#countries don't mind being invaded by other countries?

[intelligentchristianlady]

So--an excuse to invade a neighboring country. Just the way Putin is doing in Ukraine.

[kyouka-supremacy]

/

[sweetnans]

Chaotic fem. reader/Best friend Bakugo

"I'm ready to be a mother," you stated out of nothing.

Bakugo was obviously taken back by your comment.

"Did you see something on tiktok that made you think that?" he looked at you while you kept scrolling in your phone. "You need a partner to procreate dumbass,"

"I know I need a man to procreate, but I thought that you could help me on that one," you bit your nails, showing less interest than a rock.

He left his phone aside so he could analyze you properly if you were talking seriously or not.

"I'm not going to introduce you to my side kick, He's like twenty," he tested.

"Twenty??? I'm almost twenty eight, that's still a reasonable age gap, " you gasped because his side kick didn't look like he was twenty. You thought that he would at least be twenty-three.

"No it's not"

After almost ten years of being friends, Bakugo was so used to your shit. The time that you wanted to go surfing? He laughed at your face when you didn't make it to the ocean because you were afraid of sharks. What about the time when you wanted a hamster? He said no, but you got it anyway, so when you lost it, obviously, he gave you shit about it, but after that, he was on all four looking for your little pet in the dorms.

"Fine." That wasn't your main goal, so you let it go. "Actually, I was thinking of you doing a quick hand job in my bathroom and giving me your sperm"

The silence between the two of you couldn't be more unbearable. Bakugo's eyes twisted in your direction while his cheeks were slowly growing a clear shade of rose.

"What? No!"

He was absolutely losing it. The impact of your sayings got him standing from his seat, almost panting. You and him? In his best dreams, but you didn't need to know about his secret intentions.

"Think about it. It's a great idea." You stepped out of your couch and went to his side.

"How are you going to explain that your kid has similar features with your best friend?" he flinched when you approached him. You were so close that your scent invaded him whole.

Bakugo was trying with all his heart and mind to think logically, but you, your body next to him, and your puppy eyes were making it so hard, in both ways.

"I don't know, and I don't care, I'll run away from the country, and you'll never see us again"

You were one of the best students from UA, right after him and Yaoyorozu, but right now, he was doubting if it was just an act.

"That's so clever." he rolled his eyes at you and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, hoping that you would drop the subject and hop onto another like getting a bunny or going sky diving.

"I know, right? Now go in there, do the nasty job, and I'll put it inside of me, I'll even turn my body upside down so it sticks, " you jolted in joy, missing his usual sarcasm.

He almost spilled the water from his mouth to your face.

"Who the fuck told you that?" he spated obnoxiously.

"Kaminari," you shrugged.

"Are you even listening to yourself!?"

When he thought that that couldn't get any worse, you named the only person who could make him go crazy just by opening his mouth.

"I'm desperate. It made sense when he told me"

He could believe anything at this point. He was actually thinking that he was dead because what was happening between you two was a complete nonsense.

"So you are telling me this is something you've had in mind for a while?

You simply nodded, and he stayed quiet, considering everything you said. He wasn't looking for anything serious because of you. He passed for all seven stages of grief when he realized that he was in love with you and your silliness, so he decided long ago that he wouldn't date anyone because he wasn't interested in anyone but you.

"I know that look on your face," you smiled and danced around the kitchen.

You weren't looking for anyone either. Having Bakugo as a male figure in your life left the bar very high for others to match. They didn't meet your expectations anymore like Bakugo did, always by your side, laughing at your bad jokes and giving you his hand when you most needed, buying food and cooking for you, he has even bought you flowers for half a decade on valentine's day, a large bouquet of red roses every year since then.

"I'll do it," he told you, and you jumped excited on him. He grabbed you by your thighs, catching you on the fly. "Two conditions"

"Yeah, just name it," you batted your eyes at him.

"I'll take you on a proper date first, and you won't run away with my kid, got it?"

Bakugo thought that he was only doing you a favor, but he never saw coming that it only took one date to make you fall for him in the way he always wanted.

[severinageto]

Eternals (Or one year since the airport)

Can the body feel without the soul?

Suguru trusted that something awaited him beyond. Some days he believed it more than others, but few can boast of having unshakable faith. So, when he felt his left arm, observed his youthful body, and examined the place awaiting him, he knew his belief hadn't been in vain. There he was, in the waiting area. For what? What else could happen when the finality of life had already taken place? A vast ocean on an empty beach would have made more sense. Even the darkness of Hades' hell. But no. Something had brought him to a plane that he sensed would not be just his own.

It didn't take long for him to realize what that ethereal place meant. He would need more than a pair of hands to count the times they'd been there, watching the screens, counting landings, and checking departures. "I hate flying, Suguru." "Why?" "Because it's so common." A playful shove, the luggage on the floor, the Ray-Ban store. Dozens of countries, hundreds of flights, and thousands of caresses. So, there he'd be, just like in his youth, sitting, reading, reflecting, until his eyes deigned to appear. He'd probably arrive late, just like always; late to their first date, late when he needed him, late to snatch away his life.

He wasn't wrong. A year, exactly. However, when he felt his presence, he couldn't help but ask himself: *Why did I keep waiting for him?*

"For the same reason he chose this day," he answered, looking sadly to the north.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he whispered to the soul starting to take form.

Gojo had thought about the possibility of dying before facing the cruel king of curses. He entertained the idea behind all the others but never materialized it into wills or declarations. Arrogant as always, he concluded it was no more than a slight probability, existing only because he had the misfortune of being mortal. "Nah, I'll win," he said, sure that the day would pass like any other.

Those who loved him had the bad luck of believing him.

Satoru, upon falling, felt nothing. There was no requiem, no eulogies. His heart simply stopped beating, and his soul crossed the plane dividing them. As he looked one last time at the vastness of the sky, a cold air, unlike any he had felt before, invaded his body. Yet he welcomed it gladly. He narrowed his eyes and breathed in the scent.

“Finally”, he murmured as the pressure in his veins disappeared.

Neither of them imagined that beyond life, the senses would be as sharp as when their lungs could still draw breath. Yet that first embrace, strong, intimate, almost suffocating, convinced them it was true. It wasn't until they inhaled each other's scent that they internalized the importance of something so basic, so corporeal, so earthly to both of them.

Satoru, in life, had never really thought about what the owner of his soul smelled like; "People don't smell like anything specific," he thought. However, when he rested his nose on that manly chest, the images that flooded his mind took him back to that lush, unique forest, to the clearing where he had often laid on his legs. "Move a little, Satoru." "Which way?" "Toward me." The spring flowers, the summer grass, the damp autumn soil, and the smoke from winter stoves—all had their own essence, one intertwined with that hint of incense that accompanied his caresses. It was the scent of camaraderie, of security, of intimacy.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," he'd say while combing his hair with his delicate fingers.

