#Darjeeling protests

[desi-girll]

মেয়েরা রাত দখল করো: THE NIGHT IS OURS

WOMEN RECLAIM THE NIGHT, JUSTICE FOR RG KAR VICTIM

let's do our part in protesting against the brutal rape and murder of RG Kar PGT doctor who was on a 36 hour shift on Friday, 9th August when she was resting alone in a room. please read the entire post even though it's long.

if you don't know what happened, the 31 year old woman had been gang raped (both before and after murder), and tortured to such an extent which cannot be explained. afterwards, the authorities and police first tried to cover it up by telling her parents it's a suicide but later it was revealed not to be so. it is a case of rape and homicide.

(i) speculations are that the girl had possibly become privy to some unlawful work going on at the hospital during night shifts, and hence to silence her, all this was done.

(ii) parents were refused to be allowed to see their daughter's body until after 3 hours of their arrival. they had to beg and plead for their basic rights.

(iii) what's more is that her body was burned by the police without taking the consent of her parents, possibly to erase evidences in case a second post mortem was to be done.

(iv) the girl's father has also reported to the high court, the fact that the DGP called him up and asked him not to take matters forward and just settle it amongst themselves.

(v) the person who has been arrested for this incident is speculatively just a scapegoat who has been paid to take the blame for something done by a larger group of people, probably under the protection of the syndicate ran in West Bengal by the government.

Post Mortem report of the victim (which again, was conducted by RG Kar doctors themselves, and we don't know if some details are intentionally being hidden or not

The postmortem report of the trainee doctor raped and murdered at Kolkata's RG Kar Medical College and Hospital revealed that she was throttled to death. Her thyroid cartilage was broken due to strangling and a deep wound was found in her private parts, the four-page report said. Sources said the murder and rape likely took place between 3 am and 5 am on August 9.

Injuries were found on her belly, lips, fingers, and left leg. Sources said the victim's nose and mouth were clamped, and her head was pushed against a wall to prevent her from screaming.

The scratch marks on the woman's face are believed to have been caused by the accused's fingernails, indicating that the victim desperately tried to fight back.

"The mouth and throat were constantly pressed to prevent screaming. The throat was strangled to suffocate. The thyroid cartilage broke due to strangling," the postmortem report said.

The report also mentioned that the woman was bleeding from both eyes, mouth and private parts. The report said the wounds in her private parts were caused by "perverted sexuality" and "genital torture". However, the reason for her eye wound has not been determined yet.

Source of the post mortem

so today (14th August, 2024) at 11:55 PM IST, there is going to be a midnight protest held across Kolkata. women protestors have planned to hold night long agitation across multiple spots in the city. the campaign titled 'Women, Reclaim The Night: The Night Is Ours' is aimed at seeking justice for the sexual assault and murder of the woman doctor. Men have also decided to join the protest in large numbers to show their solidarity with the cause.

The protest will take place simultaneously at the Jadavpur 8B Stand, Academy of Fine Arts, College Street, Sinthee More, Dunlop, Maldah English Bazaar, Siliguri (Darjeeling More).

i know it isn't possible for many of us to attend the protest but let's do our part virtually if not physically. share posts about the incident on your social media, with your friends, relatives. take part in the online campaign going on in social media. at 11:55 PM IST (14th August, 2024) tag your posts with #womenreclaimthenight and #thenightisours.

make this tag trending on all your socials. share this post to raise awareness. share all other posts related to this incident. with the tags i wrote above.

spread the word to your friends and relatives, do your part this way. indians and non indians, both alike. male, female, non binary, all genders, all alike. raise your voice before it's too late.

because the next victim could be you or any of your loved ones.

[helaelaemond]

Billy Washington idea: Soft-ish Billy being upset after getting himself into trouble again. Like, he just can't stop being a flop even when he tries to. Reader comforts him in the best and smuttiest way she can. Maybe he shows up unexpectedly at her place because he needs someone, even though he won't admit it? Idk, delinquent flop men get me going sometimes.

Title: Only worth living if somebody is loving you - part of the It's All For You series but can be read as standalone

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: Billy has been fired and feels worthless. But you love him; he's everything to you. So you show him how much worth he has. Established relationship, handjob, fingering, pet names, mild daddy kink, mild dirty talk.

Word count: 3.1k

Rating: E

Notes: thank you so much for the prompt! This was a lot of fun to write when I am supposed to be working!

You're not meant to have your phone on at work, but you get away with it where you can. You're in the basement kitchen today, anyway, so no customers will see. Behind the shoddy table set up as a makeshift barista bar, you fill tray after tray of tea and coffee - Blue Lady, Darjeeling, Sumatran, Colombian, jasmine, they all roll into one in the end. So feeling your phone vibrate in your apron pocket is a delightful distraction.

You ignore the tickets coming through behind you, and get one of the dish boys to cover you. "What? I need a fag," you reply over your shoulder when he protests. You smile giddily at your phone and swipe to answer. "Hey, Billy."

He doesn't sound happy on the other end. "Hey."

You slink into the alley and crouch close to the floor, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "What's up?"

"You got a sec?"

There's something in his voice that worries you. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Tell me."

He sighs. You hear him blare his horn as he drives, followed by a string of profanities. "Fucking wanker! Twat!"

You take a long drag. "You on a run?" He's been a delivery driver for a delivery service for a few months now. It's shitty money and shitty conditions, but it's all he could get after being fired from his last job. Hitting a customer. The customer swung for him first, but it was Billy who landed the first successful punch.

"No. Driving home."

"Oh?"

"Don't fucking start."

You force yourself to smile against your phone. Your voice is soft. "Hey. I'm not starting anything. You called me."

He sighs again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't... I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"They sacked me."

"Why?" you ask, closing your eyes and wincing.

Billy's voice is clipped. "Didn't meet their targets."

"Those targets are bullshit," you snap defensively. Everything he's told you about his job has you seeing red - they take advantage and bleed him dry. "You don't need that place."

"I need the pay check."

"We'll figure it out. Where you going now?"

He pauses. You hear his indicator, and the rev of his ancient car engine as he moves between gears. "Your parent still away?"

You watch as the smoke you blow out rises up the alley and into the sky. "Yeah. Key's in the plant pot. I finish in an hour. Make yourself at home."

Billy's car is parked lazily on your street, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. It's been a few years since you got together, but adrenaline still runs through you at the mere thought of being near him. He's got you addicted, flaws and all. It made you want to run all the way home after your shift ended, but you don't think you quite have the stamina for a three-mile sprint.

"Hey, Billy," you call as you let yourself into the home you still share with your parents. London prices are impossible - you'll probably live with them until they die

He grunts in response, and you follow the noise into the living room. He's sat on the sofa facing away from you, head bent, and you go to him. You drop your bag and kick off your shoes and wrap your arms around him from behind. "Hey, daddy."

He winces. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" you whisper against his ear. "You usually like it."

Billy pulls out of your arms and shifts on the sofa. "Yeah, well, I don't right now."

"Sorry." You go to the kitchen and make two cups of tea - milk and sugar for you, no sugar for him. None of the loose-leaf shit you serve at work, just proper Yorkshire bags. He follows you quietly, and thanks you when you hand him his. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, still avoiding your gaze.

"Billy." Your voice is soft. The hard pain in his face hurts to see.

He licks his lips and takes a sip. It's scalding, and he hisses quietly. You put your cup down to cool, and go to him. Your hands find their place on his narrow hips, and you look up at him. He's so tall; it makes you feel so safe. His hair is getting long, and it falls over his eyes.

After a long moment, he finally meets your gaze. "I really tried with this one."

You nod. "I know."

"I promise."

"I know."

"Why are you with me?" he asks softly. When he tries to pull away, you hold him close. "I'm not... God, you deserve better than this."

"No, Billy, no." One hand runs to the small of his back and the other finds his cheek to guide his gaze back to you. "You're worth so much more than a shitty job."

"I'm a failure."

"No, you're not," you soothe. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Don't let some stupid job define you."

"You deserve so much more than me."

You reach up on your toes and kiss his lips firmly. He meets your kiss with a quiet sigh. "You're all I've ever wanted and needed. Don't worry about the job."

"I'm not worthy of you."

Taking his hand, you lead him back to the living room. You both bring your cups with you and set them on the coffee table. You push him to sit on the sofa, and when you straddle him, it's satisfying how naturally his grasp finds your backside. But still, he drops his head to your shoulder in defeat. You stroke his hair and gently massage his scalp, just as he likes.

"You want me to tell you how much I love you?" you murmur.

He swallows thickly. He shakes his head.

"You want me to show you? You want me to help you forget everything else?"

He doesn't react, except to pull you tighter. You smile slightly, and kiss his hair. Sex is something that brings you closer than anything else. It's the place where Billy feels most in control, where he can take care of you and call the shots and do everything to make you feel good. You accidentally called him daddy once when he was fucking you, and that was the day your dynamic changed. He leaned into the nickname proudly, and he wears it like a secret badge of honour. He does everything to earn it, too. He takes care of you, dominates you like you need. It's the only time when he feels like a real man. He loves you so much, he forgets what hating himself feels like.

The world is cruel to him, but you never are. You're just obsessed with him.

"You want me to take care of you?" you whisper against his ear. Billy buries his face against your chest, and gently bites through your shirt. It smells of coffee and tea and kitchen grease. He nods again.

"Alright. I can do that." You tilt up his chin and kiss him. This time, it's deeper. When you part your lips, he mirrors you and welcomes your tongue into his mouth. Pulling back for a moment, you look into his piercing blue eyes. "Can you do something for me?"

He nods.

You smile softly. "Can you undo my shirt for me, please?"

Billy's eyes are wide, and he nods again. Long fingers complete the task, and your white work shirt falls open. Underneath is a practical bra, white and cotton and far from sexy. Still, just the sensation of him opening your shirt makes your nipples hard, and that's enough for him. "Thank you," you say, affection in your voice. "Can you touch me?"

He's putty in your hands for once. This is new territory for you, being so in control. Usually, he's the one gently telling you what to do, his voice sugar and honey as his requests and commands turn from this kind of sweetness into depravity. You're trying to emulate him now, to give him what he might need.

He runs his knuckles over your breasts through the fabric, up and down he goes, catching your hard nipples each time. Half the time you're with him, it feels like the first time. Not in a bad way, just the excitement and anticipation, and how much you fucking need him. Just this touch has you feeling your heartbeat in your cunt.

"Lean back, baby," you tell him. You haven't called him that before. It's the pet name he calls you when he's fucking you to the point of tears, and so you're unsure. He shakes his head slightly. "Lean back, Billy." That, he obeys, and that makes you smile. "Good. Can you take off your shirt for me, too?"

Keeping his eyes on you, he takes off his black tshirt and tosses it aside. You grab it, though, and press it against your nose to catch his scent. "Mmph. I love your smell."

"Yeah?" His expression is softening slowly over time. The tension in his eyebrows is smoothing out.

"Yeah, I do." You shrug out of your open shirt. As you unclasp your bra, you shift to straddle one of his thighs instead of both, and grind slightly. The friction feels so good. When you're good for him, daddy sometimes lets you ride his leg until you come. The thought makes you shiver. "I love everything about you."

"I..." As you throw aside your bra, Billy runs his hands up your sides and back down to your hips. His eyes dart between your face and your breasts. "I don't deserve you."

In his grey joggers, you see his familiar swell. It's impossible to resist reaching for it and pressing the flat of your hand to him. "You deserve me every single day, Billy. You make me feel... oh, God. You make me feel divine."

