#India Rag

[brandonsdrunkagain]

“Doo rag okay for the wedding?”

Lots of good beers at The Hulksters wedding the other day. Much love to the happy couple. I had the chicken. Not bad.

[schcherazades]

grief will make you do crazy things. it will electrify the elegant, flower-stem neurons in the amygdala of your brain, will pluck them like an instrument. in ancient rome, grief made men twirl in their thin, leather sandals and pirouette until their feet bled; in india, it walked widows onto pyres waiting for fire. the persians gave the bodies of their deceased beloveds to dogs; the egyptians buried them with their servants. grief will make you laugh at the funeral, weep over the cereal bowl; it will buzz your feet until they start dancing in the middle of the night. it’s grief that inspires the unlikeliest of bedfellows. it will convince you, tugging at the hem of your ragged cotton robe — the one you’ve had since your father bought it for you in latakia when you were fifteen, the one that will always smell hazily of summer — that the building is on fire, the world is on fire, and you’ll only find water in one place: a city as far away from here as you can imagine. grief will pack your bag, quit your job, buy a white dress. it will make you say yes.

the arsonists’ city, hala alyan

[jackoshadows]

It's so confusing and weird that Bridgerton introduced in world racism both with Lady D and Simon in season one of the show and in Queen Charlotte and at the same time they also want the audience to accept that somehow Marina Thompson or the dark skinned Indian Kate Sharma has more privilege and power than Penelope Featherington?

Kate Sharma was also poor, so much more than the Featheringtons. She depended on Lady D to host them. The Sharmas were looked down on by the ton because Mary Sheffield married an Indian. The Sharmas were disowned and ostracized by the Sheffields.

Kate was also an unmarried spinster. No one was asking Kate to dance. As much as Kate wanted love and romance and to dance at a ball wearing pretty dresses, she got none of that. She was also the woman on the sidelines watching as others danced and fell in love.

Racism and colorism is also very much a thing in eurocentric notions of beauty considering the setting and characters of Bridgerton is 99% white.

We got so little of Kate's backstory, of who her parents where - we didn't even get their names!! - of the trauma (explained for both Simon and Anthony using flashbacks) that had Kate overlooking her own happiness for that of her sister.

Despite bragging nonstop about the diversity of Bridgerton the showrunners thought that the white Featheringtons needed more screentime in season 2 rather than the South Asian family.

And Kate was planning on going back to India and work as a governess to pay for her livelihood. Because, you know, there's more honest ways of being a 'working woman' than running the equivalent of the regency 'Daily Mail' dragging other women down. The modiste Madame Delacroix, Kate planning to teach and Sienna in season one are all working to pay a living. Black, brown and lower class women looking to alleviate poverty.

And considering how much harder Kate already had it as an outsider in the ton, it wouldn't have been easy with Penelope using her gossip rag to describe the unmarried Indian woman as ' a Spinster of a beast'. What did Kate do to Penelope to warrant this? Nothing. Just a way for Penelope to make money at Kate's expense.

That's the thing I dislike the most about the way the character of Penelope is written on the show - her victims don't deserve her vitriol and are often in much worse circumstances than her. From Kate Sharma to the unnamed seamstress who apparently lost all her customers because Penelope wrote falsely about their work in the her tabloid as a bribe for Madam Delacroix.

And I think that's what I find problematic about the writing of the show and even the discourse surrounding it - when characters like Marina Thompson (the poor black cousin who would have ended up destitute on the streets because of Penelope) and Kate Sharma arguably have it far worse than Penelope Featherington as per the show's writing and yet we are supposed to have the most sympathy for Penelope because her crush Colin didn't love her back and she's a curvy white woman?

I guess that's the difference between how I perceive this world and these characters as a woc and the majority white female audience for this show and it's such a huge disconnect for me. I guess this is also partly because the show has this badly written and 'strangely toothless racism' as Ash Sarkar beautifully put it. As in the racism is treated in this world as a little problem solved by handing out a few titles to black people instead of being a white supremacist ideology which treated black and brown people as inferior, serfs and slaves.

From what little we got from season 2, Kate Sharma definitely did not have it easy navigating the ton as a poor outsider and that certainly contributed to her poor choices. She is also put through the wringer, treated like the other woman, is miserable for several episodes, had to apologize again and again and nearly die before Edwina forgives her!

In contrast Penelope's actions have hurt so many and yet she gets a pass by both the show and a fandom that wants Colin to grovel before her because of a single offhand remark and because he didn't return her affections.

Also making it clear here that I am not comparing Penelope to the male characters who always get the better writing, flaws and all. I am comparing Penelope to the female characters of colour - Kate Sharma and Marina Thompson.

I mean, Marina Thompson gets so much vitriolic and sexist hatred for not having told Colin Bridgerton the truth of her pregnancy. How dare Marina hurt this privileged white man Colin Bridgerton. When she was desperate to not end up destitute on the streets or get raped by old white men. And yet Penelope gets a pass for hurting women like Marina and Kate.

It continues a trend of white female characters never being held to the same standard as female characters of colour. Daphne sexually assaults Simon in season one and that was not even addressed on the show. Male rape is apparently no big deal because Daphne wanting children is what's important. It's Simon who has to apologize and within one episode resolve his trauma and accept being a father. This is despite both Daphne and Penelope having more screentime and more writing that builds their character unlike the stick thin writing given to Kate Sharma in season 2.

So yeah, I will be checking into season 3 to watch the ten minutes we get with Kate Sharma since we got so little of her in her own season and it's so singular to get dark skinned south Indian characters in a period drama romance like this. It's just the way the writing on the show, the production and even the fandom treats it's characters, especially characters of colour has been disappointing to say the least.

[bodhrancomedy]

The Bard Who Returned to Fairyland in Search of a Name by Bodhrán M.

It was the ferryman who met the bard first, a beardless lad in a ragged cloak, broadbrimmed hat, and carrying nothing save an iron knife and one small pack across his shoulders. He watched with mild interest as the bard picked his way down the grassy knoll and onto the black-wood of the small dock, coming to a halt directly before the little boat.

Neither of them moved for a long while. Somewhere in the distance, an eagle screamed. 

Finally, the bard spoke.

“I wish to cross the river,” he said.

The ferryman leant on his oar and regarded him with rheumy eyes, pushing a lank hunk of wire-grey hair from his face. “Is that so?” he replied. “Do you have payment, my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The bard withdrew a coin purse from beneath the green cloak.

“Coin won’t do, boy. Not what I dabble in.”

“I know,” the bard said quietly. He had an odd voice, the ferryman noted, with no hint of fear or trepidation or awe. “I bring seashells from the coasts of Ireland,” he continued, “filled with the songs of the selkies. I bring spices from the borders of India and China with many healing powers beyond that which we can understand, and a trollish crystal gifted by the giantess-queen of Iceland. I deal as little in money as you do.”

The ferryman was impressed, even if he didn’t show it. He dug a filthy black pipe from a salt-encrusted pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He waited, but the bard made no move to light it for him. Finally, he took a tinderbox from another pouch (this one being an oilskin gifted many years ago by a Swedish princess) and struck a spark.

“So,” the ferryman said, his words curled about the billowing black smoke, “you know what is across this river?”

“I know.”

“And yet you wish to cross it.”

