#aegean rush

[owlart18]

All the art I’ve done (that I could find) of one of my favourite ocs! Adara Pace!

(Commission info here | Pride icon commission info here)

[peachesofteal]

Prologue: The Moirai

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 1.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: modern setting retelling of Hades and Persephone A strange dream, a strange visit.

For months, you’ve had the same dream.

You’re wandering a valley, your valley, a lush, green collection of rolling peaks, sweet grass and clover nearly velvet beneath your bare feet. The sun, high in the sky, does not moisten your brow, or cause you distress. You do not thirst. You do not tire.

You only meander, feeding the earth snippets of power, growing flowers and vines, a plethora of life, amusing yourself, as you do every night.

You roam this meadow, until your eyes open at dawn, bullfrogs and crickets and the raw chirp of birds tapping against the windowpane, brightening you to the morning better than any alarm clock ever could.

But tonight, the dream is different.

You’ve never seen so much Narcissus. It paints an idyllic picture, bright petals sparkling far and wide, blanketing the hills until they swoop low in the soft belly of the dream. They draw you in, pulling you down until you’re seated amongst a mass of blooms, Asphodelus scattered throughout, honeysuckle vine curling through the grasses, more fragrant than sea spray, filling the air with an intoxicating sweetness that you can taste, crystal like dew dripping with jasmine and vanilla.

It's beautiful. 

A creek babbles nearby, crooning in its own language, rushing trickle drowning out your thoughts and feelings, twisting and tugging until it’s hard to remember you’re in a dream at all.

Is this not your meadow? 

Is this not your own? 

The Asphodelus shivers, rocking back and forth in a cool wind, the kind that chills your skin, whips around your shoulders and tousles the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hello.” The greeting startles you, twists your torso in the waist deep flora. Rise. Instinct booms, like your mother’s chide ringing a shrill bell for you to obey.

A figure stands in the meadow behind you, tall beside the sun, rays of golden light casting long shadow across their features. You squint, but it’s of no use. You cannot make them out.

“Hello.” You mirror, palms forward, heels digging into the grass. There’s a sharp prick, a sting that bleeds, and you curse, lifting your hand for inspection. “Acantha.” You hiss at the goddess, as if she has anything to do with your dreams.

Gold runs from the wound like the creek, slicking your palm, coating your skin in ichor, your own lifeblood.

The lifeblood of the Golden ones.

Lest you forget.  

The figure kneels in the grass before you, their head bowed, black gloved hands reaching, tugging your palm upwards, dragging a thumb through the mess of ethereal life.

“I’m fine, just a prick.” You assure in the silence. There is so much light, and yet none, nothing to illuminate the face or the features of whomever it is that occupies your dream.

A fragment of your mind, perhaps. A trick of your mother’s. 

Or an interloper. 

“You’re hurt.” The dark pitch of the figure’s voice is startling. It’s fathomless, beautiful like the coast of the Aegean, guttural like the shout of death. Raw ruby, not quite plucked from its sanctuary, not quite finished or ready to be seen, a secret gem, only for you. The meadow rustles, thousands of faces in the little flowers leering, scowling, blue sky dimming into grey. Thunder shatters the tranquility, clapping in the distance, a garish boom sending electric shocks through the clouds, all manner of rumbles rolling over the hill.

Rot. It fills your soul in a flood, current wrapping around your ankles and tugging, like a thousand Oceanids lay at your feet, crying. Screaming.

But your hand is warm. Your hand is warm and it is held, for a moment, a moment in which you feel dramatically unlike yourself, unlike the fledging goddess you claim to be, unlike the unloved one you’re known as, and then-

it is cold. Your hand. Your heart. You. The being, the figure, is gone.

And you are alone.

The Greenhouse is quiet. An easy peace, so easily disturbed by comings and goings, friends and patrons, all manner of beings and others, stopping in and out.

They say hello. They ask for help, advice, favor. Some things you cannot give, even to some visitors who you hold close. Dearly.

These moments alone, moments of solitude in the Greenhouse, and some that you love the most. Moments when you're alone with yourself, your power, your connection to the earth. When you can feel it the most, the worms in the dirt, the roots desperate for water, the blooms aching to flourish. You are all these things, when you're alone. A power unto yourself. A goddess of life, of fertility, of Spring. The essential reawakening. The circle of seasons. 

The secret weighs heavily. 

But a goddess of Spring, is no mere goddess of Spring, your mother's voice echoes. A goddess of life, may as well wear a target on her back. 

This morning, when the dew still refracts the light of the sun and birds are singing, no one comes. You sit alone, pruning, detangling, taming a pothos, encouraging its lovely green vine to live on its own. It protests, and you huff at it, conjuring slivers of magic, feeding it kernels as if you care for a child, trying to encourage it to eat. 

“You must try, you know.” It curls around the back of your hand, lovely silver-white speckled leaves shimmering in the morning’s light. “You’re not staying here. The Greenhouse is full. I don’t have any more room.” The overcrowded shelves and carts agree, saplings and ivy and atropa belladonna all singing in unison, quivering voices rising in protest of the pothos’ weak effort. “See? You’ll make everyone unhappy.”

“You have a habit of talking to all your plants?” A musical voice chimes from the front door, and you jump from the stool, a book on your right clattering to the concrete.

“No, I…” Your voice fails, the woman in the doorway steps closer, allowing her mortal appearance to fall away, removing her Cloak and revealing her true identity.

The Moirai.

The Three who are One. 

She turns her head to the east, a flash of the Maiden surveying your workbench, and then the Crone shines through, all faces eventually melding into one.

The Mother. 

“Daughter of Demeter.” She inclines her head in greeting, and you blink rapidly.

“You...” What are they… is she, doing here? “You shouldn’t be here.” You swallow the fear that races in a cold rush under your skin. A frozen river runs in your bones, frigid rapids roaring, trapped beneath a thin sheet of ice, churning your power into a weapon of terror, an uncontrollable force that tries to build beneath the swell.

“Your mother is preoccupied.” She waves her hand; unease props the hair up on the back of your neck.

“What do you want?”

“To see you.” She strolls, careful, casual steps echoing off glass. “Finally, in the flesh.” The sh sound hisses, and your power pulses, pushing forward in preparation. “You are truly as lovely as they say, little Spring Goddess.”

“I’m not the Goddess of Spring.” You rebuke, and the resounding chuckle is dry wine, a tatter of bubbles that on her tongue that sours your stomach.

“You are not.” She nods. “No. You’re so much more now. You will be.” She steps closer, red lips perfectly lined and plump, pursed as she stares you down. “I’m satisfied.” She murmurs, and even though she looks right at you, it’s as if you’re not in the room.

Rain drops patter on glass panels.

“Pity.” She frowns, and then winks as a young woman, as an old one too, vanishing from sight with each step she takes to the door.

The clock ticks too loudly, and it feels like doom. Like a shattered mirror, shattered reflection, shattered life.

The Moirai have never visited you. 

Why now?

Outside, a screech owl hoots, startling you backwards, a hand rocking down to the work bench in an effort to steady your trembling legs.

“Ouch!” you shriek, flipping your palm over, a pair of pruning shears dug into your skin, golden blood leaking out around their cool metallic points. “Fuck.” Your lips cover the puncture, tongue flicking against the rivulet of ichor.

The screech owl screams.

The throne room is silent. Darkness ebbs, inky webs slithering across the floor, shadowing the blood red stone that spills from the mouth of the dais, two identical, straight back chairs sitting proudly in the middle of the hall, dwarfed by columns stretching so tall Johnny swears they surpass the boundary of this realm. Their onyx marble shrouds Simon, who stands maskless, his hands clasped behind his back, peering into the pitch-black pool of liquid vibrating inside a silver bowl. 

“Who is she?” There is a woman in the seeing glass. Beautiful, bright, an overflowing bouquet of narcissus, an endless melody of spring, the promise of early death. The greenhouse breathes in her presence, all nature of blooms and blossoms straining closer, desperate to be within fingertips reach. “A goddess?” He looks closer, and Simon’s amber laden eyes affix his, broad palm tenderly cupping Johnny’s cheek. His answer is a whisper, something unearthly and severe as they are: two Kings of the Underworld, two souls twisted together, two macabre fates made one. His words are a looming promise, a vow so ruinous Johnny knows the Moirai howl and the Lethe trembles.

“Our wife.”

[b0nten]

IT’S YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD (THE CRUEL ONE I’VE DRAGGED YOU INTO)

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ kakucho takes you to meet his family. or, the closest thing he has to one, besides the one made by you two.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ FIRST KAKUCHO FIC WOHOOOOO. timestamps may be a little off so yeah. sorry4dat. anon i hope you like it!

today is the day.

straightening your clothes with your palms, your eyes scan your body in the mirror.

“i thought i told you something casual was enough?” a shirtless figure emerges from down the hallway of the apartment, toned muscles flexing as he stretches.

“and i thought i told you you should ditch the blue and go natural, kaku.” you sarcastically answer, turning to him.

he’s got an amused expression painted across his face, eyes softly laid on you and mouth corners sewn into a delicate upward smile.

“so you really hate my aegean blue hair that much?” he jokes again, and, as if teleporting himself, emerges from nothing next to you.

“that’s not true, after all, this aegean blue is the one that charmed me the second time around, but your natural hair color is beautiful, and you know that!” by fake-punching his chest you earn a laugh, “i’ll dress casually when you stop dyeing your hair!”

“alright, alright,” he muses, “are you ready to go?”

“shouldn’t you get dressed first, princess?” you question back, stressing the second word and inspecting his ‘outfit’. “you look handsome like this, gotta give it to you, but i’d like ti think i’m the only woman that gets to see you like this.”

“shoot, you’re right.” he laughs as he grabs the neatly laid out shirt from a nearby chair, “what would i do without you?” he asks, awarding you with a forehead kiss.

“go to work half-naked, apparently..” you fake a disapproving head-shake and make way to the door. “i’m gonna wait in the car, try to not be late, please.” you warn, jingling his car keys in your right hand.

“yes ma’am.” kakucho fakes a military greeting rushing to the bathroom to brush his hair.

✣ ✣ ✣

looking at the high building in front of you, you let out a shaky breath.

“you ready?” kaku asks, blue hair shining in the hot summer sun.

in response, you only hum a weak ‘mhm’, accompanied by a slight nod. you ponder — are you really ready? — you know what kakucho does for a job, he’s a mafioso. not only that, but he’s the no. 3 of japan’s most feared crime syndicate. if every single one of his coworkers is as serious as your kaku is whenever he talks business on the phone (which happens very rarely, as he values his time at home and with you more than drug deals and murders) then you’re screwed, to put it lightly.

“hey, c’mon,” he looks at you, face contorting into a goofy grin, “you really don’t have to be nervous. they look scary but each one is dumber than the other, i promise you. you’ll like them, and they’ll like you.”

his reassuring words tug at your heartstrings a bit, and warm your worry-frozen heart just enough to get it to pump blood again. so, you take a deep breath and nod again, only this time, confidently.

“let’s do this.” with the corner of your eye, you see kakucho smile proudly, before stretching out his arm, allowing you to loop your’s through.

you enter the building: the lobby is cool and and feels so much better than the scorching heat of the outside. the decor is nice, it brings a certain richness to the place, with accents of gold and spanish oak and baroque elements here and there. it’s not flashy, and certainly not like any other japanese office tower interior you’ve seen before.

your heels smack against the macael marble as you allow yourself to admire the interior.

“ran redesigned this whole place when we bought it.” having observed you until now, kakucho chimes in with some fun facts.

“he really has the eye for art.” you add, and watch his eyes light up as he presses the elevator button.

“and he’s quite the snob too. god forbid we touch his montblanc pens or he goes apeshit.”

“oh, kaku…” you can only sigh as he bursts out laughing. “i really don’t know what to expect from you guys.”

he calms down his laughter before entering the lift, “and that’s just the beginning.”

the elevator ride is long, their offices being the second to last floor, which is not so bad as kakucho gets to tell you more about the guys.

“the pink mullet with the piercings is sanzu. he’s quite… eccentric, sometimes.. even uhm..” kaku swallows, uncertain if he should say more, but sure enough that this slip-up may cause you some fright.

“sometimes what, kakucho?” you urge him to continue his sentence.

“well, he can be scary or creepy sometimes. but just sometimes. other than that, he’s a dumbass.” your boyfriend scratches the back of his head, almost relieved. “he’s also no. 2.

as you know, I, your handsome boyfriend is no. 3, while the advisor is takeomi, sanzu’s brother. he really likes trench coats for some reason, so he’ll probably be wearing one today. he’s got a long scar on the right side of his face. oh, yeah, and sanzu also has two scars at the corners of his lips.”

“two down, five more to go, including montblanc guy.” you comment, leaving kakucho somewhat surprised.

“ye— wait, how do you know?” confused, his head darts in your direction.

“by paying attention to your phone calls, during conversations and doing some simple maths.” you reply, sarcastically.

“oh, my beloved einstein.” he kisses the crown of your head gently, “yeah, we have montblanc guy, ran, and his younger brother rindou. ran has short hair, black and pink and rindou also has a mullet, blue and purple. and they both have the tattoo on their necks.

then there’s mochi. well behaved guy, but his beard almost makes him look like an npc or the daiso version of a pimp. he’s the guy with the jumbo dumplings i told you about!”

“oh, that’s mochi! good to know, good to know!” you reply, just as excited as he is.

“and last but not least we have koko. he’s got really long blonde hair and a… unique hairstyle. his tattoo is on his head.

i think that makes them all.”

“are you not forgetting someone?” you quirk up a brow and kakucho mimics you. “maybe… that mikey guy? your leader?” you finally ask, long pauses between each word.

“it’ll be easy for you to see which one’s mikey once he enters the room. but don’t be fooled! he’s tougher than he looks.”

you nod and run through the information one last time before the elevator light pings and the door opens. you step onto a soft carpet, kakucho right next to you, eager to explain more about his workplace.

“we each have our own offices but usually meet in the conference room, where we do most of the work. for separate tasks we use our own spaces, tho. mine is… right here!” the turns left and points to a black door. it’s not hard to see it’s his thanks to the nameplate.

“across from mine is sanzu’s and the one behind us is mikey’s. over here is akashi takeomi, just beside the elevator is mochi, across from his is the conference room, and then there’s kokonoi’s, and the haitanis’ offices towards the end of the hall.”

you would’ve liked to see how the offices looked, being sure kakucho’s was just as neat as he keeps the one at home, interested in the older haitani’s the most, to be frank. you could’ve bet money he also took charge of the floor’s design, this time more simple and elegant than the ground one. muted colors, different textures and simple paintings; the guy really seems to know what he’s doing, maybe he should ditch organized crime and do interior design.

“let’s get this over with.” you turn over to kakucho, who’s just looking around, as if it’s also his first time visiting the place. when he hears you, he smiles, and takes small steps toward the conference room, hand still looped through yours.

you un-loop your arm from his, resting it on his shoulder as he opens the door. he enters, aegean fringe bouncing with every small step. you come in just behind him.

analyzing the room, you really can’t believe these are japan’s most feared:

ran is filing his nails. next to him, legs propped up on the table, is his brother, playing a video game on his phone, occasionally hissing as his eyebrows twitch in frustration.

across from them is sanzu, pink mullet covered by a long white towel, dripping on the wool carpet. just beside him is his older brother, takeomi, wearing a tan trench-coat. he’s reading — you rub your eyes to be sure you’re seeing everything exactly as it is — a guide to becoming a multi-millionaire through bitcoin.

mochi is doing paperwork, and koko — god have fucking mercy on their souls — is reading the same book as takeomi.

“can you close the fucking— ” the younger haitani bangs his fists against the table in a fit of rage, freezing completely when he sees you. “oh my god, it’s the lady whose picture he keeps on his desk! KOKO GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY YOU MOTHERFUCKER HE HAS AN ACTUAL FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” he grabs his hair while pushing past every chair to get to the mentioned, disturbing ran in the process.

“rindou, try to look whenever you’re running around like a wild boar, i hurt my nail when you pushed me!” his brother accuses, but rindou is long gone.

when he gets to koko, he’s met with a book in his face.

“i’m not giving you jackshit, bitch!”

“come on man, you can’t go back now! we had a bet!” he whines and pleads, but koko is nowhere near turning his decision around.

all of a sudden, rindou kicks koko’s chair, sending him flying into mochi.

the bearded man looks up from his papers distraught, an evil look in his eyes.

“do you even know how long it took me to convince this corn company to deliver corn directly to my house?” he asks, and both shake their heads no. “do you have any idea how long it took me to write this goddamn ‘thank you’ letter?” he asks again, and they both shake their heads again. “THEN ARE YOU TWO GOING TO WRITE IT AGAIN FOR ME BECAUSE YOU JUST MADE ME THROW AWAY A MONTH’S WORTH OF CALLIGRAPHY CLASSES?” this time, they nod.

from the left, sanzu groans.

“CAN YOU FUCKERS STOP SCREAMING? MY HEADACHE IS GETTING WORSE.” he roars, ripping the towel off his face, ready to jump out of his chair. thankfully, takeomi holds him back.

“i think you should all calm down. this is no way to greet the lady.” he says as he closes his book and stands up, bowing to you from afar. “akashi takeomi, bonten’s advisor. nice to meet you.” he says, smiling slightly.

“thank you takeomi.” kakucho starts “this is y/n, my girlfriend, just like rindou has correctly observed.” he shoots the man a judging look, “we’ve been dating for a little shy of, what? nine years now?” he looks at you and smiles, and you give an approving note, signaling he has gotten the time right, “she wanted to meet you all, so i brought her here.”

he steps forward, stretching out his hand toward you. you take it and follow him, nearing the guys on the left side.

“y/n f/l. nice to meet you, everyone. i hope we can get along well. i heard lots about you.” you take your turn and bow, looking at every single one of the guys as you speak.

every one of them continues with the introduction, except for takeomi, since he had already done it while lecturing the guys.

kakucho pulls a chair out from under the table and gestures you to sit. he sits down next to you and surprisingly, the boys are all eager to talk as soon as they get the possibility to.

rindou and koko apologize for their behavior and you just shrug it off with a laugh, reassuring them smilingly that it was funny. you compliment ran’s interior design skills to which he seems very grateful and laugh with mochi, hinting that you know about the jumbo dumpling incident. sanzu compliments your ear piercing setup and asks you about some more jewelry and you offer to go with him shopping sometime, and bond with takeomi over your shared interest of the sengoku period, finding out that he shares the same birthday with his idol, samurai akechi mitsuhide.

everything is going smoothly, when all of a sudden, the door flies open, every one of the executives jumping up in an instant, with you closely behind. when they bow, you do the same, although you didn’t get to see who came in.

when you all pull your heads up again, the short blonde who has entered looks at you puzzled.

