boys who perched on stoops and asked if I was from the heights. I’d walk Robin at midnight, letting her run laps in the grass while they rolled fresh blunts and skateboarded badly. I didn’t often take part, but I loved the camaraderie of these gatherings, how the park always felt like it belonged to someone, and in turn, that I belonged to it.

Bennett Park turns into a carnival on weekends; kids appear from every direction, dogs take refuge under shaded trees, the ice cream truck’s melody echoes in our brains- da da da da da da dum dum dum DUM dum dum. Orthodox Jewish women sit in clusters on the grass, dressed in long skirts and soft hats. I wonder if they know I am one of them, that despite my tattoos and nontraditional dress, I, too, can chant Hebrew prayers in my sleep, and recognize Saturday as their Sabbath. That I see a part of them in a part of me, though I will always wonder if they are happy, or have dreams bigger than motherhood, or spend moments in solitude wondering of a different life. The air smells of weed and cut grass. Children squeal on the swings. Someone plays hip hop out of a loud speaker while a parent bandaids a scraped knee. We coexist in our separate corners, together.

That boyfriend never visited my neighborhood again, though he did love the park and my attempt at impressing him with trivia. We made out on the grass under a moonlit sky, the boys of years past watching in the background, their silhouettes only vaguely familiar now. I was in love with the idea of him more than the individual I never truly had the chance to get to know, except through distance, and time zones, and continents. The agony of physical separate-ness gnawed at me; I fell asleep for an entire year existing on memories of a savored few nights together and future projections of what our life could be.

And so Bennett Park became my steadfast companion to get through each day. Every morning, with a cup of coffee and Robin at my feet, I walked aimlessly around its perimeter, noticing what was familiar- Bench. Tree. Water fountain. Rock. Lending Library. The grass where Robin likes to roll.

Ritualistic habits, I have learned, are a form of meditation. You can mend a broken heart by entering the same place each day while watching your perception of it slowly change. One day, almost magically, the flowers appear more potent, the sun, brighter, and your breath, which has been lodged somewhere between grief and hope, escapes into a singular, joyous exhale.

[fourthingsandawizard]

Dan and Phil Rize Summary, Sept. 4/5, 2018

-Dan started the stream before Phil could fully sit down in frame, and then Dan hit the wrong button and almost ended the stream

-Phil made Dan write the notification, Dan refered to them “Dip and Pip.” Our secret code has spread to them, what have we done??

-Phil said his quiff is droopy because he just woke up. He just had his coffee before the stream, so he said we should see him wake up in about ten minutes

-Dan’s response to why they chose this time for the livestream: “Earth man. It’s crazy”

-They’re staying in a rainforest in a house surrounded by birds and nature before they leave for Asia

-Martyn told them they were renting a place if D&P wanted somewhere to relax instead of a hotel, but neglected to tell them beforehand that it was in the rainforest

-A lot of “nature” keeps coming inside the house, including a very specific mosquito that made a very specific noise, which Dan and Phil attempted to imitate to show us.

-They spent about an hour trying to find the mosquito so they could get rid of it and get some sleep last night. Phil: “I think every clap [of our hands] made it stronger.”

-Dan said they’ve made it through Australia without seeing a spider, and Phil got mad because he was going to jinx them. Dan said nature was about to burst to life because it’s almost spring, and Phil then did a rendition of Chasing Cars as “Show me your beast bursting into life” which he said was by the band “Beast Patrol”

-Dan tweeted out the Truth Bomb question about superheroes while Phil was asleep, and Phil reminded him that they already gave a question about what animal Dan looks like last week. Phil laughed while Dan hid out of frame in shame, and decided that will be the question next time

-Phil bought some “exciting” new Tim Tams that are iced coffee gelato flavor that you’re supposed to put in the fridge. Phil said it had a 0.5 out of 5 health rating. Dan: “Same.”

-They went on a tangent about Woolworths because it’s a thing in Australia. Dan discussed the “family underwear” section; Phil said there was a section called “Manchester.” They couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be because the rest of the aisle was diapers and stuff, so Phil suggested it was their “family planning” section

-Phil cried (on the inside) at Hobbiton, Dan ACTUALLY cried. Apparently you get on a bus, and then they start playing Frodo running through the Shire, and it made Dan a mess

-Phil said the best thing was the giant tree on top of Bilbo’s house, which is made out of steel, and Phil said, “It’s STEEL there!” Dan gave him a classic “this guy” look at the pun, and then the livestream broke. Dan: “I think Phil just made a pun so terrible, it crashed the app”

-After seeing their friend try to take a picture leaning out of the Hobbit-sized door that looked like they were sticking their butt out, Dan told them they looked like they were “Backin’ it up the Bilbo.” (For Bilbo? Idk, they were laughing too hard to understand). When the waitress at the pub wanted to take a group photo of them, Dan said they should all say that instead of cheese and the waitress seemed confused and horrified

-Phil told Dan to “let me talk about the glowworm thing.” Dan said he wasn’t going to stop him.

-They loved their glowworm cave tour guide’s accent because he sounded kind of like Taika Waititi’s character in Thor Ragnarok

-They bantered about the difference between stalactites and stalagmites, Dan got so annoyed with Phil that he shifted the angle of the live stream so he was the only one in frame to talk about the cave

-Dan said they shouldn’t have told them what the glowworms were before they went through, because they are basically giant maggots that hang from “spider silk” stuff coming out of them to catch bugs

-Phil said it was a beautiful experience, like looking at a galaxy, but they weren’t allowed to take pictures. It was apparently a bright, satisfying blue that he would have flown straight to if he were a fly

-The ice cream place they went to doesn’t let you see the ice cream before you ordered it, they just show you an iPad, and it comes in some weird cones that go around your face? Phil got honeycomb, Dan’s was really difficult to eat, but really good. You could also get ice cream inside a Yorkshire pudding

-Dan: “You got your toast violated by a strange person.” Phil: “I did! Someone buttered my toast for me!” They went on a tangent about how personal the “buttering” experience is, and Phil said he started thinking about how much the person must have touched the bread while doing it. He still ate it, though

-The bath in their 32nd floor hotel room had a window that showed the entire city. Dan used a bath bomb, climbed in with the window shade closed, then opened it to look, but then the window steamed up so he couldn’t see anything. Phil said he likes when windows steam up because you can draw pictures. Dan: “Someone has to clean that, Phil.”

-They saw some “urban explorers” next to their hotel who were balancing on the edge of the skyscraper across from them, and they made awkward eye contact through their hotel room window. Phil apparently peed moments before, and he thinks they probably could have seen him through the window next to the toilet

-Phil: “Swish, swish, bish, another fly in your mouth!” Dan said Phil’s song was worse than actually getting a fly in your mouth

-Phil showed off his Friends t-shirt. Dan said that Phil is a combo of Ross and Phoebe. Dan said he is mostly Chandler, but also a bit of Monica. They said Friends was highly problematic by today’s standards, but everyone should go back and watch it

-They “smashed” all of Olan Rogers’ Final Space episodes. Dan is happy that people are finally appreciating Olan’s work. Phil said it was very emotional, and Dan is excited for more

-Phil about AHS: “Sometimes they put all of their eggs in one basket, and I’m just like, ‘Guys. Don’t ruin the basket.’”

-They finished Big Little Lies, Dan’s official review: “Dank AF”

-Phil had to remind Dan about the rest of the bath story, as Dan “repressed” it. Dan apparently got in the bath, then housekeeping knocked on the door and came in to replace the towels. Dan was waiting for Phil to do “LITERALLY anything,” but Phil didn’t think about Dan being in the bath. Dan screamed “NOOOOO” to stop her from coming in, Phil said it was a haunting scream, and the lady just left.

-Phil: “I forgot. It was fine. She didn’t see you. You were showing your naked body to the whole city anyway!”

-They apologized for the Manila mix up, and said there are bound to be some hiccups on a big tour like this. (If you’re still confused, check the FAQ on the tour page!)

-Someone told them to get a cat. Phil said he’s more allergic to cats than dogs, so that wouldn’t be a good idea

-They dodged giving details about the ii movie, they still aren’t allowed to say anything. They ARE putting ii tour merch on the website on FRIDAY though

-Dan said Phil doesn’t wear his Introvert jacket enough because he wears his blue one more

-They started up Truth Bombs with “What animal does Dan look like?” to which Dan’s answer was a tired, greasy rat

-The first person’s audio came through, but not video. Dan asked if they were existing in the space between dimensions, and they said yes. They said their group chat decided Dan’s spirit animal is Big Bird from Sesame Street (because he’s big and awkward). Phil said he used to have nightmares about Big Bird being in his bedroom when he woke up

-The next person’s video worked, and they were wearing a Phil hoodie. Dan complimented their nails, which were black on one hand and colorful on the other. They had an answer for Dan and Phil, which was Timon and Pumba if their personalities were switched. Dan said it made perfect sense on “like five different levels…Freaky Friday Lion King edition, the AU that nobody asked for”

-They tried the dice option to call a random person, it didn’t work. Twice.

-The next person was the one to get Phil the Polaroid shirt. Dan said it’s covered in Sharpie now

-Their answer was that Dan is a howler monkey. Phil: “Dan HOWELL-er monkey!” Dan disapproved of the pun, but declared them the winner

-Next week’s question is “If Dan and Phil were a superhero duo, what would their powers be?” Phil said he probably shouldn’t be trusted with powers

-Before the great mosquito hunt last night, Dan went to get a drink and found a lizard. He wasn’t scared of it, he just kind of closed it up in the room to let it do its thing

-They tried the ice coffee Tim Tams, they both liked them and said they would dip them in coffee later. Phil: “Dip, dip, bish”

-They went back and forth with the chat on how to pronounce “mukbang”

-Dan hasn’t listened to Bloom yet. He was going to listen on the plane, Phil told him not to so the plane noises wouldn’t interfere. Dan agreed because he wants to take it very seriously to see how Troye has matured as an artist. Phil suggested that he “eat it with his ears.”

-There will be another “fun” DAPG video with “the thing with the thing” that is coming “soon...ish.”

-Phil tried to say he hoped we were having a nice day, and accidentally said “I hope you’re having a nice guy”

-They might do the next liveshow on a Thursday because they’ll be settling in Manila next Tuesday

#dan and phil #dan and phil liveshow #dan and phil rize #amazingphil #danielhowell #phil lester #dan howell #phandom #dip and pip #interactive introverts #dan and phil ii

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Fly Away, Harriet

Genre: fantasy, wlw, original story

Words: 6k

Summary:  A young Avian woman crash lands to earth and an ex-pilot is charged with putting her back into shape for flight

PART I ~ PART II

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Part 1

She’s there for the crash.

Benni was in the market, picking up fresh fish and ginger. She was staring at the blood oranges with the type of hope you usually reserve for job interviews and marriage proposals. Maybe sister Annette wouldn’t count her spending money this time she used a little extra.

But Benni doubted it.

A call comes from the nearby hill, the one that children rolled down in the spring and teenagers rolled around on during the twilight hours. “Hey! Hey!”

Benni turned toward the commotion as a group of twig-legged kids came sprinting down toward the square at full tilt, at first all she hears is wordless yelling. A cold sweat breaks out on her brow from the urgency in their faces.

“What’s going on?” Her voice joined the crowds as the old fish sellers wives and raggedy diary farmers and early morning shoppers went swarming toward the messengers.

“Come look! Come look,” One of the boys waved his pale arms back and forth.  

“It’s hurt!” One of the other kids called, “She’s hurt!” The second girl said in a loud shrill voice, visibly shaken.

