#Beauty in Boro

[fashionbooksmilano]

Beauty in Boro

Kosaku Nukata Collection

Kosaku Nukata

Seigensha, Kyoto 2022,  272 pages, 21 x 30 cm, softcover,  ills colour, English, Japanese, ISBN 9784861528958

euro 55,00

email if you want to buy :booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Countless pieces of cloth that have been spliced together and passed down from generation to generation. The handiwork of nameless people, born of poverty, overwhelms the viewer. Rags, which were created by the hands of nameless people in rural settlements and fishing villages during hard times, are now so highly regarded in the field of art and textiles that they are known around the world as "BORO". This book contains approximately 400 carefully selected pieces from a collection of more than a thousand collected by Kosaku Nukata over a period of 35 years.

01/01/23

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[onerabong]

I read the Boros arc again and I-

Boros is trying so hard

He wants to beat Saitama so bad he’s giving his all, his everything, and Saitama makes all that look so insignificant with just one punch

God, it pains me in the best ways to look at this battle

[orangetruckercap]

Kapital 2024 AW BEAUTIFUL BORO BOROUGH Vol.1

[dinoshimaaa]

some day, someone will like me like i like you. (pt 2)

this damned feeling. a curse laid upon him for all of eternity. unescapable, tormenting, torturing. first it was disappointment he felt in himself for succumbing to it. but that feeling of shame was soon washed away by the bliss that accompanied the fluttering feeling in his chest, its intensity so strong that it overpowered every other emotion in him, to the point that he only ever thinks and feels of you when you are near. what a shame that you do not feel the same. (feat. wanderer, tartaglia, lyney, gn! reader) (pt 1 here)

or: their heart will always be yours, but you…

(p.s. scara for @seveninchesfrominsanity 😎 and gingey for my best boro @souglias 😍 good luck to everyone on their child pulls!!!!!!!!)

(p.p.s. 8 year-old tartaglia refers to reader as a princess once, but it’s gender neutral otherwise + archon quest and lyney story quest spoilers)

-

the wanderer of sumeru is all but lovely. he is “hat guy”, the mysterious vahumana scholar who showed up out of nowhere just days ago, already gathering an infamous identity for being scornful and anti-social. he is lesser lord kusanali’s assistant, a thinly veiled title to mask the fact that he is a prisoner under her watch. many do not know him because he refuses to work in the spotlight, much like the acting grand sage, and those who do don’t always have the best impression of him.

and even lesser truly know of where he had come from: his mother who is raiden ei, his origins in tatarasuna, his affiliation with the fatui, his obsession with the electro gnosis, and what he once was to sumeru: a false god, a monster, the near-cause of the land of wisdom’s destruction.

but the lack of something will always be attracted to an abundance of something. you are nothing but lovely; the loveliest, if anyone had to say. you are dazzling and you are beautiful, turning heads towards you when you walk the street. you are kind and generous towards the stray kittens on treasure street, and cheerful and easygoing with the store owners when you visit them. people sing praises of you everywhere wanderer goes, and to say he hadn’t had his own experience with you was incorrect.

he remembers himself fighting wave after wave of fatui soldiers, and himself slowly getting more exhausted by the minute, when you came in like a saviour angel from above, plunging on the last of enemies with your bow. he recalls your hits being barely a fraction of how hard he can slice through an enemy, yet when you assisted in defeating those annoying fatui back then, you turned around and asked if he was okay with the brightest smile imaginable.

(to the traveler or nahida, he would’ve given a sarcastic reply. to any ordinary civilian, he would’ve ignored them and been on his way. that day, he recalls being utterly speechless, while the rising sun glows behind your head, giving you a halo, illuminating your smile further. you are the most radiant sight he has ever seen.)

he seeks you out secretly like a stray cat following the only kind soul who fed it milk. sometimes, he watches over you in the air, making sure you’re safe. other times he just observes your interactions with others, ever so relieved to see that you are loved by sumeru just as much as you have shown its people love. more often than not he catches himself drifting off to a dream filled with you, being flustered and ashamed of such pathetic behaviour. but sometimes he also gets too lost in his thoughts, melancholy overtaking his face when he thinks of the shining star that you are.

wanderer’s hands are decorated with filth and blood. they show, sometimes, after an exhausting fight with the fatui. in his peripheral vision, hallucinations of that kid, that blacksmith, and the doctor come and go. in the dead of night, when sumeru sleeps soundly and all that is to be heard are the rustling of leaves in the wind, wanderer looks at his shaking hands and closes them in a fist, wiping them harshly, trying to rub off the sins stained on them. he is a terrible person to others. he is a terrible person to himself.

he is not a lovely person. you are the embodiment of ‘lovely’ itself. he couldn’t possibly deserve to be with you, lest his filth and sinful hands taint your pure being. it would simply be unconscionable for someone like him; damaged past, wreck and ruin, an empty soulless shell, to be close to your brightness. no one, not even himself, would forgive him if he were to ruin who you are: sumeru’s loveliest, the one who loves sumeru, and the one whom sumeru loves.

it is yet another night of watching you enter your house safely, staring at your front door for a few moments more before heading back to his residence (nevermind that he was the one to clear all the enemies in your path ahead, while you weren’t seeing). if nahida ever pointed out the lingering fond look in his eyes, or if the traveler teased him about having a possible crush on someone, there would be no need to blush madly and scamper away like a schoolgirl, for he knows that there is zero chance of “us” with him and you.

-

there are many fairy tales that are popular in morepesok village, most of which ajax have heard in his childhood many times. his distant memories include his mother, still youthful and full of smiles, reading him one of such fairy tales to lull him to sleep. he remembers her warm caress, the pulling of a quilt over his tiny body, and the soft flicker of the candle beside his mother, waiting to be blown out for the night. he also remembers you, his childhood best friend, his sleepover buddy, his other half, tucked into bed right next to him. if he searched hard enough, he might find some candid pictures of you and him, cuddled next to each other in the bed, in his childhood home.

“so then, the prince and the princess ended up happily ever after again?” 8 year-old ajax yawned, a sleepy smile on his face.

“they did, again,” his mother’s warm chuckle resonates throughout the room, through his ears, into his heart. he stores her laugh like a cassette tape in his memory, wanting to play it over and over again in the future.

“i can’t imagine a fairy tale where the prince and princess don’t end up together,” you murmured beside ajax, as his mother tucked the two of you in.

“that should be us, then,” ajax turned to face you and grinned, “so we’ll never be apart. let’s pinky promise that you’ll always be the princess and i’ll always be the prince!”

“why do i have to be your princess?” you complained, only to be shushed by ajax’s mother before she blew the candle out, signalling the end of pillow talk and the start of dreamland.

(all three of you knew it was impossible for you and ajax to be completely silent after lights out. the giggles that progressively get louder and harder after his mother leaves the room are testament to that.

this time, however, ajax is deadly silent, and you reach out to cup his face to ask what’s wrong.)

“sorry,” ajax holds the hand you cupped his cheek with. “you don’t have to be the princess, it’s okay. but i want to be your prince. i want to rescue you from the bad guys and defeat bad guys in your name. i’ll even do a pinky promise to prove it.”

even though you don’t give him a verbal answer, you hold his hand as he sleeps. it brings enough reassurance to 8 year-old ajax.

such peaceful times are unreachable now, ever since he fell.

ajax has not seen you for ten years. you have seen tartaglia for none.

when he returns, his familiar fluff of ginger hair in front of your doorstep, you have to do a double take. gone is the scrawny boy you knew, that got sick after every ice fishing trip, and cried over the smallest of scratches; in front of you now stands a fearsome harbinger, the tsaritsa’s vanguard, a killing machine with no life in his eyes.

(that is not ajax, any longer. that is tartaglia. that is a fatui harbinger. where is your ajax?)

you cannot bring yourself to smile when he presents you with a bouquet of pink roses, despite how beautifully preserved and fragrant they are. your heart doesn’t soften even when he greets your parents politely, plays with your siblings, cooks your family dinner, and helps with the dishes. that is not ajax whom you’ve let into your home, in contrast to what the rest of your family believes. that is a stranger who has intruded your safe space.

it hurts childe more than it hurts you to be on the receiving end of haunted eyes and hostile stares. he knows that he is vastly different from the childhood best friend he was to you ten years ago, and no matter what he does now, you will always see him as tartaglia, childe, the vanguard. you love ajax, but ajax is who he once was. ajax had been forced to throw himself away to survive. it wasn’t his fault that ajax is dead, but he cannot blame you for defiantly wanting your ajax back.

so when he kneels in front of you, the snowy wind feeling a lot more colder than usual, he ignores the way your hands tense when he holds it. he wants to cry when you attempt to pull your hand away even though he kisses it as gently as gentle can be. if an outsider were to witness this, they’d call this a romantic scene, between a prince and his beloved. but both you and ajax know that the fairy tale you yearned for in your childhood is completely unreachable now.