The bard shrugged, almost as if to say that the statement was obvious enough that it did not need to be said. “Have I brought enough to pay for passage?” he asked.

“Of course,” the ferryman said as he stepped aside to allow the man to board.

But the bard did not. Instead, he gripped the brim of his hat and pulled it further down over his eyes. His voice was as steady as before, but lower and intertwined with steel. “Both ways?”

The ferryman’s eyes narrowed.

The bard stood there, waiting for an answer, one small hand on his knife.

Hemming and hawing, the ferryman felt a sting of disappointment and suspicion in his gut. He had ferried more hopefuls across this river than he had ferried back and there was almost nothing which he liked more than the faces of those who had returned to his boat having not taken the first precaution. They had thought ahead enough – many of these wanderers and seekers of mysteries and gold – to have gotten his word not to throw them into the cold water or have their treasures taken before they reached human land again, but they had not thought about payment for the return journey.

But seashells and spices were twice the payment for a crossing – and he had never owned a troll-crystal before. He’d heard that they could outshine the sunrises even in the frozen northern plains, that they were rainbow stars from deep within the ground. It would be something to treasure in the dark.

It was through gritted teeth, therefore, which he gave his answer. “Yes,” the ferryman said.

The hat bobbed as the bard nodded. “And I will reach each shore in the same condition as I board your boat, sir? Each way.”

“Yes,” the ferryman agreed sullenly. Then he thought and tried to not brighten in anticipation.

The bard either did not notice or did not care, but he stepped aboard with the ease of one used to the pitch and swell of river boats. He sat in the prow, half-turned so he could look across the water and still see the ferryman.

Clever, that.

Carefully, the ferryman untied the mooring rope and then pushed off the knoll with his oar. He began to pull through the water with broad, powerful strokes and so it was a matter of minutes before they reached halfway.

It was then that the ferryman felt safe in speaking again. Too soon and sometimes the young fools would see the error of their ways and pitch themselves into the water. Once you reached halfway, you were falling into enchantments rather simple cold. It did make him laugh, sometimes, to see them flail and splash their way back to safety. He liked to wave at the ones who lived, standing sopping wet and humiliated on the dock, and sing mocking laments at those who did not.

But he did not think that this young man would do so. Still, he waited.

“You off to fairyland, boy?” he asked cheerfully, “Here to see for yourselves the wonders your bardic forefathers taught you? To see if they’re as real as they say?”

The bard tilted his head and the ferryman saw a flash of white teeth from beneath the hat brim, bared in a savage grin.

“No, sir,” the bard said, “I am not merely going to fairyland, sir ferryman. I am going back.”

“Well, that’s a thing!” the ferryman exclaimed. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and added, “Not many people wish to test their luck twice.”

The bard shrugged again.

“And why have you returned?”

The hat tilted back and suddenly the ferryman saw the bard’s face clearly for the first time. It was even younger-looking than he’d expected, suntanned and heavily freckled, but harsh and set in furious determination. “That is my business and my business alone, sir ferryman,” the bard replied in cold tones. “For I know what you are as we have met before, and you told me in the mistaken belief that we would never cross paths again. And I know that changelings would do what they can to gain favour in the eyes of fairyland’s mistress. I would not give up my slightest advantage to satisfy your curiosity.”

Knocked back a little by the intensity of this speech and suddenly slightly afraid of why he would not remember this young man, the ferryman opened and shut his mouth a few times and said nothing in reply. He rowed on in silence, feeling sweat prickling on his brow. Either this passenger was a grand sorcerer of some great power, or he was an overconfident boy with a head full of stories. But he could not place a finger on either option without some unease. Neither felt right.

“It was curiosity, nothing more,” the ferryman mumbled. “I meant no harm in asking.”

“But you did mean harm in knowing,” the bard replied lightly. “And you could make harm in telling. I am no child, sir ferryman, and I understand how this all works.”

[no1heyyyyyyyy]

Sevika's tastes

Sevika is an old lady and she just wants to be left alone. She likes to look good but when it comes to clothes, Miss thing just doesn’t care that much. She always has practicality in mind. So, no dresses, nothing flowy, has to have natural fabrics so that her skin can breathe, and she requires that things are comfortable. Her shoes are always made for hardware with a strong sole and often reinforced. In the modern world, I see her working in metal working (specifically welding), so she has to have clothes that are multipurpose. Though, if she was forced to wear anything really nice, it would be a simple well-cut blazer and a button down with jeans or slacks that conform to her legs nicely. She prefers earthy colors, nothing too flashy. I think she’d really appreciate a nice dark green, or perhaps brown. I also feel that she would enjoy a nice flannel regularly.

With food, I’m afraid her palette is as unrefined as her clothing choices. She genuinely does not care what she eats, though she really likes chicken- loves hot wings, spicy food is her love. But, her comfort food will always be the food native to what part of India her family is from. I don’t think she’s the best cook, but she has a few family recipes that she knows so well (aloo gobi, chai, samosa, tikka masala, saag paneer). And, I think that on nights where she’s feeling really sad or lonely she always craves those foods. She’d love to cook with or for her partner, it’d be the best way to get to know her honestly. Because it allows for her to show vulnerability through actions and without words. She loves to take care of people and I think in modern times she’d mother her friends just a bit, always making sure they’re eating well, drinking their water, and sleeping right (if not she’ll give them some chai). She doesn’t eat beef or dark meats in general, and she isn’t the biggest fan of seafood or turkey. So, she sticks with her chicken and her paneer. She’ll eat tofu but it needs to be in curry or something similar.

This woman would love 80s hair metal, music is something that I genuinely believe she’d love so much. She’d play drums as a teenager, dead set on becoming the drummer of the next Metallica. She’d also love the old school heavy metal bands, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Pantera. She’d love them all. I think she’d like some old school 90s rap too, but none of the new-age mumble rap that’s going on. She wouldn’t really like Taylor Swift’s music, just because it didn’t vibe with her, but she respected Taylor’s ability to get a bag. She has had a huge crush on Adele ever since she heard the album 25 when it came out. She liked some of her music, but thought Adele was drop dead gorgeous and all mature and soulful and shit, hit her in the feels and made her whipped for this woman she didn’t even know.

For movies she loves shitty 80s slasher horror, nothing that makes her think. She’d sit back in her old recliner in her pajamas and house slippers whilst watching Slumber Party Massacre for the third time, and then put on Golden Girls because she feels that Dorothy Zbornak is her spirit animal. She likes a good sitcom too and a ridiculous drama (she loves Desperate Housewives), she likes the camp, the over the top acting and dumb plots, it makes her laugh and feel care free in a way she hasn’t been in a long time. She just wants to curl up with her pets (she would have many) and watch teen-based tv shows that revolve around crime or secrets (Pretty Little Liars, Riverdale, Vampire Diaries, even Buffy etc.). She likes how bad they are, but she gets so invested it’s ridiculous.

For personal scents she’d like more woody, alluring scents that are also kind of sweet. Think Amber by Rag n’ Bone (it smells so good), she doesn’t spray much, just a spritz, it wafts around her just slightly, just enough for women to fall at her feet. Her individual smell wouldn't be overpowering but it would definitely be clear. It’s grounding and soothing. Her sweat stinks though, every time she comes back from the gym, she goes straight to the showers because her own dogs don’t want to come near her b.o.