Over time, that same scent became painful for Satoru. Whenever he caught it, in some place or in something left behind, he felt a knot in his stomach—a mixture of nostalgia, sadness, and perhaps, just perhaps, a twinge of betrayal. His scent was something that lingered with him even after he was gone, something that still made Satoru feel that, in some way, his beloved curse manipulator remained the same person with whom he had shared so many moments. That he was still, after all, his partner, his lover, and his best friend.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," his deep voice from the window, the bare shoulder, the moonlight, and the glow of his cigarette outlining his delicate profile. A pitying look and a slammed door. His last earthly memory.

Suguru, on the other hand, was always sure of the notes generated by the strongest man's hormones. No wonder he watched him intently, as if there were nothing else to do on earth. The countless verses he dedicated to those sharp citruses in the intimacy of his notebooks. Satoru's scent reminded him of the mandarins they shared. Gojo would throw them at him, and he would peel them, while they talked, while they laughed, or while they were silent, always looking at each other as if they could see through each other's pupils. After all, it was a scent very fitting for the bearer of the Six Eyes. It evoked his electrifying personality, always standing out, for better or worse, from the rest of mere mortals.

From time to time, especially in the heat of summer, the albino's movements brought with them the freshness of his wild ocean. Free, expansive, as if he were one with the sky. For Suguru, that scent was the ultimate manifestation of his limitless technique; the ability to encompass everything belonged only to him and the untamable ocean.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" he would ask between sighs when the first rays of sunlight illuminated his pale complexion. His fingers searching for his, an alarm clock against the wall, a warm embrace.

Once time did its work, Satoru's fragrance began to confuse him. The love he felt for those long hands, for the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his hair mingled with the painful reminder of what he left behind, with the resentment for what was broken, and the deep sadness for all that could have been but never was. The possibility of waking up to his snores, of caring for him during his colds, of scolding him for his careless attitude. Ultimately, the possibility of navigating youth while holding those long hands.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" closed eyes, a raspy voice, bandages on the nightstand. The feeling that everything that had happened between them was the embodiment of the worst sin. A blink, a grunt, covering up again.

They would start again.

By the time death came for him, the scent of his beloved Six Eyes was a chemical manifestation of everything he had chosen to reject: the system, the structure he couldn't change, and, ultimately, him; with his magnificent strength, his figure, and the central axis of the world that, when he needed him most, gave him so much indifference. His scent, the embodiment of his greatest weakness. The slightest hint of his scent, of his purple scent, was a door to the past, to the memories he preferred to forget. To the moments when the love for his manic laughter, his strange occurrences, and his incredible intelligence knew no bounds. That fragrance was the last thing his body processed.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" a flash of purple light, his world fading to black. The question that no longer had an answer.

If the soul is incapable of feeling without the body, then why, when they crossed paths again, did the power of chemistry act as if they had never separated? Why did hunger, burning passion, and desperate longing for the other's body take over them as if it were the first day? Why was something as simple and earthly as a scent able to anchor one person to another?

Because perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps the presence of a curse manipulator was bound to the birth of the Six Eyes heir. Perhaps where the existence of one began, the other's ended. Perhaps something as profane as this world would never be enough to contain a love as eternally sacred as the one they intoxicated themselves with.

Or maybe they were always two bodies and one soul.

Their soul.

Gojo's nose sank into Suguru's neck. The curse manipulator's left hand slid over the albino's waist. Satoru's right knee touched Suguru's left. Their fingers intertwined, their lips met, their scents mixed, and they became one entity again.

Perhaps the earth stopped for a moment, surprised; the love that moved it had finally resumed.

“Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?”, he asked, resting on his legs, smiling flirtatiously.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he replied, as his delicate and soft hands welcomed him, eyes brimming with emotion.

Who would have thought an airport could feel like home?

The eternal home.

———————————✈️

©️ by https://x.com/yu7272s

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Nikolai Lantsov x gn! Reader - Kings and fools

A/n: whoops, cannon? she died yesterday. also translations at the end

Summary: Being trapped in a Fjerdan lab isn't much fun, but things do start to get interesting when someone you recognize shows up.

Warnings: Swearing, implied death, implied torture, beating people up, prolly ptsd, just all around fun times.

[Pronouns used: You/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) nikolai x reader]

You were going to laugh because of the sheer hilariousness of this situation. Never-mind, you were currently laughing your head off.

One of the guard's turned around to look at you with fierce eyes and smacked your face thrice just for little a giggle slipping past your lips.

"Tig!" He shouts at you in Fjerdan after hitting your face repeatedly. "Tig!"

But you could care less, because they obviously didn't realize who they had just captured, because if they had, they would be carrying a body bag instead. War would start between Ravka and Fjerda, or perhaps they would keep it a secret and invade Ravka knowing they had a dead king.

The King of fucking Ravka was shoved into your cell.

The Fjerdan guard scampered off probably because he had spent too much time on such a lowly prisoner not knowing if he used his fucking eyes he would see that he would be getting a raise within the hour.

Alas, he didn't and now you were stuck with an unwanted roommate.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to you, and your breath stopped.

You had not expected that, you had expected some arrogant fool, as kings usually were. Kings and fools were one in the same after all.

"What?"

"He hit you."

Blinking a couple of times, you just shook your head. "He was being kind."

The King narrowed his eyes. "Unless I'm mistaken, kind people do not hurt someone."

You wanted to say that it didn't hurt, but you were weak. The bruises forming would say otherwise, and lying wouldn't get you anywhere. Even so, the only way to survive this place was to be strong, someone slapping you three times because you laughed wasn't the worst you've experienced or seen. A slap was child's play.

"You'll soon find out kindness comes in more forms then one."

___________

It was Nikolai Lantsov's first true day in this hellish Fjerdan laboratory.

Now he would find out what you were used for.

"Get up." You kick his side as he groans on the dirt floor. "Get up, you babink!"

He throws his head up to look at you with curled lips.

"I certainly won't if you don't ask me nicely."

You have heard of his ability to charm, and you've heard of his large ego, you've found the only thing that's true is the latter. Nikolai has an incredible ego whether it be a facade or not it didn't matter. It was going to cost him his first real beating, and make all the other ones look like mercy.

"Unless you want one of the guards to kick the shit out of you, get up!"

He sighed, but quickly followed your orders and you vaguely wondered if he was used to giving orders rather then receiving them, or if he let all his generals do it for him.