“who are you?” he tilts his head to the left, analyzing you carefully.

“mikey, this is y/n, my girlfriend. i brought her to meet everyone!” kakucho explains instantly, and watches him approach you.

“you… you’re the one … that makes those cute bento boxes for kakucho?” he asks, serious look plastered on his face.

unable to control your excitement for your work being recognized, you beam up, hands clasping each other happily: “yes! that’s me!”

as if he wasn’t the ruthless leader he is, mikey’s eyes widen with the childish love for food he’s had forever.

“do you think…,” he starts off shy, unusual for him, “but only if you have the time, do you think you could also make one for me?” the head of bonten inquires, eagerly awaiting your response.

ever so flattered, you smile so hard you can barely see anymore, screeching out in a delighted tone.

“of course!” you’re amped, ready to cook fifty bento boxes because of how happy you are, “do you have any allergies or themes you like?”

as if having been offered a million dollars, mikey answers you enthusiastically, “i don’t like spicy food, and… i like omurice, and if you could add a mini- flag on top, please…” he says, hands meeting behind his back.

“of course!” you affirm, high on the rush of dopamine and continue asking mikey about how he’d like his bento boxes. he himself feels like a kid in a candy store.

the rest of the guys are left dumbfounded, kakucho’s mouth having hit the floor long time ago already.

he picks it back up when mikey interrupts his own conversation.

“i’m sorry to cut it short, y/n-san, but we should start the meeting. we can discuss after it more, if you want!” he apologizes, subliminally saying he wants to talk about these upcoming bentos more with you.

“that’s alright, and of course!” you smile again, “kaku, i’m heading to your office!” and turn around to face your red-faced boyfriend.

“of course, i’ll see you there after we’re done.” he smiles, nodding, assuringly.

“kakucho, does she know where your office is? are you not gonna walk her?” mikey intervenes and before kaku can say anything else, he offers himself to guide you to your lover’s workroom.

“take your places, guys, we’ll start when i come back.” the blonde orders, closing the door behind him.

“looks like boss is gonna steal your girl, kaku.” sanzu teases his subordinate, while ran makes kissy noises and coos ‘kaku’ in the background.

“wait…” rindou interrupts abruptly, “you said you have been dating for nine years? that means.. koko! do the math, please!” he orders.

“you’ve been keeping her secret ever since kanto manji!” the blonde gasps in shock.

“you bastard! you kept her hidden through that— ” mochi is just as angry.

“and tenjiku too?!” kokonoi, having redone his math, is in utter disbelief.

kakucho tries to drown out the sound of the guys accusing him of treachery, thinking about the end of the meeting and heading straight for his office to get you home and spend his time with you, alone.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Welcome to the Third Polin Fic!

Hello friends, and welcome to the third and final instalment of my three-part Polin Fic 'Verse fanfic. It'll be posted chapter by chapter on Fridays, here and on AO3. New to the Polin Fic 'Verse? You can find the first two parts of this series here.

This fic is relatively safe for work, but I will post any content warning above the break in these posts as they come up. This chapter does not come with any content warnings, so feel free to reenter my Polinverse and see what Colin and Penelope are up to!

Penelope gasped in delight as Colin lifted her above his head and spun her, sending droplets of the Aegean Sea flying in an ever-widening circle about them. Each droplet sparkled red-orange in the sunset, embodying the ultimate marriage of water and fire. Between the scent of salt, silky texture of air against bare skin interrupted by the patter of warm water droplets, and rush of air through her loose curls, Penelope could have been flying through heaven. And yet as she fell and was crushed to Colin’s chest in a bear hug, both giggling helplessly, she listened to his heart beat in his chest and knew that should paradise call her then and there, she should rather be exactly where she was.

Tangling her fingers in Colin’s dark curls—the heat and the span since they had last seen a barber had it curling nearly as much as hers did—she pulled him down and herself up into a kiss that he matched with his own heat and passion. As the near-imperceptible change in the ambience of the world that accompanies the shift from day to night swept over them, Colin moved Penelope against him, shifting her up as he strode purposefully from the shallows toward their shared travel pavilion.

Sunrise found them sprawled across each other, as skin-to-skin as it was possible to be around their respective travel desks, pens in hand. For Colin, this was a longstanding pattern when he traveled; he had no particular project in mind, simply enjoying the act of writing. Penelope, on the other hand, had yet to stop the flood of words from the gates that had opened after her cousin’s execution. Her writing began as a simple exercise to draw poison from a wound, but as she and Colin had traveled, she had begun to frame several larger projects—at least one of which was exactly the sort of thing she had been expressly forbidden from writing in England by Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte. She had not mentioned that particular project to Colin yet.

As if from her thoughts to his ears, Colin set his quill down, stretched, and turned to her, lazily setting a hand on her hip.

“What about Venice next?” he asked. 

There is something in the Venetian air, Penelope decided as she watched Colin mount the high front of the gondola and balance somewhat precariously without the aid of the tall prow that extended to nearly the height of his head. Colin had always had a playful side that she could coax out, but since they had arrived in Venice, it was as though he was courting her all over again. There was no shortage of small sweets left under her pillow or in her writing desk, stunning flower arrangements delivered to her almost daily, and surprise outings to every bookshop Colin knew of or had been told about in the city—they had already shipped a box of books home to lighten their travel load, but Colin still was more than happy for her to choose any and all books that struck her fancy.

Their evenings were a swirl of balls and events with Colin’s network of travel-writer acquaintances. Venice had a penchant for masquerade balls, and one of Colin’s gifts to her had been a stunning, delicately painted antique mask that fit well with her favorite airy, gauzy seafoam green party dress. It could not be described as anything less than delicately feminine, but with a sense of something catlike around the eyes that gave it, as Colin said, a slightly harder, more alluring edge that suited what was Whistledown in her. That night, they had danced every dance together and still found energy for more pleasurable activities in the privacy of the suite of rooms they had taken.

Given all that activity, Penelope had little idea when Colin had found the time to learn the Italian song he burst into for her. She gave him the grin this little stunt deserved, not the polite smile that propriety dictated. It was lovely not to be trapped by the rules that governed debutantes. Her breath caught in her throat and her belly fluttered as he threw a roguish wink at her before taking hold of the prow and leaning dangerously out over the water—still singing—to snag a rose from the garlands adorning a passing gondola. Then he stepped down into the bottom of the boat and went to one knee to offer it to her. She reached for the rose, only for Colin to grin and stand suddenly, tucking it behind her ear as his final note faded away and his eyes captured and held hers. Before she could drown in them, applause sounded from all around, along with shouts of “molto bene,” “meraviglioso,” and “bellissimo.” She blushed, still a wallflower at heart—but she did not look away as Colin handed her out of the gondola and looped her arm through his as they promenaded—quickly—toward their suite.

As Penelope put more words in her journals that evening—relishing the feeling of pouring out thoughts and feelings in a shape that pleased her—Colin was managing his correspondence. He leaned back in his chair—practically sprawling out of it, really—and waited until she put down her quill to clear his throat.

“I’ve had a letter from Lumley, of all people,” said Colin. “He’s written to say that he will shortly be in Rome to acquire some book or other and connect with a poet’s circle. He’s invited us to join them. What do you think?” 

The idea of sharing in-progress work with other writers was strangely uncomfortable, if Penelope was being honest with herself. For so long, Whistledown had been hers and hers alone. Had she shared an unfinished, unpublished draft, she would have been in deep trouble. Even now that she and Colin shared a love of writing, she still did not share early drafts with him. She would—and happily did—read anything and everything of his that he asked her to cast an eye over, at any stage of the process, but she had yet to share anything that she wouldn’t have put into print with him. She knew she was unusual; literary circles in London and among the ton were common, and it was a dull week when someone’s manuscript or poor attempt at poetry wasn’t informally circulating to praise, ridicule, or confusion. There were even ladies’ circles that were permitted to flourish despite creative writing being a somewhat frowned upon accomplishment for a debutante. Had she wanted to, Penelope could have connected with one of those groups in her first season. Writing wouldn’t have been such a private activity for her, but Lady Whistledown would never have existed, either. 

On top of that, Penelope was enjoying time with Colin without the distractions of other people. An outbreak of cholera on the continent had caused their honeymoon plans to dramatically change, and while Aubrey Hall was lovely, the family and the crown had barely managed a week before interrupting it. This trip was the first time she and Colin had truly been able to enjoy each other’s company without obligations, missions, or interruptions, and she did not want to give that up. 

“The trip would be easy, from here,” Colin added, sounding uncertain. “And we need not devote all of our time to this poet circle. There is plenty for just the pair of us to explore in Rome.”

Penelope had spent just a little too long thinking, and Colin had just a little too much experience reading her. She did not wish to deprive Colin of the opportunity to meet with other writers; his first book, titled An Englishman in Italy and based on his travel journals prior to their marriage, was due to be released later in the year, with An Englishman in Cyprus and An Englishman in Scotland to follow six months and a year after. His writing career could only benefit from exposure to a broad, international circle. And if she chose to be selfish for a moment, her writing career might also find new life abroad. The series of short essays she was working on—and privately thought of collectively as Lady Whistledown’s Grand Tour—might find an audience away from English eyes. Colin was also right; they could balance their time between the poet’s circle and each other as they chose. It would be enough for her.

“I suppose we had best pack,” she said with a smile.     

Lumley had taken a house for his time in Rome, and it was more than large enough to admit the thirty or forty poets currently milling about the room holding glasses of wine and alternating between pontificating loudly, arguing fiercely, and making up enthusiastically. There were a few people in chairs around the perimeter of the room with travel desks on their laps, writing furiously, but they seemed disconnected from the larger gathering. Not the same way that Penelope used to disconnect herself from society at balls, to observe and listen, but rather as though they could have been anywhere in the world and their pens would still be scratching away on paper. Writing as a man dying of thirst in a desert drank water; greedily, to save their lives.

Penelope knew the feeling; remembered it from writing the first issue of Whistledown she intended to publish, and from the night Felix was executed. Loathe to interrupt, Penelope had pulled her eyes away to allow them to write in peace, but turned back when the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Turning back–not noticing that she pulled Colin to a halt as she did–Penelope locked eyes with a young woman. Her dark hair was pulled back from her exceedingly pale face, and her dark eyes were inquisitive and carefully evaluative. Penelope thought she saw something sad deep within them, but couldn’t be sure when a small smile crossed the other woman’s face, and she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. Returning the acknowledgement, Penelope jumped when Lumley’s voice boomed out behind her, jovial and just a touch overly loud. 

“Bridgerton, Mrs. Bridgerton, welcome! So good to see you.” Lumley clapped Colin on the shoulder and bowed informally to Penelope. 

“And you, Lumley. Our thanks for the invitation,” replied Colin. 

“Come, Bridgerton, you shall never imagine who has just arrived–I must introduce you to Wordsworth and Coleridge. Mrs. Bridgerton, I suspect you will thoroughly enjoy meeting Mr.  De Quincey; he is of a journalistic bent similar to your own.” 

For a wild moment, Penelope seriously considered correcting Lumley, arguing that Whistledown had hardly been a journalistic pursuit. However, Colin’s simultaneously scandalized and delighted “You have the Lake Poets here, Lumley?” broke her line of thought. She simply walked with them to be introduced to a somewhat timid, rather flighty gentleman by the name of Thomas De Quincey. Colin was pulled quickly away to meet publishers and other poets by Wordsworth and Coleridge–both of whom were overeager to offer career advice to Colin but barely looked twice at Penelope. She and De Quincey were nearly three-quarters of an hour deep into a discussion about the purpose of journalism–of all sorts, as De Quincey was adamant that even scandal sheets had a function in society, despite Penelope demurring that they were hardly of import–when both doors into the room slammed open with shouts of “Shelley!” and “Byron!” 

It was as though twin whirlwinds had entered the room as the two men moved through it. The ambient volume in the room increased from a somewhat raucous party to the track on race day. Fights withered as quickly as they blossomed and friendly shoulder claps and furious slaps were exchanged–with Byron in particular laughing uproariously after receiving a slap from a young lady De Quincey identified to Penelope as Claire Clairmont, who was in the process of ending an affair with the poet. Then De Quincey pulled a flask from his jacket and took a deep swig. 

“Laudanum,” he explained. “I have terrible facial twinges. If you would excuse me, Mrs. Bridgerton.” He was already beginning to look sleepy as he wandered toward a chaise in a distant corner of the room, leaving Penelope quite alone in the uproar. Despite his height, Penelope could not see Colin in the room; instead, she caught a glimpse of a very quiet moment between Percy Shelley and the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who had caught her gaze earlier. Shelley lifted the woman’s hand to his lips in a lingering kiss, as she stared at him as though to drink in his essence. As he finally released the hand and bowed deeply before throwing himself back into the fray, Penelope was slipping through the crowd towards the other woman. Her eyes were very far away as Penelope sat next to her, quietly, so as not to disturb the moment as she waited for the room to calm down. 

The room remained raucous and wild as Penelope scanned it, but she also kept half an eye on the woman beside her, so when her eyes reentered the room, Penelope was sure she wouldn’t unduly startle her.

“Your young man has quite a bit of energy,” she said, with half an inner smile for Lady Danbury–the line was a classical one of hers for opening conversations. “I hope this isn’t too forward; I am Penelope Bridgerton.”

“He is hardly my young man,” murmured the other woman. “If we are all simply stardust, then he is a piece of me and has been since the formation of the cosmos, despite Harriet. And no, not forward at all. Miss Mary Godwin. Mary.”

“Then I must be Penelope.” The ladies briefly clasped hands. 

“Penelope, Odysseus’s wife, the weaver, and the match for the cunning Ithacan. I imagine then, that you are not simply an editor and copyist for your husband, as so many writer’s wives are doomed to be? You are yourself a writer?” 

“As are you, I see,” Penelope said. 

“I shall be. I plan to write about our travels this summer–mine, Percy’s, Claire’s, and Byron’s, that is.”

“I shall have to introduce you to Mr. Bridgerton. He was a great traveler before our marriage–well, he still is, truly, that is why we are here–and his first book will be published later this year. I’m sure he would be willing to discuss travel writing with you.”

“I should enjoy that,” said Mary. “But you still have not told me what you write, Penelope. You are, I think, a prose writer like myself.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” 

Mary laughed outright at Penelope’s evasive question, and set her lap desk on an empty chair next to her to turn her full attention on her conversational partner. “My dear Penelope, even were I to ignore the deeply practical nature of the skills of your namesake, I would have known from how smoothly and succinctly you engaged in conversation with me. That was nearly the strategy of a matchmaking mama wrapped up in such a way as to elicit answers without you having ever asked a direct question. Were I sure to avoid offense, I should have accused you of being a journalist outright. Come now, what paper do you write for?”

The sinking feeling in her stomach startled Penelope. She had not come to this gathering with the intention of keeping her identity as Lady Whistledown a secret. Although she had never made any sort of announcement or public acknowledgement, after her disastrous outing by Lord Andrews, Penelope had simply allowed Lady Whistledown to exist in the public consciousness with rumors of her own name attached. She had made no comment, and the speculation had become a comfortable, low-level fact of ton life, almost an inside joke for young ladies and young gentlemen who courted scandal. “Best beware, or Lady Whistledown will come out of retirement to write about you,” the saying went, and the inevitable reply was “Mrs. Bridgerton has other matters to attend to.” Certainly she had thought she might find other writers here, and perhaps a new writing identity altogether. 

And yet. Penelope was still writing as Lady Whistledown and she could not claim a career as a writer without acknowledging Whistledown. She had no reason for embarrassment; she was proud of every issue she had produced. And yet, she had lived with the excitement, danger, and finally the consequences of Whistledown with no public acknowledgement. Now that the moment had come where she either had to embrace or forever put aside Lady Whistledown, Penelope found herself physically remembering the fear of being discovered. Her hand was at her abdomen, over her scar tissue. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her heart was beating up her throat into her mouth. 

“I have said something wrong,” said Mary.

“No, no; please forgive me,” said Penelope, taking a deep breath and getting herself under control, despite feeling unshed tears in her eyes. “I have simply had something of a fraught experience with writing.”

“Writing is a cruel mistress. You needn’t say more if you don’t wish.”

“I am not ashamed of it,” said Penelope, as certain of that statement as she was in her love for Colin. “You shall understand when I explain…I am the author of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. I am Lady Whistledown.” Penelope knew that cliff divers existed, and that they often spoke of the thrill of the irrevocable decision to jump only truly enveloping them once their feet had left terra firma. Her feet had truly left the earth, and her public admission and embracing of her identity as Lady Whistledown was both a thrill and a terror. She wouldn’t have taken the words back for anything. Burying Lady Whistledown to appease the queen had been a mistake; she had been coming to realize that as she and Colin traveled and she wrote again, but this moment solidified it for her, and she felt she could revel in reviving the lady writer. 

“Oh is that why you were ensconced with De Quincey for so long?” exclaimed Mary. 

“I did not tell him, actually,” said Penelope, abashed. “As I said, my career has been somewhat fraught. I have not claimed her publicly before now.”

“No, of course; we heard rumors that Lady Whistledown had been unmasked even in the country and on the continent, but nothing was ever confirmed.” Mary seemed to consider something for a moment, then stood. “Percy! Byron! You absolutely must come meet my new acquaintance, the Lady Whistledown!” Mary’s voice could not, in all fairness, be described as a bellow, but every head in the room turned to them, and Colin had materialized by Penelope’s side before the final syllable of “Whistledown” had escaped Mary’s lips. 

“Are you sure this is wise?” Colin’s sotto voce question was very nearly lost on Penelope as she locked eyes with a nondescript man across the room. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him, except that Penelope had seen him before, at the Old Bailey. He was one of the Queen’s agents. The gentleman caught her eye and tilted his head in acknowledgement to her in the split second before Bryon’s voice boomed through the room.

“In the smokey grey inconsolable world, Lady Whistledown was a pocket of spice, giving color and sensation to an otherwise bland season,” declared the poet as he charged toward Penelope and Mary. Stopping almost unnaturally smoothly on a sixpence before the ladies, Byron offered an elaborate, perfectly balanced leg before politely kissing the back of Penelope’s gloved hand. In contrast, Shelley skidded to a halt before them, nearly fell over trying to bow, and nodded politely in Penelope’s general direction before proceeding to gaze at Mary as though she were a constellation on a clear night.

“Titian beauty and a wit to match,” said Byron, giving Penelope a slow, deliberate once-over. “Lady Whistledown, you simply must explain yourself. You are no John Keats to be writing your own elegy—whyever have you stopped writing? We have seen no new issues in over a year!”

“You flatter me, my lord,” demurred Penelope. “But surely you cannot miss Whistledown so; you have not been to London in quite some time, I should think.”