His hands go back to your breasts, and elegant fingers gently tease your nipples in perfect tandem. Under your hand, you feel his cock twitch. He loves your breasts. Then, he mirrors your action, except his hand tugs down your zipper and he presses his fingers against you over your underwear. A slight lift of your hips, and his hand is trapped between you and his thigh.

"No," you murmur with a smile. "I want to focus on taking care of you."

"You are," he replies. "It makes me feel good to take care of you, too."

He's rewarded with a kiss to his pretty lips, and this time his tongue finds yours first. The pressure of it makes you shiver again. You grind harder against his hand, whilst your own hand palms him through the soft material.

"God." He drops against the back of the sofa again and looks up at you. "Promise you love me."

You take the hand between your legs to your mouth. As you suck his fingers, you look into his eyes. You swirl your tongue between them, over them, and your other hand reaches into his trousers. You fumble with the band of his boxers, and trap his cock under it. You touch the red tip and moan around his digits.

"I fucking love your cock," you moan as you pull his fingers from your mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I can't get enough of it, not ever."

"What do you do when we're apart?" he asks, encouraging you. Suddenly, he grabs you and pulls you to sit next to him on the sofa. His confidence is returning.

"I... I watch that video you made for me a few months ago."

Billy watches your face and bites his lip. "Take off your clothes," he murmurs softly. You obey. "What video?"

With his gentle dominance coming back, your heart is racing. He lifts his hips to help you push down his trousers and underwear, and you begin a steady rhythm with your hand on his cock. "The one where you're alone on your bed."

"Spread your legs for me, baby."

Your breath catches in your throat. Again, you obey. He runs his palm up and down the inside of your thigh, and he pulls it over his leg. The intimacy of feeling your legs rest together makes your chest flush. Billy's hand slides up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he watches your face. He has more control over his expression as you stroke him than you do when his fingers run up and down the outside of your pussy.

"What was I doing in the video?" he asks softly.

Moaning. Writhing. Begging. "Touching yourself."

"You never sent me a video back."

You laugh quietly. It turns swiftly to a moan when Billy's middle and ring fingers glide between your folds lazily. "I... I tried."

"Did you?"

As two digits press at your entrance, your hand on his cock stills. The pressure is delicious, a little demanding, a little possessive. He touches you like he owns you. He does own you. "Yeah. But... oh, shit, that's nice. But when I watched it back, I... mmph, Billy- it wasn't quite right."

"Impossible," he whispers. He leans over to kiss your neck just as his fingers slip inside. "Everything about you is perfect."

"You're blind."

He bites your ear and then blows into it. "I'm a man in love, that's all."

"Love," you breathe. Finally, you find the strength to stroke him again, although his fingers moving inside of you are driving you to distraction. "There aren't enough words to tell you how I feel about you."

"Mmm?"

"I'm fucking obsessed." He rewards you with his thumb pressing against the side of your clit. He gently rubs up and down, careful not to overstimulate you. "Shit, just like that, please-"

"I don't deserve you." But he's smiling this time. "My pretty girl."

When he says things like that, you utterly melt. And then, it's you who's putty again, and Billy who's in control. "Kiss me?"

"Come here, baby."

You whimper needily when he pulls out his hand. But he grabs your hand, and you climb back into his lap. His trousers and underwear are still on his thighs. Perhaps if he fucks you good enough, you'll leave your smell on them.

"You want me inside you?"

You nod and clutch his shoulders. "Please."

"Please, what?"

It's not even a question. It's am automatic response now. "Please, daddy."

"Oh, that's my good girl."

As you cling onto him, Billy runs his cock through your folds, pressing the head against your clit. When you feel his bluntness against your entrance, you whine softly. "Please. I need you so bad. Please."

"You love me?"

You nod, and press a feverish kiss to his forehead. "I love you so much."

As he presses inside you, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. He's perfect for you, not big enough to hurt, not small enough to frustrate. He doesn't stretch, he fills. He's everything to you. You grind against him and feel the delicious slip of him inside and out. When you rock against his hard pubic bone, he praises you. "Good girl, taking what you need. I'm so proud of you."

It makes you bite your lip. You rock in a familiar rhythm that suits you both. His kisses are on your chest and your shoulders, hot and wet. Over the pulse in your neck, he sucks gently. He'd never leave a mark on you that would embarrass you for other people to see. But when his lips find your breasts again, he gives you flowers of purple and red.

"Fuck!" you whine. "You're perfect, you're so perfect."

He crushes his mouth against yours. Strong arms wrap around your back and then all of a sudden he flips you onto the sofa and shoves your legs up. They press together and you feel the ache down the back of them, but it's nothing compared to the ache in your cunt now he's left you empty. It's only for a moment, though. He slams back inside you, and the change in angle threatens to overwhelm you. Like this, his every pound has the tension between your legs stimulated.

"Daddy!" you moan. "Please, let me see you, please, please-!"

The hand that grips your ankles loosens enough to let one leg drop down. Now you can see him, his slight grin, the fire in his eyes. He looks at you like a man obsessed, like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"That's it, baby," he pants. His hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. His tight balls slap against you with every thust, making you whimper. "You're taking me so beautifully. Well done, my sweet girl."

"I'm so close!"

"Tell me what you need." He holds your elevated leg up by his shoulder, and turns his head to kiss your ankle. But his eyes never leave yours.

"Your h- Jesus! Hand! Please! Please!"

"Well done," he says again between laboured breaths. "You're so good at telling me what you need. Like this?"

While his hand presses firmly against your pelvis, his thumb finds its way back to your clit. The circles he runs are harder and faster now.

"Can I come?" you beg.

"Of course, baby. Whenever you need."

'Thank you, daddy!"

He's so good to you. He makes sure you orgasm first. Billy pounds you through your explosive completion that makes your whole body jerk, and only when your guttural screams have subsided does he let himself go. You got the coil so he can have you properly. He clings to the thigh against his chest as he comes, spending deep inside you. The cry of your name is deep and ragged. It sends aftershocks rushing through you.

He collapses on you, and you both pant. Only when his cock begins to soften does he pull out of you, but beyond that, neither of you move much. His face is buried in your neck, and your hand is buried in his hair.

After a while, you feel lips press softly against your throat.

"You okay?" you whisper.

"Mmm."

"I wanted to be the one to take care of you." You laugh softly.

He kisses your skin again. "You always take care of me." His voice is nothing more than a mumble.

The laughter fades on your lips. "I always will. I love you so much."

"You make life worth living."

Your arms tighten around him. "Your life is so precious, Billy. We'll find a way to make it better. I promise."

"I love you."

[zingaplanet]

Here's your incredible friendship story of the day:

In 1953, Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay became the first two people to ever summit the highest mountain in the world, Mount Everest. Before the commercialised hiking expeditions of the 21st century, Hillary and Norgay had to make the climb without a pre-fixed route, discovering their own path to the top (one of which later became known as the Hillary Step in the Everest climbing trail).

The pair did not know each other well beforehand but met through their mountaneering peers. Norgay (a sherpa, Himalayan locals well-known for their mountaneering prowess) apparently made a lasting first impression on Hillary due to his incredible mountaneering skills, patience, complete with his "flashing, irresistible smile".

In one ocassion during their few earlier expeditions together, Hillary stepped on a crumbling ice and almost fell to his death before Norgay saved his life. This made him determined to ask Norgay to be his partner for his Everest Summit expedition.

Amongst other members of the expedition, their pairing became the first one who were successful, reaching the highest point on Earth at 11:30 a.m. on May 29, 1953.

At the top, Hillary hilarously recalled extending his hand to shake Tenzing's hand in "a good Anglo-Saxon fashion," but his Nepalese-Indian friend jumped him on the back and gave him a massive hug instead. As he said, it was the “great moment for which I had waited all my life, [...] I waved my arms in the air and then threw them around Hillary, and we thumped each other on the back until, even with the oxygen, we were almost breathless!”.

But beyond this monumental achievement, the gentlemen's agreement they made at the top was perhaps an equally impressive commitment.

Being the only people in the world who were present, Norgay and Hillary made a promise to present their a success as a joint effort. Both countrymen were under international pressure to divulge who was actually the first to step foot on the summit. Despite the rising colonial tension at the times, both Norgay and Hillary refused to say anything other than they reached the summit together as a team, carrying the secret to their deathbeds.

After Everest, Hillary devoted his life to assisting the overlooked sherpa people of Nepal. He established the Himalayan Trust, constructing many schools and hospitals in Nepal. Norgay continued to climb mountains all over the world for the rest of his life and died in his beloved Himalayas.

Hillary and Norgay remained lifelong friends, bonded for life. When Tenzing Norgay died in India in 1986, the country was in a massive political turmoil and all the streets in Darjeeling were closed due to confrontations with Nepalese separatists.

Edmund Hillary was the only foreigner allowed to enter the region, as reporters recounted how protesters parted ways to enable him to pay respects to his old friend.

In 2003, their sons Peter Hillary and Jamling Norgay climbed Everest together, celebrating the 50th anniversary of their fathers' memorable climb that changed the world forever.

[tchaikovskymacy]

[Kalimpong, North Bengal, India]

My little trip to this hill station was a time that was to be worth talking about later when I think back about it. The chilly weather and the scenic beauty were all I could take in then. Unlike the plains (where I live), the atmosphere is calm, less chaotic and quiet, almost as if it's a separate part away from the country. Although a place that most of us want to spend our lives at, it is romanticized a lot.

But people overlook the difficulties of living in a place like that, apart from being excessively hardworking to live in a place like this. A good support from the government is also needed. While going back to the railway station, the person who dropped us off expressed his grief and frustration on the government, when my parents asked about the poor conditions of the road on the mountains. The roads are not constructed properly, a huge river flows near the national highway and the houses near that river (Teesta river) are almost hanging on the edge by the riverside, one heavy rainfall and it's all gone. They are always uncertain about what will happen next if there is a flood yet one can always see them smiling. The government doesn't seem to bat an eye on this.

Despite this place and my home (which is in the plains) being in the same state. Kolkata (where I live) the main attraction for tourists and home to many ministers, is being decorated with atrocious colourful lights spending heaps of money on it, which is not needed. Streetlights are enough. And building ridiculous monuments in the city that don't hold any connectivity with our culture, is a waste of money. Instead of spending so much amount on these things, they can easily invest in places like Kalimpong, Darjeeling, and the NH to make it easier for people living there. It helps secure their livelihood and save them from danger.

The government shouldn't turn a blind eye to this. Despite this rant or any other protests raised by the people who need help, they chose to prioritize their reputation and comfort over their people's welfare, is this the democracy we all vote for?

The first pic is an incident of a landslide, but there are places like this in Kalimpong where the roads are from the side and just a wooden plank is laid over it, instead of actually mending the road.

the second pic is of the Teesta River, it is a river with a heavy current.

[lonepower]

OC + Random Associations (2)

you know what, i couldn't resist. you're getting merry too. tagging @cannibalisticskittles again (you started it!♡) but the rest of you are off the hook lmao.

🍄 animal - a badger. (...i didn't mean to zero in on mustelidae but here we are.) much more easygoing and content to live and let lie than reputation would suggest, but said reputation didn't come from nowhere, either.

🍄 colors - earth tones - deep brown, greens of all hues, dusty violet. sparse accents of cania blue.

🍄 month - july. the purest flush of early summer before the heat hits.

🍄 songs - beautiful decline, strangeness and charm, in the woods somewhere

🍄 number - 3. it's the most stable shape (o⌵o)

🍄 plants - sycamore, spanish moss, fly agaric

🍄 scents - ozone, petrichor, wood rot, orange blossoms

🍄 time of day - late afternoon

🍄 gemstone - malachite

🍄 season - summer

🍄 places - the stone foundation of a building so crumbled its purpose is lost. a mountain range like a row of teeth. the deepest, oldest recesses of the forest.

