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spaceaceathena · 3 years

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nancy drew name meanings

so this is the work i’ve been doing over the past couple days, I want to give you guys a heads up that list will contain spoilers for some of the characters/games so please be aware of all of that. if this garners interest, i’ll do maybe the penvellyn family tree (that thing could not fit in here) or last name origins!

Main Cast

Nancy Drew: Grace (Hebrew)

Bess Marvin: god of plenty (English)

Georgia “George” Fayne: farmer (English)

Edward “Ned” Nickerson: wealth, fortune, prosperous OR guardian, protector (English)

Joe Hardy: god will increase (English)

Frank “Franklin” Hardy: free landowner (English)

SCK/SCKR

Jacob “Jake” Rogers: supplanter (Hebrew)

Daryl Gray: open, from Airelle (English, French)

Connie Watson: strong willed, wise (Irish)

Hal Tanaka: army ruler (English)

Hector “Hulk” Sanchez: holding fast (Greek)

Mitch Dillon: Who is like God, gift from god (Hebrew)

Detective “Steve” Beech: crown, garland (Greek)

STFD

Mattie Jensen: lady, mistress of the house, might in battle (Aramaic or German)

Richard “Rick” Arlen: brave ruler (English)

Dwayne Powers: swarthy (Irish, Gaelic)

Lillian Weiss: lily, a flower (English)

Millie Strathorn: industrious (German)

William Pappas: resolute protector, strong willed warrior (German)

Ralph Guardino: counsel wolf, famous wolf (Norse, English)

MHM

Rose Green: rose, a flower (English)

Abby Sideris: father’s joy (Hebrew)

Charlie Murphy: free man (Charlie)

Louis Chandler: fame, warrior, famous in battle (French)

Hannah Gruen: favor, grace (Hebrew)

Emily Foxworth: rival, wily, persuasive (Latin, Greek)

TRT

Professor Beatrice Hotchkiss: she who makes happy, bringer of joy, blessings (Italian, French, Latin)

Dexter Egan: right handed, fortunate, one who dyes (Latin)

Lisa Ostrum: God’s promise (English, Hebrew)

Jacques Brunais: supplanter (French)

FIN

Brady Armstrong: spirited, broad (Irish)

Joseph Hughes: he will add (Hebrew)

Nicholas Falcone: victory of the people (Greek)

Simone Mueller: god has heard (Hebrew)

Maya Nguyen: good mother (Greek)

Eustacia Andropov: fruitful, productive (Greek)

Sherman Trout: shearer of woolen garments (English)

SSH

Joanna Riggs: god is gracious (Greek/Hebrew)

Alejandro Del Rio: defender of mankind (Spanish)

Taylor Sinclair: tailor (French)

Henrik Van Der Hune: ruler of the home, lord of the house (Swedish, Danish)

Franklin Rose: free landowner (English)

Poppy “Penelope” Dada: weaver (Greek)

Prudence Rutherford: prudence, good judgement (Latin)

DOG

Red Knott: person with red hair (English)

Jeff Akers: pledge of peace (English)

Emily Griffin: rival, persuasive, wily (Latin, Greek)

Sally McDonald: princess (Hebrew)

Vivian Whitmore: lively (Latin)

Mickey Malone: who is like god (Hebrew)

Lucy: as of light (English, French)

Iggy: fiery (Latin)

Vitus: lively (Latin)

Xander: defender of man (Greek)

Yogi: one who performs yoga (Indian, Hindu)

CAR

Harlan Bishop: army land (English)

Ingrid Corey: beloved, beautiful (Norse, German)

Elliot Chen: with strength and right, bravely and truly, boldly and rightly (English, Breton)

Joy Trent: joy, happiness (Latin)

Paula Santos: small (Latin)

K.J Perris: Petros-> the rock (Greek)

Tink Obermeier: love (English)

DDI

Jenna Deblin: white shadow, white wave (English, Welsh)

Katie Firestone: pure (English, Greek)

Andy Jason: manlike, brave (Greek)

Holt Scotto: woods, forest (English)

Casey Porterfield: vigilant, watchful (Irish, Gaelic)

Dr. Irina Predoviciu: peace (Greek)

Hilda Swenson: battle (Norse)

SHA

Dave Gregory: beloved (English)

Tex Britten: from Texas (American)

Mary Yazzie: bitter, beloved, rebelliousness, wished for child, marine, drop of the sea (Aramaic, Hebrew via Latin and Greek)

Shorty Thurmond: a short person (American)

Bet Rawley: god is my oath (Hebrew)

Ed Rawley: wealthy spear, protector, guard, frend (English)

Sheriff Hernandez: son of Hernando (Spanish)

Dirk Valentine: famous ruler (German)

France Humber: free one (French, English)

Meryl Humber: shining sea (English)

CUR

Linda Penvellyn: beautiful, pretty, cute OR clean (Spanish/Portugeuse, Italian)

Mrs. Leticia Drake: joy, gladness (Latin)

Jane Penvellyn: god is gracious/merciful (English)

Nigel Mookerjee: champion (Irish, Gaelic)

Ethel Bossiny: noble (English)

Hugh Penvellyn: mind, spirit (English)

Mrs. Petrov: petros-> rock (Greek to Russian)

CLK

Emily Crandall: rival, wily, persuasive (Latin, Greek)

Jane Willoughby: god is gracious/merciful (English)

Richard Topham: strong in rule (English, French, German, Czech)

Jim Archer: supplanter (English)

Carson Drew: son of marsh dwellers (Scandinavian)

Gloria Crandall: glory, fame, renown, praise, honor (Latin)

Marion Aborn: star of the sea (French)

Mrs Farthingham: a house supplying food (Scottish)

Josiah Crowley: god has healed (Hebrew)

TRN

Lori Girard: bay laurel (English)

Tino Balducci: little, junior (Italian)

Charleena Purcell: free man (German)

John Gray: graced by god (Hebrew)

Jake Hurley: supplanter (Hebrew)

Camille Hurley: helper to the priest (French)

Fatima: captivating, shining one (Arabic)

DAN

Minette: star of the sea, love, will helmet, protection (French)

Heather McKay: evergreen flowering plant (Middle English)

Jing Jing Ling: perfect essence (Chinese)

Dieter von Schwesterkrank: army of the people (German)

Jean-Michel Traquenard: god remits (Hebrew)

Lynn Manrique: pond, lake, pool, waterfall (Welsh)

Hugo Butterly: mind (German)

Zu: knowledgeable and voracious reader (French)

Tammy Barnes (Minette): palm tree (Hebrew)

Noisette Tornade: hazelnut (French)

the n*zi will not be appearing on this list

CRE

Pua Mapu: flower (Hawaiian)

Big Island Mike Mapu: who is like god, gift from god (Hebrew)

Dr. Quigley Kim: descendant of Coigleach or maybe messy hair (Irish)

Dr. Malachi Craven: messenger of god (Hebrew)

ICE

Ollie Randall: olive tree (Latin)

Yanni Volkstaia: god is gracious (Greek)

Bill Kessler: resolute protection (English)

Lou Talbot: renowned warrior (French)

Guadalupe Comillo: river of the wolf (Spanish)

Chantal Moique: stone (French)

Elsa Sibblehoth: pledged to god (German)

Freddie Randall: elf, magical counsel, peaceful ruler (English, German)

Isis: throne (Egyptian)

CRY

Henry Bolet Jr.: house ruler (French)

Dr. Gilbert Buford: bright pledge/promise (French)

Lamont Warrick: the mountain (French)

Renee Amande: reborn, born again (French)

Summer: season, half-year (German)

Bruno Bolet: brown (German)

Bernie: strong and brave bear (German, French)

Iggy: fiery (Latin)

VEN

Colin Baxter: whelp, cub, young creature (Irish, Scottish, Gaelic)

Margherita Faubourg: daisy (Italian)

Helena Berg: light/bright (Greek)

Enrico Tazza: homeowner, king (Italian)

Antonio Fango: priceless one (Spanish, Italian)

Sophia Leporace: wisdom (Greek)

HAU

Kyler Mallory: bowman, archer (Dutch)

Matt Simmons: gift of god (Hebrew)

Kit Foley: bearing Christ (Greek)

Donal Delany: world leader (Scottish)

Alan Payne: precious (German)

Fiona Malloy: white, fair (Gaelic)

RAN - Her Interactive refuses to acknowledge this game and so will I.

