abhiadmin

[wildwaxshows]

Do., 29.8.2024 - Sa., 31.8.2024: GET LOST! FEST X Hamburg

Do., 29.8.2024: PRE-PARTY – KOMET MUSIK BAR

Rowdy // Defekt Defekt

Fr., 30.8.2024: HAFENKLANG

River City Tanlines // Citric Dummies // Cruelster // Shafrah // Moar // BBQT // Onyon // Clapper

Fr., 30.8.2024: NIGHT-SHOW – MOLOTOW

S.G.A.T.V. // Dunkle Strassen

Sa., 31.8.2024: BOAT SHOW – MS HEDI

Citric Dummies // D.O. and the Bytes

Sa., 31.8.2024: HAFENKLANG

Spiritual Cramp // Screensaver // Cairo Jag // Surf Nazis Must Die // Tokyo Knives // Gym Tonic // Cherry Cheeks // The Heartattacks

KOMBITICKET TICKET FREITAG TICKET SAMSTAG TICKET BOAT SHOW

[lacyjanes]

"Eclipse"

Sixteen thousand miles away,

I am Cairo; You are Auckland.

I am the moon, waiting to pass you,

Not to cover your light but to hold your heated fingertips.

I am the lighthouse to your battleships.

I wait for your return with seawater as my only companion,

And though you never come, I never think of your abandon.

I read your letters in brazen black ink,

That you await me, for the day you see my distant golden blink.

330 years, I haven't seen you fully.

My blemished and cratered body only comes when your fiery light burns down.

When you leave, I come wordless, without a sound,

The people groan when I come to town.

But to you, Oh light, They rejoice for the day,

They wish you'd last forever. They pray you always stay.

But to me, I am the home of predators, of fear, of sleep,

And when I come, they pray the Lord, their soul to keep.

You are too good for me, Oh lover in gold,

You are goodness incarnate, the righteous creation of God foretold,

Who was born to dispel me, my love of darkness,

To cradle his children in blessed from the parlous.

“We are not fated to meet,” I say.

“But oh yes we are,” You argue.

“Every year, every twice it,” You continue.

And though I bite, it is quite true —

As true as the fact I am in love with you.

I do not want to kiss you,

Because your righteous sunlight will penetrate my empty skin,

Destroy my craters, burn my sin.

Your eyes cut through mine as if they were paper thin,

and I start to think of what peril I'm in.

You are not mine, Dear Daylight,

You are not mine to keep.

For you kneel in church pews and offer your soul to the Lord our God,

But I am the home to thieves and fraud.

I'm lawless, callous, disastrous, and everything you hate,

And though I love you, I cannot defy fate.

So I run. I don't know what to do, so I run.

I fear you, I come undone when I'm near you.

So I take my heavy body,

And travel through the cosmos to get away from you.

Water flows from my holes and craters,

So I don't hear your footsteps.

I never noticed, but you were always running after me.

You screamed my name, I did not hear it.

Years will fly before you can catch me again.

And when you do, slowly, I'll run past you.

I'll destroy you, I'll eat your light alive.

I'll block out your day, your children won't thrive.

But to my surprise, the last we met, you kissed my callous lips.

“My moon, my joy!” You cried,

“Don't run away from me again.”

“Don't touch me. I am no cloud. No bird. No heaven.”

You, clueless you, start to ask, “And then?”

You say I am your harbor,

That through jagged rocks and mountainscapes,

My light is the only thing you honor.

You won’t let me go, I am in your grasp once more.

You won’t bear my sweet escape.

But I will, Dear Starlight.

I will, over and over again.

You won’t catch me again in broad daylight.

You will find me in stories, in wisps,

In memories of my moonlight kiss.

Forever, you will only see me in thine eclipse.

[streamdotpng]

When Wednesday meets Cairo, it's like looking in a warped mirror.

The features are the same, but there's something...off

Maybe it's the sugary sweet smile that curls into a subtle smirk when no one's looking

Or the glint that shines in her eyes after something misfortunate happens to another individual

Typically, Wednesday would be able to appreciate another person enjoying the sufferings of others, but...not her

Wednesday especially doesn't enjoy the way she hangs off of Enid's arm, possessive and coy with the wolf doing nothing to deter her

The goth digs her nails into the wood beneath her, and just as she's contemplating sending Thing off to cause some damage to the other girl, they make eye contact

And the words Cairo mouths make the Addams heiress bristle

"She's mine."

Wednesday felt like she was boiling. She was a kettle about to blow it's lid and she was going to absolutely douse this insolent girl-

The investigator's thoughts froze when the news reporter's already wide collar slipped a bit lower. For what greets Wednesday's eyes isn't bare skin but rather one that is marked.

It glared at her, promising a life that should've been hers in angry jagged wounds.

Jealousy has never curled along her throat so tightly before and Wednesday, for the first time in a while, was left speechless.

---

AAAAA I LOVE IT CYNDAQUIL THANK YOU SO MUCH

This takes place in cairo's route! Where Cairo baby traps Enid after Mabel's death :^)

[ladywynne]

'Til Death Do Us Part

Happy Angstpril! This little story is set directly after episode 6. Marc and Layla need to talk, but it's been a day. Steven is there to help. For the angstpril alt prompt "'Til death do us part." There is angst but tbh there is fluff too.

Words: 1323

CW: a bit of blood, minor panic attack, mention of gunshot wound, scars

Other notes on AO3.

**************************************************************

When Khonshu left he took his power with him. Marc slumped, nearly falling as he stepped off the rubble he was standing on. Layla was beside him in an instant, and he wrapped his arms around her, learning his head against the crook of her neck.

“You’re finally free,” she whispered into his curls, her hands squeezing his back.

“Because of you, babe. I couldn’t have done it without you and Steven.” He meant every word. His wife had always amazed him, but the strength and determination she had shown on his behalf, the support she still gave him- it took his breath away.

Steven fronted after that, following Layla to her hotel room. She retreated into the shower, so he shed his sandy clothes and boots and flopped onto the bed in his boxers. He had nothing to change into, but he couldn’t be in those things anymore.

Steven hadn’t had a moment to adjust to his new reality, merely reacting to one crisis after another. And he couldn’t unpack it all now, he was still a bit in shock, but he did take a moment to process what it felt like to have Marc right there. So close to the front they could swap in an instant. It was a strange sensation. It was kind of nice too.  

“Marc?” he tried. He had never attempted internal communication and he was too exhausted to experiment.

“Yeah,” Marc felt like he was nestled into Steven, drowsy and content.

“I have to tell you something. Right now, before we sleep.”

Marc’s presence sharpened a bit, but he didn’t seem alarmed. “All right.”

Steven fiddled with his fingers, staring at the ceiling, “I don’t want you to go. Not anymore. Just…don’t disappear on me.”

Marc brought a hand to their shoulder, squeezing gently. “I won’t. I’m here if you want me.”

“And Layla? She’s still your wife.”

Marc hesitated, “That’s up to her.”

“But you still love her?”

Steven thought Marc wasn’t going to answer, but then, very softly, “Yes.”

Steven lapsed back into silence. Content for the moment just to know he wouldn’t be alone again.

Soon after they heard the shower cut off, and Steven pulled a throw blanket over himself as Layla exited the washroom. She gestured toward the shower, and he went in for his turn. He let the hot water flow over him, washing away the dust of an old life to prepare for the new.

*****

Steven went into the shower, but Marc came out, a towel around his waist and rubbing another through his hair. There was a shopping bag just inside the door. Presumably Layla had found some clothes for him. He put on soft, clean things and stepped out.

At first Marc noticed nothing but her. Layla’s hair was loose and wild, her figure silhouetted in the dim room by the gleam of Cairo through the window behind her. Their wedding came unexpectedly to mind, along with a vision of Layla smiling as they danced. Ani ohev otkha, he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.

Layla was looking down at something in her hands, rubbing her fingers over it. He came nearer, and when he realized what it was, he froze.

She knew he was there though, and didn’t look up when she spoke, “’’Til death do us part.’ Isn’t that what people say? I didn’t realize how soon that would be.”

Her breath hitched, and Marc drew close, “Layla…”

She turned to face him, still holding his ruined white shirt. The blood had been diffused in the water but was still evident. And in the center of that rust-brown stain, clutched in her small hands, were two jagged round bullet holes. “I mean we both lead interesting lives. I knew the chances to grow old with you were slim, but I didn’t understand what that meant. Not until today.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she let him, her hands falling to her sides and the shirt dropping back to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

She curled up against his chest, and he held her even more closely. “I had just gotten you back,” she whispered. “I was so worried when you disappeared. Then so hurt when the papers came. All I could think about was finding you. I thought you loved me, Marc. I thought we were happy.”

He tightened his arms, “We were happy. Baby, it was all me. Hiding Steven, running. All me. On top of everything I thought Khonshu was after you too.”

She leaned back to look up at him, frowning, “You didn’t trust me, Marc. I trusted you. I believed you about Khonshu. I said no.”

He backed up, running his hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry!” he said again.

“I just-“ Layla took his hand and tried to pull him to sit beside her on the bed, but he shook her off.

“I didn’t want to see you trapped like I was!”

He felt his chest tighten. Today had already been so much. And now he had to face hurting Layla. He couldn’t. He felt the old urge to run, to shut down, to go. Steven was right there. But he didn’t switch in front of Layla. He has to hide it, has to hold on…

Steven pushed him firmly and compassionately aside. He found a mirror and saw Marc in it, head lowered and shoulders hunched, “It’s ok bruv. We’re in this together now. Take a mo’.” Then he turned to Layla.

She looked upset. “I shouldn’t have pushed him. I wasn’t trying to.”

Steven smiled sympathetically and sat on the bed with her, “I know. He knows. It’s been hard on all of us.”

Layla nodded, wordless.

Steven took in her strained expression and didn’t stop to think. He simply opened his arms to her.

Layla leaned into them. He felt her tremble briefly, starting to pull away, but he held on. Then her body relaxed all at once, and she began to cry. “I’m sorry,” she gasped out. “I’m not usually like this.”

“It’s ok dove,” he soothed, rubbing up and down her back. “Let it out.“

Layla sobbed harder, “Seeing you like that, so still in the water. There was nothing I could do!”

Steven held her and rocked her, “I know. I’m so sorry.”

When she eventually quieted she stayed against him, and Steven said gently, “Marc loves you too, you know. He just can’t always say it.”

“I know.” She straightened a bit, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, and moved so that her head was leaning on his shoulder. She took a deep breath. “I love him too.”

The body next to her shifted and she looked up into Marc’s eyes. They were sad. “I’m a mess, Layla. I understand if it’s too much.”

Layla laid her hand against his cheek, shaking her head. “I want you, Marc. Both of you. All of you. Do you still want me?”

“Always,” he pressed his own hand fiercely against hers. He had missed her desperately. “Layla, always.”

“Then I know we have things to work out, but for now, can you just promise that you’ll try? Just promise you won’t leave without saying anything. I – I couldn’t take that again.”

He took her hand in both his own. “I can do that.”

She gave him a gentle smile, and he leaned forward, tilting his head. He met her lips softly, sweetly, and to his eternal gratitude, Layla returned the kiss.

When they parted her hand raised to press itself against his chest, on top of two fresh scars. Death had parted them, but the bond remained.  She swallowed and reaffirmed herself with words he knew, words from a wedding poem. “And my stuttering heart speaks clear, habibi.”

He held her gaze and finished in kind, ”Breathe me more of your breath. Let me live, h’aim sheli.”

[indiagoldentriangles]

Golden triangle tour with Udaipur by India Golden Triangles Company.

Seven Days in India's Golden Triangle Tour with Udaipur Golden Triangles Enterprises A peaceful blend of Rajasthan's lake city's tranquil beauty, architectural wonders, and cultural legacy may be seen on the Golden Triangle Tour that includes Udaipur. The all-encompassing and enriching 7-day itinerary offered by India Golden Triangles Company incorporates the allure of Udaipur within the traditional Golden Triangle itinerary, which consists of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur.

Day 1: Delhi arrival When you arrive in Delhi in the morning or afternoon, an India Golden Triangles Company representative will help with your transfer to the hotel. After your travels, check in and unwind. Afternoon: Start your tour of Delhi's ancient attractions in the afternoon by going to Humayun's Tomb, India Gate, and Qutub Minar. You should pass the Parliament House and the President's House. Evening: Take a tour of Connaught Place and savor regional cuisine. Remain in Delhi for the night. Day 2: Cairo to Agra Morning: After breakfast, take a three to four-hour trip to Agra. When you go to your hotel, check in. Visit the Taj Mahal, a work of architectural art and a representation of unending love, in the afternoon. Visit the Agra Fort, a UNESCO World Heritage site, later on. Evening: Unstructured time to visit nearby markets. Remain overnight in Agra. Day 3: Travel from Agra via Fatehpur Sikri to Jaipur Morning: Journey to Jaipur, making a stop at Fatehpur Sikri en way (a total of 5–6 hours of driving). Renowned for its magnificent architecture, Fatehpur Sikri is an abandoned Mughal city. See Panch Mahal, Jama Masjid, and Buland Darwaza. Drive on to Jaipur in the afternoon. When you go to your hotel, check in. Evening: Take it easy at your hotel or visit Jaipur's bustling bazaars. Remain overnight in Jaipur. Day 4: Sightseeing in Jaipur In the morning, go to the high Amber Fort. To reach the fort and tour its expansive courtyards and palaces, take an elephant or jeep ride. Visit the City Palace, a royal mansion and museums displaying treasures from Rajasthan's royal past, in the afternoon. Discover Jantar Mantar, an observatory dedicated to astronomy. Afternoon: Pass by the Palace of Winds, or Hawa Mahal, then stop by Jal Mahal, or the Water Palace. Remain overnight in Jaipur. Days 5 and 6: Jaipur and Udaipur In the morning, take a six to seven-hour drive to Udaipur. Once you're there, settle into your hotel and unwind. Evening: Take a leisurely boat trip on Lake Pichola, where you can take in breathtaking views of the hills surrounding the city, Jag Mandir, and City Palace. Remain overnight in Udaipur. Day 6: Go sightseeing in Udaipur Morning: Start your day by seeing the City Palace, an opulent complex of palaces, museums, and courtyards with expansive views of Lake Pichola. See the unusual collection of crystal artifacts on display at the Crystal Gallery. In the afternoon, take a tour of Saheliyon Ki Bari, also known as the Garden of the Maidens. It's a lovely garden with lotus pools, fountains, kiosks, and marble elephants. After that, have a look around the Jagdish Temple, a prominent Hindu temple devoted to Lord Vishnu. Evening: Wander through the historic district, stopping at the markets to take in the lively ambiance. Remain overnight in Udaipur. Flight from Udaipur to Delhi on Day 7 Morning: Free time for last-minute sightseeing or unwinding. Afternoon: Go to the airport in Udaipur to catch your flight back to Delhi. Evening: Complete your Golden Triangle Tour with Udaipur by arriving in Delhi and being transferred to the airport or your desired place for your next trip. Crucial Items Accommodations: Cozy stays in luxurious hotels. Transport: A professional driver will drive an air-conditioned vehicle during the entire excursion. Tours with knowledgeable local guides at each location: guided tours. Meals: Breakfast is served, and you can have other meals whenever you'd like. Entrance fees apply to all of the itinerary's major monuments and locations. Flights: Udaipur to Delhi domestic flight. India Golden Triangles Company: Why Opt for Us? The well thought-out itineraries, knowledgeable guides, and individualized service provided by India Golden Triangles Company guarantee a smooth and rewarding vacation experience. With the extra allure of Udaipur, they are a reliable option for discovering the Golden Triangle because of their dedication to excellence and client delight.