“While I may be banished to the continent, I find your column to be something of a guilty pleasure of the heart. There is little in the world that equals the pernicious pettiness of ton, and it is in many ways both scourge and balm for a weary soul wandering far from home.”

“He does not even like England,” muttered Mary. “He finished saying just last night that should we bury him there, we would be consigned to Tartarus.”

“You’re likelier to survive that than a bacchanal with him,” Colin replied quietly, earning a grin from Mary and a dirty look from Shelley.

“Lord Byron,” said Penelope, just a hair louder than was necessary. “May I introduce my husband, Mr. Colin Bridgerton? He has a book coming out—”

“My dear Lady Whistledown,” interrupted Byron, reaching out to reverently wrap the loose curls around Penelope’s face around his fingers. “If the Titian charm of your curls did not distract me from the fact that you have not written in over a year, then the sad truth that your heart belonged to another before I had the chance to know it myself surely will not. Come, my lady--” he released her hair and dropped to his knees before her, one of Penelope’s hands held over his heart. “Offer a gentleman some solace, a single shining star in an inconsolable night of existence. When shall Whistledown publish again?”

It occurred to Penelope then that the entire room was focused on their little corner. It wasn’t unusual for Colin to rather loom over other men, given him height and the unconscious confidence with which each and every Bridgerton carried themselves, and she had felt his stance behind her change to a tightly-wound loom the instant Byron’s fingers had twined into her hair. She imagined that his face maintained a polite veneer, but that he would not hesitate to call out the poet for laying hands on her. And yet the moment Byron had dropped dramatically to the floor, Colin’s loom had taken on something of a farcical feel.

Acutely aware of a roomful of eyes on her, Penelope flicked a rapid glace to the queen’s man in the corner. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Waiting.

“I shall be forced to disappoint you, my lord,” she said. “Lady Whistledown is truly no more.”

“By God, say it’s not so!” Byron exclaimed, releasing Penelope to put a fist to his forehead. The small crowd listened to Byron lament for a few sentences, but slowly the room filled with conversation again, underpinned with the ongoing exhortations of the poet on the floor. The queen’s agent made a beeline for the sideboard and began to fix himself a plate of crudites.

“He does enjoy a spectacle,” said Mary. “Come, Penelope, tell me about what you’ve been writing instead.” Penelope relaxed as she heard Colin and Shelley begin a discussion of travel writing and relative merits of prose and verse. Drawing her travel writing desk into her lap, she opened the box. An internal strap had apparently come loose as she and Colin had walked to Lumley’s, and loose pens and a journal thudded to the floor before she could catch them.

Colin’s head whipped around at the thud, and he bent to collect the fallen items, but Byron beat him to the journal, which had fallen spine up, pages splayed.

Penelope did not breathe as time dilated. It took Byron an eternity to delicately slide his fingers under the book, handling it almost as reverently as he had her hair. Rather than allowing the pages to fall closed, his fingers held the leaves open and flipped the journal to reveal the smooth, pale pages to the room. His free hand gently caressed the curves of the blank pages, smoothing folds and crinkles on his way to the upper corner. Penelope shuddered as he turned the page and revealed her handwriting, sprawling across verso and recto, dashed down in a frantic attempt for her hand to keep pace with her mind. His short, sharp inhale wouldn’t have been noticeable except that Penelope’s entire world had shrunk to the poet and his hands on her journal.

Byron’s eyes met hers for a split second, and he raised an eyebrow, the suggestion of a rakish smile playing about his lips as he ran two fingers from spine to upper corner and turned another page, the book’s spine cradled firmly in his palm. He spent a moment dragging a single finger down the page as he skimmed it, then flipped through the pages; the sound of the pages against his fingers sent a shiver down Penelope’s spine.

He stopped mid-flip, a long finger interrupting the pages before tapping twice a single short line at the top and reading aloud:

Dearest Gentle Readers,

They say that travelers take the air in many ports of call, and that each has something unique to offer. Having taken the air in several Mediterranean cities now, I can confidently say that there is indeed something unique in the Venetian air. Mystery, romance, and art abound, offending the rules of propriety at every turn and delighting in the freedom from London’s oppressive airs. For who may lace the stays of propriety somewhat more loosely than others during ton parties in London seasons—a certain Traveling Bridgerton comes to mind here—joy and art explode into public spaces and declarations. Indeed, one wonders how one could ever return to London, the ton, and the court and find oneself able to breathe.

Colin Bridgerton had no such difficulties with aspiration as he serenaded Mrs. Bridgerton from the prow of a gondola this afternoon—a far cry from the screeching strings and off-key caterwauling of last season’s Smythe-Smith/Holroyd musicale. It seems strange that English propriety would decry the former and applaud—no matter how disingenuously—the latter. One must applaud the free-spiritedness of the Venetian people as well as their leaders, who must have sufficient confidence in their rule to permit such freedom and joy. Oh, that all rulers could share such confidence and care for their people.

Finally halting with a broad grin on his face, heedless of Penelope’s consternation, Byron closed the journal with a snap and offered it to its owner with an exaggeratedly elegant leg and a vaguely predatory grin worthy of a pirate of the last century. Shelley clapped Colin on the shoulder, with a sotto voce “Such an obliging wife you have, Bridgerton,” as Penelope snatched her journal from Byron’s hands amidst polite applause, a few calls of “hear, hear,” and some general shouts of agreement with the sentiments.

“It would seem, Lady Whistledown,” said Byron, voice artificially smooth, “that you have been holding out on us. This is not a new issue of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers; this is a book.”

“Pen…” Colin’s voice was hoarse, her name slipping from his lips on an exhale more than consciously spoken.

“You must excuse Mr. Bridgerton and I, for a moment,” said Penelope, and all but dragged Colin behind her toward a quiet, empty room. Behind her, Penelope heard Byron bellow, “Lumley! You must tell me how you came to be acquainted with Lady Whistledown!”

[lemurious]

[prometheus, rewind]

the eagle comes at dawn and meekly bargains for the price of fire

your story has been put in verse, in prose, in oil, in marble,

a twisted body straining to escape the tethers, 

the words ring clear across the streets

of pride, rebellion, cruelty or courage

(enough to choose from. in all of them, a kind of meaning. they say, your choices must have been important, to merit such a punishment)

a secret pleasure in watching thought turn flesh

the sickly sweetness on the tongue of knowing this same crowd could make a punishment far worse, far worse a crime

what they don’t know is that a body is but minor matter for a titan

the price you paid was to be molded by the stories

until you could no longer recognize yourself

they wouldn’t ask you - was the fire worth it?

would they have learned of it without your help,

and spared you the humiliation?

they watch and sigh, in tones well trained to reach your ears

their grief and adulation,

designed, perfected, just for you

they wouldn’t ask you why, nor who, nor when

who did you love,

why did you fight,

when did you know you had no other choice?

you brace yourself, it is another day,

and once again it is your eyes that burn, you sink into a pain, awake

a god, awake a general, a prophet and an exile, awake a genius or a criminal,

the eagle comes in steel and flames and you can hitch a ride until the fall

awake. you are at war,

the skies ablaze above the desert, and clouds like golden fleece are churning in the hands of the olympians,

the world is burning, but you’ve forgotten all your prayers,

your punishment comes crashing down and ashes bear your name

awake. you are at war,

your life entire made of glory and of need, and eagles screech above the blue of the aegean, its emptiness reflected in your eyes,

you rush outside, your sword in hand, and lose the count of arrows hitting you,

your purple cloak forgotten in the house, your body turned to cinder

you think of seven chariots emerging from the dust,

awake. you are at war,

you have not stopped (you do not stop) (you will not stop) until the flames catch up with you,

your years are short, and half the world remains unconquered

entire poems dedicated to fire in your eyes, and whispers of divinity,

your years cut down,

the price entirely fair

awake. you are at war,

the first, the great, the old,

the clash of gods and titans,

the easier to pick a side and justify the price,

the sweet deception that a victory could come

awake. the eagle comes

it’s taken you three thousand years of stories to understand their worth

awake.

you are regrown

you are reborn

you are remade

the fire greets another day.

[dvudushnydiaries]

Efficiently Reading, Researching, and Approaching Academia

❈ Making Academic Texts Less Daunting ❈

One of the largest issues regarding accessibility in academic spaces is the daunting nature of a lot of academic works, whether they're books, dissertations, or articles. This is usually caused by academic jargon, nightmarishly long run-on sentences, and sometimes the writing is just plain dense.

This first lesson will be some tips and tricks for making reading academic texts more digestible!

First and foremost, getting to the point matters, understanding the theme, argument, thesis, what-have-you will make everything else make sense. In order to do this, you will want to read three things, that are usually signposted or labelled within a text: the abstract, the introduction, and the conclusion. This is also a good trick to get the gist of a text if you have to read in a rush and don't need to use citations.

What Do These Components Tell You? ❈ The Abstract - An abstract is basically a summary of the entire paper or text, this will tell you the thesis, maybe some points of data, and the conclusion reached by the author ❈ The Introduction - The introduction will provide a more detailed thesis and will detail what theories or interpretations are being used in the paper. In some cases they may also provide historic or cultural contexts for an argument or point. ❈ The Conclusion - The conclusion will provide the finishing points of the text, it will touch on key points of information or debate, explain what this thesis or proven point means for the understanding of the event, item, site, etc. that is being written about.

All in all, these three points in a text will give you an overview of the purpose of the text, and typically these sections don't get too heavily muddled down in academic lingo, which makes them more accessible to a broader base of readers. You don't always need a detailed understanding, sometimes just getting the point is enough.

Taking Notes

Whether you're reading something for applying it to your own writings or just to consume information, annotate the shit out of it. It doesn't matter if you're writing on a digital copy of the text, writing as you read on a separate notepad, or if you print out an article and write your notes on that. Just! Take! Notes!

The purpose of this is to help you process your thoughts, make note of what interests or confuses you, and, in the case that you are writing something that needs citations, prevents plagiarism. Use whatever format (color coding, highlighting, etc.) that works for you, what matters is the act of taking notes will encourage you to be an active reader rather than eventually falling into passive reading (if you notice yourself falling into this, take a break! Your brain needs rest.)

Here are two examples of how I take notes, one is for a chapter I had to read for a discussion, the other is how I take notes for papers and publications: Discussion-focused notes in The Oxford Handbook for The Bronze Age Aegean

Information gathering notes for a paper on the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion, text used written in print at top

Finding Sources There are many ways to find sources on a topic no matter the level of obscurity: ❈ Wikipedia - you really don't want to cite Wikipedia as a source, scrolling down to the sources/bibliography section at the bottom can give you a jumping off point. Usually full citations are given and sometimes the text/article in question is linked

❈ Google Scholar - I generally don't consider this the strongest search engine because it's difficult to narrow down by topic, discipline, etc. but it works in a pinch!

❈ JSTOR - A step above Google Scholar and it does allow stuff with a free membership, but you can also get further access with a paid membership or institutional access

❈ EBSCO - definitely has a learning curve but it has a large pool of information to pull from. The biggest downside is you usually can't download content. It has a different site for free content and content available for purchase or via institutional access.

❈ WorldCat - while it usually doesn't have the source itself accessible on the site, WorldCat will tell you where you can find what you're looking for and sometimes offers the ability to contact whoever is nearest to you that has the text

❈ Public Libraries - while public libraries are generally focused on non-research-based use, librarians are trained in research assistance and public libraries generally have access to inter-library loans (ILL) and can likely get books for you without needing you to travel far to get them

❈ Research Libraries - the biggest downside to many academic libraries is that you need to pay to access, however, if you can access them, they are typically more research-oriented than a public library and will often have specialists in certain subjects available to assist. An exception to the "paid" rule are usually state or federal libraries, such as the Library of Congress.

❈ Reaching Out To The Author Directly - with most journal publications, authors don't see a dime. If you can't pay for access, you can usually find the email of the author on an institution website and you can reach out to them there! It never hurts to ask.

Organizing Your Sources

Whether you have a stack of physical books, a long list of downloads, or links to sources, you’re going to want a way to organize them. Here are some ideas: ❈ Zotero - Zotero is a free app and browser extension that can file, organize, and even provide details about the sources you use. I really recommend this if you’re in an academic environment or need to cite sources a lot because one of its functions is that it will automatically cite sources and create bibliography in any format you choose. It functions both in the cloud and on a desktop/hard drive. ❈Google Drive - straightforward and simple to set up, all you have to do is upload files, organize them into as many folders as you please and go. However there are two downsides to Google Drive: They have a limit to the amount of storage you can use before you have to pay & if your sources are from a questionable site or may violate copyright, Google has the ability to remove those files permanently. ❈ CollaNote - CollaNote is a great, free app for storing notes and PDFs that also allows you to write on/annotate said files. It’s biggest downside is that it is iOS only and it’s cloud feature is kind of finicky. ❈ Discord - if you’re a professional Giant Nerd like me, having a personal discord server to sort and upload your sources is great! However, similar to Google Drive, there are file upload limits and Discord has the ability to remove material that violates copyright. ❈ OneNote - similar to CollaNote, OneNote allows you to upload PDFs so you can take notes on them and it is supported across devices. However, Microsoft office can be expensive to pay for. ❈ Your Trusty Computer/Flashdrive - There’s always the old fashioned route of storing your sources in folders on your hard or flash drive. Downside is flash drives are expensive and if your computer goes kaput, you will likely lose work. Make sure to have a cloud backup if you use this method!

Source Vetting

Sometimes vetting sources can be easy, other times it can be a massive pain for a range of reasons.

A good, general test to abide by is the CRAAP test:

Currency Relevance Authority Accuracy Purpose

A more detailed set of prompts to apply with the CRAAP test is available here: https://researchguides.njit.edu/evaluate/CRAAP

What If The CRAAP Test Doesn’t Work or I Don’t Know Have Enough Context for It To Work?

❈ Use Common Sense - does the information sound plausible? Does it make sense?

❈ Triangulate your Sources look at other sources regarding the topic. Do they say something similar? Do they acknowledge the information presented by the source you’re using?

❈ Investigate Credentials just having “PhD” at the end of a name does not a good source make. See what the author(s) credentials are. Are their credentials openly listed? Did they receive them from an accredited institution? Consider what group published the source. Was it a blog site or was it an academic publisher? Is the source peer reviewed or sent out as is?

❈ Look For Citations does the author or creator cite their information? Do they describe a body of work that they either gathered themselves or did research into? Are they transparent about their sources? Are they able to admit to gaps in their knowledge or accessible data or do they just fill it in?

[rain1life]

Aegean x non binary reader (part 1)

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

Green = y/n

Blue = Aegean

Y/n making Aegean quit working for a bit and letting them since Aegean was overworking and y/n had to check on Aegean.

Aegean is a sweet and workaholic person.

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

Y/n enters the facility that Aegean was staying at when they see dices walking everywhere and they kept starring at you but you didn't mind it you walk down the hallway and you found Aegean so you knock on his door. Aegean? Come in. You enter into his room and saw him working on a paper

Hey Aegean it me y/n it been while since I last saw you. How you been buddy? .. Fine I guess. Aegean.. I heard you been overworking I came here to here because I want you have a small break alright..? You said softly to him.

No. I won't take a damn break I need get this work done it due by tonight I do not want make Primus mad at me for not finishing the work.

Aegean.. Please you need a break this isn't healthy and I need you take a small break..

I do not care y/n I really need this paper to be done by tonight and I have coffee and it helps me to be focused more so I really don't need a break. He said sharply to you.

Aegean.. Please do it for me pretty please? You said softly. Fine what is it. A lovely break! It a sunset that I want you to see! A break how nice of you y/n well I should go see it then.

Alright! Then Aegean y/n grabs Aegean hand and rush him out the door, y/n sees other dices stare at you and Aegean but you didn't care. y/n slow down! Your running too fast! y/n stops at the exit of the facility and arounds to look at Aegean

You alright Aegean? Aegean was panting very hard do I look fine to you, No. I'm literally out of breath.

Oh sorry then I didn't want you to miss the sunset.. It fine y/n let just go.

Y/n grabs Aegean again and run out the facility and after a while they made it to the spot.

Isn't it beautiful like you Aegean? You said softly to him you around to look at Aegean and he was blushing at that comment you made.

Beautiful as me? I don't think I'm that beautiful.. But thank you y/n..

Your welcome Aegean y/n sits by a huge tree on a hill come sit with me Aegean Okay..

For while those two were starring at the sunset in the sky. Y/n broke the silent and ask Aegean.

How have you been Aegean anything new at your job?

I been fine..and lot new things happened at my job, lately lot things started to change which I'm getting worried..

Like what Aegean?

Lot of dices are starting to get bit wild and it worrying me lot..

Oh it nothing too big Aegean it just a small change of a person.

I know but it worrying me lot..

No need to worry Aegean nothing will fall apart if it does I will always be here for you, always.

Thank you y/n..

Say who is your boss again?

Primus, He is my boss.

Primus huh? Why I haven't seen him yet?

He always busy or at a meeting I don't really know what he does in his free time but it really none of my business..

y/n gets closer to Aegean and hugs him. Oh? Thank you.. No need thank me Aegean.

The skies starts get darker, while Aegean and you keep hugging each other.

I love you y/n

I love you too..

Oh no look at the sky it getting darker and my work isn't done yet I'm so sorry y/n but I really need to go!

Aegean wait up!

Y/N ran after aegean as fast they could but end up tripping over a rock.

Oof! Ow that hurt..

y/n look behind and saw a tall figure standing over y/n, they couldn't tell who they were and what they needed from y/n.

Hello..?

Hello there.

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

END OF PART ONE.

Sorry it took long get this out!

There will be a part 2 around tomorrow.

[mansipatel5]

Everything You Need to Know About Choosing Turkey Travel Packages

In the regional Turkish language, Turkey is often referred to as Türkiye. It is primarily found in Western Asia, in the Anatolian peninsula. Since one leg is connected to Europe and the other to Asia, it is also referred to as a bridge between the two continents. The Black Sea, Marmara Sea, Aegean Sea, and the Mediterranean Sea border the nation on three sides. It is the homeland of Turks who long ago migrated from Mongolia's interior. Iran, Iraq, Azerbaijan, Greece, Bulgaria, Georgia, Armenia, and Syria are all within modern Turkey's borders.

When it comes to the area, the Turkish race initially settled in western modern Turkey, where they went on to reside under the name Selcuk Beylics. The Osmanoullar community was established in the region where Bursa was the capital, some 4-5 hours' drive from Istanbul today, as a result of the separation of Selçuk Beylics into several groups over time. They transferred the capital from Bursa to Istanbul in later years. They lived through the golden eras when their borders stretched across tremendous periods. They eventually reached a point of stagnation and dissolution and handed the historical reins over to the Modern Turkish Republic.