WAC

Corine Myers: maiden (American)

Danielle Hayes: god is my judge (Latin)

Mel Corbalis: council protector (English)

Megan Vargas: pearl (Greek)

Izzy Romero: god’s promise (Hebrew)

Leela Yadav: play OR night beauty (Sanskrit or Arabic)

Rachel Hubbard: ewe, one with purity (Hebrew)

Kim Hubbard: of the clearing of the royal fortress (Old English)

Rebecca Sawyer (Nancy): join, tie, snare (Hebrew)

Rita Hallowell: pearl (Spanish)

TOT

Scott Varnell: from Scotland, a Scotsman (old English)

Debbie Kircum: bee (Hebrew)

Tobias “Frosty” Harlow: god is good (Hebrew)

Chase Releford: to hunt (French)

SAW

Shimizu Yumi: reason/cause, beauty; abundant, beauty; evening, fruit; tenderness, beauty (Japanese)

Shimizu Miwako: child of beautiful harmony (Japanese)

Shimizu Kasumi: mist, clear, pure (Japanese)

Nagai Takae: filial piety, obedience and large river (Japanese)

Aihara Rentaro: dependant on kanji used (Japanese)

Savannah Woodham: treeless plain (Spanish)

CAP

Karl Weschler: free man, strong man, man, manly (German)

Anja Mittelmeier: grace (German, Russian)

Lukas Mittelmeier: man from Lucanus (German, Greek, Swedish)

Renate Stoller: Reborn (Latin)

Markus Boehm: dedicated to Mars (Latin)

ASH

Chief McGinnis: son of Angus (Irish)

Deirdre Shannon: broken hearted, sorrowful (Irish, Gaelic)

Brenda Carlton: sword (Norse)

Alexei Markovic: defender (Russian)

Antonia “Toni” Scallari: priceless, praiseworthy, beautiful (Roman)

TMB

Abdullah Bakhoum: servant of Allah (Arabic)

Lily Crewe: lily, a flower

Jamila El-Dine: beauty (Arabic)

Dylan Carter: son of the sea, son of the wave, born from the ocean (Welsh)

Jon Boyle: God is gracious, gift of Jehovah (Hebrew)

DED

Victor Lossett: winner, conqueror (Latin)

Ryan Kilpatrick: descendant of the king, little king (Irish, Gaelic)

Mason Quinto: one who works with stone (English)

Ellie York: shining light (Greek)

Gray Cortright: color, black mixed with white (English)

Niko Jovic: people of victory (Greek, English, Slavic)

GTH

Jessalyn Thornton: he sees (Hebrew)

Clara Thornton: clear, bright, famous (Latin)

Wade Thornton: to go, ford (Anglo-Saxon English)

Harper Thornton: harp, son of the harper (Scottish, Irish, English)

Colton Birchfield: swarthy person, coal town, settlement (Old English)

Charlotte Thornton: free man, petite (French)

Addison Hammond: son of Adam, son of Addi (Old English, Scottish)

SPY

Alec Fell: defender of the people (English)

Bridget Shaw: power, strength, virtue, vigor, noble or exalted one (Gaelic, Irish)

Ewan Macleod: born of the mountain (Scottish, Gaelic)

Moira Chisholm: destiny, share, fate (English)

Kate Drew: pure (English)

Samantha Quick: listens well, as told by god (Aramaic, Hebrew)

MED

Sonny Joon: son (English)

Patrick Dowsett: nobleman, patrician (Latin)

Leena Patel: young palm tree, tender, delicate (Qunaric Arabic)

Kiri Nind: skin, bark, rind (Māori)

Jin Seung: rise, ascent, victory, excel, inherit (Sino-Korean)

LIE

Xenia Doukas: foreigner, outlander, welcomed guest, hospitality (Greek)

Niobe Papadaki: fern (Greek)

Thanos Ganas: immortal (Greek)

Grigor Karakinos: vigilant (Greek)

Melina Rosi: honey, god’s gift (Greek)

SEA

Soren Bergursson: severe (Scandinavian)

Dagny Silva: new day (Old Norse)

Elisabet Grimursdottir: pledged to god (Hebrew)

Magnus Kiljansson: great (Latin)

Gunnar Tonnisson: fighter, soldier, attacker, brave and bold warrior (Nordic)

Burt Eddleton: bright, glorious (Old English)

Alex Trang: man’s defender, warrior (Greek)

MID

Mei Parry: beautiful (Chinese)

Teegan Parry: special thing, little poet (Cornish, Gaelic)

Olivia Ravencraft: olive, olive tree (Latin)

Judge Danforth: hidden ford (Old English) [Last name]

Lauren Corey: laurel tree, sweet of honor, wisdom (English, french)

Alicia Cole: noble natured (Germanic)

Jason Danforth: healer (Greek)

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anika-ann · 4 years

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Heart Too Cold, but Friends of Gold - Pt.11

Too Much

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 2850

Summary: Avenger!reader AU. Part 2 of Melting Hearts series. Part 1 HERE.

The lesson with ‘Inna’ takes an interesting turn. Yeah.

“You are so good. So good, you’re always feeling so much. And sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust wide open from all the feeling, doesn’t it? People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it.” (Silas House)

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mention of an injury, sort-of-a flashback… eh

Story Masterlist

────── ·❆· ──────

“I have no idea how I can help you improve your English, you’re almost like a native speaker,” you announced, pretending to be awed.

On the inside, you were freaking out. A lot. The reason was simple; there was something incredibly fishy about your new student and it made your hair stand on the end.

The lesson had been nice – once Inna let go of the insecurity about her accent, she spoke fluently and she made a great conversational partner. You had pulled out one of the difficult worksheets you were using for students you believed to be on a very advanced level and she had no problem with it. Which was the biggest clue, really.

Because this woman didn’t need your help whatsoever.

Also, she was wearing a wig, which was suspicious on its own.

“Thanks!” she exclaimed, sounding excited at the praise. You would almost believe her she was being genuine. Almost. “I guess it’s the accent I’m worried about? I mean, I thought that with talking to you, listening to a native speaker, it could get less obvious. I heard not everyone is welcoming to a girl with accent like mine.”

You obediently made a face as you started picking up your stuff, slipping into a light coat. “Ouch. Okay. Well, thank you for the lesson. See you on next Tuesday, the same time?”

“Yeah. Same place?”

You nodded, smiling nervously at her, hoping it didn’t show. “If you want to.”

You might have set up a next meeting with her, but you would be damned if you showed up. You needed to pack your bags and disappear – right now. Maybe even without the bags. You tried to keep your cool when exiting the café, your new student right behind you.