(“give me back my ajax.”)

(“i’m sorry.”)

-

to say that the great magician lyney is fully authentic in his shows would be a bit of a stretch, for he is an actor on the stage before he is a magician, however hard or long he may rehearse the day before the show. every smile had been sculpted and practised for hours until it was deemed perfect enough to be seen by his audience. needless to say, ‘the great magician lyney’ is merely a farce, an identity of its own. he wishes not to confuse that lyney with ‘fatui lyney’ and just ‘lyney’.

you were just supposed to be another face in the audience, an unsuspecting fellow he was meant to charm, attract, and never remember the face of. but you show up to a show once, then twice, then thrice, and soon you become a familiar face that lyney notices in the audience every now and then.

(that’s what lyney says, at least. lynette knows that he secretly seeks out your face behind the curtains, and the moment he finds you, his smile widens a tad bit, and his voice is a little cheerier as he steps out on stage.

by the way, since when did he start using rainbow roses in his performances? ugh, darn charlotte.)

but it is not easy to always be just ‘lyney’ with you, for he is called to be the great magician by day, and fatui by night. rarely is there time given to him to be his true self in front of you, to let the curtains fall and the farce fade. you can’t remember the last time he was allowed to let his shoulders slump, his face be bare of makeup, and his head rest under your chin as you kissed his tears.

and it seems you won’t be seeing those ever again.

lyney feels his blood run cold the moment father mentions your name in a mission, so casually, almost as if she had let your name slip out of her lips innocently and accidentally, if he hadn’t known any better. but lyney has been her loyal servant, her ‘favourite child’ for years, and he knows that the mere mention of your name is but a warning to him.

“i seem to be craving coffee recently. no one brews it quite as well as [name] does, i fear,” is what the knave says.

that person seems to be distracting you. i will eliminate them soon, is what she means.

lyney cannot afford to let anymore people close to him get hurt. his parents, who passed when he was very young… lynette, whose life had been endangered too many times to count… cesar, who taught him everything and treated him with love even in just ten days…

you shouldn’t need to fall into the same trend as well. your life is peaceful, precious, and untainted unlike his. so, it should remain untouched. and lyney decides that this is when he does what he has to do.

on the day that you return home and see lumidouce bells on your doorstep instead of lyney, you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your gut turns and folds nastily, and stars increasingly flood your vision while a silent plea rings in your head, but there is nothing logical that refutes the contents of the letter that lyney had left you. that is all you have left of him.

the rest is to be expected. feeling betrayed and abandoned, you lose all feelings for lyney, not wanting to be associated with him again. his gifted trinkets left in your house are all thrown out. you can’t look at a magic show advertisement for more than two seconds. it takes only a little while to get over this heartbreak, but once you are fully free of all emotional attachment to lyney, you never think about him and his rainbow roses ever again.

lyney’s plan goes exceptionally well. of course it does; it was as meticulously planned as all his performances are. he returns to the house later that night to report back to father, submitting his response to her threats weeks ago: [name] is nothing to me now. hence, you cannot hurt them.

(however successful his plan was, he cannot bring himself to smile in response to the knave’s satisfied one.)

later, on the same night, when he slips out of the house, he finds himself wandering towards the place where he usually picks his rainbow roses from. a gentle pluck, a flick of his hand; a lumidouce bell takes its place instead. he smiles at his own trick bitterly, before pressing his lips to the blue flower and intertwining another rainbow rose with it. 

a moment of hesitation comes, followed by a few minutes of uneasy pacing, until lyney makes the decision to squeeze the petals with his gloved hand. the crumpled pink and blue petals fall to the ground. lyney only gazes as they do so.

(he wishes he could do the same to his own heart, but that is barely a fraction of how he made you feel. he will look for more ways to punish himself, then.)

[theomnicode]

Reasons to love OPM & little tidbits #8

Small characterizations details that are easy to miss ep8:

Saitama is more sensitive than people realize

Saitama is an interesting character in the sense that he actually shies away from aggression and violence, but will also not hesitate to take action in the case that he thinks he is actually needed. But even then, Saitama did not have the heart to finish off Boros, despite him wrecking the entirety of city A.

Saitama hasn't had a nice childhood, as many people were hostile towards him for different reasons not his fault, so this sensitivity to hostility and aggression followed him towards adulthood, where he even points out to he small kid riding on his shoulders that "there's no such thing as living well in this world." (Chapter 8.5: 200 Yen, Vol 1 extra)

He's suspicious of authority figures accosting him, he does not like when people criticize him, he's self-conscious about his bald head and does not like bullies, especially those who bully children.

Despite all this, Saitama tries his best to stay on top of things, like keeping tab of weather & disaster channels and news in case a powerful monster appears that other heroes cannot handle, such as Vaccineman.

But in doing so, he's also been doomscrolling when there's nothing but mayhem and havoc on television for him and it has gotten to the point where he experienced compassion fatigue, a diminished capacity to emphatize. The dark circles around his webcomic self speak volumes but has thankfully been averted in the manga, as he seems far less bothered by them now, probably because he's a lot closer to Genos and other people like King. (Chapter 174: Beauty)

Saitama is now seemingly also showing this sensitive side of his more and more often when his emotions are rising to the surface far easier after the Garou fiasco. He timidly peeks behind Blast when human turned monsters are being electrocuted because his body language and the little we see of his face screams that he's actually upset and sympathizes with Hamukichi. (Chapter 196: Threat)

Saitama is also sensitive to outside influence and opinions, such as when he accidentally came down with Child Emperor into the cave and helped them out, but then Child emperor tells Sekingar that Saitama was rescued, not that Saitama helped rescue them. Even after Saitama complimented him for being a great hero, one can see from Saitama's expression that he was hurt and emotionally betrayed when from his point of view, Isamu just takes all the credit. (Chapter 106: Terrible multiplying bastard)

Sekingar even starts to yell at him because he thinks Saitama is just loitering around and not doing anything but could just become another hostage. Poor Saitama, that negative perception bias does not leave him alone and he doesn't deserve to be yelled at.

It's a little wonder he hasn't exploded already- oh wait, he has and he almost destroyed the entire planet. Oops. That was a lot of pent up aggression right there. Peeps rly need to be more kinder to Saitama, one can only take so much of emotional abuse. They're really effectively alienating Saitama because who would want to hang with people if they're being constantly belittled by them, or worse.

As the series progresses, we will no doubt see more of Saitama's sensitivity and reactions and we might even see him lash out more or become sad at criticism thrown at him.

[jedimaesteryoda]

You often miss how similar Jorah Mormont and Petyr Baelish are in some respects.

When it was announced that I was to wed Brandon Stark, Petyr challenged for the right to my hand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen. I had to beg Brandon to spare Petyr's life. He let him off with a scar. Afterward my father sent him away. I have not seen him since." -AGOT, Catelyn IV Yet with Lynesse's favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion's laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world." -ACOK, Daenerys I

They pursued beautiful highborn women far above their station who, and both being southron women who married northern lords. Petyr pined for Catelyn Tully, and fought a duel for her hand against her betrothed, Brandon Stark. Jorah won a tourney with the favor of Lynesse Hightower, he crowned her queen of love and beauty and managed to marry her when he asked for her hand.

Their stories have a romantic element to them with Petyr dueling for Cat's hand and Jorah winning a tourney with Lynesse's favor, but they end up being subverted with neither getting a happy ending. Petyr loses the duel and is nearly killed, and then SAed by Lysa and sent from Riverrun. Jorah's marriage didn't work out, exhausting his family's coffers to provide her the luxuries she was used to and after selling poachers to slavers, which forced him into exile. Catelyn ended up marrying Ned Stark and Lynesse ended up leaving Jorah to be a merchant-prince's concubine.

After that, they found themselves in service to women with Lysa Arryn having Jon Arryn raisie up Petyr and him later serving Queen Cersei while Jorah ending up serving Daenerys in exile. They also end up betraying the people they serve with Littlefinger having a hand in the War of Five Kings and being behind Joffrey's murder, killing Lysa and Jorah spying on Daenerys.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them." -AGOT, Daenerys VII "I'm a good girl," Jeyne whimpered. "They trained me." -ADWD, Theon

Another thing they have in common is their attitude towards children and sex slavery. Petyr took the orphaned Jeyne Poole, forced her into sexual slavery at one of his brothels as shown by the whippings she endured for refusing and mentioning "she was trained." He then sent her to Ramsay Bolton of all people, likely not being ignorant of the things he had heard about him. Jorah had no qualms selling kids into sex slavery en masse, and when Dany tells him to stop Eroeh from being raped, he initially pushes back saying the Dothraki are claiming "their reward."

"You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ." "Might have been," he admitted, with a rueful smile. "But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age." -ASOS, Sansa VII "What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?" Ser Jorah smiled sadly. "Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys." -ACOK, Daenerys I

It fits their creepy attitude towards the opposite gender with their fixation on young girls after the loss of their previous interests of affection. Petyr fixates on Cat's daughter Sansa Stark who does bear a noted resemblance to her mother while Jorah fixates on Daenerys who he admits looks like his ex-wife.