You shouldn't be helping this poor fool, but some part of you still burned with the need to protect your country, and by extension of that the king. It was a part of you that dared to hope, it was weak, and the reason you were in this situation. You thought that hopeful part of you had died the first week you were here, and you knew they weren't coming for you. Despite being their best.

You should have known better then, just like you should know better know.

But you're a fool.

Somehow, for the next five months you manage to shield Nikolai away from the brunt of the nasty atrocities in this lab-rat prison. Both of you do your labor with no foul-language, or whimpers escaping. You manage to stay quiet and to get the guards off his, and your backs. It's a miracle considering he talks so much.

You just hope you can keep him out of the lab.

"So, you know how to speak Ravkan?"

Your back stiffens, and the cuts there sting a little as you do but you manage to ignore it in favor of glaring at the man who's sitting in your cell beside you. How he managed to remember you cursing at him in Ravkan that first morning is beyond you. Usually time will seep deep into bones until there's nothing but the memory of pain, and the moments of suffering. Having someone else there is dangerous, because it lessens the load and makes you a fool, for it gives you hope.

"You should stop asking questions you know the answer to." You muttered while rolling your eyes at him.

"That wasn't my question." He shoved your shoulder, if you weren't here he would have had more strength to not shove it so weakly. If you weren't here, you wouldn't wince slightly anyways, if he hadn't shown up this would have never happened.

His bright piercing gaze meet yours and you wanted to curse for your heart stuttering in your chest. At least you knew there weren't any grisha around to hear it.

Now, that very thought made you sick.

"What do you want to ask me then?" You ask him, as his eyes glint dangerously and you wonder whether kings are the fools, or if it's just the people who get caught in their snare that are.

"Three questions," He bargains. "Then I'll let you sleep."

Pursing your lips, you think about what could go wrong, but you find you don't care. You've been fearing for your life, and pain for over three years, if your name was still uttered around Ravka then Alina Starkov was going to come running for your rescue. It didn't matter if he found out who you were through some silly questions, it was just leveling the playing field. It wasn't fair, you mused, that you knew his identity, but he didn't know yours.

"Fine." You snap.

Plus, you were feeling slightly more sappy tonight, if he wanted to hear your sob story that he's already been told but has forgotten then he could be your guest.

"Where did you live?"

"Fjerda, then Ravka."

"What did you used to, do before all of this." He gestured towards the cell.

"I hunted down the people I used to work for." You speak rather curtly before facing away from him, unwanted memories flickering behind your irises. "I think that's enough questions for tonight."

But he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him as he shifts his body closer to yours so you were only a breath apart.

"I have one more question left."

"I hate you."

He smiled, "No you don't, drüskelle maleni."

You slapped his hand away from your face, and moved away from him with a furious expression written with the frown on your lips.

You thought if anything, he would know you as the spy, not as the drüskelle maleni - the drüskelle ghost.

That's what you were before, someone who had been raised to kill without thought, to someone who found humanity again. Then lost it as they had to repent for their sins.

"I'm sorry lapushka, I shouldn't have-" Nikolai tries to reach out for you, but even in your tiny cell do you manage to move away from him.

"Don't Moi Tsar." You hissed, quickly silencing the King. You didn't hear from him again that night

_____________

Of course the next day was shit.

Nikolai refused to follow any orders and you knew the guards were getting fed up with his behavior. Currently, so were you, did he just forget every lesson you taught him to stay quiet? Was he such a fool as to not realize that if he didn't stay hidden enough they would figure out who he was and he would be dead by morning?

Yet it was not in Nikolai Lantsov's nature to stay quiet, saints, you doubted he even knew the word.

If he was going to be this reckless than you couldn't help him, you wouldn't help him. What's the point if he was bargaining with his own life?

That's what you repeated to yourself anyways, as he was slowly getting dragged off.

"We're taking this demjin to the lab." One grumbled as they pulled Nikolai with a group of soldiers.

Your blood went cold, and your eyes started to fill with dread.

You had been in the lab, once, but they decided they didn't actually need you. Still, you got to see the people being put under terrible things, testing them to see how much the body could handle. There were crimes not even imaginable, so bad that when someone opened their mouth to speak about them, a scream got let out instead.

The unlucky ones would disappear once they crossed the border into the lab. The lucky ones would come back alive, maybe even a little maimed, but alive.

Maybe they weren't so lucky than, maybe the real curse is going through it than surviving it.

Djel, You prayed. Please let this work, for once let me save something instead of kill. Don't use me as your blade but as your shield. Just this once.

You ran up to the guards and tore them off of Nikolai, breaking their grip on him.

"Me jer jonink." You whispered to the King in your mother tongue, not quite knowing what you were asking forgiveness for. Perhaps it was for the way you snapped, or for the lives you've stolen, you don't quite know. Maybe it was for the way he laid his eyes on you, and you on him. The way you've protected him, and the way he's given you hope.

Kings and fools are one in the same.

"What do you think you're doing!" One growled, while the other two held down your arms against your thrashing.

Saving him. "Helping my country, Fjerda." You lifted your chin staring defiantly into their faces. Knowing that you were like them once, killing grisha, only to be shown mercy, and turned into a weapon against the Drüskelle. You could be that one last time, you could serve Ravka, even if it meant death.

You could serve your love.

"You should know that grisha anything but vile, they are good, they are-"

The guard not holding you down, knees you in the gut, causing your knees to tremble and your strength to waiver. Yet the men gripping your arms forced your legs to work, lest you break them.

"Grisha will run this country to the ground!" He yells at you, spit hitting your face.

You knew you had to go further if you wanted them to forget about Nikolai and his stunt of, existing.

Taking a breath you opened your eyes and hoped.

"Fel holm ve koop djet."

Immediately they start to drag you away from Nikolai who tries to shout, to get them to stop, but they ignore the King. Instead they seem to find enjoyment with bruising you up on your way to the lab.

Now you truly understood why you asked for forgiveness, because the look in his eyes as they pulled you away could only scream love.

Words 1843

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Translations:

Fjerdan:

Tig - Shut up

Drüskelle - Witchhunter

Demjin - Demon

Me jer jonink. - Forgive me

Fel holm ve koop djet. - Our home is better for it

Ravkan:

Babink - Barbarian

Maleni - ghost

Lapushka - Darling

Moi Tsar - My King

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

The 'not so innocent' Grisha Soldiers

I'm still not over the fact the LB called the Grisha priviledged, not so innocent, soldiers. That 1:46 minute interview snippet has been running inside my mind all weekend. I had already made a rant about this here. but I still have some more stuff to get off of my chest and here is my follow-up rant.

In the Demon in the woods, by the author's own words, we can clearly see the difference between Grisha upbringing and Fjerdan indoctrination.

