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chorusgirls · 7 months

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𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙳, 𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙰 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁. 𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳.

… ALIAS / NAME … solange lahiri.

… NICKNAMES … known under various aliases and monikers. referred to as la pantera in various parts of spain, andora, and portugal, along with the night fox across the south of france. accepts any pet name.

… BIRTH NAME … redacted.

… AGE … thirty-three.

… GENDER … cis woman.

… SEXUALITY … bisexual. kinsey scale 3.

… CIVILIAN OCCUPATION … jazz singer at godfather house of blues.

… CRIMINAL ASSOCIATION … jade tribe soldier, freelance cat burglar & con artist .

… NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES … doe eyes, salacious body, and most particularly the combination of the two.

… CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS … selina kyle ( detective comics ). regina lampert ( charade ). janet colgate/the jackal ( dirty rotten scoundrels ). maría elena ( vicky cristina barcelona ). holly golightly ( breakfast at tiffany's ). mirtha jung ( blow ).

( + ) alluring, passionate, charismatic, persuasive, witty, adaptable, sensual, warm, competitive, flirtatious, voracious, coy.

( - ) vindictive, possessive, unpredictable, insatiable, manipulative, dishonest, jealous, eccentric, unreliable, delusive, mercurial.

𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂. * trigger warnings: gang activity, implied age gap, mention of fertility trouble, murder, mild gore, suicide, parental death.

as a child, you once use a shell casing as a hard candy. six months old with a gnawing pain, and your mother finds you with a hollowed-out bullet between your gums. before taking it out she hoists you onto her hip, brandishing the moment to your father like a postcard: just look at your daughter. a coo, not a reprimand. when he leans forward, chucking your fat little chin, the affection only blooms brighter: incorrigible love, all for putting the killing thing in your mouth.

it's not the metal that poisons you, but the rest of what you're weaned on. the only child of an aging criminal emperor, your family rules mumbai and the shadow beyond with a traditionally held & elegantly dressed fist. beyond just the apple of your father's eye, you are the fruit bowl and the orchard too — where once he had dreaded the thought of a daughter, your birth shifts both his heart and his vision. when your mother's womb bares no other children, it does not matter: it's your head, scented with rosemary and bathed in milk, who will one day wear the crown. a little shadow, they call you, not for your quiet existence (you learned to raise your voice above the echo of gunshots in the compound, your mouth its own pistol, never to be outdone) but how tightly you share your father's. he says it's lesson, learning by proximity, but the pair of you know the truth: it's the close-keeping of a treasure. neither of you can bare separation.

sat beneath the shadow of a pomegranate tree in the back of the family estate: that's where you watch your father die. your mother's hand is slipped into yours as the gun raises, but it's your fingers who hold tight. a steadying force, as solid and hard-boned as the gaze you level at the usurper. the man who would be a king killer looks little more than a desperate boy with those shaking hands, older than you but young and untested enough to believe this is the way you build a kingdom. blood sprays your bare feet. warm. thick. mother wails, just as hot, just as molten. you'll join her later in the privacy of a home turned prison — grief emptying out your whole body, so violent it voids your stomach, leaves you retching on the cool marble floor — but now you only look. stare. fix him with the eyes that will not flinch, watching as he recedes to claim what was once yours.

you are married to your father's killer on the grounds watered with his blood. it is your choice of location just as it is your pain, your memory, your plan. mother dresses for a funeral, barred from the ceremony. it's like watching you walk to your death. you cannot afford to explain your decision to her, nor express the reason for your disagreement: the only way to tear throat is to kiss it first. only two years between the bookends of death and ceremony, but a lifetime stretches between it: time rendered thick and acidic with all that you must do to convince him of your choice. it was your power, you promise, palm on the place his heart would be, now it is what i have found beneath it. it's impossible to distinguish the look of hunger your husband wears at the altar to the ravenous one he will wear later, in the bed chamber: the starvation for your beauty identical to that of your legacy. you allow him to put his mouth on both and pretend to roll down his throat.

the cost of retribution, as the gods dictate, is as great as the crime: a quarter of your life, spent at the side of your father's killer. the dissolution of your father's empire, its rubble stuck irrevocably to your soles. the life of your mother, taken at her own hands: unable to watch any longer the unnatural crime of your union. but revenge comes, all the same. it comes like crows to the corpse, black clouds to the summer sky. inevitable. six years of plotting, and finally you destroy that which shattered you first; despot-husband dead, legacy stamped out. you do not leave with nothing when it is all over: it is the last known flight of a criminal's private plane, chartered to an unknown location in western europe before disappearing.

your various lives as a zoetrope, each version of yourself seemingly separate until you spin fast enough: lover, thief, artist, grifter, impersonator, photographer, forger, heiress. all these variations, these distinct new selves, yet the story only goes round and round on a wheel: you throw yourself into the role, the new country, the life. you find love where there is none, create it like god. you steal whatever is not bolted down to the floor. and when it tires out under your feet, when the grounds shrink and leave you painted into a corner ⸺ you climb the walls. that's how you come to new york, the crumbs of a southern french villa stuck to your heel, glancing up at the burned neon sky through sleek black glasses: open up darling, i'm home.

SUMMARY : only child of one of india's largest organized crime rings watches as her father's operation is usurped by a rival, only to be forced to marry him to further legitimize his takeover. after six years of an intimate, gnarled long con, solange brings down her despot husband at the cost of crumbling her father's legacy too. at twenty-four, having slain a false king and carrying a guilt she'll never acknowledge, solange leaves to europe to begin a new life — the first in a series. grifter, con artist, cat burglar — she has as many criminal occupations as she does aliases. after a recent, lengthy stint in the french riviera, she's hurricaned into new york under the name solange lahiri.

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂.

exceptional verbal mimic. give her a half hour in earshot and she'll replicate your voice.

the hat game is unrivaled. she's got one for every occasion, and then several more.

talks a lot with her hands, but it's a long con to distract you from where they're going (your wallet, your purse, your jewelry)

there's no easy way to say this, but her tits are always physically or metaphorically out. it's just part of the look.

has a very well-adjusted cat who has been carted all over the world with her. technically he is one of the most expensive cats in the world (seriously), being an f1 bengal she stole from his previous owner. sola has renamed him paul newman. he's surprisingly chill except when left without enough space to run around. much like his owner he will then start clawing shit up.

was briefly a british wag, dating one of manchester united's stars. probably jamie tartt coded. looooved the attention.

realistically and despite how outlandish some of sola's escapades are, subconsciously or otherwise she's playing it very safe. not only an incredibly talented thief, but primed once upon a time to inherit a crime ring — but she contents herself with stealing jewelry and spouses? a shame really. someone call her on it.

gluttonous in all aspects of life. food, drink, laughter, sex. she doesn't do anything in moderation

prefers an artisanal coffee shop, but pops into starbucks regularly to snag something off their bar. thank you easily exploitable mobile ordering honour system

𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳.

this energy. where's my homoerotic sapphic fight scene

rival from the hanging man. solange actively joined a gang outside of the heist leaders because she wanted a little <3 fun competition <3 and she's decided you're in a personal rivalry. all the better if this other person is just ? literally what did i do to deserve this im just tryna get through the day

girlies whose friendship she has acquired through compulsive charisma

a past fling/relationship with someone who vacationed in one of her hot spots

a mark she's taken on not for jade tribe purposes but because she can't sit still ever :) personal project

anybody in any avenue of law enforcement who has previously or currently worked on a job of hers that solange is currently fucking with

somebody (probably older, possibly a head of a gang??) who knew and worked with her father !!! bonus points for knowing her as a kid

#lawlessintro #its a good day

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mariacallous · 1 year

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In 2010, Indian actor Shah Rukh Khan starred in a film called My Name Is Khan that served as a critique of Islamophobia in the United States in the post-9/11 era. In the movie, Khan goes on a journey to the United States to meet the American president and tell him that having an Islamic last name doesn’t make him a terrorist. In real life, however, his name has made him a target at home.

A year after Narendra Modi became India’s prime minister in 2014, Khan said there was a climate of intolerance in the country that “will take us to the dark ages.” Two days later, a senior leader of the governing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and an acolyte of Modi, Yogi Adityanath, said Khan spoke the language of terrorists and equated him to the mastermind of the 2008 Mumbai terrorism attacks. Adityanath threatened Khan, saying he would be out of business if a “huge mass” of Indians, implying Hindus, boycotted his films. Since then, fringe political outfits linked to the BJP—and even some BJP leaders—have repeatedly attacked Khan.

