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bluedottrip · 2 years

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Char Dhams On A Helicopter

Are you planning a holy trip on a copter? They’re around you..just have to know how to find them! India is a land of unexplained magic. It is abundant with styled mansions, magnificent, lakes, landscapes, rivers, mountains, beaches, hills, valleys, and many hidden treasures that can only be traced while you are on a spree. While finding a location can seem arduous, we are here to ease your task by listing out the medium of transport to the most distant, but most loved destinations.

Let’s Go Our ancestral roots have taught us the rituals and imparted the energy to muster courage and strive for excellence. It gives us the proud attachment and unsaid allowance to check and ride, visit the jetty, tugboats, anchored ships, or hand-pulled rickshaws, and venture into the no- man’s-land almost daily. Often pedestrians vent into equestrian sports, tweeze the thorns, blaze the misadventures, stick to the staple diet, sow the seeds and saplings on the way, run mini-marathons to be there first, and reminisce the childhood injuries that speak greatly of the umpteen pranks and escapades. That’s a bit, renew your memories, and make some more trespassing the outskirts of your walled city on a helicopter ride to the mountains. Let’s begin!

What is Chardham? Chardham is symbolic of four prestigious and serene holy destinations in India – Yamunotri, Gangotri, Kedarnath, and Badrinath.

How to Book Chardham Yatra By Helicopter? Tour and travel websites offer one night’s stay at every destination including meals, accommodation, transportation and sightseeing. Holding the seats is subject to availability and payment on time. The earlier you’ll get to choose from a wider range of options.

What does the helicopter ride include? Chardham tour package by helicopter includes: It normally includes a complimentary 1-night stay in Dehradun with breakfast and dinner. It is inclusive of pick-and-drop from Dehradun Airport, Bus Stand, or Railway Station. Helicopter rides at Chardhams include tasty meals and luxurious stays all the way along with VIP darshan

at every destination. And if time permits, it can take you around the city area. Palki/Pony/Sedan Chair rides are available at Yamunotri for senior citizens or children. But only children above 12 years of age are permitted for a helicopter ride. It includes special Vishnu Sahastranam path puja at Badrinath and Jal Abhishek at Kedarnath.

What does the helicopter ride not include? The helicopter trip for Chardham does not include any airfare. It is also not inclusive of any porterage, extra charges for buying mineral water, soft and hard drinks, telephone calls, laundry, etc. Any extra use of vehicles, other than what is not mentioned in the itinerary will not be included. Entrance fee and guide charges are extra. The loss caused due to landslides, road blockages and natural calamities like political disturbances will be borne by the client and will be payable directly to the sport. You will have to pay extra to carry cameras, camera- enabled mobile phones and a video camera charger. Plus, 5% GST and all Government taxes will be applicable.

What should the passengers consider? During the Chardham tour package by helicopter, the passengers must be careful about the following points: One helicopter allows a maximum of 5-6 people. People should not weigh above 75 kg. The total weight of the passengers should not be more than 430 kgs. According to Indian government regulations, only 3 helicopters are allowed to fly in the same direction to the Chardhams. In case by any chance, the weight of any person on helicopter increases by 80 Kg, an extra Rs 200 per kg will be applicable at Kedarnath Shuttle. Also due to limited space in the helicopter, only 5Kg luggage per passenger will be allowed. Passengers must carry their personal medical kit as all temples are at high altitudes. They should carry soft handbags, or duffle bags only instead of trolleys and suitcases. All accommodation is arranged in 3-4 star hotels, which is the best in that remote area. All passengers must report 2 hours prior to the journey as they will be taken to the helipad 1 hour before the departure time. Body weight must be measured and taken care of. People with persistent health ailments or pregnant women are strictly not allowed for this kind of journey.

Additional terms and conditions for passengers Authorities request to not carry children below 12 years of age, but in case of emergency, infants below 2 years of age are free of charge. Children above 2 years of age will be considered for the full tickets. There is no concession of any kind for children or senior citizens. 50% payment is to be done in advance as a charter amount, and the rest 50 % will be done 20 days before the journey starts. The booked property is subject to change considering the weather conditions. In case people want to stay individually in a room, they will have to pay an additional 20,000/-. Book your flights in advance as the travel agencies do not bear flight cancellation charges in any circumstances. Passengers are taken back to Dehradun in case of bad weather conditions. No money is refunded in case a person is de-boarded due to incorrect body weight. Luggage of more than 5 Kg is not allowed within the helicopter. Any extra stay by the client is borne by themselves. Available mobile networks are Airtel, and BSNL). The travel company has full right to cancel the booking in case of any emergency situations. Drop into our shoes, the path will feel lighter! Life gets rich with experiences like Chardham Yatra packages by Helicopter. We make friends on the way and moved on. Life teaches us to pay tributes and gives us exposure to diverse cultures and traditions, fests, and festivals of terrain and suburbs, of colossal flora and fauna with a fond collection of memories and yore. Distinct facets and mores of customs allow us to unite easily. It dwells us into a joint family with a landscape of an accommodating temperament conformable both in nature and signature. Try walking in our shoes; you’ll stumble in our footsteps. You won’t get it unless you live these times. It’s not a choice but a chance that you are just born that way. Sow good service and sweet remembrances will grow from there

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tabbyrp · 3 years

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@brooklynislandgirl @tarnishedhalo

{Tropes in the Wild West, part 2} {Cont from [x]

The Colton Brothers’ General Goods Store prided itself on quality. Buckets of nails able to pierce the hardest of wood. No finer tobacco this side of the state line. And their prices, well, the Colton Brothers considered them fair, considering a lack of competition within the town and the surrounding miles. Tabby held differing opinions while handing over a goodly sum of coins and receiving a meagre bag of pecans in return.