Understanding Your Travel Style and Preferences

Understanding your travel tastes and style is the first step in selecting Turkey Holiday Packages. Think about the following:

Who are you as a traveller? Are you a daring backpacker or a pampered traveller seeking a more relaxing experience?

What do you find interesting? Do you favour outdoor pursuits like hiking and environmental exploration or are you more interested in history and culture?

What is your spending plan? What are your financial limits for a tour package?

What kind of transportation do you prefer? Would you like to take the bus, the train, or the aeroplane?

What kind of lodging do you prefer? Do you feel at ease staying in hostels or hotels, or do you like private lodging?

You can focus on tour packages that are suited to your needs by focusing on those that fit your travel interests and style.

Researching and Comparing Tour Options

Researching and contrasting tour choices is the next stage after you have a firm grasp of your travel interests and style. Here are a few pieces of advice:

Make use of reliable travel websites: Check out Turkey Holiday Packages from credible online sources as they offer testimonials and rankings from tourists who have taken the tours.

Visit the websites of the trip operators: The majority of tour operators have their websites where you may obtain details about the tours they provide, including itineraries, costs, and lodging choices.

Read Reviews: You may learn a lot about the tour's quality, the degree of customer care, and the entire experience from reviews written by other tourists.

Compare costs before choosing one product over another. Take into account the tour's overall worth and what is included in the cost. Some Turkey Travel Packages From India may appear more expensive, but they provide greater value for the money since they provide more activities or better accommodations.

Key Considerations for Choosing a Turkey Tour Package

There are numerous important factors to keep in mind when contrasting Turkey Travel Packages From India.

1. Itinerary: Finding a tour package that includes the locations and activities you are interested in is a good idea. Take into account the tour's duration and speed. Will you feel rushed or that you'll have plenty of time to visit each place?

2. Inclusions: Make sure you are aware of the tour package's inclusions. Does it include lodging, travel, meals, and entertainment? Do you need to budget for any additional fees or expenses?

3. Tour size: The magnitude of the excursion should be taken into consideration. Which do you prefer—a smaller, more private one or a bigger, more communal one?

4. Tour guide: Your trip can be greatly improved by a skilled and amiable tour guide. Make sure you check the tour guide's licence and read customer feedback.

Finding Turkey Travel Packages From India that allow you flexibility in terms of the schedule and activities is important. You will then have the option to go exploring on your own or to forego participating in activities that bore you.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q 1: Are private tours or group tours preferable for seeing Turkey?

A: That depends on what you desire. Private Turkey holiday packages from mumbai can be customised to your unique interests and demands, while group tours are typically less expensive and provide a social experience.

Q 2.Is travelling to Turkey safe?

A: Travellers can feel secure visiting Turkey. But you should always proceed with caution and pay attention to your surroundings.

Q3. When is the ideal time to travel to Turkey?

A: The months of April to May and September to November are ideal for travelling to Turkey because of the nice weather and reduced tourist traffic.

Q 4: Is a visa required to enter Turkey?

A: The majority of visitors do require visas to enter Turkey. You have two options for applying for a visa: online or at the airport.

Conclusion

Your travel interests, money, and style must all be carefully considered before selecting the ideal Turkey holiday packages from mumbai. You may choose wisely and have an unforgettable trip to Turkey by doing your homework, comparing your alternatives, and considering crucial factors like itinerary, inclusions, tour size, tour guide, and flexibility.

To make your tour the most suitable for you, don't forget to read reviews, ask questions, and don't be scared to customise it. Considering all there is to see and do in Turkey, picking the appropriate vacation package might be crucial. You won't regret it, so go ahead and reserve your ideal Turkey vacation package today!

[lyriluscss]

Chapter II

I kicked him in the shin and tried to bolt, but his grip was too strong. I kicked him in the leg again, making him let go of my arm then I bolted. I didn’t care if I was disqualified. “Keiko.. get back here!” Saiou pursued me. I was able to hide quickly and he ran right past me. I took a deep breath and regulated my breathing, then I exited the locker I hid in. I walked through the hall and then I felt myself hit the floor. Someone had tackled me. “Saiou, she’s over here!” I saw Jun on top of me. The impact had startled me a bit but Jun had my arms pinned down and he was sitting on my legs. I struggled against him, but I sort of forgot that Jun is stronger than me, so my resistance was futile. Jun used one hand to pin my arms behind me and the other to cover my mouth. “Don’t scream, you’ll make this worse for you.” his voice echoes through the empty hallway. I bit his palm, which was covering my mouth, making him recoil it away. “Agh– your teeth are sharp as hell!” He winced, his hand started to bleed a bit. Saiou started to approach, that damn smug grin made my teeth clench with anger, my arms still pinned behind my back by Jun. Saiou used his sharp as all hell fingernails to cut my cheek a bit. I gasped sharply, the pain rushing through my bleeding cheek. I felt my legs start to fall asleep from Jun sitting on them, but I had to struggle. I kicked and kicked and kicked until my legs fell asleep. Jun put his hand over my mouth and nose, restricting my breathing. My vision started to blur, my breathing slowed and eventually, I blacked out. 

================================= Dreaming =================================

I saw Ryo, but he wasn’t like he normally was.. He was back in his uniform now, like he used to be. I looked at him in his piercing, aegean eyes and saw him staring back, a soft smile forming on his face. “Ryo..” I softly whimpered before running towards him and embracing him. “Dammit, Ryo.. never scare me like that again..” I whimpered, crying into his uniform. His uniform turned dark, darker and darker. I looked up and.. He was back to Hell Kaiser. He pushed me off of him, making me stumble back and fall to the ground. “What were you doing, weakling?!” His deep, scary voice made me flinch a bit. “Ryo..wh..what happened to you?..” I felt my heart shatter into pieces. He looked at me, not even an ounce of sympathy in his cold, steely eyes. “Respect is for the weak, I was weak before. Now.. Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten stronger.” He said coldly, a smirk appearing on his face. He slowly walked closer to me and bent onto his knee, getting his face closer to mine. I felt.. Drawn to him. He reached his hand down and pulled me close, darkness enveloping us. “That's it, Kei.. lose all of your respect.”

@autithing

@lyrichaven10716

[faveficarchive]

AND STILL SHE FOLLOWS

by Cousin Liz

1997 Nov 16

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena: Warrior Princess are owned by MCA Pictures and used here without permission. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this story.

There are displays of graphic sex between consenting adults, as well as a non-consensual sex scene. Violence... this story deals with the aftereffects of war. If this type of story offends you, or you are not old enough to read it, please stop reading now.

I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1

'After only a short time, I no longer noticed the stench of the dead or the dying. It has been what, four, maybe five days since I entered the battle? I'm really not sure. Now all I can smell is victory... and it smells so sweet. Funny how victory smells so much like death and dying.'

Xena had hoped that she would be able to put a stop to the warfare before it had a chance to begin. Her old friend King Evander had called on her for help, but she and Gabrielle arrived at the outskirts of his kingdom too late. Both sides in this civil land dispute were well entrenched and the battle had already been raging for nearly two days. King Than, with the help of the ruthless warlord Kragon, was determined to wrestle the land at the Northern border of King Evander's kingdom away from him. This narrow strip of land was the only viable passage through the mountains to the Aegean sea, and was a heavily traveled trade route.

King Evander's monarchy, which had had possession of this land for eight generations, always allowed free access through the pass. King Than saw the pass as a highly profitable money-making venture. His plans were to seize the land and charge exorbitant fees for the privilege of crossing rights. For this, the two kingdoms had gone to war. Kragon, smelling profit, had been willing to sacrifice his men for victory, and soon neither side were taking prisoners. Xena soon found herself doing whatever was necessary to win the battle, and the warrior's sword ran red with the blood of countless.

Xena reveled in the victory. The war was over, yet her body cried out for more. She had forgotten how alive she could feel when she was closest to death. And Xena was surrounded by it. Her nerve endings tingled as her blood pumped fiercely through her body. She was alive! But she knew she had Gabrielle to thank for her forgetfulness. For the last two years, and especially the past few months, the love that Gabrielle had shown her had awoken feelings of hope and a renewed sense of life she had thought were long lost. With Gabrielle at her side, Xena felt she just might actually have a chance at life. For now, she concentrated on the warmth she felt when thinking about her bard, and tried to quell the carnal thoughts that were threatening to surface.

The warrior pushed her dirt-matted mane of black hair from her eyes and surveyed the carnage. Kragon's army was good -- very good. But he never stood a chance against a warrior determined to protect innocent people *and* her bard. Wiping the blood and gore from her blade on one of the nameless bodies at her feet, Xena walked from the battlefield in search of Gabrielle.

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Gabrielle. She had managed to saddle Argo and lead her down to the edge of the battlefield near a small stream to wait for Xena. The bard wanted to be away from the carnage as quickly as possible. The last four days had been a nightmare. Blood was everywhere, and the bodies never seemed to stop streaming in. Each time the tent flap flew open with another body on a stretcher, Gabrielle found herself wanting to rush over and make sure it was not her warrior. She longed to see Xena, but dreaded the thought of it happening. Instead, she found herself swabbing and stitching the wounds of so many that soon they were just faceless souls and she was but one among them. Gabrielle felt nothing anymore. Despair, then grief, followed by anger, had all passed. She was an empty vessel in need of filling. Unfortunately, all that filled her was the blood. The blood of so many had covered her that she could not seem to rid herself of it. And the blood never stopped; her green top covered in crimson splotches that had soaked through to her flesh.

The bard knelt at the stream and plunged her arms into the cold, rushing water, scrubbing furiously to rid herself of the gore and stench that covered her. Disregarding her normally modest disposition, Gabrielle ripped off her green halter and continued to scrub the blood from her body. When she was done, she quickly donned the beige blouse that she had gratefully accepted from one of the village women who had helped with the wounded. It was a tight fit, but Gabrielle managed to button it close.

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Xena walked slowly through the battlefield, carefully picking her way over the dead bodies that had not been gathered up yet. The warrior had known that if a battle ensued, it would be particularly bloody and brutal. Kragon was as ruthless as they came. She had tried in vain to keep Gabrielle from coming, but as usual the bard was adamant. No amount of pleading worked. And this wasn't the first time. No matter what Gabrielle said, Xena would never forgive herself for taking Gabrielle through the Thesselian- Mitoan war zone. She had almost lost Gabrielle for good, and it was as she cradled the lifeless body of her best friend in her arms that the warrior first realized that she could not live without her love... Gabrielle. Afterwards, Xena was not sure which had frightened her more -- Gabrielle dying in her arms, or the fact that this young, naive girl from Poteidaia had gotten past her defenses and firmly entrenched herself in the warrior's heart. 'Not even dying could keep us separated. Somehow, she fought her way back -- to me. It was the greatest gift I have ever received. And still she follows.'

The sight of her warhorse Argo, patiently waiting at the edge of the battlefield by a small copse of trees, caught the warrior's eye. Xena scanned the area and could just make out a strawberry blonde head of hair peeking out from behind the tall overgrowth at the edge of the clearing. Gabrielle was apparently kneeling by Argo, intent on some task. Xena's heart leapt. The warrior had not seen her since this had all began, and bounded over to the pair. As she neared she pulled up abruptly, her heart beating wildly and her breath catching at the sight of her lover kneeling before her. Gabrielle was focused on repacking her traveling bag and had not noticed Xena's arrival.

Xena's mind strayed to thoughts of the women and children that remained at Than's kingdom as dark recollections tried to push their way to the forefront of her memory. More times than she dared to count, she had found herself alone in her tent with one of the women from such a village her army had just defeated. Standing tall and defiant in her warlord's black leather and long, flowing cape, the warrior reveled in the power she wielded before the small form knelt in submissiveness before the "Warrior Princess." And the battle lust that had raged in the warrior's heart would only be quenched as the young woman yielded to the warrior's seductive powers.

Xena shoved the dark thoughts that were threatening to spill out back into the recesses of her mind, where she fought to keep them hidden. But the sight of Gabrielle kneeling before her was too close to her nightmarish thoughts. Xena pictured herself closing the distance between them. She watched, mesmerized, as her left hand reached down, wrapping itself in the young woman's hair as her body lowered itself on to the startled girl. Her mouth quickly descended onto Gabrielle's as her left hand firmly held the bard's head in check. Xena's free hand began to roam over the bard's body, quickly finding its way under the girl's skirt and straight to its goal.

"Xena? Xena?! Are you OK?" Gabrielle stood from where she was checking her traveling bag and faced her friend.

"Huh?!"

"You looked distant. Are you hurt?!" A slight panic crept into the bard's voice as she warily eyed the blood that covered her warrior lover.

"No, no. I'm fine. I just..." Xena's mind tried unsuccessfully to push the lurid images from her mind that she just had of forcing herself on her best friend. 'What has gotten into me?!' The warrior analyzed her feelings and desires and came to a logical conclusion. Xena recognized the symptoms all too clearly. Battle lust. It had been a long time since she had felt it this strongly.

Gabrielle covered the distance between them so quickly that the warrior never had a chance. She flung herself at Xena, wrapping her arms around the stunned warrior and burying her face in Xena's chest without giving a second thought to the blood and dirt that covered her lover. "Gods, I've missed you," the bard whispered as she pulled Xena into an even tighter embrace. "I was so worried." Gabrielle felt the gnawing hunger in her gut become only partially satiated as the warrior enveloped her in strong, knowing arms..

Xena quietly held her for a long moment, before using the excuse of her appearance to slowly extricate herself from Gabrielle's firm hold. "There is a small village a couple of hours south of here," Xena began, trying to change the subject. "I want to be there before the approaching storm is upon us." If Gabrielle had thought Xena was talking about the weather, she would have only been half right. The warrior turned her back to Gabrielle and busied herself with checking the tall warhorse's saddle. With a grace that belied her body's true state, she mounted and started off. She did not offer her young lover a ride. The warrior could not trust herself to remain that close and not act on the feelings of lust that were quickly overtaking her. Gabrielle quickly gathered up her traveling bag and staff and followed on foot. The two lovers traveled in uneasy silence.

Xena had her share of skirmishes over the recent years with road bandits and the occasional lightweight warlord, but nothing had come close to the bloody war that had waged. She had almost come close with the Horde. But Gabrielle's humanity had successfully intervened before it was too late. 'But not before she had been confronted with a small glimpse of my dark half. I had been willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to protect her. I don't know if she truly realized what I was willing to give up to keep her safe, but she got a small taste of what lurks just under the surface. And still she follows.'

Xena wondered what would have happened if Gabrielle hadn't been able to help bring an end to that war before it got out of hand. She cringed inwardly at the thought of her dark side possibly escaping again, although at one time it had served her well. Destroyer of Nations. Murderer of Men. Defiler of Women. It was a reputation she had proudly worn, although it was not built entirely on fact. There was no denying her sword was stained red with the blood of thousands, but she had never resorted to rape. Yes, she occasionally *helped* herself to one of the young women from a village her army plundered. And if asked later, the bits of information garnered from these girls through tears of shame, always spoke of a domineering warlord bitch taking what she wanted and leaving them battered and broken, never wanting to be touched again. But that was not the real story. They would never admit that once inside the privacy of the warrior's tent, she had simply seduced them, every last one of them. Xena knew how to use her body. She was capable of stripping them bare of the last vestiges of their dignity, reducing the young girls to begging and groveling on their hands and knees to be taken. In the end they had unashamedly offered themselves up fully to the Warrior Princess and were eagerly willing to perform acts that only a few candlemarks ago they had never dreamt of. These small, intimate conquests fueled the warrior's lust for power and she took all that was offered her... until that fateful day.

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Chapter 2

Dark memories from a time long ago began to creep from the recesses of the warrior's mind. She normally had the strength to keep them at bay, though they were not entirely forgotten. In the past two years, those acts had weighed heavily on her conscience. Xena had never been able to forgive herself and had spent many a sleepless night because of this. Now, the lingering sights and smells of the battle provoked recollections she wished she could banish. The flood gates opened and the ultimate defilement she had perpetrated on a young girl came rushing back to the forefront of her memory.

The warlord's newly formed army had entered a village looking for tribute. Xena had expected to collect and simply move on. Instead, they were met by resistive villagers who decided to take a stand and protect what little they had. It was a pity they hadn't decided to better protect their real treasures from the warlord and her army. The villagers were no real match, but they had caught Xena and her men off guard. The warrior soon found her leathers dripping in the blood of men unwilling to surrender. They fought valiantly to protect their homes and property but were eventually slaughtered, and the women and children rounded up.

Xena was about to offer the survivors one last chance to comply to her demands when one young woman, who appeared to be about seventeen winters old, spat in the warrior's face. "You will never take me as a slave," she announced vehemently. "I'd rather die first!" Xena swiped at the spittle trailing down her cheek and licked it sensuously off of her fingers. "We'll see about that." She motioned to two of her men who came over and bound and then dragged the young girl into the nearby tavern.

Sex with the few chosen warriors in her army that Xena had allowed herself to get close to had been getting boring lately. 'Yes,' she thought. 'This is exactly what I need.' The warrior didn't have a name for it, but she had been noticing a growing need for physical as well as sexual release after a hard-fought battle. She had even found herself drawn to picking up the services of whores at nearby inns to satisfy her cravings.

Xena had already decided on this young girl for a night of passion. Her appetite was voracious, and the way the young girl had defiantly made eye contact instead of bowing her head like the rest of the women had inflamed the warrior's being. Young village women were usually never this daring in public. It was only afterwards, when the warlord had folded back the petals of their delicate upbringing, exposing their tight bud of innocence and lapping up their sweet nectar, that their inhibitions would be thrown off. It was then that Xena enjoyed the fruits of her labor.

She had hoped to spend an evening hearing the young girl scream her name out in the throes of passion, but she quickly changed her mind. This girl had publicly humiliated her. The warrior coldly decided that there would be no seduction tonight. 'I will take what I want, *and* make a statement at the same time that will not go unnoticed by the rest of the villagers.'

The captured villagers were taken to the village's meeting hall next door to the tavern and secured while Xena loitered outside. She wanted to let the girl's imagination work in her favor for a while. She knew she was going to be in for a fun evening. This time she would live up to her reputation. She smiled to herself as she entered the tavern.

The warrior found the girl sitting with her hands bound to a support beam in the middle of the dining area, struggling to free herself. As she drew near, the girl abruptly kicked her left leg upwards catching Xena squarely in the crotch. The warrior was momentarily stunned, but quickly recuperated. With a feral grin spreading across her face, the warlord advanced on the young girl, her breast dagger drawn. The girl sat there silently seething, doing her best not to show fear.

"I see you like it rough," the warrior quipped. "Well, if that's the way you want it..." Xena reached down and sliced the girl's hands free from the beam. Grabbing her by her long blonde hair, she flung the girl halfway across the room to land hard against a large wooden dining table.