“Where are you heading?” you asked politely, already coming up with a dozen of locations you could answer her with if she asked you the same. Your heart was beating its way out of your chest as you nuzzled your nose into your thick scarf.

Where would you go next? You couldn’t stay in Prague. Should you head for Slovakia? You had heard countless times that the culture was pretty similar to the Czech one and you had kinda grown used to it. Or should you change the environment completely? Escape to Bulgaria? Maybe Italy? You could use some warm weather for a change… then again, Italians were all for hugs and affection and you couldn’t really work with that…

“Oh, Karlín. You?”

Okay, so… you definitely needed a different direction and chances were she would be taking either the subway B line or the tram, which meant you needed to use A. Or maybe go to the other side of the square for C, but that might be too suspicious – God knew what Eva had told this woman about your whereabouts. You couldn’t lie too obviously.

“I’m going to Želivského…. That’s A line subway,” you added when she seemed a bit confused. You walked with her for a bit, parting your ways at the stairs to the subway.

“Alright. Bye, Brigit!”

“Bye, Inna.”

You gave her another quick smile before heading down, forcing your legs to walk on acceptable speed instead of running.

Head for the A line. Blend in with the crowd and let it slowly carry you to the transfer corridor to the B line. Take the escalator, stand straight, don’t walk up. Exit via B line station. Hop on a tram. Two stations. Change the direction and ride one station back, continue several others as the track goes somewhere else. Get off the tram with a crowd. Get lost in an alleyway as the crowd is passing. Be pulled by a strong-

“Hey! Let me go! Nech mě být!” you cursed, complaining loudly so you draw attention as someone dragged you aside to an alleyway.

A huge hand covered your mouth and you bit down on it before you could even see who your assailant was. It didn’t matter. They had you and you couldn’t use your powers to reveal yourself, at least not right away. Maybe they would believe they had the wrong person.

“Ow! No biting!” a male voice complained and your rapidly beating heart stopped.

Oh god, oh fuck, no.

That wasn’t happening. You snapped your gaze to the painfully familiar face with the most honest and genuine blue eyes you had ever encountered and your mind turned blank.

He couldn’t be here. He shouldn’t and he couldn’t, because you had been extremely careful. Apparently not enough and now they found you; whoever ‘they’ were.

And they were using masks and voice disguisers, because you would fucking swear this was the love of your life standing right in front of you. They were playing dirty, taking you by surprise like this.

And they succeeded. Whoever was trying to get to Steve so they could replicate the serum just got themselves a jackpot. Except you were pretty sure you were worthless at this point; but they could never be sure enough of that unless they tried blackmailing the Avengers or Steve himself. Also, Steve would never let anyone die on his watch, so his most likely non-existent feelings weren’t that important.

You were about to scream when the hand muffled the sound again – was it really healed already? Why hadn’t they tried to knock you unconscious yet?

“Goddammit, Frosty! Keep it quiet!”

“Don’t call me that, you bastard!” you muttered into his palm, your knee shooting up to his crotch – he had left it unprotected unwisely.

His face twisted in a grimace that made you feel sorry for Steve even when your Steve wasn’t the one truly suffering – he couldn’t be, this couldn’t be him. His hand disappeared and you pushed him away with all strength you had, managing to free yourself.

“Wait!” he called out and you barely gave him a glance over your shoulder as you ran off-

Correction. As you ran into a wall. With full force, hitting your head so hard that for a moment, you saw the infamous stars behind your eyelids.

You stumbled backwards with a groan and your hand at the injured place, your messy mind coming up with the only solution you had – you woke up your powers, somehow realizing you couldn’t have run into an actual wall, because it simply hadn’t been there before. You barely felt the energy filling your body as the darkness embraced your vision – and the last thing you saw was red plasmatic energy and Inna’s apologetic face.

────── ·❆· ──────

“Was it really necessary, Wanda?” you heard Steve’s (not Steve’s) voice from a distance and groaned, immediately remembering what had happened. Fuck, you were so screwed. “Snowflake?”

“Call me that again and I will freeze your balls off.”

The woman at the side of the bed you were lying on – yeah, really, bed, a bed you weren’t tied to, which was kinda sloppy to be honest – burst out laughing.

“She’s really something. I think I fell in love.”

“Good. Do you think that after you knocked her unconscious, she will fall in love with you too?” the man bit back, smoothening your hair from your forehead. You grabbed his wrist on instinct to stop the motion.

Also, you could feel your mask was off. Wonderful. You opened your eyes to see the wannabe Steve and shot him a pointed look.

“Don’t touch me. I have no fucking idea who you are, but do not touch me. At least be fair and show your real face, you dickbag.”

“That’s a lot of money to the swear jar,” Inna – Wanda? – noted and you eyed her only to see her crossing her arms on her chest. She looked completely different now and confused the hell out of you. She took her wig off, not wearing a mask (or wearing a different one) and the only reason you recognized her as ‘Inna’ was her thick accent. “And since you don’t believe him – or me – let me show you. I can connect two minds on a certain level and I will. Good? I’m so glad you agree with this procedure.”

Before you could do a thing, she took the man’s hand from yours and touched both of you simultaneously. You gasped and closed your eyes at the flood of pictures appearing in front of your eyes, the noise, the— the feelings. It knocked the air out of your lungs, flushing over you like a tide wave.

You saw it all. Every single memory of you and Steve, from the first meeting (oh how pathetic and scared you looked) and gaining each other’s trust to the cuddles and the teasing…

The longing (oh, so much longing, the inner fight, the struggle not to take advantage of you, the desire to kiss you as you smiled at you? No, him), the love declaration, your first time, fighting by your side (the overwhelming fear every single time, yet so much admiration and respect), finding you in a snowed-in room with Michaels; that one scene seemed to happen in a slow motion, letting your brain recover.

All of the memories were strange as you saw yourself from above, from an unusual angle, but this particular memory was standing out with one more thing – your eyes were shiningly blue, unnaturally even; Michaels had been right, your eyes had changed colour that day.

Then the pace changed again and there was the memory of the tenderest love-making and you could tell immediately it must have been a very fond memory and an intense one too – spiked with a bitter taste of goodbye. The sudden rush of pain and fear would make your knees give out had you been standing,

And then came the anger – so consuming that you saw red for a second, yet recognizing Michaels in his prisoner’s cell with painful clarity. A punch. Another one and one more, yet not helping the gnawing feeling inside you at all.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Obviously, you wanted to isolate her. But you had that in Pennsylvania as well. Why go through all the trouble?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew you would be with her, even as a backup, running after her like sick puppies. She wouldn’t do that alone. Protecting the man she owed everything though…”

“Who do you work for? What do you want with her?”

“What I told her. We want to replicate the serum.”

“…you’re not talking about the super-soldier serum.”

“Course not. Pff. Super-soldiers are so yesterday. The powers your precious Snowflake possesses, on the other hand…”

You were literally kicked out from the memory and shoved into a roller-coaster of hope, disappointment, frustration and denial. You caught a glimpse of a little flask with an engraving that looked suspiciously like an Asgardian one, of starless nights, endless line of torn off punching bags, but it was like seeing it from a train, too fast and blurry.

And then Bucky appeared. S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Sokovia happened – Wanda, Pietro and Vision happened.

Finally, there was you again, biting his hand and kneeling him, endless relief and confusion and a spike of anger as you ran into an almost invisible wall of energy created by the Scarlet Witch. The hesitance about deactivating your mask; the rush of affection when seeing your face.