Above the saloon were lodgings for the women who worked there. Four apiece to each room, with simple wooden bunks wedged nose-to-tail against the walls. Three were still occupied when Tabby crept back in with expensive provisions in hand. Her bed lay pressed beneath the window, and when the nights were cool, she cursed the draft prone position. This, however, was morning and she used her access to ease one wooden shutter open before scattering a few pecans over the windowsill. Complaints often came from the other girls that she was encouraging rats to loiter. Tabby ignored them, convinced that something else entirely came to devour each last morsel before a new dawn broke.

“C’mon, Miss Tab. Dance with me.” Persistent as he was cheerful from the half-drunk bottle in his grip, Old Butch’s mottled red veins left spiderwebs over skin tanned by endless years beneath the sun. “They say them Indians have a dance that will make the rain fall.” He attempted a demonstration, the wild flailing reminiscent of desperate efforts to stamp out rogue sparks from a campfire.

“Are we in India? I thought this was Texas.” After making her point with an arched brow, she softened, for Butch was a grizzled, yet harmless, widower stuck in his ways. “And the only result of you and me dancing would be stepping on toes for both of us.” It was a lie. In those younger years when she sold dances with lonely men for a dollar a spin, Tabby was all lightness and grace. She had stopped that route for coin though, now preferring to simply sell drinks and weave flowers like sunsets into her hair.

Butch took the rejection in stride and melded into the group observing a raucous game of dice. The click-clack of boots announced another group of patrons arriving. Readying more bottles in preparation, Tabby ignored a flicker of chagrin which she could never entirely extinguish. It was foolish to wish for one particular man to come striding in, instead of an endless rotation of the local townsfolk. The sun was long set and Riley never visited after dark.

A new day came. Then another, and another more. Gifted flowers wilted into loose petals, and the bag of pecans she continued to dole out over the windowsill was half spent. All anyone could talk of was the drought. Two grey clouds took shape in the sky, giving false hope before dissipating into familiar swathes of blue. Come evening, disappointment had turned folks waspish. Two local cowboys chose to turn their emotions into a fist fight at the saloon, leaving blood on the floor and whiskey spilled everywhere else, including down Tabby’s skirt.

Retiring to the rooms to change, Tabby was half-way dry when an unfamiliar item on her bedding caught her attention. A single envelope nestled upon her pillow, a firewheel bloom laying across atop it. She tucked the bloom behind one ear, smiling, before investigating further. Easing back the flap revealed a piece of paper folded once down the middle. Tabby pulled a lantern closer to examine the words neatly inked upon the page.

Meet me outside, behind the saloon, as soon as you can. AR.

She was almost to the rear door before hesitation slowed Tabby’s eager step. It was the first time Riley had written her this way. The first surreptitious meeting he had requested. Hope warred with caution, curiosity weaving its way into the mix before Tabby made compromise with them all. Lantern in one hand and an iron poker stick appropriated from the fireplace in the other, she slid out to the rear of the building. Little existed there beyond dirt that rolled into patchy grassland, and one long rail for horses to be tied to when the street became overly crowded.

The rail was where Tabby stopped, holding her light aloft to peer deeper into the shadows. “Riley?” A whisper carrying her fading confidence and growing certainty this was all some cruel prank. Her eyes had begun to adjust when a blinding pain exploded across the back of her head. The poker fell from limp hands, the lantern following soon after, with no witness other than a creature perched upon a windowsill, gnawing shards of nut between sharp, pointed teeth.

Riley awoke with a start. Half upright in his bed, it took a blink and shedding of slumber to identify what had woken him from troubled dreams. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. His first thought a bold rodent had chosen to skitter across the floorboard. Except his bedroom only stretched so far and unless the rat was engaged in an endless circuit, it should have finished its route already. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. The sound growing more frenzied with each passing second. Pushing blankets free, he rose and stepped first onto his good leg, the other needing longer to gain mobility. With a hop and a drag, he tracked the noise to the window. Yanking open the shutters, Riley looked out, then down, where nothing sat except a smattering of half-eaten pecans.

Her cheek. Something was touching her cheek. Dry. Rough. Tabby blinked, winced, resurrected from her torpor with painful alacrity. The ground hard beneath her back and she rolled blindly, certain a snake was slithering over face. No reptile emerged but she did land on something softer. A rug. Fur that she could grip with her fingertips. Furnishings meant she must be inside. Shapes came into focus. A bed. A wooden table with two chairs tucked beneath the edges. Uneven wooden walls lit by an iron stove, the fire within burning so hot that sweat broke out upon Tabby’s brow.

Hands took her by the arms. Pulled by a strength that defied normally, Tabby became dragged upright. She kicked wildly. Yelled obscenities no lady should be familiar with. Then her captor took form and panic froze a scream in her throat. The husk that had once been Old Butch rasped and wheezed, sucking on the air. More corpse than man, desiccated skin clinging to gaunt bone, his swollen tongue licked over flaking lips and fetid breath expelled into a hiss of words. “Dance with me, Tabitha.”

The house began to blur as Butch swung her round and around. “Dance with me.” Acrid scent filled the air as her sleeves dissolved first, then flesh turning an angry pink where the monster trapped her into this deadly waltz. Worse than the desert at high noon mid-summer, the air grew too dry, stealing the beading sweat from Tabby’s skin and the moisture from her mouth.

“Let me go,” she croaked out.

“You heard the lady.” An explosion of gunfire and Butch’s skull cracked open, dust bursting from the seams instead of blood. Bony fingers released their captive, and strong, warm, human hands took their place, Riley scooping her into his arms. “I’ve got you, Tabs.” His promise the last thing she heard, and yellow rings in his eyes the last sight she saw, before sinking into unconsciousness once more.

“How is she?” Riley made his inquiry from the safety of the hallway. Beth’s ministrations had required stripping Tabby down to the chemise and her brother remained averse to seeing women disrobed without their permission granted in advance. Drawing the sheet higher over their resting guest, Beth thought to answer in her natural tongue, then chose the language which grated familial nerves the least. There had been enough torment for one night.