Xena advanced quickly on the crumpled form. Hauling her to her feet, the warrior brought the girl's face within inches of her own. "I had planned on conducting business from the comfort of a soft bed," the warrior growled as she motioned with her head to the stairs leading to the rooms upstairs. "But... you appear to prefer a different setting. That's fine by me," she hissed. The warrior swiped her arm across the dining table to her right, scattering the unfinished meals in a wide arc across the room. The warlord threw the girl face down on top of the table, the young girl's legs straddling one of the table legs. Xena moved to the opposite corner of the table and grabbing the young girl's forearms, pulled her towards herself until the girl's toes dangled two to three inches off of the floor. Using her whip the warrior bound the writhing girl's arms together before securing the whip to the table leg.

The warlord bent down and studied the young girl's face. The girl turned away, but not before Xena saw the look of fear that she tried so hard to hide. Brushing her lips against the girl's ear so there would be no mistaking the warrior's next comment, Xena seductively breathed three simple words into her ear. "You... are... mine." The warrior chuckled at the whimpered response her words invoked.

Xena slowly walked back around, lazily running a finger around the perimeter of the table. Once behind the girl, she waited patiently. Eventually, the young girl stopped trying to free herself, wary of the warlord's next move. Bending down behind the young girl, the warrior grabbed the hem of her long skirt and pushed it up to gather around her waist. Xena then hooked her fingers in the girl's britches and tugged them down to fall uselessly to the ground below. Moments later, the Warrior Princess, Defiler of Women, deposited her own britches inches from the young girl's face. The girl frantically renewed her efforts to free herself as the realization of the warlord's probable intentions flooded her mind.

The girl finally stilled her futile attempts to work her hands free and tried to look behind herself to see what the warlord was doing. Xena stood motionless in the hushed silence, just inches from the girl's backside. Her eyes were riveted on the plump ass cheeks before her as she allowed her own anticipation to slowly build, heightening her already inflamed senses. When she could stand it no longer, the warrior finally closed the distance between them. Placing her hands firmly on the creamy white mounds of flesh before her, Xena began to roughly knead the girl's cheeks while slowly spreading the trembling legs wide.

The warrior straddled the young girl's left leg, positioning herself over her left ass cheek. Gripping her firmly by the hips she brought the girl's body up to meet hers as she began thrusting herself fiercely against the girl's backside. Following each thrust the girl's body slapped back down onto the table, the corner driving itself painfully between the girl's splayed legs. Xena could feel the heat of her desire beginning to burn her to her core, and frantically increased her pace, her need for release overwhelming all other senses.

Animalistic grunts soon escaped from the warrior as she surged, feeling herself nearing climax. "No one, but NO one will *EVER* humiliate me in front of my men and get away unpunished," the warlord barked through quickening pants. Her short nails drew blood as she continued to slam her throbbing sex against the small form under her. Xena drove herself furiously, oblivious to the pleas that coursed past the girl's gritted teeth as her virginal backside reddened from the continued assault. Suddenly a white hot fury escaped from the warrior and Xena fell forward onto the young girl, crushing her under her armor. Clutching the sides of the table the warrior continued to ride the young girl unmercifully, biting her on her left shoulder as she felt her climax imminent. Suddenly she stiffened. Arching her back and clamping her thighs down hard on the girl, she exploded. Afterwards, the warrior continued to slide herself along the girl's slick wet thigh, pumping more juices from her convulsing sex.

Finally satiated she collapsed, sprawled on top of the girl. "Hmm, I don't know," Xena drawled into the girl's left ear. "It seems to me that you'll make a *fine* slave. What do you think?" the warrior asked, reaching under the girl and pinching her right nipple roughly through her blouse. The girl swallowed hard, but not before a whimpered cry escaped from her. Thinking she could get off again by bringing the girl over, Xena slid off and stood once again behind her. Grabbing her by the hips, the warrior lifted the young girl, spinning her around and dropping her on the table so she was lying face up. The girl winced as her stinging backside hit the rough, uneven planks of the table. Xena grabbed the young girl and pulled her towards her, positioning the girl's ass cheeks at the corner of the table; her legs dangling in the air over the sides.

Xena slid her hands up the girl's inner thighs, spreading her legs wide. She was about to lean into the girl to make contact with her own sex when she paused. Curiously, she fingered the girl's sex, gingerly probing the opening. She was shocked, yet deliriously elated, when her finger met with resistance as she began to enter the girl. 'A virgin!' her mind cried out. "My, my. Why didn't you tell me, my sweet, *innocent* thing?!" Xena leaned over until she was just inches from the girl's anguished face. "Allow me to leave you with something to always remember me by," she purred.

Unceremoniously, the warrior plunged two fingers deep into the young girl, tearing past the thin membrane that shielded her innocence. The girl cried out in horror and shock, and Xena merely laughed in her face. Standing back up, the warrior proudly displayed two bloody fingers before wiping them clean on the front of the girl's crumpled skirt and exiting the tavern. As usual, Xena was correct. The broken girl made a fine example to the rest. They easily got the tribute they desired before leaving to conquer new *lands*.

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Chapter 3

The image of the young girl slowly faded from Xena's memory, only to be replaced by a vision of Gabrielle as she looked when the warrior princess first met her in Poteidaia. The ex-warlord had just saved her and her village from the wrath of slavers. She was so young and innocent, so much like the girl the warrior had defiled. Before Xena had a chance to be on her way, Gabrielle had confronted her. 'And she wanted me, an ex-warlord, to take her away. She was so naive. If she had only known what I was capable of, she would have run screaming in the opposite direction. I even did my best to scare her away, threatening her lest she make me angry. And still she follows.'

A sudden clap of foreboding thunder brought the warrior out of her reverie. Xena glanced behind herself to find Gabrielle a few paces off, leaning heavily on her staff in her attempt to keep up. "The village is just a short way off," the warrior called back, as she turned back to the dusty road picking up her pace.

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A young stable boy rushed up as Xena dismounted Argo. He stopped abruptly at the sight of the bloody and dirty warrior. Too frightened to advance or even turn and run, he stood frozen in his tracks. Xena caught his eye and quietly held Argo's reins out to him. He slowly advanced, due more to the magnetic pull of the warrior's eyes than his own motor skills. Xena laid the reins in his shaking, outstretched hand and instructed him to take *good* care of her horse. The boy violently shook his head in the affirmative before leading Argo away.

Gabrielle, who had been waiting patiently during this exchange, turned and shuffled towards the inn, with Xena close behind. The inn was practically empty. The lunch crowd had already dispersed, and it was too early for the dinner crowd. Two sets of eyes greeted the pair as they entered. A young barmaid, probably the innkeeper's daughter, had been busily washing down tables when she looked up and gasped. She hurriedly turned and bent back to her task, afraid to make eye contact with the disturbing sight. The innkeeper left his seat at the end of the bar and quietly approached. He did his best to act like all of his customers came in looking like rejects from Tartarus.

Gabrielle, without a word, placed a few dinars on the bar. The innkeeper looked from the bard's face to Xena's and directed them to a room upstairs. The bard eyed the steep narrow staircase and with an audible sigh, started heading towards it. Xena hesitated. She looked from Gabrielle to the front door before returning her gaze to the disappearing form of the young girl. Shaking her head slowly back and forth, the warrior gingerly took the stairs two at a time to catch up.

Xena passed Gabrielle in the upstairs hallway and headed for their room. She opened the door, and as was her custom, paused at the threshold surveying the room. Satisfied, she entered. The room was nothing special. A bed in the far left corner, a small table to the left of the door, and a cold unlit fireplace off to the right. The window on the far wall allowed the only light that fell across the room, the bleak dark-grey light of the afternoon casting the room in long, unforgiving shadows.

Xena knew this was wrong. All wrong. She had to get out of there. The warrior had planned on saddling Argo and riding, just riding furiously until she was so exhausted that nothing mattered. She wasn't sure if it would help quell the intense feelings that were churning in her heart, but she would rather die than expose Gabrielle to her carnal desires. 'Or anybody else for that matter,' the warrior reminded herself. Xena's mind wandered to thoughts of the young barmaid downstairs. She was exactly the kind of girl the former warlord would have been interested in. Young... pretty... shy... And very likely a virgin. Instead of a sense of conquest, all the warrior felt was a deep regret about her past actions. The thought of being with another person no longer had any appeal. She wanted Gabrielle. 'And that cannot be.'

Xena flinched at the sound of the heavy wooden door closing and the locking bolt swinging securely into place. Her warrior senses immediately heightened as the primitive sense of being trapped momentarily overtook her. Her nostrils flared and she took in a sudden lungful of air before slowly exhaling and willing herself back under control. The warrior berated herself. It was normal for her body to be attuned to her surroundings, but during the aftermath of a particularly bloody battle, her senses sizzled at the slightest physical stimuli. This was evident as her skin suddenly prickled as a million tiny nerve endings announced Gabrielle's closeness to her back.

"Take me."

The words were uttered so softly that they almost floated undetected out the open window, to be torn and scattered upon the winds of the rising storm. But those two words did not escape the warrior's extraordinary hearing and their registration stilled her rapidly beating heart. She whirled around, taking a few unsteady steps backward. Xena knew full well the source of those two words, yet still she hoped to see somebody, anybody other than her young lover standing before her. She was not sure if she was more startled by the utterance from an up-to-now silent bard or the word's implications. The warrior's heart raged, their implications being more than she could bear. Xena tried vainly to quell the growing inferno of emotions that threatened to spill out, but there was no denying her need for release. 'Just... not here... not now... not with *her*,' she cried to herself. Her blood pounded in her veins, and a loud thrumming behind her eyes caused her vision to momentarily blur. The warrior gave her head a few harsh shakes and refocused on the silent form before her.

Xena clamped her mouth shut and swallowed the words she had been about to utter. There was no need in asking Gabrielle if she knew what she was asking of the warrior. Xena could tell simply by the young girl's body language. Gabrielle's arms were outstretched, welcoming her lover with an intense longing in her eyes that the warrior had never seen before.

Xena found herself only an arms length away from Gabrielle. The warrior silently battled her dark half. She had only planned on staying at the inn long enough to make sure that Gabrielle was safe, before making up some excuse to leave. Because for Gabrielle to be truly safe, the warrior knew that she needed to put as much distance between them as possible. Now she was torn. Up until now sex with her new lover had been wonderful, loving, carefree and restrained. Xena had always been afraid to let even a little bit of her dark side out to play. And with the discipline born of a warrior, she had been able to hold it in check. Until now. She longed for release, and Gabrielle was welcoming her to her bosom. Against Xena's better judgement it was an offer she did not want to refuse.

Xena's conscience told her to run, but her body betrayed her. Reaching out, she grasped Gabrielle's jaw between her thumb and forefinger. The bard clutched the warrior's forearm with both hands, looking up into Xena's eyes. The warrior appraisingly took in the full, soft, pouting lips, the long delicate neck, and could just imagine the creamy flesh that awaited her behind the blouse. Xena swallowed hard, already imagining the sweet taste of those lips, not unlike a reformed drunk would imagine the sweet burn of alcohol down their throat as they would lovingly run their fingers over a cold, sweating glass of spirits.

The warrior met the bard's eyes, and Gabrielle found herself unable to hold her gaze. She quickly dropped her eyes to her hands. Xena tilted the bard's face up, but still Gabrielle averted her eyes. "Look at me," she ordered, and the bard quickly complied. What Gabrielle saw reflected back to her in those two dark blue pools of liquid fire was a smoldering desire barely held in check. The bard gulped audibly and subconsciously tightened her grasp.

Never breaking eye contact, Xena tightened her hold on the bard's jaw and pulled her forward. Thrusting the young girl's face up to hers, she pulled the girl up onto her tip-toes and captured the lips she longed to taste. Xena slid her hand down the bard's neck, wrapping her fingers around the soft flesh of her throat. The warrior's tongue insisted on winning entrance to the young girl's mouth, and the moment Gabrielle's jaw surrendered, Xena thrust her large wet member fully into the girl, taking possession.

A low growl emanated from the depths of Xena's soul as she hungrily seized the girl's tongue, sucking it into her own mouth. Gabrielle moaned into the warrior's mouth as Xena slowly released her tongue, running her teeth along the length of it's shaft. Capturing the bard's lower lip between her own, she lightly nipped at the soft flesh. When Gabrielle yelped at the feeling of sharp teeth on her tender lip, Xena bit down again before releasing her hold. Gabrielle stumbled backwards, her legs no longer able to support her weight. Xena quickly closed the distance between them, effectively pinning the girl between her armor and the rented room's door. She braced both of her forearms against the door on either side of the bard's head and lowered her head to stare intently into two very large orbs of green.

The sensuous writhing of the young girl's body against hers was more than Xena could handle. "You want this, don't you?" the warrior whispered as her lips caressed the bard's right ear. "You want to feel my mouth on you, suckling your breasts, isn't that right? Hmm?" Xena snaked her tongue out and traced the folds of the bard's ear before sighing. Gabrielle could only moan softly in response. "Feel my mouth sliding over your skin, licking, tasting, consuming." Xena ran her right hand lightly down the front of the young girl's body, which twitched uncontrollably from the feather-light touch.

Pushing the front of the bard's skirt up around her waist, the warrior grasped the young girl by the hips and adeptly kneed her in the crotch. Xena luxuriated in the feel of the girl's soft cotton undergarment rubbing up her thigh as she pushed her lower leg against the door, forcing the bard to stand on tiptoe. They were now practically eye-to-eye. Xena stared into the glistening pale green eyes before her. "Give yourself to me," she stated simply, as her muscular thigh began its rhythmic assault on the young woman's already sopping wet sex.

Gabrielle's head flew up and her eyes riveted on the ceiling above. The long sinuous line of the bard's neck caught the warrior's eye, and Xena lowered her head, greedily sinking her teeth into the taut flesh before her. She sucked hungrily on the feast offered her as her entire body methodically kept up the same slow, torturous movements against the trembling flesh that her thigh had started. The bard felt herself torn in two directions. Her body wanted - - no -- craved to be taken by this powerful woman, but her naturally modest demeanor made her question her needs. Her fists found purchase on the armor on the warrior's shoulders, and she half-heartedly tried to push the larger woman away.

A fire began to burn in the warrior's eyes as she felt the small form before her begin to meekly resist her advances. It would have been so easy to give in completely to her dark thoughts. It had been so long since the warrior felt this kind of power. But Xena fought it with an intensity she did not think she had. The warrior stilled her rhythmic movements against the girl and brought her hands up to the bard's head, tilting the young girl's face down to meet her intense gaze. Xena watched as Gabrielle audibly gulped, a slight look of panic forming in her eyes. In a low voice that burred its way into the girl's head Xena insisted, "I want the truth. You can't lie to me. Do you want me to stop?"

The bard stood there for a long moment, debating whether to give the answer she thought she must, or the truth. Slowly, her hands slipped from the warrior's armor and her arms fell to her sides. Unable to break Xena's gaze, she looked the older woman directly in the eyes and whispered, "No." Xena knew she had the truth. A smile slowly spread across the warrior's face as she seized the bard's wrists, pinning them to the solid wooden door behind her.

The warrior's thigh soon returned to fervently thrusting itself into the young girl's sex, followed almost immediately by the rest of her body against the bard. Gabrielle squirmed seductively against the warrior's assault, her head lolling to the side as Xena slowly worked her way around the right side of her neck, capturing and tugging on the now exposed earlobe. The bard's quick, shallow pants tickled the warrior's ear, and Xena sadistically slowed the pace of her thrusting thigh on the girl's sensitized sex, deciding to stretch the delicious torture out for as long as possible. The warrior chuckled at the quiet cry of disappointment that soon followed.

Xena brought both of the girl's slender arms over her head and transferred ownership of the bard's left wrist to her left hand. The warrior continued to easily hold the bard's wrists as she brought her free hand down to the collar of the young girl's peasant blouse. She lightly fingered the rough beige material, eyeing the two full breasts that strained under the too-tight top. She was well aware of the two perfect jewels that were hidden just behind the cloth barrier, and the warrior's raw passion would not be denied.

Grabbing a handful of material, she unmercifully ripped the blouse from the front of the bard's body. Two luscious mounds of sweet flesh fell free from their constrictive confines, the small pink nipples already hardened and erect with desire. The warrior's free hand instinctively latched onto the bard's left breast, roughly kneading the soft mound of flesh in her large, callused hand. Xena's mouth started its own slow, torturous path down her right collarbone and across the now exposed flesh of the young girl's shoulder, biting and sucking along the way. The warrior savored the sweet taste of sweat as it emanated from the pores of the flesh under her lips. After what felt like an eternity, her mouth had worked its way to the soft skin above Gabrielle's right breast. Poised over the swollen erect nipple, her head stilled. She casually glanced up and in the waning light of the day saw the anxious longing that flickered over the bard's features. Xena let out a low chuckle as the girl squeezed her eyes shut, biting down a little nervously on her lower lip. Turning back to the breast in question the warrior quickly flicked her tongue once over the tip of the puckered flesh.

The bard attempted but failed to stifle a cry. Xena looked up from her meal to see the girl's eyes still tightly closed and her mouth clenched shut. The warrior reached up and ran her thumb over the bard's lips. Gabrielle's eyes flew open. Xena continued to massage her lips, slowly working her thumb between the young girl's lips and into her mouth. "I want to hear you. Hear what I do for you. Don't hold anything back." Xena returned to the bard's breast and once again flicked her tongue over the nipple. This time a small whimper escaped past the girl's lips as Xena's thumb played with the bard's tongue.

The warrior continued the small licks, first to one breast and then the other, graduating slowly to intimate kisses. The small whimpers that escaped Gabrielle's lips soon turned to full-fledged groans of desire. The warrior's blood began to boil at the intoxicating power this young girl wielded over her, driving her on. Her hand returned to one of the breasts, before she opened her mouth wide, consuming the other breast whole. She ground her face into the heaving bosom offered her, relishing the feel of the nipple on the back of her tongue. Slowly she pulled her mouth away, stopping to bite and twist the nipple between her teeth as the tip of her tongue flicked itself rapidly over the swollen hard nub. Gabrielle's cries of pleasure and need spurred the warrior on, and Xena repeated this exquisite assault on the young flesh again and again as her right hand continued to twist and pinch the other hard nipple.

With a slight touch of regret, Xena's hand left the bard's breast unattended. She slowly ran her hand down the side of Gabrielle's body, coming to rest on the young girl's hip. Lazily, she trailed the tips of two fingers up the inside of the bard's creamy white thigh, delighting in the muscles that twitched and jumped from her touch. With deliberate ease, she snaked those same two fingers between the top of her thigh and the girls hot, pulsing sex, and bit down hard on the nipple still in her possession as a whimpered groan escaped past the young girl's gritted teeth. Extracting her now dripping fingers, the warrior proceeded to smear the hot juices brusquely over the young girl's lips. Xena's mouth quickly descended onto the bard's glistening lips, and saliva and juices were joined in a sweet ambrosial mix that inflamed the warrior to new heights.