The latest attack began when the trailer of Khan’s latest film, Pathaan, was released last month. Hindu nationalists of the BJP and those linked to the party expressed three major objections. First, that actress Deepika Padukone should not have worn a saffron-hued bikini in a song titled “Besharam Rang” because saffron is a sacred color in Hinduism. Second, the bikini was a few centimeters too revealing to be approved by the far right’s cultural police. And third, and more tellingly perhaps, they slandered Khan for his fitness, questioning whether the 57-year-old’s chiseled “six-pack” abdomen could possibly be real.

The charges were ludicrous. Bollywood actresses have worn saffron in sensuous songs before, but it’s never been so controversial. Moreover, Padukone wore a green skirt and several other colors in the song. The attack didn’t make sense, but it was nonetheless vicious. One protester on air, who was later revealed to be an actor himself, dared Khan to dress his daughter in a green bikini instead of Padukone, a Hindu actress. Green is a sacred color in Islam, and Khan’s wife is also Hindu.

“Had Deepika worn a saffron bikini opposite a Hindu actor, there would have been no controversy,” Hartosh Singh Bal, political editor of the Caravan, told Foreign Policy from Delhi in a phone interview. “It is all because [Khan] is a Muslim.” Several male Indian actors have flaunted abs before, and rare have they met with such ridicule.

Many people believe that the insidious campaign to discredit Khan emerges out of Hindu nationalists’ broader effort to humiliate minorities into accepting their secondary status in a country they want to claim for themselves. There have been frequent calls by the BJP to turn India into a theocratic state—a Hindu rashtra or a country predominantly of and for Hindus. As part of that bid, they hope to control Bollywood itself, the country’s biggest cultural force and its most effective messenger.

After #BoycottPathaan trended on Twitter, #BoycottBollywood soon followed. There were several well-crafted tweets, as if coordinated with one another, calling on directors to change their scripts and fall in line—or risk a total boycott. But this was not the first time Bollywood came under attack. Scholars who studied the trend between August 1 and September 12 discovered thousands of ghost accounts created over these months that solely tweeted with the hashtag #BoycottBollywood. More than 300 accounts each tweeted over 1,000 tweets on Bollywood over that nearly month and a half, “suggesting organized behavior,” said Joyojeet Pal, an assistant professor at the University of Michigan who conducted the study. Junior politicians of the BJP and of its affiliates were also discovered to be pushing the content.

Outrage on social media was to a large extent manufactured, but it is hard to say how many Indians genuinely approved of the sentiment. An investigation by news website the Wire revealed that many of the news stories that defamed Khan and called for Pathaan’s boycott reflected the views of political partisans rather than genuine protesters. Meanwhile, Pathaan has enjoyed enormous ticket sales, a resounding rejection of the calls to boycott Khan’s movies and Bollywood more generally.

Fans thronged cinemas in cities across India and at screenings abroad to see Khan return to the screen after a four-year hiatus. The controversies instigated around him—including outright falsehoods about how he had supposedly donated millions of dollars to Pakistan and was caught spitting at the funeral of Indian singer Lata Mangeshkar—did little to dampen public enthusiasm for his movie.

As Khan hopped between buildings, dived off planes, and walked on the facade of a skyscraper, all to save India from a terrorist attack, Indians across faiths seemed proud that Bollywood could also produce its own version of Mission Impossible and were eager to applaud Khan’s reinvention from romantic heartthrob to action hero. Even Indians abroad, who are arguably among the biggest believers in Hindu nationalism, rushed to screenings in the United Arab Emirates, the United States, the United Kingdom, and Germany. The movie has reportedly smashed box office records in India, and in the first 16 days since its release, it earned nearly $10 million.

Meera Rizvi, a professional scriptwriter whose maternal ancestors were ethnic Pashtuns like Khan’s, said she had little interest in watching the movie but attended a screening as an act of resistance to bullying from Hindu nationalists. “Bullies have been empowered by the right-wing government, and they think they can do whatever they want,” Rizvi said. “I went to see the movie to stand up against the bullying Khan has been subjected to.” Many others said they believed it was all a useless controversy. Anju Dhawan, an interior designer, said she didn’t understand why there was controversy at all. “Shah Rukh is an actor. Hindu, Muslim has nothing to do with it,” she told Foreign Policy from Karnal, India.

The crowds, however, did not indicate a rejection of political polarization. At least two highly educated professionals FP spoke to believe in Hindu nationalist propaganda, making unsubstantiated allegations against Khan. Political analysts told FP that Pathaan’s success did not indicate a change of mood in a nation still in thrall of Modi and the BJP’s broader political agenda. “It showed that Hindu nationalists still do not have the ability to wipe out the appeal of a celebrity who is a Muslim, just like Indians would cheer a Muslim cricketer,” Bal said. “It didn’t mean the mood of the country has gone a certain way.”

Last week, Indian press reported that Modi called on his ministers to refrain from making unnecessary comments that overshadow the government’s developmental work. But that message has come far too late to rein in the mob, said filmmaker Anurag Kashyap. “It was about controlling their own people. Things have gone out of hand now,” Kashyap said. “When you stay silent, you empower prejudice and you empower hatred. It has now got so much empowered that it is a power in itself. The mob is out of control now.”

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shivanixrao · 3 months

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━ INTRODUCING SHIVANI RAO

full name. Shivani Rao

nickname(s). Shivi, Vani, SV

age. 33

birthdate. November 16th 1990

occupation. Dance Instructor / Owner of Feel the Beat dance studio

currently living in. Midtown

gender. Cis Female

pronouns. She/Her

hometown. Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

length of time in Wilmington. Five Years

face claim. Kiara Advani

connections. // pinterest.

trigger warnings. none

BIOGRAPHY;

Shivani Rao was born in Mumbai, India into a very loving home. She was the younger of two sisters and had no complaints throughout her early childhood. Her father and mother got the opportunity to move to New York when Shivani was about eight years old. They were going to be managing a Indian grocery store location in the suburbs and the girls would be transitioning to becoming American citizens. Her mother was already a US citizen as she had been born there, but her father had to work extremely hard to gain his own citizenship and while the girls were still young, and one of their parents was a citizen they were also able to gain citizenship a little easier.

Middle school was the worst time for little Shivani’s life as she just did not fit in. She felt like while she was in a prominently Indian neighbourhood, she didn’t fit in with the kids born there either. And so she all but threw herself into dance. Dance had been a love of hers since she was back home in India and allowing it to move with her to New York had been important for Shivani. This love allowed her to thrive on a public stage and gain fame even if it was through the community. Still her father saw something in her performances and encouraged her to apply to Juilliard. At this point despite being relatively middle-class, she didn’t want to apply knowing that if she got accepted but didn’t get a scholarship all her dreams would crash. But given her financial standing and her exceptional talent, she’d managed to get a scholarship.

Those four years getting her bachelor of fine arts in dance had been nothing short of wonderful. She had found friends who understood that level of dedication and passion that she possessed as well. Upon graduation she’d opted to work on off-broadway for a few years and had been part of some shows while continuing to audition for broadway level shows as well. One day she’d been told she was one of the top two contenders and Shivani had to do anything she could to become the one on top. She did. She edged out her competition, her best friend at the time and made it.

The success was short-lived though as it was during one of the shoes that her harness snapped and she fell to the stage from a bit of a height. Shivani’s ankle was severely damaged. Enough that the position would be filled by her understudy, that same best friend who had been her competition. Becoming a failure hadn’t sat well with Shivani at all and while her family told her that it was okay and she could always move back home to Queens, New York—she refused to do that. She had been living a life in Manhattan—she couldn’t go back to living with her parents.

It took some time and a lot of different applications sent around the country until finally one picked up in Wilmington, North Carolina. They had a vacancy for a dance instructor and so Shivani packed up her belongings and made her way there. It had been an adjustment but she’s now been here for about five years and managed to buy out the previous owner of the dance studio as well. Her injury made is so that she couldn’t really ever put as much pressure on it as she once used to during practices but she was still able to teach dance and so she continues to do that, while trying to make peace with what her life could’ve been had she perhaps not messed up in the way she did.