You can make priceless memories by selecting this 7-day Golden Triangle Tour with Udaipur, which will allow you to take in the highlights of India's rich cultural history, breathtaking architecture, and tranquil beauty of Udaipur.

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A distinct position in culinary traditions worldwide is devoted to buttermilk, a dairy product. Buttermilk is a sour, slightly acidic liquid that is left over after churning butter from cream, despite its name suggesting otherwise. An extensive summary of buttermilk's applications, advantages, and cultural importance is provided below:

What is Buttermilk? Traditionally, milk is fermented with lactic acid bacteria to produce buttermilk. Buttermilk's distinctively sour flavor and thicker consistency above ordinary milk are the result of this process. Buttermilk comes in two main varieties:

The liquid left behind after churning cream into butter is known as traditional buttermilk. It tastes tart and is naturally low in fat.

Lactic acid bacteria are added to pasteurized milk to create cultured buttermilk, which is the majority of buttermilk sold in stores nowadays. The natural fermentation that gives buttermilk its flavor and texture is replicated in this technique.

Applies to Cooking A flexible ingredient, buttermilk can be employed in many different culinary ways.

Cakes, biscuits, muffins, pancakes, and other baked foods all contain this essential element. Lighter, fluffier baked items are produced when baking soda and buttermilk's acidity combine to produce carbon dioxide bubbles.

Marinades and Brines: When used in marinades, the acidity of buttermilk tenderizes meats like pig and poultry. It also helps preserve moisture and provides flavor.

Dressings for Salads and Dips: It can serve as a foundation for creamy salad dressings and dips, bringing a zesty taste and smooth consistency.

Drink: Buttermilk is drunk as a beverage unadulterated in certain cultures, or blended with spices and herbs to enhance flavor.

Advantages for Nutrition Buttermilk has a number of nutritional advantages:

Protein: It's a solid source of the macronutrient required for both muscle growth and repair.

Calcium: Calcium, which is necessary for healthy bones and nerve function, is found in buttermilk.

Probiotics: Good bacteria called probiotics, which aid with digestion and intestinal health, are present in cultured buttermilk.

Low in Fat: When it comes to fat content, traditional buttermilk is lighter than whole milk.

Meaning in Culture Global Cuisine: Buttermilk is a staple in many cuisines across the world, from Turkish ayran to Indian lassi and biscuits from the Southern United States.

Traditional Medicine: Buttermilk has long been used in home remedies since it is thought to help with digestion and chill the body in some cultures.

In conclusion With its tart taste and many uses, buttermilk is still a mainstay in kitchens all around the world. Buttermilk is still loved for its distinct flavor and health advantages, whether it is used in baking, cooking, or just consumed on its own.

As a result of its unique combination of gastronomic variety, health advantages, and cultural importance, buttermilk is a highly valued ingredient in kitchens across Asia.

[rileyisawattflower]

The tigers as Alanis Morissette songs?

Content warning for - mention of ignorant and pressuring parents, alcoholism and mental health, bullying and, because it’s watt, murder.

Riley - perfect

“Has anyone ever seen Riley’s parents?” I’ve heard the idea that her parents probably ignored her so much that she put pressure on herself to succeed so they’d notice her? I also think maybe when they did notice her, it was to tell her what she was doing wrong and she constantly strived to be better because of that pressure? This song is basically about the parents who live through their children and want them to succeed, putting slightly too much pressure on them, therefore forcing the child to put pressure on themselves to be the best. Does that remind anyone of Riley?

Cairo - you learn

This song feels like it would make a great finale to watt. It talks about living, changing and learning from the past. This is exactly what Cairo does. Before Riley’s confession, she frames Mattie, has a bit of a toxic relationship with Riley, dislikes most of the team and bullies Reese, at first glance, she seems like a horrible person, but you do realise by the end she cares and is capable of being a strong, loving and supportive leader of the team. Mostly because, after the confession, she becomes captain, re-evaluates herself and her relationship with cheer, and the tigers, and becomes a batter person. She lives, she learns.

Farrah - reasons I drink

This ones obvious, “these are the reasons I drink, the reasons I tell everybody I’m fine even though I am not.” That reminds me of the “I’m here, let’s cheer” scene, specifically when Riley asks her if what’s in the bottle is just water, and she ends up saying “I’m fine, y’all are overreacting” she’s struggling with being an alcoholic and doesn’t think she can quit, because it’s what she does to “cope” making things worse. Look up the lyrics and it really, I mean really, works.

I have many more ideas but for now have this!

[ultrablackwidower]

An Enemy

Inspired by 'Rag n Bone' by Tor Miller Marc Spector fic Warnings: None

It's a call to those inside their homes Who wish away All the weight and disarray Jagged stones As they talk to me I walk alone And ring my bell Ring it loud and ring it well

Business.

It was like a claw embedded in leather, a phantom dragged through oceans made of flame. It was the sun, engulfing everything, she thought as she packed up her papers and shoved them into a briefcase. The business she dealt in was a liquid knife, a hellish infection. A wraith of feathers and glass screaming out arrows.

She fixed up her lipstick and twisted her hair into a bun, securing it with a pen before she shuffled into the corridor. The elevator ride was short and quick, guards watching her at every turn. No, not guards— regular people who just weren’t regular anymore. The watched her like hawks, even as she fiddled with the latches on her high heels before stepping out into the foyer and out the front door. Straight into the back of a waiting Escalade.

It was only when the door shut that she felt like she could exhale. Despite the prying eyes always on her, they didn’t know half of what she was up to. If they did, they’d have killed her before they even found out her name. But right now she was safe.

Right now, she kept it a secret.

And a secret was a strange thing. In the years of living many lies, she learned that there were three different kinds of secrets. One was the sort that everyone knew about, the sort needing at least two people. One to keep it and one to never know about it.

The second was a harder kind of secret; one kept from oneself. Every day, thousands of confessions were kept from their would-be confessors, none of them every knowing that their never-admitted secret all boiled down to the same three words: I am afraid.

And then there was the third kind of secret. The most hidden kind. A secret no one knew about. Perhaps it was known once upon a time, but was taken to the grave. Or maybe it was a useless mystery, lonely and unfounded because no one ever looked for it.

But then, sometimes…some rare times…a secret stayed undiscovered because it was something too big for the mind to hold. Too strange, too vast, and too terrifying to contemplate. She thought about this as the car pulled outside her apartment building and the driver came to open her door. Finally, she could be alone.

Everyone had secrets. They were keepers or the kept-from, players or the played. Secrets and cockroaches— that was all that would be left at the end of everything.

And she had lived with every sort of secret.

They weighed heavily on her shoulders as she trudged up the steps to the fourth floor, fished her keys out of her purse. The interior was dark, just like it always was, reminding her that she was all by herself. She kicked off her high heels on her way to the kitchen, tossed the briefcase on the counter as she opened the fridge. Pulled out a bottle of red wine.

It would’ve been unpleasant to drink if it was left out in the Cairo heat.

She poured a glass for herself as the light from the fridge cascaded across the hardwood floors. She brought the rim to her nose and inhaled the fragrant aroma of oak, earth, leather, and dried cherries. But there was something new to the bottle of cabernet this time. Something she couldn’t quite place.

There was the soft scent of salt, sandalwood, and…motor oil.

She took a cautious sip of the red liquid and slowly place the glass on the counter. Her other hand reached into her waistband, trying to move as gently as possible.

Before a hand encircled her wrist, spun her around, and pressed her into the cold countertop.

“Don’t,” a deep voice said.

And there the smell was stronger now. And she could feel the tears prickling in her eyes already before she even looked up.

The rarest of secrets was suddenly in the kitchen with her. It was here, a thing that could get them both killed if someone were to find out; because such a thing was incomprehensible. He was dead.

None of this was real because it was impossible.

But when she finally brought her eyes up to meet his, she searched for another reason to disbelieve. “Marc,” she breathed.

“If I let your hand go, do you promise not to shoot me with that pistol you’ve got?” he asked, almost like this was a joke.

She felt her teeth bare at him as she shoved forward, placing space between them. As quickly as possible, she grabbed her gun, popped the clip out, and set it on the countertop behind her hips. She wanted to shoot him. She wanted to slap him. Wanted to scream and kick and cry. But somehow, she felt barely able to move. Barely able to string together a line of thoughts in her head.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said to him, feeling her hands beginning to shake. “You were dead. I saw you, in the temple. A bullet went through you—”

“I’ve got a God watching my back, sweetheart,” he reminded her, taking a step back and looking around her apartment as though the bird himself was here watching. Maybe he was. “You, however, seem to have gone to the dark side. Didn’t expect you to be working the books for Harrow’s people.”

She scoffed. “If you’re here, it means you’ve been watching me. Which means you should know that I’m not working for his people. I was looking for something.”

“Another score?” Marc wondered, beginning to wander around the apartment looking for a light switch.

“No. Not exactly,” she began slowly. “I was looking for another tomb.”

The lights flickered on in her kitchen, basking them in warmth that she was suddenly so afraid of. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want those feelings to come flooding back that she fought so hard to control when he died. She didn’t want to be that person ever again.

“Why? Harrow’s been put away. He’s in an asylum and we put his Goddess away, too.”

She pressed a hand to her temple and kept her eyes closed as she listened to his footsteps return to her. “I keep hearing this voice in my head. I think another one is looking for an avatar. Which means something big is coming. None of it’s over, and I think it’s looking for me.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment.

“No,” Marc told her sternly. “You’re not going to be an avatar for anybody.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

Suddenly she felt his warm hand on her arm and she couldn’t stop herself from opening her eyes. There Marc was. Marc fucking Spector. He was the kind of handsome that crept into her bones, the kind that spoke to her of their memories before he needed to say another word.

When he died, she died. Her whole heart had shrivelled up inside of her ribcage and sat there, collecting dust and cobwebs while the whispers of another deity kept her up most nights. Those nights that she wished he had been in bed with her, keeping her safe and warm and calm. Those nights that she didn’t think she’d get through without him.

But she had.

And just when she had begun to heal, here he was. Ready to rip open her wounds again.

They were never an item. Never even kissed. But she always felt drawn to him, felt a yearning for him that was so indescribable that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for her to feel that way when he was never hers to have. He had been married. Was in love with someone else.  

There was an incredible sadness washing over her. “Why are you here, Marc? Why didn’t you just stay away?”

It was his turn to soften, and it took him another moment before he spoke. “I— no, we need your help.”

Tag List: @ahookedheroespureheart

[neonponders]

Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

[poptod]

The Ivory Haunting (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His face is engrained into your head but his name is nowhere. Where does he exist? Why are you so obsessed?

Notes: this is strangely creepy and i dont know why. its not what i meant to do but i think its cool anyway. gender neutral as fuckin always WC: 3.1k

+

There's this carving – more of a bust or sculpture – that has your mind twisted every which way. It's a stupid thing, really, but you can't get his expression out of your head, and thus it haunts your waking and sleeping hours. The style is Egyptian, you think. He's wearing a crown on his head, one that you've seen in a couple museums before, and he has an absent smile on his face. While you scroll through the endless amount of photos of ancient Egyptian statues online, you note that it's an all too common expression.

At this point you can't even recall where you first saw it. Could've been through the endless internet surfing or the many museums you visited in your travels, but at the end of the day you're stumped. What was his name? Where did you meet him?

It's clear as day. His alabaster skin. He looks straight at you with empty eyes, the irises having eroded many years ago in the hot sahara sun. His nose has long fallen off, leaving behind a jagged scar that drags from his brow down to his lips, where that haunting smile sits so easily. They're full, his lips – sweet, and soft, even for stone. At each end are little dips, showcasing the slight smile. His chin is a little big, but it makes way for the sharp contrast of his jawline. He has cheekbones – mostly hidden behind the crown – and his ears are a little large. The trait that draws your attention each time is his eyes. Blank. Like they had truly been staring at the world for thousands of years.

You don't get out much anymore, not since the restrictions were put in place. There are moments, especially in the dead of night, in which you want so desperately to leave your tiny apartment, but the curfew states otherwise. Policemen and government workers roam the streets and you'd rather not get into a tussle over something so small as an urge.

Still, you stare outside your window, wondering why it feels like you're suffocating. This is how you spend a lot of your time nowadays, staring at the streets. There's hardly any cars out, and the sidewalks are barren, a sight you'd seen only once before during the original quarantine. London is not a quiet city. It's quite the opposite, and to see it muted is in the least upsetting.

Your job is... easy. Considering the state of the world, you're incredibly lucky, retaining your job and keeping away from the outside. You also get a lot of free time. Usually you'd spend it in front of a television, or in a good book, but now it's in front of your computer screen. The typing marker flashes in front of you, placing behind it the clear words you've searched at least a hundred times by now.

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN BUSTS

By now you know what the first images are going to be. Nefertiti, mostly – her bust is by far the most famous. Then there's of course Akhenaten with his elongated skull, followed by several advertisements for Kemetic worship.

You don't know much about Egyptian history. Or, at least you didn't use to. Now you recognize the faces, though rarely do you ever remember the names of the many forgotten dead. You're just looking for one – one name, one bust, one dead man.

He's nowhere, not in the books you buy or the articles you read. When you sign up for an online course of ancient Egyptian history, you expect to see his face in a textbook, but he's not there. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who remembers him, which is funny – you don't even know him. Either way it's a way to occupy the time, since you have so much of it lately.