“Come see for yourself.” Beth lingered while Riley stepped inside. If the sight of Miss Tabby bothered him, wan and sleeping, Riley hid it from his sister. Still, when he dragged a wooden chair next to the bed, sitting down as if preparing for a long watch, Beth rested a soothing hand upon his shoulder. Mending bodies was her domain, and perhaps she preferred that burden, compared to the questions that would inevitably want answers once Tabby was awake.

Leaving Riley to his vigil, Beth was of mind to return to the soft nest of her bedding. Light was yet to creep around the edges of their sealed windows, and she could regain a few hours of lost slumber before dawn began to break. There was only one matter to attend to first. In the kitchen, she rummaged around through cupboards until a glass jar packed with peppermint sticks revealed itself. Beth liberated one, paused, and then a second.

She could not bring herself to throw open a shutter, not when night still gripped the lands, so instead Beth slid the confectioned treats through a gap beneath the front door. They had barely disappeared from sight when came the quick-snap crunching sound of sharp teeth finding their quarry. Clearly her impropriety for using the porch was forgiven. A relief, considering how fickle those creatures could be. A bowl of cream left upon the windowsill used to be the tradition. Now it was pecans and peppermint sticks.

If only other forces could be so easily appeased. Poor Old Butch. Beth spared a thought of pity for the man, and more for the lives that the drought was yet to claim.

#brooklynislandgirl #tarnishedhalo #meme reply #cut for length

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honestsycrets · 5 years

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The Knight’s Prize I : The Leader

❛ pairing | ubbe x reader, ivar x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | the reader knows that she has no chance against Ubbe’s great army. she offers herself to him, the king. the only issue is, he isn’t.

❛ warnings | love triangle (of course), concubine reference

❛ sy’s notes | ya’llllll.... it’s here. more ubbe x reader x ivar for @walkxthexmoon ! I hope you all enjoy it.

“And we’ve been flanked.”

Your hands knot into the reins of your steed as you turn him to look at the hot flames closing in on your army. Primitive, you called him, primitive. Not because he was unlike you because he was like you in many ways but because you thought you could outsmart him with the ways of your foremothers. Well, this primitive warlord boxed you in with the most primitive of all things: fire. It’s smoldering flames jump like bouncing wisps in the cool wind.

Careful, the commander husked, don’t underestimate me.

You tug your horse Eirný’s ethereal braids, shifting the steed one way then another on her crystal-like horseshoes looking for a viable exit. Stuck. The armour you wear could withstand the heat for some time. Your people, however, likely could not. If your people could not, you could not either.

“I see it, Yrsa.”

You see it. You see him, mounted upon his dark steed. His hood is thrown over his heavy, long braid that sits down his chest. The bright radiance of his piercing eyes glistens underneath the shadow of a cowl. You dip your fingers down to the hanging bone upon your chest and tighten it in your palm.

“Should we pray to Brynhildr now?” She almost mocks.

You turn your head down toward her when a blotch of black obscures your vision. A great raven descends down onto his reins. A chill fills your skin pocked by the sight of its one bright eye. Odin, commander of Valkyries, your people stand no chance.

“I see a son of Odin,” you speak past a knot growing in your throat. “There is nowhere to run where the Ravens will not see.”

“We could always charge.” Yrsa suggests. “Like we usually do.”

“But the numbers…”

A wiser woman would have backed out at the war council. In your stubbornness, you had not. For even if Odin was on the field, you convinced yourself; even the Valkyries, your great mothers, could disobey him. You were wrong.

You withdraw the sword of your belt and dismount your brilliant girl, chucking the line of rope at Yrsa.

“(Y/N)!” Yrsa calls your name. You heed no call of it.

Your boots squish along the dewy grass, pushing down on the water and releasing it from lush green pleats. In a few minutes, it would be sloshing with the blood of your countrywomen. You release hold on the bone around your neck, clanging your sword against an iridescent shield. Behind you, the tight line of your warriors closes the gap you ascend from with their own shields. They beat their shields like drums, rattling the hot battlefield as they move forward on low bent knees from the heat burning closer. In front of you, his men raise their bows, kissing the sky with would be fatal arrows. He extends his hand to stop them from releasing. You slow to a stop, looking at the king and his ilk.

“I have no intention on slaughtering my women here for precious rock,” you bear in mind Yrsa whose hands tighten upon your horse. It was well-known throughout neighboring cities that your land sat upon a beautiful reserve of precious rock that might be used in valuable trade for people with more materialistic pleasures. It was also known that your people were descended from Valkyries and of which, your women had no pride in not fighting.

“Then what have you to give?” The ruddy haired man booms. “We have nothing to lose.”

“Myself as a concubine to the king.” You boom.

The women behind you are grid-locked in their abject horror to your suggestion. Each one would most certainly prefer to give up their sword and lives to preserve your honour. That was the basis of what it was to be a shieldmaiden. Honour, glory… all so important. A fair and loyal queen as you were, you were not willing to give the lives and freedom of your women outnumbered as they were.

“You say this knowing that you will lose.” The king says. His raven beats its wings. You sheathe your blade and cross the midplane of the unscathed field.

“Perhaps not,” you assert. “I descend from the valkyrie Brynhildr who lay waste to your grandfather.”

“Fanciful stories.”

“Fact and truth,” you shake your head.

The man dismounts his horse at long last. His skeptical eyes look to your archers with their bows raised, trotting closer to you. He stills to stand in front of you. Your eyes settle upon a pendant on his chest. A hammer. Strange for a son of Odin.

“Even so, what will I stand to lose by taking your offer?”

“You’ve decimated my men. Your people have no women, king. The woman that was with you. She’s fallen in battle and gone to Folkvangr.” He almost visibly flinches to your word. “Rock and trade are all good and well, but wouldn’t you rather have willing women of our people to carry on our ways?”

The commander lifts to pull his cowl back off of his head. His long, black rune chain tattoo over his eye greets you straight away.

“An alliance.” He states his question. He holds out a tattooed arm out to you. You extend your own with images of swans to take his, grasping him at the junction of his elbow and pulling him close.