HEADCANONS;

shivani is quite religious and has a little mandir set up in a corner of her home.

she's often humming the latest indian track she's heard and ensuring everyone around her listens to it as well.

she loves cooking and will often be cooking for people even if they don't ask.

shivani's got two tattoos, both on her rib cages. one that says 'naach' which means dance in devanagari script. and the other is a pair of ghungroo's which was the first dance form she learnt.

she's classically trained in kathak, and jazz officially but doesn't get the chance to teach that anymore and does more hip hop and freestyle along with some simple ballet.

she will go to despicable lengths for a costco chocolate chip cookie, and the subway ones as well.

she misses her family quite a bit but knows that if she heads back to new york she'll feel like a failure because the rest of her family is successful and she doesn't think she's lived up to the potential her father saw in her.

she is almost always carrying a mini pharmacy in her purse, that and pretty much all essentials at all times.

has a little havenese dog that is named rolo and he is truly the love of her life.

attended a bachelorette party in vegas and ended up married on a whim. her parents still don't know and she'd prefer to keep it that way. (besides they got it annulled--maybe? 👀)

#wnc.intro #intro | shivani #bio | shivani

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freddiemercurydaily · 2 years

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12 January 1964 - Freddie Bulsara and his family fled their home on Zanzibar Island due to political change and relocated to Feltham, near LondonHe was born Farrokh BulsaraFreddie Bulsara was born in Zanzibar's Government Hospital on 5 September 1946. His parents Bomi and Jer Bulsara were Parsees - followers of the Zoroastrian religion whose ancestors came from Persia - but they had lived in India.Bomi Bulsara came from Bulsar in Gujarat - hence the family name - and moved to Zanzibar to work in the High Court as a cashier for the British government.He married Jer in India and brought her back to Zanzibar. Farrokh, their first born, was followed six years later by a daughter, Karishma.Freddie's first cousin, Perviz Darunkhanawala, has said that the family had lived a fairly affluent life considering Bomi's civil servant wage. They lived in a comfortable flat overlooking the sea in Stone Town, the historic part of Zanzibar city, with its maze of narrow alleyways lined with shops, houses, bazaars and mosques. As well as domestic workers, they also had a nanny called Sabine.His first years of schooling were at the Zanzibar Missionary School, where he was taught by Anglican nuns.

But at the age of eight, his parents decided to send him to school in India. He went to St Peter's Church of England school in Panchgani, a former British Raj hill station south-east of what was then Bombay (Mumbai). Despite being a church school, St Peter's welcomed children of all faiths and Mercury was a fully practising Zoroastrian during his time there. It was during free time spent with his aunt and grandparents in Bombay that he discovered and indulged a growing love of music. He also formed his first band with friends, The Hectics.Freddie returned to Zanzibar in 1963 - the year it gained independence from Britain - and completed his last years of education at the Roman Catholic St Joseph's Convent School. In 1964, a revolution overthrew the ruling Arab elite, and as many as 17,000 people were killed. A republic was then established with the presidents of Zanzibar and Tanganyika, on the mainland, signing an act of union. They formed the United Republic of Tanzania with Zanzibar having semi-autonomous status.The Bulsara family, along with many others, fled the islands.The family moved to 22 Gladstone Avenue, a semi-detached home, in Feltham, west London in 1964 after leaving Zanzibar. Freddie was seventeen years old. They chose the area because Jer had a sister who already lived in Feltham.Mercury lived there on-and-off until about 1970. He crashed at various London flats between 1966 and 1969 while he studied for a Diploma in Graphic Art and Design at Ealing College and took various jobs to support himself, including washing dishes in the kitchens of Heathrow Airport, just a stone’s throw from Gladstone Avenue.Mercury’s mother, Jer Bulsara, recalls her son writing music during this time:“He used to write all his music before going to college, put it under the pillow and [tell] me not to remove any of the bits from underneath.”It was at Ealing College that he was introduced to the band Smile, whose members included Brian May on guitar and Roger Taylor on drums. At the unveiling of Mercury’s plaque, May, who also grew up in Feltham, recalled visiting Freddie at number 22:He had a Dansette record player and I distinctly remember him putting a Jimi Hendrix record on. He said ‘Listen to this, this is what we have to do!’ And I said to him, ‘Well, can you sing?’When Smile split up in 1970, Queen was born.Freddie’s sister, Kashmira Cooke said, “He secretly would have been very proud and pleased" to receive the honour.Yet everything was not straight forward for the family."The house had no central heating... We were not familiar with coal fires and had to be shown how to light it," Kashmira Cooke said.She said her brother spent much of the time in the house "sketching for his college art work" and "listening to music, particularly Jimi Hendrix"."He spent hours in the bathroom grooming his hair. At the time I wasn't best pleased as there was only one bathroom," she said.

#freddie mercury #candids

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chickensarentcheap · 1 year

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Rachel in episode 3 of Accused.

Good feed for the muse also!

******

Fandom: Extraction

OC Name: Esme Drummond/Rake

Partner/SO: Tyler Rake

Age: (in the new fic) 29. In “Never Gonna Be Alone”: 41

Birthplace: Snowmass, Colorado, USA

Currently resides: In Never Gonna Be Alone: Cooktown, Queensland, Australia. In Lost and Found: The Kimberley, Australia (the most northern of western Australia’s nine regions)

Height: Five foot one inch

Weight: 120 lbs

Gender: female

Identifies as: bisexual

Family: (as of “Never Gonna Be Alone”) Tyler Rake (husband), children: Amelia, 12 (Millie), TJ (Tyler James Rake Jr) and Tanner , 10, Declan 8, Adeline (Addie) 6, Brooklyn and Takota, 4

Occupation: Former intel specialist USMC, former black market intel specialist (under the High Table), former black market intel specialist (under Nik Khan), currently (in NGBA) a silent partner in Tyler’s mercenary business, owner of ‘Turn the Page’ bookstore, and runs a little business (called ‘Seven Holigans’ ) from home selling handmade baby clothes, blankets, hats, mitts etc etc etc. She also is vice president of the Cooktown Business Improvement Area and secretary for the Chamber of Commerce.

Interests: gardening, baking, crocheting, sewing, buying old pieces of furniture and refurbishing and modernizing them, paddle boarding, swimming, hiking, camping, bike riding. Loves cheesy 80s and 90s movies and pop music, and reality tv shows.

Personality: Esme is a ‘forever optimist’ as Tyler refers to her. A social butterfly who is well loved in their community and by the tourists who visit her store (she was featured in magazines and a ‘places to visit in Australia’ documentary) where she doesn’t just sell books, but homemade pies, cakes, muffins, cookies and other various goodies. She is warm and friendly and a little too trustworthy. She is highly intelligent and has a quick and playful wit, but can be cutting and hurtful if deserved. She describes herself as ‘slightly neurotic with a hefty serving of anxiety’. She is compassionate and understanding, but do not cross her. Do not betray her confidence or hurt her family in any way. She may be small, but she can more than hold her own and won’t think twice about enacting revenge.

Background: a graduate of Arizona State University, Esme holds a degree in psychology. Served in the USMC as an intel specialist in Iraq and Afghanistan. Married a superior from USMC who was sixteen years her senior, but the relationship crumbled due to abuse (of all kinds). She met Tyler through Nik Khan, who -in a tweaked storyline from the first Extraction- needed the two of them to team up in Dhaka to find Ovi so Tyler could then extract him. After the incident on the bridge, Esme stayed by Tyler’s first in a Mumbai hospital and then one in Sydney, Australia. In the series, they settled down in Sydney after his release and that year she gave birth to their first, a daughter they named Amelia Grace Rake.

In ‘Lost and Found’, they lived in Tyler’s shack (featured in the movie) in The Kimberley. They eventually (after a four-year separation) settle in Broome.

Find Esme here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickensarentcheap/pseuds/Chickensarentcheap

@tragiclyhip, @youflickedtooharddamnit, @secretaryunpaid, @appletreesinwinter, @thesirenrealm, @asirensrage, @munstysmind, @residentdormouse, @mrsmungus, @themaradaniels, @ocappreciationtag, @starryeyes2000, @ninjasawakenedmystar

#Tyler and Esme series #Esme Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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banyantreegc · 5 months

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Providing Comfort and Care: The Banyan Tree International Geriatric Care and Recovery Home

In a bustling city like Mumbai, where life rushes, finding a place that offers solace, comfort, and specialized care for the elderly can be challenging. However, nestled amidst the urban landscape lies a haven of tranquility and compassion – The Banyan Tree International Geriatric Care and Recovery Home. Let's delve into how this esteemed establishment is reshaping the landscape of old-age homes in Mumbai.