For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?" Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid." . . . "You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ." -ASOS, Sansa VII It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. "You . . . you should not have . . ." "I should not have waited so long," he finished for her. "I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the red waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well." His eyes were on her breasts. Dany covered them with her hands, before her nipples could betray her. "I . . . that was not fitting. I am your queen." -ASOS, Daenerys I

Their treatment towards these girls can be described as possessive and abusive. While posing to their girls as their protectors, they basically use it to enforce control over them. They force kisses on the girls, and when the girls make it clear they don't want them, simply dismiss them and continue to push. Petyr keeps Sansa in his custody under a false identity, effectively making him her guardian and keeping her completely dependent on him. Jorah tries to isolate Dany from other men in her life from Xaro to Barristan and Daario.

The main difference in Petyr is very vindictive, and works on the downfall of houses Stark and Tully over Cat's rejection and marriage while Jorah stays loyal to Daenerys and tries to seek her favor again. Neither man really takes accountability for the consequences of their actions.

Their fixations will ultimately prove to be their downfalls. Petyr underestimates the danger Sansa potentially poses to him as she is learning from him. Jorah in a desperate act, kidnaps Tyrion, and tries to go to Meereen to regain favor with Daenerys. He likely won't like the Ironborn suitor Victarion, and his actions will likely get himself killed.

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.10

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"I am malicious because I am miserable. Should I not be shunned by all mankind."

Summary: Lord Boros Baratheon of Storm's End is offered a chance to bend the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and when he refuses, his ambitious daughter is more than happy to sacrifice him for his seat. And who better to support her cause than Daenys, the girl she has built a careful friendship with over the years for this very reason.

Word Count: 5.5k

The grounds of Dragonstone lay bathed in the soft hues of early morning, a tranquil aura hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Dew-kissed grass sparkled beneath the gentle caress of dawn's first light, while the distant echo of birdsong danced on the breeze, and Daenys Velaryon stood silently amidst the serene tableau, her figure a mere silhouette against the backdrop of the ancient stone walls of the castle behind her. 

Beside her stood the Queen with a furrowed brow, her expression etched with concern as she gazed upon her daughter, sensing the coils of tension that wound so tight inside of her that she dreaded the moment she wound finally burst. 

"Daenys," Rhaenyra's voice finally broke the silence. "Are you sure about this? You've only just returned. I cannot bear to lose you again so quickly."

The princess turned to face her mother, her eyes reflecting the weight of her decision. She reached out, taking Rhaenyra's hand in her own, the touch a silent reassurance. Pressing a tender kiss to her mother's hand, she then pressed it to her own forehead, a gesture of filial love and respect.

"I must do this, Mother," her voice resolute, her words inlaid with Valyrian steel itself. "I will return, and I will not return empty-handed. You have my word."

There was something dark in her tone, the same sort of vicious conviction that had hovered over her for the past few days, and Rhaenyra's heart clenched, a mixture of pride and fear warring within her. 

"If this is truly your path, then I will not stand in your way, but before you go, I have something for you."

As Rhaenyra's words hung in the air, Daenys's heart quickened with anticipation, her uninjured eye widening in surprise as her mother produced the unexpected gift from behind her, withdrawing the sword slowly, its hilt gleaming in the soft morning light.

Daenys's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the weapon, her gaze drawn irresistibly to its familiar form. Tears threatened to spill, but she fought against them, steeling herself against the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

It was stunning; dark grey, almost black, with a ripple-patterned surface that was distinctive to Valyrian Steel. Daenys reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the cool metal, tracing the length of the blade with a reverence born of familiarity. 

Elegant in its simplicity, the longsword was devoid of the ostentatious ornamentation favoured by some, yet its beauty lay in the single sparkling sapphire embedded into the pommel, the colour akin to the clearest of seas on the calmest of days. It had been lovingly polished till it gleamed, well-loved and cared for despite the absence of its original owner, and just the sight of it brought back memories of laughter and the image of a smile that seemed permanently etched into Daenys's heart. 

When she met her mother's gaze, a silent question lingering in the air between them, Rhaenyra's eyes softened with unspoken understanding, her lips curving into a tender smile as she answered the unvoiced inquiry.

"It was his."

I know. 

Of course, Daenys knew. Her father had tried her with the very same sword. She had seen it every morning for years on end, and sometimes when he was feeling particularly generous, he'd let her spar with it. She had been curious about the fate of the sword, but it felt irrelevant in the face of his glaring absence, and she assumed it had been returned to House Velaryon along with the rest of his artifacts. 

"Laenor had never been one for fuss or frills, you know that. But he would have liked for you to have it."

How do you know what he would have wanted?

Did you have it the whole time?

Why give it to me now?

There were so many more questions to ask, yet the forlorn princess could not bring herself to utter the words, and for that her mother was grateful. Rhaenyra didn't think she had it in her to provide truthful responses to her daughter's inquiries and she was glad to be spared the impossible task. She still hadn't reached out to Laenor yet, despite Daemon's insistence that having another dragon rider on their side would be useful. It felt too unfair. Laenor deserved to live a life free from the burdens of court that weighed so heavily on him, far away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of all those who sought to slander him. To drag him back into a war of the Hightower's creation simply felt too cruel, and yet a part of her yearned to have him by her side once more, if only to tame the fire she could see so plainly in her daughter's eyes. 

He was the only one who could ever mollify her, and by giving Daenys his sword, Rhaenyra liked to think she might stay her hand. Perhaps the memory of the father she had revered would placate her enough to prevent her from doing anything rash that would only endanger her further. 

"Will you name it?"

Daenys realized with some guilt that she could not remember what her father had named the sword. Try as she might, she could not dredge up the memory, and it left her feeling off-kilter. She would have to give it a new name, one befitting all it meant. 

"Queenmaker."

The sun was warm against her when Daenys set off for Storm's End, the waters below her were deceptively calm as she flew across. If she closed her eyes, the crisp morning air felt soothing against her face, and for a moment she could pretend that she was simply going out on a leisurely morning ride. The occasional stinging twitch in her face was remedied by the frequent sips from the flask at her waist, where a freshly brewed batch of the Grand Maester's tonic swirled. His words of caution echoed faintly in her ears as he repeatedly warned her not to overdo it, but Daenys didn't particularly care. It kept the pain at bay and if her fifteen-year-old self had taught her anything, it was that she was an expert at acclimating to poisons she wasn't supposed to ingest. 

She gazed at the horizon and took a moment to enjoy the delicate pastel colours that covered the sky, a seed of reluctance taking root in her heart. She wanted this to end well it was almost pathetically naive. She wanted Lord Borros to apologize for his disobedience and swear allegiance to her mother, and she wanted to return to her Queen without blood staining her hands. 

She just wanted to be her mother's little girl, unblemished and whole. She wanted to live in a world where her brother was still alive, and she was celebrating her name day with those she loved and who loved her in return. 

She just wanted-

There was no time for self-pity as the ground rushed up beneath her and her dragon landed in the courtyard with a mighty roar. Daenys felt a flicker of unease when one of the knights stationed outside flinched at her arrival. She had never elicited such a reaction before. She had never been someone to fear, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. 

"I am Princess Daenys Valaryon, and I bring a message to Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra," she declared as she climbed off, head held high. 

The knight nodded, turning to lead her inside and Daenys felt a strange burst of nostalgia. She had made frequent trips to Storm's End to visit Lady Cassandra, and it hurt to think about how the place that held such cherished memories had become her brother's grave. 

Now, instead of recalling the moments of laughter and afternoons spent sprawled on the grass listening to Cassandra's melodic voice drifting through the trees, all Daenys could think about was Lucerys's final hours. She was walking across the same gravel courtyard he did, climbing up the same stone steps, and if she could just reach her hand through time, she'd grab him by the collar and drag him away from those foreboding doors. She'd pull him away before he ever entered, before he faced lord Boros, or her husband, before she lost him. 

But Daenys Velaryon was no magician or witch and she could not reach through time. She remained hopelessly stuck in her unfortunate present, making the same journey her brother did, and hoping that this time it ended differently. 

"Princess Daenys Velaryon," her accompanying knight announced.

There he sat, Lord Boros Baratheon up on his seat of stone, with a heart hewn from the same unyielding substance. He looked annoyed, a scowl painting his face as if someone had interrupted his breakfast. She met his eyes with an unwavering stare, though inwardly she bristled at the way his gaze lingered on her injury, appraising her with a calculating eye, his lips curling into a smirk

Daenys's hair, pulled back in tightly braided coils, left her face exposed, every line and contour on full display for an audience's perusal. She had allowed Maester Gerardys to pack her wound with salve and wrap it securely, but the scar was still visible no doubt, puckered and angry as it snaked its way down her cheek in a crimson line, a stark contrast against the pallor of her complexion. 