With her right thigh pinning the young girl steadfastly to the door, the warrior released her hold on one of the girl's wrists, catching it with her free hand and bringing both of the bard's hands down to her sides. Xena's mouth lowered to the front of the girl's throat where she sucked and nipped at the small hollow. Sliding their hands over the young girl's hips Xena repeatedly thrust the bard's body up and back down her rock hard thigh, marveling at the hot slick trail of fluid lathering her flesh. Short, ragged pants issued unbridled from the bard, and this time Xena answered her unspoken plea by quickening her pace.

"You know you want this," the warrior purred into the young girl's ear. "C'mon. You can do it. You're almost there." Xena continued to urge the young girl on. "Let yourself go. Give yourself over to me," she demanded. When Xena felt the bard's thigh muscles clench and lock on to her own thigh, she slowly slid the girl down its long length and held her firmly against the door. The warrior then began to grind her knee in a circular pattern into the bard's throbbing sex as the young girl's hips bucked violently with her imminent release. Gabrielle threw her head back as a torrent of screams were suddenly unleashed from her soul.

Finally, the bard's upper body fell back limp against the door, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides. Her chest heaved uncontrollably as she fought to push air down her burning lungs. Xena took the heaving bosoms as an open invitation and quickly engulfed the young girl's right breast in her mouth, sucking and biting with wild abandon. Her stamina knew no bounds as she continued her pursuit to take all that the bard was willing to give. The young girl's eyes flew open at this newest assault on her flesh, still reeling from the continued grinding of the warrior's right knee. She groaned and mumbled incoherently as Xena's right hand came up and rolled and pinched her other nipple, bringing both intense pleasure and pain to her now swollen and tender flesh.

Xena replaced her mouth with her left hand, slowly raising her head to come eye-to-eye with the bard. Foreheads touching and lips barely brushing each other she confided coyly, "I'm not done with you yet." A feral grin spread across her features as she noted the surprise that registered on the young girl's face. "I will enter you. You will feel me inside you everywhere, touching you, claiming you, possessing you. Nothing will be left. You will be mine." Xena's tongue uncoiled suddenly from its lair, rushing past the bard's startled lips and teeth and burrowed deep into her mouth.

The warrior's hands left the bard's breasts and worked their way behind the girl, reaching under her skirt and down her undergarment. She firmly grasped two full round cheeks, slipping her long strong fingers between them and probing the bard's intimate flesh. The startled young girl lurched forward and Xena used this momentum to pull the shaking form back up her thigh. The girl's legs latched on to the warrior's hips as Xena held the quivering mass tightly against her armor.

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Chapter 4

Still holding the bundle of raw nerves to her, Xena backed up to the edge of the bed. As she lowered herself to a sitting position, the warrior slid the young girl down, and Gabrielle came to rest straddling the warrior's thighs. While her lips, teeth and tongue continued to ply their trade on the bard's ravaged mouth, Xena scooted to the edge of the bed, perching the girl precariously on her knees. Extricating her hands from the young girl's tender backside, Xena firmly grasped the bard's thighs and slowly separated her own legs, causing the young girl's legs to splay open even farther.

Gabrielle's body began to slide down between the warrior's thighs and her hands came forward wrapping themselves around Xena's neck. The warrior caught her by the wrists and brought her arms down and behind the girl's body. "No," she stated flatly. Transferring both wrists to one hand she reached to her side and unhooked her whip. Uncoiling it, she allowed the handle to dangle to the floor. "Hold this," she commanded, as she curled the bard's hand around a length of the whip. She then proceeded to wrap the whip snugly around both wrists a few times before placing the other end in the girl's free hand. As long as Gabrielle continued to hold the whip, her hands remained bound, although they both knew all she had to do was uncurl her fingers to be free. But freedom was relative. Gabrielle was now forced to tense her leg muscles to keep from sinking between the warrior's thighs.

Xena's left hand entangled itself in the strawberry blonde hair behind the girl's head, bringing her mouth down once again on to the bard's tender lips. Reaching down between their legs and under the girl's skirt with her free hand, the warrior slid her index finger under the bard's undergarment and lightly across her swollen clitoris. Gabrielle's tense body jumped at this slight contact. "Mmm," Xena murmured into the bard's mouth. "Seems like you're ready... again." She brought her slick finger up and slipped it between their lips, sliding it first into the girl's mouth and then hers. "Taste what I do to you... so sweet." The warrior's tongue slid all around the inside of the bard's mouth, distributing bits of sweet nectar wherever it went.

Grasping a handful of hair with her left hand, Xena gently pulled the young girl's head away from hers. "I just need to take care of a little *problem* first," she drawled, as she reached between her breasts with her right hand and procured her breast dagger from its hiding place. Gabrielle's eyes widened as the light of the cold grey afternoon filtered in from the window and glinted off the steel. She watched, mesmerized, as Xena held the blade before their eyes, examining it closely. Gabrielle's attention was drawn to the window by a vicious crackle of lightening, followed a few heartbeats later by a booming roar of thunder. But her eyes quickly riveted back on the spectacle before her as the warrior brought the tip of her left index finger to meet the point of the blade. Two sets of eyes watched intently as a single drop of blood started to form.

"It looks like the storm is almost upon us," Xena stated absentmindedly, as she licked the fresh drop of blood from her finger. The warrior's left hand softly cupped the young girl's chin and sparkling blue eyes locked onto misty green. "Do you trust me?"

Gabrielle did not hesitate to answer, and stammering only a little, quickly replied, "With my life."

Xena brought the flat part of the blade down to rest on the bard's inner left thigh. The young girl's heart stilled and her breath caught in her throat as she felt the smooth steel tickling her soft down. "Stay very still," the warrior advised, as she began to slide the razor sharp blade up, easing it under Gabrielle's skirt. A small gasp escaped from the young girl as the tip of the blade momentarily came to rest at her apex before Xena slowly worked it under the bard's undergarment. The bard moved not a muscle as she felt the flat of the blade pressing on the folds of her womanhood. The warrior leaned forward and seductively ran her tongue over the young girl's lips while continuing to press the blade against her nether lips. Xena delighted in the feel of the bard's leg muscles tightening and quivering around her thighs as the young girl began to strain to lift herself off of Xena's lap and distance herself from the smooth flat object that both excited and scared her at the same time.

The warrior's tongue trailed a wet path from the bard's lips to her right ear. "Going someplace?" Xena breathed, tickling the young girl's wet ear with her hot breath and tongue. "I think not," she continued, as she got the bard's full attention by biting down on her earlobe while continuing to press the knife blade against her slippery lips. A whimper of fear escaped past the young girl's clenched teeth, and the warrior's grin widened. "I am going to make you mine, and I yours," Xena whispered, as she pulled back to look intently at the young girl. Gabrielle saw the sincerity in her warrior's eyes as Xena mouthed the word, "forever," before leaning in to claim the bard's mouth, and soul. Xena pushed the blade downwards, feeling the strain of the cotton undergarment being pulled to its limit. With a quick flick of her wrist, the warrior cleanly sliced through the offending cloth barrier that had been blocking the entrance to her prize.

She brought the dagger back up between them, examining it carefully. Not a drop of blood was found on the blade, but it did glisten with drops of something else. Xena carefully ran her tongue along the blade, lapping up the bard's sweet nectar. "Mmm, food of the gods," she muttered, "food of the gods." The warrior was brought back to reality when a long breath escaped the girl's lips and an involuntary shudder racked her body. The warrior smiled as she focused on the young girl's relieved face. "Problem solved," Xena quipped, as she cleanly flipped the dagger over the bard's shoulder and embedded it in the door. Placing both hands on the bard's knees, the warrior leaned forward, enticing the young girl's lips and teeth apart with her playful tongue. As her hands inched up the bard's inner thighs, her tongue lightly flicked in and out of the girl's mouth. "I have many skills," she murmured past the bard's quivering lips, "many skills."

Placing her left hand at the small of Gabrielle's back, Xena steadied the bard as she suddenly thrust her right hand upward, impaling the girl on two long fingers. Xena swallowed the young girl's surprised groan of pleasure as the warrior's fingers tunneled into the depths of Gabrielle's being. The force of her entrance into the bard caused Gabrielle to lift off of the warrior's lap and momentarily be suspended on Xena's hand. The bard quickly tightened her leg muscles around the warrior's rock hard thighs and held herself aloft as Xena slowly and deliciously slid her fingers out just to their tips.

Before the warrior had a chance to continue, Gabrielle dropped herself back down on to Xena's poised fingers, her need to feel the warrior possess her overriding her good sense. Blue eyes flashed and locked onto wary green. Xena's need for control almost caused her to take action, but she froze at the look of determination on the young girl's face. Gabrielle slowly lifted herself back off of the warrior's fingers and then plunged herself downwards again, a grunt escaping past her lips as the soft folds of her womanhood slid over Xena's digits burying them deep into herself.

The warrior decided she would allow herself to take a passive role -- for the moment. She kept her right hand still, allowing the bard to build up a rhythm of raising and dropping herself onto the warrior's fingers. Xena marveled at the creamy softness that was Gabrielle as the bard again and again enveloped the warrior's long digits, making love to her hand. Total passivity did not last long though as Xena's tongue quickly picked up the same rhythm of thrusts into the young girl's trembling mouth.

Gabrielle had built up quite a pace, but Xena could feel her beginning to falter as the bard's thigh muscles started to quiver. On the girl's next downward drop, Xena quickly burrowed her thumb into the bard's soft folds, unerringly finding her way to the girl's throbbing hard nub. The warrior's mouth covered the bard's as an anguished cry burst forth from her mouth. What little strength the young girl had suddenly dissipated, and her leg muscles turned to mush. She sank into the warrior's hand and Xena's thumb gladly continued its relentless attack.

As the warrior continued to excite the small hard nub, she took over where the bard left off and began sliding her fingers in and out of the girl's warm tight tunnel. Xena could tell it wouldn't take much more stimulation to bring the bard over, and paid careful attention to the young girl's body language. At the last possible moment, the warrior's fingers came to a dead standstill, buried inside the girl's convulsing sex. The bard cried out in protest, but Xena ignored the pleas.

The warrior chuckled quietly as the bard squirmed seductively on her lap. She knew what Gabrielle wanted, but wasn't ready to give it to her... yet. Xena ran her teeth along the girl's jawline, ending up at her left ear. Once there, she ran the tip of her tongue over the swirls of the bard's ear before slipping her teeth over the earlobe and quietly nipping at the flesh.

The warrior's throaty voice purred into the girl's ear. "We seem to have neglected your breasts. Do they not ache to be touched? Do they not want to feel my tongue swirling over them? Do your nipples not beg to have my lips consume them?" she cooed. Gabrielle didn't think it was possible, but she quickly forgot about the warrior's two fingers still buried deep within her, as Xena's erotic promises sent spasms of anticipation to every nerve ending in her now over-sensitized breasts.

The bard whimpered uncontrollably as Xena took her own sweet time trailing little nips and licks down her neck. As the warrior worked her way to the top of the bard's chest, Gabrielle threw her head back, placing her weight on Xena's left hand as she arched her breasts upward. The intense need that the warrior's words provoked were causing an ache that was beginning to border on painful. She arched her breasts further up, desperate for attention.

"Hmm, decisions, decisions." Xena had finally worked her way down, and happily paused before both breasts. "Which one?" The warrior waited patiently for an answer. Getting none, she repeated her question.

Gabrielle suddenly realized Xena was asking her a question and expecting her to make a decision. The bard could barely keep a coherent thought in her head and wondered frantically how she would decide. Luckily her flesh took over and her body quickly twisted, offering her left breast to the warrior.

Xena bent down, lavishing attention to the sweet flesh presented to her. Placing soft wet kisses to the outer region of the breast, she slowly worked her way inward. She then proceeded to lightly swirl her tongue over the areola, taking care to avoid the erect nipple. The bard could feel her skin nearly burning where the warrior's tongue made contact; her unspoken desires evident from the moans of pleasure passing her lips. Gabrielle thrust her breast closer to her lover's lips, fighting frantically for some form of release. Xena paused for only a moment before wrapping her lips firmly around the swollen hard nipple and sucking it into her mouth. Trapping it between her lips, she slowly tightened her hold. The bard's body trembled as the warrior's teeth grazed over the tip, before they too steadily bit down and claimed the tender flesh.

This shot a bolt of heat to the bard's loins, and her inner muscles suddenly convulsed, squeezing Xena's fingers. The warrior immediately picked up on this cue and abandoned the breast, thrusting her fingers deep inside the girl once again. This quick switch in tactics left Gabrielle dizzy. The bard's head shot up and she glared at a grinning warrior. She was about to speak but wasn't sure whether to voice her disappointment at her abandoned breast or thank the gods for the concentrated effort the warrior was giving her sex. Xena's thumb slid between the girl's lips, delving into her creamy center, finding the bard's voice box. The warrior pushed down hard on the small protrusion, moving her thumb in a tight circular pattern over the engorged nub. The question the bard was pondering suddenly became a mute point as she groaned and repeated over and over, "Oh... gods..., oh... gods..." Xena's grin widened into a full- fledge smile.

Gabrielle soon met the warrior's upward thrusts with downward plunges of her own as she tried desperately to quell the growing ache in her belly. It was a raw burning desire that up until now the young girl had never encountered. Her need to feel Xena touch her everywhere was overwhelming her senses, and she drove herself down again and again, trying to bury the warrior inside her.

Gabrielle's acute senses focused everywhere Xena was touching her. Her tender lower lip quivered as the warrior expertly sucked on it with her warm moist lips. The sensitized flesh of her sweat-soaked lower back tingled where the warrior's left hand rested. The young girl marveled at the play of rock-hard muscles under soft skin as she tightly wrapped her legs around the warrior's thighs. She was fervently aware of the way her inner muscles expanded and contracted around Xena's fingers and the warrior's thumb that knowingly swirled over her throbbing clitoris was driving her wild.

Each of these separate contacts were enough to assail the bard's senses, but taken as a whole they spiraled her spirit upwards. Gabrielle felt herself escalating higher and higher, while all the time feeling herself grounded by the warrior's touch. She was just at the peak, that barest of moments between the skyrocketing upward climb and the freefall. Just as she felt herself tipping over into that other dimension of gut-wrenching/soul-searing bliss, she felt the warrior's hand grasp her and pull her from the edge.

It took the girl a long few moments to realize that Xena had once again stilled her delving fingers deep within her. When this realization finally did take fruition, the bard honestly considered letting go of the whip and finishing the job herself. Two things stopped her. One was the strange secure feeling that had enveloped her after being bound by Xena. Yes, she would have to admit that in the last two years she had been tied up more times than she cared to remember. But this was somehow different. She knew that try as she might, Xena still felt it was her duty to protect her, keep her safe. She had argued this point with the warrior until she was blue in the face, never revealing that deep down inside she liked the security that this knowledge provided. And in this vulnerable-looking position that she now found herself in, that security she felt from her reticent warrior was only magnified. The other reason was the fact that the bard now had a stranglehold on the whip as the warrior's lips descended and made ravenous love to her right breast. Gabrielle quickly forgave Xena as she arched herself further into the warrior's mouth.

When Xena once again began pumping her fingers into the girl, Gabrielle weakly counted and then rechecked her math carefully. 'Yes!' she thought wearily. 'Thank the gods I've only got two breasts.' The bard was certain her body provided no other distractions for the warrior. No longer having the strength in her tired leg muscles to help, Gabrielle simply spread her legs as wide as possible and accepted the warrior's thrusting fingers into her. She closed her eyes tightly and concentrated all of her thoughts and senses on those two strong digits, feeling herself begin to spiral upward again.

The warrior held the squirming bard firmly on her lap, steadily increasing her fingers to a fevered pace, the girl's body trembling violently with her imminent release. "Mmm, you are so wet," Xena whispered into the bard's ear. "You have coated my hand with your sweetness." Abruptly the warrior once again stilled her fingers deep inside the young girl. The bard groaned in anguish and desperately clenched at Xena's fingers with her inner muscles, trying unsuccessfully to force them to finish their assault.

"Do you want this?" Xena asked, as she curled her fingertips upwards deep within the girl's being, raking them over a rather sensitive spot high on the bard's smooth inner walls. "You *need* this," she continued, as her hot breath and wet tongue tickled the creases of the bard's ear. "Will you die without it?" she asked sweetly, feeling the girl frantically nodding her head yes in response. Over the sobbing moans of protest by the bard, Xena slowly extricated her fingers.

"I told you that you would feel me inside you everywhere," she reminded the bard, as her index finger slid between the girl's cheeks and lightly stroked her sphincter. The shocked look on the bard's face soon disappeared as she looked deeply into the serious blue eyes boring into her. She knew the warrior *always* kept her promises. Gabrielle soon found herself squirming uncontrollably as she felt the warrior's long finger begin to massage her dark opening. "Hmm, I thought you'd like this," Xena whispered into her ear. "You are so firm... so *very* tight." Gabrielle could feel a smile splay across the warrior's face as Xena continued to nibble on her ear.

The warrior thrilled at the moans and gasps that her erotic touch produced and slowly stoked the young girl's passion, building it until the bard's body begged her to possess her. Xena obliged. The young girl cried out in alarm when she felt the tip of the warrior's index finger slowly begin to enter her virginal orifice, invading territory she never dreamt would be infiltrated. "Everywhere," Xena husked as she bit down on the bard's earlobe. "I promised you *everywhere*."

Gabrielle's head flew back and she attempted to gulp in lungfuls of air as she felt her body straining to accept this burgeoning invasion. "Just a little more," Xena assured her, as her first knuckle slowly slipped past the bard's sensitized ring of muscle and disappeared into the girl. The warrior continued to push her finger deeper into the young girl's nether region, fighting the bard's natural reflexes to expel the foreign object.

Gabrielle felt the older woman filling her completely, possessing her in a way she did not know was possible. She was more than a little shocked with how aroused she was becoming having her body taken in this new and strange way. The bard marveled at the warrior's knowledgeable touch, wondering what other surprises this magnificent woman had in store for her. She was brought out of her reverie by Xena's soft purring.

"Ooo, you are *so* very tight," the warrior muttered, as her second knuckle crossed the threshold and was enveloped by clenching muscles. "Just... a little... more," she grunted, as the last of her long digit embedded itself into the young girl. The warrior leisurely twirled her finger around, delighting in the moans of ecstasy that it elicited. Her thumb pushed past the girl's dripping blonde curls penetrating her quickly. "Mmm, I can feel myself inside of you," Xena grinned, as she teasingly began to take turns thrusting her fingers inside both of the bard's orifices, rubbing her fingers together over the thin membrane that separated them.