A Sanctuary of Care and Compassion

At The Banyan Tree, we understand the unique needs and challenges elderly individuals face as they navigate the later stages of life. Our senior care home is designed to provide a nurturing environment where residents can thrive physically, emotionally, and socially. From personalized care plans to engaging activities and companionship, every aspect of our facility is tailored to enhance the well-being of our residents.

Comprehensive Care Services

Our commitment to excellence extends to the range of care services we offer. Whether it's assistance with activities of daily living, medication management, or specialized medical care, our dedicated team of professionals is on hand 24/7 to provide compassionate support. Additionally, we prioritize holistic wellness, offering nutritional meals, physical therapy, and recreational programs to promote overall health and vitality.

Embracing Community and Connection

At The Banyan Tree, we believe in the power of community and connection to enrich the lives of our residents. Our home is a vibrant hub where individuals can forge meaningful relationships, share experiences, and cultivate a sense of belonging. From group outings to cultural events and celebrations, we foster a warm and inclusive atmosphere where every resident is valued and respected.

Empowering Independence and Dignity

While we provide comprehensive care and support, we also recognize the importance of preserving the independence and dignity of our residents. Our approach to care is rooted in empowering individuals to maintain their autonomy and make choices that align with their preferences and values. Whether participating in decision-making processes or pursuing personal interests and hobbies, we encourage our residents to lead fulfilling and purposeful lives.

A Legacy of Excellence in Geriatric Care

With a legacy of excellence spanning years, The Banyan Tree International Geriatric Care and Recovery Home has established itself as a trusted name in the realm of old-age homes in Mumbai. Our unwavering commitment to quality, compassion, and innovation sets us apart as a leader in senior care, providing families with peace of mind and reassurance that their loved ones are in good hands.

In conclusion, The Banyan Tree International Geriatric Care and Recovery Home is a beacon of hope and support for elderly individuals seeking comfort, companionship, and specialized care in Mumbai. With a focus on holistic well-being, community engagement, and preserving independence, we are dedicated to enhancing the lives of our residents and redefining the standards of senior care.

#Old age homes in Mumbai

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jagruti2020 · 2 years

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#old age home for dementia patients in delhi #dementia care homes in mumbai India #rehabilitation centre in pune #elder care delhi #Geriatric Hospital in Delhi #jagruti rehabilitation centre

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homeelderlycare · 1 year

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The aging population is growing rapidly worldwide, and the need for senior care services is increasing. With busy lifestyles and family members living far away, there is a growing demand for professional caregivers who can provide quality care to seniors. Pranyaas old age care taker in mumbai is a professional caregiving service that provides care and assistance to seniors in their own homes

Pranyaas Caretaker for Senior Citizens understands that seniors need specialized care and attention. The service is designed to provide personalized care to seniors, based on their individual needs and preferences. The caregivers are trained and experienced in providing a wide range of services, including personal care, meal preparation, medication management, and companionship.

#elderly care services at home #caretaker for senior citizens #old age care taker in mumbai #senior citizen care taker in mumbai #elderly home care services in pune #caretaker for elderly in pune

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nameg24 · 1 year

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THE EXPERIENCE OF MY DISTANT HOME

It was cold at 7 p.m. in Mumbai and all I could see with my naked eyes were city lights. The auto-rickshaw was at its full speed making my eyes go thinner because the cold air was just hitting my face. But when tilted my head a bit towards the left, I saw his bare manly hands clasped. I looked at those hands and then at him while he was enjoying the breeze. I was ready to do it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to hold his hand.

Well, first to start off with, this wasn't my first time holding a guy's hands. The first time was bad, it had zero emotions involved. It was more like a challenge given to me by the guy to prove to him that I am not shy at all, rather equally badass like the 18 yr old cool and bitch girls should be. But little did I know back then that I need not prove anything to anybody and ended up ruining one of the most important stages of a relationship (Though I wasn't dating that guy). I regret it. Soon, I learned and accepted the fact that I am a super shy girl who would take ages to even hug her girlfriends because of her shyness. Was anything wrong with me? Absolutely not. Over the period of time, I realized that I hate clinging, so I took this as an advantage and always wanted my first "holding the guy's hand", first "hug" and first "kiss" to be precious to my heart. A moment that is not created out of haste decision but out of comfort and warmth. Soon, I also realized that after getting comfortable with a person I do end up getting too clingy. That's hard to believe, right? On this date, I do feel like giving tight hugs to my girlfriends because it is the assurance and the warmth that I have gracefully accepted, though they keep teasing me about me being a 'touch me not plant'. Nevertheless, a touch me not also shies off after receiving the warmth.

I always wondered if I would be able to experience any of it soon. Just to clarify, I wasn't desperate just a curiosity to know how would I react when the time comes. About 3 months back when I met the guy and started chatting daily, I found my solace and happiness there. I want to share every bit of my day with him. What I was wearing, what color scrunchy I was using, what kind of bag I was using, which train I took, or what kind of hot guys I found that particular day. I want to cry to him about my daily commute, or my bad days and force him to console me. I want him to take care of my daily tantrums without falling apart. I want to share every bit of my story with him. This is how it is when you fall in love with somebody, gradually? I don't have an answer to this.

He is a space where I can be myself. And soon I realized that I have started imagining all exciting things with him, like holding hands, while our friends are around, but secretly giving him a quick hug before any of our friends even get suspicious. Probably I was ready to hold his hand, I guess. Hence, thought of experimenting with it, which turned out to be a blunder. I ended up shaking goodbye to him instead of making it any romantic. I rather made him feel like a 'bro' friend. I definitely regretted doing that and cursed myself too. However, he was patient enough and understood me and just shrugged it off with a laugh, though I was all embarrassed. I thought all about it when I came back home and made it a point that when we were alone, we can hold hands this time I will be confident and I will be taking the first step, if and only if I was ready for it.

And it was the 30th of January 2023. Let me highlight the date in your mind. We contacted and planned to meet at our usual place at the station. When I saw him that day, it felt different already. He was in a light-colored half-sleeve shirt and blue jeans. He reminded me of a famous actor. He in fact does resemble that actor a bit. I just wanted to give him a tight hug. His smile melts me every time. His smile always makes me smile even more. The warmth in his greeting, when he deliberately calls me "Babes", just to irritate me, makes me smile even more. It was the first time when he was sitting right opposite me. He was within my eye contact, but I got shy to look directly into his eyes. They looked tired but happy. I guess it is his smile that makes me fall for him all the time. His sweet cute dimples make me laugh. He was looking just perfect to me that day. And the time came when we had to travel by auto. Both of us were unaware of what was going to happen in that auto. After we sat and got comfortable in the auto, all such exciting thoughts of me holding his hand came into my mind. But, was scared of how it would end. We were in the auto, on the long flyover bridge, while enjoying the bridge and the city lights. This is it I thought. This was the moment! This is something that I had seen in movies. I just looked at him while he was looking out and enjoying the breeze too. His hands clasped and fingers interlocked loosely. I just pulled his hand and held it tight. He was all surprised. It was unbelievable for him (I guess). Just to avoid his expression, so that I don't get embarrassed, I just looked out while holding his huge manly soft hand with a smile on my face, but it ended up hardly for 15 seconds, because I freaked out, maybe? He said nothing and we changed the topic to make me feel less awkward. After a few minutes, I realized that I was missing his soft hand already. Probably I wanted it for real. Probably I was ready for it. And this time I just asked, "A last-minute holding of hands before we leave?" And he was ready at once. This time we clasped each other's hands. And I held it tight as if he was running away. But for his assurance, he just asked whether I was sure of this and I with a huge smile said "Yes". This time it was for about 2-3 minutes. I was enjoying and loved it. I didn't look at him directly or else I would have got all bad shitty thoughts of kissing him, as my adrenaline was just rushing and oxytocin was being released a full speed as if it is never going to happen ever. My pussy quivered a bit. It felt awesome. I felt home and warmth in his hand. The comfort. I wanted to just hold his hand and rest my head on his shoulder and enjoy the moment. I wanted to just hug him. I wanted to rest my head on his chest while holding his hand. I wanted to feel his warmth as a whole. I didn't want to kiss him at that moment at all. All I wanted was to rest my head on his shoulder while tightly holding his hand and both of us just enjoying the city lights. Well, one step at a time and was happy just holding his hand. I experienced it. For real!! People die to experience their first kiss, but for me, this was an upside-down moment. I just didn't wish to leave his hand. It is day 2 and I am already missing his hand. His warmth. Rather my home in him.