🍄 food - classic barbecue. everything is spicy. her ribs are second only to mama k's.

🍄 drink - homemade mead; that, or an earthy black tea, like darjeeling or lapsang souchong.

🍄 element - earth again, but the alive kind of earth. black soil between your toes, roots carving inexorably through stone, the graceful reunion of corpse and earth, the terrible crack before a landslide.

🍄 seasonings - garlic, bay laurel, paprika, ancho pepper

🍄 sky - the heavy gold-on-black of sunlight against dark storm clouds.

🍄 weather - the static anticipation of a storm about to break. rain warm enough to dance in. a flash flood in the high desert.

🍄 magical power - animate dead.

🍄 weapons - an enchanted trident even though they're kinda useless in game, because ~Aesthetic~

🍄 method of travel - turning into a bird and flying there

🍄 sweets - champurrado. raw honeycomb. saltwater taffy. any kind of fruit pie.

🍄 fear - stagnancy. inefficacy. an inability to keep moving forward.

🍄 art style - whatever the cartoon saloon/secret of kells style is called

🍄 mythological creature - bigfoot. especially the "dressing as a Creature to cause property damage as environmentalist protest" part.

🍄 celestial body - earth (well, toril), duh? why worry about other planets when our hands are full enough with the one we've got?!

🍄 stationery - watercolor paints

🍄 emojis - 🦡🥀🌬️

[chilope]

darjeeling & ginger?

ginger (favorite color) : despite early protests, green by a country mile

darjeeling (a hobby) : main one is probably sewing right now! i recently finished a bunny sweater for neyenz thats pretty snazzy :3

[garudabluffs]

Boston Tea Party

OPINION The Boston Tea Party was a crime Opposition to British policy was justified. Destroying 342 crates of tea wasn’t.

"In Boston 250 years ago this week, on Dec. 16, 1773, a throng of radical patriots called the Sons of Liberty disguised themselves as Mohawk Indians, swarmed aboard three British ships in the harbor, broke open 342 crates of Ceylon and Darjeeling tea worth almost 10,000 pounds — nearly $2 million in today’s money — and spent the next three hours dumping the contents into the water."

"How should we regard the events of that night 250 years ago? Was it really an act of heroism to destroy 46 tons of tea? Was that massive and costly act of vandalism to private property justified by the protesters’ anger at Britain’s policy on tea?"

READ MORE https://www.bostonglobe.com/2023/12/14/opinion/boston-tea-party-crime/?et_rid=1768069659&s_campaign=todaysheadlines:newsletter

184 Comments

[infantisimo]

All in the Details: ‘Ponytail Gopi’ and His Annual Party at the Kodai Club Badminton Court

1990s, Kodaikanal

As far as Christmases go in Kodaikanal the only one of note was the party organised by Gopi. Ponytail Gopi as he was known, was a charismatic chap; a chef in his own right and someone with a flair for the elaborate. His party at the Badminton Court was quite an extraordinary effort and thoroughly enjoyable. It was a sit-down affair. Dixie Prince and I were in charge of just one thing: Serviettes! Not knowing what to do, we went to Margaret Sekhran and she lent us a book.

Well, the serviettes had to be starched, to begin with. Then the book proceeded to illustrate how they were to be folded. These operations varied with the nature of the artist’s intentions: from producing a peeled banana, there were detailed descriptions on how to make a swan. There were drawings, with complete instructions, of cut and sculpted pineapples and some floral stuff, that resembled pansies, were on offer too. 

It was great fun. My clumsy fingers were all over the place but Dixie sweetly helped out and we soon got a respectable table going, full of different servette designs. Very fashionable indeed!

Dinner was served in stages; the food, drink and ambience nothing short of par excellence. I forget what the dessert was but it was undoubtedly something exotic. That was by far and away the best Christmas dinner I have had in Kodaikanal. There were one or two at the golf club but those were more spirited affairs and I doubt anybody remembers the food. Personally, I don’t think there was any…

Otherwise, it was either lunch or dinner in people’s houses and one extravaganza on my estate in Pethuparai. That ended quite wildly at Peggy Rustomji’s place, where her son, Reshad, had insisted we end Christmas day. There were no bison to contend with then and the few elephants that made occasional forays in the area prudently left us alone.

Despite all the derring-do of Santa’s past, the one I remember best is my first memory of Christmas.

Brandy, Pachyderms and a Pile of Dung: Santa at the Annamalai Club

Valparai, 1973

It was the day of the annual Christmas party in Valparai. Dr Benjamin was slated to be Santa Claus. The president of the Annamalai Club, GP Reddy, was elated; Dr Benjamin, a well-rounded gentleman, would make the perfect Father Christmas. It was a beautiful evening and planters were playing tennis and golf under a sky that heralded the end of the monsoon.

At the last instant, however, Dr Benjamin called the president to say he couldn’t take on the main role as he had a stomach ache. Playing Santa in front of forty or so kids of assorted ages is a daunting task. Who would volunteer to be Santa at the last minute? The beleaguered president rushed around in a frenzy. As further inducement, a bottle of brandy was offered. Still, there didn’t seem to be any candidates. 

Finally, he induced one of the golfers, in the last throes of a bad round, to quit the game. The brandy was sufficient temptation, and, with the help of two fellow golfers, the new Santa demolished the bottle. Santa, who was Aban Sethna’s cousin, was dressed and ready–traditional red robes, white whiskers flowing down to the chest and coming to rest over a large pillow strapped under the garment–when Santa began to raise a request.

‘I didn’t get my full share of the brandy,’ stated the worthy, saying that he wasn’t going to be Santa under these circumstances. 

The flabbergasted president, who incidentally was the doppelganger of Omar Sharif, protested loudly—but as the would-be Santa had started disrobing, he immediately sent for another bottle of the much-desired amber fluid. 

Fully sated, Santa left the changing room at last, making his way across the cricket pitch with his friends. A slanting sun silhouetted a large object looming on the mud road to the Masonic Lodge. A horrified Santa found himself suddenly confronted by a huge elephant. Moreover, it had a chair strapped to its back! 

By then a crowd from Valparai town had assembled around the elephant: kids gesticulated and squealed in delight, while a slender mahout tried to keep them at bay with a series of yells and threatening gestures.

Realising that Santa was never going to mount the pachyderm on his own steam, the villagers got together. Lifting the flummoxed Santa, they pushed him onto the chair atop the elephant. Nobody knows whose fault it was, but the chair hadn’t been fastened properly and flipped over to the other side, taking Santa with it. 

Lying sprawled on his belly, rocking on the pillow stuffed under his belt, Santa couldn’t even utter a curse. The wind blown from his sails, he was hoisted, once again, atop the towering beast. 

They had miscalculated yet again. Santa found himself astride the coarse hair that sticks out from an elephant’s back. It was like riding a porcupine! Before he could protest, the elephant began its interminable journey (all of 500 yards) to the club house above.

But the surfeit of alcohol had finally kicked in. A weary and battered Santa put his elbows on the backrest of the chair, and fell asleep to the swaying gait of the elephant. , insisting that he wouldn’t get off the elephant at the entrance of the club. There was pandemonium as the elephant entered the club and, annoyed at the treatment being meted out, discharged a voluminous quantity of steaming dung.

The kids insisted this was the best Christmas ever and, after the presents were distributed, Santa was the life of the party!

A few years later, in the coffee belt of South Coorg, the same Santa, now acknowledged as Saint Nick himself, was called to perform above and beyond the call of duty. There was no elephant this time and the committee of Coorg ladies and gentlemen decided that Santa would make his appearance on roller skates. Well, I suppose everyone is entitled to surmise how that ended!

A Quiet Christmas

Circa 1949, Darjeeling

By the time the bells of St. Andrews struck four times, it was dark. There weren’t too many people in the town square, making it look even bigger than usual. It was bitterly cold too. Overcoats, scarves, gloves and felt hats made it difficult to recognise anyone: they looked huge in the pullovers and cardigans used as extra padding.

St Andrews overlooked Victoria Park, which is now a large building for political use. On the other side it towers over The Gymkhana Club which, in turn, overlooks the Government House, used by the Governor of Bengal during the summer months. The Capitol Theatre and St. Andrews church, at opposite ends of the town, are iconic buildings, recognised by anyone who has visited Darjeeling. 

I was very young at the time but the Planters, who were mostly British then, were the dominant socialites. The Planter’s Club was the place to be for social recognition and, the Gymkhana Club, for the Queen’s birthday dance. 

Of course, the Gymkhana Club did more than host the Queens dinner and dance party. It had tennis courts and a skating rink the size of two tennis courts. The wooden flooring was Burma Teak and made for a wonderful surface for roller skates to glide over. It was the destination for the hoi polloi. The skating rink housed a bandstand where waltzes, tangoes and foxtrots were played and skaters would circle the floor in tune to the music. Those days Georgie Banks (Louis Bank’s father) would switch between the clarinet and the trumpet even as old man Coutinho sawed away at the violin. The drums were the domain of Mr. Wilson. 

I still remember Edgar Cleaver playing the accordion through the early and mid-nineteen fifties.

My mother never spent Christmas in Kodai. It was too quiet for her! She was the life and soul of parties at home in Darjeeling and later at the Coonoor Club, playing the piano, singing, and dancing… she was an excellent dancer.

Tonight, there was no discernible breeze. Yet the cold, coming off the mountain range, chilled one to the marrow. Some folks were busy scratching their noses, fingers, and other assorted extremities in an attempt to ward off the bane of winter; literally doing St. Vitus’ dance to get temporary relief from itchy Chilblains!

Every alternate year the skies chose to remain overcast. It wasn’t as bitterly cold then, under an overcast sky but, as it turned completely dark, snow started falling. It was never very heavy. Tiny flakes floated down, each with its own distinctive design, until a sudden flurry turned everything pristine white. 

Crunching through the white carpet, holding my mother’s hand, I was excited. Muriel Ray had invited us for Christmas dinner and my mother was on a last-minute mission to buy presents. Some shops were open and Habib Mallik, on Chowrasta square, was the destination. 

It was warm inside. Fur coats and an assortment of warm garments, hanging from the ceiling, left a musty smell within the confines. Trinkets from Tibet were displayed on large tables and collapsible walnut tables, carved intricately, from Kashmir took pride of place. There were thick Tibetan carpets covering the walls, with a multitude of designs and there was even a hookah in a far corner. I think it was for sale.

With an experienced eye, my mother took in all the wares on offer. I wasn’t aware of what she finally settled on because a large foldable knife had caught my attention. With all the curiosity of a four-year-old, I stared at this wonderful invention, wondering what marvellous things I could do with it. Before I could ask her to buy it for me, she had finished her purchases and dragged me out of the shop.

The disappointment was soon forgotten. Snow was still falling and, in the silence, faint Christmas Carrols came from a rag-tag bunch of school children. A girl in front carried a hurricane lantern and six or seven behind joined her to sing “Ave Maria” softly into the night. There was nothing rag-tag about their singing; it sounded as though the angels were amongst us.

We passed other groups on our way home. In the dark, trampling over a carpet of snow, the enchantment of hearing “Silent Night” was certainly the nearest thing to heaven I had ever experienced… and my mother opened her lips, her beautiful voice floating over the whitened earth… and I thought I was in heaven.