Benni raises her eyebrows, “What is it?” “Hey,” Someone else yells from on top of the hill, “hey, it’s moving!” That seemed to be the pistol shot for the dozen or so people, Benni joins them as they go speeding up the hill toward whatever it was.

Benni sees it, just at the top, in a brilliant white heap- almost glowing in the lowlights of a half-sun. She looked like something plucked from the puffy white clouds themselves.

It’s white feathers were spread out around it like rose petals tossed carelessly to the floor or ugly pale carnage on a battlefield. Feathers in all directions and a heap in the center. It’s wings were going in all the wrong directions- even Benni could tell that.

She stopped in place, transfixed by the sight of the first Avian she ever laid eyes on. She spied a head of gold inside the mass of white feathers and a torn bloody brown dress.

It had fallen.

A deep groan erupted from the center of the feather pile and Benni carefully picks her way to the front of the crowd as the small village hurries to gape at the anomaly.

“Where did it come from?”

“Are those wings? That doesn’t look right…” “Did someone touch it yet?” “Can she hear us?”

Murmurs spread out like the sparks of a forest fire and the first children stared in awe as the creature on the ground twitched.

“Doctor!” Old Mother Georgi snapped first and turned on us, “Someone go get the damn doctor!” One of the first twig-legged Omo kids was sent sprinting down the hill as the crowd remembered it’s manners like a misbehaving mass of puppies.

“Why of course.” “Someone get this poor creature some water.” “Is it breathing?” Benni’s mouth is still half-open as she watched the twitching and groaning of the Avian, she swallowed dryly, this was all wrong. Benni takes a step back.

A brilliant silver scream erupts from the center of the circle in the next moment.

“It’s hurt!”

“Don’t touch it!” Benni stood perfectly still as the others jumped back, sharp nasty claws thrashed out of the mass of feathers. The creature claws furiously at the air and the crowd gasped and hurried backward.

“Ah!” The Avian screamed bloody murder and Benni didn’t move.

Her eyes were a clear blue, just like the sky, just like the sky, one of violent storms or the place on the shoreline where the waves eat the sand. Benni held her gaze for just a moment.

“Out of the way, out of the way, let the doctor through!”

And then lets herself be shooed away as the doctor rushed forward, making the crowd disband from around the novelty and told to go mind their business.

Benni returned to her fish basket, staring sightlessly at her purchases and frowning slightly. She walks slowly back to the convent, she doesn’t know what tell them when they tell her that an angel had fallen to earth today, a blazing star that crashed to the hard ground. They make the sign of the cross and tisk.

Benni takes her meal in her room that night.

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

Avian’s weren’t angels, but many tales began of them descending from the heaven’s and ruling the humans like Gods in early history.

Benni doesn’t go looking to be ruled, but she also ignores the gossip surrounding the creature in the belltower. People rolled their eyes at the good doctor who wouldn’t let anyone near the young winged woman. Was he a fool? The creature would eat him once it got its strength back.

Benni tried to forget it altogether for awhile.

The days blended together, spring was pulsing through the land and they had prayers to do, shrines to decorate, gardens to plant and kitchens to run. Benni was on hall duty, scrubbing the floors from front to back with a soggy mop.

Sister Helen made a point to step across her shiny wood each time Benni was finished, the other Sister made hard eye contact with Benni each time she did it. If Benni wasn’t a nun she would show her what a black eye looked like.

Then she had to go twenty hail marys every time she thought about that too.

The food became more bland as the kitchen master cracks down on the missing sugar rations and news of the King’s War dulls to a few murmurs. It had been too many years to keep track of.

And Benni waits. She waits for something, maybe salvation and maybe better kept floors.

It’s lightly raining when the Omo’s third born knocked on the gigantic doors of the convent. Benni is in the back helping the Kitchen Master shell peas for the soup that night, she was lost in the thick honey of her own thoughts.

“Sister Bernadette!”

Benni’s face turned up and she forces her expression to remain completely neutral as she is called, she stands up with a perfectly straight spine, “Yes?” Sister Jade nodded sharply back at her and wrinkled her nose delicately, as if she smelled something particularly rancid a few seconds ago.

“You are being called for.”

She blinked, “By who?” Sister Jade shook her head, eyes sharp, “I didn’t ask. They want you now.” Benni’s eyebrows raised slightly and she put down her bowl, she glanced at the Kitchen Master “I’ll be right back Becca.” They nodded at one another and Benni followed the sister out of the room and down the long lit halls with enormous golden windows and a nesting of pigeons in the rafting.

Benni didn’t make eye contact with the other nun, opting to instead focus solely on the smooth floorboards and her own breaths. Benni did that with the nuns that fell uncomfortably silent around her- focus on herself, the tastes in her mouth, the sounds in the air.

She focuses on the wide hush in the halls.

It was all very grey, a grey mush taste and grey buzz of something unnamable. The walk felt like a long time.

Benni’s eyes go wide when she sees a messenger boy in a little page hat in the main courtyard, he stands completely stiff, the Omo’s third born. He has windswept dark black hair under his cap and a little burgundy vest, he was stringy and long like his siblings. He raised his chin and seemed to try and suppress a smile as he sees them.

Benni managed a small smile back as their eyes meet.

Mother Superior Yulia turns slowly to the approaching women, “ah, there you are Sister Bernadette.” Mother Superior never had the ‘burnt toast under my nose’ look on her face when she saw Benni. Benni appreciated that.

“Good morning Reverend Mother,” she dipped her head down in greeting and the Mother  Superior returned the gesture.

“I got a summons for you!” The messenger boy said quickly, obviously a little too energized to hold it all in.

“For me?” She blinked a couple times and tried to find something humble to say, searching the air for some explanation for the attention.

The messenger just nodded, “Dr. Tannenbaum has sent for ya!”

Benni can’t help but stand up even straighter, “the doctor?” She glances at the Mother Superior to see if this is an elaborate prank, The Mother just watched the messenger intently as well.

“You are the pilot Bernadette Rogers?” He asked briskly, Benni just nodded back.

“That’s me?” It felt like a question.

He grinned, “I have a patron who would like to see you we think.” Benni doesn’t know what to make of that, but Mother Superior says charity is their first priority. She goes to make her walk up the hill.

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

She’s different than Benni first remembers, whole for one thing, not crumpled in the middle of a crowd of ogling strangers for another. She is standing on the belltower.

The bell tower was a tall structure, constructed by the first monks that came up this way- to look out across the mountains and ocean, to bring something together for the heaven’s. The tower was tall and crumbling in many places, white cobblestone climbing and climbing toward the sun. It was supposed to overlook God’s creation, now it mostly struggled to stay upright.

The bell had long been stolen by a band of passing raiders, but the building itself remained. Benni had no idea why the good doctor had put up the stranger in the bell tower outside of town, but she followed nonetheless.

The first thing Benni sees is that figure, standing on a plank attached to the highest window, standing and letting the wind tossle her long white dress and blonde hair.

Benni could feel the Avian watching her as she approaches, like a challenge, like a threat. Benni looked back to the ground.

“They really want me of all people, Kui?” She asks softly as they approach, she had learned the boys name on the twenty minute walk over.

Kui just looked over his shoulder, “Course they do.” He nodded, “The doctor needs an expert.” Benni shook her head and gave a half-smile, “Will you take half of one?” He snorted back at that.

“Doctor!” He called loudly as they approach, “Doc, I got her!”

Benni hefted the basket of wine, cheese, and other small presents up higher on her back and tries to get her thoughts in order: it was just another charitable mission.

She was here to do good.

She heard the thumping of heavy feet and a weary voice from within, “Come in, come in.”

Kui pushed the grinding wooden door open, “I’ve been helping the doc,” he says, obviously with a hint of pride in his voice, “Has me running errands for the mission and stuff.” Benni just nodded again, “it’s good work you and the doctor have been doing, the Sisters sends our-” Benni stopped mid-sentence, her eyes drifting up to the rafters and stopping, words fading from her mouth like sea foam dissolving into waves.

A pair of sizzling blue eyes broil her skin clean off as they land on Benni, a young woman in a white dress stands up above. This Avian scowls at her with the force of a small militia, she bares her teeth and glowered.

“I don’t need a flight doctor!” The Avian turned on her heels and a door slammed shut from up above, the doctor gives out a much softer sigh.

He looked up with his sad drooping eyes, “Please come in Sister Bernadette.” And just like that, Benni enters the Bell Tower and all their little mission had to offer.

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

Benni sat with a cup of warm tea in her hands and the light of a cool spring day shining through some of the holes in the belltower walls. She can’t help but keep glancing up toward the second story of the place.

“Don’t mind her,” the good doctor was in his early middle age but it looked late, perhaps it was the abundance of sharp grey hair and frown lines. He wore a pair of square glasses, a series of practical brown suits, and a little pocket battered pocket watch. Had the look of someone always on the verge of shaking his head in disappointment.

He chuckled when he looked at the two of them, “She’s just a little embarrassed.”

Benni looked away from the ceiling again, “Is she alright?” She whispered that, “You know, after the…” She mimes her hand falling to earth and exploding.

He nods, “She’s getting there,” he says at normal volume, “But I’m afraid it’s wrecked her humerus... And confidence.” “Has not!” A voice said shrilly from up above, Benni raised her eyebrows at that.

“She’s got bird hearing,” Kui says bluntly to Benni this time.

“Right,” she glances up and then back down again, “Well, on behalf of the Sisters of All Father’s I’m happy to bring you supplies and any food we can provide, but as for me…” She cleared her throat, tip-toeing around something like a bomb on the floor.

“Yes, she’s getting better,” nodded the doctor, “But I’d like to have someone who knows about flight to help her back onto her feet.” He paused for a second, “proverbially.”

The edges of Benni’s lips twitch up, “I mean…” She tugged at the end of her habit, an old urge to fiddle with her lengths of her thick orange hair. “There isn’t much I can do.” “Exactly!” A shrill voice responds.

The doctor’s eyes drift upwards, “If you’d like, you can come join us, we have warm tea Harriet.” She just heard a loud ‘humph’ in response and nothing else. The doctor looked back to Benni.

“Just help her to fly again,” the doctor says patiently, “any extra words of advice might help at this point.” Benni realized she might be one of their last resorts. The bird-girl really wasn’t flying.

Benni gulped gently and sipped at her tea, not looking at any of them. “I haven’t flown in at least a year.” She mumbled. “I’m not sure… it would be wise.”

The doctor shrugged, “The choice is yours,” he stood up, “Thank you for the cheese though.” She blinked, “Anytime!” She shifted back and forth in place, “perhaps… Perhaps I can just help with the supplies, doctor, anything you need.” “Hey, I do the supply runs,” Kui said a little petulantly.

The doctor put a hand up, he smiled, “Any helping hands would do.” He pointed up, “We’re not going anywhere.” He chuckleed like it’s a joke and Benni heard some sort of grumbling from up above.

She hummed thoughtfully and turned her chin up, “How are your wings now?” She called up to the rafters, “I’m Sister Bernadette by the way.” She paused, “You can call me Sister Benni.” She doesn’t know why she adds the last part, perhaps because she is sick to death of being the former.

“I don’t care!”

She doesn’t meet Harriet that day.

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

Benni returned, after her morning prayers, after scrubbing the floors, after almost being tripped on her way out and almost starting something in the Lord’s house. A girl was standing on the belltower with her massive white wings sunning in the late morning light, she stands on the plank of wood- just like before. Benni looks up at her curiously and gets the same angry expression shot back. It reminded her of a street urchin who refused to take their hard tack they were giving out last winter.

He was so furious he broke the whole thing on the ground. Benni never understood that.

Instead she waved, “I brought some apples!”