P.S.: I don't know whether we are going to end up together. Hence, will not mention his name. But my first experience was awesome. I would want him to read this, in fact, the whole world but, this is not the right time. If he is the one, if this is it, then I would want to show it to the whole world. My first experience. I want to just fix this memory in my brain even if he is not the one.

#just my story

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srbachchan · 4 months

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DAY 5873

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 17/18, 2024 Sun/Mon 12:39 AM

Birthday - EF - Syed Kabeeruddin Tuesday, 19 March .. all wishes to you on your birthday form all of the Ef ..❤️

🪔 ,

March 18 is Ef Birthday free ..

March 17 .. belated birthday greetings to Ef Suhel Bhayji .. and .. Ef Amna Ahmad from Dubai .. belated but never forgotten .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

Wedding anniversary greetings to Ef Sonia Chopra and her respected husband Girish Kumar .. for March 17 .. 💐🙏🏻🚩❤️

A day filled with the love of family and the greetings and the hilarity of the 'progress reports' ..🤣 ..

Birthdays galore .. Shweta , the first born, and Nikhil her husband .. within a day of each other nd the bringing in of the GOLDEN age -

50 years .. !

At Prateeksha , she was brought to the home , our first home of our own, when she was barely 2, and Abhishek a few months old .. and today to see them celebrate the day in the same home on the same table and surroundings .. LIFE IS A WONDER ..

Children and grandchildren all together ..

Family is the greatest bond .. of love togetherness and the joys of each other .. may it ever be in lasting ..

.. and the family at the GOJ .. ? they are supreme ..

अमिताभ बच्चन

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naturewingsholidaysltd · 1 year

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Bhutan Package Tour from Kolkata with NatureWings

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nadja-antipaxos · 2 years

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chapter two: between my fingers, she leaves, then she lingers

previously - chapter one || masterlist || next - chapter three

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: brief mention of attempted murder, swearing, kissing, talk of masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), protected PIV sex, vaginal fingering, canon typical violence (punching, hitting with a cricket bat, stabbing, fighting an evil jackal, murder), self-loathing, drinking.

Note: Thank you to everyone who has left comments. I love feedback, so if you enjoy this, please let me know. This chapter covers episodes 1 and 2 of the show. All chapter titles are from Halsey's "honey".

Word Count: 6,200

Despite having the location of the scarab, neither Marc nor Ash gets to it before Harrow. Marc has a lead on a small village in the Alps to recover it, but he needs supplies first. He moves through the storage unit double checking the mental list in his head.

“It might be easier if you let her help.” Khonshu echoes in his skull.

“I don’t wanna see her if I don’t have to.” Marc’s eyes flicker over to the flip phone she gave him. He feels so guilty. Three weeks later and he hasn’t stopped thinking about her. He even reached out to an old research contact for more information on her but hasn’t opened the file. Of course, it’s in the bag he needs. His hand ghosts over the file. He sighs, giving in and grabbing it. Maybe he’ll read it on the plane.

“We don’t have time for your romantic squabbles. You sent the divorce papers and it’s over. This is the fate of the world.” Khonshu snaps.

“And I’m gonna handle it. Alone.” Marc rolls his shoulders back.

In the air, he keeps the file in his lap and finally opens it. Aishwarya Rajul is not her given name. It has her listed as Aishwarya Manne. Born to Neel Manne and Disha Rajul on August 3, 1987. Same age as Marc and a year older than Layla. Her father had a long rap sheet filled with domestic violence. He killed her mother, stabbed Ash, and then killed himself. Ash was unconscious when the police found her. She was only ten years old. After that, she bounced from foster home to foster home until she was adopted by a community leader and Evangelical pastor, Henry Preston and his wife. Despite her great grades, she constantly got into fights at school and even ran away when she was fourteen She made it to New York when they brought her back. After that, she filled her rap sheet with minor theft, breaking and entering, and underage drinking. She got to Recruited by the CIA after hacking into one of their databases at age seventeen. Aptitude for languages and multiple fighting styles. There are no details on her missions but she definitely didn’t ride a desk. Spain. Italy. Istanbul. Berlin. Moscow. Mumbai. London. Paris. Morocco. Johannesburg. Consistent missions for seven years. Her final mission was in Egypt. Ten years ago. She never returned and was considered killed in action. But she isn’t dead. She’s very much alive. Marc inhales sharply. He doesn’t know if the new information makes him feel better or worse.

Ash keeps her distance but she watches him run through the Alps and get the scarab. Then poor Steven gets involved. She almost intervenes when Harrow confronts him but he gets away in a cupcake van. She watches from her spot with her sniper rifle. She squints and shoots one of the chains holding back the logs on a truck. It comes crashing down allowing Steven to get out of harm’s way. Marc takes over the body and drives away. She leaves the village with both Marc and Harrow completely unaware of her involvement. Marc makes it back to London and Steven believes it’s all a dream.

“Thank you.” Khonshu looks at Ash as she sits on top of the roof of Steven’s flat with Sekhmet.

“You’re welcome.” She sighs. She wants to go back to her flat and sleep.

Sekhmet is as tall as Khonshu with the head of a lioness with green glowing eyes. They narrow into slits as she takes in the moon god.

“Why must we keep things so hidden? He can shove his dick inside her but he can’t—-”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

Sekhmet growls knowing that’s not entirely true.

“Marc has enough to deal with. No need to complicate things yet. I’ll see you both soon. Harrow won’t take the loss lightly.” Khonshu warns before disappearing into the night.

“I don’t trust him.” Ash sighs.

“I know and you have every right, my kitten.” Sekhmet places her large hand on Ash’s shoulder.

“You know what he told Harrow. That’s the only way he could’ve known.” Ash sighs. “This is basically all his fault. If he could be good to his Avatars, Harrow wouldn’t have found out about Ammit.”

“Khonshu has a complex relationship with his Avatars. Something I am glad to say, we do not understand. But Khonshu was the only one to help me in my time of need so that I could help you. Do you understand, dearest?”

She knows how close they are which is why she can communicate with Khonshu—a rare gift among Avatars. If Sekhmet wants Marc to see her, he could but for now, she follows Khonshu’s wishes. After ten years, Ash trusts her judgment. She owes the feline goddess her life.

“Yes…I understand.” Ash sighs. However, Khonshu and Sekhmet won’t face Marc’s wrath. She will. He already doesn’t trust her. It was so much easier the old way. Before Harrow knew about the scarab, she would simply watch and lend an invisible helping hand. Then Khonshu felt it was necessary for her to make herself known but in his timing. Control freak.

Marc walks out of the museum. His side aches every time he breathes. He just needs to get back to the flat. He sees a white sedan flick its lights on before driving slowly over to him. The window rolls down.

“Really punched your way out, huh?” It’s Ash.

“Are you always following me?” He really doesn’t want to see her right now.

“No, not always.” She stops the car next to him in the middle of the road. “C’mon, tough guy.”

“I’m fine.” He winces and clutches his side.

“It’s no fun walking with a bruised rib. Big Bird’s healing is gonna take a bit. Lemme help you get home.” She frowns.

Marc’s eyes widen. She knows about Khonshu?

“How—how do you know about—-”

“We. Work. For. The same. People.” She claps after every pause. The door to the sedan opens.

Marc bows his head and gets in the car. He sighs.

“Do you know where to go?” He asks, putting on the seat belt.

“I don’t have it like memorized if that’s what you mean.” She snorts.

“Turn left here.” Marc keeps his eyes on his hands.

“You okay?” She asks when they reach a stoplight.

“What?” He looks at her. Her makeup is simple tonight and she has on a brown leather jacket. She looks good, but that’s kind of her thing. She always looks good.

“Are you okay? I know Harrow was in there. I’m sure he didn’t make it easy. Trying to bait you like that. Using Steven.” Her brow pinches. She looks a little upset.

“You know about Steven?” He folds his arms across his chest. Steven would’ve mentioned her on those voicemails he has to delete if she had any real presence in his life.

“He’s very sweet. Don’t worry. He doesn’t know what I do. He thinks I’m an academic.” Her tone is gentle.