The British Museum is reopening. There's a whole thing about COVID, of course, and the only way to enter is to get tickets online. Only a handful of people are allowed inside the museum at once, and since you don't hear about it until later, you are set to wait a month and a half before you can visit. Bitterness wells up in the pit of your stomach, but like most things you set it aside. None of it really matters anyway – yes, not knowing his name feels like drowning mid-air, but it won't kill you.

From the moment you reserve a ticket to the moment you can actually use it, you dream of him every night. Sometimes it's actually him, no longer a statue, taking your hands and leading you somewhere you don't belong. His skin is warm, unlike his statue, but just as soft as you imagined. His nails are meticulously cleaned and his eyes are bright, full of a life you're desperate to understand. It doesn't make any sense. You're yearning so deeply for him, for something you've never known before, and every second away feels like pure horror in your veins.

Why do you need him this much?

You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that falls in front of your eyes. You're dressed well – at least comparatively to your former few weeks of dress – and a quiet excitement thrums in your heart. Today is a day you're going to go out, and to make it better you're going to the museum. They have an Egyptian exhibit. A foolish part of yourself hopes you'll find him there, nestled in the corner of a long and fruitful hallway filled with Egyptian statues.

It's... disappointing, to say the least, to find out there's only one room for Egyptian exhibits and it's occupied by only one thing, besides broken pots and stone dolls. The main exhibit's name is Ahkmenrah, a young Pharaoh older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. All information on him can be fitted onto a four by six stone plate. While standing in his room, surrounded by hieroglyphs you've been studying hard to understand, you look him up on your phone. There's little mention of him, but the one article you do find on him has a 3D recreation of his face. He looks white and you know the article's bullshit.

While absently holding a conversation with one of the curators, you discover there's a store of Egyptian exhibits kept underneath the museum that aren't fit for showcase since the downsizing. Whatever that means, you find a sliver of hope, one that pales quickly at the realization you'll never be able to go down there. They wouldn't let some random visitor (who wasn't even an actual historian) to go see closed off exhibits.

Fischer, the director of the museum, hires you four months after you send your resume in. The second he does you set your plan into motion – there's no time to waste.

The same day he gives you the keys, you're sneaking in under the cover of night. For some reason, the lights are still on in the main museum, but fortunately that's not where you're headed. You unlock the backdoor, sneaking through the night guard's break room until you find the door to the basement. Flipping through the keys on your ring, you quickly find the right one, shoving it into the keyhole and almost wrenching the door open.

You run down the stairs. It's almost sprinting, but you can't be too loud with your shoes. There's nothing in your mind except him, his funny little smile, the somehow soft alabaster of his skin. You need to get to him. Something inside you says he's here – he's here, he's here, and there's nowhere else you can be without your whole body combusting.

You stop dead in your sprint, chest heaving as you're faced with the open boxes filled with Egyptian busts. With frantic eyes you look them over, searching desperately for one familiar face, finding none until the very last open box.

It's here.

He's here.

The broken nose, the formation of the resulting scar, you recognize every. Fucking. Inch.

Each box contains little notes on who the statues are (if known), the material, the time period, and other such relevant information. Your hands shake as you reach forward, slipping the piece of paper out of the paper stuffing.

King Ahkmenrah

Date: ca. 3,100 - 3000 B.C.

Period: Old Kingdom

Place of origin: Egypt, Cairo

Medium: Ivory

Ahkmenrah.

Sudden clarity strikes you as it never has when you recall searching his name online. He's the exhibit. He's the mummy upstairs. He's actually here.

The blood in you freezes for a moment, caught up in shock and relief. Now you know his name. A small part of you is finally able to rest with the answer, but the rest of you knows exactly what to do – go upstairs. Find the exhibit. Lay at his side. After all this time you still don't know why, but the ache of neediness in your heart is enough to leave you weak to your inner desires.

Now that your head is clear, or at least unhindered by your questions, you note a worrying amount of sound coming from upstairs. Footsteps pound on the ceiling as you climb the staircase, leaving you curious and terrified. That many people shouldn't be in one place – it's a death wish for the modern plague. You grit your teeth, fingers curling up in to fists that dig your nails deep into your palm. Is it safe to go upstairs? There's definitely people up there and you have no idea who they are. The museum could be being robbed right now and you wouldn't have a clue. It's a death wish.

Why are you still going up the stairs?

Why are you opening the door?

This shouldn't be happening. There's enough people to fill the whole first floor, ranging from the public entrance of the museum to the African exhibits in the back. Almost all of them are wearing historical outfits, in such a wide array you might've thought they'd stolen them from the exhibits, had they not looked exactly like the wax figures. The marble statue of the Roman on his horse is no longer on its' pedestal. Actually, he's talking to a woman a few feet away from you, though he is still on the horse.

You should be passed out on the stairs going by how fast your heart is beating, but instead you stand in the doorway petrified. Your eyes sit wide, scanning back and forth over the crowd, searching for something you don't know of. With all the stimulus in front of you, you don't even know what to think. The exhibits must be coming alive. Does someone watch over them?

It's then, with little clarity in your head, that your eyes land upon the night guard. She doesn't look in the least bit rattled, so you easily assume she's used to this. Her calm is so alarming to you that you blink yourself back into your body.

These are... people. Just people. They haven't been put under some curse that'll bring chaos to the world. All they're doing is partying, and though the noise level is a tad unpleasant, it's just about as rowdy as some teenagers.

When you realize you aren't in danger, you bolt from your place at the door. Twisting through the gathered crowd, you slowly make your way to the staircase, ascending with quick feet as your eyes lock onto the Egyptian hall. It's a few more feet until you turn sharp, shoes squeaking as you slide into the room. The familiar gold lighting greets you, shining off the open sarcophagus, which you skid to a halt in front of as your lungs desperately try to catch up to your legs.

Of course it's empty. Your Pharaoh – or Ahkmenrah, you suppose you should use his name now that you know it – must be downstairs, where the life of the party is. Why would he stay up in this empty room, all alone? From here you can barely even hear the music that was once pounding into your ears. Still, for a moment you stare at the bottom of the vacant coffin, caught in the awe of such a long-standing history.

"What are you doing here?"

The words catch you by surprise, and in reaction you whip around, eyes wide as the voice continues, "who are you?"

My King. Before you can even process the thought, the words roll onto your tongue, but to your immense relief you catch yourself before actually opening your mouth.

"I..." it barely comes out with how little you've physically spoken recently, "I work here."

As usual, your voice carries that quiet, calm, slightly annoyed tone that makes people wonder why you're being so difficult. It's not really something you can control, but the King doesn't seem to notice. Maybe it's worked to your advantage this time; despite your racing heart and frozen feet, you keep an even tone.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," the King says, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. You try to back up, but you're already pressed against the sarcophagus, and his glare keeps you from running.

"I just started today," you answer honestly.

"Ah," he says, his voice softer the moment he begins to believe you. "This must be rather alarming for you, then."

You're not afraid to admit he's right.

"A tad. How do you speak english?"

"I learned it during my time at Cambridge University," he answers. He's from over 4,000 years ago, so you know he didn't attend as a student.

"You were on display there?"

"Yes," he says with a bright smile, one that catches you entirely off guard.

It practically blows you away – his demeanor changed so quickly, from a stern Pharaoh to a sweet, young man who probably bought his girlfriend flowers every Monday. For a moment you wonder why you were so caught up in him before knowing him; now that you've heard his voice, seen the way he moves, your interest increases tenfold. It's not enough to see him. You need to touch him. You need it more than anything.

"I've been looking for you," you blurt out, but the words come out so slow it sounds like you consciously chose them. You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch his smile falter.

"What do you mean?" He asks. He's standing in front of you now – if you extended your arm and took a small step closer, you'd be touching him.

"There's a sculpture of you," you say softly, swallowing the lump in your throat, "but I didn't know how to find your name."

"How'd you find me, then?" He asks, but he looks less offended. Now there's a keen look in his smile and in his eye, like he's going to enjoy this, like he knows something you don't.

"Sheer luck," you say with a shrug. It's mostly true.

"I think I know you," he says, and his smile quirks further upward.

"What?" You say, trying to back up again as he steps closer. The sarcophagus is, unsurprisingly, still behind you. "How?"

"Back when I was a King, I had a slave my brother killed," he says in the least comforting tone, "but my father had this idea."

Another step closer. You can feel the heat of his naked waist on your shaking hands.

"See, he had a magician in his employ, and he would do anything for me. Especially since I loved that slave so dearly. Truly," he leans forward a little, placing his hand on the gold case behind you and trapping you against him. His chest is practically right against yours, but what you are close enough to feel is his breath, soft on your collarbones. "And so my father retrieved the soul with a special spell and sent it into the future, to possess another at birth, and to lie in wait until I called for it."

You can't feel your – well, anything. There's a pressure on your chest, but you can't tell if that's your wildly beating heart or just his warmth skewing your senses. All you can do is stare up at him wide-eyed. He can't be telling the truth. Magic doesn't work like that, it can't work like that, that's a sick story and he's telling it like it's nothing more than normal. Possessing a newborn child. Sending souls into the future. It can't make sense. You almost feel bad for your past self – under the employ of someone so cruel as to take a soul from the afterlife for his own pleasure.

But he's standing before you. He's 4,000 years old, and he's standing in front of you, pushing you against his own coffin and trapping you there. Do you belong to him, then? Is that why you can't get him out of your head?

"When did your search begin?" He asks softly, a gentle curiosity evident in his brow.

"A – about a year ago," you say, your voice so broken and shaky you're surprised he understands it.

"Last winter?" He asks knowingly, almost sweet, like he's doting on you. Then comes the part that really makes it shine; he reaches up and pets your hair, moving in long, soft strokes.

You nod, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. How red you must be by now.

"I called on you then. It took you a little while, but I'm glad you made it," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Unfortunately, I suppose you haven't retained any memories, since you didn't know my name."

"I guess not," you agree quietly. "I just have instincts."

"Instincts?"

You're reluctant to share with him the many instincts you'd had even in the short time from meeting him to now. The pure need to touch him. Past You probably had a crush on him, and even though you aren't really that person anymore, there's a need inside you to hide that fact from him. 

"I wanted to call you my King when I first saw you," you admit, your voice still quiet in hopes of him not understanding you.

"You won't have to call me that anymore. Maybe a tad around my parents, but when we're alone you may use my name."

"When we're... alone?" You question nervously, heart pounding at the thought of spending more time with him.

"You do work here, don't you?" He says with a sly grin. "I think I'll be seeing you quite a lot."

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh God.

If this is how you react just from spending five minutes with him, you can't imagine spending whole nights at his side. You'd explode. From what you don't know yet, but the pulsing rush in your heart is strong enough to worry you, and very rarely do you ever worry about yourself. The words in your head – your immediate reaction – simply won't pass. You can't bring yourself to say them, so you say what he wants to hear.

"As long as you want to."

[mynachopaper]

Tickle Anomaly Files #9

Codename: Tomb of Queen Selma

Subject: An ancient burial found in the Arabian desert. Currently it houses subject-1A: Queen Selma.

The anomaly was discovered by our own agent Layla Mourassi, a local archaeologist operating near Cairo. She was called to the site after a family of nomads claimed to have stumbled upon a stone entrance buried beneath the sand. They did not search the ruins due to superstition and have left it completely untouched.

The following is taken from agent Layla's investigation:

The Bedouins have called for my expertise. They claim to have found a temple, an ancient home for the gods. Normally these claims are easily dismissed, more often than not it is a simple attempt at seeking a reward for discovering old antiques or clay pots.

The only reason I took this one at face value was because they described two hieroglyphs that intrigued me. One was the symbol of an ancient queen, depicted by a hand clasping around the neck of a bird. The other was a symbol of over lapping infinity signs, representing revenge. The queen's symbol had been lost to us for some time. Records of her rule are rarely found, we theorized she may have either died young or was simply written out of history due to sexist traditions at the time.

After hearing the news I was excited, I begged them to take me to the site. At first they refused to escort me as they were fearful of the old gods. However, one of the younger men offered to take me in exchange for some educational books on astronomy.

Our journey was long. We traveled for two days through the desert. My companion was quiet, when he did speak he seemed eerily calm. His politeness did help ease the awkward silence around the campfire, other than that we only spoke when needed.

On the third day we arrived at the site. I could make out the vague shape of the keystone in the sand. After some clearing we were able to dig out the entrance. Just as the bedouins had said, two symbols graced the arch way. In their formation it would either mean "The Queen's revenge" or "Revenge on the Queen".

I took out my flashligt and lit the stair case. I asked my companion if he wished to accompany me. He refused, stating that "I can feel the sand pull me back, there is malice beneath me." I internally rolled my eyes and simply asked him to watch for sandstorms incase they bury me here.

I slowly began to decend into the ruin. My flashlight was helpful, however I still felt the darkness cling to my sides as my footsteps echoed. The hieroglyphs on the walls describe this ruin as being a tomb for queen Selma. This would be a wonderful find for the archeological society. The symbols go on to describe the building of the tomb, many slaves were sacrificed in its construction. Strangely however, it does not state how she died or even what form of burial took place.

Soon I entered a large chamber. The walls were covered with various paintings and symbols. Many of the decorations were adorned with silver. Small figurines of a hawk were scattered around the room, all were engraved with queen Selma's insignia. At the far end of the chamber stood a pair of large golden doors, possibly three metres (9.10ft) tall and around six metres wide (19ft). They still bore the royal seal.

Judging from my surroundings I must have been the first living person to enter this place since its construction.

I started working on decrypting the artwork along the walls. There were three major paintings. The first depicted queen Selma upon her throne, slaves were placing their wealth and goods at her feet. The hieroglyphs state that she often demanded high tribute regardless of her kingdoms financial status. It also states that many families starved during her reign as they would often give all they had, as any who refused were forced to work on her temples till they died from exhaustion.

The second painting depicts her holding a Kopesh, kneeling in front of her were rows of citizens dressed in a range of clothes. The symbols described her as ruling with an iron fist, any disagreement or complaint was met with a swift execution. Her personal record for executions in a day was one hundred and thirty seven, after a nearby village tried to protest her rule.

The final painting depicts rows of citizens weeping in the night. Many are holding small pieces of cloth. The symbols describe this event as "The Night of Wailing", queen Selma caught wind of a rebellion brewing and had every firstborn slain as a counter measure.

Such a cruel ruler, it's no wonder she has been lost to time.