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Another one of Rhaenyra's pups?"

Do not be rude. Do not be insolent.

The one-eyed princess took a deep breath. She had promised her mother diplomacy. She had promised to at least try and be civil. 

"The Queen sends her regards," she uttered calmly. "And in her graciousness, she has offered Storm's End another opportunity to ally itself with her."

Lord Boros raised an eyebrow, propping his chin on his hand, suddenly curious. 

"Oh? Is that so? I'm afraid this is no good. The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it, or perhaps it is only a certain faction that is unaware of the circumstances. There is a King now. King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name."

Another deep breath. 

"You have been misinformed then, my lord. There is a Queen. There only ever has been a Queen after the passing of King Viserys, and I sincerely request that you pledge fealty to her. Given your late father's loyalty and goodwill, your past impudence will be forgiven, I am certain. My mother is a forgiving woman."

You will find, however, that I am not.

The Lord of Storm's End laughed. He actually had the gall to laugh in her face, and Daenys felt something angry and violent simmer under her skin. She imagined Luke standing here, rooted to the same spot she was now. Sweet, gentle Luke who always needed assurance, who shied away from the mere mention of confrontation, who had been left all alone in this unwelcoming place with no hand to hold. 

"I humbly urge you to consider her offer, my lord."

"Well, I never...the insolence!" Lord Borros sputtered. "The disrespect that she shows House Baratheon, reminding me of my father's loyalty, and taking mine for granted."

"This kindness is all you deserve to be shown Lord Borros, particularly after breaking your house's sacred oath," Daenys hissed. "Or did you forget that your family swore their swords and banners when King Viserys named Queen Rhaenyra as heir? Is treason truly that effortless?" 

Her patience was wearing thin, and so was Lord Borros's it appeared. 

"Listen, you foolish girl. I shall say to you exactly what I said to your brother when he came begging. Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

"How dare yo-"

"King Aegon has promised the hand of his son, the crown prince Jaehaerys to one of my daughters. I would be a fool to reject such a generous offer."

"Jaehaerys ?" Daenys looked bewildered, her frustration momentarily forgotten. "He is just barely out of infancy."

"A crown prince is a crown prince. It will still ensure that my bloodline will one day sit on the Iron Throne. A Baratheon will be king in the future."

"I am not here to bargain or barter with you. Only to present my mother's message of goodwill...so one final time, I strongly urge you to accept her terms, my lord."

"Rhaenyra should stop sending more of her children here disguised as diplomats. You would think she'd have learned her lesson after what happened to the last one, but no, that girl was never one for common sense. It is obvious that the progeny of House Hightower is not to be trifled with," Lord Borros sneered and Daenys's jaw tightened, sending a stab of pain through her face.

"That girl is your queen" she snapped, scowling. "Speak her name with the respect she deserves or do not speak it at all! My brother met his end on your lands. If you cannot take responsibility, then the least you can do is show reverence. My mother is the Queen of Westeros and the 7 Kingdoms, and you will refer to her as such!"

Lord Boros's smile grew as if he was dealing with a petulant child, and in that moment Daenys felt like one. 

Helpless. Foolish. Pathetic. 

"Ah, Rhaenyra really outdid herself this time. She sent me an ill-tempered little girl to argue matters of state. Like mother, like daughter I suppose, and this is why women are simply unfit to rule," Lord Boros waved a hand at her condescendingly as if to dismiss her. "Return home princess, and hope that your husband takes you back after your treasonous display."

This was her breaking point, marking the single moment where Daenys felt something solidify inside of her. It was hard to ignore the primal urge coursing through her veins, a fierce longing to unleash the fury that simmered beneath the surface. Her fingers twitched, the metallic tang of her father's sword calling out to her like a siren's song, its weight a comforting presence at her waist.

She could almost imagine it, the image clear in her head. She would unsheathe the blade, and charge forward, the sword slicing through the air like the Stranger's scythe, each stroke a symphony of destruction as she cut down all who dared stand in her path. The guards, loyal servants of Lord Boros, would swarm around him like a protective barrier, their swords raised in defence of their master, but they would be no match for her. 

The clash of steel would ring out like thunder, the sound of metal meeting metal echoing through the hallowed halls of Storm's End and Daenys's blood would sing when she would raze them all until all they lay at her feet. She would survey the carnage that lay in her wake, blood coating her skin from head to toe, a macabre tapestry of crimson that bore witness to the price of her vengeance.

There was more rage inside of her than she knew what to do with. 

Still, it would not be enough. Not yet.

The final strike would be reserved for Lord Boros, and she would christen her father's blade with the blood of a lord. Then perhaps the ache would stop, if only to be replaced by the rot of sin. 

But, the truth was, Daenys was no knight, no seasoned warrior hardened by years of training and battle. Even at her best, she could never hope to match the skill and strength of the trained sentries that guarded the castle walls. Her hands would tremble and she would find her sword suddenly much too heavy to lift. 

With only half-functional vision, her depth perception skewed and her movements hindered, any attempt to confront Lord Boros and his guards would be nothing short of suicidal, and despite her desperate desire to meet the Stranger, she could not do it here. Of all places, Storm's End would not be her grave. Her mother would not lose another child here. 

Delusions of grandeur could not change the harsh reality of her situation, and she felt foolish all over again. What did she even think to accomplish by coming here? She should have known this would happen, given the tales of Lord Boros's nature that his daughter had regaled her with. 

"Very well, my lord. I do hope you remember that Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen made every effort to avoid bloodshed; to settle things with civility. You should know that only you are to blame for what is to follow."

"Is that a threat, princess?"

"No," Daenys tipped her head in a polite bow. "A promise."

And then, with a final nod of dismissal, she turned on her heel and made her way toward the exit, the knight who had accompanied her inside, far behind. She knew her way around well enough, and just as she turned a corner at the threshold of the gates, the sound of running footsteps shattered the stillness, echoing behind her. Daenys turned, her heart quickening with anticipation, to find a dark-haired girl gasping for breath as she sprinted toward her.

It was Cassandra Baratheon, her face flushed with exertion and her eyes momentarily blown wide with surprise as she beheld Daenys's scarred visage. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them.

Cassandra felt a pang of concern, a flicker of a flame that might have grown into a wildfire if she let it fester. She wanted to take her face in her hands and peel away the bandages, to inspect the nature of the injury and ask her who had done this to her.

Her dearest friend, one of her most beloved. 

She had a sinking suspicion that she knew the answer to her queries already, particularly after the show the one-eyed prince had put on just a few weeks ago. Cassandra had always found Daenys's eyes to be her most striking feature, and even now, she longed to brush away the stray strand of hair that fell over the bandage, to pull the truth from her like water from an old well.

But Cassandra Baratheon knew better than to pry, her curiosity tempered by their ominous circumstances. Daenys was not here as her friend, she was here as an envoy, and she no doubt held her family responsible for the demise of her brother. 

"I heard you came," she managed breathlessly.

Daenys gave her a tight-lipped nod in response, her expression unreadable as she met Cassandra's gaze.

"And you're leaving again?"

The Targaryen princess shrugged as if to say, what is there to stay for?

"I...do not share my father's sentiments," Cassandra muttered, her expression darkening. "You must know that."

She didn't know why it was so important that Daenys knew that, but it was. 

"You are his firstborn, his heir even," the princess finally spoke, her voice low. "I am sure your words hold some importance to him."

Cassandra snorted, "You don't truly believe that do you?"

Another shrug from Daenys. 

"I am not even his heir. He keeps waiting for a son who will never arrive, and he refuses me my rightful inheritance."

As Cassandra's quick steps closed the distance between them, Daenys felt a rush of urgency prickling at her skin. Before she could react, Cassandra's hands were upon her shoulders, her fingers digging into them, practically slamming her into the shadowed alcove, away from prying eyes and ears.

The suddenness of her action caught the princess off guard, her breath catching in her throat as she found herself crowded into the narrow space, the cool stone pressing against her back. It was strangely reminiscent of all the times they had hidden from Cassandra's sisters during their games, but the atmosphere between them now held none of that pleasant nonchalance. 

"If I were Lady of Storm's End," Cassandra's words were a harsh whisper, edged with determination, her gaze fierce as she met Daenys's. "I would not make the same mistake as my father. I would swear allegiance to the true queen of Westeros."

Oh.

This was a turn of events Daenys was not expecting. The last thing she thought she would see was Lord Boros's own daughter admitting to treason under his very roof, but perhaps she should have foreseen it. There was a reason that she was known as one of the Four Storms after all, and it had more to do with the fact that she became a force to be reckoned with once she set her mind to something. 

Before she could respond, Cassandra stepped back, her demeanour suddenly casual as she brushed imaginary dust from Daenys's shoulders with a bitter smile playing upon her lips.

"After all, who would know better than I what it's like to be scammed out of one's inheritance."