“Using those CIA skills?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Always.” She winks.

He wants to laugh. He wants to trust her. But people like her don’t just fall from the sky offering to help. There has to be a catch.

“So, are you okay?” She asks again. No one asks him that anymore. Not since Layla.

Marc’s throat feels tight, so he just nods. He reaches forward and brushes her hair away from her eyes. She inhales a shaky breath looking into those piercing eyes. He leans over but before he can do anything, someone honks. The light is green, so she hits the gas.

He keeps his gaze away from her. He smells her perfume making him think of their night together. Her sounds. Her touch. She repeats her question and he mumbles directions at her.

She helps him from the elevator to the door while he keeps his eyes on his feet. He knows it’s immature. But he’s not too sure of himself when she’s around. To her credit, she doesn’t make things awkward or make him talk. He gets ready for bed while she waits by the aquarium. Ash doesn’t want to press him. She watches the fish. Marc slips the ankle restraint in place and sighs. He hopes this doesn’t come back to bite him.

“I have the scarab.” He admits, not looking her in the eye.

“Wow.” Ash turns around and folds her arms across her chest. “Did you want a gold star?”

“I…” He sighs. She isn’t going to make it easy for him. “I think we should work together.”

Ash holds back her smile and just nods. “Still have the phone?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you.” He clears his throat.

“Cool.” She straightens up, ready to walk out. She reaches the door when she hears him gasp. She doubles back.

“Hey, are you—”

“Where the hell—” His eyes dart around the room and settle on her. “Dr. Devi?”

It’s Steven. Fuck. How is she gonna explain this? She actually freezes.

“Knock him out,” Sekhmet tells her.

The gods didn’t always have the most tactful suggestions. She’s not going to punch Steven. He doesn’t deserve it and she would never be able to bring herself to hurt him. She meant everything she said to him before they kissed. She likes him. It’s mind-boggling to her that he doesn’t have a partner. Donna is wrong. Anyone would be lucky to have him. He’s so sweet.

“Dr. Devi? Why are you in my flat?”

“How do you know this isn’t a dream?”

“Cause when I’m dreamin’ about you—you’re not wearing jeans or American.” He shakes his head.

Ash is flattered. “What am I usually wearing or not wearing?”

“Are you with him?” Steven looks frustrated and a little scared, so her smile fades.

“Who?” She lifts her brows.

“The man from the—the scales man.” Steven straightens up.

“Harrow. No.” Ash moves over slowly and undoes the ankle restraint gently so that they’re on somewhat of an even playing field.

“Why do you sound different?” He watches her with narrowed eyes.

“This is my real voice, Steven.” Ash puts her hands up and sits on the edge of the bed giving them distance.

“Mirror Man send you?”

“No.”

“But you know him.”

“Yes.”

Steven inhales sharply. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You were lyin’ the whole time. No PhD. No glasses. Fake name.”

“Real first name.”

Yeah, sure. Why fake the accent?”

“Habit from my old job.”

“What job?”

“CIA.”

Steven lets out a hysterical laugh.

“Now you’re really puttin’ me on. You want me to believe the CIA hired a gorgeous woman like you as a spy? They just thought people would forget the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen?”

“It didn’t come up as an occupational hazard.” Ash shrugs. No one remembered her long enough to make it an issue. She could make herself practically invisible if she wanted.

Steven huffs trying to hide the sting in his chest. He thought she really liked him. Donna was right. That should’ve been the first clue something was up. He shakes his head.

“Why should I believe a word you say? This whole time you—was I just a joke to you? You having a laugh? Acting like you liked me.”

Ash sees how hurt he is and she hates that he thinks that. “You’re not a joke to me, Steven. You’re sweet and handsome. Really smart.”

Steven shakes his head. “You’ve been caught. You can give it up.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Sure you are.”

“Remember in the Alps when those logs came crashing down killing those two guys?”

Steven furrows his brow. How does she know about that? He tilts his head. She raises her hand.

“That was—was you?”

“I’m here tonight because after that jackal attacked you I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” She stands up. “And you did, so I’m gonna go.”

She crosses over to the door. She grabs the knob when Steven touches the door.

“How did snogging in front of Donna help me?”

A flush grows across her cheekbones and she giggles. It’s a wonderful sound.

“I kissed you because I wanted to.” She smiles. “And because Donna’s a cunt.”

Steven shrugs. She’s not wrong. It’s a lot to process and his head hurts from it all. For six months, he thought she was one thing and that was all a lie, but she did save his life. She’s waiting and he knows he needs to say something. He just blurts out the first thing in his head.

“You really think I’m handsome?”

“Gorgeous.” She scans him up and down as she says it making his stomach twist.

“What do I call you?” Steven straightens up.

“Ash.”

“Short for Aishwarya?”

“My mom used to call me that. She was English.”

“Oh. Was?”

“She died when I was ten.”

The pain on her face tells him that’s not a story or she’s the world’s greatest living actress. He doesn’t think it’s the latter. He frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Steven.”

Steven swallows hard. He didn’t realize it but he’s kind of pinned her to the door. He removes his hand and steps back. He doesn’t really know what to do here. He just knows he doesn’t want her to go. She slides out the first lock before moving to the others.

“Jesus. Have you been robbed before or something?”

“I-I thought I had a sleeping disorder. Not so sure now.”

Her hand reaches the doorknob.

“You don’t—er—have to run off if you don’t want to.” He manages to get out.

She looks back at him and arches an eyebrow. “Yeah? You wanna keep talking?”

“Uhh…” Steven lets out a high-pitched noise. “We can?”

Ash arches an eyebrow higher.

“Or…” Steven leans in and ghosts his lips over hers. The angle is awkward. “Sorry. Don’t do this much.”

He looks up at her and sees her smiling.

“God, you’re the sweetest thing.”

“I am?”

She just nods and steps forward away from the door.

“Ash, I would very much like to kiss you again.”

She nods. Steven’s hands tremble slightly as they rest on her waist. He kisses her softly like he’s afraid she’s going to break. Her tongue sweeps over his lower lip and he moans. She grips the back of his head deepening the kiss. She leads him forward until he stumbles back on the bed. She kneels on the edge and looks down at her hands.

“This has been a crazy day for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it, love.”

“Maybe we should stop.”

“You jokin’? For six months, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Now, you think I wanna stop?”

“Just checking.” Ash beams at him. “This only goes as far as you want it to, okay?”

“You’re lovely.” Steven smiles at her. He hadn’t expected her to be so kind.

Ash stands up to unzip her boots and shimmy out of her jeans. She shrugs off her brown leather jacket revealing a Rolling Stones t-shirt underneath. Steven licks his lips. She smiles realizing he’s watching her. She tugs the ends of the shirt over her head leaving her in a black bra. His eyes grow wide. It’s not polite to stare, but goddamn.

“What?” She tilts her head to the side.

“I just—look at you.” He grins.

“I think you need to catch up.” She smirks.

He pulls his shirt over his head hastily and kicks off his sweatpants. She gets back on the bed and stalks towards him. He’s caught in her sights but is the most willing prey. She settles on her side resting her head on one of his pillows.

“Hi.”

Steven smiles. He likes this closeness. He reaches over and strokes her arm. Her skin is like velvet. She’s so smooth. He leans in and kisses her letting his fingers trail along her jaw. She sighs, pressing her mouth back against his. He should feel exhausted but he’s wide awake. Even in his wildest dreams, she didn’t look or taste this good. He pulls back looking at her in awe.

“So.” Her hand runs down his neck. “You said you thought about me.”

“Y-Yeah. All the time.” He sighs feeling her hand move across his collarbones.

“Did you ever touch yourself when you were thinking about me?” That hand moves to his stomach while she buries her face in his neck.

Steven feels his face burning and is glad she’s not looking at him. “Guilty. All those pencil skirts.”

“Mmm. I did too.” She chuckles, her breath leaving goosebumps on his skin.

“Care to share with the class, darling?” Steven closes his eyes when he feels her mouth on his neck.

“You wanna know?” Her lips move to the underside of his jaw.

“P-Please.” He moans when she kisses the hollow of his throat.

“How gorgeous you’ll look when I suck your dick.” She puts her mouth to his ear and nibbles on the earlobe.

Steven’s eyes snap open darting from the smirk on her lips to the now throbbing tent in his boxer briefs.