The girl just shook her head and walked back inside, Benni wished for the life of her she could tell Harriet what she thought of her manners. But then she’d have to do a couple more hail mary’s.

The doctor was sitting at a small table, taking out three different vials and a stethoscope from his bag. Benni waved and mentioned the apples and wine, he murmured a thank you.

“Do you not have other patients doctor?” She finally asked she sits neatly down in front of him.

He glanced up over his thin wire frame glasses, “I do.” His eyes wandered up, “but I try to be here in the mornings. Just to check on her progress.” “And so she doesn’t get lonely!” Kui was back and he was waving as he came in the door.

Benni hummed, “I can help with that too,” she cracked her knuckles, “then you can tend to more patients.” He furrowed his brow but doesn’t say anything more, Kui went to the stairs, “It’s time to eat Harriet!” He called up, “and come say hi to the Sister. She’s fine, I promise.”

“I already have sisters.” The voice calls from up above like a very terse higher power. “And I’m honestly not fond of most of them.”

“Haha,” The doctor says dryly, “We know you know who she is.” She heard a hard heavy sigh, “I want two of the apples,” she paused, “maybe three.”

“Fine by us,” the doctor was setting out four plates on the small table in the center of the dusty room. “Just wash your hands once you’re down here.”

Benni sat up straight as she realized she was about to meet the second species of earth, she kept her eyes glued on the stairs. She held her breath as a pair of slim colorless feet appear. They are thin and almost glow white in the dimness, a girl follows in after them, she has enormous wings plastered to her back and her body seemed small and doll-like between them.

It was like the wings would take off by themselves and shake the life out of the creature caught in the middle of them.

The Avian, Harriet, was not done glaring as their eyes finally meet.

Harriet sniffed loudly, “I don’t need a flight doctor.” Benni just blinked, “I don’t know how to fly.” She doesn’t know why she said that.

Harriet rolled her eyes and came down to the floor with a flourish, sweeping her dress underneath her and sitting down.

Harriet frowned slightly and looked at Benni’s back, “I know.” Benni keeps her face very neutral, “It’s nice to meet you Harriet-” “Not my real name.” “I’m Sister-” “Benni.” “And I’m a nun.” “Cool.” She crossed her arms over her chest, “But if you try and convert me I’ll knock your teeth in.” Benni raised her eyebrows, “noted.” The doctor started cutting up the apples and distributing the cheese, Harriet kept glancing at Benni like that might help her catch fire. Benni only twitched a little bit.

The doctor took a slow purposeful bite of his apple, swallowing like it almost pained him. “Eat, Harriet,” he says in his quite reserved way. “The Sister is going to help you fly today.”

Harriet narrowed her eyes and then looked down into her lap, “I can fly,” she said it slowly, through her teeth.

“Perfect,” the doctor swallows, “then you’ll barely need Sister Benni.” Benni made brief eye contact with Harriet and they finish their meal in relative silence with Kui interrupting a couple times to comment on his new shoes or friends or horses he recently met.

Meanwhile, Benni tried to go through everything she knew about flight and Avians. They weren’t exactly airplanes, Benni wished she could just turn to the doctor and say: what exactly do you expect me to do?

But that might ruin whatever ruse of the ‘Serene Confident Nun’ she was going for. Instead, she tried to smile Harriet’s way and put on a semblance of good cheer.

“I’m sure there’s something we can do,” she said confidently, “your wings look very strong and… lovely.” She was trying.

Harriet eyed her with the look of hot irons, “Your legs look very weak and puny. Are we done?” Benni rolled her eyes, “Did I accidentally step on your tail feathers at some point?” She grumbled, she forgets that she said that outloud.

Harriet clicked her tongue, face tinting a little red. She frowned at Benni, “You were at my crash site.” “Oh,” Benni said softly, “Oh yes. I… remember that.” Harriet leaned dangerously toward her and takes a nasty bite of the apple, “Right. Great. Let’s be best friends after you ogled me like that.”

“Oh,” Benni blinked, “I’m sorry I wasn’t very much help, in the future I’ll try and-” “Yeah, yeah.” It was going to be a long day.

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

Benni craned her neck back, spine completely straight and eyes wide, “Just imagine the take off.” She calls out loosely, she didn’t know how else to approach this. She couldn’t exactly say ‘man the throttle’ and ease onto the acceleration.

She tried to hold Harriet’s gaze instead, “Keep your eyes on me, envision the lift-off.”

Harriet was shivering up above her as she stood on the edge of a gentle incline, Benni was just below. It was time for Harriet to prove she could fly after all- though Benni was beginning to see why she was still stuck on the ground.

They stood on a green hill with the doctor and Kui off to the side, the grass tickled her ankles and the sun warmed her neck gently. It was an awfully nice day for a tension like electric strikes bogging the air down.

Harriet was hunched over and looking at her feet, her jaw locked and shoulders taut, Benni wracked her brain for something more to say. The wind tousled their hair and Benni takes a step forward.

“Watch me!” She says loudly, “Watch me and only me- then try and jump.” Avians must have some sort of instincts that must kick in for this sort of thing.

Harriet’s gaze finally snapped back into focus and she frowned back over to Benni, “Jump? Just like that?” She snaps her fingers, “And I’ll be flying. Of course.” Benni waved her hand in the air, “Yes! You’re born for this, trust me. Watch me, take a deep breath,” she does a small hop, “And jump!”

“I can’t just-” “I’ve flown for 26 hours straight once, do you really want groundlings like me besting you? Don’t hesitate,” Benni takes a commanding step forward, “Jump!”

Some sort of iron hardens in Harriet’s eyes, her muscles ripple and something alien and fierce seems to come over her features- making them almost slanted and birdlike. She digs her heels in and Harriet’s mouth falls open as The Avian’s wings extend. They were almost twice the size of the girl herself, enormous, endless, world-shakers.

Harriet leaps.

Her mouth makes a small, relaxed ‘o’ and her eyes shimmer as her face turns to the sun and for a moment, just a moment, she’s suspended there. A beautiful firefly stuck in amber, frozen like a picture.

And then she’s falling.

Benni opened her mouth to curse but doesn’t have time for either cursing or then asking for forgiveness for it. She jogged forward as Harriet goes tumbling down, her wings barely flapping before she’s dragged down heels over head.

“Oof,” the girl gave out a wheeze as she started rolling down the hill, Benni barely has time to throw herself in front of her trajectory.

“Ack,” she flinched as she catches Harriet, stopping her from careening down the slight hill into the village itself. “Oh jeez,” Benni propped Harriet up and pushed her mess of wild blonde hair back, searching her face as she does.

Harriet jerked upright almost instantly, her face flushed and little bit of dirt smudged across her cheek, her teeth are sharp and shiny as she snarls. “I told you!”

“No,” Benni shakes her head, “You said you could fly.” Harriet looked down dejectly at her feet and Benni sat dumbly next to her, she was never very good at comforting people. She was more of a ‘floor-scrubbing’ nun than a support one.

“I mean I will,” Harriet gulped, her eyes shining. “I will fly.” She got up and starts running up the hill, “Again!”

“Wait,” Benni wrinkled her nose, “Take a break? Maybe?” “Again!” Harriet threw her arms in the air, “and don’t just yell ‘jump’ at me, come on.” Benni raises her eyebrows, “you have better advice?” Harriet rolled her eyes and straightened her dress out, “Yeah,” she gives a ferocious grin, “watch out.” She jumped off the incline again. Benni barely catches her this time.

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

“It’s alright,” Benni dabs at a cut on Harriet’s cheek with a cool rag, the other girl wasn’t looking at her again. Or anyone.

The sun was low in the sky and an orange milky glow reflected off their skin like dew, they shuffled their way back to the belltower in silence. The doctor left to tend to more patients in the afternoon.

Kui followed them as far as the bell tower and then ran off to go get more clean water for the night.

Benni stared at Harriet as she cleaned another cut off her left shoulder, “It’s alright.” She says again, still mostly at a loss for words.

Harriet stuck out her bottom lip, her expression pinching, she whips her head up and catches Benni in her intense gaze. “Say it.” Benni sits up straight, “Say what?” “Say what you’re thinking.” Benni opens and closes her mouth, “It’s a very nice day?” Harriet goes to stand up, “Ugh.”

“Okay,” Benni takes a deep breath, “I am a little curious on how an Avian…. Forgets, you know.” “How to fly?” Harriet looked just as angry as before. She turns around heatedly, the rows of bruises showing up and down her shoulder blades and arms. They’re both silent for a long, long lucid second, like sucking on ice cube and waiting for it to melt.

Harriet sits down again, this time by the open window, letting herself be bathed in burning orange light. “We have a saying,” She said slowly, quietly, her face turned to Benni haltingly, “It is easy to walk. The earth is soft and forgiving.” She takes a deep breath, “The sky is not. It’s cruel, vengeful, it has rules and will drag us all down if given the chance.”

They are still for a long moment, Benni waits for something more but it doesn’t come. “That’s very interesting,” she meant it. “I never met an Avian before.” Harriet doesn’t look back, “I can tell.” Bitterness wafted off her.

Benni takes a step forward, “We’d like to help.” Harriet gets back up, her shoulders tense and something almost slippery and dreamlike about her, a battered body between two perfect statues of wings. “Sister,” Harriet goes sluggishly toward the stairs, “I’d like to be alone now.” Benni has no choice but to turn around and retreat out of the bell tower. At least Harriet doesn’t scowl at her like she’s made of venomous bees as Benni leaves.

It was a start.

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

Benni doesn’t know where they got it, not initially at least.

It had faded paint that must have been cherry red at one point, landing gear from ten years ago and an engine from 20. The upholstery was slashed in several parts and the controls made her feel dusty just looking at them.

The wings were double-stacked and made for seafaring long distances, in many ways it was more glider than plane, but she digressed.

There was a little parade for it’s arrival, old mother Georgi had mentioned to the neighbors of Aunt Elsa who talked to Mr. Nelson who talked to his cousin who mentioned it to his bar keep. Apparently there was an airplane a town over, and they’d be willing to part with it- after all, Avian’s didn’t come around every day.

The plane was pushed down the streets, one of the Omo’s older daughters played a tin drum, shouting ‘heave! Ho!’ To the boys and girls pushing the glider all the way from Springton.

Benni finished scrubbing the floors at half past ten and only came in time for the end of the parade, the faded red plane pushed and heaved toward the belltower. Benni’s mouth fell open as she saw the display and couldn’t help but mouth ‘why?’ to herself.

One of the teenagers standing near her flashed a toothy grin, “Is that for you pilot Rogers?” Benni turned and doesn’t reply, she ran to the belltower, the beating of the tin drum chasing her heels as she tries to get there first. She’s sweating through her undershirt when she comes bursting into the small white bell tower.

“They got a plane!” She calls breathlessly to no one.

It took her another minute to locate the doctor, stooped at the back of the round room, murmuring to himself.

“They got a plane.” She repeats, this time a little more calmly.

The doctor glanced at her slowly, as if just now realizing she was there, he clears his throat, “Yes,” he nodded, “I asked them for it.” He says factually.

Benni frowned, “Why?” “Well,” The doctor adjusted his square glasses, “It’s almost been three months now. We’ll have to try something new with Harriet.” Benni frowned decidedly, tugging at her habit and taking a step backward, “Does she even know how to fly an airplane?” She knew it was a stupid question, almost a joke really.

Dr. Tannenbaum just looks her up and down, “No,” he says slowly, “but you do.” Benni just looked at her feet, mentally taking a step out the door and maybe into the ocean or something. She just shook her head, “It’s been awhile.” The doctor cleaned his glasses, “It’s your choice. Of course.” Those words were familiar by now.