The book opens with a Fjerdan father telling stories to his kids. He talks about the Grisha like they are boogeymen and instills fear in his children from a young age. He also tells his kids about their saviours aka the good guys- the druskelle. And by the end of the storytime the boy dreamily states that he wants become a druskelle. Because in his eyes the druskelle are heros, holy warriors who fight to keep the cursed witches out of their lands. Druskelle are clearly glorified in Fjerda.

Now just look at the lessons being taught to Aleksander. He observes the otkasatzya village close by and is worried about their safety. Because the first lesson of being a Grisha is to hide from the normal folks. That does not sound very a soldier like, does it?

While the druskelle train to hunt Grisha, the Grisha are looking for ways to avoid a fight and move without detection. Another thing to note is that the druskelle are funded by their government while the Grisha are basically squatting in caves and forests. How can they both be called soldiers?

Even the peace loving Grisha are also forced to fight because if they don't they get killed.

Tell me again how are they the same?

All Aleksander did was level the playing field. Or atleast he attempted to. He unified the Grisha, gave them a place to stay, trained them and taught them how to be soldiers. Unlike the druskelle, he didn't create them to invade Fjerda or take over other countries. He was merely giving them a fighting chance. And even then, we have canonically seen, the druskelle overpower the Grisha with latest guns and weaponry.

Being forced to fight and choosing to fight are two different things. The Fjerdans have options; they could let go of their bigotry and stop enlisting in the druskelle program. What options do the Grisha have? The Fjerdans are free citizens while Grisha are basically indentured labourers. So who are in the more advantageous or should I say priviledged position?

So, how can even LB suggest that the jews's crimes were merely existing while the Grisha are soldiers and are game? How can she callously say that the Grisha are not innocent and are priviledged people? Did she even write the books? She basically erased the foundation of her own universe.

That interview was an absolute disgrace. Shame on LB.

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

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India Helpline Services.

[bloodyshadow1]

My biggest problem with the hell's being so antigods (which is weird to type out), is that they're completely missing some facts. Don't get me wrong, it's fully in character but I don't think they've had a pleasant conversation with someone who is pro or even neutral the gods.

The closest thing if I remember is either Deanna who while still a cleric, doesn't seem to like the dawnfather, and the church in the remote town in vasselheim who invaded. Neither are unbiased opinions.

There is no throne, the gods aren't monarchs or cops or other authority figures in the mortal sense that misfits Luke the bells hells would normally rebel against. They are not secret puppet masters pulling on mortal strings and controlling them, at least the primes aren't. I'm not saying it might not feel that way to mortals living on exandria, but the gods can only bless and give limited guidance.

I'm not pro the gods, but the prime deities regretted what they did to aeor, after they won the war they trapped the betrayer gods and themselves behind the divine gate so they can't hurt the mortaldom anymore. Yeah, the cynical can say to protect themselves from mortals, but they showed that once they put their minds to it, it wouldn't be hard for the gods to wipe out humanoids on exandria

Instead they chose to take responsibility for their actions, and while they might not have left exandria as a whole, they made sure that none of them, prime or betrayer can physically walk the surface anymore. For all ludinus' claims of the gods being the source of all the world's problems, they've been gone for 900 or so years.

They might be able to bless and guide certain people and im not gonna pretend that power doesn't lead to status, but a cleric and paladin are just classes at the end of the day. You can also take levels in wizard to gain power or be a fighter like orym who was a guard a few years ago and is now the top 10% of exandria because he's a pc with 14 class levels.

People can, will, and have gotten powerful with or without the gods. Every war that was started was helmed by a mortal, including ludinus himself. He was one of the most powerful figures in the dwendalian empire for almost 300 years, one of the most powerful countries on exandria yet claims the gods are the puppet masters.

Again, the gods are not perfect, but the idea that they deserved to be killed when they've already sealed themselves behind the divine gate makes no sense to me. They're flawed sure, but despite what people like ashton thinks, mortal problems are because of mortals, others and themselves.

[supercap2319]

Y/N grinded his teeth together as he watched his Pokémon, Chikorita being pushed back by the powerful attacks of Henry's Empoleon. This battle wasn't going the way Y/N expected it to go.

He was on a journey with his two boyfriends: Alex Claremont Diaz. And Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor. The First Son and Prince of Wales had responsibilities to their respective countries, but also to themselves as well. They headed out with no particular destination in mind, braving the wonderful world of Pokémon.

The three of them would have battles almost every single day to keep their skills sharp. And today was Henry's turn with Y/N while Alex made dinner. They both chose their ace Pokémon partners and even though Y/N had the advantage, there was no denying that Henry had the high ground of a fully evolved Pokémon.

Chikorita was panting as it stared at the towering Emperor Pokémon. It barely survived a combination attack of Drill Peck and Flash Cannon. They got some good hits in with Leaf Storm and Vine Whip, but Empoleon was still standing. Its defense was unbelievable. Henry raised it well. Speaking of which;he was smiling at Y/N. “If this is all you have to offer, then it's not going to be much of a match. You should call it quits now, Luv.”

“This match is far from over, your Majesty. Never underestimate the power of my Chikorita.” Y/N said. Alex chuckled by the lunch table.

“It's your Royal Highness! And fine. Have it your way. Use Hydro Cannon!” Empoleon opened its beak and formed a ball of concentrated water before launching it at the grass starter.

“Go, Chikorita! Use Vine Whip!” the quadrupedal ran towards the incoming attack as the dark-green buds around its neck extended out in two, using the whips to jump up and sail into the air. Henry counted on Y/N doing that. “Use Drill Peck!” The Penguin-looking Pokémon started to spin like a top, beak glowing white, until it spun towards Chikorita.

Y/N anticipated that Henry would anticipate his attack. Without a verbal command and just their eyes, Chikorita dodged by twisting its small body against the invading attack until it was safety away from the bigger Pokémon. It shot its vines at Empoleon’s feet and wrapped them tight. Henry was shocked.

“Now, slam it!” Even though Chikorita was small, it was surprisingly strong for its size. It threw Empoleon onto its back hard on the ground. Empoleon let out a groan of pain. “Empoleon, no!” Henry cried.

“Let's win this. Use Leaf Storm!” Chikorita’s leaf on its head glowed a bright green before it sent a tornado of leaves at the water type.

“Get up and use Flash Cannon!” Henry said.

Empoleon rose to its feet at the last second, shot a beam of silver energy in contrast to the green leaves. Both attacks slammed into each other with no clear sign of a winner. They pushed and pulled until finally both attacks exploded into a powerful smoke. When it cleared, both Chikorita and Empoleon were both still standing and before they could attack again, Alex held up his hand.