I approached the sealed doors, their towering shapes seemed to have a flavour of secrecy. Curiosity outpaced my fear as I broke the seal. The doors slowly opened, a loud creaking sound reverberated throughout the chamber. The air was suddenly sucked in, I felt it flow over me as a chill spread through my chest. It seemed to lead down a spiral staircase, a faint glow could be seen around the side. I turned on my faithful flashlight and began my decent. I could feel it swallow me as I creeped down. In the distance I could hear a sound, a high pitched shriek of some kind.

Along the wall I notice a string of symbols. Judging from their jagged edges and poor formation they must have been made with little time. This was my best attempt at a rough translation.

"We have found her weakness. Her maiden told us of her greatest fear. During an infestation some beetles had crawled into her bed, she shrieked and had it tossed into the fire. Another time one of her lovers had accidentally brushed her sides making her squeal, she had him executed on the spot.

She is deathly ticklish, her true nightmare now known to us.

We called on our god, she has answered us. For she felt our loss as much as we did. Our children will be avenged."

As I finished copying the symbols I heard the screams grow louder as I made my way down. I turned around the corner to find a golden chamber. Braziers with dancing flames lit up the golden walls. Engravings of citizens rejoicing and dancing, lavish meals and instruments were sprinkled throughout the imagery. Jars of gold and jewelry sprinkled around the room. In the very centre laid a stone slab, with a bound woman screaming.

She was wearing slave garments, leaving her mostly exposed. Around her neck was a golden chain bearing the symbol of the goddess representing motherhood. Her eyes were covered with a thick black cloth. Her wrists and ankles were shackled with golden blinds encrusted with gems. They locked into the stone, leaving her in a spread-eagle position. She was quite beautiful, her long black hair failed around as she thrashed and screamed. I could finally see the source of her anguish.

Hundred of scarab beetles and snakes were exploring her body. Many of the bugs were skittering across her sensitive stomach. Rows of them were crawling along her ribs and nestling in her pits. Snakes were slithering between her toes as their tails flickered along her thighs. Her soles were covered in crawling beetles, she could feel hundreds of their legs spider and tickle her sensitive flesh. Sending shocks throughout her body.

She was in ticklish agony, thrashing and screaming as the sensations overwhelmed her.

I recognized the symbol belonging to the cult Merasi, a group believing they had discovered eternal life. Judging from that she must have been down here for three thousand years at least, her body endlessly teased and tickled the entire time. I tried to reach out to her, to maybe alleviate her suffering. Suddenly the chain around her neck tightened, in a panic I stepped back. Once I was far enough it released. So that's her curse, should anyone try to interfere she would be endlessly choked instead.

It was a truly horrible nightmare. Her screams were started to shake my bones. I turned and ran, stumbling over the steps as I feared sharing her fate. I finally made it to the doors and quickly slammed them shut, blocking out the sounds of her suffering. I crumpled to the floor, my heart beating fast. I have decided that no job is worth dealing with the curses of gods. Consider this report my resignation.

End report-

We dispatched a team to the location only to find that the entrance was lost to a sandstorm. Excavations are being made, in the meantime the subject will have to suffer a little longer.

Object class: location (safe)

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

I am so impressed by your ability to put out such great content for each of these prompts! Could I request some good old OOOs content, Ankh/Eiji with number 18 (considering just how many times they ended up fighting in the water in the show) Thank you 💜

Thank you! I’m flattered! (It helps a lot that these prompts are so focused.) Anyway, absolutely you can, it is always time for OOO content and this is an underwater kiss.

Ankh has let himself age, and he is glorious. His hair is longer and threaded with white, and there are lines around his mouth, and he looks less slim and more gaunt, and it’s all unspeakably perfect. Even the fracture line is beautiful, crawling jagged and golden down the center of his face--Eiji is the only one who will ever know the full length of it, from its start in his hairline to where it disappears into the joint of his left hip.

He’s sitting on the blanket next to Hina, who’s done with her most recent bout crying but looks like she might start again any second now, and he’s watching Eiji swim and saying, “Will you please get out of the water and pay attention to me, Eiji.”

Eiji grins at him. “Why don’t you come in and join me? It’s not like you haven’t been in the water here before.”

“Not on purpose, though.” Ankh scowls. “It looks cold.”

“Oh, come on.” Hina elbows him. “It’s not like you have to go in very far, I didn’t make you that ridiculous swimsuit for nothing.”

Ankh sniffs. “I like these swimming clothes.”

“I’m glad, I worked hard on them.”

“...thank you.”

She kisses him on the cheek. “You’re very welcome. Oh, there’s Chiyoko and Shingo with the picnic basket finally, shoo, go be with Eiji so we can get everything set up.”

He makes a face at her, stands up with tremendous dignity, and walks down to the shoreline.

As soon as his foot hits the water he starts swearing. “It is cold.”

“Of course it’s cold.” Eiji comes up to meet him, still smiling. He hasn’t stopped smiling for at least three weeks, which is how long it took them to get back to Japan from wherever in the Urals they’d been at his glacial pace. “It’s the ocean.”

“I don’t remember it being this cold.”

“Well, we were both pretty distracted last time.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Eiji reaches out him. “Come on.”

Ankh takes his hand warily and walks a bit further into the water. ��I suppose this isn’t completely awful.” Their other hands meet, fingers twining.

Eiji’s about to say something more, and then he meets Ankh’s gaze and realizes that it’s suddenly taken on a gleam that makes him very nervous even as it seems familiar. He has enough time to realize that it’s alarmingly reminiscent of an especially temperamental parrot he met in Cairo before Ankh drops, sweeps his legs out from under him, and dumps him in the water.

Of course, they’re still holding hands, so Ankh goes under too, and comes up spitting and making indignant noises.

“You didn’t think that one through, did you?”

Ankh glares at him. “Your hair is in your face, it’s very attractive, how dare you.”

“I like how you’re actually willing to say I’m attractive now.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” Eiji pulls him in as if for a kiss and then tips backward and ducks them both again.

Not to be deterred, Ankh kisses him anyway, both of their mouths filling with the sharp taste of brine before they surface again. He lets go of Ankh’s hands, but only to pull him closer, and the saltwater stings his lips but he can’t bring himself to care when he could focus on Ankh’s fingers in his hair.

They’re finally interrupted by a loud wolf-whistle from the shore, and Ankh groans. “I see Date’s arrived.”

“He said he’d be here--oh, and he brought Gotou, wow, I thought Gotou couldn’t come, he said he was tied up with something.” Eiji shifts so his arms are around Ankh’s waist and he can pick Ankh up out of the water completely. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

“Put me down, you idiot,” Ankh says, making no attempt to get free. “There’d better be ices, I’m owed several decades worth of backlog.”

[nilim]

I’ve been relistening and transcribing a lot of season 4 episodes for the RQG wiki, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Hamid, about his stubbornness and recklessness - which have always been there, of course. But especially the Zolf & Hamid arguments in ep 132 and 135 caught my attention and I’ve been thinking... 

Y’all ever think about how tiny Hamid is and how big his friends are, and how most of his spells are more attack-focused, and he doesn’t have a whole lot of utility spells to help others? And how often his friends have this protective instinct to save him because he is young and small and not very strong? More importantly, do you ever think about how these facts all influence the type of experiences Hamid has throughout the campaign, especially in dangerous situations, and what the long-term impact of those experiences might be on how he views himself?

Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

There’s quite a lot of scenes throughout the campaign where people prioritize helping Hamid over their own safety. But the problem is, frequently Hamid cannot return those acts of help for his friends? He’s literally physically incapable of performing many of the acts that others do for him. He’s not strong. He can’t carry people. He can’t shield people with his body. There’s multiple instances where Hamid just kind of has to... watch people get dragged off into danger with the full knowledge that he can’t do much to help. 

And there’s multiple instances where people tell him to keep out of danger, even though they often expose themselves to way more danger by trying to protect him. 

Zolf and Hamid have their first proper fight during Kew Gardens, when Zolf tells Hamid to lead. It’s all a bit of a disaster and Zolf is just so angry, and Hamid doesn’t really understand until Zolf says; Don’t throw yourself into danger so recklessly, I don’t want you to die. I feel responsible for you. 

(Hamid wishes he didn’t.)

And during the channel crossing Hamid is just so seasick, and he doesn’t know how to sail, so he just desperately clutches the side of the boat as he watches Sasha dance across the deck and rigging, joyfully, helping Zolf in a way that Hamid can’t. And in the thick of the storm, Sasha sees that Hamid is barely holding on, so she asks if he’s all right. And Hamid says yes. Says that he’s fine. Doesn’t want to be a burden. But Sasha decides to go over to him anyway. And when she’s immediately washed overboard and Zolf jumps in after her, Hamid can’t do anything. He can only keep holding onto the boat in the full realization that two friends might be drowning just because one of them wanted to help him. But he doesn’t have the physical strength nor the stamina to do anything about it. He can only clutch the railing and hope. 

And when they’re in the catacombs, and Zolf is buried, he’s absolutely useless because he can’t pull Zolf out from underneath the rubble, because he doesn’t have the strength. Worse. He makes it worse. Injures himself and Zolf. And Zolf’s leg is all messed up, but somehow Zolf’s concerned about him instead, because Hamid is in shock. And when Hamid crosses the bridge first, he can only watch as Zolf gets flung into the chasm and Sasha is nearly dragged off the bridge by the tentacle monster - he can’t do anything as the torch tumbles down into the void and there is only darkness. So he just cowers down and whimpers until Sasha finds him.

(And when he’s finally dragged off across jagged rocks, his instinct is to scream for Sasha, because she was right there - standing over him - protecting him. But no, there’s nothing she can do. It’s not fair. So he tells her to save herself and just curls into a ball and accepts his fate because he can’t DO anything, he’s useless, and Zolf is probably already dead and he just doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him).

And then Zolf has lost his other leg, and Hamid cries and hugs him and tells him he is sorry. And Zolf needs help. He needs to be carried everywhere, but Hamid can’t help him because he’s too small and can’t carry anyone, so he just has to stand there and watch as Zolf starts slowly falling apart. (I can help with this at least, he thinks. But Zolf doesn’t want his help). 

And Paris is doomed regardless of Hamid’s insistence that they did the right thing shutting down Mr. Ceiling. And Paris is doomed despite Hamid’s nightly escapades and attempts to help its people.

And Zolf leaves in Prague regardless of what Hamid says to him.

(He achieves absolutely nothing during the fight with Kafka and he decides just to never think about it again).

And when the Mars lot arrive, Sasha picks him up and parkours him to safety and tells him to run. But he doesn’t, because he’s not good at running, but he’s good at talking, and he wants to help Sasha. But his talking doesn’t really work.

(”Next time I tell you to run, just... run, Hamid, run!” Sasha berates him later, and he’s reminded of what Zolf said and he wishes people would stop protecting him).

And when Sasha and Grizzop and him climb the desk in Newton’s office, he’s in no position to help them at all. He can’t even climb himself. He has to rely on his friends because he’s just too weak. But he keeps failing and falling, and getting hurt. “I don’t think this will work”, he says, lying on the ledge. (Just leave me, he thinks).

(And later he learns to fly because he doesn’t want it to happen again. Not to him or anyone.)

And he messes everything up in Cairo. 

And he can’t heal anyone. Can’t heal like Zolf or Grizzop or Azu can, so when people get hurt or go unconscious he rarely gets the chance to help. His magic is a different kind. But in Rome his spells don’t work, and he can’t even help protect his friends from the heat and cold. And his spells keep misfiring and he keeps getting other people hurt. (It’s ironic when the fireball misfires and he blows himself up exactly as he intended - “Oh dear” he says, but he smiles, because his fuck-up finally managed to protect his friends).

And they save the hostages, but they lose two friends, and it’s just him and Azu. And nobody will help them find Sasha and Grizzop, because the world is too fucked up to care. And they’re locked up in a cage for a week and Hamid feels useless. And they go to the village and meet Cel and he messes up their first meeting (he used to be good at the social thing). And then they built fortifications for the village and Hamid feels useless as he watches Azu and Zolf carry things and built things, and all he can do is fly. And then they built a boat, and Hamid feels useless because he can’t design things like Cel can, can’t shape stone like Zolf can, doesn’t have the strength that Azu has. (Finally, when they decide to add a sail, he feels hopeful: I can make a sail, he thinks, and feels silly for feeling proud). 

But he can’t help Zolf and Cel push the boat out to sea, can’t help Zolf sail the contraption they’ve created. I know my role in this story, he thinks, and clambers inside the boat without a word, and tries to comfort Azu through the many hours of the terrifying ordeal. And when they finally arrive on Shoin’s island the cave is dark and he can’t see. So he casts Dancing Lights. And Zolf is annoyed at him, but Hamid protests, but Zolf tells him to turn off the lights. “Ok, fine”, he says “I’ll go fall in the water then shall I!”

And he’s angry, because he’s so tired of feeling useless - so many weeks of feeling useless. So tired of not being able to do anything. Having to rely on others and never being able to help. Tired of not being focused on finding a way to get Sasha and Grizzop back. Tired of not being able to see his family. Tired of all of it.

But Zolf just shouts; “Azu! Pick him up!”, and she does, and they don’t even ask what Hamid wants. And Zolf says; “Now unless Azu jumps in the water, can you please stop complaining?!” 

Which is why Hamid doesn’t yell when Azu trips and they both fall into the water, and Cel and Zolf scramble over to help her get back up (he’s glad they’re there, he wouldn’t have been able to pull her up). He just clutches the pontoon and slowly, carefully climbs back onto it, and he turns over and just lies there on his back, staring into the darkness, and he doesn’t say anything. 

(He casts fly on himself and on Azu, and holds her hand to guide her to the shore, but it doesn’t make him feel better).

And later, when they’re fighting the cube, he runs straight towards it and casts his most powerful spells because that’s what he’s good at. But Azu yanks him back and shields him with her body, and Zolf yells at him afterwards about his foolishness, about the mistakes he made - but Hamid yells at Zolf because he just can’t let this go, wants to make Zolf understand how useless he feels all the time and that casting spells is literally the only thing he can do.

(But when he casts fireball at the kobolds, he watches them get engulfed in flames, watches them die screaming, and he feels nauseous. And Cel hugs him before they descend the stairs, and then picks him up and carries him through the smoking corpses, and there’s a part of him that’s horrified at what he’s done, but there’s another part of him that thinks; I’m good at this at least, and; this is how I protect my friends.)

[kazbrkker]

Chapter 4: Proxy War

Chapter summary: Alexis and Alex head to the second part of the mission: destroy General Barkov’s airbase. (2953 words)

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, anxiety and bruises.

26 OCTOBER 2019, 1900 "Alexis" and "Alex", Codename Aces CIA with Urzik Militia Al-Raab, Urzikstan.

First day into the assignment and Alexis had already received two generous gifts.