“What does Harriet have to say about all of this?” She changed the subject.

The doctor glanced up, “Harriet!” He called and Benni immediately sees a golden head pop up.

She was also frowning as usual, she sniffed loudly, “Can you fly or can’t you?” Those words were reminiscent of one's Benni more or less said to Harriet days before.

Benni stiffened up, “How would it-” Harriet shrugged and cleared her throat loudly, “ahem,” she bats her long eyelashes, “I think it could be educational to go up.” She says innocently, “if you can.” Benni narrowed her eyes, “I was a pilot for six years.” She says, trying to restrain an urge to puff out her chest or growl.

Harriet gave a slow smile, “Then let’s go up fly-girl.” Benni can only hear herself sigh, but she wasn’t always good at denying temptation.

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

The plane was called a Marriette, all chunky wings and clanking landing gear, Benni takes a long time trying to access whether the thing could actually be airborne. Harriet was expectedly impatient.

“They said it could get up.” “It was a child who said that,” Benni said back testily, eyes surveying a silent graveyard of an engine.

“Sister,” Harriet said slowly, “are you stalling?” “Of course not,” Benni snapped back as she looks at the ruddy turbines, “there were leaves in the exhaust pipe and I’m sure you don’t fancy crashing again.” “Right, right,” Harriet says grudgingly as she takes a seat next to her on the plane wing. A beat passes, Harriet drums her fingers on the metal of the plane. “What exactly are you doing right now then, flight doctor?”

Benni’s left eyebrow twitched, “Can’t you go eat an apple or something?” She tried to shoo her.

Harriet shrugged, “Not hungry,” she scratched her nose, “where did you learn how to fly anyway?” “Now you’re curious,” Benni tisked and checked the fuel lines again, they seemed to be intact. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them that. “Come on,” Harriet drummed her fingers again, “The doctor keeps saying he doesn’t know anything about you either.” Benni paused trying to check on the electrical box, she glanced over her shoulder, “So you’ve been asking about me.” Harriet just shook her head, “so you learned how to fly out of cereal box then. I see.” Benni snorts, “Do Avian’s have cereal?” “Do humans?” Benni rolled her eyes, “I learned to fly in the royal military.” She said briskly, “They have most the planes anyway.” Harriet seemed to lean toward her, “What?” A long pause follows as Benni concentrates on putting oil in the empty tank. “You flew in the war then?” Benni doesn’t look at her, “I suppose you would know about the war.” She looked over her shoulder.

Harriet cocked her head to the side, “I heard a few passing things about it from Kui. Humans do have an awful lot of unnecessary fighting though.” Benni snorted and straightened up, “You’ve got that right.” “Did you kill anyone?” Benni gave a deep sigh and stands back up, “Do you want to fly today or not?” Harriet’s angular strange face seemed to light up, “I suppose I wouldn’t mind it.” There was something almost childish and giddy about her expression, Benni just nods back.

“How old are you anyway?” “Thirty-eight.” Benni makes a face, “Of course.”

It took a good ten minutes to locate the doctor to provide helmets for them, he seems to be actually smiling for once when he hands them over. It takes another fifteen minutes to fit all of Harriet’s wings properly into the seat next to her.

They’d have a landing path ready, a long stretch of country road which was going to be as flat as it was going to get.

They were going up.

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

Benni’s heartbeat was stuck in her throat, pounding and sending a flush of bloodrush from her toes to her fingertips. Her hands shake a little bit as she takes the controls, she can barely hear anything as she grabs hold, placing her feet on the rudder pedals and clenching her jaw.

She swallows thickly and something else takes over, something she can’t name.

She pushed the fuel mixture knob completely in and advanced the throttle slowly, the engine roars to life, the little propeller whirring round and round as the plane heated up.

Harriet was asking questions again, “What are you doing? How long will this take?” “Watch,” Benni said slowly, a wicked grin overtaking her features, “This is how it’s done little bird girl.” That’s the last phrase she gets out before she lets the plane start rumbling down the take off strip. A little crowd was gathered a stone's throw away and she can almost hear their gasps and cheers over the air whipping around her helmet.

She would lie to Mother Superior later and say she wasn’t grinning like a fool as she pulled back on the yoke, as she let the sky come rushing up like a welcoming lovers embrace. As soft and blue as the universe itself.

Benni noted Harriet’s hand clutching her shoulder, but she was busy laughing and whooping for a long second. “Did you feel that?” She cried, “Do you feel that?” She looked over and Harriet’s eyes were round and moist, her expression shifting and unreadable. “Oh my God,” the bird girl murmured, her talons digging into Benni’s shoulder, “Oh my freaking God.” “He’s listening,” Benni whoops, “We are so much dang closer to Him now.” She banks left and lets the trees rustle beneath them, Harriet shifted next to her.

“Sister Benni!” She yelled over the wind shear, “You’re flying.” Benni turned to her and winked, “We’re both flying now girlie.” She knows she shouldn’t let the old bravado take over, but the Sister’s couldn’t see her now. No one could.

She banks toward the sparkling ocean and the rush of the high noon sun.

She glanced over to see Harriet almost shivering next to her, Benni blinked, “Are you cold? Look over the edge Harriet.” Harriet glanced at her and then just shook her head, her mouth a hard straight line across her face. Benni’s eyes go soft, she gently reaches up and takes the hand still clutching her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she feels the smile on her face softening, “I’ve got us. I won’t let us fall.” “It’s not that,” Harriet snapped back, her face pale.

Benni leaned toward her, “look over the edge.” Harriet met Benni’s gaze and then glanced out toward the edge of the plane she was huddling far far away from. The Avian gulps.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, any of it,” she whispered, “or tease me about it later.” Benni crossed her heart, “Never.” She winks, “I’m a nun, remember?”

Harriet grumbled something back, but was already shifting toward the edge of the plane, creeping toward the low plastic window. Benni squeezed her knee.

“You can do,” she said quietly, not loud enough to hear. She mentally sends Harriet every fiber of her support she can, “You can do it!” She yells it this time.

Harriet looked tersely over her shoulder and then sticks her face over the edge of the plane, her body stiffening and tufts of blonde hair whipping around.

Benni banked them next to the ocean surf far below and let’s Harriet take in for a long second, the sparkling of the water and curving perfect horizon. She doesn’t know what the other woman sees, but she can take in the endless rolling hills, the dots of people down below, the little brown buildings and curving shoreline.

Benni took a deep breath and shouts at the top of her lungs, “Say it with me Harriet!” She nudged the other girl and yelled, “I’m an idiot and I’m up in the air! And it’s great!” “Shut up,” Harriet turned back to her, her eyes were wet and streaming, but she was smiling so widely it looked like it hurt, “Shut up!”

“I’m an idiot and I’m flying!”

“I’m flying with an idiot!” They laugh, they laugh like they hadn’t before and Benni can’t help but feel maybe the dreams wouldn't come this night. Maybe she was made for this.

She has Harriet whoop with her, yelling noisily above the engine and flying in wide looping circles as they tore across the clear soft blue of the sky. She hoped for a moment it would never end.

#fantasy #original story #writers on tumblr #wlw #sapphic #wlw short stories #I decided to split this into 2 parts after all it's just too long #wlw fantasy stories #lbgt romance #my writing #f/f

[passionate-baker]

Italian Adventures Part II: Bologna

Finally, the time has come - welcome to Italian Adventures Part II: Bologna!

Boyfriend introduced me to the gorgeous city of Bologna not long after we got together, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why it holds such a special place in my heart. On our first trip there, I fell head-over-heels for the city & ever more smitten with Boyfriend. We’ve been back a handful of times since that first visit, & every time - without fail - we dream of uprooting everything we have here in Dublin & running off to the Emilia-Romagna capital. It’s romantic, it’s quaint & peaceful, it miraculously remains somewhat untainted by tourism, and it’s the birthplace of one of our favourite meals: the mighty ragu. 

Bologna is known as ‘La Grassa’ in Italian - which translates to ‘the fat’ in English - & it isn’t hard to see why: you will be extremely hard pressed to have a bad meal in the city. Although I’ve included a list of our favourite restaurants below, use that more as a guideline to get out & find the places that work for you; we’ve eaten at a hell of a lot more restaurants than are listed here, but these are our old faves. Wherever you find yourself, please don’t miss the opportunity to enjoy two dishes - tagliatelle al ragu & gramigna alla salsiccia - both of which are specialties of the city. You can thank us when you get home. 

As with our Italian Adventures Part I: Florence guide, there is a huge amount of recommendations in this post. To make life easier, I’ve streamlined everything into six sections: Stay / Coffee / Eat / Drink / Museums + Attractions / Places to See + Things to Do. The difference between the last two sections is an entry fee; Museums + Attractions are all paid entrance, while the Places to See + Things to Do are free. 

Happy travelling, friends!

S T A Y

Airbnb  //  we stayed in the most fantastic apartment on our last visit. The flat - Silent Bright Apartment -  is located a stone’s throw from Strada Maggiore & was honestly the best Airbnb experience we’ve ever had. It was spacious and clean, it had a balcony, it overlooked the blazing rooftops of the city, the kitchen was extremely well equipped for cooking, the bed was amazing, and there was a bathtub in the bedroom. The location was about an eight minute walk to the main square in the city. Basically: it. was. perfection. Added bonus: there was a totally adorable turtle roaming free in the courtyard below! We named him Sporo and had a really hard time leaving him behind. 

Albergo delle Drapperie  //  if you’re looking for something more central, you can’t really find anything better than this boutique hotel. It’s quite small, and it literally overlooks the bustling market stalls of the old town. If I remember correctly: the hotel is across the road from a beautiful flower shop (feast for your eyes), around the corner from Tamborini (feast for your belly), and a further few minutes walk from Osteria del Sole (feast for your Italian soul), which is kind of exactly where you want to be.

C O F F E E

Caffe Zanarini  //  for us, this is the Gilli of Bologna. The coffee is fantastic, the pastries are even better, and the space has that super Italian feel to it that just warms my heart. We normally nab a spot along the bar & enjoy our breakfast the true Italian way, but once in a while we treat ourselves to the somewhat extortionate prices for a table outside on the square. Let me tell you, it is always worth it, if even just for the people watching. (And pigeons.) A must-visit.  

E A T

Trattoria Serghei  //  three words: gramigna alla salsiccia. After ragu (duh), this is the dish of Bologna, and Serghei do it extremely well. It’s a small, traditionally run family joint that we find ourselves returning to time and time again. The food is always exceptional. We normally go for the ragu & the salsiccia pasta dishes to start, and then share a big hunk of meat as a main - the last time, it was an insanely tender pork shank that was about the same size as Boyfriend’s head. Amen to that! A must-visit. 

Osteria de Coltelli Da Biagio  //  a tiny bit further than some might be willing to venture, but the food is worth it. The dishes are on the larger, heartier side of things, and the meal as a whole was outstanding value for money! ... that said, we did notice the staff favoring the locals over tourists like us, but the quality of the food was high enough for us to let this slide. 

La Capriata  //  wandering along a covered archway off Strada Maggiore one day, we stumbled across LC & decided to stop in for a lazy lunch. We ate in the most beautiful sun-drenched courtyard, surrounded by lemon trees. The food was outstanding. It was super fresh - we had an amazing caprese salad that was beyond delicious - and perfectly traditional; I had an unforgettable ragu with homemade pasta served in a Parmesan bowl. A bowl made of Parmesan = the stuff of dreams! 

Pizza Regina  //  sometimes, you just need a pizza and you need it to be reliable. We opted for the less traditional take-out option and brought our meal with us to Osteria del Sole so we could have it with a beer. We ordered a custom made pizza - n’duja + mozzarella -  & devoured it within five minutes of sitting down. It was amazing! 