“An alliance King Ubbe,” you agree. He signals his men to stand down and you yours. Axe, sword and shield clang together. The raven flies overhead.

“It is good that you are as beautiful as you are, (Y/N).”

“Why is that?” You ask in a confident, if not sassy tone. Yrsa tilts a cool pitcher of water over your head in a rushed flow. You sputter in the steaming tub, water cascading down the circumference of your head, dripping down your nose. You shake your long hair. It floats at the surface of the water.

“Because you are so stupid.”

You swipe your middle fingers over your eyebrows, flicking water off to the side. To say that she was displeased would do nothing to capture just how enraged she was with you.

“You’ve shamed us. You ignored all the traditions of your mother, our grandmother and our people to hand yourself off to him in the field where the Valkyries, our ancestors, had control of the field.”

“Odin has control--”

“You see. You are so stupid. How can you be a queen and be so stupid at the same time?” She says, running her comb through your long hair. She lifts your hair out of the bath and wrings it like a bit of old cloth, twisting so you squeak in pain. As she yanks, your head snaps back so that you might only look into her eyes like sard. When she was so angry you could not make out the brilliant bronze glow on the apples of her well-rounded cheeks.

“Now he will take you.” She seethes, working out a knot not from a long battle, but a few days of not showering. A tooth of the bone comb comes off in the heated fight against your knot. “He will take you and you will be his for all of time with no ability to choose a warlord for yourself. Now you will have no freedom, you idiot.”

Yrsa pulls free a knot of hair. She pulls your hair up with a clip to keep your hair in its place. You try to rationalize what she thinks. It’s fine enough for someone who could run away from duties. Someone who had no allegiance to her people. You do.

“It is not that simple. What would I have told the children who have just lost their fathers? To lose their mothers for pride?” You stand in the water, running droplets down from the expanse of your breasts. It dribbles into the scented water. You wish you could worry just as Yrsa would about nothing more than who to marry and what image you’d like to develop for yourself.

“It is that simple. Life and death.” Yrsa shoves the rug under your feet to catch the water as you step out. You run your fingers over the short curls covering your mound. “We live, we die. That is how it works. I think you are the simple one here.”

She sounds like your brother every day. The little brother who thought he was a big brother and now, he is nothing but a ghost in a burial mound. Across the hall, the commander is awaiting your presence. You can’t blame her despondent nature. She lost her father, counsel to the crown and a hell of a warrior. She moves toward your bed where you have laid out a beautiful, layered gown. It falls to the ground sheer.

“Now what do you want to wear for him? This-Is-What-You-Just-Bought,” She holds up the sheer gown, thinly wrapped from the steps of India by way of Arabian traders. Then she holds up Asian silk, well fitted but not as thin. “Or Go-Ahead-And-Rip-It-Off-Me-And-See-For-Yourself.”

You swipe the thin, see-through gown from her fingers. Because Yrsa would only brew if she saw you in this piece for the king. Yrsa sits with her thin, muscular arms supporting her on your lavish sheets.

“Of course you would pick that one.”

You call a thrall to help you pull it on, pulling your drying hair aside so that she might properly secure it.

“You are as bitter as Skadi.”

“It is better than being as you are.” Yrsa drops back upon the bed, flicking her hands up into the air as she admonishes you for your stupidity. The agreements were made. Unless you were going to go against your word, as no woman would, and kill him. That portion of your pride would remain.

“Shut up,” you move to a chair. There you apply your kohl in peace, slight but defined. You wipe the remnants on a bit of cloth. “Well, cousin. How do I look?”

Sometimes, you needed her bode of confidence. She gives you a once over, nodding past her long brown braids. Her words had always been barbs against your skin when things weren’t going her way.

“You look ready.”

“That is not what I meant,” you say. Yrsa exhales forcefully.

“You look like a concubine. There, happy?”

Your finger pats the rouge on your lip.

“Thank you.”

The familiar walk to your brother’s room was not marked with childish pranks or decisions to hide in his corridors so that when he came home, you could leap upon him in your joy and cuddle at night. The two guards at the door keep their gazes forward facing whilst you knock with your jeweled knuckles.

“Come in,” the voice on the other end says. The guards reach to push the door open. All of his things are here. The first fur that he ever wore after a hunt with your uncles, the weaponry mounted above his bed and long timber floors lead to the table where he stands, knocking his knuckles on the tabletop.

“King Ubbe,” you entreat him.

Ubbe turns toward you, his back leaning as he takes you in his sights. He lifts his head to the bits of pearl running through the twists in the front of your head toward the back.

“Beautiful,” he whispers under his tongue before he catches himself. Your eyes keep confident in his gaze as he looks to you in something more than idle interest. Your lips pout out and he runs his thumb over your painted lips. A sudden and insipid smile splits his features. “But the king is my brother, Ivar.”

“Ivar…?” You say, not quite grabbing the gravity of his statement. Any of the kings that you had known would have been leading their own armies.

“Yes, Ivar. Ivar the Boneless,” he finishes for you. A wash of abject horror had might as well splashed over you.

There were many Ivars. Your vision blanks under the thought that-- it was that Ivar. The one that you had thought was overthrown. The one that ran with his tail between his legs to the Rus king. It was that Ivar. Ivar the Boneless.

“But-- but you lead his army.” You state.

“A portion,” he returns.

A portion? For a community of farming Norsemen, that number of men was about unheard of. To know there were more? Well, your skin lights in gooseflesh. Outside the door you feel the repetitive stomp of soldiers buckling the timber floors. Yrsa calls out your name, alerting you to another army stomping its way into the walls of your well-protected town. Prince Ubbe folds his arms, looking down and then back up to your eyes. You stagger back to the door, thrusting it open and running after your cousin. A whizz of a chariot catches your attention and Ubbe comes by your side.

“And there is the other.”

The rider of the chariot slips off his helmet, running his hand through his sweaty black hair. The excitement in your stomach pits, grasping the charm of bones around your neck. King Ivar the Boneless perks his plush lips at you, chucking his helmet into the floorboard of his chariot.