At the entrance to our doorway another group awaited our arrival. As soon as they saw us they burst out with ‘Happy Birthday’. I clutched my mother’s hand tighter. She was twenty-eight years old that Christmas day. To me, she was very old and I was afraid I wouldn’t have her with me much longer. Intuitively, my mother turned to me and told me to hurry and get ready for the evening party. 

The nightmare of mortality wiped away, we arrived at the huge hacienda that housed Muriel and her daughter Jennifer. The extensive lawn had turned white, and the tiny pond in the centre, frozen solid. In the years to follow that Christmas of 1949, I was to become familiar with the hacienda. After the Ray’s left, it housed the Plant family from Burma, before being converted into a communist commune!

The sitting room was large and there was a roaring fire, which did more to light up the room than the dim electric bulbs overhead. There was an entire goose, still steaming, on the table and a white swan hanging from the rafters. It was enough to give me goosebumps. Turning to my father, I pointed to it and he said it was a ‘khoya bag’, which didn’t make any sense to me at the time.

After the goose was carved, the stuffing attacked and all the crackling chewed, aunt Muriel pulled a cord from under the overhead swan. As the belly ripped, confetti drizzled all over the dining table. There was an occasional thud and my parents reached out to discover what surprise they held. I got into the act and quickly discovered a tiny car. It was a model of a Hillman Minx.

It had two doors which opened. Inside there were seats, a steering wheel and a dashboard. Dad looked at it and told me it was an expensive Dinky Toy. I treasured it for many years. I was drowsy by then and fell asleep. I don’t remember how I got home but was told later that dad had carried me back. 

My dreams of delicious marzipan, English toffees and Dundee bread were interrupted when I remembered Jenny kissing me and wishing me a Merry Christmas. I awoke rubbing my cheek. After all, which four-year-old wants to be kissed, Christmas or no Christmas!

She had also added, “this is specially for your mother’s birthday.” My mother was a Christmas baby and this was the first of many, many Christmas memories I have. It was a very special one indeed.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT  Vol.5 Sakamaki Kanato [TRACK 1]

Original title: ワガママ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 5 Sakamaki Kanato

Audio: Here (Huge thank you to @filthyhelplessworld​ for providing the audio!)

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: The title of this track really describes the whole thing perfectly, haha. I have an insane amount of respect for all Kanato stans out there who keep up with this little brat’s selfish behavior because it couldn’t be me. However, I am excited for this CD before of the first 2-3 minutes of the track. I can already tell things are going to get intense.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 1: Selfish

The scene starts outside in the garden.

*Pshhhhhh*

*Thud*

[00:17] “Here you go. I purchased this tea because I figured it would strike your fancy. Since I decided to hold a tea party, I want to thoroughly enjoy it. Take a whiff. Does it not smell wonderful? Darjeeling is very subtle in taste, yet extremely fragrant. It fits you perfectly.”

You fail to respond.

[00:46] “Say, why would you ignore me? I prepared nothing but your favorites today, yet you won’t even say a single thank you...That’s a little strange, don’t you think? Why…? How…? I might as well just enjoy the tea party by myself then.”

You remain quiet.

[01:21] “I suppose you really won’t give me a response. ...You’re acting a little off today. Or is that just my imagination? Ahー Could it be because of that moon? The moon makes us Vampires feel restless inside. Perhaps it has the same effect on humans? Fufu...Fufufufu...Ahahaha!

*Cling*

[02:23] “Come on, you should try your tea before it gets cold. It is much more delicious when enjoyed hot after all. Take a proper look at these flowers I arranged for you!”

*Rustle rustle*

*Shatter*

“Haah...I prepared all of this for you...So be delighted...and smile…Hey? Say something! Look at me! I’m begging you…!!”

You fail to respond once more.

[03:07] “Hey...I’m talking to you…! Sniffle...Uu...WHY WON’T YOU SAY ANYTHING!?”

*SHATTER*

“Ah...Uu...Hic...Aaah...Uu...Why…!? Why!? Why!? Why!? Kuh...Why did you die…? Hey? ANSWER ME!!”

*FLASHBACK STARTS*

*Rustle*

[04:06] “Haah...Scoot a little closer. How am I supposed to suck your blood like this? Did you not hear me when I said I’m feeling unwell? Even having to sit upright in bed is rough. Are you not aware of why people come to the infirmary in the first place? You’re supposed to nurse me back to health, so be a little more considerate at least! ーー Come on, hurry!”

You walk over to the bed.

[04:47] “Took you long enough, gosh…”

You frown.

“...Hm? You’re asking if I’m upset? Hah. And what exactly makes you think that?”

You shrug.

“Hmー You choose to feign ignorance, huh?”

He looks away.

[05:11] “It’s nothing. ...More importantly, hurry up, will you? It’s difficult to drink your blood when you’re standing there, spaced out. Come closer. Don’t make me have to spell it out for you.”

You hesitate.

“...Why are you acting like that? Do you want to upset me?”

You shake your head.

“If you do not, then fix that attitude of yours.”

You finally step closer.

[05:50] “Exactly. You should have just kept quiet and obeyed me from the very beginning. ...Come on, now kneel down. I’ll suck your blood.”

*Rustle*

“Keep still? Ah…”

Kanato bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

[06:22] “Mmh…It’ll hurt if you move, remember?”

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...Hah...Didn’t I just tell you to keep still!? Aah...Or do you want it to hurt, perhaps? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

“Fufufu...~ So you actually do. You’re that kind of girl after all.”

You deny his words.

[07:01] “You don’t even know that about yourself? Well, I suppose it’s fine. I’ll be so kind as to tell you. Someone did say that humans are the most ignorant when it comes to themselves after all. I assume that goes for you as well? You see, you just love pain and suffering. Give that some serious thought (1). ...That’s why you did something which would upset me...It was on purpose, obviously!”

You shake your head.

[07:52] “Oh please, don’t play dumb now! I saw it with my own eyes! You were having a rather friendly chat with him ーー with Reiji at the manor, weren’t you? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

“Ugh…! ...Fufu...What a forced cry! You can drop the act now. I already know you aren’t opposed to the pain, since it actually makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Did you have some fun with Reiji in a similar fashion as well? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

[08:36] “...Did you think I would believe you if you denied it with tears in your eyes like that? Think again! (2) ...Mmh…”

*Sluuuurp*

You start to feel faint. 

“Fufu...Are you pretending to suddenly feel faint as part of your act as well? Seems like you have become a natural at this.”

You explain.

[08:57] “You’re feeling unwell? Haha…That’s a new one.”

You ask him to stop.

“The answer is no. I’m not satisfied yet. After all, I’ve barely had any.”

You repeat that you’re feeling unwell. 

[09:19] “You still insist on acting as if you’re in pain? ...CUT IT OUT ALREADY! I mean, it doesn’t make sense for this to suddenly happen, does it!? I’ve always been able to suck this much blood without any issues! 

...Aah. I see. I get it now. You’re running low on blood because you let him feed off you, correct? That’s why you’re coming up with the random excuse of feeling unwell, am I right? That’s the only logical explanation! ...How dare you!”

Kanato continues to suck your blood as you protest.

[10:05] “If you’re so sure that I’m just misunderstanding things...Then why don’t you tell me straight up what you were talking about with Reiji yesterday!?” 

You flinch.

“...Cat got your tongue?”

You tell him. 

“You were discussing your health? ...Fufu...That’s a lie. After all, the two of you seemed rather close. Standing there together, whispering to each other.”

You look away. 

“See? You’ve gone quiet again. Do you have nothing to say!?”

You apologize.

[10:50] “Kuh...Giving me a meek apology will only add to my anger, you know? ...Well, I’m broad-minded so I don’t mind letting it slide this once. However, do not dare to even get close to him again in the future. Can you promise me that?”

You nod.

*Rustle*

“...Hah!”

He pushes you away.

*Thud*

[11:25] “Oh please, you’re overreacting. I only pushed you lightly, yet you act as if you’re about to fall over. ...There’s really no need to still keep this act up though. Good grief…”

*Rustle*

“What are you spacing out for? Come on, wrap your arms around me.”

*Rustle rustle*

[11:50] “...Took you long enough to embrace me, geez. ...Stroke my head, please. I’m exhausted after sucking your blood, so it only makes sense you reward me now, right?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Exactly, just like that...More…You belong to me. All of you. From head to toe. Down to the very last drop of blood. ...Do you understand?”

You nod.

[12:33] “All you need to do is be with me. ...Forever.”

*Rustle*

“...Say? You don’t think we’re done, do you? We still haven’t discussed how you will apologize to me, have we?”

You tilt your head to the side.

[12:58] “That should be a given. You had the nerve to upset me after all. Right. I suppose I’ll have you prepare me a sweet feast. Homemade, of course. A cake doused in plenty of whipped cream, cookies, and chocolate...Oh, pudding as well!”

You agree, promising him you’ll try your best.

“Fufu~ I don’t know how they’ll turn out, however, you better make them delicious. That’s all. ...Understood?”

You nod.

“Fufufu...I’m looking forward to it~”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) 胸に手を当てる or ‘mune ni te o ateru’ literally means ‘to put one’s hand on one’s chest/heart’ and is used when telling someone to think very deeply about something. (As if to look inside their own heart)

(2) 甘い or ‘amai’ doesn’t always mean ‘sweet’, but mean ‘weak’ or ‘naive’ as well.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, Raven. May I request a scenario where papa Lilia is crying because Malleus have a wedding with MC? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

This request was in my inbox before I closed it on June 15th, so this is fair game for an imagine. It just so happens to be related to the idea of weddings!

Rather than write Lilia crying during the wedding, I decided to approach this request from a different angle! I do hope it suffices!

Imagine this...

“I am getting married.”

Lilia nearly spits up his tea--but Sebek actually does, spraying darjeeling all over the table. Only Silver places his teacup down and regards the young master with a small nod of acknowledgement.

“S-SINCE WHEN WERE YOU ENGAGED?!” Sebek bellows, his cheeks flaming as he slams his own cup down, nearly shattering his saucer.

“Since last evening,” Malleus replies calmly, arms folded. “I had decided to propose in secret so as to avoid...complications.” His gaze is fixed on Sebek the entire time.

“I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” Sebek booms, abruptly rising from his seat. His chair screeches harshly against the floor. “WHAT INSOLENT WHELP BELIEVES THEMSELVES TO BE FIT TO MARRY THE EXALTED--”

“Silence, Sebek,” Llilia orders, his voice firm. “I, for one, do not oppose the idea.”

“L-Lilia-sama?! S-Surely you do not grant your blessings upon--”

“Who is the lucky (lady/man)?” Lilia asks, ignoring Sebek’s protests.

“A close friend,” Malleus says with a mysterious smile. “We have spent many a night together--”

Sebek screeches in horror.

“--strolling around campus grounds, exchanging pleasantries, growing closer by the day.”

Sebek breathes a massive sigh of relief.

“Kufufu. So I see. Friends to lovers--it is a tale as old as time itself.” Lilia stares into the rim of his tea cup, his reflection in the darjeeling a sepia tone.

He remembers it like it was yesterday--the day when Malleus first hatched from his egg. A chubby little thing, he was--and so cheeky! His fire had set several of his belongings--and Lilia’s hair--on fire.

But the Malleus sitting before Llilia today is not the same as that moody infant. He is handsome and strong and regal, perched upon his immaculate throne--soon to ascend as the king to the Valley of Thorns.

All grown up.

Lilia feels his eyes watering, but he blinks the tears back. He takes a swig of tea and tries to focus on its deep, mellow flavor.

“...When is the wedding, Young Master?”

“NOT YOU AS WELL, SILVER!!”