“That's good for today. Lunch is ready.” He walked towards them, carrying Y/N's Fuecoco in his arms. “And I don't want you guys to miss out on my homemade Tamales.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 11 “Apprentices” is available now!

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

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A couple of weeks had passed since the day of the harvest. You watched the new servants getting used to the new life they had been forced to live. You couldn't help but feel sorry for them, as you were once one of them. You understood how they felt being in such a dark and depressing place against their will. Whenever you had the chance, you greeted them with a friendly smile in an attempt to calm their nerves. Mrs. Inoue had befriended a few ladies and taught them how to do things the way Sukuna likes. Although you cared about the old people, the only one that was in your mind the most was Yorozu. 

When you were children, she used to do the housework wrong on purpose so that your mother would get mad at her and ask you to do it for her. She would run off into the yard giggling while leaving you with all the dishes to wash. You hated it when she did that, but at the end of the day she was still your sister. Your stubborn, rebellious sister.

Being a somewhat rebellious and free-spirited girl, you worried that she would purposely make Uraume angry and freeze her to death or that the king would catch her slacking off. You tried not to think about that while writing the essay Kenjaku had asked you to do for homework. 

“As the last lesson of the day, let's start with what I think will be the most important subject of all,” Kenjaku said as he erased the notes he had made at the beginning of the class. As a title, he wrote the word “debate.” “Debate is the art of discussion. It is an excellent way to improve one's speech, as well as helping to develop the skills needed to construct convincing arguments.” The teacher explained enthusiastically. 

Since he received the letter from Sukuna where he said that you were a person who always knew what to say, Kenjaku knew that you had the makings of an excellent speaker. Maybe you didn't have cursed techniques nor were you a prodigy warrior, but you were magnificent with words. Speech was your best weapon, and he would help you to constantly sharpen it. You had a long way to go in terms of your education, so he couldn't afford for you to fall behind when you were in constant motion towards the crown. 

“When you become a queen, in addition to obeying the king and understanding what he says, you must be able to help him make informed decisions regarding the interests of the kingdom,” Kenjaku explained. 

“I don't think I can do that honestly, Sukuna and I have very different priorities,” you replied. Kenjaku came over to tap you on the head with a scroll. 

“First rule of debate. Never say ‘I believe’, ‘I think’, ‘I have an opinion’, etc. Debate is based on facts, not thoughts,” Kenjaku scolded you. 

“Anyway, I don't know anything about ruling a country, leading troops or invading villages,” you replied while rubbing your injured area. 

You had seen Sukuna a couple of times leading the curses in different formations, giving many orders and walking at the head of the troops with his head held high. He was an imposing leader like no other who knows exactly what to do under pressure. You didn't feel you had the ability to do that. You could barely control your sister, how could you control a nation? Kenjaku smacked your head again. 

“Second rule of debate. Never let your opponent know what you don't know,” Kenjaku scolded you again. 

“But what if I'm not the one to give my opinion?” You asked while rubbing your head. It was already starting to hurt. 

“You are going to become the queen of this nation. You are going to have a say over anyone else, so you must prepare yourself to have a say in these matters.” Kenjaku explained. “Stop thinking like a mere servant and start thinking like the strongest woman in this nation.” 

You knew Kenjaku was right, but it was such an abrupt change of your persona. One's personality doesn't change overnight, and you weren't even sure that would happen. Kenjaku noticed that you were worried, so he approached you to take your hand. 

“I understand that you are confused and worried that you are not capable enough, but I am sure you will be. In a year, I promise you that with my help you will be a different person,” Kenjaku smiled at you to trust him, but you weren't sure if you could really do it. 

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Masterlist.

[carefreecoffee]

Flufftober Day 25: Love letters w/ Aoyama Yuga

Word count: 907, gender-neutral reader

It was no surprise to be sent mail from Aoyama. You two had been going strong despite your distant departure from one another. You had been in your home country for a total of 2 weeks now and it was too dreadfully long for either of you. However, the both of you had found a way that could soothe your ever growing yearning for one another; love letters. Aoyama sent you one nearly every chance he got. You had stacks upon your nightstand that would help lull you off to sleep and it seems he had sent you another as you came across the mailbox. You quickly run off to your room giddily, disregarding any other thing in your path.

The letter is in a golden envelope that shines under sunlight. The letter's paper is a glossy and smooth material, as if it was silk. The corners of the letter were sealed in a heart shape. You opened it eagerly but carefully. And there in beautiful handwriting were his words:

My Beloved

Every day I spend without you feels like an eternity. I think of you every moment of every day. When I close my eyes I see your beautiful face, and no matter the time, I find myself thinking of how much I yearn to look into those hypnotizing eyes of yours, mon amour.

Yours truly,

Yuga Aoyama

You kick your feet off  the edge of your bed happily as you read the letter, reading it over until you could feel your heart burst. You open the drawer to your nightstand, taking out the multitudes of letters gingerly, their envelopes still intact. They all seemed to have a lovely scent to them, supposedly sprayed with one of his favorite colognes. 

Yuga sent a letter about everyday to you. All of the contents of them are different, but all share one common theme- his love for you. Most of his excerpts include saying such as,

"I miss the feeling of your warm embrace."

"Sometimes when I sit alone in my dorm, I wish you were with me."

“Tu es l'amour de ma vie”

"My heart is all yours, just as your heart is mine."

"I think of you constantly. You invade my mind like a beautiful plague."

"My mind is overrun by thoughts of your radiant smile and lovely laugh. I wish nothing more than to hold you close right now, my dear."

As you scan through them one by one, a certain note catches your eye. The longest one he had sent you to date when you were first sent out and away from his embrace.

The golden envelope is slightly bigger than the rest and the letter is filled with messy and rushed scribbles, showing that Aoyama was writing this note in a hurry. 

My beloved,

First, I would like to apologize for the messiness of this letter. I couldn't seem to stop my hands from shaking! I have something of dire importance to tell you. It's nothing bad, don't worry.

My heart seems to be beating faster the more I write this, it's as if you were in front of me right now. Just the thought of your beautiful face is enough to send my heart into overdrive.

Anyways, I have been meaning to say this to you for quite a while now. I've carefully thought out this choice for a while now and I've come to the conclusion that it's the right decision. I don't know how to best phrase this, so here it comes…

Mon très cher amour, my beloved, my sunshine upon a rainy day, the light of my life, the reason my heart dances in my chest...

I love you. With all my heart and with every fiber of my being. Just saying it makes me feel like I might pass out just from the pure, overwhelming amount of love I have for you.

I have never felt this way about anyone. Never have I felt this strongly towards another person, until I met you.