“Queen (Y/N)! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

And he’s seen a lot of you too, now.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434, @smileyparrots, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27@directionlessbuthappy, @hizz-hizz-mothertruckerz, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @ivarswonderlust, @writingeverynowand-then, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @minarawr, @strangunddurm, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyenneee-blog, @seize-the-droid, @a-writers-dreams, @quaint-and-curious-being, @fangirlbitch02 @demongirl0913, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @pancake-blonde, @im-bored-how-are-you, @rubyquartzshades, @lost-and-wandering-alone, @memememememe1-blog, @queenmissfit, @attorneyl, @hallowed-heathen, @mimi334545, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @ethereallysimple, @Givemesmutorgivemedeath, @bloodydaydreamer, @peaches-seed, @tierneygonzalez, @neeadinghugs @mblaqgi, @slutforrpg, @astertist, @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @iconicvaleria-blog, @terrainhead, @poisonedjoinery, @lovelynerdytraveler, @sarcastic-mrs-scarlet, @justlovelifeblog, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @ragnarok-imagines, @sdcyumyum, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @smile-sugar, @austenkingmylady, @amyalpha, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @natalie-rdr, @hopplessdreamer, @tempt-ress, @malakianshinoda, @part-time--thot, @backstagepaige, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @tatertot1097, @imamommakingadifference, @mybarnesmyhero, @honeyofthegods, @vengefulflange, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass, @laketaj24 @chinduda @rekdreams247, @directionlessbuthappy, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @dakotacheyenneee-blog, @seize-the-droid, @ilvebeenabad, @im-bored-how-are-you, @multi-fandom-imagines8, @queenmissfit, @hallowed-heathen, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @imamom-makingadifference, @mblaqgi, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum @ms-allenbrown, @awesome-hedgehog, @pancake-blonde, @starkiddreamer,@austenkingmylady, @pinkrockstar19, @tempt-ress, @part-time--thot, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler,@mybarnesmyhero, @honeyofthegods, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore

#Ivar x Reader #Ivar/Reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #ubbe x reader #Ubbe/Reader #Vikings x Reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #Ubbe imagines #Ubbe Ragnarsson imagines

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goneshe · 7 years

Note

Five times kissed - misguidcdghosts for Audrey. Even tho we haven’t actually done anything with them yet 😂😂 but we’ve discussed and rlly it’s everything SO

five times kissed // accepting // @misguidcdghosts (for audrey)

one: scream!au

“oh my gosh, it’s you.”

at first, audrey wanted to sigh. having people from in and out of town come in here and exclaim something like ‘it’s you!’ when they saw her behind the counter had gotten really old, really fast. in fact, it was tiring her out and pissing her off. she was sick of getting treated like a damn zoo exhibit just because she survived two murder sprees.

she really wanted to put piper and kieran (they’re both dead, those movies are over, roll the credits and leave the freakin’ theatre!) behind her and she couldn’t do that when—

“you’re the one didi writes poetry about.”

—wait, what?

the tiny indian girl - audrey estimated her age to be around fourteen - had a toothy smile that could rival the sun and big, brown eyes. the red haired girl next to her, all blue eyes, freckles and scrapes on her arms, rolled her eyes: “sorry about madhavi. ever since her older sister broke up with her boyfriend and it didn’t work out with a family friend, she’s obsessed with playing match-maker.”

it was a slow day and so far, those two had been one of the few costumers of the day so audrey could indulge them. for once.

“don’t worry,” madhavi beamed at her, “she likes your butt and your fancy hair. i’ve read it in her diary!”

that was, apparently, the redhead’s cue to tightly grasp her friend’s hand in hers and swipe the tickets off the counter with her other hand: “oookaaaay, that’s about it! we’re just here to see descendants two, madhu, not to start a dating service! c’mon, let’s go!”

“but georgette!” madhu whined while her friend dragged her away from the counter. “georgie!”

audrey chuckled to herself when she heard the redhead - georgie - huff: “lilo and stitch, really?” and called after them, just in case they didn’t know or forgot: “it’s the first door on your left!”

georgette was the one who called back while madhu sulked: “thank you!”

one hour later, the door chimed again. audrey briefly looked up from refilling the popcorn machine before continuing with the task at hand while her blue eyes occasionally flitted from the popcorn machine and the huge bag in her hand to the girl.

the girl that walked in was, without a doubt, madhu’s older sister. she had the same brown eyes, warm like her favorite quilt, except audrey had seen a penchant for mischief in madhu’s eyes earlier and there was none of that to be found in the eyes of the kid’s sister.

audrey’s heart lurched painfully as she thought of rachel and gina. one dead, the other out of her life completely.

(while she understood where gina’s fear and the way she reacted to that fear came from, she’d been tired of constantly having to justify why she spent time with emma and brooke. so they had broken up a few months ago, which was…something gina hadn’t expected.)

what if the same thing happened to other girls she would ever date? what if things wouldn’t work out?what if they, too, would die because of her? fuck, those thoughts made her sick to her stomach.

the girl had moved to sit down on the nearest chair, effectively snapping audrey out of her thoughts. the girl had been looking at her, concern written all over her face. audrey stopped filling up the popcorn machine and promptly hauled the huge bag back towards the storage room.

“you’re early, the movie’s done in about fifteen minutes.”

it’s not at all what audrey wanted to say when she came back to the counter but she couldn’t stand the silence. the girl didn’t seem to have that problem, up until audrey spoke, she’d been softly singing along to dua lipa’s thinking about you.

brown eyes met blue and the girl blushed but flashed audrey a warm smile nevertheless.

“well yeah,” said the girl, “that’s true but i’d rather be too early than too late anyway.”

the last time she flirted with someone during work was the time haley stayed behind when she worked the graveyard shift and then haley decided to pull a prank on her and because of that haley’s idiot of an accomplice got stabbed, audrey knew, but was it too late to quip about how she also knew that the slender fingers that were currently tapping along to the beat of a new song also wrote poetry?