In general, Sevika is an old woman who couldn’t give less of a shit. She wants to be left alone with her life and her people and chill. Which is why, I feel like she isn’t that opinionated on much unless it’s boundaries or causes she cares about. She just doesn’t have the energy to be bothered with trivial things like which movie to choose for the night, or which restaurant to go to. She is tired and all she wants to do is eat good food with her partner and her pets in a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t like neighbors and she doesn’t like people in her business. She doesn’t need a perfect life, just one that’s hers.

for whatever reason the letters are being weird, it is killing me. Please ignore it.

[jumpstart-if]

Jumpstart is a character-driven slice of life, containing drama and romance. It's mainly inspired by the show 90210 and the movie Mean Girls.

You had multiple sticky notes on your bedroom ceiling, bathroom mirror, and any other surface you were able to get it on.

How to be rich by 21:

1. Survive high school Survive the final year of high school 2. Move out and get a pet (finally!) 3. Become rich and famous (should be easy enough...)

This list has followed you ever since your eleventh birthday when you were suddenly bombarded with the dreaded question:

‘What is your dream job?’

Quite frankly, you didn’t dream of labour. At least not the regular kind. Call it psychic, but you knew you were destined for the easy life, filled with copious amounts of wealth, relaxation, and travels. You were are special.

Seriously, you had everything set out for your 'rags to riches' story:

You weren’t the most popular, but you also weren’t eating lunch alone in the school bathroom. ✔️

You made sure to work a part-time job, starting from the age of thirteen, so it would be easier for future fans to relate to you. ✔️

You were on your way to being crowned ‘Most likely to be famous’, which would have made for the perfect moment on ‘The Late-Night Phil Show’.✔️

Everything was going to plan… until it wasn’t.

Not only did your mother decide to marry some wealthy businessman, but she also packed up all your stuff and moved you hundreds of miles away from your home that screamed ‘humble beginnings’ and into a five bedroom (minimum) mega mansion.

Oh, and public school? Forget about that. From tomorrow on, you’ll be one of those rich private school kids. Goodbye 'rags to riches' background, and hello nepotism allegations.

Though, that’s a problem for future you...

Right now, you’ll have to adapt to school life the way the people at the top of the food chain do it. 

Get ready to ‘survive the final year of high school’ filled with gossip, betrayal, romance, angst, and social drama you could’ve sworn only happened in movies and TV shows.

Jumpstart is rated 18+ as there will be mentions of sexual themes, drugs, alcohol and violence.

Choose your MC's name and gender.

Decide your MC's personality, clothing style, and much more.

Get involved with 1 out of 4 romanceable characters.

Climb to the top of the hierarchy at Maplewood Private School.

Jumpstart your way into the life of stardom and wealth.

Isaiah/India (m/f) 'the high school worldwide heartthrob':

You could’ve sworn you saw them gracing the red carpet in some of the hundreds of magazines stashed in one of your moving boxes. Child of the famous celebrity make-up artist, Naomi Lawton and basketball star, Sean Lawton. Wanted by many, yet only successfully claimed by A. Though, judging by how many people I can be regularly spotted with, it begs the question: Does I care?

Appearance: Sepia skin tone. M! has short coily black hair, mostly styled in cornrows and decorated with some silver hair jewellery. F! has long bleached coily hair, currently styled in waist-length blonde braids.

Alison/Anderson (m/f) 'the school's number one':

Not quite like the ones in movies… they’re somewhat nice? At first, they can be straight-up vicious, ripping apart any and every little detail they can get their hands on, but once you earn their trust, you’ll learn that behaviour is much more of a façade than a true reflection of them.

Appearance: Olive complexion with sprinkles of freckles on their nose and cheeks. M! has short curly ginger hair that loosely hangs over his forehead. F! has shoulder-length ginger curls and bangs.

Tegan (m/f) 'the estranged childhood best friend'

You were eight years old, when their family decided to move someplace else, ripping your, what you thought to be inseparable, bond into two. At the start you tried to keep up, exchanging letters almost every day… then weeks… then months if anything, until complete silence. You’re not sure who stopped sending them first or when even, but one thing’s for certain: you were no longer friends. No, after ten years, you definitely weren’t.

Appearance: Brown skin tone. M! has black buzzed hair. F! has straight, waist-length black hair.

Levi/Leighton (m/f) 'wherever they go, trouble follows aka the school's bad boy/girl':

For someone with a big reputation, there’s next to nothing that can be found on them. And all your pestering questions are met with nothing but warnings, yet you can’t help but grow more curious about them with each passing encounter.

Appearance: Tawny skin tone, though you can’t help but notice the faded scar tainting their otherwise clear left cheek. They have wavy brown hair, reaching down to their shoulders.

Reblogs are more than welcome and thanks for reading!

DEMO TBA

[kathiraven]

Once upon a time, in the bustling streets of Mumbai, India, there were two strapping lads named Ravi and Rajiv. Both were as tough as nails and had muscles that could rival any bodybuilder. They were the kings of their high school, feared by all and admired by many. But alas, they were not content with just being the best; they sought to rule over all they surveyed, including the nerdy lot that they despised.Ravi and Rajiv strut across the stage, flexing their muscles and tossing their hair. Their days were spent lifting weights, flirting with the pretty cheerleaders, and making fun of the poor unfortunate souls who dared cross their path.

As the scene shifts from the bustling streets of Mumbai to the open seas, Ravi and Rajiv find themselves aboard a pirate ship, their bodies morphing into swarthy sailors. Ah, but fate had other plans for these once proud jocks. One fateful night, while out on a joyride, their car broke down on an old abandoned bridge. Little did they know, this was no ordinary bridge but a portal to another world - a world of pirates and plunder! Suddenly, the boys are surrounded by towering figures clad in rags and wearing eye patches. The captain of the ship steps forward, his voice deep and gravelly. "Welcome to our realm", he growls, "You shall now be known as Captain Ravi and First Mate Rajiv"

As the waves crash against the hull of the ship, the transformation continues. The once-muscular frames of Ravi and Rajiv soften, their features becoming more delicate and feminine. Their clothing morphs into tight-fitting pirate outfits, accentuating their new curves.Captain Ravi and First Mate Rajiv gasp in surprise as they feel their bodies changing. They look at each other, eyes wide with confusion and fear. But then, something strange happens. A warm tingling sensation spreads through their bodies, and suddenly, they're attracted to one another in ways they never thought possible.Their hearts pound in their chests as they realize what has happened – they've been transformed into gay pirates!.

As the sun sets over the horizon, casting an orange glow over the ocean, Captain Ravi and First Mate Rajiv find themselves drawn together despite their initial discomfort.Captain Ravi takes a step closer to First Mate Rajiv, his heart pounding in his chest. He reaches out tentatively, placing a hand on Rajiv's shoulder. The touch sends a shiver down both their spines, and before either of them knows what's happening, they're kissing passionately under the starlit sky.They break apart moments later, panting heavily as they try to comprehend what just happened. But there's no denying the heat between them, nor the way their bodies fit together so perfectly. It seems that even in this strange new world, some things remain constant… like the undeniable attraction between two men who were once fierce rivals but are now falling head over heels for each other.