And pitch black.

You blinked your eyes open, darkness dancing around the edges of the simple white ceiling. A ghost of a touch on your wrist was present, but the sensation was nothing in comparison to the aftershock of emotions that bombarded your brain and insides.

Steve was leaning onto your bed for support, possibly feeling the same weakness in his body as you were. Tears burned in your eyes and you tried to focus your gaze on him, to feast your eyes, because you were suddenly sure it was him. Your heart swelled at the realization, the vital organ too large for your ribcage all of sudden.

His dazed eyes met yours, relieved as he noticed the change. He managed to give you an unsure smile as he lowered himself, reaching for your hand.

“Are you gonna bite me again if I touch you?” he asked, the supposedly teasing note lost on the way from his brain to his mouth. He seemed hesitant, afraid of rejection. Yet, he was watching you in awe and poorly hidden hope.

You felt the blood rushing to your cheeks when you remembered that you had bit him and… kicked him in— oh boy. You already had an apology on your tongue when you changed your mind and forced a smile. There would be plenty of time for apologies.

“No. But I might if you don’t.”

His face brightened and he took your hand in his, squeezing gently, careful as much as he had been when you had seen each other the last time. It felt like eternity since then. And after experiencing the grief you had caused him… you actually felt guilty for running off – especially now, when you found out Michaels had been playing you and you had fallen for it.

You had run off for nothing. You had actually done exactly what they had wanted, isolating yourself and making their work easier. No contact, no life, no relationships. Hurting people you cared about. Loneliness being your only true friend for so long.

And all of that for nothing.

It was a little comfort that at least you managed to hide from Michaels’ minions or bosses effectively. It didn’t feel important.

The tears rolled down your cheeks as you watched Steve, emotions displayed so openly on his face; the concern at your tears if nothing else. His fingers brushed your forehead as if unwittingly, the tender touch making your eyelids flutter close. He immediately pulled back.

“Head that bad?”

“No, you dope,” you mumbled, snapping your eyes open again. He watched you curiously, searching for anything that could clue him why you called him a dope. Not that it was the worst thing you had called him today. “I… I missed you and— and I’m so sorry, Steve. I-- I know I made a stupid mistake and I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear, I didn’t want you to get hurt-”

“Hey, hey,” he soothed you quickly, his fingers running through your hair and you realized you started crying for real, sobbing and all the ugliness associated with the display of weakness. “Hey, Snowflake, it’s okay— …it’s not okay, I think I won’t take you back to others, because Natasha or Tony might actually kill you, but-“

“But you won’t? What do I get then? The silent treatment? A beating? ‘Cause I’ll take it, I know I deserve it.”

His eyebrows furrowed, creating a worried yet somehow tender wrinkle. “How about ‘I missed you too’ treatment?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized his face got closer, his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand and the fingers of his other hand still caressing your hair.

“What— what does that look like?” you choked out, a growing lump in your throat suffocating you.

That couldn’t be real. He was mad. You had felt it. You had felt it all, the good things too of course, but the pain too. Fixing things, getting forgiveness, it couldn’t be so easy. Too easy.

“Whatever you want.”

You observed his handsome face, his worn features, the exhaustion radiating for miles as well as delight and careful hope.

“That doesn’t sound right.”

He pouted. Steve Rogers fucking pouted as if he wanted to draw attention to his lips some more. He succeeded. You licked yours at the sight, mentally slapping yourself at instant. You had broken his heart – almost two years ago. You had no right to want any of that.

“Oh my god, just kiss already, your emotional roller-coaster is killing me!” Wanda whined miserably and you honest to god jolted to your feet, almost colliding with startled Steve. Your head spun and it wasn’t only from the rapid movement.

Jesus, you forgot all about Wanda!

“Wanda,” Steve murmured lowly, no chance of her truly hearing it. You did though and you eyed him, biting your lip.

“Do you-“ you blurted out and stopped abruptly before you could finish the bold question.

“What?” he asked softly, his hands hovering at your sides, ready to catch you if your head decided to send you back to unconsciousness – or at least to the floor. Always the protector. The rush of affection towards him was too much to bear.

Yet, you couldn’t imagine leaving this room without him.

“Never mind. We should move. If you found me, then they-“

His hand actually fell on your hip and your gaze shot its direction before looking up to his face in surprise.

“Wait. Do you?”

You gulped as his eyes flickered to your mouth at his words and you would swear you heard Wanda mutter ‘yes, she does’. Your cheeks burned hotter.

“Yes.”

His lips slowly spread in a smile as he leaned in, his kiss landing on your cheek. You chuckled delightfully at the familiar yet so foreign feeling and returned the favour.

When he went for your mouth with silent ‘Can I?’, you sure didn’t protest.

Meeting his lips felt like coming home, even with the kiss ending way earlier than you wished. But him letting you melt into his embrace after that was almost as good as kissing him senseless.

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Epilogue

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart, @murdermornings, @elisaa-shelby @ask-hellbent-tweek @cxptain, @kallafrench, @smilexcaptainx @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula

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*Draws a hallo above her head* Have some more knowledge of Prague infrastructure. It’s authentic :D

They reunited! Also, there’s only epilogue ahead.... and a bonus. Aaaand then the series continues.

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #avengers #avenger reader #mcu #heart too cold but friends of gold #anika ann

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years

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Mon Chéri

Oh boy crossover smut! And this time without a request for it. Kind of a practice for original story scenes. So feedback is appreciated, though I’m not sure how well received this kind of work is in this fandom. I’m planning on doing a less smutty Icy/Nerissa thing in the future.

Basically Nerissa is a succubus and Icy has the misfortune of finding out.

Her eyes were a blue as vivid as Icy’s were pale. That’s where the initial allure had come from, this strangely primitive need to mingle sapphire shades with frosty pastels. She was an older woman, older than Icy anyhow, and that’s where the second intrigue stemmed from. The third? That was the woman’s overall atmosphere; she seemed to radiate something deeply dark and richly powerful. She was like Darcy but with a touch of uncanny wisdom. Undoubtably, she has seen things many people haven’t the chance.

Why the woman chose dwell on Earth, Icy—reaped of her magic and forced to spend her time there—had yet to piece together, somehow, she didn’t want to. She wanted to keep as much mystery to the woman as possible. That was her appeal. Icy didn’t hadn’t known if she’d even wanted a name, but she had gotten one. Nerissa, the woman was Nerissa. Nerissa who fancied expensive champagnes and fine satin cloth.

For nights Icy had spent her time in a lavish manor, gothic in nature with towering spires and arching columns. Fixed into the exterior walls were carved mid-relief murals; many featured horn beings with mouthfuls of gore. Others depicted darkly angelic beings with sweeping feathered. One or two displayed a bare-chested woman in the sensual grasp of another more imposing woman. Above the main door was an elegant mascaron; the beautiful but dismal face of a woman, eyes closed and stained in such a way that it seemed as though she were weeping. Every other spire hosted a sitting place for bat-winged gargoyles with uncannily human faces. It was the kind of place Icy would have chosen given the cash to do so, though she thought that the place could use a touch of winter.

The woman had lead her through the doors to reveal an interior was wrought with crystalline chandeliers fixed into a coffered ceiling that cast prismic fractals. The walls were pocked with niches that housed candles in onyx’s holders, decorative champagne flutes, ornate boxes, and other trinkets. Every single door Icy made her way through was of ebony wood and accented by lace-like steel. She turned knobs of ruby. This woman had expensive taste and the funding to support it.