“We are not certain,” Malleus admits. “That is why I have told you all of my engagement. We would like a small celebration, surrounded by close friends and family...in the bounty of Mother Nature herself. In order for that to happen, we will need assistance with the arrangements.”

“Y-You...You wish to request for our assistance?” Sebek guesses, his loud voice trembling. He cannot decide if he is honored or still appalled.

“I trust that it will not be an issue?” Malleus raises an eyebrow.

“O-OF COURSE NOT! A-Ahahah...I-I shall put forth nothing but my utmost effort to ensure that the Young Master’s wedding is the single most joyous day of his life!!”

“...What a quick change of heart,” Silver comments under his breath. He turns and addresses the young master. “I would also be more than happy to assist, if that is what you so desire.”

“You have my thanks, Sebek, Silver.” Malleus glances at his guardian, the most ancient of all that sit at the round table. “What are your thoughts, Lilia?”

“Ah, pay no mind to me,” Lilia says quickly. “I am useless when it comes to matters such as these. I will have to leave it to the youth to do the bulk of the planning.”

“Are you certain? I am sure we could make do with your wisdom.”

“I...” Lilia purses his lips. “I have no more wisdom to give. You are moving on to a new chapter of your life, Malleus. You will be able to look after yourself--and your new spouse--just fine on your own.”

“Lilia...”

“I am happy for you. Truly, I am.” Lilia smiles as big as he can--and big, fat tears start dribbling down his cheeks, wetting the table and salting his tea.

“L-LILIA-SAMA?!”

“Old man...”

“W-Waaaaaaaaah!!” the ancient fae wails, his small body trembling violently, his entire face pink. “Y-You...You great, big lizard, M-Malleussss...!!”

“Are you upset with me?”

“N-No, you fool! I’m...I’m so happy...!! I-I’m going to be a p-papa-in-laaaw...”

“D-Don’t make this awkward, old man,” Silver pleads, his eyes darting between his guardian and his young master.

“Have you no heart?!” Sebek roars, pounding a fist on the table. “Now is the exact time to be emotional...!! The young master... THE YOUNG MASTER HAS BLOSSOMED INTO SUCH A FINE YOUNG MAN!”

“W-Waaaaahhhh!!”

“THE YOUNG MASTER IS THE PINNACLE OF PERFECTION! THERE IS NO MAN OR WOMAN ALIVE THAT WOULD NOT DESIRE HIM AS THEIR OWN!!”

Silver winces at the cacophony, bringing hands to cover his ears.

“...Well. This went about as well as I had predicted.”

[dragomaster312]

Cappy Songfic. I Won't Say I'm In Love

DISCLAIMER!

I do not own the image, song, or characters!

Pink stands for Carla singing

Blue stands for the other girls singing.

It was getting close to the evening in the Fairy Tail Guildhall. Most of the guild members had gone home for the day except for a few that remained. Carla was sitting at a table by herself, enjoying a nice cup of tea. Then, Happy came over, hiding something from behind his back.

"Hey, Carla!" Happy greeted. "I've got something for you!"

"Happy, I swear. If you've got another fish for me, I told you I don't like fish as much as you," Carla immediately spoke. "So, I'll have to say no thank you respectfully."

"But it's not a fish this time!" Happy protested. "It's something that I know that you'll like! I promise!"

Carla then sighed, shaking her head as she gave the blue cat a light smile while setting down her cup. "Alright, then. I'll humor you," she said. "What is it?"

Happy grinned as he presented Carla with something that surprised her. In his paw was a tiny but beautiful white flower.

"I saw this on a job a while back, and I couldn't help but think about you," Happy explained. "The hard part was keeping it safe during the trip back."

Carla took the flower and stared at it before looking up at the blue Exceed, her cheeks turning pink.

Happy then dug into his green backpack and took out a small box. "I also got you this too. I know you like tea and stuff, so I saved some cash, asked Lucy where to find some, and bought this."

Carla inspected the box, and her eyes sparkled in delight. "It's Darjeeling Tea! My favorite kind!" she gasped.

"Does... this mean that you like them?" asked Happy nervously.

Carla beamed as she wrapped her paws around Happy in a hug. "I love it. Thank you so much, Happy," she spoke happily. "That's - so thoughtful of you."

The blue Exceed's cheeks grew as red as a cherry as she scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Aw, shucks. It was nothing. I just figured I'd give you something you'll like. You know, be considerate and stuff."

"I'm glad you did," Carla smiled as she stepped back. "I'm starting to wonder if you're the same childish tomcat and not some cheap imposter.

Happy then stuck out his chest proudly. "I'm not the same Happy from before. Starting now, you're looking at a whole new Happy that's mature and the cat worthy of a beautiful cat like you."

At that moment, Natsu came over. "Hey, Happy. I was just about to head home. You coming?"

"Sure. I'll be right there," Happy said before turning back to Carla. "Hey, I got to get going. I'll see you tomorrow, Carla. Have a good night, and enjoy the gifts."

And while spreading his wings, taking flight, Happy flew away. As Carla watched him go, the white cat couldn't help but notice that her heart was skipping a couple of beats as she looked back at the flower and the box of tea Happy gave her. A smile worked to her lips as the Exceed giggled to herself, feeling very happy. But that didn't last very long, for as she turned around, her face froze with horror. Standing behind her were Wendy, Mira, Lisanna, Cana, and Bisca, all looking at her with amused looks on their faces.

"Awww! How cute!" all five of them said.

Carla's face immediately turned red, steam puffing out from her ears. "H-H-How long were you all standing there?!" she yowled with embarrassment.

"Long enough to hear that little exchange the two of you had," Mira smirked with a wink.

"That was adorable!" gushed Lisanna. "The way Happy was being sweet and thinking about Carla's tastes. So cute!"

"I'll say. That cat's stepping up his game regarding romance," Cana said with a chuckle. "

"You must be feeling happy, Carla," Wendy chimed in. "After seeing that, anyone would think you two were a couple."

Carla was even more embarrassed as the fur on her tail stood on end. "Now, wait just a minute! Who on Earth said we're a couple?!" she snapped shrilly. "We're the furthest thing from that!"

"Take it easy there, kitty," pointed out Bisca. "There's no need to be so shy about it. Why don't you go and ask the cat out already?"

"Excuse me?!" Carla cried, her shrill voice taking a new octave.

"Yeah. I think it would be wonderful that you and Happy became a couple," Mira said. "You would make the cutest pair!"

"You cannot be serious!" Carla spoke, setting her gifts down. "There is absolutely no way that I like that tomcat, and I'm sure he doesn't see me that way either! No offense to him, but he's as naive as Natsu regarding that subject."

"Well, you never know, Carla," winked Mira. "Happy, no doubt he has feelings for you, considering that he took the time to ask Lucy for advice on what to get you. And deep down, you might feel the same way he does."

"And there's no shame in liking Happy," added Wendy. "You two have grown closer over the years, so what's the harm? I may not have any experience, but I think you should be more honest about your feelings rather than hiding or denying them."

"Not you too, child," Carla sighed. "I already told you I don't like Happy that way. At least, I don't think so."

Wendy could stare at her companion as the white cat stood there, still blushing as she stared at the box of tea and the flower. At that moment, a mysterious shadow was watching them, hiding behind the bar. They took out a small orb with a button on top of it and pushed the button. It began releasing strange waves that spread throughout the guildhall, washing over Carla, Wendy, and the other girls in the guildhall.

When the waves hit her, Carla began to feel an urge in her chest. Something that she needed to let out right here and now. After a few seconds, while looking at the flower in her paw and the box, the white Exceed began to sing. As she did, she set her gifts on the table while sitting on the edge of it and threw away the flower over her shoulder.

If there's a prize for rotten judgment

I guess I've already won that

No man is worth the aggravation

That's ancient history, been there, done that!

At that moment, Mira, Lisanna, Wendy, Cana, and Bisca came over to Carla. Cana caught the flower in her hand, and she, along with the other girls, joined in singing while Carla rested her chin in her paws, continuing to sing.

Who'd' ya think you're kiddin'

He's the Earth and heaven to you

Try to keep it hidden

Honey, we can see right through you (Oh, nooo)

Girl, ya can't conceal it

We know how ya feel and

Who you're thinking of

Cana then dangles the flower in front of Carla's face hoping that she'd take it back, but Carla gets off the table and walks off, much to Cana's annoyance as she and the other girls continue to sing, even dancing a little.

No chance, no way

I won't say it, no, no

You swoon, you sigh

Why deny it, uh-oh

It's too, cliche

I won't say I'm in love

As Carla walked off, Wendy and the other girls all shrugged, unsure how to get through to Carla as she stepped outside the guildhall. When she did, she noticed a couple walking by, making her smile a little out of slight envy, but the white feline quickly walked on, trying harder to deny her feelings. But yet again, she sees another couple sitting on a bench not too far from her, making her smile again as the girls follow her.

I thought my heart had learned its lesson

It feels so good when you start out

My head is screaming get a grip, girl

Unless you're dying to cry your heart out

Oh!

You keep on denying

Who you are and how you're feeling

Baby, we're not buying

Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling

Face it like a grown-up

When ya gonna own up

That ya got, got, got it bad

Carla then stopped, imagining herself being that affectionate with Happy, causing a giddy smile to spread her cheeks. When Wendy calls her out on smiling in a lyric, Carla blushes in embarrassment as she covers her ears, not wanting to hear any more as she desperately tries to hide her feelings more than ever as she quickly retreats to the guildhall.

Whoa: No chance, no way

I won't say it, no, no

Give up, give in

Check the grin you're in love

This scene won't play,

I won't say I'm in love

You're doin' flips read our lips

You're in love

When Carla flew back inside, she sat back on the table where she originally was, arms crossed, and her head turned up in a huff. Wendy then took the flower from Cana and gently blew on it while using her magic, making it float back to where Carla was unbeknownst to her, making it land safely on the table.

You're way off base

I won't say it

She won't say it, no

Get off my case

I won't say it

Girl, don't be proud

It's O.K. you're in love

Carla then noticed the flower next to her, staring at it for a few seconds before picking it up. As she did, a dreamy yet happy smile tugged at her cheeks as she held the flower close to her chest as she softly sang the final lyrics as the feline closed her eyes, while the girls all sighed as they watched her, feeling happy that she finally accepted her feelings for Happy.

Oh-ohhhhh

At least out loud,

I won't say I'm in love

As the song ended, the mysterious person pushed the button again, canceling the waves from behind the bar. Mira then looked towards the bar, causing the mysterious person to duck behind the bar to hide. Feeling puzzled, Mira went over to inspect, but no one was there.

"Did I just see someone behind there?" Mira wondered to herself. "Or was I just imagining it?"

She then left the bar, thinking that no one else was there and it was just her imagination. However, while she wasn't looking along with the others, the mysterious person slowly came up from behind the bar and looked around. He then gave thumbs up to you and disappeared from behind the bar.

[ashdumpsterpile]

ASH’S TOP 10 TMA FIC RECS

For @damcrows who is Suffering. (I’ll make a second rec list with only fluff fics I promise <3)

immortal with a kiss by yellow_ caballero

In accordance with the Ride or Die Pact of 2009, Jonathan Sims can call upon Georgie Barker at any time for aid with no strings attached. Despite their rocky history, their childhood friendship, and Jon’s barely recovered alcoholism, this pact is sacred and must be upheld.

Georgie Barker may regret this. She may regret it when she discovers that the world is full of monsters and eldritch gods and dickhead managers. She may regret it when a punk rocker who should be dead collapses on their doorstep, a teenager again who needs their help. She may regret it when her stupid ex-boyfriend starts selling his soul for knowledge and the ability to keep his new family safe.