As Cassandra searched for something else to say, the right words to say, a multitude of thoughts swirled within her mind like a tempest threatening to break free. There was so much she wanted to express, so many apologies left unspoken and grievances left unaddressed. But none of it seemed meaningful enough, none of it could bridge the chasm that was quickly forming between them.

With a heavy sigh, she found herself at a loss, her gaze dropping to the ground as she struggled to find the courage to speak. She did not want to dredge up the painful memories of her brother's death and remind Daenys of her grief, so, with a sense of resignation, she settled on the simplest truth she could muster.

"I missed you."

I wish you had not married him.

As Daenys made her way towards the waiting form of Silverwing, her massive frame dominating the courtyard like a titan of old, Cassandra found herself rooted to her spot, unable to tear her gaze away from the majestic creature before her—and her dragon.

The dragon's silver scales glinted in the sunlight, each one shimmering like a star in the daytime, and it waited patiently for the command to take off, large unblinking eyes fixed upon its rider with a mixture of anticipation and impatience.

The moments stretched into eternity, but Daenys remained motionless, smoothing her hand down the beast's side, deep in thought. The dragon shifted restlessly, her massive form trembling with pent-up energy as she shook her head and unfurled her wings in a silent plea for departure.

Still, Daenys could not make herself climb on and take her leave. Not yet anyway. Not when Luke's pitiful face swam in her consciousness. Her encounter with Casandra had left her feeling hollow. Gone were the violent thoughts of setting the place ablaze, because while her enmity with Lord Boros ran hot in her veins, she had nothing against his daughters. 

She could not return home empty-handed though. She had made a promise, and of all the things she was, she was not a liar. 

Briefly, she wondered if Cassandra was making an attempt to convince her father, and how effective her words were going to be for a man who held no regard for daughters, even if they were his own. 

Daenys must have stood there for hours on end, and eventually, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard, tension hanging thick in the air like a storm waiting to break. 

Finally, the gates of the castle swung open with a heavy creak, and Lord Boros stormed out, his expression thunderous as he made his way to stand right in front of the massive dragon's agitated form. Flanked by four knights, his presence was imposing, his authority palpable in every stride.

Daenys's gaze flickered with curiosity as she noticed Cassandra trailing behind her father, her expression unreadable as she watched the scene unfold. But instead of joining Lord Boros at his side, Cassandra veered off towards a corner of the courtyard, beckoning for one of the knights to follow her. Daenys found the placement curious, but she had little time to dwell on it as Lord Boros's booming voice shattered the silence.

"You must leave at once. Your presence here is unsettling to my household, and I will not tolerate it any longer!"

Daenys met Lord Boros's gaze with a steely resolve, her jaw set in determination as she squared her shoulders and stood her ground. She knew that her presence was a thorn in his side, a reminder of the simmering tensions that threatened to boil over at any moment. But she would not be intimidated, not by Lord Boros or anyone else. She had a mission to fulfill, a duty to her family.

"I will leave when I am ready, my lord, but not a moment sooner."

Lord Boros's face darkened with rage, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to contain his temper. 

"This is certainly no way to convince me of an alliance."

"I am done trying to beg for an alliance with a man who has no honour," Daenys voice came out soft and measured.

Perhaps it was a foolish thing to say, but her grief was her rage and rage made one foolish. 

"You come into my home and threaten me. And then you say that I am the one without honour? It seems as though Rhaenyra needs to teach her children manners."

Manners? Where had manners gotten any of them? Her mother in all her sweetness had been betrayed by the one she called a friend. Her brother was the most well-behaved child there ever was, and he too had met his end. 

No, Daenys was done being well-behaved. 

"King Aegon will not stand for this," the Lord of Storm's End fumed. "The Baratheons are his allies. He will send men to deal with you. You will face severe repercussions for your rash behaviour. He will send his brother the Kinslayer to defend us even. One does not cross the likes of him and live to tell the tale. just ask your foolish brother, princess."

"I will deal with Aemond Targaryen when the time comes," Daenys spat, her husband's name poison on her tongue.

"You are no match for him. They don't call him the Kinslayer for nothing."

Daenys's fingers clenched into fists, her nails digging bloody crescents into her palms. 

"Killing my brother earned him that title! It is not a fearsome thing to be boasted about. It is a brand for killing a child. A child!"

"Blood is always shed at war, princess. This is the way of things. You would know if you were older and less naive."

If Daenys was capable of it, she would have laughed at him. She would have laughed at his suggestion and the ideas he put into her head, ideas of his own annihilation. It would have been amusing if it wasn't so horrific, if the thought of her desires didn't make her sick.  

Beside her, her dragon let out a growl, a jet of steam bellowing out of its nostrils and up into the sky. Behind her, Cassandra's words floated through her ears once more. 

If I were Lady of Storm's End, I would swear allegiance to the true queen of Westeros.

Her brother's baleful last words echoed in her mind as well, as he tearfully asked her when he'd see her again. 

You can't be the one to go first. I'd never be able to bear it. Just the thought of not seeing you for a few days is making me sick, forget an eternity. I'd never survive.

In a twisted sort of way, she had obeyed his final wish. She had not been the one to leave first. He had, and for that, she'd never forgive herself. 

If blood was always shed at war, then she'd show him just how true it was, consequences be damned. 

"Qēlos," she muttered to her dragon, using the High Valyrian name she had given it, though seldom used. "Dracarys."

The command was uttered so softly that only the great beast could hear, and it wasted no time, her instincts honed by centuries of obedience and loyalty. With a flare of its nostrils as the only warning, it unleashed a torrent of flame from her gaping maw, the searing heat engulfing the figures stationed directly in front of her.

There was no time for them to react, no chance for them to flinch or flee as the flames consumed them with merciless efficiency. Their eyes widened in realization, a silent scream of terror frozen upon their lips as the inferno consumed them whole.

The smell of acrid smoke and burning flesh filled the air, a sickening miasma that clawed at Daenys's senses and threatened to overwhelm her. She recoiled in horror at the sight before her, her stomach churning with a wave of revulsion.

She was now a monster, a purveyor of death and destruction, and the weight of that realization bore down upon her with crushing force. She had never taken a life, and now she had taken four. Tears pricked at the corners of her eye as she surveyed the charred remains of the men who had dared to oppose her, their once proud forms reduced to nothing but smouldering husks amidst the wreckage of the courtyard. Their screams had been cut short before they even had a chance to begin, their lives extinguished in an instant by her merciless fury.

Then, Cassandra strode forward with purpose, her expression resolute as she pressed a sealed letter into Daenys's trembling hands. The princess raised an eyebrow in question, her gaze flickering between the letter and her friend's determined expression.

"You may take this to Queen Rhaenyra," she commanded, her tone unwavering. "A letter from the Lady of Storm's End, swearing our allegiance to the true sovereign of Westeros."

How curious. Her father's charred corpse had scarcely cooled, but here she was already prepared to take his place. Daenys had to admit she was impressed. 

"And in return," Cassandra continued, her meaning clear in her piercing gaze, "we hope that as our ally, the queen will support our house in its future endeavours against our enemies."

Daenys nodded in understanding, "Then I leave House Baratheon in your capable hands, my lady."

"I hope that you will return to visit...often...to commemorate our new alliance."

"Perhaps."

"That will have to do for now, I suppose. Thank you, and farewell."

The lady took the princess's hands in her own, holding on for a few moments before she had to let go. 

"Try not to feel too guilty about it, princess. In times of war, extreme measures must be taken for the good of the people. And besides, he was never very good at being a father," she murmured into her ear. 

Daenys was unsure if she truly deserved Cassandra's gratitude or her words of assurance, and they did little to put her at ease, but she accepted it nonetheless. What else was there to do? Her guilt would not absolve her. What was done was done. 

As Daenys flew back to Dragonstone, she took several gulps of the Grand Maester's tonic, exhaling sharply as her wound throbbed anew. She thought this would have made her feel better. That it would fill the ache in her chest where the memory of her brother resided but somehow it had only made it worse. The emptiness became sharper and she wondered if Luke would think her a monster after learning of her actions. Would he have hated her if he had known that she was capable of this? She supposed there was a twisted comfort in not knowing. The fact that her darling little brother would never have to witness her becoming this horrific thing and that he only ever had good memories of her. 

She was no longer her mother's little girl, unblemished or whole. The world no longer contained Lucerys Velaryon and she would never again celebrate her name-day, because now it was the day he perished. 

Turning nine and ten had never been lonelier. 

She was a murderer. She had taken a life. She had killed a man in the courtyard of his own home, but at least she was bringing home a victory, she was bringing her mother Storm's End, and consequences be damned, she would be the scapegoat and bearer of every wicked deed the Blacks would have to commit to win the war. 

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi aur Ghulaam

#3

Thank you to the lovelies @arshifiesta for celebrating IPK and setting up the great moodboards and AU.