On most nights Nerissa would pick her way through a book with old spines and foreign text. Maybe French, maybe Latin. Icy had only a very basic inkling about the languages of Earth. The dark-haired woman spoke little but when she did, it was in a very thick Greek tongue. Another mystery, as they were nestled deep within the wooded Krkonoše mountains of The Czech Republic. Icy decided that the woman must study in linguistics.

Nerissa eyed her from across the room, tapping well-manicured and graceful fingers atop her armrests. With every dull motion, one of her jeweled rings would catch the light and cast a new array of rainbow reflections. She stole a sip from her goblet, a dribble of red graced the corner of her mouth, but only briefly before she licked it away.

“What language is that?” Icy finally questioned.

The woman brought her pointer to her lips, apparently, she had a silence that she wanted to uphold. Her gaze fell back to the book in question, leaving Icy to cross her arms impatiently. The woman was interesting, but she wanted words, a story, anything. She was left with much time to explore and had already found herself the wine cellar teeming with casks of all sizes. That became her source of entertainment for much of her stay until Nerissa finally beckoned her over. With a curling finger she whispered, “come now, mon chéri.” Icy held her place, she’d never heard the French language on a Greek tongue. “Mon chéri, it will be a fine night.”

A fine night indeed, Icy decided. The woman had a nice face—high cheekbones and an accented jawline—and a supple body. The former witch wasn’t one for feelings, love was a waste, but it would be a bigger waste to reject such a tantalizing offer. She hadn’t a good fling since Valtor. She scarcely knew Nerissa, but those eyes, those deep blue eyes, they had a way of drawing her in. And that low purring, “mon chéri….”

She was giving Darcy a run for her money.

Just one night, one simple night and Icy would be on her way.

Icy stood, allowing her leather jacket to slip from her shoulders. She turned in the direction of the bedroom.

A hand curled over her shoulder. She could feel hot breath on her ear and the softness of the woman’s chest on her back. “Non, mon chéri. Non, we will stay right here.” Those long nails grazed Icy’s shoulder blade.

Frankly, it didn’t matter to Icy at all where it happened as long as it did. “Fine, right here then.” She shoved the woman roughly back into her armchair and tugged at her corset.

“You are bold, mon chéri.” Nerissa commented. Her expression told Icy nothing of whether or not that was a good thing. “Trés audacieux.” She traced her fingers up Icy’s sides before dipping them under the hem of her shirt. With an unexpected force and speed, she threw the former ice witch to the floor and traced her cheek bone with her pointer.

Whatever the woman was saying, Icy felt inclined to agree. Whatever the woman was doing, she was—for once, content to comply. “Go on then, fuck me.”

Without a hesitation to make, Nerissa rammed her fingers in. The woman was anything but delicate. Icy arched back, “shit!” The woman knew her way about a body and mercilessly, the ice witch had no sheets to grab. Nothing to take the edge off, not that she particularly wanted to. Instead she dug her hands into the other woman’s hair. As she went deeper still, Icy pulled herself up enough to bite the woman’s neck.

“Très bien, mon chéri.” She mumbled, “you know what you’re doing.”

Icy offered a decent smirk as she moved her hands to the woman’s chest. She decided that she would let Nerissa deliver the pleasure, typically Icy herself never got the chance to be on the receiving end. Shuddering with hot euphoria she let the woman slid her graceful tongue over down her neck and over her breasts. Every so often she would nibble, she made a point to do so in the most sensitive of spots. And when Icy felt up to it, she would bite back, until she could see faint purple. Until her back was lined with scratches.

A fine night indeed.

Nerissa’s free hand brushed a few locks from Icy’s face. The gesture was unexpectedly passionate. The woman’s other hand came to cup Icy’s chin, holding her steady and pressing a kiss to her lips.

A very fine night.

To say that Icy woke up was a bit of a stretch. She half woke on the floor of the living room. Her mind was dazed, low in functioning. Peculiarly low, she’d had her share of good, long, nights but they had never left her quite so drained. Quite so fuzzy. She ran her hands through her tangled locks as she scanned the room. Nerissa was still there, a silk bathrobe wrapped around her generous figure. On top of that wrapped a feathered blanket. “Good morning, mon chéri.” She drawled her greeting. Icy’s head dipped before she could return it. “You have a delicious âme.”

Icy narrowed her eyes and cocked her head.

“Your soul, mon chéri. Your âme.” She paused. “It tastes good.”

It wasn’t a blanket at all, Icy realized. It was a set of inky wings. The comprehension must have made it to her eyes, for Nerissa shed her human guise in full. Those tantalizingly blue eyes, were now unearthly so with flecks of purple. She unfurled those wings and ran a hand over obsidian colored horns. “Do you regret, mon chéri?”

At Cloud Tower, she’d been taught of the succubi many a times. She’d laughed alongside her peers at the fools in the tales who’d fell to the seduction of a wicked succubus. And now she’d be leaving Earth with half a soul or less and another story for the witches to study. Or perhaps not at all. She did not regret. She had enjoyed. She wanted to keep enjoying despite the screams of what was left of her soul and essence.

With her pointer alone, Nerissa tilted Icy’s head up and looked deep into those now foggy, frosty blue eyes. “Splendid, mon chéri.”

#Winx Club #W.i.t.c.h.#Smut fic #crossover #Nerissa #Icy #Winx #Fanfiction

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dasha-nova · 7 years

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David Wong ‘John Dies at the End’ Quotes – P. I

“Hello?” “Dave? This is John. Your pimp says bring the heroin shipment tonight, or he’ll be forced to stick you. Meet him where we buried the Korean whore. The one without the goatee.” That was code. It meant “Come to my place as soon as you can, it’s important.” Code, you know, in case the phone was bugged. “John, it’s three in the—” “Oh, and don’t forget, tomorrow is the day we kill the president.” Click. He was gone. That last part was code for, “Stop and pick me up some cigarettes on the way.” Actually, the phone probably was bugged, but I was confident the people doing it could just as easily do some kind of remote intercept of our brain waves if they wanted, so it was moot.

Shelly lived in a simple two-story farmhouse, black shutters on white siding. It sat on an island of turf in a sea of harvest-flattened cornfields. We walked past a mailbox shaped like a cow and saw a hand-painted sign on the front door that read THE MORRISON’S—ESTABLISHED 1962. John and I had a long debate at the door about whether or not that apostrophe belonged there.

“You see, because John and I have this thing where we’re both seeing completely different versions of you. Now, John has eyesight problems because of his constant masturbation, but I don’t think—” She burst into snakes.

I heard Molly plop down on the floor below. I reached down to pet her and she licked my hand the way dogs do. I wondered why in the world they felt the need to do that. I’ve often thought about trying it the next time somebody got their fingers close to my mouth, like at the dentist. John came back twenty minutes later, wearing what must have been the smallest towel he could find.

The man-shaped arrangement of meat rose up, as if functioning as one body. It pushed itself up on two arms made of game hens and country bacon, planting two hands with sausage-link fingers on the floor. The phrase “sodomized by a bratwurst poltergeist” suddenly flew through my mind. Finally it stood fully upright, looking like the mascot for a butcher shop whose profits went entirely to support the owner’s acid habit.

Molly came by just then, trotting along like everything was just A-OK in Dogland. Then she noticed some meat standing nearby and started happily chewing on a six-inch-wide tube of bologna serving as the thing’s ankle.