Rajiv whispers back, "This…this is crazy but I don’t want it to stop". His breath hitches when he feels Captain Ravi's fingers tracing along the length of his throbbing member.Captain Ravi bites his lip, struggling to hold back a moan as he feels First Mate Rajiv's hard cock rubbing against his own. He looks into First Mate Rajiv's eyes and says huskily, "Then let's not stop".

[wardenofthecoast]

Re-imagining Western Tamriel

A while back, I made a map of biome map of Tamriel, based on A) Tamriel being as tall and twice wide as India B) a normal earth size C) wind coming from east heading west. @elbiotipo has also made a post, covering Cyrodiil, Skyrim and parts of the rest of the continent. I'm working on a little something, so I wanted to discuss western Tamriel, High Rock, Hammerfell, and the Summerset Isles. It won't be as in depth (because my environmental knowledge is more broad/shallow) but it will also include some possible cultural influence changes.

Summset Isles.

Let's start this one with a fun fact: High Elves were black. Or at least had a much darker skin coloration than we know them today.

Now that that's out of the way, my biggest inspiration for what the Summerset Isles would look like is: the Philippines. Much like the country, Summerset's mountainous eastern regions and the fact that monsoons would be westerly means a much wetter environment, while the west would remain (relatively) dryer. However, being a much more uniform landmass, Summerset would likely see harsher arid environs in its interior than the Philippines. I'd see monsoon tropical forests, savannas, montagne forest and scrubland to be the dominant environments. Auridon, being the "barrier" island would face much harsher storms but would also be much more lush,

Boat in blue Lagoon in Coron island, Palawan, Philippines. Close to Kayangan Lake. Maks Ershov

Another feature surrounding Summerset would be its corals, which are constantly mentioned in the canon and would make sense given it is an island in the tropics. Barrier and fringing reefs would surround the isles, and many Altmer sailors have learned how to avoid the atolls that surround their home. The coral would also create a unique architectural style similar to Coral Rag in our world, which is limestone made of coral found commonly in the Caribbean, United States and east Africa.

The west wing of the Parliament of Barbados (1872) is constructed of local coral rag.

Alinor would definitely have a pink hue to its buildings. As for the description of glass and insect wings, while not have any premodern historical basis that I know of, it wouldn't be insane to consider the high elves figured out the use of glass bottles/glass bricks in their architecture, and found a way

Wat Pa Maha Chedi Kaew, built by monks

Of course while major cities and areas of the upper class would have the stone and glass look, the lower caste areas would likely rely on wooden architecture, similar to the found in islands nations, reliable, cheaper and useful when your home is constantly battered by storms.

Being separated from Tamriel, it would be interesting to see what offshoots and unique species exist on the island. Lemurs, mouse deer, koakas, kiwis, I could see the Altmer having an extremely strict invasive species program, preferring their wildlife to be human friendly and without natural predators. Birds already are highly important in Summerset, and the Philippine eagle and other tropical birds are mighty majestic. Plus, I could see feather cloaks being a huge status symbol.

Rice is the food dejour of Summerset, with a mixture of pisciculture and wild caught fish (which one is seen as for the lower castes changes per the century). However fruit forests and farms are widespread, and in the interior the conditions are just right for grape wine production, and indeed most large scale fertilization products from fish sauce to fruit wine occurs far away from the upper castes, due to it being seen as beneath them to oversee food. However the highly stratified society is also highly organized, farmers live and die by their terraces assigned to them across the mountainous eastern landscapes, which are then brought to the western shores of Alinor and other cities. As for nonfish animal farming, I think its relatively rare, mainly chickens and waterfowl, not due to a lack of ability but due to viewing cows/pigs as dirty or foreign animals, on the same level as dogs, cats, and rats. Again this is less out of preserving a "unchanged" state of nature as wood elves would want, and more about preserving a "pure" aka ALTMER state of nature. Though I'm sure a few pigs and cows exist on the isles due to the Empire's presence.

Hammerfell

Now this might seem simple - it's very much inspired and would make sense for essentially a North African-esque environ and cultural influence to be ascribed to the entirety of the province, but I think there are three specific regions and I'll dissect them, the NW coast, the Southern Coast, and Eastern Interior. Overall I'd say the big difference is the coasts being controlled by the more secular/liberal forebears while the interior/eastern regions being more controlled by the conservative crowns faction, similar to how Oman was once split into two, a sultanate and an imamate.

The southern coast is most likely facing a similar monsoon season as the rest of southern tamriel, but these "cold" monsoons are less frequent, leaving longer and more intense periods of drought, until the cooler summer months brings fog and rain. A giant transformation of the coast happens as greenery springs across it. How far this effect occurs would be up for debate and how mountainous the regions area, but one can assume it wouldn't go too far.

Salalah during Khareef Season (June to September)

The south's population would primarily be on the coast, relying on the monsoon, fishing and trade to survive. Expect there to be Redguards but also Imperials, High Elves, and other immigrant populations tied heavily into the shipping industry. Overall, the south of Hammerfell would be similar to the Arabian Peninsula, famed for being a trade hub between cultures and having a proud sailing tradition.

The northwest region of Hammerfell has similar geography to North Africa. Sentinel itself is most likely in an oasis, where water from the rare rains or whatever condenses in the Dragontail Mountains collects in an aquifer underneath. To meet growing needs, engineering feats of irrigation either dig deeper or collect rainfall itself, or even an extremely early version desalinization. On the coast, the presence of the ocean helps moderate extreme temperatures, while the high altitude of the mountains provides an escape from extreme heat. Fishing, pastoralism (primarily horses, goats, donkeys and camels) and falaj irrigation systems in the mountains are the primary source of agriculture, especially for villages to self sustain, while larger cities like Sentinel rely on trade to meet its needs. Near Dragonstar, the vegetation/geography becomes similar with tangier, as the mountains and proximity to Skyrim/High Rock create a secluded mixed culture that I wouldn't be surprised if had more ties with itself than any overarching government. I'd look at Afghanistan's mountains for inspiration.

The eastern regions, especially those without a coast, would be drier but due to high elevations causing cooler temperatures, so you get some greener pastures, with a bit of terracing for agriculture. I've already covered this, but very much afghanistan/iran in geography. Again, not much different than whats already in game, just much more fertile than expected.

High Rock

High Rock is going to be little different, similar to Hammerfell I'll seperate into three regions, the Lilac Bay (and related islands), the northern coast and the eastern interior). To be honest, I'm running out of steam and High Rock might be the least interesting overall.

The Lilac Bay would most likely be similar to the northern Mediterranean states, I'd say likely Greece, Spain and Italy, with hot summers and mild winters, instead of the heavy inspirations it takes from France and the UK, in fact the temperate climate would only be found on the slopes of the mountains facing towards the bay. This is where a key feature of High Rock's lore, its fractious nature, comes into play. A rocky landscape makes it difficult to traverse, and easy for individual cities to rise into prominence without a unifying power, with some exception (with enough will and socioeconomic conditions, there's a way). As High Rock progresses, you'd see more like Italy with kingdoms/republics surrounding cities, like Venice or the Papal States.