A fresh pink and red bruise rested just above her elbow, courtesy from the soldier earlier. Travelling further up her left tricep was another strip of exposed flesh, from a bullet that grazed her while they were running for their lives. She scoffed at the addition of new injuries, hastily ripping off a gauze to bandage the wound and hoped they wouldn't scar.

Struggling single-handedly, she managed to roughly rip a jagged piece of gauze. Almost thoughtlessly plastering it against her bare flesh, when without warning, her pathetic excuse of a bandage was snatched from her.

Alex loomed over her seat, crossing his arm. She scooted over the table she sat on. He chastised, "Don't underestimate these flesh wounds. They are small but nasty, especially in dusty environments like Urkzistan. Takes little to get infected."

"This is why I rarely get assigned to places like these." She mumbled dejectedly, watching him patch her up perfectly.

Alex had feather light touches for such a muscular man. She teased, to which he placed a finger on her forehead and pushed. He was more tender only when it came to her, a fact that everyone knew. Moments later, he proudly patted his handiwork. Alex lowered to eye level with the bandage, pouting smugly.

Alexis frowned at his suspicious behaviour.

"A kiss for your booboo?"

'Dumb ass.' Alexis sent an unforgiving hard flick! to his forehead. He snickered, rubbing the red spot.

Hadir entered the room with a few fighters, a brief pause in his steps upon witnessing their close proximity, "Alena... How are your wounds?"

From her peripheral vision, Alex subtly bit his lip and roughly tossed the bunch of bandage into the medkit. "Not Alena– " She placed an easing hand over his to silence him.

"I'm still alive. Are we ready?"

"Always about work, Alexis. You hardly changed." Hadir's gaze followed their intertwined hands and chuckled, somehow amused by their reactions. "I set up shop on the edge of Barkov's base. Keep those fucking dogs in check. Friends close, enemies closer. No grenades, so we improvise."

He handed them bottles of molotov cocktail. Impressive, for what scraps it was made out of. Alex echoed the same sentiment.

"What, you think we fight this war with sticks and stones?"

Sensing the pricks in Hadir's words, she quickly hopped off the table and patted Hadir's back. "With sharpened sticks and a big enough stone, why not?"

They followed Hadir to the roof. "You are too optimistic, Alexis." She laughed at that statement. "Those bastards only understand violence... So I show them violence."

"Violence is not a catalyst, it is a diversion. Too much of it, the evil it does is permanent, Hadir."

"You'd have to send me more English dictionaries, Alexis." Hadir cheekily replied in his mother tongue. "Barkov has an air force, so we have one too. RC planes loaded with C4."

Witnessing the unfamiliar grittier edge in Hadir, Alexis thought back to her first encounter with the siblings. It wasn't hard to read Hadir, the man was practically wearing his heart on his sleeves. One could say that pointed to a certain amount of naivety, but she liked it, a kind of genuine rare in their line of work.

Headstrong, direct, loyal, three words used to describe Hadir and it would be the truest thing one could hear. Like his sister, Hadir didn't quite fit in the mold. Five years ago, the lieutenant possessed a vivid sparkle in his eyes that was lacking in his sister. Always eager for a fight, a true never-backing-down-spirit. Today, the light dulled.

But what would she know? Perhaps that was the unfortunate cost of living in a civil war.

When they reached the roof, the sun had long set, leaving behind a cast of darkness that enveloped the sky. Even in nightfall, Urkzistan still felt like a hundred degrees, but the staggered waves of wind did some to alleviate the heat.

Alex and Alexis each grabbed a remote controller for the RC planes, crashing it into the army's helicopters. There was some excitement in using amateur, yet creative equipment like these, evident in her uncharacteristically large grin. "Good hunting."

"Stay low. The airbase is ahead."

The drones flew over the hill to the airbase's tarmac. Using the bird's eye view, she expertly memorized the tarmac's landscapes before crashing her drone into a target. The remaining helicopters exploded upon impact, illuminating the night sky in a series of twisted fireworks.

"Good flying, brothers and sisters... Let's get down there." Farah praised, a smile at bay. Weapons in hand, they hopped down to the airbase's perimeter.

"Airbase perimeter is dead ahead! Second team will cover us with the cannon." Hadir yelled over the sounds of the explosions.

Alexis subconsciously reloaded her M4A1 while Alex requested for air support. His words barely registered in her brain as a bout of anxiety hit her, feeling choked. Her grip tightened on her rifle, forcing big intakes of oxygen into her burning lungs. She quickly released her fingers in an attempt to fulfil the urge to feel the Earth under her, big handfuls of sand, dirt and grass.

Her heart thudded painfully in her throat, telling herself, 'You're okay. You're okay, you're here. Breathe.'

"Copy, 3-1. I'm tasking an unmarked gunship to your position, stand by." A muffled reply from her comms grounded her back into reality, she was here, this was happening.

Alexis hurriedly looked around, everyone else was too focused on the plan to notice her. Like it never happened, she forced herself to swallow the thickness in her throat, and along with that, her fear. She packed her emotions into a box and pushed it far into the back corner of her mind.

Alexis placed her all her focus, hyper-fixated on one thing: survive.

"Roger that," Alex replied, crouching beside Alexis. They were surrounded by the full force of the militia. Their spirits were contagious, feeding her a much needed level of adrenaline and confidence.

"Get ready! We attack their armories, take their weapons, and take their airfield! Cousins– we fight to free Urzikstan and take back our country. For Urzikstan!" A mortar cannon fired to breach the airfield's perimeter walls. That was it, upon Farah's orders, everyone sprinted, guns blazing into the south wall of the airbase.

It was like clockwork, shooting, running and hiding behind covers. She slipped back into familiarity, the anxiety in her dissolved and overtook by a rush need for survival and adrenaline.

The two CIA agents worked seamlessly, benefits from the countless missions that shaped their chemistry. She glared at Alex, annoyed when he stole her shot. He shrugged, firing his rifle while branding an excuse. Truthfully, he just liked to piss her off.

"You were distracted."

"I'll give you something to be distracted about." Her words mixed with more tautness than normal, but in the midst of all that blood and fighting, Alex didn't pick up on it.

"Hm. Wouldn't be the first time."

Alexis specially took a break from firing to throw her middle finger up. She aimed her carbine at the snipers on the watchtower opposite her. Two sharp bursts later, they lifelessly fell over the tower.

"Good job, Alexis! Watchtower is clear! Move in, move in!" Farah yelled and they pushed further into the base. Following behind Farah's team, Alexis and Alex flanked left, two sharpshooters ridding of enemy hostiles within seconds.

The enemy backup came instantly —two helicopters hovering over the airbase. The heavy fire forced them behind a tiny wooden crate. Lucky for them, Hadir's plan was foolproof. He loaded just enough RC planes, and more. Alex took remote control of the RC planes.

Seeing their cover was so small, Alex immediately shielded her with himself, hugging her as tightly as he could to minimize their exposure. Alexis quickly reached for a Molotov but paused. A crafty smirk as she kicked around for the biggest piece of concrete she could throw. She looped a tactical rope over the rock.

"Take the southeast one, this one's mine!" She ordered, blindly nudging Alex's knees and pointed at the helicopter just 300 yards shy from their position.

"With a rock?" Alex bewilderedly asked, multitasking while controlling the RC planes.

"Mind your business, I'm a good shot. Remember Cairo...?" Alexis trailed off to close her right eye in concentration.

"Unfortunately."

She filtered through the comms, "Hadir! Watch this!"

Eyeing for the tail rotor (the weakest link in a helicopter), she used the length of the rope as torque, then released. The heavy weight of the rock propelled it forward, the rope entangled among the spinning blades before the block of concrete broke its spin. Small sparks ignited as the blades came in contact with the object. Within seconds, the tail rotor failed, causing the helicopter to spin uncontrollably.

It crashed into a flower of sparks and fire. Alex whistled lowly in admiration at the sight, a mumbled 'damn' escaping from his lips.

"What did I say about finding a big enough stone?"

"Well played, I guess you don't have to send me more books, Alexis!"

"Visual learner, then." Lady Luck certainly was shining down bright on her, blessing her with good timing and that majority was the work of the pilot's own anxiety. Not that she would ever tell. She winked at Alex, jerking her head at the other destroyed chopper.

A number of militia members also witnessed the fiasco, all shouting Arabic words of praises. Her stunt did wonders to renew their fighting spirits. They pushed right towards the first armory.

Alexis waited for the most apposite timing before sprinting to her next cover, flawlessly lodging bullets in the new waves of snipers on a hangar's roof. She spotted a distinct red building. "3-1, got eyes on the armory."

"Copy that, I see it too. Two tangos, let's drop 'em." They cleared the armory for reloading.

"Good work, both of you! Regroup outside! Tarmac is through the gate. Everyone to the gate!"

Alexis was a phoenix on the battlefield. Her presence mighty, fearless and deadly within a single shot. Years of experience flowing in her blood, every move was calculated and precise. One shot, one kill, she dropped targets effortlessly. She knew exactly where and when to shoot, throw a grenade or to advance. It was compelling to see her move.

It had been longer than five minutes and yet, their air support still was nowhere near them. She was growing impatient, this tarmac was the turning point vital for their success. As another round of hellfire rained down, more of their own got caught in the crossfire. They helplessly watched as grunts of pains called out, watching comrades pierced with rounds of ammunition dropped dead beside them.

"Saint to Watcher, we are taking heavy fire from enemy helis! Get us that air support, now!" The chopper was late, and the agent was furious watching others pay the price. She'd be damned if she cared if her tone was 'appropriate'.

Switching to a crawling position, a sudden pain shot from her arm. She groaned mid-shot, knowing the bandage came loose and her dive roll into the sand and dust did not help. She stayed to clear stragglers while the rest pushed through the barracks to advance further into the tarmac.

"Sister! The tarmac is ahead of us!"

"I see it! Brother, get us more planes in the air!" Hadir tried, but in a turn of events, the militia's safehouse was under attack.

Fuck. She didn't like how the tables were turning. They really needed that damn helo.

"My planes are down. We need air support. If you guys really want to help us, now is the time!" Hadir pleaded.

Alex nodded reassuringly, "We have a helo on the way! We're on our own until then! Where's the last armory?"

"In that hangar across the tarmac! We take it and the base is ours!"

"Roger that! Saint," Alex called for her. "Race you there."

"Rog." She replied lazily, pushing herself off the ground and charged to the next armory. "Let's end this."

Alexis ran past the second hangar, where Farah and her soldiers were successfully sweeping up the enemies. Catching her breath, she met an awaiting Alex outside the armory, a displayed triumphant smirk since he reached first.

Hushed whispers came from inside, revealing their headcount. In the same formation, they boosted each other on top of the armory to reach a latch. On the count of three, Alexis used all her strength to open the heavy latch door for Alex to snipe the three soldiers.

"Last armory is secure. Resupply on us." Alex commented. Both of them busied refilling their ammunition. She caught with ease as Alex tossed an unloaded sniper rifle. Her lips curved upwards approvingly. "A Windrunner...? You are too good to a lady, Echo 3-1..."

Alex watched her hands appreciatively glided along the .50 BMG's body with a grin, knowing it was her perfect weapon. Her happiness was short lived when the airbase power was cut off, leaving them in the dark. He shrugged as she returned it and left. Without a thermal scope, it was useless to them.

"I hear incoming!" Farah alerted as more tanks rolled up to the hangar. Alexis cursed, this was never ending without their helos.

"Shit! Alexis, we could really use some help here!"

Her comms sounded, "Echo 3-1, Viper 1-1 on approach. Ready for tasking. What's your position?"

'Oh hell yes', she thought, immediately ceasing fire and slumped on the ground to regain her energy.

"Viper, this is 3-1. God damn good to hear your voice!" Alex conveyed in relief. "Friendlies in the hangar, taking fire from troops on the tarmac. You are cleared hot!"

"Farah, Hadir! Get your people to stay inside the hangar!" Alexis shouted, pointing at the helo. The siblings nodded in gratitude.

"Saint to Viper, did you take a nap or something?" Alexis thought she recognized Viper's voice and callsign. Beside her, Alex almost had a cardiac arrest from her unexpected accusatory tone.

Instead, a chuckle came from the receiving end. "Saint! We ran into a little fuel situation at baseplate. How many times must I save your pretty ass?"

Alex glanced questionably. 'He had a crush' she mouthed, waving dismissively. Alex rolled his eyes in response, of course he did.

All of them remained in the hanger while Viper cleaned up. As they looked around, their headcount was drastically reduced. This sucked —she hated this part. The part where they paid the price, a hefty one, even for the victorious.

A sudden burst of gunfire shot into the hangar, barely missing the lot. "Jesus!" Alex commented, equally taken aback.

Alexis yelled into the comms, "Viper, do you mind doing a little landscaping – a tank right outside the hangar! Pretty sure we almost fucking died!"

"Copy. Anything for you, Saint." Alexis was about to call Viper out for his inappropriate comments, but since Viper was the one saving their asses, she stopped and settled for an unsatisfying eye-roll. From the annoyed expression, it was clear Alex felt the same.

After a few rockets and hellfire from Viper, they successfully claimed the airbase. "All targets destroyed. Tarmac is cleared of enemy movement, over." She looked to Farah, a warm smile slipping on the commander's face.

They won. They took the airbase and shoved it where it would hurt Barkov. Without air support, his army would face tremendous setbacks.

"Solid copy, Viper 1-1. Appreciate the high heat, don't be a stranger." Alex thanked.

"Never by choice, 3-1. Nice to hear from you again, Saint, hope to see you at the next one! Viper, out."

"Don't I know it! Echo and Saint, out." Alex interjected before she could even touch her comms.

Walking through the empty airbase, her adrenaline pumped at the sweet taste of victory. For Alex and her, victory was probably their only constant. The taste no longer revelled on their tongues the same way it used to —watered down after hundreds of missions. To them, today would have been just another victory tucked under their belts.

But for the Liberation Force, they were a step closer to freeing themselves from the cage Barkov ruthlessly shoved them in.

As Alexis, Alex, Hadir and Farah surveyed the scene of their victory, a once foreign feeling of contentment coursed through her veins. From the look on Alex's face and the way he ethnically perched his arm over her, he definitely felt that way too.

"So you do kill Russians." Hadir said jovially.

"Only the bad ones."

Hadir looked to them sincerely. "Today was a great victory for Urzikstan. Thank you, brother and sister."

"We make a good team." Alex passed a genuine smile, proud.