But she probably won’t. Georgie isn’t scared of anything - not a Clown’s apocalypse, not the apocalypse that Jon is destined to begin, and not Jon’s own loss of humanity.

Maybe she should be.

1000/10 the best fanfic in this fandom. It’s got everything: QP Jon/Georgie, Teen!Gerald, Beholding lore, and everyone bullies Jon. (Head trigger warnings)

daisy time travels and jon suffers au by paper_dream

In which Daisy time travels back from the apocalypse, saves Jon from herself, and just kinda forgets he has no idea what's going on.

Daisy timetravels to pre-Buried. Jon suffers.

The Magnus Institute vs the 21st Century: a series of emails and IMs by shinyopals

I'm sure given your position you already know about the advent of the General Data Protection Regulation next year, wrote Peter Lukas, to Elias Bouchard. However, the Lukas family wishes to be crystal clear that our continued investment is contingent upon the Institute taking its responsibilities with regards to privacy and confidentiality seriously.

The Magnus Institute hires a Data Protection Officer. He sets about diligently booking in meetings, writing policy documents, and training all the staff in the importance of confidentiality. Now if only he could get hold of the Head Archivist, who seems to have vanished again...

(Jon is only trying to save the world, but apparently some people think he should still be doing his day job.)

10/10. Fun take on the texting/email trope. Jon pines and destroys laptops. IT suffers.

ceylon, assam, and darjeeling by sciosa

People do not bring Jonathon Sims tea. Martin Blackwood, newly-minted archival assistant, has apparently not received this memo.

It’s about the pining.

ways to save the world by Wildehack

“I left you,” Martin says softly.

Really REALLY good pining, Jon in the Lonely and brief amnesia.

from the highways to the hills, our love has never had a leg to stand on by blackwood (transjon)

She always forgets how observant he is because digging anything meaningful out of him can be a chore. He looks at things. He observes. He catalogues. Georgie is like a library patron trying to check out a book labeled REFERENCE ONLY with a bright red piece of tape wrapped around the spine.

Pre-canon canon compliant character study of Jon/Georgie.

same as it ever was by ajkal2

It’s a nice dress. Classy, if also a little risqué. Set off against dark skin, it looks very good. It would probably work on Jon, actually. He wonders where she got it. Then he remembers he’s at work, and abruptly derails that train of thought.

-

The women of the Magnus Institute are holding a protest against the sexist dress code of their place of work. Jon is conflicted, and also has a gender for some reason. What's up with that?

THEE they/them fic. Nonbinary Jon? Check. Trans Martin? Check. The Anti-Elias Agenda? Check. Tim in a cocktail dress? Check check check. This fic has everything.

remind me how to smile bytamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

A oneshot during Jon’s stay with Georgie. Tons of fluff.

Milk After Spiders by chewsdaychillin

 Warm milk is all he gets.

 After that door closes and the world is eerily slammed back to normal, Jon’s legs unfreeze and he stumbles back off the step. Makes the journey home alone and wobbly, no desire left for exploring (it won’t return for a long time).

basically sad jon childhood and adulthood hurt/comfort but the comfort is mad delayed :/

Jon suffers. That’s the fic.

Family, Found by Dribbledscribbles

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

JON SUFFERS. THAT’S THE FIC.

[mythologyfolklore]

We're adopting you, sign the papers - introduction

(A/N: A modern AU for Arthurian mythology, where Arthur is a temporarily blind pop star, the Knights of the Table Round are his band, body guards and friends. Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot are in a romantically supportive polyamorous relationship (there are not enough threesomes out there). Morgan Le Fay doesn't dislike Arthur, she's just not so fond of Guinevere (doesn't hate her either, though). Mordred (Arthur's nephew, not his son) is a scarred teenager with abusive parents, who has a parental relationship with Arthur and Gwen. Also, Morgan and the Lady of the Lake are still Fae and Merlin is now one too, because why not, and Avalon exists. And Mordred is transgender. Deal with it.)

.

In a big mansion near the Welsh town of Newport, Lancelot was standing at the hearth, cooking and making tea for Arthur and Guinevere, who were out for groceries. No thanks to the Table Round, the previously stuffed fridge had gone empty within less than a week, so his two lovers had gone out to refill the supplies. And Arthur's half-sister Morgan was coming along to help, because there was going to be a LOT of stuff to be carried.

Lancelot silently prayed that Gwen and Morgan would not engage into a spat like they did almost EVERY TIME THEY WERE TOGETHER!!!

The water boiled and the Frenchman poured three separate cups, Darjeeling for Arthur, peppermint for Guinevere and coffee for himself. Also a glass of vodka for Morgan, because nothing cheered the crazy, headstrong Fae up like hard alcohol (she didn't get drunk easily either, so Lancelot wasn't too concerned).

Just as Lancelot had set the table in the living room, someone rang at the door. He frowned; there was no way they could be back so quickly.

“Coming!”, the brunet Frenchman called out, before setting down the tablet and going to answer the door. One the way he picked up his gun; one could never know if it wasn't some stalker here to creep on Arthur or Guinevere. Or him, for that matter.

But when he looked through the spyhole, he sighed in relief and opened the door to reveal a flaxen-haired teenage boy with silvery eyes, who was wearing an over-sized grey hoodie and worn-out jeans and looked like he had run the whole way here.

“Hello, Mordred”, he greeted kindly, but his smile vanished instantly, when he saw the kid's state: his face was flushed from running, he clearly couldn't breathe and was on the verge of passing out and his eyes were red and filled with grief.

“Hey … Lancelot”, he gasped hoarsely, “Is … uncle …?”

“Come inside first”, Lancelot said and supported the boy's weight with one arm. “Warm up and catch your breath, before you faint on me!”

Mordred was too out of breath to protest or agree. He just let the older man help him into the nearby kitchen, only to collapse before they even neared the table.

“Merde!¹”, Lancelot cursed and laid the teenager down on the floor.

“I'm really sorry for this”, he apologised, then stripped the younger of his hoodie and shirt, then undid the bandages around his chest (bandages! Why was the boy not wearing a binder?!), before administering first aid.

At last Mordred's eyes fluttered back open.

“What …”

“You fainted!”, Lancelot snapped – and instantly regretted it, when he saw the other wince. He sighed and continued more gently: “Pardon. I mean, you collapsed and fainted, because you couldn't breathe. Come on. I'll help you into the living room and you can lie down on the couch.”

Lancelot had to help him put his shirt back on, because Mordred was still a bit too out of it. Then he helped him into the living room and onto one of the couches, then folded the boy's hoodie and placed it on the table.

“Stay here and breathe deeply”, he told Mordred, “I'll be back.”

And hurried back into the kitchen, this time to make the other some hot chocolate, heat up the tea for Arthur and Guinevere and gather his own nerves and thoughts.

This was the third time this week that Mordred had run away from home. It was nothing uncommon (unfortunately) and often Mordred's older brother Agravaine would be with him, when things became too much at their parents' home.

Lot and Morgause Orkney led one mess of a family life. Lancelot didn't know details, but it had to be awful. When their eldest son Gawain had left home, he'd taken Gareth and Gaheris with him (they had been nine and seven at the time). But he hadn't been able to take Agravaine and Mordred with him too and neither had forgiven him for leaving them behind.

The two never specified, what happened at home.

Lancelot wished Mordred and Agravaine would trust them enough to tell, but to pressure the boys into doing so would do no good.

He sighed and returned back to the living room to bring the boy his hot chocolate.

Mordred smiled just a little bit, when he accepted the cup.

“Arthur is out shopping with your aunts Gwen and Morgan, they'll be back soon”, Lancelot informed the flaxen-haired boy, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Until then”, the Frenchman continued and put a chair next to the couch, “you and I will have a little talk, jeune homme.²”

Mordred tensed up, clearly afraid. It made Lancelot's heart crack a little.

“Easy, mon cher³”, he cooed. “I'm not angry. It scared me a bit, when you suddenly dropped back there, but I'm not angry. I promise.”

Mordred relaxed and finished his hot chocolate.

“Still though. We need to talk about your bandages.”

“I …”

“Listen, I know you have … uhm, what's the English term for it?”

“Gender dysphoria?”, Mordred supplied.

“Oui! That! Anyway, I won't pretend to know how that feels like. I can imagine that your breasts make you uncomfortable, but … bandages?! Sacré, Mordred, mais á quoi pensais-tu?!⁴”

“… English please?”

Lancelot sighed in frustration; sometimes his brain refused to supply even the simplest English phrases or words, so he'd say it in French instead. He took a deep breath to sort his mind and remember the translation.

When it came to him, he tried again: “I said: Dammit, Mordred, jus what were you thinking?! Surely you must know that there are binders for that and you use bandages to flatten your chest?! That's dangerous! I have seen the scars where they cut into your flesh! They were so tight they cut off your air supply too! You're lucky I knew CPR, because an ambulance wouldn't have made it in time! You could have suffocated, Mordred! Are you aware of that?!”

The flaxen-haired boy let out a small whimper.

Lancelot sat next to him on the couch. Then he hugged the younger tightly and they both cried.

.

After they had calmed down, Lancelot gave Mordred a pack of tissues to wipe his face.

“I will make us both some tea”, he said. “Chamomile is good for the nerves and we need it. Do you want more hot chocolate?”

Mordred nodded, smiling. “Yes. And thank you, Lancelot. You're an amazing uncle.”

Lancelot couldn't help but grin like an idiot.

It was nothing new, that Mordred and his siblings called him “uncle”, but being reminded that he was seen as part of the family felt good every time.

At first the children of Morgause had been apprehensive towards this outsider. But after seeing his loving and functional relationship with their uncle and aunt-in-law and how genuinely he cared about them all like they were his own children, they had quickly warmed up to him. And before he had known it, he was part of the family. One day Mordred's oldest brother Gawain (who was only twelve years Lancelot's junior) had just strode up to Lancelot and declared, that he was their uncle now and there was nothing he could do about it. The younger four Orkney brothers had followed suit (it was one of the few things they all unanimously agreed upon) – to their uncle Arthur's great delight and their parents' chagrin.

Lancelot gave Mordred another brief hug and went to make more tea and chocolate.

With chagrin he noted, that his coffee and Arthur's and Guinevere's tea had got cold and he had to warm the latter two up for the second time (his coffee could stay cold, he didn't mind that). Oh well, at least the stew hadn't burned, while it had been left by itself.

As he came back into the living room, he saw that Mordred was reading one of his uncle's books.

“What are you reading?”

“A collection of poems by William Blake”, Mordred replied. “I want to get better at reading Braille, for uncle Arthur.”

“That's sweet of you. He'll appreciate it.”

Arthur had gone blind ten years prior and hired Lancelot for help. They had become friends quickly. But then Lancelot and Guinevere had fallen for each other, complicating things. After a year of secret and shameful pining, they had chosen to come clean in front of Arthur – both of them loving him too much to want to go behind his back. To their surprise he had taken it well, especially after Guinevere had assured him that she loved them both equally. That was how they had ended up in a polyamorous relationship. Along the way Merlin and Morgan had offered to magically restore his eyesight, but Arthur had made clear, that he didn't want to rely on their magic to fix everything. Instead he had adjusted to his blindness, acquired books in Braille and learned to read them. But he was going to have an eye surgery in a few months and hoped that soon he'd be able to see his wife again and “get to know Lancelot's colours”, as he'd put it.

Back to the story, Lancelot had just turned off the stove and Mordred had struggled through the Auguries of Innocence⁵, when they heard the front door open and close, two women's voices bickering and the next moment three people came into the room, each of them carrying two heavy, over-stuffed shopping bags.