They say Los Angeles is like The Wizard of Oz. One minute it’s small-town monochrome neighborhoods and then boom—all of a sudden you’re in a sprawling Technicolor freak show, dense with midgets. Unfortunately, this story does not take place in Los Angeles. The place I was sitting was a small city in the Midwest which will remain undisclosed for reasons that will become obvious later. I was at a restaurant called “They China Food!” which was owned by a couple of brothers from the Czech Republic who, as far as I could tell, didn’t know a whole lot about China or food.

“Hey,” I mumbled. “Are you Arnie?” “Yeah. Did you doze off there?” He shook my hand. “Uh, no. I was just tryin’ to rub somethin’ off the back of my eyelid. I’m David Wong. Good to meet ya”.

He said, “Okay. Your family live around here?” Getting right to it, then. “I was adopted. Never knew my real dad. You could be my dad, for all I know. Are you my dad?” “Eh, I don’t think so."

It squatted and peed on the grass, ran over to another spot and peed there, too. Marking this whole new world as its territory. It came toward me at a trot, the chain hissing through the grass behind it. It sniffed around my shoes, decided I was dead, I guess, and began snuffling around my pockets to see if I had died with any beef jerky on me.

A brass tag, on its collar. Etched with a message. I’M MOLLY. PLEASE RETURN ME TO . . . . . . with an address in Undisclosed listed below. At least seven miles from home. I wondered how long it had taken the animal to etch that tag.

The Jamaican turned his gaze on me, trying to pull off the piercing stare of the exotic voodoo priest. It was an expression that was supposed to make me hear theremin music in my head. “You gotta love the skeptic, mon,” the guy said in a rubber accent that was part Jamaican, part Irish and part pirate.

His gaze froze on me. I had a familiar, nervous sensation, one that goes all the way back to elementary school. It’s the simultaneous realization that I may have talked my way into another fistfight, and that I had not spent any time learning to fight since the last one.

“Do you dream, mon? I interpret dreams for beer.” That’s the town of Undisclosed in a nutshell. This run-down half city with more weirdos per capita than you’ll find anywhere outside of San Francisco. We should have that printed on the green population sign coming into town: WELCOME TO [UNDISCLOSED]. DREAMS INTERPRETED FOR BEER.

I almost launched myself at the guy. But, once again a probable trip to the hospital was avoided by physical cowardice. This guy could probably kick my ass even without magical powers. I was so wired at this point I had the insane urge to punch one of those girls instead. Probably lose that fight, too.

“You know what, mon, why don’t you take your fake Jamaican accent and get back on the boat to Fake Jamaica,” is another thing it would have been cool to say, had I thought of it. Instead I sort of mumbled and made a dismissive motion with my hand as I stumbled into the crowd, acting like the conversation failed to hold my interest.

“You like so few people, Dave. He’s cool. He bet me a beer he could guess my weight. Got it on the first try. Amazing stuff.” “Do you even know how much you weigh?” “Not exactly. But he couldn’t have been off by more than a few pounds.”

TELLING THE STORY now, I’m tempted to say something like, “Who would have thought that John would help bring about the end of the world?” I won’t say that, though, because most of us who grew up with John thought he would help end the world somehow.

But I told him if he ever got into that kind of trouble again without telling me I would not only kick his ass, but would in fact beat him until he died, then pursue him into the afterlife and beat his eternal soul. So John being spaced out on crank or crack or skank tonight wasn’t reason to declare a national holiday, but at least he came to me this time.

From day one it was like society was this violent, complicated dance and everybody had taken lessons but me. Knocked to the floor again and again, climbing to my feet each time, bloody and humiliated. Always met with disapproving faces, waiting for me to leave so I’d stop fucking up the party. They wanted to push me outside, where the freaks huddled in the cold. Out there with the misfits, the broken, glazed-eye types who can only watch as the normals enjoy their shiny new cars and careers and marriages and vacations with the kids. The freaks spend their lives shambling around, wondering how they got left out, mumbling about conspiracy theories and Bigfoot sightings. Their encounters with the world are marked by awkward conversations and stifled laughter, hidden smirks and rolled eyes. And worst of all, pity. Sitting there on that night in April, I pictured myself getting shoved out there with them, the sound of doors locking behind me. Welcome to freakdom, Dave. It’ll be time to start a Web site soon, where you’ll type out everything in one huge paragraph. It was like dying.

“Woof!” “Shut up!” “WOOF!” “Hey! I said shut up! Get your feet off my car!” “WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!” “Shut up! Shut up! Shut! Up!” This went on for longer than I care to admit, and it ended with me getting out and leaning my seat forward so Molly could jump into the back. Yes, the entire spiraling trajectory my life took since that night was because I lost a debate with a dog.

John was always bitching about “Wally” and how greedy “Wally” was and how he should have given me a raise by now. He didn’t realize that there was no person named “Wally” in the Wally’s organization. That was the name of the DVD-shaped mascot on the store’s sign. I never had the heart to tell him.

“That bratwurst was three bucks? Holy crap. Okay. Give me a second. All right. Check between the sausage and the bun. You’ll find a hundred dollar bill folded up in there.” Encouraged that maybe all this black magic could actually produce something positive, I fingered around under the sausage for a few seconds. “Nothing here, John.” “Okay. I guess I can’t do that. Do you have your ATM card?"

A round, frosty lump the size of a coffee can tumbled out of the freezer, fell to the floor, rolled to a stop two feet away from me. I stared at it, stared into the open, empty freezer. I steeled my courage— —then turned and ran my ass off.

#david wong #john dies at the end #quotes #book

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kowsdontski1 · 6 years

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Too many years ago I wrote an essay. I wasn’t really doing it just for fun, but I can honestly say it was the most rewarding essay I’ve ever written (for school, that is). That essay, titled Untold Stories, won second place in a department contest and put me on a journey of discovery that led me to create this blog. Written for one of my many English classes (Do you think I majored in English?), it was a comparison of Cemeteries; one in Prague, the capitol city of the Czech Republic, and the other in Plain City, Utah. I was required to write eight to twelve pages. I can’t remember how many pages it actually ended up being, but I feel that is just too long for a blog post, so in the spirit of Cemetery Month and reviving this blog, I’ve decided to share a new abridged version.

UNTOLD STORIES

by Marianne Kwiatkowski

(re-named A Tale of Two Cemeteries, revised, and abridged 2018)

I begin with lines borrowed from Walt Whitman’s poem, Song of Myself. Although the title leads the reader to believe that Whitman is about to embark on a narcissistic journey of self-love (he begins with, “I celebrate myself, and sing myself”), the reader quickly discovers that he is attempting to show us how we share qualities as members of the human race, making us more like him than not. It was the following lines, though, that got me thinking of the many stories that we bury with our dead:

–I guess the grass is itself a child . . . the produced babe of the Vegetation– –now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them; It may be you are from old people and from women and from offspring taken soon out of their mother’s laps, And here you are the mother’s laps.– –O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues! And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children?

As I stoop to read weather-beaten, time-worn headstones, I wonder as Whitman must have; If I had known them, would I have loved them? I wonder about the loved ones that were left behind. What kind of anguish was suffered at the untimely death of children? What kind of heartbreak occurred at the death of a beloved spouse? Was it a relief to know that long-term suffering had ended? What about the families of strong young men who left brave-hearted, and never returned from war? What kind of reunion took place between the spirits of those who quietly slipped away to join their loved ones beyond the veil? These stories hang in the air at every grave site I visit.