Lindt  //  I’m kind of a bit sorry/not sorry for including this in my list. Listen, just hear me out: we had delicious chocolate gelato in the most amazing chocolate hazelnut dipped cones and it was worth every single penny. I regret nothing. 

La Sorbetteria Castiglione  //  for a more authentic gelato experience, we always trek a little bit out of our way and it never disappoints. Our faves are the pistacchio and nocciola!

D R I N K

Osteria del Sole  //  definitely one of our favourite places in all of Bologna. According to my notes, it’s the oldest osteria in the region - 1465 apparently! - and it is so bloody brilliant in it’s simplicity. You make your way through the market streets, buy some antipasti goods in the nearby market, bring it into Osteria del Sole, buy a drink to go with it, and have your lunch picnic style alongside locals at one of the long communal tables. It is fantastic. An experience not to be missed: a must-visit. 

Osteria I’Infedele  //  a recent find. Similar in style to Osteria del Sole in that it was small, filled with locals, cheap & relaxed, but it had a more youthful vibe to it and a wider drinks selection of cocktails etc. 

RosaRose  //  located on Via Clavature, this is a fantastic spot for people watching. Boyfriend & I sat outside for hours one evening, listening to a nearby street musician, soaking up the atmosphere, enjoying the free platter of food that came with our spritzs, watching the sky change from blue to pink to dusk. Perfection. To experience the true Bologna vibe, this is a must-visit. 

Enoteca Italiana  //  a beautiful wine shop that has a small amount of barrels & stools for dining on. We enjoyed some wine with a delicious meat & cheese platter on one of our first visits, and have since returned for breakfast & coffee. 

Bar Senza Nome  //  a fantastically vibrant bar, located on a buzzy street lined with heaps of similar places. However! This one, apparently, is the only bar in Italy that is run & managed by deaf people. It’s amazing! You go in & the walls are lined with how-to sign language photos for ordering your drink! If you aren’t brave enough, the barmaids read your lips and that’s equally as amazing. Such a fantastic experience. Added bonus: you can eat your weight in free monkey nuts while drinking extremely cheap spritzs! Probably our favourite bar in the world. A must-visit. 

Birreria Popolare  //  a hipster craft beer place that was located conveniently near to our apartment. We were drawn in by the beer emoji sign out front, and we sampled some nice Italian beer. Added bonus: if you’re lucky enough to visit at the right time (we were), you get a free platter of food with your drinks!

Le Stanze  //  I kind of liked the thought of this bar more than I actually enjoyed our experience there. It’s located inside an old chapel from the 16th century, and there are original frescoes still lining the walls & the ceilings. It was cool to see the artwork, but there was nothing distinctly Italian about the place. It was overpriced, and too touristy for our tastes.

M U S E U M S  +  A T T R A C T I O N S

Palazzo dell’Archiginnasio  //  one of the most magical, dreamlike buildings I’ve ever visited - somewhat reminiscent of Hogwarts. Boyfriend & I spent ages wandering back and forth along the arched passageways, but the real draw (and the part you have to pay into) is the wooden Teatro Anatomico from the 17th century, where they used to hold anatomy lessons. Worth the €3!

Santa Maria della Vita  //  the lure of this church, although pretty beautiful in its own right, is actually a fantastic group of wooden sculptures hidden in the back. They charge a measly €4 to see the group, but it’s certainly worth it: the scene depicted is the moment that Jesus dies, and honestly they are some of the most expressive pieces of art we’ve seen.

La Due Torri  //  yes, it’s very steep, and yes, it’s claustrophobic.. but it’s worth it for the breathtaking views over the terracotta rooftops of Bologna. Added bonus: it’s super cheap! A must-visit. 

Palazzo Fava  //  a renaissance palace & art gallery space. The very first time we went to Bologna together, we saw an amazing Edward Hopper exhibition here, so it’s definitely worth checking upcoming shows just in case!

Museo Civico Archeologico  //  fantastic archaeology museum to wander around if you find yourself looking for something to do. Particular highlights for us were the beautiful building itself, and the Egyptian exhibition.

P L A C E S   T O   S E E   +   T H I N G S   T O   D O

Market shopping  //  wandering along the tiny streets around Via Drapperie and Via Pescherie Vecchie, you get a real feel for the Bologna lifestyle. The flower shops, the fish stalls, the butchers, the cheese-mongers, we love it all. Our favourite places to stop into for some goodies are Tamburini & Simoni, both of which are reliably great. Definitely a must-visit.

Basilica di San Petronio  //  the central basilica in the middle of Piazza Maggiore. A beautiful internal space, much bigger than it looks from the outside. Note: if you want to take photographs inside the church, you have to pay a small fee. 

R E L A T E D   P O S T S :

Bremen, Germany  //  Paris, France  //  Amsterdam, Holland   //  Copenhagen, Denmark  //  Cork, Ireland  //  Edinburgh, Scotland  //  Westport, Ireland  //  Barcelona, Spain  //  Munich, Germany  //  Vienna, Austria  //  London, UK i - ii - iii  //  Florence, Italy

#bologna #travel #italy

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[chaletnz]

Great Montenegro Tour

I’d booked myself on the Great Montenegro tour for my second day, feeling as though I’d seen most of what Kotor had to offer. It was the perfect day to leave the city because 5 cruise ships were due to arrive today and each one brings about 2000-3000 people. Our tour guide Jelena told us that there are around 3000 people living in Kotor and with the regular live in tourists this number sits at around 5000-7000 people in the city at any given time. The city can comfortably handle about 10,000 so one or two cruise ships can be managed but more than that and the Old City becomes very overcrowded very fast. As we began our drive up into the mountains our guide introduced herself to us as a Serbian native that had lived in Montenegro for the last 10 years, and our driver was a Montenegrin guy called Stefan who never spoke to us so it’s still unknown whether he understands English! We climbed up the old Austro-Hungarian road from 1884 in a winding zig zag pattern with the views getting better as we approached higher serpentines in our tour bus. It was originally the path constructed to connect the “black mountains” (literal translation of Montenegro) to the empire below it on the coast. Unesco has declared the Austro-Hungarian serpentines a world heritage site and so their shape and size cannot be changed, however the roads were paved with asphalt to make them safer for the many tours driving this route on the daily. From the top we had some amazing views of Boka Bay and the Bay of Kotor and we could see them all interconnecting. Jelena mapped out the course to the open sea that the cruise ships would need to male to get in and out of Kotor. As we drove Jelena gave us a breakdown of facts about Montenegro - it has been independent since 2006 when the citizens voted 52% in favour of becoming independent. They officially speak Montenegrin, however this language is more or less the same as Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian which have only minor differences in dialect. The population is around 600,000 people in an area of 14,000km2 which is comparable to the size of the city of Beijing (16,000km2). We arrived at a small local village Njeguši where we were escorted into a smokeroom and given a strong shot of local rakija, then we were invited to get some breakfast of prosciutto and cheese sandwiches made and served right here in this village since 1881 when the restaurant became the first in Montenegro to be approved for a restaurant license. After the small restaurant became overrun by a busload of Germans and a busload of Israelis it was time for us to drive onward to Lovćen Park. On the way up Jelena rattled off a timeline and facts about Petar Petrović Njegoš II who was the most respected leader in Montenegrin history. He died of tuberculosis but before he did, he built himself a small chapel to be buried in way up in the mountains. The citizens of Montenegro decided this wasn’t enough to honour him and so they built a steep railway to transfer materials for a mausoleum. It’s now the highest mausoleum in the world at 1160m and includes a 28 tonne statue of Petar II with an eagle on his shoulder and a ceiling mosaic of pure gold tiles that was a gift from the Italian government. Our next visit in the afternoon heat was the old capital city of Cetinje with over 500 years of history. Jelena took us on a short walking tour through the main pedestrian street and gave us some time to buy a fresh pomegranate juice for just €1 and a nice chocolate dipped ice cream for €1.50. We visited the Cetinje Monastery up on the hill that was founded at the end of the 17th century. The monks eyeballed us tourists as we took a quick glance around, inside was the right hand of Saint John the Baptist and a fragment of the cross used in Jesus’ crucifixion however Jelena warned us that a lot of churches and monasteries all over the world claim to have a part of the holy cross and people often say that if you put them all back together you could build a boat not just a cross! Stefan picked us up after Jelena led us back onto a Main Street of Cetinje and we drove on the windiest, narrowest road yet. It was dangerously tight getting down the curves, some he needed to do three point turns to get around without plunging us into the river below. We reached the lookout point though and I stood on a small X to get my photo taken with the river of Crnojević in the background. The water forms a blue horseshoe around a green island in the centre. In summer there is another bright green layer in the water from the lily pads but now it was too late in the season. In the background we could see mountains from Skadar Lake National Park in Albania with the river flowing into the Skadar Lake. We drove further down to the rivers edge to have our lunch at about 4pm at a nice restaurant there. I sat with a Spanish couple and picked their brain about Spain travel tips as we ate our lunch of fish soup, salad, grilled fish and potatoes and a chocolate crepe each for dessert. To let our food settle we all hopped on a boat and floated down the river with a plastic cup full of some local wine. It was far too cold to swim at the end of the ride so we all just touched a lily pad (apparently that’s a thing!) and headed back on the sunset. Our drive back to Kotor took us through Budva for a quick look at the city under night lights but unfortunately it was too dark to see Saint Steven peninsula so we skipped it and made our back through the hills to Kotor where we all said goodbye.

#Montenegro #Kotor

[twin-kegs]

It's a new week folks. We will have fresh smoked wings today. Place your orders as they go fast. Quarantine Menu again this week. $6 Deals for you. Thank you for supporting local business. For Pickup at 327 Hermitage Ave, call in your order at 615-301-8675 or shoot us an email at [email protected]. We are operating Monday-Friday Noon till 8pm. Once you call in your order, Feel Free to pay with Venmo: @twinkegs or you can pay via CC over the phone 100% of tips will be distributed to the staff so please be generous. If you would like to just contribute to the staff, feel free to use Venmo for that as well. You can order burgers and wings through Ubereats or DoorDash as well however, you will not get the $6 deal. Quarantine $6 Deals (includes Fries or Tots): TK Burger Spice Burger Mushroom Bacon Swiss Cajun Black and Blue Make any one of the burgers a Veggi option for $1 more For the Wings: $8 – ½ Doz $15 – 1 Doz Have them Dry or tossed in either Hot, BBQ or Spicy BBQ Dipping Sauces: Ranch, Blue Cheese, Honey Mustard, Spicy BBQ Fill Up Your Growlers… Local Brews on Tap: Blackstone~Session Player IPA Yazoo~Gerst Fat Bottom~Teddy Loves Pilsner Fat Bottom~2 Hop Shakur West Coast IPA Jackalope~Bear Walker Mill Creek~Lil’ Darlin’ (citrus infused wheat) Tennessee Brew Works~Pie Town (Smoked Pumpkin Porter) Tennessee Brew Works~1927 Black Abbey~44 Porter Yee Haw~Dunkel #tkii #twinkegs #twinkegs2 #divebar #bestburger #catfish #lunch #cheeseburger #bigbadburger #pbr #internationalfamoustwinkegs #nashville #nashvilleblues #bluesjam #2dollartuesday #bluesjam #dollarfiftypbr #coldbeer #smokedwings #livemusic #fireballfriday #Yazoobrewing #blackabbeybrewing #bestburgerinnashville #supportlivemusic Twin Kegs II | 327 Hermitage Ave Nashville, TN 37210 | 615-301-8675(business) www.twinkegs.com (at Nashville, Tennessee) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_NFD3MBwb2/?igshid=14gifr6t1n5pz

#tkii #twinkegs #twinkegs2 #divebar #bestburger #catfish #lunch #cheeseburger #bigbadburger #pbr #internationalfamoustwinkegs #nashville #nashvilleblues #bluesjam #2dollartuesday #dollarfiftypbr #coldbeer #smokedwings #livemusic #fireballfriday #yazoobrewing #blackabbeybrewing #bestburgerinnashville #supportlivemusic

[tastesoftamriel]

Into the unknown (a long tale by Talviel)

Middas, 10th of Second Seed, 4E 206. I sat upon Roach, at the crossroads where Falkreath met Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. I’d finally made my way through all of Skyrim, managing to pry as many recipes as I could from as many people as I could, and taking on the odd cooking job until I was summoned to the Blue Palace to cook for High Queen Elisif and her court, with astounding success. Word of my fame had spread through the province. I was officially ready to move on. Now I was torn between where to go, to the west into Hammerfell, or south-east to Cyrodiil. Several days ago while I was making camp, the wandering Khajiit, M'aiq the Liar, joined me and we exchanged stories (though he did most of the talking). “One does not simply cross the border,” he said, as we parted ways. Roach snorted, stomping a hoof with impatience. Guiding her along the road, I officially crossed the border from Skyrim, and made my way into Cyrodiil.