You make my heart race. My entire body fills with joy and ecstasy when I think of your gorgeous eyes looking into mine. I want to hold you in my arms so much that it physically hurts at times. I spend every second of every day thinking of you. I never thought it was possible to love someone to the point that you feel as if your heart might burst from the pressure, but you have me wrapped around your finger.

I want to tell you all about how I feel, but I fear there aren't enough words on earth to properly describe my love towards you. Every moment that I'm with you is burned into my mind permanently, and every time I recall our time together, my heart skips a beat, and a smile forces its way onto my face. I don't think I'll be able to stop thinking of you even if I tried. It's as if the concept of loving you is ingrained into my very being. If this is what love is supposed to feel like, I never want this feeling to go away.

The letter ends on an extremely messy signature from Yuga. The words "Je vous aime " are sloppily written with a heart next to it.

The warm feeling in your chest grows. Just a few more days and you could finally be with your not-so-secret admirer once more…

[peachymilkandcream]

My Prize|Part 4|Viking Levi x Evelyn

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, forced exhibitionism, sexual coercion, blackmail, etc.

================================================

The man before Erwin matched the description his men had given him. The blond was severely malnourished, he figured if the other had enough sustenance then he could rival Erwin in frame.

"What's your name."

"Reiner, Braun."

"And how did you come to be hidden away in floorboards?"

"That bastard, when we sank, we had a leader but Levi killed them. He left me alive, to torture me. The rest got swift deaths."

"And why would he keep you alive all this time?"

"I don't know, he has this hatred of me. There was once a girl we both liked, and she ended up favoring me over him. I don't think he ever forgave me for that."

"So purely revenge you suspect."

"Yes, the man is psychotic."

"On that we agree, you're not the only one who's suffered at his hands. My betrothed, was taken and violated by him. Now I don't know where she is, and without hope of rescue she might succumb to whatever cruel fate the barbarian has planned for her."

Disgust showed on Reiner's features. "I would say I'm shocked but that sounds like something he would do. I have to confess I think I know what you are talking about. I heard them in my captivity, I don't think I'll ever get those screams out of my ears. He truly is a monster."

"I plan on rescuing her, no one deserves such a fate. You knew him, do you have any idea where he might be headed?"

"If he sailed, he's headed back to the mainland, Marley."

"You forget Braun, we're a sheltered people, never venturing off our shores. We wouldn't know where to start when looking for such a place."

"I know that, which is why I'm prepared to make a pact with you."

Erwin raises a brow. "Is that so?"

"Take me with you to the mainland, I'll point him out exactly and then we'll go our separate ways, I want to go back to my old life."

Erwin considers this a moment, he'd been burned by foreigners before, so his willingness to trust them was scarce at best. But based on how this man was found he was inclined to believe him.

"Very well, we sail as soon as possible."

================================================

Erwin was able to explain the origin of the ship that he had kept hidden away from the people fairly easily. As their strongest warrior and leader he had slain previous invaders and kept their prized vessel as a trophy, a far cry from the truth that he had once sailed from another country like Levi and taken the village over.

In truth, he hadn't missed the sea. It was a fickle mistress and he was through with trying to tame it. A life on land worshipped as little less than a god was what he craved. Something stable and secure, a legacy he could be proud of when he finally passed.

Marley was just as he'd remembered it. Far more advance socially and economically than his own village, which is why only his most loyal men were permitted to come with him. They were the ones he could bend to believe his story of events when it came to explaining how the mainland people were inferior and his own people lived in a utopia. The whole place made him nervous.

True to his word, Reiner pointed out the cottage by the sea where he swore on his life was where Levi lived. He even gave his own lodgings for Erwin to come for him if he was lying, such foolishness was enough for Erwin to trust his word. They said their goodbyes, both parties preferring to get on with their own personal plans.

Unwilling to be seen, Erwin sent his men to stakeout the cottage while he remained on the ship. They would report back if they had found Evelyn without Levi being suspicious. If he did there was a possibility he killed Evelyn, and then all of these personal risks Erwin was taking would be worth nothing. She owed him big time for all of this. Once they returned home he would be sure to pledge himself to her without delay, perhaps a child growing in her womb would be enough to consider her debt to him paid.

He would be repaid for risking everything for one girl.

================================================

Within a day or two they had confirmed Evelyn's location and that she was still alive. They had also had a chance to speak with her and bring her to Erwin to discuss her escape. Apparently she had been compliant to Levi so that he was already beginning to trust her alone in the cottage while he was gone doing who knew what.

A foolish man, leaving his prize when any man could come and take it. Erwin almost felt pity for him, but then he remembered how he defiled his bride to be and it was all worth it.

Upon seeing Evelyn's face again Erwin remembered why he was doing all of this. Others didn't hold a candle to her, his cock ached to undo all of the perverted things Levi had done to her. He would take her now to avoid her spending another minute with that man but revenge had to be more than that, he wanted Levi to know what had become of his plaything.

Evelyn rushed forward and into Erwin's arms, tears of relief dampening his clothes.

"You came for me-"

"Of course, how could I leave my bride in the hands of such a man?"

"But- you let him take me-"

"I was angry, I wasn't thinking, I directed my rage at the wrong person. But I'm here now, can you ever forgive me?"

Erwin had practiced looking humble and penitent, it was how he could smooth over any wrongs he committed. As predicted, her face softened.

"Yes I can. I don't know if I would have done much different had it been me in your position. Please, can we just go home?"

"Not yet. I want that coward to pay for what he did to you. I want the ground soaked with his blood. I wanted you safe first, and here you will remain until he returns, we'll be waiting for him. Trust me, he'll get what's coming to him."

Evelyn's face falls, and he raises a brow.

"Does the idea upset you?"

"No, I understand you want revenge, but please. Don't kill him."

"And why not? Why would you let your captor live?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but I think he just needed someone. Someone to care for him. He's a monster, but a misguided one, not a malicious one. Please Erwin, for me. As a wedding gift."

Erwin considers it, he doesn't want to at all, but she could deny a willing marriage to him if he did kill Levi. A crack in his leadership would be the end for him. Besides, this could show her how merciful he really is, raising his popularity.

"Very well. For you, I will."

"Oh thank you Erwin."

He nods in response, he would hold to his word. He wouldn't kill him, but he didn't promise not to torture him.

[krsnaradhika]

hii i saw your amazing post on the ram mandir thing and i had to know your thoughts on this. i post about hinduphobia a lot, genuinely to spread awareness, and its a serious thing. i just saw a post by this person called tiredguyswag talking about how hinduphobia isn't real. its a real longass rant. i wanted to know what your thoughts were on it, and if you could debunk anything they were saying as false. ty!

Thank you so much for the appreciation <3 Every supporter counts. We will fight against this Hinduphobia, and we will emerge victorious!