First a tall woman with purple eyes and purple extensions in her long raven hair, clad in black from head to toe and with an air of mystery around her. That was Morgan Le Fay.

Then a petite woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, who was struggling with her bags. That was Guinevere.

And finally a stocky man with short flaxen hair (just like Mordred's), who evidently had no problem with the heavy bags, but clearly relied on the voices of the two women to orientate himself.

“We're back~”, Arthur announced.

Lancelot laughed: “Bienvenu⁶. I just finished dinner, so bring the stuff into the kitchen and sit down with us.”

Arthur immediately listened up. “Us?”, he echoed.

Now Mordred quietly spoke up: “Hello.”

The older man beamed: “Mordred! What a nice surprise! What are you doing here?”

“'Sup, nephew!”, Morgan said flatly, though her eyes betrayed her pleasant surprise.

Guinevere greeted the boy with a smile.

Mordred smiled weakly and waved back, but apparently didn't want to speak. So Lancelot waited, till they all had stored the food, then chose to brief Arthur on the situation: “He came about half an hour ago and looked like a complete mess, but he didn't tell me what the matter was, so I made him some hot chocolate.”

The boy only lowered his head, sighed and hid his face behind his long and messy flaxen hair.

Arthur stopped smiling, felt his way over to where his nephew's voice had come from and found him, carefully feeling down his arms and crouching down before him.

“What happened, Mordred?”, the blind man asked concerned, “You're so quiet. Who hurt you?”

Mordred mumbled something that sounded like: “My father.” Then he bit his lip, obviously trying to hold back a sob.

Now Morgan stepped forward, her brows furrowed, but her eyes soft with concern.

She knelt before him and asked him to show her his arms.

Lancelot wanted to object, as it was obvious that the teenage boy didn't want to do as she said, but there was no arguing with Morgan Le Fay.

Her nephew hesitated, before rolling up his sleeves, revealing direly bruised and scratched arms. Guinevere looked deeply disturbed and hurried to get a first aid kit to tend to the bruises and cuts.

Mordred winced, as his aunt-in-law applied the disinfectant to the sore wounds. Once she had finished cleaning them, she allowed Morgan to magically heal them.

“There”, the Fae said. “Can't do anything about the psychological hurt though, that's old man Merlin's thing. Shit, Mordred, what did your father do to you?!”

“I …”, the boy swallowed, “… he hit me with a chair. Kicked me some. Choked and punched me … called me things …” He trailed off.

“Does this happen a lot?”, Arthur questioned, frown increasing.

“… Yes.”

“And your mother doesn't intervene?”

“Never.” A sniffle. “She thinks it's right … that he disciplines us, my brother and me.”

“Where is Agravaine anyway?”

“He's staying over at one of his friends”, Mordred told his uncle. “I have to call him later and tell him I'm here.”

“The phone is all yours”, Arthur offered and his nephew mumbled a thank you.

Then Lancelot asked tentatively: “What about the cuts? Why did you do this to yourself?”

“…”

“Sweetie”, Guinevere spoke gently. “It's awful enough that your parents hurt you. Why do you feel like you have to hurt yourself too?”

“…”

Lancelot felt his heart crack.

He had known that it was bad, but he never would have imagined that it was this bad! What more happened at Mordred's “home”, that he was too ashamed and Agravaine too proud to mention? How long had they gone through this and none of the four adults here had known?!

Guinevere sighed sadly: “Why didn't you tell us sooner?”

“Because I … I …”

The rest was cut off by a whimper and Mordred curled in on himself, sobbing hysterically. Arthur embraced his nephew loosely, mindful of his state. Guinevere, Lancelot and Morgan made it a group hug.

They waited until he had calmed down, before letting go.

Arthur cleared his throat: “I think that's enough questions for today. Either way you're staying here, Mordred. I know you're not comfortable with hiding away here, but we're not letting you go back there. I will not stand for that. Not with how terrible people they are. One should expect that Morgause – my own sister! – would've had the common sense and decency to dump that scumbag and take you with her. But no, she just stands by and lets him hurt you and your brother in the worst ways possible. That's unforgivable. You deserve better, Mordred. I promise, you do.”

Mordred sighed shakily. Clearly he wasn't believing it.

Lancelot deduced, that the boy had been made to believe the opposite for pretty much his whole life, that his parents had drilled into him, that he was worthless, useless and whatnot. Agravaine likely had to deal with the same shit.

This was wrong, so terribly wrong.

Family was supposed to be a safe haven, loving, nurturing and supportive. Not … this.

The Frenchman felt his blood boil and it took a lot of self control not to show in Mordred's presence just how angered he was.

Instead he took a deep breath and stood back up. “It's dinner time. We're having stew. Later you can call your brother and we'll give you a room where you can sleep. You must be tired. We also should find you some spare clothes, since you had none with you.”

The boy shuffled awkwardly at the reminder, that he had run away from his parents' home without thinking to pack spare clothes.

“We'll worry about that later”, Arthur decided. “Personally, I'm starving!”

“As usual!”, Morgan scoffed.

“Oh shut up, you eat more than I do!”

“Hey, magic takes a lot of energy! I need to eat as much as possible to keep my magic and body functioning!”

“Excuses! You just don't want to admit, that you have a black hole for a stomach!”

“You take that back!”

“Never!”

Guinevere chuckled: “When you two are done, let's sit down and eat already, before dinner gets cold.”

.

Later, after Morgan had washed the dishes (meaning she had magicked them clean and levitated them back into the cupboards), Guinevere showed Mordred one of the guest rooms.

“One of your cousins was here for a visit last weekend”, she said and handed him pyjamas. “These are Yvain's. He's your age and currently at boarding school, so you can wear his spare clothes for now. You take a nice, relaxing bath and get some rest. Tomorrow we will get you new clothes. The ones you wear are atrocious.”

“And good binders”, Morgan added, “Lancelot told us about the bandages and you gotta stop. We'll find some binders that won't cut off your air supply at the slightest physical activity. What do you say?”

Mordred swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, smiling weakly.

“Sounds good”, he mumbled.

Guinevere smiled gently and gave him a hug, before handing him the phone. Then she and Morgan left to give him privacy, while he talked to his brother.

Mordred took a deep breath, before dialling Agravaine's mobile phone number.

A few anxious seconds later, a gravelly voice answered the phone: “Hi, uncle Artie. What's up?”

“Aggie, it's me.”

“Momo? What are you doing at uncle's place?”

“I …”

Three seconds of trying to come up with an answer were too long, apparently.

Agravaine started freaking out: “Mordred, what happened?! Are you okay!? Are you hurt?! Wait, of course you are, that's why you're at our uncle's place! Shit, answer me, what's wrong?!”

“Bro.”

“Are Artie, Gwen and Lance taking care of you? Are you in pain? Who hurt you?! I will fucking kill-”

“Agravaine!”

“What?!”

“Calm down. I ran away, but now I'm safe at our uncle's home. Our uncles and aunts fixed me up.”

Mordred heard Agravaine sigh: “Alright. But still, what happened?”

He was hesitant, but he also knew, that he couldn't lie to his older brother.

“Father happened. He got mad and beat me up.”

For a few seconds, there was silence.

Then: “He whaaaaat??? That's it, I'll murder him! … My friend here says he'd help me hide the body and get rid of the evidence.”

“Aggie, no! He isn't worth going prison for murder! And our uncles and aunts promised, that I won't have to go back there and neither will you. They'll sue him, Arthur said.”

“… Fiiine. Say hi to them from me.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, little bro.”

“Love you too. I'll get some rest. You and your friend have fun.”

“Thanks, bye. I'll come by tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Mordred hung up and went to return the phone.

He was looking forward to a warm bath and a good night's sleep.

.

-

.

1) "Merde" - French: "Shit!" 2) "jeune homme" - French: "young man" 3) "mon cher" - French: "My dear" 4) "Sacré ... mais á quoi pensais-tu?!" - French: "Damn it ... what were you thinking?!" 5) The Auguries of Innocence is a moralistic poem by William Blake that was published after his death. 6) "Bienvenu." - French: "Welcome."

A big thanks to @saemi-the-dreamer for her help with the French. <3

[saxxxology]

the most wonderful burn

Sam stops by for a weekend off. You like a new part of his appearance.

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Native American!Reader WARNINGS: smut NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. 

become a patron for just $3

Sam and Dean have been gone two weeks this time, on back-to-back hunts. Sam finally calls an end to their streak and gives you a call to let you know he’s coming by, needing a bit of time away from hunting to recover. You hear the rumble of the Impala outside while you’re making tea in the kitchen, and by the time you wrench the door open, the car’s already rounding the corner and vanishing out of sight.

From the moment Sam steps into your entryway, dragging his feet and rubbing a palm over tired eyes, you notice the difference. He’s got a two-week beard covering his jaw, and his eyes have dark circles under them. He greets you with a firm kiss, and you can’t help but tremble at the scrape of stubble on your skin.

“Hi, babe.” He kisses you one more time before stepping through and allowing you to close the door.

You take his bag from him, and he sighs gratefully, following you down the hall and into your small, cozy living room. “Go and shower,” you instruct, noting his slightly greasy hair and oily skin, “I just made some tea, I’ll make you a cup.”

Sam smiles gratefully and presses another kiss to your forehead as he trudges down the hall and into the bathroom. The shower starts up, and you retreat back to the kitchen to make him a cup of Darjeeling in his favorite mug that you keep on the kitchen counter for when he passes through.

He emerges from the shower naked, and you admire the brief glimpse of his bare ass as he shuffles down the hall and into the bedroom, where his spare drawer at the bottom of your dresser slides open and closed. When he returns, he’s dressed in black flannel pants and a thin, gray tee shirt. He looks exhausted, but you note with a soft twinge of delight that he hasn’t shaved. 

“I know, I haven’t gotten rid of this,” he says, gratefully accepting his tea and taking a long, deep sip. “Haven’t had the time.”

You smile. “I don’t mind. I think it looks good.”

“It ages me.”

“And age is good.” You stretch up on your toes, taste the sweetness of honey on his lower lip. “It’s part of what I like about you.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter. “I’m glad these two weeks are over… I really need this weekend.”

“I need it too.” You lift yourself onto the small island across from him and cross your ankles. “We can have a quiet night? Make some comfort food, continue our MARVEL binge?”

He sighs gratefully. “I’d like that.”

The weariness in his voice is prominent, and you reach across the short space between you to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, sighing gratefully. 

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

He shakes his head. “No, baby, no. I just, um…” a clear of his throat, a faint, stubbly smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Okay.” You pull your hand back as he raises his tea to his lips. “You can take a nap? Might help.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You hold your arms open and allow him to step into your embrace. “Just get some rest. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”

***

Sam wakes up on his own to the sweet, tangy scent of cooking food. The room is dark, and he stretches briefly before sitting up, rubbing his face with a calloused palm. He can’t have gotten more than two hours, but he feels more refreshed than he has in weeks.

You’re pulling a loaf of bread from the oven and setting it on a cooling rack when he comes into the kitchen. The smell perfumes the air, and Sam’s stomach grumbles as he wraps his arms around you from behind. 

“Sleep well?” You press back against him as his lips meet the top of your head. 

“Definitely.” Sam chuckles and allows you to return to the stove, where tomato sauce is bubbling in a pot. “That smells good.”

“I was gonna fire up the grill, but I’ll save that for another day.” You turn the flame off under the sauce and turn back to look up into his face. “You look better.”