My mother is an Imperial, hailing from the city of Kvatch, which was totalled during the Oblivion Crisis but built anew before the Great War. Her family was not prosperous, like all who had lost so much during the Crisis, but they were driven away by the fear of the city’s close proximity to the Aldmeri Dominion. Finding work in the Market District in the Imperial City, my grandmother was a cook and cleaner in the district tavern, while my grandfather worked as a gardener throughout the city. My mother was only 12 years old when they moved, so she helped both her parents with their jobs until she was old enough to find work at a weapons shop (where she subsequently met my mercenary father years later, and fled before the Great War). She considered the Imperial City to be her true home in Cyrodiil, and I was curious to see it myself despite the damage done by the Thalmor there. In the three decades since the war, the Imperial City had come a long way in its refurbishment, despite the assassination of the Emperor Titus Mede II in Skyrim by the Dark Brotherhood in 4E 202. Once again, the Empire was faced with the same situation as during the end of the Septim line, and a newly reformed Elder Council was put in place to govern until a new Emperor could be put in place on the throne. However, in spite of a lacking leader, the city flourished and the debris of war was just a memory to the younger folk.

I picked my way west towards Bruma, a town on the tip of the border, and worked hard at the ancient and esteemed Jerall View Inn. In three weeks I was ready to make my way south towards the Imperial City, trembling with excitement to see the lore and legend with my own eyes. I was no supporter of the Empire, but in comparison to the genocidal alternatives of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Stormcloaks, they were kittens in comparison. I tucked my amulet of Talos into my tunic just to be safe, and made my way inside. The vastness of the city and its districts was like nothing in Skyrim, where the biggest cities I had seen were Solitude and Whiterun. Clutching my recommendation from High Queen Elisif, I made my way towards the legendary Tiber Septim Hotel, hoping to find work in their kitchens. The proprietor was a snooty Dunmer woman, who took one look at my letter of recommendation and shook her head at me. “We don’t serve Nord cooking here. Try your luck elsewhere and when you can cook like an Imperial, come find me and we can organise a trial.” She said, as I slunk towards the door feeling humiliated.

After wandering the city and finding mostly squalid or simple taverns and inns with nothing to offer to my culinary education, I finally came upon the Akatosh Tavern in the Elven Gardens District, which before the war had apparently been called the King and Queen Tavern and had been standing since the 3rd era. It was comfortable and homely, and they took me in happily upon seeing my recommendation. The head chef, a portly Imperial named Garrus, was relieved to have an apprentice to help with the kitchen work, and was accommodating and helpful, sharpening the basic knowledge of Imperial cuisine I had picked up in Bruma. He sent me weekly to the countryside outside of the city to pick herbs and vegetables, and when he discovered I was an adept hunter, sent me to collect game (“Why buy from the markets if we can get it for free?” he often said). I soon discovered Imperial cooking to be more flavourful than what I was used to. Marinades, dips, and an abundance of olive oil were staples of our kitchen, as were cheeses (I was introduced to something called ‘feta’, which was also popular with our Khajiit and Redguard patrons). Fresh fruit and vegetables that I had only heard of were rife, and I was ecstatic to finally test my skills with something totally new. To think, just a week from Skyrim’s borders would yield such new experiences! Already I was plotting my trips into Hammerfell, High Rock, and even the deep south under the Aldmeri Dominion, which my parents strongly opposed, being worshippers of Talos.

On my days off, I explored the city, and smiled when I saw Guild marks carved next to every shop and home. Our little Riften Guild had begun its ambitious expansion to conquer all of Tamriel, and while the Grey Fox of the third era was now just a fable, Brynjolf was most certainly real and was running the Guild with clockwork precision and determination. We penned letters to each other frequently, where I talked about my adventures and he about the rapid expansion of the Thieves Guild now that we were once more under blessing of Nocturnal. I made a point of buying items from fences whenever I could to keep the gears of the Guild oiled, and each transaction was made with a knowing nod. As Brynjolf had said, once a thief, always a thief. Each of his letters were in envelopes with a wax seal bearing the mark of the Guild, which when opened smelled strongly of cinnamon and cloves that I always breathed deeply from, wishing we were close.

Two months went by at the Akatosh Tavern. I had gone from being an errand-runner and dish washer to a chef of equal standing with Garrus, who showed no sign of having his position threatened as he knew of my intent to try my luck again at the Tiber Septim Hotel. Until then, I was groomed in the ways of Imperial cuisine, until I was able to handle the kitchen on my own while he took a much deserved holiday. Word spread around the city (not without the help of some name-dropping by the Guild) about my cooking, and soon the dining room of the tavern was packed, day and night. I made fresh mozzarella by hand and kneaded fiddly filo pastries. I mastered stuffed grape leaves and marinated vegetables. The sticky, sickly sweet confectionery, soaked in syrup and nuts, that the Imperials adored were churned out in huge batches that we put on display for our hungry patrons. Soon I was hoisted from the kitchen to cater to parties and fancy dinners at rich homes around the city, until a courier came to me one day bearing the message that the proprietor of the Tiber Septim Hotel wanted to speak with me. Smiling at my triumph, I walked over while greeting the odd customer or merchant who had come to recognise my unnatural grey head around the city.

The Tiber Septim Hotel’s dining area was close to empty compared to the Akatosh Tavern, I observed when I walked in. The snooty Imperial proprietor looked stressed when she saw me, and offered a huge salary for me to move over from the tavern. Knowing I had the upper hand, I leapt at my chance. “I want one month’s salary in advance. I plan on making a journey through the province, to take some time off work and see if there is anything else to learn on the road.” Wearily, she agreed, and I signed a contract there and then that would keep me employed for six months. Grinning from ear to ear, I knew I’d done it. When the year was up, I would probably be cooking for the Elder Council and getting a glimpse into the Palace that was a mystery to all but the privileged. I shouldered my satchel, whistling an old Nord tune, and went to fetch Roach from the stables. The south and west of Cyrodiil awaited, unfolding countless promises and Ayleid ruins to explore despite the damage done by the Thalmor. Further to the south lay Elsweyr and Valenwood, and back north, Hammerfell and High Rock awaited me. Tamriel was sprawling, but I knew I had but a month to cover Cyrodiil alone. I set Roach on a fast trot, and we made our way on the road. As it turns out, leaving Skyrim for the greatest adventure of my lifetime was the best decision I had ever made. M'aiq was right. One does not simply cross the border- one crosses it with an open heart, an open mind, and the promise of the open road.

#cyrodiil #tes iv: oblivion #oblivion #imperial city #the elder scrolls #4e #tes #adventure #travel #cooking #fanfic #fanfiction #tes v skyrim #chapter 6

[newmonk]

UK TRIP

Day 1 // 18th July 2019

- Landed at London Gatwick —> Switched two trains to get to Waterloo —> Walked down Webber Street to figure out exactly where it is - 130, Webber Street: My home for the next two weeks! - Went to the supermarket, got basic supplies, beers & a local SIM - Walk around Union Street, found a chill park - Chose to have dinner at Bala Baya, instead of Gordon Ramsay’s Union Street, because I don’t do mainstream stuff. LOL, kidding. I found Bala Baya’s menu & aesthetic more attractive. - Shopped for more supplies from TESCO at Southwark - Walked back home - Didn’t do much, just trying to get a hang of the city & people

Day 2 // 19th July 2019

- Train from Waterloo —> John Wood's - Starts raining as I walk towards the coveted Lord’s Cricket Ground - Met Dudeja outside Lord’s & started our Lord’s tour - Went to the great hall, merchandise store, the dressing rooms - the place where Ganguly took off & flung his jersey during the Natwest 2002 finals - Bus from Lord’s —> Oxford Circus - Walked around Oxford Street, its a shopping freak show. Since I’m averse to shopping, I didn’t like this street, but the kind of consumerism that exists in London is intense - Went for lunch to The Chipping Forecast: Fish & Chips, Avocado salad & Guinness stout was consumed - Followed by desert at Chin Chin - Met Deep in the evening & we went to Soho Theatre to watch comedy show, which I didn’t know would go on to inspire me to such an extent: DEMI LARDNER - Walked around Piccadilly Circle, China Town, Leicester Square, the popular places of London. Too much fan-fare around these places, very commercial, whereas I prefer the quiet, quaint lanes. Anyway, I couldn’t go to London for the first time & not visit these places, they’re too  iconic too skip! - Walked around the Soho again, had a very good beer while walking - Dinner at Japes Pizzeria with Simon, Dudeja & Deep. Their pizzas were amazing! - Train from Oxford Circus —> Waterloo —> Walked home

Day 3 // 20th July 2019

- Walk from home —> BFI IMAX Waterloo —> Walk down to Tate Modern - MIND EXPLODE at Tate Modern, must’ve spent 5 hours easily, just absorbing - Bus to Nando’s —> Walk to BFI IMAX Waterloo - Watched Lion King at BFI (UK’s largest IMAX screen) - Tried a Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream for the first time. It was nice, normal - Walk back home from BFI - Reached home, then stepped out again - Spotted Andrew Scott outside the Old Vic Theatre! O.M.G. YES - Met Sumit, Sam & Dudeja & The London Eye around midnight, their keys fell into a gutter outside the London Eye & we struggled to get it, Sam & Sumit wrote a note on paper which had their name and contact number & put it through the grill - We went to a supermarket to get magnets since we thought we'll use that to pull out the keys from the gutter, but the shop-owner(from the subcontinent) warned us not to do such stuff, since it would come across as extremely suspicious. - Walked with Dudeja around Union Street - We saw hordes of people line up outside a train bridge, figured there was some underground boxing match happening there. - Walk back home.