Meanwhile, its northern side I think would be similar to the Pacific edge of the Americas, such as Chile and the US. Cool oceans lead to a lack of rain, and the mountains means less storms coming from the south (barring the gaps between mountain ranges, such as north of Wayrest). Here, fishing and ranching are the most common food sources, and I'd suspect there would be a strong independent streak compared to the more metropolitan south. For water, it would be interesting if they relied heavily on groundwater and more specifically - springs. Just to make things more interesting and provide a bit more flavor (beyond the non-existant or just: its spooky theme northern High Rock has now).

Parque Nacional Torres del Paine. Did I include this because I think it matches High Rock's climate or because its pretty? Both.

High Rock's eastern region is more forested in the south, closer to the Lilac Bay, but soon becomes much more mountainous, this is where we'd get three unique cultures - the Reachman, the Orcs and a hybrid of Redguard, Breton and Nordic culture. Defined by relative autonomy and constantly shifting borders, one would consider them sort of unique/demi-province.

Now I do think there are ways to spice up Bretons in general, making them more than just bland europe 2, especially when the Imperials have the same thing.

1 - Taking inspiration from Baltic nations. A group of nations famously close to islamic cultures (in our case the Redguards), also with a famous water body, feels like an appropriate source of inspiration, and would allow a European flair that isn't sanded down or done a thousand times.

2 - Mexico - I alluded to this before, but I feel like its not a far reach (ha) to take inspiration from Mexico/SW UZ, in geography but also in cultures both indigenous and colonial, which makes some sense since a key part of High Rock is their mixed ancestry and being subject to colonial rule. Its just a personal tasts tho in the end.

3 - Make them dress slutty again. Healer of akatosh needs his tiddies out for the magic to work.

[hana-yori-dango-forever]

Hana Yori Dango 🍡 This shoujo manga is one of the best shoujo manga of all time! Though I've seen some western bloggers write off it as rubbish just based of the first 1-3 chapters and don't bother to go and read a slow burn, well written and realistically shown character growth. Seriously, if one is a fan of a bad boy changing magically into a good husband material after a few smooches with the naive, beautiful heroine then I've to say that person is a fan of bad/lazy writting. But if you are not then you'll enjoy Hana Yori Dango manga. P.S the bullying/ragging scenes in high school showed are very brutal but it's actually a reality even now in many Asian countries, including Japan, Korea, to Bangladesh, India etc. This also results in victims deaths every year too. And when the manga was running, many Japanese students who got bullied wrote to the managaka, Miss Yoko Kamio that they got strength and inspiration to fight back against their own troubles. So I don't see why western bloggers spew so much 💩 against the mangaka unnecessarily.

[rambheem-is-real]

Gold Rings and Black Roses Pt 1

Pairing: Radha Rama x Aadhya

Warnings: siblings!Deva and Aadhya

Amma doesn't take pity on Aadhya. Deva never rescues Aadhya from Rinda and his men, breaking the seal. This changes everything.

-

If Aadhya was told two weeks ago that she’d willingly get trafficked to God knows where, she’d just laugh. However, as Aadhya huddles in the corner of a truck across from an unconscious Bilal, all she can think of was how stupid she had been. 

Two weeks ago, she was running herself ragged balancing work and her hours at the hospital. The doctors had been fairly confident, and Aadhya had believed them. They had said her mother’s chances of surviving the operation were on the higher side, and Aadhya was preparing to move her mother out of the hospital and into the spare room of her apartment in Brooklyn. She hadn’t even been worried about the costs. While her own field research kept her living reasonably, she knew that her dad could afford to, and would, pay whatever was necessary. After all, it was his fault that Aadhya and her mother were here.

Then, the call came. 

“We’re very sorry,” the doctors had said. “The patient passed peacefully,” they said. “Please collect her body,” they had said. 

Aadhya had arranged the cremation of her mother’s body, feeling entirely numb the entire time. The mortician had handed the ashes, whatever was left of her mother, to her, and all Aadhya could feel was denial. 

It had all been going well, and then her life had turned upside down in the span of a few hours. 

It was when she tried calling her dad for what was probably the fiftieth time in the last three days, and heard his standard voicemail response, that Aadhya felt frustration. One of the world’s most prominent businessmen, wealthy enough to purchase the entirety of her state and not have a dent in his finances, but what was it all for if he was too busy to even talk to her? 

Her mother had always talked about having her ashes deposited in Varanasi, constantly missing their home country. Maybe the homesickness had made her mother weaker, Aadhya would later wonder. For what her dad had done, they had all paid the price. Aadhya still didn’t know who her dad had offended, what trouble he had gotten into to have them all move to the US so suddenly seven years ago. She had been fine with the change, had given up her simple bank job to pursue a PhD in linguistics, and was now traveling the country doing various types of research. But her mother had always missed their home, the community she had left, to the point that she had always insisted on her final resting place being in India.

 Fuck it, she had thought. 

In the next few minutes she had airplane tickets, and in the next few hours she had a backpack and a suitcase ready to go. 

Aadhya wasn’t sure what she expected to happen once she landed in India. She knew it was dangerous for her to be there, but she had to do this for her mother. Aadhya only hoped she would get to the Ganga river before the consequences of her actions caught up to her, but her hopes were dashed once the trail of black SUVs surrounded her car. 

From there she had met Bilal, fought for (and lost) approval from Amma, and was now currently in a truck driven by strange men and a strange seal on her arm. 

Aadhya estimated it had been about a day since she was thrown into the truck, judging by Bilal’s sleep cycles. She didn’t know what was up with that man, why he was so willing to give up even his own life for her, but she was glad for the company. Even if all he did was look at her like she was going to die any second. 

They had stopped to give her food twice, and all in all it wasn’t a bad kidnapping experience. The drunk guy, Rinda, had made a pass at her the first time he saw her, but after she told him to fuck off he had just shrugged and staggered away, muttering under his breath about Nepali women being much nicer. The other goons had barely even looked her way the entire journey. 

As soon as she thinks about how nice it would be to see the sun again, the truck rolls to a stop, and some of the goons bang on the outside of the truck. 

“Get out, your time is up now!” They joke. Aadhya wonders who’s waiting for her outside, who she might have to gain approval from now to survive. 

She looks to Bilal as she jumps out of the door of the truck, wincing at the pins-and-needles sensation in her feet from sitting still too long. 

“Don’t piss her off,” he says. 

“Who?” 

“Don’t piss either of them off,” he amends. 

Before she can ask who once more, she’s led into another black SUV, and she can see Bilal getting into the one behind her. 

The truck driver is the same guy driving her to wherever she’s going now, and Rinda gets in the passenger seat. 

Aadhya stares at him, wondering if he at least would have some answers.

“Where are we going?” she asks in Telugu. “Who are we seeing?”

Rinda just laughs. “Lots of questions, darling?” He looks at her face in the rearview mirror, and her clear frustration must show because he takes pity on her. 

“You’re meeting with Obullamma,” he says. 

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who’s that?”

“Radha Rama’s maid,” he says, still annoyingly vague. But Aadhya can detect a tinge of fear, a sense of respect at the sound of the second woman’s name. 

“What do I have to do with either of them?” 

“...Your nanna didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

The mention of Krishnakanth hurts, making Aadhya turn to the window. Tears prickle at her eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, she misses her dad. He had sounded so worried on the phone, days ago. She wonders what he was doing now. 