Alexis huffed, looping her arms around the siblings endearingly as if to stake her claim. Her uncharacteristic affection shocked him, even though he was aware of their history. "Welcome to the team, Alex."

Farah smiled. "Yes, we've bought time, but Barkov will retaliate."

"So will we." Hadir finished. They'd be more than ready.

They had no idea where this war was going to take them. However, one thing was for sure. When they were done with this assignment, Roman Barkov would be dead. It was a promise they swore upon.

Farah glanced at her team. After today, they were comrades.

a/n: sorry this was a very technical chapter. peep alex's silent jealous streak tho... masterlist here. want to be tagged? let me know!

[miss-m-calling]

Chocolate Box 2021 letter

Dear writer,

Hello and thank you for writing for me!

I’m Miss_M on AO3. For all requests, I am asking for fic.

My requests this year are: American Gods (TV), The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV), Starred Up (2013 movie), Witchblade (TV), and Бeсa ǀ Besa (TV)

General likes:

-pre-canon, canon, post-canon, canon-divergent, and missing-scene stories

-character-driven as well as plot-driven stories

-fics which mix humor and angst/serious business (when this fits the canon)

-characters at work and play

-group dynamics, family dynamics (including constructed families), professional partnerships, friendships, alliances, rivalries, intimate couples (new lovers/first times as well as long-term/established couples), UST-ridden couples who are not just UST-ridden but connected in other ways too

-irony, snark, humor, angst -- all arising from the characters rather than the plot crowbaring it in

-linear, non-linear, and 5+1 stories

-hopeful endings, happy endings, bittersweet endings, “everything is awful but you’re here and maybe I don’t entirely hate that” endings

-worldbuilding

-spiky characters who keep their jagged edges and spikiness in adversity as well as when their lives are going well, square-peg-in-round-hole characters, tough characters with (maybe not so well) hidden vulnerabilities, characters who are their own worst enemies, characters who manage to get over themselves when the occasion calls for it, characters with conflicting values which may or may not be reconciled/resolved, characters who treat each other with respect and as equals even if they hate/annoy/can’t stand/love to dislike each other, characters who may not be exactly friends and may well irritate one another but manage to rub along to get the job done and maybe even grow to care about one another (much to their surprise/reluctance/discomfort), characters who just cannot get along with each other or find common ground

-workplace stories (this can mean anything from an actual workplace/casefic/procedural setting to anything that revolves around the canon world in which the characters live) in which the characters get to be competent

Shippy and smutty likes:

-(where it fits the characters) banter

-competitiveness or antagonism shading into attraction (this tension need not be resolved)

-”oh god why did it have to be you what did I do to deserve this“

-”come here and say it to my face/do that again/kiss me, you motherfucker”

-bickering yet loving couples

-characters who are serious about their romantic interests

-characters who think they are much better at flirtation than they actually are

-characters forced to work together only to prove much more compatible than they initially assumed

-fics which mix an exploration of characters’ professional and everyday lives with shipping

-characters who are incompatible in some important way (they are ideological enemies, cop and criminal, spies from opposite sides, or there has been betrayal!!!), and while they love and/or want each other, they’re not willing to change sides or abandon/compromise their identity/beliefs for the other’s benefit

-I don’t know how better to phrase this than: smut which fits the characters; how does their canon dynamics spill over into hubba hubba stuff?

-sexual scenarios that subvert expectations a little and surprise the characters themselves

-sexual scenarios that contain an element of competition or antagonism

-"this is a bad idea but we’re going for it hammer and tongs”

-not wanting to admit feelings or show vulnerability except oops it happens anyway, whether the characters acknowledge it or not

-characters getting way more into the sex or being more affected by it than they thought they would

-quick and intense sex, slow and intense sex, rough yet willing sex (when it fits the characters), unexpectedly emotional and/or tender sex

-masturbation while thinking of the other half of the ship (or not wanting to think about them only oops there they are in the fantasy!)

-first time sex

-established relationship, we-know-each-other-so-well sex

-”we’ve both wanted this and now we both know it so here we go diving in headfirst” sex

-for het and/or slash, oral, vaginal, anal incl. pegging, manual (ifyouknowwhatImean) -- all is good. You can go as veiled or as explicit as you like, but please avoid excessive medical jargon – I don’t find a lot of mention of “penis” or “clit” sexy.

Ship/smut DNWs:

MPREG, A/B/O, knotting D/s, formalized BDSM, painful sex, hard kinks (holding someone down playfully, hair pulling and such like, the odd spank are a-OK) scat, watersports knife/gun/blood play incest deaging/infantilization, mommy/daddy kink under-16yos in sexual situations humiliation body distortion/horror (feeding/weight kink, come inflation, vore, etc.) unrequested ships/pairings soulmates and soul marks pregnancy and children (can be mentioned if canon, just don’t make the whole fic about them) wedding setting/theme secondary characters shipping the main pair like it’s their job xeno, tentacles, bestiality noncon/dubcon

Other DNWs:

torture and abuse (this and noncon/dubcon can be mentioned, but please don’t dwell on it in loving detail or subject any of my requested characters to it) descriptions of vomit, shit, and piss (”He pissed up against a tree” and the like is fine), toilet humor lots of gore/blood (mention it, yes; lovingly describe it, no), cannibalism, serious illness or injury character bashing genderswap/genderbent characters, characters as kids/young teens issuefic, gender/sexuality/race/ethnicity/religion/ability/identity headcanons death of requested characters hopeless, unrelenting gloom/angst/horror RL holiday setting/theme, RL religions as a major theme (invented fictional holidays and rituals are fine) reference to RL current events 1st and 2nd person POV unrequested crossovers or fusions AUs which have nothing to do with canon fic written in lapslock

FANDOMS:

American Gods (TV)

Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney

I ship it. Yes I do. They had me at “gimme-my-coin-dead-wife”-flicks-him-into-wall. The snarky road trip was the best thing I never knew I wanted until it happened, and I adored every second of it, not to mention the upped shippiness in S2. They’re both such assholes and so fascinating, even if they start to mellow toward each other a bit, and all the gods/magic/resurrection stuff swirling around them begs to be explored further. Also I love love love how their dynamic is about equal parts spikiness, pathos, and humor (they’re funny! and the canon doesn’t shy away from putting them in ludicrous situations), and it weaves seamlessly between those three. Plus she’s half his size yet can and does beat him up with literally one finger, and then there’s the angst of he having killed her, feeling really guilty about it, and then bringing her back. And the way that their New Orleans adventure makes clear they have feelings for each other but neither wants to admit it. And and and… yeah, I just love them.

Even if some of my prompts are about stuff that’s addressed or hinted at in canon, feel free to diverge – canon divergences and canon-adjacent stories are my jam, as are missing scenes and post-canon stories! Also, I’ve read the book, so feel free to riff on that if you want.

Canon-specific DNWs: Laura as Essie or Sweeney's wife's reincarnation/descendant or lots of comparing her to them, Sweeney staying dead, any S3 spoilers.

Exception to blanket DNW about blood/gore/bodily fluids: describing the physical decay of the living undead (undead? there but for the grace of magic coins dead?) is fine!

Prompts:

-Laura discovers (how? you decide!) that Sweeney gave her back the coin after their accident – whatever happens next, some punching may be involved.

-Wednesday’s big war finally comes, and “don’t you dare die on me [again], you asshole” is a line either Sweeney or Laura (or both) might say to each other.

-Laura asked “What does Wednesday have to lose?” and the answer is…? (Yes, give me that sweet poetic justice. One possibility, though not remotely the only one, but as of S2E3 Laura is technically a god-killer...) Or later when she straight-up says she’s going to kill Wednesday, but is warned to bring power with her when she does, how does that work? How else might she damage Wednesday or ruin his plans, just in case she can’t actually kill him?

-At the end of S2, Laura hoists Sweeney’s dead body over her shoulders and strides off, seemingly leaving Cairo, Shadow, and all of it behind. Tell me what happens then – does she use Baron Samedi’s potion to bring him back, and whose is the blood filled with love she uses (does she still bleed? You could get creative here, worldbuilding is also my jam)? Does her/his coin play a part – and how come the coin still “powers” Laura despite Sweeney’s death? Does she bring him back another way, maybe figuring out how to keep herself around and be able to give Sweeney back his coin? Does he come back like she did, more undead than alive, or does his godhead, however depleted, help with that? That still leaves Laura to be fully resurrected too… Or does something completely out of left field happen – surprise me!

-Possible divergences from “Treasure of the Sun”: Sweeney manages to kill Wednesday, and then Laura rolls up, and then…? Or Laura rolls up and makes like Mama-Ji told her – destroys some motherfuckers? Or Sweeney gets killed temporarily but Laura brings him back, or brings herself back, or does something else with the Baron’s potion, and is Sweeney’s blood the one filled with love, or can we interpret voodoo spells in a non-literal way? Or what happens with Gungnir hidden in Sweeney’s hoard? And definitely how do they deal with each other once they meet up in Cairo, given how they parted in New Orleans?

-Or how about a wild divergence from the last several episodes of S2? Sweeney and Laura manage to settle their differences (ahem, more fucking, on this plane of reality, might help) and don’t part ways before leaving NOLA. Or they roll up in Cairo separately but at the same time, and confront Wednesday together, and neither of them die (or die more, in her case). Or they’re there together when the police nearly raid the house. Or they have Wednesday (the ultimate cause of Laura’s death) and Ibis (a death deity) and Bilquis (a love/death/life deity) on hand, surely they can concoct some kind of resurrection thingamajig for Laura, and if they have to twist some divine arms then so be it. Or or or…?

-Wednesday told that luckless cop that Sweeney had been against the big gods’ war from the start, and while Wednesday lies, what if Sweeney decided much sooner to say to hell with Grimnir and his war and his having Sweeney kill random people? I’m guessing Sweeney too drank three glasses of mead so he can’t back out without dire consequence – but he does have a fierce, dead woman in his corner.

-They go to some as-yet-unnamed old god (feel free to bring in whatever mythology you want) in order to bring Laura back to life. Between Sweeney’s mouth and temper, and Laura’s mouth and temper, it doesn’t go well. Now one or both of them are in big magical trouble with a pissed-off deity and have to get themselves/each other out of it. Speaking of other deities, I really enjoyed their brief canon interactions with Ostara, Anansi, and Mama-Ji, and I’d like to see more of that, especially Ostara’s polite yet over-it attitude, Anansi very obvious over-it attitude and his dramatic flair, or Mama-Ji being one of the few capable of giving Laura pause.

-All the petty, ridiculous ways in which Sweeney’s bad luck manifests itself make me laugh (can’t help it, won’t even try), and I’m down for more variations on that theme.

-Sweeney and Laura fighting together, like they did on Mr. Town’s train of torture. Whether it’s a bar fight of their own making, or the big gods’ war they find themselves embroiled in, or something else entirely.

-Things happen and Laura finds herself in the position to throw Sweeney under the bus but also help/save him, and while he knows it’s only karma (he did kill her way back when), he can still be pissed off about it – how do they navigate this?

-Related to that, the Baron said: “In death is her true love, but she betrays him also.” If that meant Sweeney, or can mean Sweeney in the future (I don’t like destiny-wills-it stories, and they’re definitely not there yet, but they could maybe get there at some future point, and even then It Would Be Complicated), was the betrayal Laura rejecting him after the loa ‘fuck them,’ or is it something that hasn’t happened yet, and if so, what?

-Laura gets fully alive again, but traces of her (un)dead state remain – what are they, how does she cope, what price did she/he/they have to pay for her resurrection, and how does their relationship change? I’d especially be curious how it would work if they’re already a sorta-maybe-item and then she’s alive again and it’s weird in a new way.

-For reasons I’ll leave up to you, Sweeney and Laura have to stay put in a single place for a while and end up essentially cohabiting, regardless of what their relationship is at that point. Take “cohabiting” as literally or as creatively as you want – in any case, I’m sure it will be marvelously disastrous and amazing. If the place they have to stay happens to be NOLA, all the better, I find everything about that city fascinating. Or, if you wanted to use book canon, Laura and Sweeney (rather than Shadow) are the ones who have to spend time living in Lakeside and deal with its creepy Norman Rockwell-ness and with Hinzelmann.

-Slight or major AU from the opening of “The Ways of the Dead”: Laura has hitchhiked with Sweeney instead of going off in a huff with Wednesday, or she otherwise gets to New Orleans sooner, and she and Sweeney tear up the town together. Maybe they even cross the paths of some loa and it doesn’t get all angsty. They were actually getting along nicely in those first couple of scenes in NOLA, only ribbing each other a little while still being their grouchy selves, before they got to Le Coq Noir. I wouldn’t have minded seeing some more of that.

-AU from the end of “The Ways of the Dead”: they still have their big fight (which was amazing as well as painful) or some variation thereof, but they don’t split up. (Maybe the reason is as mundane as Sweeney refusing to get left behind or they have a shared ride out of town, or maybe the more time passes the less Sweeney can afford to be far from his coin – or maybe the coin needs him close by to work at full capacity.) And then what?

-All the old gods hide their true appearance to an extent. A situation arises in which Laura sees Sweeney’s true, or at least old, self. Or Wednesday’s war ends in victory, meaning the old gods again get belief, worship, and sacrifices. How does Laura, the ultimate skeptic even when she’s on the other side of the mirror, react? How does this new knowledge and new reality change her opinion of/attitude to Sweeney? Or to flip that around, if Sweeney were again relevant and believed-in, would that actually change his bad attitude and fix his issues (my guess is it would be complicated)? On that note, Sweeney’s decline from Lugh to king to leprechaun was more sketched in than really explored in canon, ditto I didn’t really get why he couldn’t seem to remember his own history except in snatches (the curse that made him a bird/madman of the woods?) – I’d love to see more about it and his (not) dealing with it, or with a reversal of that decline. Eorann told him long ago to adapt and change with the times – but what does that mean after humpteen centuries in a rut and becoming used to always feeling angry and unappreciated?

-The power of names, since they never use each other’s in canon: for all his “dead wifeing,” there comes a time when Sweeney (has to) call her by her actual name, and that’s a tricky moment for them to navigate. Or, Mad Sweeney is not his actual name, and true names have great magical power and so must be kept secret; Laura discovers or learns his name, from someone else or from himself; what does she do with that knowledge? Or, Sweeney gets to say “cunt” in a situation (sexual or otherwise) where, not only does Laura not peel his lips from his gums, but she finds that she can’t object, even though she knows that he knows that he’s getting away with it.