“I’m not about to fall over anymore, at least.” Sam chuckles and brushes your hair away from your face. “Your bed is way comfier than it needs to be.” He kisses you deeply, slightly stale and tangy from sleep, but you love it all the same. Every kiss and touch from him is something you treasure.

You finish preparing dinner quickly, allowing Sam to serve himself freshly cooked pasta, sauce, and the heel of your fresh loaf of bread. You eat at the small round table, and Sam makes you blush as he praises the sweetness of your sauce and the soft, webby texture of your bread. You’re convinced it’s a little underdone, but Sam overrides it, slathering another slice with butter and tearing off a large bite as you wash the dishes and planting a warm, sticky kiss on your cheek.

He joins you in the living room, where you bicker for a good five minutes over what movie to put on. Eventually you rock-paper-scissors it, and Sam rolls his eyes when you happily click the play button on Infinity War.

Halfway through the movie, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, humming at the light scratch of his stubble on your cheek. Sam’s eyes fall closed, and when you tease a hand down his stomach and between his legs, where he’s soft in his pajama pants, a twinge of arousal heats his blood. It’s been weeks since he’s been with you, and the last time had been quick and sloppy as he tried to fit a round in the five minutes before Dean arrived. Ignoring your protest, he reaches for the remote, clicking the television off. 

“I wasn’t done watching that,” you tease.

“Yeah, you were.” Sam pulls you into a deep, hard kiss, both hands cupping your face. Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing you back against the couch cushions. It’s not hard for him to work your shorts and panties down and over your feet, and when he sees you spread open and bare for him, he can’t help himself. 

The couch is too small for him to comfortably stretch out, so he gathers you into his arms, cupping handfuls of your ass as he carries you down the hall and into your bedroom. You let out a squeal of delight as he falls back and lands with a soft grunt on his back. 

“Get up here,” he mutters urgently.

He hooks his hands around your thighs, pulling up until you’re positioned over his face. He palms your ass, darting his tongue out to slide through your folds. The sweet tang sends a bolt of heat through him, and he squeezes your soft flesh, circling your clit with his lips and sucking gently. It won’t give you an orgasm, but he loves the feeling of your pussy on his tongue and the way you squirm when he lets you get close. 

“Sam…” your fingers twist in his hair, guiding his mouth to where you want it. The light scrape of his beard on your sensitive skin makes you shiver. “Oh, fuck…”

Your thighs jerk when he delivers a longer, slower lick, and he holds you still, running his hands up and down your thighs. You look so perfect above him, quivering and sighing as he kisses and licks and nips. Every little tug on his hair makes his cock twitch, and it doesn’t take very long for the ache of it to set in.

“I gotta be inside you.” He flips you easily onto your back, quickly stripping his shirt over his head and kicking his pants off the edge of the bed. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist when he gets close enough, and the sigh that fills his ears as he sinks into you makes his soul burn hot. 

Sam doesn’t waste any time giving you what you need. He loves the urgency and passion of your sex—neither of you care about making it a pretty act. You fuck like it’s the end of the world, letting out cries and grunts of pleasure into the air as you grab and scratch and kiss. Sam pushes as deep as he can and grinds his hips in a circle that has your eyes watering. 

“Get your leg up,” he mutters breathlessly, shifting his hips as you allow him to pull one leg up onto his shoulder. Your breath hitches, and then you go quiet as he quickens his thrusts, hips smacking against your ass. Sam muffles your high-pitched whimpers with a wet, bruising kiss. His hand slides down to rub your clit, and you tense up, grabbing the sheets as you throw your head back. The repetitive stroke of Sam’s cock in and out of your pussy makes you shudder, and within minutes he’s fucking you closer and closer to an orgasm that’s driving you crazy.

You cum with a shudder as you arch off the mattress, Sam holds your waist, keeping you in place as you try to squirm away from the overwhelming pulse between your legs. Sam keeps working your clit with his middle finger, not stopping until you’re a quivering mess and he’s about to explode.

His own climax is a deep, brutal groan as his body quakes. He thrusts weakly, trying to get as much stimulation out of it as he can. You wince when he lets your leg slide from his shoulder, rubbing your heel up and down his thigh as he comes to rest over you.

“Well, damn.” He chuckles breathlessly and kisses your cheek. “I really gotta start comin’ by more often.”

“When you have less to take care of,” you assure him, running your thumb over his jaw. “The build-up is worth it. Besides… you got the next couple days here to catch up and I’m gonna be real pissed if you get rid of this.”

Sam grins. “Could have the whole week, if you want me to stick around that long.”

“Are you kidding?” You roll on top of him, legs spread on either side of his waist. “I get to have my boyfriend for a full seven days. What could be any better than that?”

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

[distapata]

For the nature ask:

🍁 (Favourite season)

🍀 (Your favourite memory in nature)

🌹 (Mountains or beaches)

MK !!! Thank you so much for sending this in, you have made your Shaon Di very happy. I chose the muses ( characters ) at random, so this has been really helpful in finding their voices.

🍁 (favourite season)

Hemonto, or Hemkanti Bandhopadhaya is a side character in my WIP আলোর স্রোতে পাল তুলেছে হাজার প্রজাপতি < a thousand butterflies have spread their wings | working title 🦋 >

His favourite season is, quite predictably, HEMANTA, the season between autumn and winter, commonly known as pre-winter. No, he did not pick favourites based on the season's connection to his name, or that he was born in early November. The season is special to him, because of how it sits as a transition period between two primary seasons ( there are mainly four in Kolkata, summer, autumn, winter and spring ). Hemonto likes the grey area, the middle ground - a bit of both worlds. The lull in activity after the pujo season has said its goodbyes, the downtime as humanity waits for the winter festivities. The fan spins above his head in lazy circles, there is a hint of coldness in the air as he returns home in the evenings. Early morning tea and biscuits are coated with a thin layer of fog, and everything, even Mother Nature herself, slows down, as if to find a quiet corner and settle down for a nap after all the hustle bustle of autumn. There is something beautiful about the idyllic nature of HEMANTA, a tranquility he doesn't find in any of the other seasons. That and he really appreciates the chance to wear full sleeves shirts without them transforming into a wet rag at the end of the day, and he likes slipping into a panjabi as he waits for dinner to be served. He feels relieved when his tongue welcomes a warm cup of tea instead of protesting how the weather was too hot for a hot beverage.

🍀 (Your favourite memory in nature)

Aendri is from an (untitled, as of yet) fake!dating story I thought up one cold, cold night as I snuggled deeper into my blanket.

She doesn't have a favourite memory, one she associates with nature. They all blur in her head, a colorful cloud of happiness and love for nature. The warmth of the sunbeams dancing on her closed eyelids, caressing her face, drops of rain touching her hair, her palm, her bare feet - all of them, blending into a sense of peace, of belonging. Nature made her feel loved, and it is this love that stays with her, instead of the vivid pictures of the elements of nature that made her feel loved. She vaguely remembers having a birthday party in the garden, yearly holidays in Puri where she used to sit on the beach with her mother, counting waves and building...well, they couldn't be called sand-castles, more like heaps of sand that had broken seashells stuck on them. She remembers a trip to Darjeeling, being awestruck after seeing Kangchenjunga for the first time. Aendri remembers it all, and the memories are so very dear to her, but she doesn't have a favourite. Nothing sticks out with a glow sign. She wonders if it meant she didn't love nature all that much, but ultimately, she doesn't care. Her love is in her heart, and that's enough.

🌺 Mountains or beaches

Priyom is a character for a RP I did sometime in 2020. He is a software developer with a love for food and food photography ( his food always looks far better than it tastes, but he isn't a terrible cook, just...very average ). He also likes to present the best parts of his life to the world, posting stylish photos on his social media handles and pretending that he is happy™

He sees beauty in both, and where mountains make for better pictures from an aesthetic sense, with the mist, the trees, the coats and scarves. The beach also has plenty of potential, but the vibes are different. Sunrises and sunsets at the beach, in reds and oranges, the waves crashing onto the shore, all of those had a calm presence. A beach was somewhere you went to relax. A mountain was somewhere you went to escape society, where you went to find yourself. On a personal note, one completely unrelated to his social media accounts, he reserves a special place for mountains. Maula Ali Hill had been an integral part of his love life, it was there, where he had stood, drenched from top to toe, and had realised that him and Aaleyah? They were meant to be. For similar reasons, beaches are also special to him. Sun Siyam Iru Fushi Destination Dining sat right beside the beach, with a gorgeous view of the ocean, and the waves had witnessed one of the best moments of his life, when Aaleyah had asked for his hand in marriage. Priyom Borthakur thought the world of his wonderful wife, who was both the love of her life and his best friend, and places that bore slight resemblance to the places where their relationship had found its seal of approval? Those were the best. Mountain, beach, a computer screen, all of them were absolutely perfect ( but for the sake of the question asked, we would stick to mountains and beaches ).

[sanguinarysanguinity]

Sting, lemon, or rebel

~

Hotspur took advantage of the exposed expanse of Bush's back to lay her arm across his shoulders, the suckers biting in as she unfurled her coil. Unfortunately, she was not gentle -- he would have welts the size of saucers when she released him -- and he jerked in response to her bite. 

"She's seen me naked," Hornblower said, a hand on Bush's wrists to steady him. "All right?"

Hotspur's glow of pleasure was pronounced, drowning out the sting of her grip. The tip of her arm wrapped around his ribs, and he had a curious double sensation: the sting of her caress, as he felt it; the fragrant savour of his skin, as she did. It was clear that she took considerable satisfaction in having free play with him, no longer having to content herself with the meagre snatch of skin in an exposed wrist; her pleasure was a heady feeling, and he felt a swell of pride to be so honoured with her interest and attention.

~

The constables of the Metropolitan Police were having their tea break, and Shirley deftly stepped between the whirling bodies, pitching her voice to be heard above the hushed patter extolling the virtues of Darjeeling, Assam, and Ceylon. "Then it is fortunate for the Yard that I am generous enough to extend my services even when I have not been asked to consult!" she called over her shoulder.

"Miss Holmes," the inspector protested, hot on her heels. "I cannot permit your interference! You are too closely associated with the victim's widow!" Unfortunately, he mistimed his attempt to cross the bullpen and collided with two police sergeants mid-jeté. All three went down in a tangle. "Miss Holmes!" he called after her rapidly retreating back. His entreaty was drowned in a swelling chorus comparing the delights of lemon, milk, and sugar.

~

I set down my hand.

"Watch my cards," I told Lock, because I didn't trust those bastards around the table none. He looked at me curiously when I stood, but obligingly lifted his boots from the table long enough for me to pass by. The new player at the table -- a professional passing through town, he'd be gone soon enough -- had the temerity to complain at my leaving, but Smitty did him the favor of shushing him. 

The kid at the piano fumbled a few notes when he looked up and saw me standing over him. The song came to a stop in a confused tangle of chords.

I gently advised him to find something else to play.

The kid recovered quickly, and gave me a too-bright smile. "Sure thing, Doc." I don't know who that kid thought he was trying to impress, but he started in on "I'm a Good Old Rebel."

"Not that, neither," I told him, quiet-like, and he froze there on his stool, his eyes big.

I waited to see what he'd come up with next.

He studied me careful, and then with one cautious hand, he plinked out a few questioning notes of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

"That'll do," I told him. I didn't give a shit about Texas one way or the other. Lock was looking like he meant to stay here in Bakerstown for a while, so might be he had feelings about it, but the most I cared about a place was whether it had Lock in it.

The kid set hands to the keyboard, as gingerly as if the keys were a bear trap. I went back to my table. The music gained confidence as I went.

Once again Lock lifted his boots to let me pass.

"You're in a rare mood tonight," he observed.