The warrior was unsure how much more the girl could endure and slid her left arm up the bard's back, pulling the writhing form to her. Her mouth descended on the bard's open mouth, swallowing her pants and cries. The warrior pushed her tongue past the young girl's lips, laying claim to everything inside. Gabrielle melted at the realization that the warrior had sealed her promise. She did indeed feel Xena in her *everywhere*. Gabrielle wrapped her legs under the warrior's thighs, trying unsuccessfully to clamp down on their violent shaking as her body reveled in the exquisite torture.

"You can do it," Xena encouraged her. "Just let yourself go. Give yourself over to me," she commanded. The warrior leaned back from whispering into the bard's ear and locked eyes with the young girl. The bard's glazed eyes struggled to focus through the sweat-plastered hair that fell wildly across her face. "You are mine," Xena mouthed, before her mouth descended onto the girl's quivering lips, taking all the bard had to offer. Gabrielle's groans were claimed by the warrior as the young girl's exhausted body strained to give her the release she so desperately hungered for. As her body began to buck wildly and ride the fingers that Xena had buried deep inside her, Gabrielle tore her mouth away from Xena, whipping her head from side to side in unrestrained ecstasy.

"Oh... gods... yes... please... ...XEEEEENNNNAAA!!!" Gabrielle's entire body stiffened and she abruptly exploded onto the warrior as Xena's name continued to resonate off the walls of the room. The warrior's right hand was drenched as Gabrielle freely surrendered her most precious gift. The intoxicating power the warrior successfully wielded finally quelled her prurient cravings. Xena's lips sought out Gabrielle's and she kissed her tenderly, reassuring her that everything was OK. Gabrielle's body continued to twitch and spasm for some time, and Xena quietly massaged the bard's convulsions while holding her lover tightly to her chest. After some time the older woman deftly extricated her fingers from the spent bard, and laid the palm of her hand against Gabrielle's sex, continuing the much needed connection.

As the magnitude of the last few days finally caught up with the warrior's body, Xena collapsed backwards on to the bed, her left arm covering her eyes. With the natural *high* she had been riding gone, all of the aches and pains received during battle were now making themselves known. She ignored them. All Xena could think about was what she just did, what Gabrielle had wanted her to do. The bard had told her on more than one occasion that she loved *all* of Xena, but the warrior felt vulnerable.

She felt powerless, betrayed by her own cravings. The battle lust had weakened her resolve, if only a little, and Gabrielle had been exposed to a small taste of a side of herself that Xena had hoped to always keep buried. She knew she should have dropped Gabrielle off at the entrance to the inn and fled. But she quickly talked herself into going inside and staying just long enough to see that Gabrielle successfully secured a room. Then she would leave, she had promised herself. Before she realized what she was doing, her feet were propelling her up the stairs to *their* room. 'We'll just make sure she's settled in and *then* leave,' her conscience promised her. And Xena believed.

'Would I really have been able to leave at that point?' She prayed the answer was yes. Knew at the time it *had* to be yes. But Gabrielle had changed all of that. 'Dear, sweet Gabrielle. How will I ever be able to explain my feelings to you? How do you explain battle lust to someone who has never waded through rivers of blood and felt the power as the dead and dying pile up around you.' Tears formed as the ice-blue of the warrior's eyes slowly began to melt.

Xena was brought back to the present when she felt a slight shift in Gabrielle's weight. She uncovered her eyes feeling a firm pressure on her chest. Startled, she found Gabrielle looming over her, the weight of the bard's body pressing the girl's left hand firmly into her chest armor. Then she noticed the look in Gabrielle's eyes. They were glazed over with a wild, smoldering desire.

Suddenly she felt something smooth and hard pressing into her sex and then felt it move slightly downward, to be teasingly poised over her opening. Xena looked down to see the tail end of her whip wrapped around Gabrielle's waist and followed it's path as it snaked down the length of the bard's right arm. Gabrielle's hand was holding the base of the whip handle, while the tip disappeared under the strips of the warrior's leather skirt.

Xena laid there motionless, transfixed on the sight of her young lover. The warrior inside of her wanted to jump up and put a stop to what was happening. It was not in her nature to submit to anybody. She had always felt it showed a sign of weakness. But Xena found herself unable and unwilling to do or say anything to stop the bard. She quickly realized that it would take greater strength to allow Gabrielle to take her. To take her fully to a place she had never ventured.

Xena felt the pressure of the whip handle slowly and steadily press into her, and watched mesmerized as Gabrielle lowered herself to capture her mouth, taking possession of her, body and soul. It was in those last fleeting moments, before all rational thought fled, that Xena realized, 'And still she follows.'

The End

[the-shy-artisan]

❤️💕👓

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Definitely a tough choice, but I'd have to say I love this ending paragraph from "To Survive":

Drained by blood loss, he blacked out; spiraling down, down, down, feathers trailing behind him like sparks from a comet. The ocean waters rushed up to greet him like an old friend, the cold spray reaching with deathly white fingers. But before the Aegean could reclaim him, Kratos awoke– revitalized by the foam. He struggled mightily against the rising tide and rain, surging up and away from a watery grave with renewed strength. The gentle touch of a warm updraft caressed his feathers and sent him soaring. To where he did not know, nor did he care.

Olympus was gone, Greece was gone. Whatever was summoning him from beyond the skyline was waiting.

I swear I'm going to finish it at some point ;;;

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

It's a toss up between "The Prayer" and "From Beginning to End."

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

Music or video game ambience! The Skyrim ones are my favorites c:

[bcb-brian-camryn]

A Unedited Short:

A myriad of emotions arouse with him, like a pack of wild beasts tearing one another apart, devoid of rhyme nor reason, driven to madness by their own instincts. 

Choking sobs and groans escaped from his torn, aching heart as hot bitter tears flowed from his empty, sullen eyes. 

Akhilleus fell to his knees, soiling his face, staining fine cloth with ash mingled earth, tearing his graceful locks and unblemished sun-kissed skin.

The nymph-born lost something within him, clutched within his slaugherous hands was a dagger, in that dark moment, he desired nothing more than to gouge his impentrable throat, end the turmoil that racked his mind, the pain.

Akhilleus’ heartbroken cries were heard from beneath the Aegean sea where his Nereid mother lay, surrounded by her many sisters, at once she arose and rushed to her beloved son’s side.

Kneeling at his side Thetis saw neither the war hero nor the foolish young boy she once bore but instead someone she did not recognize, a broken, soulless man.

Soft and nurturing she spoke, “my dear child, why is it you cry so? Tell me, I will give ear to your tears and agony” 

He met her gaze with eyes clouded with grief and sorrow, "esteemed mother of mine, I have lost what I couldn't bare to part with, he was ripped from me, my beloved Patroklos…" 

Rage clawed from within him, begging to be released, "Hektor's blood shall soon stain my hands and blade, it is what he deserves" 

With panic the Nereid cried out, "but my son, the moment Hektor dies so to will the ties of fate be tightened, you too will greet Thanatos" 

"So be it! A life lived without half my soul is not worth living" dead was his voice, he held no reservations, no will to escape the violent death that will be imposed upon him. 

And so Thetis left, heading to where the child she once saved now slaved over the mighty fire, crafting. strong were his arms but weak were his legs, a hulking form of muscle and yet a quivering heart of insecurity and shame. 

Whilst Akhilleus wallowed in his grief a goddess descended upon him, 

Iris appeared in the form of a beautiful woman, from her back grew wings that shimmered under the sun emitting colourful, bright rays of light. 

Her voice, soft as her bosom but words as sharp as a blade, “arise, the worst of man, for it was Hera whom sent me, mortal men, fight over he whom has fallen, gather your resolve for if you idle much longer your beloved will be embraced by the mauls of hounds, torn and dishonoured by your insolence” 

With wet eyes Akhilleus looked at the goddess of messages, upon her, he laid many a query and Iris saw fit to answer all of them. 

They descended upon the battlefield, bestrewn with corpses and life with ceaseless violence. 

Seeing the approaching Myrmidons, led by their enraged benevolent captain, the sickening feeling of regret flooded Hektors raw veins.

His eyes turned to where Apollo stood, high and mighty, beneath his elegant exterior and calm demeanor there was brewing panic. 

Growling with frustration, the mortal called out to his men beckoning them to wisely retreat.

Patroklos was carefully lifted from the sullen stained earth and placed him upon a bier.

[santorini-moto-chris]

Explore Santorini on Wheels: Unleash Adventure with Quad Bikes and Mopeds

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Discover the Freedom of Quad Bikes

santorini quad bike hire are the ultimate choice for those looking to combine adventure with comfort. These four-wheeled vehicles are perfect for navigating Santorini’s diverse terrains, from the smooth coastal roads to the rugged paths leading to hidden beaches and traditional villages. Riding a quad bike allows you to explore the island at your own pace, giving you the freedom to stop at any viewpoint, capture the perfect photo, or take a refreshing dip in the Aegean Sea.

One of the major attractions of quad bikes is their power and stability, making them an ideal choice for exploring Santorini’s hilly regions and volcanic landscapes. With a quad bike, you can easily reach the island’s lesser-known spots, such as the secluded Red Beach or the breathtaking Akrotiri Lighthouse, without relying on public transportation or guided tours.

Moped Rentals: A Classic Way to Experience Santorini

For those who prefer a more laid-back approach, renting a moped is a classic and economical way to experience Santorini. Mopeds are lightweight, easy to maneuver, and perfect for solo travelers or couples looking to soak in the island’s charm without the hassle of navigating larger vehicles.

Mopeds are particularly popular for exploring Santorini’s narrow streets and quaint villages, where parking can be a challenge for cars. With a moped, you can effortlessly weave through the charming alleyways of Oia, Fira, and Pyrgos, discovering local cafes, artisan shops, and stunning viewpoints along the way. Moreover, mopeds are fuel-efficient, allowing you to cover more ground without worrying about frequent refueling.

The Best of Both Worlds: Combining Quad Bike Hire and Moped Rental

To fully experience the beauty and diversity of Santorini, many visitors opt to rent both a quad bike and a moped during their stay. This combination offers the best of both worlds— the power and stability of a quad bike for longer excursions and the convenience of a moped for short, spontaneous trips around town. Whether you’re planning a day trip to explore the island’s beaches or a leisurely ride through its picturesque villages, having both options at your disposal ensures a versatile and memorable adventure.

exploring Santorini on a quad bike or moped allows you to truly immerse yourself in the island’s unique charm and natural beauty. Whether you choose the rugged thrill of a quad bike or the effortless glide of a moped, both options provide an unparalleled way to discover all that Santorini has to offer. For reliable rentals, visit santorini-moto-chris.com to start your journey on wheels.

[fezilietrain]

### Under the Crescent Moon: A Tale of Manisa

#### Chapter 1: The Golden Cage

The city of Manisa was a cradle of paradise nestled between the mountains and the sea. Lush green hills rolled endlessly, dotted with olive groves and vineyards, while the blue expanse of the Aegean Sea stretched beyond, shimmering under the sun’s warm embrace. The city’s air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, mingling with the saltiness carried on the breeze from the coast. It was in this place, far from the suffocating atmosphere of the Ottoman court in Constantinople, that a young prince and his confidant found a fleeting taste of freedom.

Süleyman, the beloved son of Sultan Selim, was being groomed for greatness. Heir to an empire that spanned continents, his every action was scrutinized, every word weighed. But in Manisa, away from the ever-watchful eyes of the imperial court, he could breathe. Here, the rigid decorum of palace life softened, replaced by the simple pleasures of nature and learning.

By his side was Ibrahim, the son of a fisherman, plucked from obscurity and elevated to the status of the prince’s closest companion. The two had grown up together, and their bond was one of deep friendship, mutual respect, and something more unspoken that thrived in the quiet spaces between them. In Manisa, Ibrahim was not just a servant or a scholar—he was a confidant, a kindred spirit who shared in the prince’s hopes, dreams, and occasional rebellions.

#### Chapter 2: The Wilds Beyond

It was during one of their regular walks, the guards trailing at a respectful distance, that Süleyman and Ibrahim first began to test the boundaries of their freedom. The path they chose wound through the thick forest just outside Manisa’s city limits, a place where the dense canopy of trees formed a natural barrier, shielding them from the world’s prying eyes.

Süleyman, with his keen intellect and natural curiosity, often grew restless with the constraints placed upon him. Ibrahim, ever perceptive, noticed this. He knew the prince longed for more than just books and courtly duties; he yearned for adventure, for the unknown that lay beyond the palace walls. One afternoon, when the path veered close to the river that ran through the forest, Ibrahim hatched a plan.

“Your Highness,” he whispered, eyes twinkling with mischief, “what if we lost the guards today?”

Süleyman turned to him, brows raised in curiosity. “And how do you propose we do that, Ibrahim?”

A grin spread across Ibrahim’s face. “Leave that to me.”

With a subtle signal, Ibrahim feigned a stumble, tumbling down the path and drawing the guards’ attention. As they rushed to help him, he gestured subtly for Süleyman to slip away. The prince hesitated only for a moment before seizing the opportunity, darting off the path and disappearing into the thick underbrush.

Moments later, Ibrahim recovered from his “fall” and, with an apology to the concerned guards, suggested they continue the walk without delay. By the time the guards noticed the prince’s absence, it was too late—Süleyman was gone.

Süleyman and Ibrahim reunited deeper in the forest, their laughter echoing through the trees as they reveled in their small victory. For the first time in weeks, Süleyman felt truly free. Together, they wandered aimlessly, their journey taking them to a hidden glade where sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, making the space feel almost otherworldly.

They collapsed onto the soft grass, breathless with exhilaration. The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The world felt far away, and in that moment, it was just the two of them.

“Ibrahim,” Süleyman said after a long silence, his voice contemplative, “I wish life could always be like this.”

Ibrahim turned to him, his expression softening. “It can be, here in Manisa. We have this time, this freedom. Let’s not waste it.”

Süleyman nodded, his eyes reflecting the golden light of the setting sun. “You’re right, my friend. Let’s make the most of it.”

#### Chapter 3: Lessons by the Sea

One of the greatest joys of Manisa was its proximity to the sea, a vast and untamed world that Süleyman had only glimpsed from afar in his youth. The sea was a mystery to him, an expanse of possibilities and dangers that both intrigued and intimidated him. Ibrahim, on the other hand, had grown up with the sea in his blood. The son of a fisherman, he had spent his early years learning to navigate its waves, to respect its power, and to draw sustenance from its depths.

One warm afternoon, as the cicadas buzzed lazily in the heat, Ibrahim proposed they ride out to the coast. “You’ve seen the sea, Süleyman, but have you truly experienced it?” he asked, saddling his horse with practiced ease.

Süleyman shook his head, curiosity piqued. “Not in the way you have, Ibrahim. Teach me.”

Their journey to the coast was swift, the horses’ hooves kicking up dust as they galloped across the plains. The guards, aware of their frequent jaunts, followed at a distance, knowing better than to intrude on these private moments. The scent of salt grew stronger as they neared the shore, and soon the rhythmic crashing of waves filled the air.

When they reached the beach, Süleyman dismounted and stood at the water’s edge, the cool waves lapping at his boots. He gazed out at the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a seamless blend of blue.

“I’ve always been told the sea is dangerous,” Süleyman said, his voice tinged with awe. “Unpredictable, like the tides of power.”

Ibrahim chuckled softly as he began to strip off his outer garments, leaving only his trousers. “The sea is only dangerous if you don’t understand it. Come, let me show you.”

Süleyman watched, momentarily hesitant, as Ibrahim waded into the water, his movements confident and fluid. With a deep breath, the prince followed, the coolness of the water biting at his skin. It wasn’t long before the water was waist-deep, and Süleyman could feel the pull of the current tugging at him, challenging his balance.

Ibrahim turned back, noticing the prince’s unease. “Relax, let the water hold you,” he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring. “Trust it, and trust me.”

Süleyman tried to follow Ibrahim’s example, but his body resisted, muscles tensing as he struggled to stay afloat. Sensing his friend’s difficulty, Ibrahim swam over and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Lean back,” Ibrahim instructed, guiding him gently. “Feel the water supporting you.”

Süleyman took a deep breath and did as he was told, letting go of his instinctive fear. Slowly, his body began to float, the tension easing as he surrendered to the water’s embrace. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt—freedom in its purest form, weightless and unbound.

Ibrahim smiled, watching as the prince’s expression transformed from one of apprehension to wonder. “See? The sea is not so different from life, Süleyman. You just need to learn how to navigate its waves.”

They spent hours in the water, Ibrahim teaching Süleyman the basics of swimming, the two of them laughing and splashing like children freed from their lessons. It was a side of Süleyman that few ever saw, one unburdened by the expectations of the world, where he was simply a young man learning something new with his closest friend.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the two of them finally emerged from the sea, their bodies tired but spirits light. They sat side by side on the sand, the last rays of daylight warming their skin.

“Ibrahim,” Süleyman said quietly, his voice thoughtful, “there’s so much I don’t know, so much I’ve never experienced. But here, with you, I feel like I’m beginning to understand things in a way I never could in Constantinople.”

Ibrahim looked at him, his eyes reflecting the fading light. “You’re not just learning about the world, Süleyman. You’re learning about yourself. That’s the most important knowledge of all.”

The prince nodded, absorbing his friend’s words. In this place, away from the pressures of the throne and the weight of his future responsibilities, Süleyman found a sense of clarity. Here, in Manisa, he was not just the heir to an empire—he was simply Süleyman, a young man discovering the world alongside the person he trusted most.

#### Chapter 4: The Unspoken Bond

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the bond between Süleyman and Ibrahim deepened. Their stolen moments of freedom became a routine, an unspoken understanding that these were the times they cherished most. They continued their explorations, sometimes venturing into the forest, other times returning to the sea, but always together.

With every shared laugh, every quiet conversation beneath the stars, their relationship grew into something more complex, more profound than mere friendship. There were moments when their hands would brush as they walked side by side, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through them both. In those moments, the world around them seemed to pause, as if acknowledging the significance of their connection.

But despite the growing intensity of their feelings, neither spoke of it. The reality

....

#### Chapter 4: The Unspoken Bond (Continued)

But despite the growing intensity of their feelings, neither spoke of it. The reality of their lives hung over them like a shadow—Süleyman was a prince destined to rule, and Ibrahim, despite his elevated status, was still a commoner by birth. To speak openly of the emotions they were beginning to understand would mean confronting truths that neither was ready to face. And so, they kept their feelings locked away, buried beneath the surface, where they simmered and grew stronger with each passing day.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day of studying, Süleyman suggested they escape to the forest. The summer heat was heavy, the air inside the palace thick and stifling. Ibrahim agreed without hesitation, and soon they were riding out to their favorite spot, a small clearing surrounded by towering trees that provided a perfect hideaway from the world.