-They’re both so complicated and contradictory and spiky, but they also start to care and rely on each other - and react really badly when they (think the other one) betrayed them. I would like to see those nuances explored some more and/or to see Laura and Sweeney get to a point where they trust each other and rely on each other, and know it and accept it, however difficult the getting there and being there may be for them.

-Sweeney and Laura get drunk and wake up married. Or some sex and/or blood resurrection spell results in basically an unbreakable marriage bond, whether it also secures resurrection or not. Or marrying the dead keeps them (sorta) alive. Or being married makes it possible for them to share magical/supernatural abilities. They’re both pissed about it, but secretly having to make it work may not be the worst thing that’s ever happened...

-My perfect AG spinoff would basically be Sweeney and Laura tooling around America, looking to get her resurrected (whether they succeed or not is up to you), stealing ever more ridiculous vehicles, arguing/fighting and having those pesky moments where vulnerability and genuineness creep in – and fucking. So yessiree I’d be down for porn, including “it’s technically necrophilia/zombiesex” porn, including a canon-divergent first time, or their second time, or all the later times after they had their first time in NOLA in canon.

-If you wanted to throw in some worldbuilding, maybe something exploring living death. Magical bargains. What kind of favor did Sweeney do for Ostara that would be worth her bringing someone back to life as repayment? What other powers might Sweeney have – or have left from when he was Lugh? How long can a dead wife keep going before she’s “soup”? What other superhuman abilities might dead!Laura have? Can the dead do magic? What even are the rules governing and the limits of different beings’ magical abilities? For example, why can’t Sweeney just take his coin back, or why does Laura gain super-strength as part of her undead package deal? Is the hoard in the same space as the behind-the-scenes accessed through the merry-go-round, or it’s a different place? Why does the coin seem to start to “run down” the longer Laura has it? Why did Wednesday need Laura to kill Argus when he killed Vulcan himself just fine? What happens with Gungnir now it’s in the hoard – can only Sweeney get to it, has it been transformed somehow (it’s now the treasure of the sun), etc.?

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)

Lenny Bruce/Miriam “Midge” Maisel/Susie Myerson

Lenny Bruce & Miriam “Midge” Maisel & Susie Myerson

Lenny Bruce/Miriam “Midge” Maisel & Miriam “Midge” Maisel/Susie Myerson

I’m here for Midge’s adventures in the intoxicating, foul-mouthed, and often-frustrating world of comedy, so her dynamic with Susie and Lenny is where it’s at. Shippy or platonic, I just love the interactions between these three, and between every pair combination among them: Midge and Susie bantering and swearing and tits-upping even when they irritate each other, Midge and Lenny bringing the pathos as well as the humor, and Lenny and Susie both being hardened old pros with still a little glimmer of starry eyes. I am good with L/M/S or L&M&S or L/M & M/S – so, if you go the shippy route, either a V-shaped triad or hey, Susie (whom I absolutely read as gay) might find a way to be good with a full-on triangle… If you want to keep it platonic, True Companions all the way, always there for each other, even when they want to strangle each other. And as much as I like the comedy inherent in the characters, I also love that they’re all three, each in their own way, messed up people and dysfunctional to various degrees. So yeah, I just want Midge to hand the kids over to her parents, ditch Joel once and for all, marry (interpret that as literally or as loosely as you want) both Susie and Lenny, and for the three of them to ride off into the sunset to make comedy history.

Canon-specific DNWs: explicit sex (so nothing above M rating for sex), pairing any two as a / couple with the third as a & hanger-on, Lenny can still be his RL messed-up, drugged-up self – albeit the gentler version the show gives us – but I don’t want him dying if your fic is set in 1966 or after.

Prompts (most of these are from before S3 dropped, feel free to work with canon or diverge however you see fit -- I am all caught up with S3):

-Does Susie manage them both? Does Midge open for Lenny on tour? Does he open for her??? Or they become equal stars on the comedy circuit?

-Maybe Lenny joins Shy Baldwin’s tour, or they run into him while touring Europe or the US, or after Shy fires Midge, Midge and Susie cobble together a Midge-only tour of America and keep crossing Lenny’s own touring path, and they all tool around, and yes I would love as much period detail and geography porn as you can throw at me. And while Lenny and Midge have seen the world, Susie hasn’t – her reaction to different foods, languages, customs, landscapes would be spectacular to witness. Especially if “different” is someplace as close to New York as Jersey or Connecticut, or someplace as far away and different as, say, Japan.

-If they do go to Europe, somehow or other they also tour the Soviet Bloc. Cue culture clashes, getting followed (or thinking they’re being followed) by the secret police, getting hammered on vodka and herring and pickles, and then when they get back to the States, the Feds grill them. It’s all dead serious, and Midge and Lenny refuse to take it as seriously as they should, while Susie is trying but the whole thing is really pissing her off…

-Lenny’s burned out, and Midge is just getting started. This dissonance may or may not find some sort of resolution. One thing’s for sure: Susie has limited patience for both Lenny’s depression and Midge’s need to make everything pretty.

-Instead of going to Joel for a no-way-is-that-closure fling after the Steve Allen Show taping, Midge goes to have a drink or seven with the two people who have, in their own ways, always been there for her and never let her down.

-Midge goes on TV again, this time as the star: longer set, prime time slot, dressing room, the works. She’s dying of nerves. Lenny and Susie coach her through it.

-More radio work to make ends meet in between gigs: hilaribad period ads, hilaribad radio drama, running all over town to be on time, getting paid in all kinds of dubious merch…

-Midge and Susie head out west to make it big and stay with Lenny once they’re in Los Angeles, and it’s marvelous (ha ha) and disastrous in equal measure.

-More of Susie being the hypercompetent manager we saw especially in S3! (And please don’t dwell on her gambling problem, I was not a fan.)

-They all three get drunk, maybe with a hint of sadness if it’s the holidays (you can ignore my DNW about holidays, but please let that be just the background, not the lynchpin of the story) or someone’s birthday, and there’s a bar fight, running from the cops, eating greasy food at ass o’clock, and possibly kissing, not necessarily in that order.

-One or two or all three of them get arrested/have court appearances all over America and have to bail each other out, or find someone to bail them all out, or secure legal counsel – you get the drift. Or all three of them are trying to explain to a single lawyer what happened, talking over each other, the two pros not being able to resist landing zingers and Susie not being far behind, and the lawyer just getting more and more confused.

-They get in trouble some other way – offended patrons, surly management, shitty hotels, tour bus breaks down in the middle of Wyoming – and have to have each other’s backs because no one else will.

-Three-person road trip or tour, and only Susie knows how to drive. So Midge decides to learn, right then and there. And Lenny… Lenny may or may not be too lazy/hungover/lying about not knowing how. There’s supposed to be a rotation so everyone gets to stretch out on the back seat for equal lengths of time, but you know the system doesn’t work too well in practice. Also, they play games in the car to while away the time, and they do it their own way of course: I spy, cows on my side, yellow car, never have I ever, 20 questions, or riffing on whatever’s playing on the radio…

-They sit down to watch the moon landing (you can move it up a bit so it’s not happening a whole decade after S2) – by which I mean, Midge is all gung-ho about the moon landing, and Lenny and Susie are like whatever – and things don’t quite go to plan, but a good time is eventually had by all.

-It’s Yom Kippur again, and Midge wants to do the whole production: synagogue, breaking fast, the lot. Lenny and Susie would rather eat glass. Midge gets her way, of course. Does she decide to bring Susie and Lenny home to meet – or meet properly – her parents??? I bet Abe and Rose’s reactions would be something to see. (This too is an exception to my DNW about holiday settings – I just want stuff to get as crazy as it did the two times we saw Yom Kippur celebrated on the show, and for everything to still somehow turn out relatively OK.)

-Midge and Lenny have cheered each other up when the going got extra rough. I want for Susie to be especially down in the dumps – maybe her boozehound of a mother died and Susie took it worse than she does in canon, maybe some asshole told her she’s a shit manager and got her right in her insecurities – and Midge to rope Lenny into trying to cheer her up. And for Susie to fight them every step of the way but still be glad they care enough to try.

-Inspired by Susie’s brother looking just like her, by which I mean she and he and their sister look nothing alike, and by Lenny’s “she’s my mother” quip about Midge at the TV studio and then his “let me introduce my wife or maybe my sister” in Miami – Midge, Susie, and Lenny pretend to all be blood relatives, or mafiosi, or spies, or something else they’re not, while out in public, say in a restaurant. Just to be assholes and see how long they can keep it going before they break character or people figure them out, or call the cops, or something. There’s totally a bet on who corpses and breaks character first. Or, nice hotels ca. 1960 weren’t very big on letting unmarried couples, let alone threesomes stay in rooms together – pretending to be family might make that easier; forgetting what they’re meant to be to each other, or mixing up their backstories might make it harder. This could also work platonically, if they’re trying to save money by only getting one room, there only being one free room in the hotel, or for any other screwball reason you can invent.

-Lenny and Midge do a (comeback) tour of the Borscht Belt, and all the Steiner Mountain Resort guests (especially the gossipy old hens from the beauty salon) and staff go to see them – and heckle.

-Stuff happens and they end up performing at some hole in the wall place where no one knows who they are (or no one believes it’s really those people they’ve seen on TV) – tough crowd, but a good workout for the two comics, and if Susie gets to threaten to rip off someone’s head, all the better.

-Lenny and Midge honing their routines – and maybe developing a double act – and Susie being all “oh my fucking god, what the fuck!!! … They’re actually good. I’m so proud.”

-Sharing a bed with two other people is an ongoing project: who sleeps (or refuses to sleep) in the middle? Who gets up during the night and why? Who starfishes across most of the bed? Who snores, and how does this get handled? If alcohol or pot have happened, how does that affect the sleeping arrangements? Also, Susie and Lenny witness and react to Midge’s beauty routine, ‘nuff said. Or, for various reasons one person after another ends up decamping to another room/bed/couch, but it doesn’t help them get much sleep or even stay there very long (this is inspired by my love of Shirley Jackson and her short story/humorous essay “The Night We All Had Grippe”). If you prefer to keep it platonic, most of this would work if they’re just sharing a double bedroom on tour (I leave the reason for why Lenny is bunking with the women up to you).

Starred Up (2013 movie)

Oliver Baumer/Eric Love

Yes I do ship it, I do, I do!

Ahem. Don’t get me wrong, I liked what the movie did with the father-son relationship and its influence on both men’s character development – but I really wish they hadn’t got Oliver out of the action before the story’s climax (not like that!). The final denouement with Love father and Love son was great, as was the hint at the end that Eric learned something in anger-management group and has a support network that will help him a lot. But. I would have wanted to see more of the intriguing dynamic between Eric the intelligent, semi-feral, yet not-incorrigible, young thug and Oliver the educated, dedicated, kind yet aware of his own potential for violence (what was he on about with “I need to be here”?), slightly older counselor. They had me at Oliver’s “I want him” and Eric later telling his father that Oliver’s a better man than Love Sr. Also the not-flirting and the push-pull in the scene when Oliver picks up Eric from his cell - yowza!

Exception to blanket DNW: dubcon is a-okay! If you decide to go there, my preferred flavors of dubcon for this canon are: power differential makes it a bad idea but they do it anyway; “I know you want this”; “if the answer’s no/you’re only doing this for a dare or to prove a point, then why are you enjoying this so much [as am I]?”; no no yes a.k.a. starts as dubcon (or one of them thinks they’re dubconning the other), becomes enthusiastic consent. 

Also, if this is relevant or makes you nervous about writing for me, Eric would be 18-19, and Oliver is maybe 10-12 years older – and I like it!!! (The actors were 22 and 31 when the movie was made, FWIW.)

Prompts:

-I would love to see Oliver return to holding his group in prison, so the two of them can interact more, either in the movie’s immediate aftermath or years down the line, as it’s implied that Eric will be serving a long sentence. Give me more scenes from anger management or the ribald, honest, free-flowing conversations in group, either with the other men present (I liked Hassan and Tyrone especially, among the group members) or a one-on-one session.

-An oblique or open-but-undramatic admission/declaration that they both know there’s something there, even if they don’t know what to do with it. Or, one or both of them knows exactly what to do with it, and the push-pull that would result from that.

-Dirty talk: used for arousal, as a defense mechanism, as a form of flirtation. Eric using slurs to assert dominance, and Oliver not letting him hide behind profanity, when he can use colorful language to express emotion and/or sexual interest. There could definitely be some verbal taunting/flirting about who wants/is eager to do what or is good at doing something. There may be some sniping comments about logistics and (lack of) condoms and barebacking and what men get up to in prison. There probably wouldn’t be deep discussions about sexual identity.

-An emergency in the prison requires a lock-down, so Oliver gets temporarily stuck in Eric’s cell or another room with only Eric for company. Things get porny and/or emotional.

-Eric is eventually released (you can handwave this so it happens soon after the movie or have it happen years later) and crashes with Oliver while he adjusts to the outside world. You guessed it: things get porny and/or emotional.

-How do they get to the point where both can cross that line from friends/whatever the hell they are and become, to lovers? (There’s Eric’s personal history and general discomfort with vulnerability, plus all the ways prison sex can be or make things complicated, and if it helps, I headcanon Oliver as either gay or bi and at least somewhat closeted, at work especially.) Who initiates and “directs traffic”? How does their always-contentious dynamic shift during and after sex? Is the sex an isolated (series of) occasion(s), or a progression/escalation over multiple encounters (how would I love especially an escalating series of encounters, let me count the ways)? Eric might seem like the logical initiator and/or dominant partner as well as using the possibility of sex to manipulate and exert control, but then Oliver might (or might not!) surprise him and is definitely the one more in touch with himself as well as aware of his custodial duty toward the men in the group.

-At some point in their intimate relationship (probably not right at the start, and probably not in prison, though if you can make it happen in prison, more power to you!), Oliver decides he’s going to take his sweet time and make Eric fall absolutely apart with pleasure, while using dirty talk to both arouse and empower Eric to own his desires – by that point, Eric is in a place where he can let that happen and enjoy it, even if he still talks tough.

-Or how about this: Eric gets out, relationship happens or is in the process of being negotiated, and while physical intimacy is a whooooole neeeeeew woooorld, you know what else would be cool? Phone sex. Yep. Or even, Eric gets himself one of those secret prison burner phones (preferably hidden somewhere that’s not someone’s arse), and… phone sex after lights-out and lock-down. Maybe nothing (much) has happened physically (yet), so phone sex can be a building block to that or one facet of that deepening intimacy.