1878, Calcutta

Eleven years old Arnav Mullick had not spoken a word in a year.

Some thought it was his parents' traumatizing deaths that led to his silence. But death was nothing new. The house had lost its middle son, his Mejda Akash at tender age of 19.

So no, death made no difference to Arnav. In fact he was happy when his philanderer of a father died of drinking as well. He deserved it. Not once had he seen his father home at night.

Arobindo Mullick would often scoff when stopped, that if any man of this house had ever spent a night in his own house?

So then some speculated that Arnav's behavioral issues had gotten worse, hence why he stopped speaking for a year.

If his darling mother was alive, she would've wrestled with anyone who thought such against her Arnob. Shyam, Arnav's Borda (boro-dada = older-brother) would perhaps be the only one to chuckle and agree with the society. Arnav was tempestuous as a child.

But quiet? Never quite.

The society would never understand that it was Akash's falling for a Baiji (courtesan) at the age of seventeen, his frequent visits leading his early introduction to alcohol despite their mother's best to protect them for it that hurt Arnav the most.

This was when Arnav swore off love.

That his otherwise pious brother was gullible to follow his father's footsteps to a kotha - where Arobindo Mullick spent all his nights.

It was his mother's haunted face and tears that left Arnav speechless. Or rather Arobindo's reply to her request to stay at home.

Has any Mullick ever spent a night in their own home?

This was when Arnav swore off marriage.

Or that despite Raja Rammohan Roy having abolished Sati-pratha a good sixty years ago, Arnav's mother was dragged to her undeserving husband's pyre by her conservative in-laws to follow patni dharam.

This was when Arnav swore off religion.

But if maa was alive, what life would she have had? Arnav saw how his uncle, Kaku, eyed her. And Arnav had seen that in the months prior to his mother's death, how she was shaved, dressed in white and forced into a strictly ritualistic dreary life.

His mother, whose hair spilled like the Ganges from Himalaya, had a beauty who could rival the Goddess, lived a life none deserved simply out of rituals and religion.

Thus when Shyam gave their mother mukh-agni, Arnav found his devotion die in his mother's pyre. And when his only hope, Borda (Shyam) set sail to London abandoning him, his words died as well.

-- -- --

1880, Calcutta

Arnav had been wrong about Borda. He returned as a Barrister from London, swiftly kicking out Kaku (father's younger brother) by bringing up property possession rights and threatened the rest of the Mullicks with incarceration for having forced their mother to die.

Thirteen years old Arnav did not know what to do when the brother he thought so wrongly about did the most just thing. It was then he decided that he too would run away to London when he came of age.

But the other thing he couldn't figure out was what to do with Boudi (bhabhi; sister in law). Their grandmother had fixed Borda (Shyam's) alliance with a member of the Tagore family.

Barely two years older than him, fifteen years old Anjali Devi was to manage the household of a twenty five years of Shyam Mullick. How could Arnav accept her as the lady of the house when the post truly belonged to Maa and only her.

But Arnav realized no rebellion was needed. Boudi arrived with the biggest reverence to their mother, along with the grief of losing her own. She chatted constantly with Arnav, not questioning his silence at all - Borda had gotten fed up after a few tries.

And over the years Arnav realized he had a sibling more in Boudi than in Borda.

Perhaps, perhaps maa's essence found its way into Anjali Boudi. It would explain why Arnav's first words were celebrated by Anjali as if it was her first child who had uttered their first words.

A child she was unable to give through all of her married life.

And perhaps his family was cursed against joy for the moment Arnav saw his mother in Anjali, he saw his father in Shyam.

The easy money he made as a barrister faded quicker given his lavish expenditure in trying to out-host the British and the Indian royalties. He belittled Anjali's lineage as much as he could and tried to prove that he was a bigger industrialist than the Tagores.

Lawyer he was, businessman he wasn't.

And thus at age eighteen Arnav had to run to London, no longer chasing any dream, but at least attempting to make the fortune his brother boasted of having.

-- -- --

1893, London

London was far more accommodating than India would ever be. This was what Arnav believed until, of course, an intellectual sparring with Boudi's cousin - Rabindranath - would get him thinking about perspectives.

To think of it, majority of India's existing regressive laws were nothing but British Victorian laws.

Then who was regressive?

It had been a lazy afternoon where Arnav was entertaining his thoughts, alone, as usual when a telegraph changed his life.

URGENT STOP SHYAM DA MARRYING AGAIN STOP

Arnav tossed the telegraph aside, grabbed his documents and hailed the first ship - premier class - to India.

He only had two goals.

Stop Shyam Mullick from marrying and ruin everybody who stood as an obstacle to Bo- Didi's happiness.

-- -- --

A/N: Yes, babua is here and so is his very very painful history! Lemme know what you all think :)

Tagging @shiyaravi @maansiloves @featheredclover @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @msbhagirathi @phuljari @hand-picked-star @barshifan (updating it slowly and steadily)

[dungeonmastersconsortium]

The anime for One Punch Man really is just SO GOOD. It's a different experience from both the webcomic and the manga, but like... the animation is just SO good, and pleasant to watch in my opinion. The fight scenes are BEAUTIFUL, and it really does a good job of reflecting that all the high-tier heroes around Saitama could ACTUALLY have their own shows/mangas that would be REALLY cool or interesting or funny (with only a few S-tier exceptions). The sparring match between Saitama and Genos as early as episode 5 in season 1 is just... Like, it shows off Genos at "Season Finale" levels of fight-scene badassery, which only adds to the humor of the show.

The fight with BOROS? It's so good. Unbelievably so. It's climactic, it's beautifully rendered, it's backed by an outstanding soundtrack, and it's somehow both emotionally rewarding AND funny in a way that's hard to describe.

The music FUCKS throughout the whole series, the animation is gorgeous, stylistic, and fluid... and the dub (don't come at me with "subs are better," I have a hard time watching shows not in English unless I can devote my whole attention to it, and it's harder for me to read tone) is actually really good, in my opinion.

Go watch one punch man. It's SO much fun. I don't use this phrase lightly, because it implies the concept is bad, but honestly? One Punch Man gives off the vibes of "This has no right to be as good as it is," probably because I started with the webcomic, and didn't read the manga between the webcomic and the anime. (though I went back to the manga and enjoyed it too.)

[spinningalbinoturtle]

Lotr Characters and their Kids-Headcanons

Sam and Frodo-

They just have Elanor who was orphaned during the Troubles. She’s a precocious kid and very into all things Elvish just like her dads. Like in the books she moves to gondor for a year and is a handmaiden to Arwen. After that she stays another year and studies botany and becomes a pioneering scientist in the study of medicinal plants. She writes a book on it and its considered a classic. Eventually moves back to the Shire to be by her parents (who move to the seaside when they get older) and she marries Pippin’s son.

Merry and Estella-

they weren’t too keen on having kids initially but when Estella gets pregnant they are excited. Their son’s name is Theoden- Theo for short and he’s a lot like his mother but close with his father. Two years later they try for another and its another boy whom they name Boromir but he just goes by Boro- he fights with his brother a lot but they also get into a lot of trouble together

Pippin and Diamond-

Their son is Faramir and he’s best friends with Elanor. His craziness balances out well with Elanor’s more introverted qualities. Pippin also has triplet little girls- Poppy, Violet, and Frances. They terrorize Tookland.

Aragorn and Arwen-

They have four kids. All the kids are very polite intelligent and beautiful. Eldarion is the oldest and raised to be king. Because of this he has a lot of anxiety from an early age which he doesn’t tell his parents about until well into his teens but when he does they are very supportive. Gilraen is his younger sister and she is very scholarly. She helps found the first University in Minas Tirith and is Eldarion’s number 1 counselor. Miriel is a the middle kid and enjoys spending time with Legolas and Gimli-she’s a bit of a loner but grows up to be a respected diplomat to Harad , Mirkwood, and Erebor because she’s interested in bridging cultural divides. Luthien who goes by Lucie, is the youngest and a bit spoiled. She’s very adventurous and idolizes Eowyn. She grows up to lead the Dunedain.

Faramir and Eowyn- Elboron is their son and is doted on by his parents who both grew up kind of neglected (especially Faramir) he’s a very kind kid and takes after his dad a lot. Close with his parents even into adulthood and has a very healthy relationship with them. When he’s a 10 they have a little girl named Melian (Mel for short) she’s very fiery as a child and close with her older brother. She grows up to be both a healer and a strong leader just like her namesake, never marries but has a long term fem partner from Rohan.

Legolas and Gimli don’t have kids they just are the cool uncles to everyone else’s. They are perfectly happy with that. They do have a couple dogs whom they treat like children (see pet headcanons post).

[cybervesna]

I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY BUT I JUST GOT THE COOLEST GIFT EVER????