It’s a short journey before they pull up to what clearly used to be a grand mansion, but had fallen into disrepair. 

“Well, bangaram, you’ll get answers now,” Rinda sighs. “And I need another drink.”

Aadhya needed a drink. But she probably wasn’t going to get one anytime soon, she thinks sadly. She really doesn’t want to deal with this shit sober. Alcohol had always calmed her down, soothed the always-tense bundle of nerves inside her. 

She and Bilal are guided up the stairs of the mansion, and Aadhya can hear the sound of a rubbu rolu clanging as she gets closer inside. Bilal is immediately ushered out of the main room, and Aadhya hopes that means they’re not going to kill him. 

Aadhya sees a woman first, sitting at a table, calmly grinding the pestle against her mortar. Is this Obullamma? she wonders.  

“Amma Aadhya?” At first, she thinks she mishears. That can’t be her dad, right?

“Dad?”

Standing in the corner of the room, surrounded by more men, is her dad. No suit, no tie, no advisors surrounding him. Her dad, just as he is. 

His button down is soaked through with sweat, and she can see relief and fear warring on his face. 

“Aadhya! You shouldn’t have come here, dear,” he cries. 

“Dad!” She tries to make her way to him, to fall into his arms, but one of Rinda’s men grabs her arms to stop her. 

“Obullamma!” Rinda calls to the woman, who stops grinding and glares up at him. “I’ve brought Krishnakanth’s daughter, I completed the job. Ika selavu [I’ll take a leave now].” Rinda walks out briskly, and oh, he did not like that woman. 

Obullamma keeps glaring at the disappearing silhouette of Rinda for a few more seconds, mouth curling into a sneer, before she turns to Krishnakanth. 

“Choosava? [Did you see?] I was able to bring your daughter in front of me within a few days. How did you think you could ever escape me?” Obullamma speaks slowly, but sharply, placing emphasis on almost every word out of her mouth. There’s a fascinating lilt to her accent that Aadhya would love to study some day. 

“Your quarrel is with me, not her!” Krishnakanth yells, but his tone turns pleading a second later. “Do anything you want with me, just please, let my daughter go.”

Aadhya looks at him in horror. “No, Dad! It was me who made the decision to come to India, it was me who put you and Bilal at risk by doing so.” She hangs her head, feeling the guilt and shame come back. Stupid, she had been so stupid. “I’ll face whatever punishment it’ll be,” she says, trying to project the veneer of calmness she had seen on Deva the past few days. If only she had his strength. 

“Is that so?” Aadhya hears someone new from the other side, and notices a woman sitting on the floor that she hadn’t seen when she had come in. This voice is commanding, and confident in a way that Obullamma or even Rinda’s voice hadn’t been. This was a woman who was used to taking, a woman who was used to others giving. 

The woman turns to face her, and oh damn she was hot. Dressed in an elegant black saree, the woman had beautiful kohl lined eyes, and power in every inch of her stature. She even sat with the straight back of someone used to a throne. 

“You offer to take his place, despite not knowing what he did. Why?” The woman asks. 

This must be Radha Rama then, Aadhya thinks. 

“It was me who made the choice, it was me who should face the consequences. Isn’t that fair?” Aadhya asks. “And…” she falters, looking at her dad, who’s staring at her with shame and regret. She straightens, and looks Radha Rama in the eyes. “And he’s my dad. I love him. I’ll do anything to protect him.” 

Radha Rama looks taken aback. It’s only for an instant before Aadhya watches the mask drop down over her face, as the surprise is replaced with contemplation. 

Obullamma sneers. “Like we want to make a deal with you, girl. We’re going to kill you in front of your nanna, and then we’ll kill him after. Both of you are dying anyway.”

Aadhya trembles at the mention of her death, but steels herself. There were worse ways to go. 

Like what?? Her inner voice says, and she ignores it. 

“I accept your deal.”

Radha Rama’s voice cuts through whatever Obullamma was going to say next, as she rises into a standing position, and turns to fully face Aadhya. 

“I- ammagaru?” Obullamma gasps. “You can stand?”

Aadhya frowns. What the fuck kind of question-

“Obullamma, make the necessary arrangements. Aadhya Krishnakanth,” she turns to inspect Aadhya from her head to her toes, and Aadhya blushes, “is going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future. At least until her brother shows up.” Radha Rama smirks at the sight of a gaping Krishnakanth. “Let the poor man go, he’s scared shitless already.”

Krishnakanth cries out, “No! Radha Rama! You can’t do this!” 

Radha Rama motions at the men near the doorway, and they bodily drag Krishnakanth out of the mansion. 

“Dad!” Aadhya tries to reach for him, to reassure him. “It’s okay!”

“Aadhya! Rama, she’s innocent!” Krishnakanth keeps shouting until his voice gets muffled by the doors of the car he’s pushed into. 

Aadhya turns to the woman that had just spared her dad’s life, who’s idly inspecting her nails. 

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Too late, she processes what Radha Rama had said earlier. “And what do you mean… my brother?”

Radha Rama smiles at her, and Aadhya shivers. It feels like the smile of a predator that had successfully cornered its prey. She suddenly turns her head to Obullamma, who’s still sitting in shock. 

“I said, make the necessary arrangements.” Obullamma hurriedly agrees, earrings jingling with the force of her head shaking. “Show her to a room. Tell her to freshen up. I want lunch prepared in twenty minutes.” Radha Rama looks at Aadhya. “We’ll discuss business then.”

“Ammagaru, you want… lunch?”

“Did I stutter?” The temperature of the room drops about twenty degrees, and Obullamma jumps out of her chair. 

“No, ammagaru. I’ll have it prepared.”

Aadhya is led through a door near the entrance, to where she presumes she’ll be staying for the next.. few days? weeks? She can’t help but turn her head right before she leaves the room, to find that Radha Rama is already watching her. 

She shivers once again at the gleam in Radha Rama’s eyes, and hastily turns around. Hopefully she’ll find out soon, Aadhya thinks, about whatever the fuck was going on. 

-

tagging people that were on board with the ship @deadloverscity @ghostdriftexistence @greatkittykoala @nini9224 @just-call-me-ehre @recentinterest @looseukitty and others in the server i'm forgetting the handles now

[ghost-mantis]

Hunter and Hunted: Historical Horror Reading For Your Halloween

Burned out on masked stabbers? Yawning at the movie monster of the week? Alien abductions falling as flat as a cow dropped from a tractor beam?

Try reading some historical accounts of people hunting man-eating Tigers in India and never walk willingly into the dark again!

Towards the end of the colonial era in India, growing populations and deforestation were causing the same issues with wildlife that we see today. The difference being, there were thousands and thousands of tigers and leopards, far bigger populations than today, prowling the land.

And while still rare, a lot more animals means a lot more potential murder cats. In an era just before and during the advent of cars and phones, most people still lived in small communities surrounded by fields and forest. People that were easy prey for big cats that were too elderly or injured to hunt other prey, or just decided they liked to eat humans.

So imagine you and your friends are out in the fields or at the well doing your normal thing…

And a Giant Goddamn Tiger leaps out of the grass, grabs your friend, and drags them screaming into the woods to eat them. Right in front of you.

Oh Shit!The Economy!