“i’ve got a thing for you.”

audrey’s head snapped back towards her so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get a whiplash.

a million things ran through audrey’s head ranging from a flirty that’s forward of you to a surprised wow and okay and somehow none of these things made it past the lump in her throat.

“in, uh, the literal sense of the word,” added the girl quietly as she got up and walked towards the counter. oh. with a strangely deflated feeling in her chest, audrey briefly glanced away while the girl rummaged through the pockets of her jacket and fished out a small envelope.

she slid it over the counter. their hands briefly touched. audrey took the small envelope, which brought a grin back to her face. “that’s adorable.” she tucked the envelope into the pocket of her jeans and tried to ignore how much her heart hammered in her chest from just that simple touch.

“i try,” chuckled the girl as audrey willed herself to look into her eyes instead of at her lips. “i hope you’ll like it.”

audrey was going to say something else but the door chimed once more and other costumers came in while the door on the far left opened and a lot of parents, older siblings and kids made their way towards the door.

“is your name didi, by any chance?” audrey asked quickly because ever since she met her kid sister, the question’s been eating at her.

“no,” the girl grinned now, all teeth and gentle eyes filled with mirth. “it’s mohini, but mo is the nickname most people know me by. didi means older sister in hindi.”

and that was as far as their conversation went: audrey had to help the other costumers and mo saw georgie and madhu in the crowd and quickly waved them over, asking them if they had fun. georgie nodded: “evie was so pretty!” madhu was quick to agree, “so was uma!”

mo glanced at a very busy audrey for the last time and then steered the two girls towards the door.

later, when audrey came home, half exhausted but also exhilarated, she changed out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. the tiny envelope had fallen to the floor and audrey picked it up. her mouth was dry when she opened it and her fingers shook.

she walks, draped in moonlight, with the kind of grace i could never possess.eyes as blue as the sea and skies combined, i must confess, keep me up at night.her smile shines just as bright as the sun. yet her name, i know it not.

there’s a lot of things that i don’t know about you and there are plenty that i want to ask, should we ever meet again, but until that moment, i’ve written a list for you about the things you may want to know about me:

1) as stated before, i’m mohini banerjee. most, if not all, people call me mo.2) i really do want to get to know you better.3) i think that you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.4) this is my number, call me if you’re interested. or if you need a friend and just want to hang out. i swear, i won’t send you any cat memes either way.5) i’m in a band and i’m the bassist.6) i can’t draw smileys. i can’t draw at all, actually.7) i’m sorry, i got distracted by the mere thought of you and the way you make sarcasm seem like art; this poem started off strong but ended up all over the place :P

before she fell asleep, audrey saw that the poem was signed and sealed with a kiss.

come morning, however, audrey would wake up to a text from an unknown number: how cute, says the first one, maybe i should cut off her fingers one by one, says the second text, so she’ll never write for you again.

two: harry potter!au

mo’s breath caught her throat the moment slughorn revealed the batch of amortentia to the class. shit, shit, shit shit. she’s always been more susceptible to potions that can alter one’s emotional state.

what a ravenclaw she was. had mo not gotten lost in a daze of mangoes, fresh books and leather jackets, she would have laughed at herself.

she knew how amortentia worked, after all. she knew how the potion managed to get such a visceral reaction from everyone. her parents worked as potioneers when they still lived in india. she’s been around them from day one. then they relocated to the uk and mr. and mrs. banerjee started a grocery store for wizards and witches and wixens.

“mohini,” audrey’s voice cut through the daze like a sharp knife and it was only then that mo became aware of the slytherin’s hand on her shoulder. “c’mon, the lesson ended ten minutes ago.”

her eyes cut from audrey’s concerned face, back to the cauldron. “you’re super pretty,” breathed the oldest banerjee, “even when you’re worried.” rationally, mo supposed that she could understand why audrey had been worried but really, the potion smelled so nice…

“no, no, no,” audrey grabbed her by the hand now, “no more potion sniffing for you. let’s go.”

the pull of the potion lessened the more steps they took away from the dungeons. after a while, mo let go of audrey’s hand, who asked if she was all right for the final time and when mo nodded, audrey bid her adieu and went over to one brooke maddox - gryffindor extraordinaire - who had been waving at her short haired friend.

mo herself retreated back to the common room. or at least she wanted to but then imagined that she could run into rajiv kumar and noah foster (who had been an infamous hatstall between hufflepuff and ravenclaw) and promptly turned around, heading for the owlery.

she didn’t see audrey until dinner that evening. which was a good thing; it had given mo plenty of time to freak out, calm herself down and freak out once again when she told the story to her bandmates. it was olivia, emma duval’s niece, who gently told her that she ought to thank her.

if it hadn’t been for audrey, who knows what would have happened, right?

so here she was, walking towards the slytherin table which was dotted with red, yellow and blue as well; the rules about sitting at your own table? bullshit. according to them, anyway.

“um, audrey?” man, mo hated how pathetic she sounded. even to her own ears!

audrey was in the middle of telling or re-telling a story to noah but turned around at the sound of her voice: “what’s up?”

“i wanted to thank you. y’know, for back there,” mo inclined her head towards the dungeons.

noah arched an eyebrow as mo continued: “i mean, if i stood there for a moment longer, well…” she heard what mo had blurted out, hadn’t she? “…i just wanted to say thanks.” and before she lost her nerve, mo stepped closer, around the table, and kissed audrey on the cheek.

three: the tomorrow people au

“audrey, we just had a new breakout,” cara told the girl who was currently lounging on one of the many couches in the lair, an old and abandoned subway station under the streets of manhattan. “i need you to get to her before ultra does.”

why can’t brooke— audrey started to think but cara cut her off: “brooke is training with stella yamada and emma just found out that one of the newer breakouts is related to her. noah, jake and stavo are training scott, wendell and charlie respectively.” audrey scoffed and got up. honestly, fuck telepathy. and fuck this entire gig, she didn’t sign up for supernatural babysitting duties!

grabbing her jacket from where she’d thrown it over a chair, she called back over her shoulder: “where do i need to be?”