I did go through the blog of this guy and honestly, this hellsite is exhausting. So are the hinduphobes and leftists. I might just exit someday because they do not deserve my energy.

To all the ones saying Hinduphobia does not exist— what was the Godhara train arson? What happened to the Kashmiri Hindus? What happened to the Brahmins of Pune post MK Gandhi's assassination? What happened to the Sikhs of Punjab after Indira Gandhi's killing? What was the emergency prior to that incident? What was that which happened to the 9 and 7 year old boys of Guru Gobind Singh ji? What happened to Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj? What was the destroying of temples and deracination of our Gurukulas? What was all that money and artifacts stolen from our country, has it not robbed the golden sparrow? What was the voluntary faulty translation of the Vedas and Puranas so that Hindus themselves believe that their culture is maligned? THERE'S NO HINDUPHOBIA? LOOK AT PAKISTANI HINDU GIRLS BEING FORCIBLY CONVERTED AND RAPED! The Mughal India holocaust! The ncert has the fucking guts to teach little minds that Aurangzeb protected and built new temples! And what's their source? They have none. No files. Nothing at all to support their claim, and yet they have been teaching it for god knows how much time. But we do have Babur himself writing in his book that he hated Hindus, called us pigs and what not. We have evidences that they raped our women, murdered our men, the children weren't foreign to their brutality. The invaders looted the Somanatha multiple times, broke the floating Shivalinga. They took away Ayodhya, Mathura, Kashi and so many other temples. Some shitheads have their asses in fire when they're seeing us celebrate the Rama temple. Y'all wouldn't be having a meltdown had the other side won the case. Y'all should rot in hell. You have no concept of country and social harmony, no global brotherhood, all your liberalism reduces to ashes when you see Hindus being happy for once. We have been killed for being idol-worshippers, and our fault is that we don't cease to exist.

They say we blame invasions for everything bad that has happened to us, but remember that we were the golden sparrow without them.

[starpros-sunshine]

Napoleon Bonaparte is one funky funky individual

The French Revolution is making me want to chop my own head off

[whxtedreams]

Psychopomp

Inspired by Hozier's song Abstract (Psychopomp)

The speed that you moved, the screech of the cars The creature still moving, that slowed in your arms The fear in its eyes, gone out in an instant Your tear caught the light, the earth from a distance

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: Death, death of an animal, blood, comfort, Hozier's music once again burning your soul.

The coldness of the blood stains your hands, both literally and figuratively. You can feel the weight of it searing deep into your bones, the heat of the blood suffocating and overwhelming your entire body. The scent of it invades your senses, the images of the scene playing out in your mind as if it had only happened a mere moment ago. You feel as if you can't breathe, the heaviness of it crushing both your mind and body.

Your mind is plagued with repetition as the words echo in your thoughts. "It was you or them." Joel's words are repeated over and over again, drowning out every other thought. Maybe he was right, but it felt so wrong to have someone's life slip in the palm of your hands. 

It’s been four months since the outbreak, since the world stopped turning and society fell into disarray. You have spent half of that time with Joel, who found you hiding out in a derailed train car.

You could definitely count yourself as one of the lucky ones, as you were already deep in the wilderness away from the population when the outbreak occurred. You had been backpacking on your own and wanting to see other countries while exploring. Suddenly you were stuck in another country, knowing that if your family were to have survived the outbreak, you may never see them again.

Joel turns his head to look over at you, his attention only momentarily drifting off the road while he keeps on driving. "You good?" His voice breaks the silence with a bit of concern as he notices your silence. 

You feel him glance at you but don't respond, still being lost in thought as you stare out of the window at the passing forest scenery as trees pass by in a blurred haze.

You can still feel the tightness of his grip as he dragged you out of the room. You see flashes of images, someone running at you with a knife and their body lying lifeless on the ground, your hand holding Joel's gun. The images play in front of your eyes like a movie, but they are real and the blood is real.

Their blood on your hands is real.

Joel found you kneeling, frantically trying to stop their bleeding. You had a lost look in your eyes as you tried to make sense of the situation, the gun in your hand shaking. You didn’t mean to shoot them, you don’t remember shooting them. 

Joel had quickly disappeared for a moment to search for something to burn as the nights grow colder, leaving you alone and vulnerable. She had climbed through the window and threatened to kill you if you didn’t hand over your belongings. You remember feeling the threat sinking deep into you, the fear of death filling your mind and paralysing your body.

You called for Joel and that’s when she ran at you. That’s when your memory jumps to kneeling over her with your hands pressed to her chest, her life slipping away with the blood on your hands.

“It was you or her.” 

You take a deep breath and turn your head from the window, a quiet smile in response to Joel's words. 

"I'm glad it was you." Joel shifts in his seat and sighs as he leans his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the doorframe. You can tell by how casually he is acting that what happened last night isn't weighing him down the way it is you. 

"I guess." You shrug as you look out of the window again, your thoughts still hazy. The passing trees and dawning sunrise provide you with a calming presence, soothing your nerves and relaxing your mind. You take a deep breath and let out a slow breath, allowing the fresh air to refresh you as you contemplate the day ahead.

The silence settles again and you feel your eyes start to become heavy from the lack of sleep. After the intrusion last night, Joel refused to sleep in order to look over you as you slept. You refused to sleep after taking someone’s life.

The sunrise shines through the passing trees, casting a pleasant glow upon you both. You feel a bit relaxed as the warmth of the sunlight fills the car.

“Shouldn’t of left ya alone.” Joel mutters as you were on the verge of sleep. You lift your head from the door, rubbing your eyes and yawning. You see Joel looking at you with a slightly apologetic look in his eyes.

“It was bound to happen eventually.” 

“I should’a been there. Should’a been by ya side and killed ‘em before you lifted your damn gun.” Joel shakes his head, clenching his jaw as he focuses on the road.

“It’s fine-”

“No it’s not fine.” Joel snaps as he turns to face you. 

As you turn to face Joel, something flashes in the corner of your eye. You see a small animal running across the road just as it stops in the middle. It looks at you with its bright eyes, seeming to stare at you as if it is waiting for something. You look over to Joel to see if he has spotted it as well, but he seems to be focused on you and appears oblivious to the animal in the middle of the road.  

“Joel-” 

“No, you could have fucking died.”d

"JOEL!" You yell as you grab onto his arm and point at the animal just seconds away from being hit. Joel glances over in the direction you are pointing, recognising the animal and immediately slamming on the brakes. 

You cover your eyes as you hide your face on Joel's shoulder. 

The screech of the car, you feel it as it hits the tire.  

Joel swears as he straightens the car, his head hitting the headrest behind him. “Thing came out of fuckin’ nowhere.” 