@ouroboros-hideout and @blackrevell DESIGNED A KNIFE FOR MY WIOSNA I LITERALLY CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T IT'S REAL LIKE WHAT THE FUCK????? INSANE

We had this brainrot going on that in one AU Wiosna and Kurt get married and Aon (@ouroboros-hideout OC) would gift Wiosna a knife as a wedding gift AND BORO DECIDED TO MAKE IT REAL?! So these are pictures of Shooting Star the most beautiful knife I have ever seen (one day I will be rich and commission it irl out of metal) that was dedicated to Wiosna by Aon 😭💜 I can't even express how impressed I am by the amount of thoughtfulness put into this design! Boro even wrote a note "from Aon" that explains it (I will drop it below!) and Rev even paid attention to such a small detail like me saying that purple is Wiosna's color 💜 AND THE LITTLE LYNX LOGO THAT IS AON'S ANIMAL!!! Here's Aon describing it:

„It´s name is Shooting Star. I chose this name partly because of your heritage and your family's connection to the stars. That's the obvious side. But shooting stars are very ambiguous for me. On the one hand, there is the scientific aspect. A meteor that first stands so high in the sky and then falls down and burns up in the atmosphere. I admit that has a somewhat negative connotation. But we're all shaped by our past, aren't we? On the other hand, there is something magical about them. For centuries, people have stared up at the sky to catch a glimpse of them, hoping they would grant a wish. Basically, something that triggers longing, that is desirable and beautiful. Two sides. Black and white. That's why I split the handle of the knife. One side in dark ebony, a very expensive wood, luxurious, but also durable and resistant, and the other in light maple wood. The maple tree is a symbol of love, passion, and eternal commitment in a relationship. Since this is a wedding gift, I thought it would be a nice touch. The shape is also very dynamic, like a racing celestial object, so not really traditional yakut. The sheath is made from white synth-leather. It's very elegant, so it goes well with your closet. You can wear the black or white side of the handle up, depending on your outfit, so it might even be a nice accessory for the snob-parties. I really wanted to test my limits and do something I've never done before, something unique for you and that special day in your life. I hope I have succeeded.“ ABSOLUTELY INSANE???????????????????

[onerabong]

Dude lookin fineee

[thesithdiaries]

The Spoils of War (Part 1) (HOTD imagine)

The Spoils of War (Part 1) (HOTD imagine)

Summary: Naerys Velaryon is Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen’s first born. She will be the future heir to the Iron Throne. However, after Lucerys Velaryon’s tragic death, everything changes. Loyalties will be put to the test and alliances will be formed. Naerys will prove herself to be a true dragon, no matter the consequences. 

Pairing: Pairing: Platonic!Targaryen family x OC ; future Cregan Stark x OC ; mentions of Aegon Targaryen ll x OC

Warning for this and future parts: angst angst angst, violence, gore(? yes, MENTION OF LIMBS NOT ATTACHED TO BODIES !!!!!!!!!!!!!, mentions of stillbirth, major character deaths (we know this one already), cursing, cheating, fighting, some many things will be OOC

Flashbacks are in italics

-

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” a Queensguard cleared his throat and straightened his posture, “Princess Naerys and Heyra just landed on the beach.”

Rhaenyra beamed at Daemon before hurrying out to greet her daughter. She felt many moons went by while waiting for Naerys and Lucerys to return from Storm’s End, but it was only dawn. They rushed out the door, relieved that the children had returned, just for the smiles to fade.

“I want you to put out your eye,” Aemond demanded. Naerys held Lucery’s hand tightly, feeling terrified. “As payment for mine. One will serve. I would not blind you.”

Naerys stood at the top of the stairs, trembling. There was no trace of the beautiful braid her mother had made the previous night as her dark hair was disheveled. Her clothes were wet, with small tears in many places. Her face was somber, with dark circles and red eyes.

Luke and Naerys flew close together. The storm was too strong; the rain blinding them. Arrax and Herya also realized the danger they were in, with Vhagar right behind them. 

“You owe a debt!” Aemond yelled from above them.

“My beautiful girl, what happened?” Rhaenyra almost ran towards her, wrapping her arms around Naerys’ body. In response, she cried louder. “You’re safe here.”

“Naerys, what happened?” Daemon prodded. “Where’s Lucerys?” Rhaenyra’s blood ran cold, dread taking over her body. That’s when she realized her daughter was clutching something in her arms, afraid to let go of it.

Arrax and Herya flew above the clouds, taking a moment to breathe. There was no storm. They flew closer enough for Luke and Naerys to hold hands momentarily. However, in the blink of an eye, Vhagar flew towards them, swallowing both Arrax and Lucerys.

“No!” Naerys cried. Small remnants drifting in the sky. She faintly heard Aemond's screams, but couldn't comprehend his words. Her heart was beating uncontrollably as she looked down and realized that she was still holding onto her brother’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Naerys said through choked sobs. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“Please tell me what happened. Where is your brother? Why are you apologizing?” Rhaenyra pleaded. A Queenguard handed Daemon a blanket, who put it around Naerys without hesitation. 

“Aemond killed Luke,” Naerys whimpered. Rhaenyra fought to stay on her feet, determined to be strong for her daughter. Tears welled up in her eyes as the weight of her words sank into her shattered heart. Her son was gone. Lucerys Velaryon was gone. 

Rhaenyra softly placed her hands on her daughter’s face, needing to look directly into her eyes, searching for something that could tell her it was all a lie and that her precious son was on his way home, yet there was nothing.

“How?” Daemon questioned. He was excellent at hiding his emotions, yet he was not fooling anyone this time. This news deeply hurts him as well. 

Naerys hesitated, but her mother's small, encouraging nod made her speak. “He was at Storm’s End, fooling Lord Boros to side with the greens. Aemond demanded Luke’s eye again, threatening to take it himself and Boros made us leave,” Naerys took a deep breath. “Aemond chased us through the storm, screaming at Luke that he owed him a debt. We thought we were safe above the clouds but Vhagar…”

She started sobbing once again, hiding her face on her mother’s neck. Rhaenyra wanted to scream, cry, and destroy everything in her path. Her father died, her brother usurped the throne, her daughter was stillborn, and now her son and his dragon were killed, causing her entire life to fall apart so abruptly.

Daemon stood behind Naerys, his hands on her shoulders. He stared at Rhaenyra, before sneaking a glimpse to the side. He now realized that his daughters, Baela and Rhaena were standing there, holding onto their grandmother Rhaenys as they cried. 

“What is th-” Rhaenyra began asking, attempting to peek under Naerys’ cloak. She felt sick, finally understanding what it was, Lucerys’ arm. She carefully took it out of her daughter's arms, griping it, preventing prying eyes from looking at it. Rhaenyra felt ravenous now, pacing around the castle entrance, her mind searching for ways to make things right, or at least, even.

She stopped after hearing gasps and hurried footsteps. Naerys' limp body now leaned against Daemon, the events of the previous night taking a toll on her. He brushed her messy hair away from her face. “Call the Maester!” He demanded as he stood up, carrying Naerys’ inside in a haste.

-

Rhaenyra had not left Naerys’ side all day. The Maester's examination led him to conclude that the stressful event and shock were responsible for her loss of consciousness. Daemon would come into the bedchamber frequently, wanting to know if his wife needed anything and if his stepdaughter had woken up. He was also quite busy, trying to keep his other children calm during this hard time. Baela and Rhaena understood what had happened, but Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys were content, unaware of the horror that had swept over their family.

Elinda, Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, brought her a plate of food. “You must eat, My Queen.”

“I’m not hungry,” Rhaenyra mumbled, caressing her daughter’s hand.

“My Queen,” Elina sighed, “please eat something. It has been days since you had a proper meal.” 

They shared a glance. The Queen nodded in defeat. Elina excused herself and left, feeling rather pleased that she could, in a small way, help Rhaenyra.

She had eaten small bites of food, not interested in anything besides Naerys and her well-being. Rhaenyra sat there, quietly crying. Her heart was heavy with grief and anger. Her mind traveled back years ago when everything had started. 

Alicent had just married Viserys, and her friendship with Rhaenyra slowly came to a stop. There was so much tension during that time, not only because her father married her best friend, but they also kept their courting a secret. Rhaenyra, however, noticed that after her wedding with Laenor, Alicent had changed. The way she stares at her, with disappointment and disgust, just like Criston Cole. Years passed and their relationship did not improve, only turned more disrespectful. Alicent would demand to see Rhaenyra's children as soon as they were born, only to make snide comments about their questionable parentage.

Rhaenyra woke up suddenly, disturbed by faint and barely audible whimpers. Naerys was slowly waking up. “My darling, I’m here.”

“Mother?” Naerys whispered. Rhaenyra kneeled closer to the bed, caressing her daughter’s face. There were tears in their eyes as they looked at each other. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“What happened was not your fault,” Rhaenyra assured her. “I am not mad at you. I would never be. You are my daughter and I will protect you until my last breath. I will make this right.”