Witchblade (TV) Sara Pezzini/Danny Woo

Sara Pezzini & Danny Woo

I used to love this show back in the day, and loved it again in all its hokey gloriousness when I rewatched it recently. Sara figuring things out and being a principled badass, but maybe out of her depth with the Witchblade, and her dynamic with Danny, whether he's a ghost or alive, it’s all catnip to me. Sara is not extremely quippy, she has a job to do dammit! and don’t look at her vulnerable side, just don’t look at it!, and I love that about her (she’s much harsher in S1, after Danny’s death, than in S2); ditto that Danny is somewhat softer than she is, but still can hold his own thanksverymuch (well, when the plot doesn’t require him to get nabbed by bad guys) and has a bit of a deadpan snarker side too. I’d love something that plays around with their canon dynamic from either season, or uses canon as just a starting point. Gen is good, shippy (incl. porny) is good. Some of my prompts lean dark or horror-y, so don’t be shy about going there; I’d also enjoy a story in which the Witchblade itself ends up not being very significant (say, they start to investigate a possibly mystical case and then nope, plain murder). BTW I really like Conchobar too, so if you want to include him (that means also Conchobar Lives AUs), his relationship (current or past) with Sara, or his canonical death somehow, go for it!

Canon-specific DNWs: Irons and any version of Nottingham appearing (you can mention them if you need to).

Exception to blanket DNW: dubcon is fine (see first prompt).

Prompts:

-The Witchblade is more parasitic than symbiotic, and instead of Sara learning to control it, its feeding on Sara affects her more and more over time. Or, the visions and dreams ramp up into full-blown paranoia and/or disassociation. The Witchblade's POV, maybe (it is sentient)? Asking for help is the hardest thing for someone like Sara, but what are (more than) friends for? I’d also enjoy a dubcon scenario where Sara really shouldn’t be having sex when her head is all messed up by the Witchblade’s influence, but… well… they do. The Witchblade canonically enjoys violence and bloodshed perpetrated by its wearers, so it stands to reason that it might lower other inhibitions too.

-Witchblade v. mythological monsters. In S1, even with everything else that's going on, Sara absolutely scoffs at the possibility of vampires. So of course I want: Witchblade v. vampires! The scarier and more feral, the better. Or, it's implied that the Witchblade was forged from a meteorite, so it's basically an eldritch artefact from outer space. Yes, please lean all the way into the Lovecraftian tropes! (The moon is turning red, the Old Ones are back, it’s the end of the world as we know it, but Sara’s got her partner by her side.) Or something from Chinese mythology, so Danny can kick extra ass. Or, for a silly take on Chinese culture: Sara and Danny in the world of Big Trouble in Little China (another old fave of mine, the entire plot of which revolves around… a woman with green eyes and an unwanted connection to the supernatural).

-The Witchblade has a reputation for abandoning its wearers just when they need it the most. True to form, it slips off of Sara’s fist, leaving her and Danny to save themselves with good old-fashioned guns, fisticuffs, martial arts, and of course having each other’s back.

-More of the psychedelic-ness in many of Sara’s fight scenes, where now she’s a woman in a leather jacket with a gauntlet on her arm, now she’s a knight in armor! Now her opponent is human, now he’s a wolf-shaped spirit of evil and hatred! Playing around with the characters’ senses and perceptions – yes!

-Instead of seeing only Danny and needing him to play intermediary for Sara to talk to other ghosts, the Witchblade makes Sara see ghosts all over the place, and it's getting to her. Ghost!Danny may or may not help with that. Or, ghost!Danny is basically always around, whether Sara can see him or not. He manifests when Sara is masturbating, and you can't really feel guilty if the ghost of your dead partner whom you’ve always had a thing for helps you out, and anyway you’re probably going crazy and none of this is real, so it doesn’t count anyway... right?

-Case fic/stakeouts and banter. Flirting/ribbing/joshing to pass the long and stressful days at work.

-Quick and guilty sex because Danny's married. Slow and intense sex if handwave he's not married but “oh noes we’re partners, we shouldn’t be doing this, but somehow we keep doing it anyway.” Hooking up in the car. I've always headcanoned that they had a thing pre-canon which ended for Reasons, but they both kinda wish it hadn't, hence the hand kissing, and the “I can’t even touch you,” and the coffee bringing/stealing, etc. So feel free to play around with that.

-Undercover as married, undercover as a gangster and his moll (LOL at Sara as a moll, or have Sara as the gangster and Danny as her arm candy), undercover as “they think we’re fucking, better fake it real good for the people listening in, oops shit got real fast, careful don’t say each other’s real name or you’ll blow your cover.”

-More timey-wimey shenanigans with the Witchblade. Maybe it allows Sara to manipulate time more than once. Maybe she starts doing it way too often, throwing the continuum out of whack (something non-linear would be very interesting). Maybe she and/or Danny remember some or all of what happened in S1. Something about all the multiverse versions of them, possibly splitting off from a dramatic moment. Time loops and feelings are a combustible mix.

-Apart from the pretty obvious shippiness, what I like about S1 especially is how Sara rolls with the weirdness the Witchblade has brought into her life, instead of reaching for rational explanations. More of that (I can't think of a better way to put it), and double extra brownie points if alive!Danny figures out at least some of what's going on with Sara's bracelet and somehow gets in on the action. Maybe a Danny saves the day divergence? Or how about a loophole that allows a man close to the Witchblade's wearer to wield it temporarily, but There Is a Price to Pay.

Бeсa ǀ Besa (TV)

Dardan Berisha/Petrit Koci

Skënder Berisha & Petrit Koci

Teuta Berisha/Petrit Koci

Divna Dukić/Petrit Koci

Petrit Koci/Marija Perić

Petrit Koci/Uroš Perić

My longest of long-shot requests! If you already know and like this canon, yeeees come sit with me. If you don’t know it, here’s a quick intro: this is a crime drama, one 12-episode season so far, produced in Serbia and created by Tony Jordan of “Hustle” fame. Set in (and with a cast including actors from) several ex-Yugoslav states, the story follows three main characters: a Serbian family man and regular joe who accidentally kills the daughter of a major Kosovar Albanian crime boss in a car accident; said Albanian crime boss who coerces his daughter’s unwitting killer to start working for him as an assassin; and a half-Albanian, half-Serbian Interpol agent (Petrit Koci) who’s after the crime boss but starts investigating the regular joe turned assassin as well.

The show has a twisty plot, gritty and handsome visuals, excellent performances, and a great through-line of deconstructing Balkan machismo and patriarchal culture. All three of the main characters have an image of themselves as MEN who Provide and/or Take Care of Business and Put Family First, each in their own way, and all three end up compromising on all their principles by season’s end. The women in the show’s ‘verse sometimes become collateral damage but also assert themselves in unexpected ways, which is great. The title refers to the Albanian (but more broadly, Balkan) cultural concept that one’s promise/vow/word of honor has to be kept and carried out no matter what, at peril of losing face, dishonoring both oneself and one’s family, even death. This gets deconstructed five ways from Sunday too, and it is awesome.

If you glance at the pairings I’m requesting, I think you can guess who my favorite character is. :-) Koci is so committed to being the “good sheriff” and carrying out his professional duty regardless of whom he has to piss off along the way, but is also often quite ineffectual because the local police forces with which he has to cooperate tend to resent both his attitude and his ethnic background – not to mention that when everyone’s corrupt and compromised, the man who refuses to play the game makes lots of enemies. He’s also a real hard-ass who made a conscious choice long ago to have nothing in his life but his work, is a bit of a bastard, has a huge blind spot about gender which comes back to bite him, and ultimately is driven by a desire for personal vendetta more than an abstract commitment to justice (I love a character who is super focused on their goal and presents themselves as invulnerable, yet whose insecurities and traumas are always just beneath the surface of what drives them). And yes, by the end of the season he’s presented with a Faustian bargain and gets a huge target on his back. There’s a lot to unpack there!

I will eat up any local color you want to throw in. Ditto, the canon is super intense, but if you find a way to bring in some vintage Balkan pitch-black humor, I’m here for it. If you wanted to include some dialogue or phrases or hey write the whole fic in any variation of what used to be called Serbo-Croatian, I’m here for that with bells on! (Unless you’re writing smut – I just can’t with E-rated prose in Slavic languages, sorry.) Alas, I do not read Albanian, but if you want to include dialogue/phrases in it, go for it, so long as you tell me (in parentheses, in footnotes, whatever works) what’s going on.

Canon-specific DNW: soapboxing about Balkan history/conflicts/ethnic relations (the characters can clash about this, use stereotypes, etc. – I just don’t want the fic to be an excuse for the writer’s hot takes, ‘kay?)

Exceptions to blanket DNWs: RL current events being mentioned + dubcon *but* for M/F ships I want both characters to be motivated by anger/revenge/general existential bleakness/whathaveyou instead of or as well as lust, so just no M/f dubcon, please!

Prompts:

-Any of my requested pairings in any kind of casefic, either a divergence, something pre- or post-canon, or a side investigation spinning off from the canon’s central plot. Anything that requires Koci to again traipse all over former Yugoslavia, butt heads with everyone, interrogate people, and do that soft-spoken “you don’t want to give me what I want but you’ll do it anyway” thing he does along the way. 

-Something that requires Koci to use his knowledge of Albanian language and culture even more than in canon. I love how the canon depicts the existential discomfort of never fully fitting into – or being accepted by – either of the cultures/communities to which one has a connection, and how a person can become antagonistic and volatile as a result. Leaning into that would be wonderful.

-Koci has devoted his whole life to bringing down the Berisha clan. With the help or hindrance of any of the other requested characters, he finally gets his wish. Now what?

-Maybe the other character has to turn to Interpol for help/becomes a material witness/gets arrested/enters witness protection, or otherwise has to do teeth-clenched teamwork with Koci. For / pairings, the shippiness doesn’t have to be overt -- antagonism, barely finding common ground, something that reads more like gen or shippy gen than explicit shippiness is fine! If the relationship turns porny, the antagonism (I keep using that word because it fits!) and complicated dynamics and maybe a reluctant recognition that they’re not so different would perpetuate themselves in the porn too, and I’m here for it.

-A few words about the other characters and how they (could) fit with Koci:

Uroš Perić – the regular joe turned assassin, who gets multiple chances in the course of the show to seek Koci’s help and doesn’t because he gets in deep and wants to be the guy that protects his family and takes care of everything himself. I keep thinking back to their very first scene, when Koci gives Perić his calling card and tells him to get in touch, and Perić could have done that before he committed his first murder but… didn’t. And then at the end, there’s that huge spoiler setting up S2. Despite becoming a murderer several times over, Perić is a much softer character than Koci, but he doesn’t like getting pushed around either. How would they work together, how would they clash?

Marija Perić – Uroš’s Croatian wife, who has the thankless role of being married to the guy who’s keeping her in the dark about major plot developments, but makes up for it with how she reacts to the hints she gets of Uroš’s continuing troubles as well as getting on Koci’s radar. She’s scared and out of her depth, but she’s also angry and, yep, antagonistic when she thinks Interpol is harassing her for no reason. I love the scene where Koci interrogates her and she lashes out and won’t give him an inch even when he blindsides her with evidence of her husband’s activities – more of that kind of thing, please! Or what if she decided to protect herself and her kids by cooperating with Interpol, or maybe thought she could help Uroš by turning on him?

Divna Dukić – Koci’s Interpol colleague and maybe the only character that likes him. Their dynamic is both very professionally respectful and yet… “flirtatious” may be too strong a word. They pretty obviously have a little thing for each other but choose not to act on it for a whole mess of reasons (he’s an emotional disaster area, she has enough on her plate as a single mom with a shitty ex, they work together). Also, I have a theory that Divna, while seeming loyal, may take her marching orders from one of the criminal elements or maybe from the more corrupt parts of Interpol or the Serbian police. I would love any or all of that to get explored more.

Dardan Berisha – the grieving crime boss and main target of Koci’s obsession (even though it was actually Dardan’s old uncle Skënder who had Koci’s father killed decades earlier). They’re both such hard, intense men, in part because they’ve had to be, and the narrative sets them up as mirror images of each other (while Uroš Perić is more a study in how someone becomes hard when circumstances push them to it). Yet while their conflict underpins the whole show, they rarely share a scene. Put them together more; let them fight or y’know *waggles eyebrows*.

Teuta Berisha – Dardan’s wife, who first loses her daughter, and by the end of the season her family is totally blown to smithereens, in part because of how she chooses to assert her agency within the super-patriarchal context in which she lives. She was ambivalent about her marriage before we meet her, and I love how canon events bring out her anger, grief, and quiet steeliness. Also, that moment at her daughter’s funeral when Koci gives her his condolences really hit me – they know they are enemies, but there’s that moment of standoffish respect between them. What if somehow they had to work together? Or what if she took over as the head of either the Berisha or the Sokoli clan (or both!)? A divergence from the end or any part of S1 would be very welcome.

Skënder Berisha -- Dardan’s uncle who still wields enormous influence in the Berisha clan and was behind the assassination of Koci’s father decades earlier. I only want this as a & pairing, but the character dynamic is still one of difficult shared history, knee-jerk antagonism, goading humor, not being at all intimidated by each other, and yet recognizing something familiar in each other. One of my favorite scenes from the whole show is their conversation at the hospital, in which they cover both present troubles and the past. Skënder is one of the few characters who can and does consistently run rings around Koci, and I want more of that as much as I want the tables turned.

[justcairo]

Running into the twilight

Feet pounding on dirt

Will put up a fight

Jagged tears in my cotton shirt

Felt the wind whipping my face

Feeling so distraught

An eternal chase

I fight, I'm fighting, we fought.

~Cairo

[indiagoldentriangles]

Delhi, Agra, Jaipur and Udaipur Tour by Car - 5N6D by India Golden Triangles Company.

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Day 1: Delhi arrival Summary of the Itinerary Our agent will meet you at the airport when you arrive in Delhi and take you to your accommodation. You can rest and recuperate following check-in before starting your city excursion.

What to Do and Where to See in Delhi Discover the historical sites of Chandni Chowk, Jama Masjid, and the Red Fort in Old Delhi. Enjoy delectable street cuisine and souvenir shopping in the evening.

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Principal Aspects traveled to Agra Explore the ancient Agra Fort and pay a visit to the magnificent Taj Mahal, a representation of unending love, when you arrive in Agra. Additionally, you can go shopping and enjoy the neighborhood markets.

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Third Day: Jaipur to Agra Travel Specifics After breakfast, go to Jaipur, often known as the Pink City of India. Jaipur is situated around 240 kilometers away from Agra. See the UNESCO-designated site of Fatehpur Sikri while traveling there.