You push yourself from Joel and look back out the rear window, seeing the small animal left alone laying on the cold road, its life slowly fading away. You feel a sharp pang of distress as you see the animal lying there, alone to die.

“Stop the car.” 

“What?”

“Joel, stop the car.” You repeat yourself firmly. 

“You crazy? I ain’t stoppin the-”

"STOP THE CAR RIGHT NOW!" Your voice is filled with more emotion and passion than Joel has ever heard before. Your tone catches him off-guard, as if you were an entirely different person. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, he nods his head and pushes on the brakes just as you command him to. 

The moment the car stops, you burst out of the vehicle and sprint back towards the small animal. You can hear its soft crying, which shatters your heart with the sound of it. Your legs work faster than your mind can keep up with as you arrive at the side of the creature, your feet leaving muddy footprints behind you as you close the gap and drop in front of the animal. 

A racoon.

There is a deep look of fear in the animal's small eyes, its eyes still glistening. Your hand slowly reaches out, trying to calm it with gentle and soft pats of your fingers. You can see the animal trying to shift its body, but it is unable to move much because of the severity of its injuries.

It's limp body feels light as you lift it into your lap. You start brushing your fingers through its soft fur, comforting the animal even as you know it's injuries are too severe for it to recover.

"What are you doing?" Joel's voice is laced with fatigue and irritation as he jogs up to you, carrying his gun and backpack. He doesn't recognise the emotion in your face, only seeing the tears rolling down your cheeks. Your hands continue to pet the animal, whose small breaths become lighter and lighter as it slips further away. His face drops at the sight, and he sighs as he looks away from you.

Without saying anything, he settles on the ground beside you. While you sit by its side, the small animal closes its eyes, seeming to relax in your embrace. It must have been scared, wondering if this would be the end of the road for it.

The animal's breath slowly fades and its body grows limp, laying in your arms and going cold as the moments tick by. The fear in its eyes, gone out in an instant. Joel smiles apologetically and places his hand on your shoulder, sensing your pain and trying to offer comfort.

Joel digs a small grave without you asking as you continue to stroke through its damp fur, easing the whatever is left of them after death. If anything is left. 

He offers to take the raccoon from you, giving you a chance to leave without having to endure the sight if it's too much for you. You shake your head, unwilling to leave. You lay the animal in the small hole and then step back as Joel begins covering them with dirt, their body slowly becoming concealed beneath the soil.

Joel's hand finds its way to your shoulder as you stand by the grave, offering solace at the sight of this innocent creature being laid to rest. He gently guides you back to the car, offering comfort and support.

“You didn’t have’ta do that, you know?” Joel sighs as he sits back behind the wheel.

 A soft frown settles on your face. 

You didn’t have to, but you felt like you needed to. The thought of something dying all alone and without any kind of comfort just didn't sit right with you. The poor animal hadn't deserved such a fate, and you wanted to ensure it didn't pass alone.

“Nothing deserves to die alone.”

Joel nods, thinking over your words as he starts the engine again. “Guess you’re right.”

Notes

im not crying, you're crying

I'm finally better from the flu! I had to miss out on the Noah Kahan concert, I cried so much since I took a whole week off work to travel for it :(

[atamascolily]

TBF Theory: Human and Demons Have A Common Origin

The War of Fading Dusk happened 200 years before the start of Thunderbolt Fantasy, but it overshadows everything that happens in the present. The reason so many magic swords exist is so humanity could fight the demons invading their world. They succeeded, but at a cost--the country of Wan Yu was separated by a vast wasteland full of monsters and divided into Xi You and Dong Li, with no interactions until Shang Bu Huan hacked his way through.

We don't know why exactly the demons invaded, or why exactly they stopped, only that it was a unilateral decision from the Demon King to order a retreat and forbid contact with the human world. The exceptions are holdouts like Xing Hai, Zhao Jun Lin, and Azibelpher who said "fuck that" and kept on doing their thing for various reasons of their own. But given all of the established themes, I'm going to hazard a guess that a major twist in S4 will be the reveal that humans and demons have a common origin, and/or the human world and demon world were originally one and the same, just like Xi You and Dong Li were once one nation.

Humans and demons are different, but they're not that different--while demons come in a wide variety of shapes, at least some of them are humanoid, and we know the two races can interbreed with each other. In real life, that usually implies some degree of relation or common ancestor, but this is a fantasy world where magic exists, so all bets are off. Nevertheless, Lang Wu Yao's existence demonstrates that it is in fact possible for humans and demons to produce viable offspring, so I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they aren't as different from each other as we've been led to believe.

And I think Azibelpher knows this, because why else would he fuck around with Ling Mo Yan in the first place, and why is he so interested in his son? Why did he defy the demon king's orders and interact with the human world--sure, it was for the lulz, but I doubt that's the only reason. We may not know the full extent of his plans, but Azibelpher has an agenda, and unfortunately for poor Lang, he's right in the middle of it. (Like every Urobuchi villain, Azibelpher has an obsession with fate, destiny, and chessmastery; he may or may not be winging it, but he's got something particular in mind.)

This would also explain something that's puzzled me about S3 on rewatch, which is to say that it sure seems like Azibelpher deliberately sends Shang Bu Huan back in time to the Wars of Fading Dusk to meet Bai Lian and learn the secret behind the magic swords: they were either ordinary swords carried over from another world that gained unexpected abilities as a result of the transfer, OR were forged specifically for that purpose in a location that transferred from another world (Bai Lian's estate). They weren't divine gifts from the gods, they were just one poor confused guy from another world making the best of a bad situation. You know, the sort of thing anybody would do in that position.

(But why does Azibelpher want Shang to know this? What purpose does it serve? And it can't possibly be a coincidence, not when Juan Can Yun, who was right there when Azibelpher interrupted the three of them, gets left behind. What is he planning?? TBD.)

Given the theme of duality as well as the theme that things that are of both worlds have special powers, it's not hard to imagine this information being used in some fashion in future installments. There's already a few hints of it--the "blade whose existence is beyond reality" that Huo Shi Ming Huang claims is the only thing that can kill him, and there's Lang himself, a child of both worlds--and probably more we don't yet know about. Certainly, the trailer and promotional materials for S4 seem to imply that Lang's voice is somehow the key to everything.

Perhaps once upon a time, humans and demons and/or their worlds were the same, and perhaps there are those who would like to see that again, even as there are plenty who would prefer to keep them separate. (Can you imagine Xing Hai's reaction when she finds out??) If that's not as least some of the politicking going on in the demon world in S4, I'll be shocked.

Just as I think Xi You and Dong Li will be reunited before the end, I think the same will be true on a much larger scale for humans and demons as well, though whether that means a literal merger or a metaphorical one is not yet clear.