“hudson cliff. it’s an elementary school for sick kids and kids with learning disabilities.” what the hell? the last time they had such a young recruit, john rescued her from the citadel.

“oh, and audrey?”

“what?!”

“hurry.”

with a soft pop, audrey turned on her heels and then she was gone. she appeared in the old, abandoned subway station and rushed to the surface. top-side, they all called it. with cara literally in her head and the fact that she knew the route by heart, audrey got to the elementary school in what could be considered record time.

she’s inside, cara’s voice echoed, be careful, ultra’s already on her tail too. try to get to her before they do but if it gets too hot, i want you out of there, understood?

yeah, like that was going to happen. audrey scoffed again. quieter, this time. she was here now. might as well stick it out to the bitter end.

a loud scream shattered audrey’s telepathic reply to cara into a thousand tiny pieces and the ultra agents sent to subdue the new breakout came flying out of the nearest classroom, their guns skidding across the hallway as they smacked into the wall and slid down to the floor where they laid, in a crumpled heap, unmoving.

another scream. the hairs on the back of audrey’s neck stood on edge. she was ready to fight or flee if necessary. audrey stepped over the threshhold and that was as far as she got.

“no! stay back! stay back!”

in the middle of the classroom sat a girl about her own age, tears and blood splatters all over her, cradling another girl into her arms. a kid, audrey realized while her stomach churned and she almost gagged. fuck, she was going to be sick.

how she got the words out, she didn’t know: “i’m…my name is audrey jensen. i’m—i’m like you. and you’re not safe here. shit, i know it’s the last thing you want to do right now but i need you to come with me now. more men like the ones that are now lying in the hallway are coming for you and they won’t stop until they have you. they work for an organization called ultra and i’m so fucking sorry for your loss and i hate to do this but we need to go.”

“let them come,” snarled the girl. her eyes met audrey’s and for a brief moment, their minds connected and audrey was awash in a whirlwind of emotions, primarily consisting of years of anger and a whole lot of grief and sadness and pain. pain, pain, pain that was hers and wasn’t hers at all. “let them,” the girl repeated again, “i’ll kill them, it’s what they deserve. it’s what they all deserve for killing my younger sister!” hindi swears spilled over her lips like a waterfall.

tears ran down her cheeks and she looked like she was struggling containing another scream.

a memory that wasn’t hers flitted before audrey’s eyes; the little girl took her hands and pulled her towards central park, crowing that she finally managed to make it across on the monkey bars and that she wanted to show her: “c’mon, mohini! i practiced real hard!” it was like a butterfly or a snowflake; one moment it was there and then it was gone but it was enough to have tears spring to audrey’s eyes. she blinked them away and cleared her throat.

cara, audrey’s eyes flashed from the crying girl on the floor to the remnants of what was once a well kempt classroom. i’m here. the new breakout killed two ultra agents after they killed her younger sister.

audrey heard cara curse in her head. she heard it so clearly that the brunette might as well have been standing right next to her: do you think you can make it back with her on your own? russell needs my help with something else. if not, i can send stephen to meet you halfway.

no, audrey thought, it’s okay, i got this. but do tell stephen that he needs to pick up the…the kid. fuck, they killed a kid, cara! they killed a fucking kid! she’s, what, seven?! they got to a kid!

cara told her that she was sorry and that they’d talk about it when the two would get back to the lair but as of right now, the fact remained that audrey had twenty minutes left. the clock was still ticking and ultra was still hot on their heels. she swallowed audibly and knelt down. gently, she placed a hand on her shoulder. the girl, whose name audrey now knew, flinched visibly.

“it’s mohini, right?” audrey’s voice was low, hopefully soothing and almost a whisper.

“most people call me mo,” she croaked back, “but yeah, it’s mohini.” she sniffed. her eyes met audrey as she said: “we can’t leave her here. she needs to be cremated. and my parents—”

oh gods, her parents. what would her parents say?! what would her family do if they found out about this?!

long black hair shielded mo’s face like a curtain as her body shook with barely contained sobs.

after giving her a hug, audrey brushed mo’s hair back and gave her a kiss on the forehead. she didn’t know what else to do or to say. it was something that her mother used to do, before she got sick.

“we can’t leave her here,” mo repeated, quieter, as if all the life had been drained from her too.

“we won’t,” audrey assured her and gently helped her stand up. mohini carried her sister to the bed in the corner and tucked her in. it looked like the little girl - madhavi, or madhu as those close to her called her - was merely sleeping instead of dead. “i know someone who will make sure your sister gets back to your parents in time for the…the cremation, i swear.” mo nodded. “c’mon,” audrey said and swung an arm around mo’s shoulders. “let’s get you outta here.”

four: teen wolf au

while the jensen family wasn’t as esteemed as the calavera family or the argents, they were still good hunters - mrs. jensen had been from a prominent hunting family too - in their own right. though her mother put the hunting life behind her when she got pregnant and then again when she got sick, her father continued on for a while; he even taught his daughter the basics.

just so she could protect herself while he retired. audrey took to it like a fish to water. after rachel died, she swore to herself that she would do everything in her power to avenge her and to protect her group of friends consisting of a banshee (brooke), a werewolf (jake), a human much like herself (noah), another huntress (emma) and someone with a penchant for drawing horror scenes who was something else but didn’t exactly know what (stavo).

and things were all right until they weren’t because this is beacon hills and, inevitably, shit goes down here. this town had weathered many storms, this town would continue to do so. but all of that would wait, for beacon hills would have to deal with a supernatural band first.

stella yamada was a kitsune. brooke got the information out of her easily with a smile and a wink, an offer to stella that sounded like sure, i’ll totally help you familiarize yourself with beacon hills; i’d love to hang out with you! which was not only a way to help out audrey but also because the blonde truly wanted to hang out with her.