Or when you walk home, the last person in line silently disappears and the only trace left behind is a piece of clothing.

This was the reality across many places in India.

Imagine this happening to SEVERAL HUNDRED PEOPLE in your community over the course of a few years. From ONE Tiger. And everyday you leave the house praying you aren’t next, while you can do fuckall about it.

Fuck…

This thing is a goddamn ghost, and while volunteer hunters go after the thing, they’re always one step behind. News of sightings and kills travels only as fast as people can walk, and the Tiger is hitting multiple villages in the region.

So along comes this guy from out of nowhere, he tells you he works on the railway or something? Then he tells you he’s going to try and kill this tiger. Just another trophy hunting jackass right?

But this guy never asks for anything other than a place to sleep and maybe a cup of tea if you can spare it.

And he’s running himself ragged walking 20+ miles a day between villages to where the tiger was last seen. For weeks or months on end.

And every night he sits alone, in the dark, in the woods, by a tethered farm animal he bought off you. Or the corpse of a half-eaten victim. Sometimes in a low tree branch or just sitting on the fucking ground.

The crazy bastard is hunting something that very much wants to kill and eat him. A thing that can see in the dark where he can not. By moonlight.

Or if seen during the day, the guy walks in after the Tiger, tracking the paw prints and knowing it is actively hunting him.

What could possibly go wrong?

But somehow, using the finest old-timey gun technology, he kills these nightmare monsters again and again. Some while they’re charging him!

He never asks for a dime, never cashed in a government reward, and takes the dead tiger back to the locals to prove its dead and provide closure and peace of mind. He genuinely cared about the locals and did everything he could to help at great personal risk. For decades.

Jim Corbett slayed man eating monsters under terrible odds like he was the goddamn final girl of every horror movie. And while it sounds far-fetched, his accounts were backed by many people, and his own photographs.

In his later days he became a staunch conservationist and recorded his tales for all to read in a number of books that read like the greatest horror fiction.

He was so beloved that he has a national park and a species of Tiger named after him!

All his works are available free on the Internet Archive. There’s also a YouTube channel with narrated versions of all his stories and context. The narrator grew up reading these accounts and does a fantastic job making audiobook recordings of his stories!

His accounts and this history have largely faded from public memory, but make for some of the finest horror reading ever penned.

And he wasn’t the only one doing this! Another hunter in the same era, Kenneth Anderson, was dedicated to hunting man-eating Tigers and Leopards across India.

Anderson, a madman who would sit in a blind made of two beds and a chair, and armed with a dying flashlight and a rifle, peered out into the dark and went face to face with one such monster. Point blank in pitch dark.

Just look at these creepy-ass covers and tell me this isn’t horror.

There are also written accounts of man-eating sloth bears, serial killer wild elephants, and general animal related nightmare fuel.

I’ll be writing about African man-eater books in a subsequent post. Many accounts are just as terrifying, all the more because it’s not fiction.

Happy Reading and Sleep Tight!

[arpeggio-the-parrot]

Klaww Gang Headcanons

Not that anyone asked, but I have several headcanons regarding the Klaww Gang, some of which I’ve posted about here and there throughout the years of me running this blog. I figured I’d throw some of my Klaww Gang-related headcanons into a little list, in no particular order of importance!

Arpeggio didn’t establish the Klaww Gang, but he took over as its leader after working with its previous one, who retired and offered Arpeggio his position. While it’s generally accepted that Arpeggio was indeed the leader of the Klaww Gang leading into and during the events of Sly 2, Sly states in the introduction to Anatomy For Disaster, “…the Klaww Gang took [Arpeggio] on as chief inventor,” supporting the idea that the Klaww Gang existed before Arpeggio’s leadership. I actually have my own story for this, but I don’t feel like getting into all that here LOL. Someday …

Rajan’s actual name isn’t Rajan—hear me out. The name “Rajan” translates to “king” in Sanskrit, but as we know, Rajan wasn’t born into royalty. I like to think that he took on the name once he gained notoriety and joined the Klaww Gang. I also like to think that he was the first member of the Klaww Gang that we know in Sly 2.

Jean Bison carries a heavy guilty conscience, as he knows that it was his risk-taking that costed him his closest friends—all of whom perished in the avalanche that froze him.

The Contessa’s husband was a member of the Klaww Gang when he married her, and his death/murder allowed her to effectively usurp his position and expand it with her role as a criminal psychologist working in INTERPOL. This makes her the second member of the current Klaww Gang to join, shortly after Rajan.

Rajan really fucking hates Arpeggio LMAO, the main reason being that he feels that he is entitled to be the leader of the Klaww Gang. Admittedly, this headcanon isn’t exactly an original take, as he can be heard expressing this via the speaker in the Cooper Gang’s safehouse, after bugging Rajan’s office in The Predator Awakes (“I should be ruling the Klaww. I'm the source and the supplier. Without me, their silly tinkering would go nowhere”.

The illegal spice that the Klaww Gang produces is closely related to cannabis, assuming the spice is native to Southeast Asia, which is near the native range of cannabis. However, it is a separate species entirely with more intense effects, and is much more addictive.

Rajan is secretly addicted to the illegal spice. This is somewhat implied in the actual game, again heard over the safehouse speaker in Episode 3 after bugging Rajan’s office, when he says, “The dance was going so well, so grand, until that ragged raccoon... maybe I'll have just a little spice...”. This could also be the reason for his aggressive temperament, as rage and aggression is a side effect of spice consumption.

The Klaww Gang is named after its founder and first leader, who was a raptorial bird and is represented by the talons clasped around the globe in the gang’s emblem. However, this leader was not the one who “recruited” and passed his leadership onto Arpeggio upon retirement. In Sly 2, ‘Klaww’ is sometimes capitalized like an acronym, but I always saw this as an oversight by the developers as it’s not stated or implied anywhere in canon as to what that acronym would stand for.

The illegal spice was unknown outside of India until Britain’s colonization of the region in the 19th century, though the Klaww Gang wasn’t formed until a few decades later.

[amadeoapologist]

i think i struggle with feeling a lot of sympathy for louis over losing claudia, because he--TO ME, IN MY OPINION--abandoned her a lot sooner than she abandoned him. he tells her, "you and me, me and you," but he doesn't honor that, which she calls him on later in season 2. he brings claudia in under false pretenses and continues to see her not fully as herself, at least, not very often.

and i'm not necessarily....i'm not necessarily ragging on louis about this. i don't resent him for it. i see louis and claudia as a strained mother and daughter, and having that kind of dynamic in which the mother can never really relate to the daughter and the daughter can never really relate to the mother, and yet both are so strongly identified with the other to outside observers. because they are the same, they can't truly connect, but the love felt is unshakeable despite how much it causes a rift.

so when i see posts that touch on the "you and me, me and you" stuff, they don't hit for me in that sense of...oh, what a loss! because I don't really think louis ever meant "me and you, you and me." and if he did mean it, he forgot about it right quick. which again, i'm not really angry at him for.

i'm sick and my brain is foggy, so i'm not explaining this well because it's my first attempt to get the words out. but almost like. almost like a less hateful india stoker/evie stoker. like, in the sense that louis is not designed to parent. he parents not because he truly wants to, but because he needs to for some less generous reason than simply wanting to have a family. and claudia is the one who suffers for louis' caprice. she's made on a whim so louis can feel better and then dropped repeatedly when he does.

but the same way i think evie is a shit mother to india (and they really aren't the best example for this point, i just literally cannot think of anyone else right now) because she just kinda lacks that maternal vibe and especially doesn't know how to handle the way india is so fully her own person, i think louis is a shit mother to claudia for the same reason, like, there are aspects of louis' personality that are baked into him by previous experience (like his brother killing himself and becoming estranged from his family and his whole fucked up history with lestat) and that make it hard for him to connect. and i don't fault him for that, but claudia is the one who has to deal with it.

like just to get back to what i first said, i don't really feel sympathy about louis losing claudia, but i do feel a shit ton of grief and sympathy for claudia herself. i just think louis was never really going to be the mother/father/brother/friend to claudia he might have thought he was going to be, and though he maybe doesn't see or accept that for most of the show thus far, i do. and i don't think he ever meant "you and me, me and you."