Seventeen years ago, I visited Europe. While I was there, I explored the Jewish cemetery in Prague. Located in the Jewish sector of the old town, the Prague cemetery is the second oldest Jewish cemetery to survive the Holocaust. Back home in Utah, I explored another cemetery in the small town of Plain City. It holds the remains of some of the original Mormon pioneers.

I wanted to visit the old Jewish cemetery in Prague because my Americanized grandmother was raised Jewish in that part of the world. Many of her family members disappeared during World War II. Visiting the cemetery in Prague was a way to connect with my ancestral past. The stories of the Jews are just as intriguing, and far more lamentable than the Mormon pioneer stories. It was so difficult for my grandmother to tell her own history that she refused to talk about it. My mother tells me that she often heard my grandmother sobbing late in the night when she thought her family was sleeping. The Holocaust was so hard on her, but we’ll never know the details of her despair. Like so many of the inhabitants of these cemeteries , Grandma’s story died with her.

I went to Prague just once, but I took many pictures. I used to live in Plain City and have visited the cemetery there many times and taken a few pictures relevant to my story. I liked to visit at dusk in the summertime, as the activities of the day were quieting down, and the people of the town began to prepare for a night’s rest. One visit in particular occurred on a frosty November morning. This time I went with the purpose of finding a story. I was not disappointed.

The graveyard in Plain City has many graves of Mormon pioneers who crossed the plains by wagon or handcart. These are the stories that interest me. Stories of faith and courage. Stories that ended in triumph as families settled into their new homes after surviving the long arduous pilgrimage across the plains. Many of these stories have been told somewhere in the annals of the family histories in Utah. I have no such pioneer heritage, so the stories and faith of those pioneer people are unknown and yet intriguing to me, just as the untold stories of family members who were separated by the Holocaust intrigue me.

William Skeen family memorial

Utah pioneer grave marker courtesy of Sons of Utah Pioneers

Memorials to so many children are located in the older end of the Plain City cemetery. I spent nearly an hour hovering around one large needle shaped memorial. At first I was intrigued about the family who had buried each of their children together. As I walked around the four sides of the stone though, an intensely tragic story began to unfold, and I discovered the preface to an unwritten book, one that I desperately wanted to read. Nine small stones lie neatly in two rows next to the memorial. Each stone says simply, “Skeen.” These little graves tell the beginning of a sorrowful journey for their saddened parents.

Apparently the story began in the fall of 1870 when one by one, each of the Skeen’s seven children began to fall ill. Whatever the epidemic was, the household must have been quarantined, because I was only able to find the grave of one other Plain City child who had died during these two months. It must have been six year-old Jane who brought the illness into the household. On November twenty-third, the little girl succumbed to the illness and left this earthly life, leaving behind at least six siblings, a pregnant mother, and a worried father.

Less than three weeks later, Caroline Skeen gave birth to a baby who died the same day it was born. One more spirit to keep little Jane company. Two days later, the ten year old namesake of Caroline died. Maybe for a while it looked like the worst might be over, but after what must have been a very sad Christmas, two more children joined their siblings in death. Four year-old Benjamin and five-year old Elisha died on January third of the new year. By this time, the epidemic was raging throughout the Skeen household and nothing would stop it. Five days later, two year-old Thomas died, followed by seven year-old Amanda on January tenth.

I wondered about the oldest child, William, who was thirteen when he died on January fifteenth. Was he hanging on in an attempt to care for his brothers and sisters? How the parents must have mourned as each of their children went to the grave, one after another, in such a short time.

The Skeen’s tragic story doesn’t end here, though. Several years after my discovery of the Skeen tragedy, I returned to take another look at the tombstone. On the opposite side of the tombstone where the names of Caroline and William were inscribed, are the names of a second wife, Mary Davis Skeen, and three children who died within five days of each other. Polygamy was not uncommon in Utah Territory in those days, specifically among devout Mormon families. Three decades after the tragedy, polygamy was officially denounced and the church abstained from further plural unions. I decided that I could not pronounce any condemnation upon the heads of William, Caroline, or Mary, though. For all I know, both marriages were solid, amicable, and willingly entered into by all parties. In fact, I am well aware that many polygamous families have laid claim to happy unions and cordial friendships among wives and children.

One more child was born to the Skeen family nineteen months after the tragedy. Unfortunately, this little girl also joined her brothers and sisters in death just six years later. This is just the beginning of the untold story of the Skeen family. I wonder what their lives must have been like before and after the deaths of their children? Which children belonged to which wife? Did they live together in the same house or even on the same street? Did they have any other children who survived?

Less than a century after the Skeen tragedy occurred, a new devastation began to unfold in the Old World. As the Holocaust swept over Europe, it wreaked larger destruction upon the inhabitants of the European continent than even the Skeen family could imagine. After those black days, one Jewish cemetery in Prague stood as a testament against Nazi snipers. The small plot in Prague escaped destruction, but as Longfellow penned in his poem, The Jewish Cemetery at Newport, “The dead nations never rise again.” Like the graves in Plain City, each cemetery has its own tale of sorrow. Prague is no different.

I couldn’t read the headstones at the cemetery in Prague. Most of the markers were inscribed in “the mystic volume” of Hebrew, and other markers were in Slavic languages. Even so, the majority of the headstones were weathered to the point that they would have been nearly impossible to read in any language. I didn’t need to read them. The town’s history and the condition of the graveyard told its own intriguing story of heartache and struggle. Longfellow thought the Jewish cemetery in Maine to be strange. To me, it wasn’t strange or gratifying; it was sad and unjustified. Then again, the very existence of the cemetery tells a tale of triumph over bigotry and hatred.

The casual observer in the old Jewish sector would find “narrow streets and lanes obscure” just as Longfellow described, but the cemetery is hidden from casual view. It is located on a small hill completely enclosed by a stone fence. I don’t think that the hill occurs naturally. After 700 years of burials on such a paltry lot of land, it became necessary for the Hebrew community to bring in more soil to bury their dead.

Less than an acre of land. Seven hundred years of death. Men, women, children. Old and young. All of their dead went there. As the years went on, bodies were uncovered, lifted up and reburied with new companions. People who were total strangers, never met, and lived hundreds of years apart became roommates in death. Strange bedfellows.

Entering the cemetery from a busy street, one is met with an eerie silence. Brownish tombstones, large and small, rest grotesquely upon one another. Most of the stones are so old that the writing has been erased through years of wind and rain. The newer stones are written in Hebrew and couldn’t be read anyway (by me, at least). A pencil-thin pathway winds forlornly through the piles of hand-hewn rock. Above in the trees that serve to hide the sepulchral plot from mortal view, big black birds caw solitarily to one another, adding to the unearthly atmosphere. The calls reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe’s plea; “Is there–is there balm in Gilead? –tell me–tell me, I implore!” I almost expected to hear the raven’s plaintive cry of “Nevermore!”

Death is always sad for the living. Billions of tears were shed worldwide for the loss of over six million lives of the Holocaust. I am sure that the Plain City community mourned in a similar fashion for the loss of the Skeen children at what should have been a joyous time of the year. They were the tears of loss. Those who died may have been lucky, as Whitman put it, but those who were left behind lost a piece of their own lives as they put their loved ones into the ground. Often the only solace for the living is knowing that one day they will join their cherished families in death. If there is indeed life beyond the grave, then death cannot part loved ones, it only separates them for a while.

As for the rest of this world, people come and go from this life daily. Some leave histories. Most don’t. Their voices are silent. Their stories die with them. My interest is to find tales worth telling and uncover their secrets. There are some things that will never be known to the living, but the mysteries make great stories.