her father was one too, stella had said, munching on curly fries. after the death of his previous partner, he spent a long time mourning her before he eventually found love with leila penn and gained not only a second chance at love but a bigger family; leila, who was as human as they came, had split up with her ex-husband and won custody over her two youngest boys, tim and tom, while their oldest girl - clea - occasionally dropped by to visit.

olivia white was a huntress that wasn’t cut out for that life at all. soft and pliant and sweet, she spent her time reading and researching and had taken to helping out doctor deaton’s and the cats and dogs - but mostly just cats in her spare time. she was also related to emma who learned how to handle a gun because it became a matter of life and death back in lakewood.

then there was scott pickett who was, much like noah, as human as they came. but he was quick as a whip and quite knowledgable when it came to lore and surprisingly easy going. he and wendell “wen” gifford, a leprechaun, were nine times out of ten, the brains behind plans.

charles “charlie” delgado easily befriended stavo. other than their heritage and a love for comic books, they had other things in common. charlie was sure he was something other than human but he wouldn’t be able to tell you just what he is if you asked him.

lastly, there was mohini “mo” banerjee. named for one of vishnu’s avatars and skilled with a bass guitar, noah thought she was a garuda at first. an avian shapeshifter. he wasn’t wrong. while mo wasn’t an avian shapeshifter, she was a shapeshifter in every other sense of the word. you see, mo was an apsara - a shapeshifter with an extra pair of arms that could look like any other person out there, though their voice, abilities and gait remained the same.

“the apsaras of old could probably fly and control the air with less difficulty. i can’t do either. my mom can fly, though, and i’m pretty sure that my younger sister’s going to surpass me one day.” her father, a gandharva - which was like the male equivalent of an apsara - had no flying abilities to speak of either, mo added after a while, but he was musically inclined.

“what can you do?” asked audrey while mo continued to gently move the huntress’ fingers about, lacing their fingers together. mo shrugged: “i can sense changes in the weather and i’m pretty good with instruments.” audrey didn’t understand why her hands enthralled mohini so; they had been stained with death and had seen cruelty and violence too many fucking times.

mo pressed a kiss on both hands before she let go of them. “just call me your personal weather woman.”

audrey laughed, thoughts of weaponry and the next threat to becon hills were forgotten for a while.

five: no killer!au

olivia had been right, mo thought, the carnival really was the perfect way to spend their off season. this way, she could get to know her aunt and niece a little better and stella had been begging - well, not really, but olivia knew how much the lead guitarist wanted this gig - to play at lakewood’s annual carnival with their original numbers and covers.

and really, the other band members only had to look at their faces to give in, laughter on their own lips and fondness in their eyes. mo was one of the first ones to say okay to it all, the others soon following suit.

besides: winning an actual version of the battle of the bands, small though it was? against mikayla skeech and her own band? that would look great for their repertoire. (and mo was living for every moment that proved just how much talent lemonade mouth really had!)

that thought, as well as wen’s promise that he’d get her some cotton candy after their performance, kept mohini’s spirits higher than her height of 5′6″.

they had time to spare - more like time to kill, in mo’s opinion - so the band scattered, each one promising to be backstage half an hour before, just in case they needed to go through their set-list or just in case things changed. olivia reminded them all to keep their phones on.

(the carnival was also a way to remember nina patterson and her boyfriend tyler who passed away in a freak car accident at the start of the school year.)

“you look lost,” chuckled a voice to her right when mo passed the food stalls once again.

“don’t we all at some point?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

“i suppose.” the owner of the voice was a girl with short, black hair and a wide, sarcastic grin.

she was dressed in black, had the bluest eyes mo had ever seen, was shorter than the bassist and had a video camera on her person. lemonade mouth had been in the song business for a while now so cameras didn’t freak mohini out anymore. they used to, before.

“i’m audrey,” said the girl, “i’d shake your hand, but—” she was holding her video camera.

“mohini, though you can call me mo. and it’s okay, i’ll just shake your other hand.”

“that’s smart,” audrey drawled and mo winked: “i got sorted in ravenclaw on pottermore.”

“i don’t have any nicknames other than aud or auds,” she said, “and i’m not much of a harry potter fan but congratulations.” mohini shrugged, waving a little at audrey’s camera, “that’s cool. i prefer roshani chokshi anyways.” honestly, mo would sell her soul to write half as well as that lady.

they were silent for a while and then mo said: “if you’re still in the market for a nickname or two, i’d be happy to oblige. i do love a good challenge.” though, really, knowing her and her penchant for flowery words and sentences, audrey would probably go home with a poem about her and her name, filled to the brim with a thousand compliments and then some.

mohini’s phone buzzed. it was a text from charlie, saying that she needed to get to the main stage. she showed it to audrey who said: “maybe later, after your performance. that is, if you’re sticking around.” rachel hadn’t. they had broken up shortly after the start of the school year. it was a clean, mutual break up and it was for the better - rachel needed time and space to focus on herself and the way she saw herself and needed a change of scenery after the video - but audrey still missed her sometimes. they had been friends before they dated.

“oh, i am,” mo assured her, “i’ll be here for three weeks, if not more.”

another text. this time it was scott, wondering why she wasn’t responding and why she wasn’t on her way to the main stage already.

“you should go.”

“i should. will you be there when lemonade mouth takes your little town by storm?”

“sure,” audrey grinned widely at mo as the latter finally stood up. “i can’t not check you guys out. you look like a bassist.” blue eyes met brown. audrey blew mo a kiss after she said: “and, y’know, i’m pretty sure i’ll see you around either way. break a leg out there, will you? i really don’t like mikayla skeech and the scene.”

#misguidcdghosts #( ooc answers. )#long post //#child death //#death mention //#blood mention //#teen wolf //#{this is the longest thing i've ever written and i'm D: at myself because i'm never happy so i'm gonna make an older lm photoset to distract #myself xD}

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