Pitter-patter interrupted their conversation. Little Aegon and Viserys approached the bed and climbed on it, earning a small laugh from their mother.

“You are supposed to be sleeping,” she playfully scolded. The boys giggled at her words, not truly caring. They snuggled close to their older sister, even if they did not know what happened, they knew their mother and sister were sad, just like everyone else. The presence of her brothers brought back memories of how Naerys used to be with Jace and Luke when they were younger.

-

Rhaenyra had left for her bedchamber a while ago, taking the boys with her. Naerys had asked for some time alone.

She now sat outside on the small balcony. Now that she had privacy, she could cry. The painful ache in her heart was overwhelming. Losing Lucerys that way had completely broken her. The other times she had felt this way were when Harwin and Laenor died. However, the pain now is excruciating.

On the other side of the castle, Rhaenyra and Daemon stood in front of the fireplace.

“This means war,” Daemon informed Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra sighed, playing with the rings on her fingers, wanting to maintain peace and resolve things peacefully. 

“Rhaenyra, look at me,” Daemon pleaded, carefully tilting her chin up to make her look at him. “We must avenge him.”

“If we do… many will die and I do not want to lose anyone else,” she told him.

“We can take all the children somewhere safe during all of this,” Daemon proposed. “Fly them to the Free Cities, keep them hidden from the Hightowers until we end this.”

“And who will protect them there?” Rhaenyra wondered. “You and I will be here and they will be alone. They are still too young to be by themselves, Daemon.”

“It is the safest option we have at this moment. No place in Westeros is safe anymore, anyone could be aligning themselves with them. They can betray us to side with that usurping cunt.”

Rhaenyra started pacing once again. Nerves fill her body. Sending the children away from her… no. She could not do that. “What about Jacaerys? He must return to Dragonstone immediately.”

“We will send a raven to him. He must have reached the Vale.”

“Daemon, I’m terrified,” Rhaenyra confessed. He wrapped his arms around her, giving her the needed comfort. He felt her body shaking as she began to cry. Daemon felt blinding rage, he had been feeling it for some time. They will pay for what they did.

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged.”

[heracrosshero]

Making a return

Massacre Girl stood still in the middle of the room, listening to Aurelia's gentle breaths. Gentle isn't something Massacre Girl would ever associate with the Boros archangel, nor was vulnerable. It was abundantly clear to her that there would never be a better opportunity to assassinate a guildmaster, especially of the Boros. Just one quick drag of a dagger, and all of Ravnica would be in an uproar by morning.

It would be. so. easy. Massacre Girl fantasized about all the angelic blood pouring out of Aurelia's neck. Of how it would stain the white linen sheets she rested upon. Oh to see those sheets ripped to shreds from her blades. To see the briefest moment when the pain would shock Aurelia awake, only for the bloodloss to instantly pull that consciousness away... Forever.

Massacre girl imagined what an angel's wings drenched in blood and guts would look like. What shade of red would they turn? What noises would escape Aurelia's throat as it was cut? How would her strong arms feel around Massacre Girl's waist?

...What was that last one?

The Rakdos woman mentally stuttered to redirect her thoughts away from that anomaly. However, each attempt only lead to new paths of strange curiosity quite unrelated to bloodshed. Aurelia's deep, booming voice, reduced to a sweet whisper in her ear. Those soft, downy wings acting as a thick blanket over her back.

What was happening here?!

Try as she might, Massacre Girl couldn't separate her usual bloodlust from this new lust. These feelings twisted together into a lightning storm in her brain and body. As an assassin, Massacre Girl was always professional; the definition cold blooded killer. However, as a Rakdos cultist, her nature was to follow her emotions, not to hide from them.

And while this turmoil wracked Massacre Girl, Aurelia continued to slumber without a care in the world.

How insufferable

Massacre Girl finally decided on a new path to take. She needed time to process, but she'd be damned if she walked away here without a victory over Aurelia. Massacre Girl drew out a thing dagger from its sheath without a sound. She slid her feet across the cold floor until her head loomed over the angel's prone body. With the tip of her weapon, she shifted Aurelia's dusk-red hair away from her neck.

With a swipe like the blink of an eye, Massacre Girl cut a lock of that hair. Holding this trophy in her hands, she grinned and leered at Aurelia.

Now to leave a calling card. Otherwise she might not notice I gave her a tiny trim.

Massacre Girl reached down to her belt and tucked away the hair. Then, she unhooked a black collar and leash that she had carried with her, just on a whim. Massacre Girl gingerly placed the collar and leash on the bedside table next to Aurelia. Then she briefly went back into the entry room of Aurelia's quarters and found pen and paper to write a note. With her surprise complete, Massacre Girl felt satisfied enough with herself to leave before she pushed her luck too far. She had been humiliated by herself enough tonight, she wasn't going to wait for Aurelia to wake up and do worse.

With one last glance at that beautiful, insufferable soldier, Massacre Girl slipped out of the room and back into the dark, stark halls.

When Aurelia awoke the next morning, she rubbed her eyes and stretched before noticing the object left on her table. Fire blazed in her pupils and her heart rate shot up as she lunged to grab the collar she had once put on Massacre Girl to keep her in check. Attached to it was a short note in scratchy handwriting:

"Returning this to you. Had a fun time wearing it.

P.S you should really redecorate in here, it's boring. XOXO, M.G."

[zeherili-ankhein]

Translate that whole thing in your bio in hindi please

I searched it up yesterday and that was scary OnO

😭😭😭 did you get scared because of Shakchunni?? She's actually a very popular ghost from Bengal, and got turned into a cartoon in that very popular series “Thakumar Jhuli” and everyone was kinda afraid of her honestly

My bio is just one if her famous dialogues she said in that episode lmao...

“eka ekta gachhe thaki ami shakchunni

sukhe achhe bamuner chhele bou ginni

gaye boro jala dhore mone jage hingshe

rupe gune kom noyi ami kono ongshe

bamuner chhele bou tobu thake demake

daklo na keu haye bou bole amake”

Eka ekta gachhe thaki ami shakchunni — I alone stay on a tree, I'm Shakchunni

Sukhe achhe bamuner chhele bou ginni — But bamun's (local way of calling a Brahmin) wife and son are in happiness

Gaye boro jala dhore mone jage hingshe — It burns my body, and fills my mind with jealousy

Rupe gune kom noyi ami kono ongshe — I'm nothing less in beauty or qualities (comparison to Brahmin's wife)

Bamuner chhele bou tobu thake demake — Still Brahman's wife and son live in pride

Daklo na keu haye bou bole amake — Yet nobody ever called my their wife

Actually to understand this you'll have to understand Shakchunni's lore first...

I just you watch this video first

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

Was anybody going to tell me than in some versions, both Achilles and Patroklos have sisters?

@t0yearnf0r made me discover Patroklos’ sister, through my little research I found out about Achilles’.

Polydora (Achilles’ sister) do is mentioned in one passing line during the iliad (which I can’t believe I forgot) but it’s have been up for debate. The line is

"Menestheus of the dancing-breastplate led one contingent, son of the swift-flowing river Sperkheios whom the daughter of Peleus, beautiful Poludôrê bore when she shared the bed with the indomitable river-god, Sperkheios, although by reputation he was the son of Boros, the son of Periêrês who wooed her openly by offering countless gifts."

-Iliad. 16.173-178

(No idea who the translator is, I got that passage from the internet + my copy of the iliad is not in English)

Some say she’s the daughter of another Peleus, that’s she’s a bastard child and she’s just never mentioned because her birth is shameful, or that Achilles never mentions her because she’s dead.

What’s more confusing, she has different possible mothers regarding who you ask (she might be a child of Peleus, but certainly not of Thetis). Some say her mother was Antigone (not our tragic girl Antigone, but Antigone, supposed wife of Peleus and daughter of Eurytion).

She must have been a bit older than Achilles since by all accounts Peleus fathered her before (1) the Kalydonian Boar Hunt, (2) the sacking of Iolkos and (3) the Voyage of the Argo. She would likely have been raised in a separate household from Achilles and married off before he went to study with the centaur Chiron!

Excerpt from this article

Another version makes her the daughter of Patroklos' mother and Peleus. Which makes her both Achilles and Patroklos’ half sister. Wtf happened over there.

We know less about Myrto (Patroklos’ sister), but she’s mentioned once by Plutarch.

Now Eucleia is regarded by most as Artemis, and is so addressed; but some say she was a daughter of Heracles and of that Myrto who was daughter of Menoetius and sister of Patroclus, and that, dying in virginity, she received divine honors among the Boeotians and Locrians. For she has an altar and an image built in every market place, and receives preliminary sacrifices from would-be brides and bridegrooms.

-Plutarch, Life of Aristides 20. 5

(Don’t know the translator either)

She was apparently one of herakles’ lovers, and mothered a daughter who is pretty successful (has an altar and image in every market place and is regarded by most as artemis).

I don’t know if she’s related to Patroklos’ by mother too