The sun was beginning to set as they arrived, casting the clearing in a golden glow. Süleyman dismounted, letting out a long, contented sigh as he took in the beauty of the scene. “This place feels like it’s ours,” he said quietly. “Like it’s been waiting for us all along.”

Ibrahim smiled, tying the reins of their horses to a nearby tree. “It’s a sanctuary, away from everything and everyone. Just us and the forest.”

They spread out a blanket on the grass and settled down, leaning back against the trunk of a large oak tree. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant call of a bird, the gentle hum of insects. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the noise and chaos that often filled their days.

As they sat in silence, Ibrahim pulled out a small flute from his satchel, a simple instrument he had carried with him since his childhood. He began to play, the soft, melodic notes weaving through the air like a gentle lullaby. Süleyman closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, feeling the tension in his body melt away.

Ibrahim watched him as he played, his gaze lingering on the prince’s serene expression. In moments like this, it was easy to forget the world outside their little haven. Easy to imagine a life where they could be free to be themselves, without the weight of duty or the expectations of others. But even as he played, Ibrahim knew such thoughts were dangerous, a temptation he could not afford to indulge.

When the last note faded into the evening air, Süleyman opened his eyes and turned to Ibrahim, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You play beautifully,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Where did you learn?”

Ibrahim shrugged modestly, setting the flute down beside him. “My father taught me. It was a way to pass the time on the long days out at sea. I would play, and he would sing. It’s one of the few things I have left from him.”

Süleyman’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Ibrahim’s father, a man he knew Ibrahim had lost long before they met. He reached out, placing a hand on Ibrahim’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “He would be proud to see the man you’ve become,” Süleyman said softly. “You’ve achieved so much, and you’ve done it with honor and grace.”

Ibrahim met his gaze, the sincerity in Süleyman’s words making his heart ache. “And you, Süleyman,” he replied, his voice equally tender. “You’re more than just a prince. You’re a man of kindness, wisdom, and strength. The people will follow you not because they have to, but because they’ll want to.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the intensity of their feelings hanging in the air between them. The words they had not spoken, the emotions they had not dared to name, all seemed to crystallize in that single moment. It was as if the world around them had stilled, waiting to see what they would do next.

Süleyman’s hand, still resting on Ibrahim’s shoulder, slowly moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Ibrahim’s breath caught in his throat as their faces drew near, the warmth of Süleyman’s skin against his own sending a shiver down his spine. Their foreheads touched, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.

But reality was a persistent intruder. A rustle in the trees, the distant sound of a horse’s whinny, broke the spell, and both men pulled back, the moment slipping away like water through their fingers. They sat in silence, the unspoken words lingering between them like a ghost.

Süleyman was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ibrahim, I—”

But Ibrahim shook his head, cutting him off gently. “We can’t, Süleyman. You know we can’t.”

Süleyman’s expression was one of pain and resignation. “I know,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Ibrahim nodded, understanding all too well. “No, it doesn’t. But we have to be strong. For each other, and for the future that awaits you.”

Süleyman sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Sometimes I wish… sometimes I wish things could be different.”

“So do I,” Ibrahim admitted, his voice laced with longing. “But wishing won’t change the world we live in. We have to find strength in what we do have, in the bond we share.”

Süleyman looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Ibrahim. You’re the one constant in my life, the one person I can always trust.”

“And I’ll always be here,” Ibrahim promised, his words filled with unwavering loyalty. “No matter what happens, I’ll stand by your side.”

They sat together in the fading light, the weight of their unspoken feelings pressing down on them like a heavy blanket. But despite the sadness, there was also a sense of peace—a quiet acceptance that, though the world might never allow them to fully express their bond, the connection they shared was something sacred, something no one could ever take away from them.

#### Chapter 5: The Tides of Change

As summer gave way to autumn, the atmosphere in Manisa began to change. The leaves on the trees turned to shades of gold and crimson, and the air grew cooler, carrying with it the scent of wood smoke and earth. The season’s change brought with it a reminder that their time in this haven was limited, that soon Süleyman would be called back to Constantinople to take on greater responsibilities as the empire’s future ruler.

The realization weighed heavily on both men, though neither spoke of it directly. Instead, they threw themselves into their studies and duties, trying to savor every moment they had left together. But there was an unspoken understanding between them that things would never be the same once they left Manisa.

One afternoon, as the first chill of autumn settled over the land, Süleyman received a letter from the palace. It was a summons from his father, Sultan Selim, ordering his return to the capital. The letter was brief and formal, offering no explanation for the sudden recall. But Süleyman knew what it meant—his time of relative freedom was over. The responsibilities of the empire were calling him home.

He found Ibrahim in the library, poring over a map of the Mediterranean. The sight of him, so focused and intent, brought a pang of sadness to Süleyman’s heart. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, watching his friend, memorizing the way the light fell on his hair, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

When Ibrahim finally looked up and saw Süleyman standing there, a soft smile spread across his face. “Süleyman, you’re back. I was just—” He stopped when he saw the look in the prince’s eyes. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Süleyman held up the letter, his expression grave. “It’s from my father. He’s summoning me back to Constantinople.”

Ibrahim’s face fell, the weight of the words hitting him like a blow. “So soon?”

Süleyman nodded, crossing the room to sit beside Ibrahim at the table. “I knew it was coming, but… I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

There was a long silence as the two men absorbed the news, the reality of their situation settling over them like a cold mist. The room, once filled with the warmth of their companionship, now felt hollow and empty.

“When do we leave?” Ibrahim finally asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

“Tomorrow,” Süleyman replied, his tone laced with regret. “The preparations have already begun.”

Ibrahim nodded, his mind racing as he tried to come to terms with the sudden change. “We knew this day would come,” he said softly, more to himself than to Süleyman. “We always knew.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier,” Süleyman said, echoing their conversation from the forest weeks ago.

They sat in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say. The bond they shared, so deep and unbreakable, was about to be tested by the demands of the empire. But even as they faced the uncertainty of the future, there was a silent resolve between them—a promise that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.

Finally, Ibrahim broke the silence, his voice filled with quiet determination. “We’ll find a wa

....

#### Chapter 5: The Tides of Change (Continued)

Finally, Ibrahim broke the silence, his voice filled with quiet determination. “We’ll find a way, Süleyman. No matter what the future holds, we’ll find a way to stay connected.”

Süleyman looked at him, his heart heavy but filled with gratitude for the unwavering loyalty of his friend. “I believe you, Ibrahim. I have to believe that.”

They spent the remainder of the evening together in the library, not speaking much, but simply enjoying each other’s presence. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm light on the walls lined with books that had become their refuge over the months. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, as if lamenting the imminent departure of the two young men who had sought solace under their canopy.

That night, as they prepared to retire to their separate chambers, Süleyman turned to Ibrahim, his expression filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. “Tomorrow, everything will change. But before that happens, I want you to know… whatever lies ahead, you are more to me than just a companion, more than a friend. You are a part of me, Ibrahim.”

Ibrahim’s heart swelled with emotion at Süleyman’s words, and for a moment, he didn’t trust himself to speak. When he finally did, his voice was thick with emotion. “And you are my everything, Süleyman. My world, my purpose. I will stand by you until my last breath.”

There was a brief, intense silence as they stood facing each other, the weight of their unspoken feelings filling the space between them. Then, without another word, Süleyman stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ibrahim in a tight embrace. Ibrahim returned the embrace just as fiercely, holding on as if he could freeze this moment in time, as if by sheer will he could keep them both in this sanctuary forever.

But time, relentless and uncaring, moved on.

The next morning, the palace in Manisa was a hive of activity as preparations were made for Süleyman’s departure. The horses were saddled, the carriages loaded, and the guards assembled. Süleyman and Ibrahim dressed in silence, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that their time in this peaceful haven was at an end.

As they stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeted them, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and the distant sea. The courtyard was filled with officials and servants, all bustling about in preparation for the journey back to Constantinople. But despite the chaos, there was a palpable sadness in the air, as if everyone understood that this was more than just a physical departure—it was the end of a chapter in their lives.

Süleyman mounted his horse, his expression somber as he looked around the courtyard that had been their home for so long. Ibrahim was beside him, as always, his face calm and composed, though his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions within.

As the caravan began to move, a sense of finality settled over them. The gates of the palace closed behind them, and with each step their horses took, they left behind the freedom and the innocence of their days in Manisa. The road ahead was one of responsibility, of power, and of inevitable change.

The journey to Constantinople was long and grueling, but Süleyman and Ibrahim traveled in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The landscape changed around them, the green hills of Manisa giving way to the rugged mountains and then to the fertile plains that stretched toward the capital. The closer they got to Constantinople, the more the weight of their reality pressed down on them.

As the walls of Constantinople came into view, towering and imposing against the sky, Süleyman felt a pang of longing for the simpler days they had left behind. But there was no turning back now. The city that awaited them was not just the seat of the empire—it was a place of intrigue, of power struggles, and of endless demands.

When they finally passed through the gates of the capital, the bustling streets were filled with people going about their daily lives, oblivious to the internal turmoil of the young prince and his loyal friend. The palace loomed ahead, a symbol of the empire’s might, but to Süleyman, it felt more like a gilded cage.

They dismounted in the grand courtyard of Topkapi Palace, where officials and courtiers were already gathering to greet the returning prince. Süleyman straightened his shoulders, preparing to step into the role that was expected of him. He cast a glance at Ibrahim, who stood beside him, their eyes meeting in a brief moment of silent understanding.

And then, they were swept into the palace, where the familiar rituals of court life took over. Süleyman was immediately ushered into meetings with his father’s advisors, discussions of state affairs and military campaigns swirling around him like a storm. Ibrahim, though still by his side, found himself taking on a more subdued role, his presence now one of quiet support rather than active participation.

Days turned into weeks, and the reality of their new lives began to take hold. The easy camaraderie and the stolen moments of freedom they had enjoyed in Manisa were replaced by the demands of the empire. Süleyman was no longer just a young man; he was the Crown Prince, the future Sultan, with all the responsibilities that entailed.

But despite the changes, the bond between them remained unbroken. There were still moments—late at night, when the palace was quiet and the burdens of the day could be set aside—when they would find a way to be alone, to talk as they once did, to remind each other of the connection that had sustained them through everything.

One such night, as they sat in the shadows of the palace garden, Ibrahim turned to Süleyman, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “We may not have the freedom we once did, but that doesn’t mean we have to lose ourselves, Süleyman. We are more than just our roles, more than what the world expects of us.”

Süleyman nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he looked up at the stars. “You’re right, Ibrahim. The world may change around us, but what we share… that’s something they can’t take away.”

Ibrahim reached out and placed a hand on Süleyman’s, the touch grounding them both. “We’ll find a way to navigate this new life, just as we did in Manisa. Together.”

And with that, they reaffirmed the silent vow they had made so long ago. No matter what the future held, no matter how the tides of power shifted, they would face it together.

As the night deepened, the city of Constantinople slept, unaware of the quiet strength that lay within the bond between the prince and his companion. And though the path ahead was uncertain, they knew one thing for sure: whatever storms lay on the horizon, they would weather them side by side, just as they always had.

[hayaam1230]

Top 8 Water Activities in Turkey for the best Adventure

Turkey is a country filled with diverse landscapes and rich history, but it also offers a wide array of exciting water activities for adventure seekers. From the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas to the rushing rivers and serene lakes, Turkey provides the perfect backdrop for an unforgettable aquatic adventure. Whether you are looking to dive into the depths of the sea, soar above stunning beaches, or paddle through calm rivers, there is something for everyone. Popular destinations like Kaş, Antalya, and Bodrum are renowned for their beautiful coastlines and vibrant marine life, making them ideal for activities like scuba diving, jet skiing, and snorkeling. The stunning landscapes of places like the Turkish Riviera and Ölüdeniz offer fantastic opportunities for sailing and paragliding. For those who love river adventures, Köprülü Canyon provides thrilling whitewater rafting experiences. Additionally, spots like Alaçatı are perfect for windsurfing, thanks to their consistent winds and shallow waters. No matter what kind of water activity you prefer, Turkey's natural beauty and varied environments ensure that your adventure will be both exciting and memorable. Dive in and explore the top water activities in Turkey for an unparalleled adventure experience.

Here are some water activities in Turkey for the best adventure. 

1. In Kaş, Scuba Diving: Scuba divers love visiting Kaş, which is situated on Turkey's southwest coast. Divers may explore vivid coral reefs, underwater caverns, and historic shipwrecks in the Mediterranean Sea's clean waters because of the exceptional visibility they provide. There are many opportunities to view colorful fish, sea turtles, and even dolphins in the abundant marine life. Popular dive spots include the Canyon and the Blue Hole. Kaş offers an unforgettable underwater experience for both novice and expert divers.

2. Rafting on Köprülü Canyon's white water: In the Antalya region, Köprülü Canyon is a top whitewater rafting destination. The canyon's rapids are ideal for all ability levels, ranging from easy to hard. You'll be encircled by breathtaking landscapes as you travel the Köprüçay River, featuring towering cliffs, dense forests, and historic Roman bridges. Whitewater rafting in Köprülü is an amazing experience because of the beauty of the canyon and the rush of successfully navigating the rapids.

3. Taking a boat ride on the Turkish Riviera: Sailing on the Turkish Riviera, sometimes referred to as the Turquoise Coast, is among the world's greatest adventures. It is a sailor's heaven with its pristine waters, quiet coves, and quaint seaside towns. Popular places to start are Fethiye, Marmaris, and Bodrum. You can see historic monuments, swim in crystal-clear waters, and discover secret coves by hiring a yacht or going on a gulet cruise. Sail along the Turkish Riviera to experience adventure, leisure, and stunning beauty.

4. Ölüdeniz paragliding: Renowned for its breathtaking Blue Lagoon, Ölüdeniz is among the world's top destinations for paragliding. Paragliders can thrill to the thrill of flight and take in expansive views of the blue sea, verdant forests, and sandy beaches below as they take off from the summit of Babadağ Mountain. Ölüdeniz is an excellent option for both inexperienced and seasoned paragliders because of the consistent weather and expert instruction. There will be no better way to experience an adrenaline rush than this flying adventure.

5. Using a jet ski in Antalya: On the southern coast of Turkey, Antalya is a well-liked jet skiing location. The stunning coastline and warm Mediterranean waves make the ideal backdrop for this thrilling aquatic sport. One of the many beaches has jet skis for hire, so you can enjoy speeding across the waves and feeling the sea spray on your face. Jet skiing is a must-do adventure in Antalya, whether you're seeking a short thrill or a lengthy journey to explore the coastline.

6. Alaçatı Wind Surfing: Alaçatı, located on Turkey's Aegean coast, is well-known for its reliable winds and ideal windsurfing conditions. It's the perfect place for novices and experienced windsurfers alike because of the calm, shallow waters and consistent wind. Numerous windsurfing schools are available that provide instruction and equipment rentals. Alaçatı is an excellent site to experience Turkish hospitality and culture, in addition to being a terrific place for windsurfing. The town itself is attractive, with small alleys, stone houses, and lively cafes.

7. Dalyan River Canoeing: With its serene waters and breathtaking scenery, the Dalyan River is the ideal place for a leisurely canoe excursion. As you paddle down the river, you'll see a variety of fauna, beautiful vegetation, and old rock tombs carved into cliffs. Reaching İztuzu Beach, a loggerhead sea turtle nesting place that is protected, is one of the highlights of a canoeing journey in Dalyan. Canoeing in Dalyan is a special and entertaining water sport that provides a tranquil opportunity to see the natural world and local history.

8. Bodrum snorkeling: Bodrum, well-known for its exciting nightlife and historical landmarks, is a great place to go snorkeling. Underwater rock formations and vibrant marine life can be seen in the crystal-clear Aegean waters surrounding Bodrum. Popular locations for snorkeling are Karaada Island, which is renowned for its warm springs and crystal-clear seas, and Aquarium Bay, where you may swim with a variety of species. All ages can enjoy the accessible sport of snorkeling in Bodrum, which offers a view of the Turkish coast's underwater splendor.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Turkey offers a wide range of thrilling water activities that cater to every adventurer's taste. From diving into the vibrant underwater world of Kaş to sailing along the stunning Turkish Riviera, there is no shortage of excitement and beauty to be found in Turkey's waters. Whether you’re jet skiing in Antalya, paragliding over Ölüdeniz, or windsurfing in Alaçatı, each activity provides a unique way to experience Turkey’s diverse landscapes and rich culture. Obtaining a Turkey visa is a straightforward process, and travelers from all over the world, including those applying for a Turkey visa from UAE Turkey visa from Dubai or a Turkey visa from Abu Dhabi, can easily plan their trips to explore these aquatic adventures. With its mix of tranquil rivers, bustling coastal cities, and serene beaches, Turkey is an ideal destination for anyone looking to combine adventure with natural beauty. So, if you're planning your next holiday, consider the incredible water activities Turkey has to offer. Get your Turkey visa, pack your bags, and prepare for an unforgettable adventure in one of the world’s most beautiful and dynamic countries. Whether you're coming from Dubai, Abu Dhabi, or anywhere else, Turkey promises a thrilling and memorable experience.

[rosefest]

A Tranquil Journey to Avrat-Alan

Refreshing Change of Pace

The journey to Avrat-Alan on horseback offered a welcome reprieve from the jolting discomforts of a Turkish carriage traversing uneven roads. As we ascended into the mountains, a refreshing coolness enveloped us, accompanied by the inviting embrace of dense woodland canopies that provided respite from the relentless sun.

Idyllic Surroundings

Nature’s symphony unfolded around us, with bubbling streams emerging playfully from hidden nooks, reminiscent of joyful children rushing into the arms of their mothers. We found ourselves lingering leisurely in grassy clearings, where our horses indulged in the lush greenery, their contentment compelling us to delay our journey Private Guide Turkey.

Scenic Vistas

Upon reaching the summit of the foothills of the Balkans, we were treated to a breathtaking panorama. Stretching before us lay the vast expanse of the Maritza valley, home to Tatar Bazardjik, Philippopolis, and Adrianople. The eye wandered over miles of undulating plains, culminating in the majestic sweep of the Balkan foothills, delineating the boundary between the Maritza River and the Aegean Sea.

A Journey of Tranquility

Our horseback journey to Avrat-Alan not only provided a serene escape from the clamor of civilization but also bestowed upon us the gift of unparalleled natural beauty. Amidst the tranquil embrace of mountain breezes and verdant forests, we found solace and rejuvenation, cherishing each moment of our leisurely expedition.