Day 4 // 21st July 2019

- Took a train to North Greenwhich, was sent back to Canary Wharf, cozy the observatory is closer from there - SRK’s 'Challa' was shot at Canary Wharf - Heron Qauy-DLR Walk - Got off at Cutty Stark - Walk in Greenwich was amazing, it's a beautiful area - Walked to the observatory, crossing Cafe Rouge, Greenwich theatre & the huge park - Touched and stood on the prime meridian line(EXACT vertical centre of the Earth) & walked around the observatory - Walked down to the National Maritime Museum and saw some cool naval stuff (I didn't know that museums would fascinate me so much!) - Walk through Cutty Stark, bought a couple of vinyl LPs for myself although I don't have a player -_- It's a long term plan, sometimes you get accessories for something that you don't have & that motivates you to get the actual product, right? *I hope it's not just me* - Walked the Thames underground tunnel, it was quite cold down there - Walked across multiple parks to reach Isle of Dogs, (the name of this area inspired Wes Anderson to create a fictional film) which was quite disappointing, since I was expecting some film references, alas, One shouldn't expect too much. I didn't even find a direction symbol or a milestone that read 'Isle of Dogs' - Train back to Canary Wharf --> Switch at Green Park --> Piccadilly Line --> Hyde Park Corner - Met Dudeja, Deep & Simon at Hyde Park - We had a couple of beers, spoke, played catch & frisbee'd - Took a bus to Original Lahore, we were joined by Upmanyu there for dinner - Mediocre food at Original Lahore - Upmanyu walked us around the area, it was the same area where he stayed during his previous visit - Walked to Baker Street & saw Sherlock Holmes house. 221B - Took the bus home.

Day 5 // 22nd July 2019

- Started the day late. Did laundry, dishes, following up with clients regarding work back in Bombay. I was glad I didn’t carry my laptop along!  - Walk to Southwark - Train to Victoria Station - Oxford Tube bus from Victoria Coach - Chill bus ride, reached the majestic city of Oxford - Walked around Oxford University, Christ Church College, by the river that flows through the city - I think I ate the best burger that I've ever eaten at Oxford. It was a smoked beef burger at this restaurant 'Head to the River' - The bartender mocked me coz I said 'I want beer beer'. These two guys made a quick gag, and went on to ask me if I wanted any 'Food Food' 'Water Water' & later apologised for their behaviour by saying they're 'Sorry Sorry' and 'Immature Immature'. I liked the dry humor, that’s my thing too. - Long walk by the river - Slept under a tree at the park, saw ducks, kayaks - Walked around the city for about 2-3 hours - Gelato Ice cream at George & Co - Saw a man in a hat & suit entertaining a group of kids - The architecture here was different from London. - Went to Sainsbury, found lactose free milk - Caught the bus back home --> Oxford Tube --> Victoria Coach London --> Bus no #211 from Victoria to Waterloo - Walk home - Made a cheese sandwich & drank that lactose free milk - Spoke to Varun for long & slept.

Day 6 // 23rd July 2019

- Walk to Southwark --> Train to King's Cross --> Walk across the street to St. Pancras - Train to Brighton with Dudeja - Walk to Brighton Beach through the lanes of the city - Chill at the Brighton Pier - Ate fish & Chips + Calamari on the pier. - Walk down the pebble beach - We’d planned for this, so I was carrying a sheet, we spread it and soaked in the sun for a couple of hours - Took a couple of dips in the water(English Channel) - Beer + Truffle Chips at the beach - Sid played an FKJ playlist & we slept on the beach - Walked ahead to the Naturist Beach Park, saw a beautiful lady there! - Shot 'Otherside' pilot with Dudeja - Started walking to get water & stumbled upon a bunch of boys playing cricket; they were from Afghanistan. We were elated and ended up playing cricket with them for over an hour, made friends with them. One of those boys aped Bumrah’s action to the T, he was a fan! - Walked back on the Brighton promenade, saw the axe throwing booth - Back at Brighton station, we took the train to London - Got off at Southwark & walked home

Day 7 // 24th July 2019

- Walk to Borough Market - Ate pork wrap from Hobbs & gobbled an entire box of strawberries - Walk to London Bridge, walked the tower bridge - Bus to Potter Fields garden/park - Walk at Hay's Galleria (I think the architechture of Hiranandani in Powai is heavily inspired by this place) - London Bridge Underground station --> Train to Camden - Walked around the entirety of Camden - Found 'The World's End' pub and had their house beer 'The World's End Ale', one word: OUTSTANDING! The bartender & I spoke about Edgar Wright and his amazing films! - Bus to Shoreditch - Walked across the Grafiiti streets and reached a fine dine Burmese restaurant: Lahpet (with Dudeja - his reccomendation!) - Pork gravy + Rice with Prawn dim sums on the side - Walking beer from Shoreditch, walked around Shoreditch while sipping on the beer - Went to another restaurant 'Bird' and got Fried chicken parcelled - Bus to Tower Bridge - Walked tower bridge at night - Sat by the Thames and finished that fried chicken with blue cheese sauce! Blue Cheese FTW! - Walked back home through Borough Market.

Day 8 // 25th July 2019

-  Saw a priesthood ceremony in a church - Walked to the Imperial War Museum, intensely intrigued by the history behind World War II & The Holocaust. What a museum, must visit! - Walk back home - Lunch at Borough Market (Pork Hot Dog) + Gelato (Pistachio) - Train to West Hampstead - Met Sumit Anand, Sam & Dudeja, we booked our tickets to Cardiff (Wales). I also booked my tickets to Edinburgh (Scotland) - Train back home - Chilled on the terrace, had a couple of drinks - Walked to Tower Bridge & by the Thames with Maitry - Chilling again on the terrace, even Dudeja joined, spoke about Indian politics, because... how could we not!

Day 9 // 26th July 2019

- Leave for London Victoria with Dudeja in the morning - Missed the bus by 2 minutes, had to book the next bus which was after an hour :( - Walked to Victoria Street for breakfast - Beautiful breakfast at Granger & Co. Oh my god, the scrambled egg there is heavenly - Got on to our bus, headed to Cardiff - Checked in to our hostel the Riverside, one of the better ones, recommend it! - We headed out, but the city seemed a bit slow that day - Pizza & Beer at The Gatekeeper - Walked around the city, deserted, empty vibe, we thought we chose wrongly - Went to the Roald Dahl park - Took a bus back to the hotel, played mini pool in the courtyard & then slept like logs

Day 10 // 27th July 2019 - Breakfast at the hostel, our locker with passports got locked, so we had to break the lock to get our stuff out! With the hostel’s permission of course, they only got us a bolt cutter - Checkout & walk to Bute Park - Experienced one of the fun-nest event ever, that too randomly, we stumbled upon it! The Homeless Football World Cup & loved the vibe of it! Saw the opening ceremony + 1st match Denmark beat Wales (Penalty Tie Breaker) The Homeless World Cup is a sporting event organised by Homeless World Cup Foundation, a social organization which advocates the end of homelessness through the sport of association football - Walk out to the castle short walk, went to Joke store, comic store, etc. - Walk through various arcades - Loved walking in the arcades - Cardiff Market - Local market walk. Had Cannabis lollipop, slightly buzzed - Walk in arcades, quick lunch at Gregs. - Very cool stores, vintage video game parlor, skateboarding shops, fun toy shops, our perception of Cardiff as compared to the previous day had completely changed, it was such a fun place! - Dinner + Red Beer at Corner House - Walk to Sophia Garden, board the bus to London Victoria

Day 11 // 28th July 2019 - Reached home late at night, ate basic stuff - Morning, wasn't feeling too well (bunch of things mentally + homesick). - Chilled at home, cleaned everything, kitchen, laundry, etc. - Went to the park near Webber St. for a walk - Ate a fruit, video called Akshita, she looked cute, was watching Kapoor & Sons - I went back home, packed my stuff for Scotland, spoke to Akshita again, we had an emotional moment. - I took the bus to Victoria & left for Edinburgh, that was a tough ride, I was very uncomfortable through the journey, won't forget that night for sometime man! Phewww!

Day 12 // 29th July 2019

- Reached Edinburgh early in the morning. Walked down to the hostel. - Crashed in the hostel's (Baxter's Hostel) cafeteria since my check-in was 6 hours later. The people running that place were v sweet! 10/10 would recommend. - Got to my bed at 2 PM. Slept immediately. - Woke up at 5 PM, met Nimesh (Indian connect ftw, he was from Canada), he was gracious enough to lend me his hop on/hop off bus ticket, that was valid for the next day as well - Walked around Waverley Mall, ate a quick Chinese meal. Booked my ghost tour for 9 PM the same night, but reached the incorrect meeting point - Walked around the city & went back to the hostel by 10:30 PM, not a lonely walk, since the fringe setup/arrangements were on, Edinburgh was buzzing!

Day 13 // 30th July 2019 - Woke up late, fresh finally! Quick shower & out.  - Bright sunny day (Thank god for that!). - Grabbed a subway & took the hop on - hop off bus - Reached the entry point to Arthur's seat. Trekked Arthur's seat. Beautiful. Spent an hour there, ate fruits while I chilled with myself. - Went to the Scottish Parliament - Took rounds of the city on the bus, got to know about the significance of Edinburgh in J.K.Rowling's life & the world of Harry freaking Potter. (Trivia: Rowling incepted Harry Potter in Edinburgh. She wrote The Sorcerer's Stone at a cafe 'The Elephant House' & the Deathly Hallows in suite 501 @ The Balmoral (Bang opposite Baxter Hostel)) - Walked the lovely Victoria Street, ate a heavy meal @ Nando's - Finally went for my Murder & Mystery walk at Victoria Street, too much fun! - Walk to the hostel, slept.

Day 14 // 31st July 2019 - Woke up late, breakfast @ McDonald's - Bus to Glasgow [ Wanted to visit another part of Scotland, since I hadn’t pre-booked my Highland’s tour :( ] - Wrote a couple of Thumb-stopper scripts on the way, kept me engaged & distracted - Reached Glasgow, walked around - Went to a Gurudwara, needed to visit an Indian place of worship, felt extreme comfort - Visited the Botanic Garden - Walked across the city, found the film+book+music store - Went to the riverside : Clyde River - Continued walking around the riverside, long walk, its a lonely city, it started drizzling, no one around - Didn't find anything interesting in Glasgow, quite low. Maybe I didn't go there on a good day, went back to Bus Station, phone got spoilt in the rain. Got a bus back to Edinburgh & bunked at the hostel

Day 15 // 1st August 2019 - Woke up early, had to meet Aditi & film The Otherside episode with her! There was a kick in my walk finally, after the last couple of days of gloom and Aditi's energy was so positive & happy, it just pulled me out of where my mind was looming.  - Met & shot the episode with her at Assembly @ George Square, we ate some lovely crepes later. - Walked around Edinburgh, visited The Scottish Art Gallery, saw my favorite painter: Rembrandt’s original, authentic work!!! Saw his mentor Pieter Lastman’s work as well. Oh man! (I know I left Edinburgh the same day when the Fringe was beginning, it was mistimed... my trip there, didn’t plan it that way, so please don’t remind me that :( & anyway I had fun there) - Bus to airport ---> Flight to London Stansted ---> Train to Tottenham ---> Underground switch  - Reached Southwark, picked up basic groceries from the supermarket - Home: Started packing, cleaning up, laundry stuff

Day 16 // 2nd August 2019

- It was a sunny day, had to do final packing, shopping & visit the places that were on the check list, all in the limited number of hours & considering that I wake up late, anyway, I think I managed to do a great job!  - Kept all my bags ready & headed out after cooking myself a quick meal at home - Went straight up to Green Park, chilled for a while - Walked around Buckingham Palace - Went to Harrod’s, that’s a mind-boggling shopping space. Crazy! - Had to visit the iconic Abbey Road and click a picture of that street. There’s too much artistic history in London! What to do. - And I cannot thank Kunal Rao enough for recommending Hampstead Heath, it is the BEST park ever. What diverse experience. Yoga, silent open air disco, writers sitting in isolation & writing, young couples chilling, boys playing football, people having wine, some men fishing, while some swam, it was all happening there. Perfect example of Mutual Co-existence. Spent a couple of hours there, ate fruit, absorbed the air, my trip was coming to an end, what a bummer :( - Ran to Oxford Street, had to do all the shopping, then & there. - I shopped from LUSH, Sports Direct, Primark, Adidas, Marks & Spencer. You’d want to spend all your money on that street, it’s peak capitalism, but too attractive to not spend. Such dilemma for an existential person yaar. (Notice the change in me from day 2 to day 16?) - Reached home late in the night, bid adieu to this beautiful house in the heart of London, very grateful! - Picked luggage & left for Harsha Di’s place, saw a film shoot happening on the street when I left, now the person I am, I found that symbolic like: chalo beta it’s time to go back to films (Bombay), haha! - Got on a train to Wembley, met Harsha Di & jiju, went to their place, she’d made fresh indian food! Tasted a roti after 17 days, oh man, that is unmatchable, the hype is true! - Chilled with the two of them & crashed, had an early morning flight.