“How I’ll—when you—“ He gapes at her.

She pouts looking down. “That looks uncomfortable.”

Steven lets out a delirious laugh. How is this his life?

“C’mon, Steven. You’re so pretty. I bet so many people have wanted to suck you off before.”

“Dove, I dunno if you noticed, but I’m not exactly a man about town.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Haven’t done this a lot…or ever.”

“Ohh, Steven.” She leans forward and kisses him. He’s so cute.

“What?” He feels a little embarrassed. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her.

“You’re so amazing. I’m trying really hard to hold back here.” She smiles. She doesn’t want to scare him off. He’s already had a rough day.

“What…what if I don’t want you to hold back?” Steven meets her eyes. He really hadn’t gotten around to sex. He wasn’t religious or saving himself. He just had never been in this position. The fact it was with someone who he really fancied and was absolutely gorgeous was like a sign from the universe. Yeah, she wasn’t an academic. She was a former spy who took out a bunch of assassins and saved his life. If anything, that only made him want her more.

“Yeah?” Her grin is wicked.

“Yeah.” Steven grins back. “I want you, Ash.”

“Me, too.” She kisses him again and it’s filthy. Her hands are everywhere while her tongue explores his mouth. He might pass out from how dizzy it makes him. She deserves an award she’s so good. “Lemme show you how much.”

“Can I take this off?” Her hands hover over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Absolutely.” Steven nods. “Have at it.”

She pulls his underwear down and over his legs. A slap echoes in the quiet apartment as his length rests against his stomach. He’s completely exposed now. He must look nervous because she strips.

“See? Same page.” She pops her fingers into her mouth and licks her palm before grabbing hold of him. He gasps. She starts off slow barely kissing his tip. Then a little kitten lick here or there before taking him in her mouth. Steven groans loudly and nearly sinks into the mattress.

“Oh, fuck, that feels good.” He closes his eyes.

Her head bobs up and down and his hand finds its way into her dark hair. He struggles to open his eyes to see her peering up at him gauging his reaction. She moans around his length and he sputters. Her hand pumps what she can’t fit and it’s way too soon when he feels that pull. He wishes he could last longer because it’s fantastic but he can’t.

“A-Ash, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—stop, love. Stop.” He tugs her hair and she lets go with a lewd pop. He swallows hard and tries his best to calm down. He doesn’t even look at her beautiful body or it’ll be a lost cause.

“I’d rather the first time be with you if that’s all right.” He runs a hand through his sweaty curls.

“Yeah. That’s all right.” She beams at him again.

“I have condoms in the desk.” Steven tells her. “Just for—if this ever happened.”

Ash gets to her feet and Steven groans. She snaps her head to him. In the lamp light of his desk, he can see her hourglass body properly. Large breasts. Perfect arse.

“That’s just bloody unfair.”

“What?”

“Love, we need to get you a better mirror or something because have you seen you?”

Ash laughs and bows her head. He treats her with such sweetness. She doesn’t know what to do with it. She finds the box of condoms in the drawer and walks back over.

“Lay down, Steven. Get comfortable.” Ash tells him.

Steven rests his head against the pillows. She has much more confidence and experience in this area, so he continues to let her lead. She tears open the packet and rolls the condom down his length.

“Er, Ash?” He looks concerned.

“Yeah?” She lets go of him.

“You didn’t get off though. Isn’t it better if you get off first?” His brow furrows.

“Steven Grant, you’re perfect.” She smiles. “I’ll be okay.”

Ash straddles him. She moans at the slight ache as her body pulls him inside. She looks over at Steven who can’t catch his breath. Steven has never felt anything like this before. No wonder everyone is obsessed with sex. It’s fucking fantastic. She’s tight and warm.

“Oh my days, you feel perfect.” He pants. “I don’t ever wanna leave.”

Ash giggles and begins to sway her hips. Steven groans. It surprises her how vocal he is.

“Ohh, uh—ohh, that’s—amazing.”

She leans back resting her hands on the bed for support taking him in deeper until he hits that spot that makes her tremble. She rocks herself back and forth giving Steven the most amazing view of her gorgeous body.

“Ash. How are you real, angel?” He whispers.

She grabs his hand and places it on one of her breasts. “Does this feel real?”

Steven squeezes her breast and she moans. His free hand cups the other one running his thumbs over the tender flesh. He touches her like she’s something delicate. That’s never happened before. He looks down a little mesmerized by how well her body takes him and how she knows exactly how to get off with barely any effort from him. But he doesn’t want to be a lazy lover. Not with someone like her.

“Oh, angel, you’re so beautiful. I wanna make you feel good. I just don’t…”

“Steven?”

“Show me how to make you feel good, love.”

Ash smiles at him. She takes one of his hands and places his thumb on her bundle of nerves.

“Alternate between circles like this and strokes like this. And when I come, don’t stop, okay?” She pants.

“Got it.” He smiles. His fingers move down. “Love, you’re absolutely dripping.”

“Sucking you off got me all hot.” She whines feeling him drag over that spot again.

“Ohh.” He bite his lip.

Steven follows her instructions and she gasps. He makes little patterns that are so delicious it sends sparks up her spine. What a smart, smart man.

“Uhh, Steven, that’s really good. That’s…” She gasps. “Oh.”

A grin spreads across his face. She lifts her hips only an inch before popping back down and he grunts her name. His heart gallops so fast he thinks it’s going to burst through his chest. She squeezes him and he whines an undignified noise.

“Uhhhnghh.”

“Are you close, Steven?”

“Al—Almost.”

Steven watches the sweat roll down from her hairline to her breasts. She’s perfect. He moans at how tight she’s gripping him. He remembers something in a novel he read and pinches that little nub. It sets her off like a rocket.

“Steven!” She flutters all around him and moans. He doesn’t even care if he gets complaints from the neighbors because she looks gorgeous. If they saw her, he doubts they’d complain. He keeps touching her like she asked and god, the noises she makes. It’s the last straw before he’s thrown completely off the edge. His head hits the pillows as he sees stars behind his eyelids. Everything goes white. He gulps down air feeling absolutely wrecked. She bends forward and kisses his sweaty neck.

“You okay, Steven?”

“Me? I’m aces. Brilliant.”

He hears her giggle again and opens his eyes. He cups her cheek with his hand.

“And you are so lovely.”

“You’re so sweet, Steven. Never change.”

Sleep takes hold of him before he can even think of something to say.

The hard smack on the floor wakes Steven up. He gets up and realizes he’s alone. Yesterday was the wildest day of his life. Cults. Scary men. Giant jackals. Whatever Marc is. Ash. God. Ash. She’s a dream. An absolute vision. It strikes him that she may not even realize that. He might not be a Casanova but he knew not to pass up a chance with her. The feeling of her mouth on his skin replays in his mind. How soft she was. He sighs. Is everyone’s life this complicated? Or just his?

Ash wakes up in the flat she’s renting. She can pay cash and no one asks questions. It’s in a seedy part of London, but she can handle herself.

“Sore?” Sekhmet purrs looking down at her from the edge of the bed.

“No comment.” Ash sighs. She can still feel Steven’s hands on her. It was different than Marc. Marc’s sole purpose was to make her come and his dedicated touch showed that. It was really hot. But Steven. He was delicate even precious at times. He treated her like…she was something special. She didn’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t think he would’ve kicked you out, kitten.” Sekhmet touches her hair.

“I-I’m not that person. Not with them. I fight. I fuck. I don’t stay around.” Ash sits up and tucks her hair behind her ears. “It’s how it is.”

Sekhmet hums in reply. Ash knows she wants to say something but she rushes off to the bathroom before she has the chance. She has more important things to worry about.

Layla tries to steady her breath as she moves up the roof. She barely got away. She has no idea what Marc is doing or what or who Steven is. But she has the scarab. She has what they’ve been fighting for. Now, she just has to get down.

“Layla…”

Layla snaps her head towards the voice. She nearly loses her footing because it’s…

“Ash?”

“Hi.” Ash gives her a tiny smile. “Need some help?”

“Uh, sure.” Layla laughs in disbelief.

Ash pulls her against her. Layla grabs her waist and they jump. The suit forms as they land. Layla stares. It’s been five years since they’ve seen each other. In the suit, Ash looks powerful and strong.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Layla whispers.

“Well, when some idiot wants to release an evil alligator goddess who doesn’t believe in free will, I kinda got to get involved,” Ash smirks.