[sivavakkiyar]

when I was in Brooklyn yesterday I got halal (you know…New York street halal) with my sister and her boyfriend—-and I love this guy, sincerely—-but we were all talking and he was like ‘wait, Tamil Nadu is in South India? You’re South Indian?’ akka got embarassed because she thought I’d rag on him but I couldn’t resist a ‘wait have you been pretending to get my jokes for like a year now’ and that’s brother privilege right there I had to take it I had to I had to

[sodaabaa]

noor, part one

benedict bridgerton x OC  noorjan begum, a newly minted tawaif, flees the royal court of india to avoid becoming the mistress of a wealthy patron. she makes it to london where she is alerted to an occupation at the royal academy of art. there, she meets the man who will turn her world on its axis. 

tropes: knight in shining armor (if you squint), golden retriever boy x black cat girl, tortured artists 

tw: none

Noor’s heart pounded with adrenaline as she raced through the city, kerosene lamps blurring by her. Each step took more and more effort, her legs burning with the exertion, not used to such intense movement. She couldn’t dare to look back, afraid she’d see someone trailing behind her. Instead, she focused on the path ahead, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon and the dim kerosene lamps. Her destination was uncertain, but anywhere seemed safer than the place – the people – she needed to leave behind.

She reached the port, her breaths ragged as she approached the man at the front, guarding the entrance to the ship. 

“Adab,” she greeted, pulling her dupatta to cover the bottom half of her face with one hand while she slipped him a few rupees with the other. He greeted her back, taking the money and ushering her in before anyone else could see.

She took a seat on a stack of crates, relieved at her success but exhausted from the journey. She felt the ship rock and a yell from outside signaled their departure. She inhaled, bracing herself for what was to come – little did Noor know, this very ship would irrevocably alter the course of her destiny.

✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚

A month had passed since Noor fled Lucknow and arrived in London. She grew increasingly homesick as the days passed, her heart aching for the bustling streets of India, the elaborate arches and swirls of the buildings, the music and the dancing but most of all, Noor missed her mother. She longed to hear her mother’s voice, to smell her hair – always perfumed with rose oil, once again. And perhaps, to apologize. 

Alas, Noor had made her decision and she must face the consequences. Once, Noor had lived like a princess, residing in a grand kotha – spending her days under the tutelage of her mother, learning to write ghazals, poetry, and polishing her dancing skills. Now, she works in the kitchens of wealthy families throughout London. She walked across the streets of London, traveling to her next job for the morning when a newsboy came rushing up to her.

“Newspaper, madam?” He asked, holding out a newspaper to her. She nodded, giving the boy a few coins for the paper. “Thanks very much!” He ran off.

Noor unrolled the paper, skimming through it. She stopped at the bottom, reading the bold text.

WORKERS WANTED. ROYAL ACADEMY OF THE ARTS. 

Her heart pounded in excitement, she yearned to hear and recite poetry once more. Perhaps this was just what she needed. She changed her course, making her way to the Royal Academy of the Arts, hope fueling every step.

Once she arrived, she asked around – pointing to the advertisement in the newspaper so that she might find the appropriate person to talk. Eventually, she was led to a small building behind the academy’s main building. Students passed by, paying no mind to Noor as she stared at the building, unsure how to proceed. She almost gave up, turning back around with a resigned huff. When she turned, she ran into the man she hadn’t known was behind her with an oof. 

“My apologies!” The man said, holding her shoulders to prevent her from toppling over.

Noor shook him off, “No, I ran into you. I apologize,” she said. She took a moment to take in the man before her. He wore a navy coat and vest and held a sketchpad with stray papers sticking out from its sides. He was quite tall – Noor had been one of the taller girls at the kotha back in Lucknow but he towered over her nonetheless. He had scruffy, raven hair and his eyes – his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen, like cold, crisp water on a sweltering summer day. 

“Were you looking for something, Miss?” He broke her out of her thoughts.

She stuttered, “Yes, actually. I saw this posted in the newspaper,” she held up the paper for him to see, “do you happen to know where I might go to apply for such an occupation?” 

He took the paper, scanning it over before giving her a dazzling smile. 

“You’ve come to the right place, follow me,” he said, motioning her to follow him as he walked through the door she had just been staring at. When they entered the dimly lit room, the scene before her took her by surprise. There, in the center, was a woman dressed in nothing but her undergarments whilst dozens of men sat in a circle around, easels placed in front of them. 

“We’re looking for models – were you interested?” The man asked.

She looked up at him in shock, “I’m sorry, I’m not certain I expected this –,” she trailed off.

He watched her expectantly, amused at her lack of words.

“What were you expecting?” 

“Perhaps something to do with poetry,” she said in earnest. 

His eyebrows raised, not expecting such an answer from her.

“What do you know of poetry, Miss…I’m sorry, I believe we still have yet to exchange names,” he said, “Benedict Bridgerton,” giving her a nod in greeting.

“Noor,” she replied.

He smiled, “enchanted.” 

“Bridgerton! Will you not join us?” Another man called out from behind him. He waved off the intrusion, keeping his eyes on Noor. He cleared his throat, snapping out of his daze.

“So, what do you know of poetry?” He repeated.

Noor’s eyes narrowed, what did she know of poetry? What did these brutes know of poetry, she should ask.

“Should my suffering find a voice, it will unveil my sense of self to me. Should my silence find an expression, it will hold sway over the universe and find treasures of both worlds,” she recited. He stared at her, taken aback by her recitation, “I have never heard such a poem, nor do I recall the structure from any of my classes.”

Noor smiled, of course he hadn’t, “Mr. Bridgerton, there is an ocean of poetry you are not privy to.” “And you are privy to it,” he paused, “May I interest you in a different occupation, as it seems being an artist's muse is not what you wish?” “And what would this other occupation entail?” She asked, curious.

“Tutor me in the poetry you know. I shall provide a decent wage for you, should you choose to accept the offer.” 

Noor paused, running over the offer in her mind. She had been an excellent student back in Lucknow, constantly receiving the praise of her teachers. Her memory served her well when it came to remembering the flowery words and intricate rhythms of the poetry she studied. She could manage to teach this curious man, could she not? At least she knew it would provide a better wage than being a kitchen maid. 

“I shall become your tutor in all the poetry I know. When do we begin?”