Day 17 // 3rd August 2019

- Woke up early, Harsha di & Alok jiju drove me to the Heathrow & the trip came to an end! What an experience man. Wow! I was amazed.

SPECIAL THANKS TO HRISHIT, SIDDHARTH & HARSHITA DI FOR THE MAKING SURE I HAD THE BEST TIME! AND TO KUNAL, ASHISH, VASANI & AKHIL FOR THE RECOMMENDATIONS AND AS ALWAYS, MOM (FOR EVERYTHING)

I also realised that I quite enjoy my own company & thoughts, so was able to spend almost 20 days by myself, of course I met friends, comics & stuff, but for the most time, I was alone & I think I did well. Took care of everything, from food, travel, laundry, mopping, grocery shopping, managing expenses while on a budget trip along with having an absolutely kickass time and enormous learnings.

Special Mention & MUST HAVE: ‘Citymapper’ App (It sorted my life from day 1. No other App is required if you have this App)

OVERALL TRIP AFTERTHOUGHT:  I absolutely loved my time in U.K. It’s the culture, the architecture, the people who make the place, all of which were very good & the best part is that they have preserved and maintained their history, they hold it so dearly (even though most of the wealth is a result of imperialism & looted from other nations, they have cultivated a culture & market out of it) and that’s something that I think we lack as a nation. I recently read an article that said RK Studios in Chembur has been demolished since they were running losses and the land has been sold to a big real estate company for apartments to be made. All the memorabilia, the emotions, the films which were shot in that iconic studio gone! All at once. Somehow I feel, that in another country perhaps, it would have been valued more, art would be given much more respect.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

will jamie and cleaire have to move when the new baby comes in flood my morning? i bet brianna will need a 'big girl' bed soon

Flood my Mornings: Sweet Souls 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment:  Service, Part II  (Jamie completes his medical exam for military service) 

Since we’re finally there in the timeline, here’s a link to the wee Christmas-themed scene written for Christmas 2016, along with a Brian and Ellen ficlet from @gotham-ruaidh! 

Just before Christmas, 1950

There was snow falling, outside in the night, but Claire was as warm as a wee coal under the blankets and even warmer between her legs. She had her work in the morning, an early shift, but her sleepy moan when he touched her was eager, wanting. She had just surpassed her eighth week, and with the worst of her Morning Sickness apparently on the wane, she had been far more eager for his touch these last few days. He would give her as much or little as she needed during her pregnancy, for he knew carrying a child was a fickle business.

But, Christ, he loved the ‘much.’ 

He had just pushed aside the blankets and begun trailing kisses down her (yes, visibly curved!) stomach, when—

“Daaaaa?”

Claire groaned, both in desire and exasperation. “Go back to sleep,” she pleaded through the closed door, urging him downward along his path by pushing on his crown. 

Jamie was more than happy to oblige. He loved Brianna to distraction, but a man had to see to his wife above all, aye? 

“Daaaaaddy?” Sharper, now, with just that note of wail. 

“Just think,” he said against the tender skin of Claire’s thigh, “soon, there will be TWO of them.” 

Claire’s curse about damned inconvenient little buggers was interrupted by another, “Daaaaaaaaa-ddyyyyyyy?” this one with a small sob that melted his heart. 

He sighed and rested his cheek on her hip. Claire sighed, too, but relaxed, and ran her fingers through his hair affectionately, silent permission and understanding. 

He kissed her belly, her hipbone, and then one tiny tantalizing nip between her thighs. “Later?” 

“TEASE,” she laughed, groaning as she nudged him up on his way. 

He pulled on his nightshirt as he walked, such that he didn’t quite hear what she said as he reached the door. “What was that, a nighean? Something I can get for ye?” 

“I only said: you’re a wonderful father, Jamie.” 

Brianna was out of bed in the darkened nursery, standing in her Pajamas just beside the door. 

Jamie knelt and touched her cheek. “What is it, then, a leannan?”

“Da, ‘m scairt,” she whispered, trying to put her arms around his neck.  

He put his arm around her but didn’t pick her up. “What is it you’re scairt of, lass?” 

She scrabbled against him as she whimpered on the verge of tears. “Dat biggerl-bed.” 

Jamie had to purse his lips and hug her close to keep her from seeing him laughing. 

Much to-do had been made about Brianna’s “Big Girl Bed.” Her high-sided crib was still in the room, pushed to the side for when the new bairn came. Claire said they would turn the closet of their own bedroom into a place for the wean to sleep at first, only until he or she was old enough to bide through the night in the same room as Bree. 

There had been some talk about whether their expanded family would require a larger house. Their home was perfect for the three of them, but it had only the two bedrooms, one bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, and the halls between. Yes, another room would be very useful, if only to have another spot to go for when the bairn needed to be changed or fed. As it was, Jamie suspected there would be many a late-night spent in the living room. 

In the end, though, it was decided that since they’d more than likely be obliged to change places again when Claire should be accepted to medical school, it was best to make do with slightly inconvenient sleeping arrangements as best they could until then. Brianna’s new bed was the first step in that transition—and it was going off like wet kindling. 

Jamie rubbed his daughter’s back with a gentle hand. “There’s naught to be scairt of, cub,” he promised. “Remember how excited you’ve been about getting the new bed?” 

“Scary, though,” she insisted, looking warily back over her shoulder. 

“Come on, mo chridhe.” He picked her up and walked over to the bed. 

She squirmed and tried to get away. “Chan eil! Don’—Dinna—don’nna want to!”

Poor little love doesna ken which language is up.

He got her under the covers, in the end, with much soothing and gentle reassurances. Nonetheless, there were still tears sparkling in her huge blue eyes as she asked, pitifully, “Come’I sleep wif you’an Mama?”

It’s a right good thing we got wee Fraser started when we did, else we’d never have managed wi’ a two-year-old about. 

“How about I’ll stay here wi’ you for a bit, instead?”

“Okay!” she said eagerly, scooting in toward the wall to give him room. “NO, Daddy: UNDER-cubbers.”

Jamie’s mouth twitched as he obeyed and settled in… UNDER the covers.

She turned onto her side, facing him with excitement at this treat. “Ree’me’book, Daddy?”

“No, lass, we need to keep the light off to help us both sleep. But shall I tell ye a story?” She gave a happy eeee! of excitement. “Who do ye want to hear about tonight? How about Grannie Ellen?”

“Who’s ‘at?” she asked at once, as she always did. 

He laughed as he faced her, settling in onto his side. “Ye ken fine who she is.” In the dim moonlight, he could see her grin. She liked to make him start from the beginning.

“Grannie Ellen was Da’s mother, and long ago, I was her wee bairn, only a little bigger than you.”

She giggled at this outlandish concept. Jamie thought for a long moment which story to tell before deciding. 

“I was the youngest of the weans and ye might think that would mean I needed the most tending, but Uncle William and Auntie Jenny liked to squabble and cause trouble, and Grannie Ellen always seemed to be up to her ears in dealing wi’ their troublemaking. But one day, I remember Mam filled a haversack, picked me up, and said, ‘Come on, wee Jamie, let’s the two of us go adventuring, aye?’”

“What’s ‘at?”  

“Adventuring? It means…going on a long walk through the mountains.”

“Can WE have it’venture?”

“‘Course we can. But not tonight, aye?” 

“Oh, aye,” she conceded, in a manner so Scottish it made him ache for his homeland; for her to know it, too. 

He cleared his throat. “Anyhow, Mam walked us far, far, far from our house, and we picked fruit and ate it wi’ the bread and cheese that she’d brought.” 

“I like cheese,” she piped eagerly in Gaelic, and it was only then that he realized he HAD slipped into his native tongue.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he replied, loving sharing these sounds with his child. Speaking Gaelic was still an exciting challenge for her, though, and so for the sake of everyone’s sleep, he reverted to English for the rest of the story. He took up a slow, gentle pattern of rubbing her back, his usual way of coaxing her toward dreams.  

“We must have been talking of Jenny and Willie, for I remember—” He paused, startled by the vividness of the memory, though he could have been no more than four years of age at the time. “I asked her if I could have a wee brother of my own to play with.”

“Brum-therr,” Brianna repeated contemplatively, as though she’d never heard the word. 

“Or sister, I wasna altogether picky, just wanted someone little of my own, since Jen and Willie had each other as a pair. But Mam said, Aye, maybe someday, mo chridhe, but that she would be sad not to have ME as her weemost bairn, and that—”

“Can we have one, Da?”

“Aye, lass, when the spring comes and the weather gets warm, we’ll go on an adventure, I pro—”

“Noooo, abBAIRNNN, Daddy.” 

“Oh, well…” Jamie had stepped right into THAT one. He thought for a moment about just telling her—the cradle was there across the room; but he knew Claire would wish them to share the news together. Another month or so, then, after the new year. 

He hoped Ellen Fraser was grinning to hear him tell his own small child, her namesake: “Maybe someday, mo chridhe.”

“Okay, but now, though?”

“No,” he laughed, “not now.”

She nodded with decision. “I’m go’ get one.”

“Oh, aye? Where do ye think ye might find a wee brother or sister, cub?”

“Market,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Well, ye should know that only Mamas and Daddies can get those. Just be patient for a time, aye?” She sighed dramatically. “D’ye want to hear about the rest of the adventure wi’ Grannie Ellen?”

“Oh, yeah!” she said, but gave a huge yawn as she began to get comfortable.

“Right, then….Well, I must have fallen asleep in Mam’s arms, for when I woke, the sun was just starting to set and she was whispering in my ear that I should look up. And there, up in the sky, was the largest flock o’ birds I’d ever seen.” 

Bree was getting sleepier with every moment and her, “Ohhh,” was swallowed up in another yawn.

“I dinna ken what kind they were, but they took on all the colors of the sun as they dipped about. And there was one bird far away from the rest, lost. He kept circling about, like he couldna see the others, and I thought surely he was scairt of being left behind….” Bree’s eyes closed. “….But then a whole great part of the flock broke off and flew back to encircle the wee one…. “ Jamie rolled gingerly onto his back to shift out from under the covers. “….and they all made their way back together to rejoin the rest.” 

He was just about to sit up and tiptoe out, when Bree gave a sleepy moan and crawled atop his chest. He opened his mouth to tell her no, but then closed it again, and pulled the coverlet atop them both. 

“And my mother said, ‘see all those sweet souls, Jamie? How happy they are, all together?” 

He felt Bree’s breathing drop into that slow, steady rhythm of sleep. He let his palm rest on the back of her head. “’Souls need to have their family about them, be it the ones born to them or ones they found along the way,’ she said, ‘and so they’ll always find each other, no matter what.’”

And in a life marked by much tragedy, that knowledge had always been joy. 

[more to come]

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #Flood my mornings