Twin brown eyes lock as they look each other over. Layla is as beautiful as ever. Cute freckles and curls. Ash places her hands over Layla’s as they still rest on her waist.

“You okay?”

Layla’s brow furrows.

“Can I get a different question?”

“Are you happy to see me?”

Layla looks down and finally removes her hands. She feels the heat rise up her neck. “I’m not…unhappy to see you.”

Ash shrugs. She’ll take what she can get. She had several missions in Cairo where she needed Layla’s help. No reason to stop now. One in particular sticks out.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on? Does Sekhmet know anything?”

“Sekhmet wants to stop Ammit. Just like Khonshu. We can’t let Harrow get the scarab.”

“You know about Khonshu. So you know about Marc.” Layla stiffens.

“Yeah. Kinda been looking out for him.” Ash really doesn’t wanna get into an awkward conversation right now.

“So, you’re going to help him in there?” Layla gestures back to the flat building.

“No, I don’t fuck with Harrow’s people.” Ash folds her arms across her chest.

“Oh. So, they’re not cops.” Layla furrows her brow.

“Definitely not. Don’t really fuck with cops either.” Ash shrugs.

“So you’re gonna let them take him?” Layla raises her voice slightly.

“Yes and then we’ll rescue him once he’s with Harrow,” Ash explains.

“Why not now?” Layla huffs.

“Because I don’t want Harrow’s people to know about me. Harrow can’t know I’m here.” Ash puts her hands up.

“Why?” Layla’s hands are on her hips.

“Cause last time we saw each other he tried to kill me.” Ash sighs. “He wants me dead and I can’t give him another chance.”

Layla frowns then nods.

“That’s a pretty good reason.”

Everyone is inside when Layla and Ash make it to the little cult neighborhood on her moped. The whole ride over Layla tried to focus on anything but Ash’s hands on her hips. Ash inhales her perfume and reminds herself to stay on task. It was five years ago.

“Do you have a gun?” Layla asks as they approach.

“No. Guns are loud.” Ash picks up a discarded cricket bat. “And we need the element of surprise.”

Layla nods in agreement and watches as her suit forms over her body. Her face is hidden by her mask. There are guards outside the door. Four of them. Layla sprints and kicks one in the solar plexus and then delivers an uppercut to knock him out. Ash takes the bat and cracks the other across the jaw. Two down. Layla swallows hard ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. Ash points the bat at the man in front of her. He backs up and she runs after him. She grabs the back of his head and slams it into the wall. Three. She turns her head and sees Layla fighting with the last guard. A silver gleam catches in the moonlight. Ash shoves Layla out of the way. A knife pierces through her armor. She growls and rips it out, slashing the guy’s throat. Four.

“You okay?” Ash puts her hands on her knees.

“Are you?” Layla touches the wound. Ash hisses.

“Mhmm. It’ll go away.” She nods and straightens up.

Layla frowns and grabs the door. “Thanks for having my back.”

Ash winks and they slip inside. She jerks her head at the upper level. It’s less occupied. Layla nods. She has to hide. She can’t blend in like her.

They both watch as Steven eats soup with Harrow in the weirdest cult cafeteria. Harrow’s delivering the honey before the sting. Ash can hear Khonshu and rolls her eyes. She doesn’t even know why he’s talking. He’s just lurking on the upper level like she is but unlike her, he can’t actually do anything. She tenses as the goons surround Steven. She counts six and misses her sniper rifle.

As they keep talking, she watches more of his cult members activate ready to pounce. Harrow lifts his cane and Ash makes a fist. Her heart beats faster. She can’t jump down. Not with Harrow right there. He can’t know she’s there. But she can’t leave Steven.

Layla makes herself known and takes care of Steven. Ash takes her cue and begins taking out Ammit followers as quietly as she can. She watches as the floor sinks down into a glowing, purple hole. Two jackals claw their way out. They skitter up the stairs and bang on the door Layla and Steven must be behind. Ash leaps on them as they come crashing into the room. One goes for Steven and the other for Layla.

Ash growls and grabs the leg swinging it across the room. She moves in front of Layla and hears Steven screaming about a jackal. She knows Layla can’t see it and she’s in more danger. It lunges at Ash with gnashing teeth. She groans as she takes its nose and jaw in her hands. The wound in her side is seeping with blood now but she can’t think about that. She screams through the pain. She plants her feet and rips them in half. She watches its body disintegrate into sand. Panting, she looks at Layla. Before she can say a word, Steven falls out the window and the other jackal goes after him.

“Shit.” Her hand goes to her side. She needs a minute.

Layla tries her best to help Steven (in a completely different suit) fight something she can’t see. Marc takes over and gives chase to the jackal. Ash jumps down from the window and approaches Layla.

“Marc’s got the scarab and the jackal’s attention.” Layla tells her.

“Sounds like he’s handling it.” She takes a deep breath.

“How’s the wound?” Layla eyes the hand clutching Ash’s side.

“I’ll live.” Ash nods.

They walk back over to her moped in time to see Harrow kill a homeless man for the scarab. Fuck. She looks at Layla.

“Get somewhere safe.”

“Where are you going?”

“Cairo.”

Layla nods and drives off to get ready for a trip of her own.

Ash follows the sounds of Khonshu’s booming voice and sees Marc kicking a mirror. She’s no longer wearing her suit. Just jeans and a leather jacket.

“Yeesh. 7 years of bad luck, handsome.” She winces.

“You my travel buddy?” Marc doesn’t look at her.

“Don’t get all excited.” Ash rolls her eyes.

They board the flight as a couple which means Marc acknowledges her when they have eyes on them. When the flight attendant asks for their drink orders, Marc holds her hand while she talks about their extensive honeymoon trip. It gets them free champagne. Ash forces a smile and he brings her knuckles to his mouth. She turns her head and he looks past her. Otherwise, he focuses on everything but her. It stings a little since she thought they made progress last night before Steven woke up. Does he know about Steven? Would he care?

“You might wanna get some rest. Long flight.” She closes her eyes and rests her head against the window.

“Mmm.” Marc grunts and lets go of her hand.

The exhaustion from the fight and her healing stab wound causes her to fall asleep immediately. Marc sees his reflection on his watch. Well, not his. Steven’s.

“Be nicer to her.” Steven sighs.

“What’s it to you?” Marc snaps. He runs his hand over his mouth so no one sees him talking.

“She’s trying to help.” Steven frowns.

“Oh, you’re sweet on her, huh?” Marc shakes his head.

“She saved us. In the Alps.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not trouble.”

“I don’t think she is. I think she’s—”

“Oh, my god, Steven.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you fucked her.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Look, she’s beautiful and great in bed—”

“You slept with her too?”

“She had information I needed.”

“But you’re married.”

“Separated. Divorced.”

“Not bloody yet. At least I wasn’t using her.”

“But you let her use you. Got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The flight attendant comes back.

“Can I get you something, sir?”

“Do you have a blanket…for my wife?” He swallows.

“Absolutely.” She disappears and comes back with the blanket.

“Thanks.” He takes it and drapes it over Ash.

They find a small hotel in Cairo. It’s the afternoon. The jet lag is messing with both of them and Marc didn’t sleep on the flight like Ash did.

“Get some sleep. You kinda look like shit.” Ash smiles.

“Thanks.” Marc scoffs.

“I’ll reach out to some people. White man leading a dig is gonna attract attention. See you later.” Ash leaves.

“Khonshu?” Marc knows he’s there.

“Yes?” The moon god appears.

“Pick her. She’s a better choice than Layla for my replacement.” A former CIA agent would know what to do. She would be able to handle it.

“She’s not an option.” Khonshu practically glides away.

Marc hangs his head.

“Marc, let me out,” Steven begs.

Marc ignores him. He can’t deal with Steven right now. He can’t be with Layla. Being near Ash makes him feel guilty as shit. And he lost the fucking scarab. He goes down to the hotel bar and buys three bottles of whiskey. In his room, he drains half the bottle to drown out Steven. Then throws the furniture around and kicks the mirror before covering with a bedsheet. Steven needs to shut the fuck up. He tosses the lamp, the chair, and anything he can get his hands on. He just wants to disappear. Then he rips off his clothes and passes out in the bed.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #layla el faouly #marc spector x oc #steven grant x oc #layla el faouly x oc #the eye of the moon #fan fic #oc: ash rajul #marvel

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