A Tale of Two Cemeteries Too many years ago I wrote an essay. I wasn't really doing it just for fun, but I can honestly say it was the most rewarding essay I've ever written (for school, that is).

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almostentirelylost-blog · 7 years

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The Forgotten Post

The Multi-Part Great Big Post

Part I: The Poorly Planned Castle Visit

It's been a while since I've written up a post, and that's for a few very good reasons. Let's see, two days gone by undocumented, and still no pictures that were promised. They'll come at some point, I swear it. So for context, I'm currently on a train on my way out of Dresden heading towards Prague, about a two hour trip, and some of the most beautiful countryside i've seen in a very long while. Looks like we just arrived at Bad Schandau, look up some pictures. So. My last day in Berlin consisted of one very poorly planned, very fun trip out to Potsdam. Beautiful town, that one, sort of where the rich folk like to have their homes for the sake of some sort of theater/filmmaking business. I guess it's sort of a mini Hollywood, or maybe that's just nearby. I can't remember, but the point of the trip was to go see a castle. Schloss Cecilienhof, specifically, and it turns out that the entire thing is under construction and has been for 3 years already. Go figure, but I didn't do any research and my grandmother doesn't use the internet at all.

Sort of a bummer that we didn't get to really see the castle very well. I mean we saw it, but all covered with scaffolding and tarp. The grounds were gorgeous though, immacutely kept gardens and pathways. The sort of place where I'm sure you'd find a hedge maze. Also right on a river, and I can't remember which river that was to save my life. So we walked the grounds, enjoyed that, and then went on our merry way to find a beer.

We found that beer at the Brauerei Meierei. The place might as well be a museum, except it still produces that delicious, frosty, malted beverage we all know and love. In massive quantities (three story tall brewery, which I haven't seen before on that scale), and served in half-litres or litres in heavy glass steins right on the riverfront. We tried to take a boat tour too, but we also missed out on that one. A shame really. Anyhow, the trip back to Berlin wasn't very interesting, just trains and busses, back to the luggage disaster I had to re-organize and sort through to decide what I needed for the next leg of the journey.

Part II: The Next Leg of the Journey

Got everything sorted out that I needed, freaked out a little bit, calmed down, had a cup of coffee, and then hopped on a train to Dresden. The idea was to go out there to see an old friend of mine, one Fritz Stenzel. Well, that and sightseeing because I'm still totally a tourist. Dresden is an incredible, old city with a very long histoy in science, religion, art, war, and medicine. The various museums and palaces are standing testaments to these things and many of them house incredible old collections of any combination of all of the aforementioned things. The most notable building are the Frauenkirche,and the Zwinger.

The Frauenkirche is a stupidly large stone church of typical stupidly large European church varieties. It's unfair how pretty it is, and the art inside is even worse.

Oh look at that, I'm now official in Czechia. Anyways, church. The line was long, but there was also a guided tour going to the top of the tower. A little cupola or whatever those rounded domes at the top of these old buildings are called. the ones you can walk around in that usually have bells and all that. That was neat, but the spiral staircase leading up to it brought a whole new dimension to the word 'treacherous'. Not that it mattered much, I only really peeked into the building. My real interest was in the Zwinger.

The Zwinger. Once a capitol building/royal palace, it has now been turned into a museum and a monument. It is well maintained and the gardens are beautiful with some ancient old carved fountains layed tastefully throughout. There are also three museums there. An art museum with an extensive collection of works from the 16th-18th century. Most of this is religious art, Christian/Catholic, and a few Greek and Roman pieces as well. I took pictures of the ones that really stood out to me. The next museum was more interesting to me, since it was all old scientific equipment and nautical navigation, or the beginnings thereof. Have you ever seen a handmade astrolabe? Beautiful, though I can't understand why you would need to make them out of 7 different metals. It was Czech, I suppose, and they had a thing for alchemy. Last was a porcelain museum. Pretty, but not all that interesting.

After that I got a call from my buddy and headed his way, right in the middle of downtown Neu-Stadt. Good to be able to pick up a friendship again after 6 years of not seeing one another. For those of you that know my taste in music, he's the man that got me started down this path. First thing in order was a beer, then a shower and change, because Dresden is hot in the summertime. Then we went and drank more beer at a fun little jazz/blues club called Evergreen. A Czech beer even, called Gambrinus. Very cheap, but tastes good. Would recommend to Euro-travelers that might be reading. Night of drinking, yay.

Part III: First Time in Czechia

So far all I can say is that the countryside is gorgeous. All rolling hills, green fields, and lush, diverese forests. Pretty. The city of Prague is also astonishing, as it turns out. At the train station I met a fellow American traveler and togetherwe decided that the best decision at the time was to find ourselves a good Czech beer and some goulash. That was more or less instant success, as I guess he was something of a foodie, and knew exactly where the best places were. Over lunch it was all scheming and plotting about what was next.

A really neat thing about Prague is how big and old the buildings are, but that also translates to some very dark, confined streets. Anywhere you go is paved in cobblestones and overshadowed by great old stone gargoyles or carvings of forgotten alchemists and kings. The city is also basically a maze. It turns out that I get absolutely no cell service in Prague at all, so that was a maze I learned how to navigate the old fashioned way. Czech is a pretty funny language too; impossible to understand and yet it's frustratingly familiar. Familiar really is the best word for that feeling, where it seems like I should be able to understand everything just because the intonation and pronunciations are so similar. I don't know, there were a lot of doubletakes and little wait-a-moment moments.

I stayed at an Airbnb for the first time that night. I'd booked it on the train on the way in, it seemed like that would both be the cheapest and best option, plus I got lucky with a really central location. Took me like two hours to find the damn place though, because there was no signage and the door was a four meter tall cast iron monstrosity that honestly didn't even look like it could be moved. Turns out it was just a regular apartment building, and by that I mean Eastern European regular. For any of you that have seen Interview with a Hitman, think along the lines of the apartment building that movie starts in. Room had 6 beds, a gorgeous view of the city, and a couple of exhausted looking Australians that I later saw pounding 40's and smoking in the stairwell.

Part IV: Alchemy, Green Liquors, and Metal

Prague at night is special too. The entire city lights up and really comes to life. All those little cobblestone streets and gothic monuments turn into mysterious, gloomy corridors with all the feel and air of the 16th century, alchemy fueled, scientific center that the city was. I won't get too much into the details of the night-life, since it's more or less the same everywhere, except that I found a metal bar! A really neat place called Hell's Bells, where I spent a fair amount of time drinking and talking with a couple of Estonian metalheads I met.

The Czech have a tendency to buy people they think are cool shots. Specifically shots of this flourescent, toxic looking, green liquor that I can't remember the name of. Not that I could pronounce it even if I did have it written down somewhere. I learned pretty quickly that there's a proper way to do that shot too. You're supposed to gargle a little bit first,and then down the rest. Holy shit that was a sight to see. A bar full of Czech guys gargling liquor and then singing some sort of drinking song... Any case, the stuff isn't something I think I'm going to be drinking more of. Way too sweet and way too minty. Hell it might actually be mouthwash, but with more sugar. Bleh.

So, woke up with a bit of a hangover, showered, dressed, forced some food, drank lots of fruit juice and here I am on a train, almost in Vienna, felling a whole lot better and looking forward to some opera and a really nice dinner...

Pictures will be uploaded from the hotel at some point tomorrow, probably.

#dresden #zwinger #museums #beer #elbe #czech republic #prague #trains #morebeer #alestorm #opeth #metalbar #thanks mom

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