#Night Life in Delhi

[delhitourguide]

Delhi Night Tour

[fantodsdhrit]

[ foggy night lights — frangipanis ]

[vijavibe]

Revealing our Second Artist Mr.khadyko

Get ready to light up the night at our Neon-themed Black Room Project by vijavibes

📅 Saturday, 31st August 2024 📍 Imperial Club of India, New Delhi Tickets : Paytm Insider

[nextmashup]

10 Best Discos in Delhi You Should Check With Your Partner

Delhi, the vibrant capital city of India, is known for its rich history, bustling markets, and mouthwatering street food. But it’s the city’s nightlife that truly comes alive once the sun sets. From pulsating clubs to trendy bars and unique experiences, Delhi has something to offer for everyone, including singles looking to have a great time.  When the sun sets towards the west and temperature…

[queenofindia]

India is Wonderful and Its People are Even More Wonderful

I have just returned from New Delhi. My journey to India was awesome. Rich heritages, great culture and tradition, friendly people and beautiful places India has everything to offer for everyone. And the full body massage given by the Delhi Model Girl was just awesome.

[metamatar]

October 10, 2022

Amit Kumar had everything going for him. After graduating in engineering and landing a decent job, Amit wanted to settle down with his childhood sweetheart Renu. The couple had known each other since Class IX and dreamt of a life together. The only difficulty was that Renu belonged to a Brahmin family and Amit was a Dalit.

With their homes barely a kilometre apart in Garhwa district of Jharkhand, Renu knew her family would never approve of the match. The couple decided to run away and tie the knot in another State. And thus began their tale of unending harassment and tragedy.

The couple married at a temple in Dehradun and got their marriage registered there. They had just about settled down at Paonta Sahib in Himachal Pradesh when, in a midnight raid, the Uttar Pradesh police took away Renu, claiming that she had been abducted. Amit and Renu have not seen or spoken to each other since that fateful night of August 13, 2021.

Amit’s life has been a quagmire of legal battles and dismissed habeas corpus petitions since then. “I fear my wife is no more,” he told The Hindu.

Activists say such tragic situations can be avoided if couples like Amit and Renu are provided safe houses and special protection by the State governments as mandated by the Supreme Court.

According to data from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), the number of “honour killings” in the country was 24, 25 and 33 in 2019, 2020 and 2021, respectively. Punjab, Madhya Pradesh and Jharkhand topped the list in 2021 and 2020, while Manipur was on top in 2019.

The government in 2021 informed Parliament that there were 145 “honour killing” incidents in the country between 2017 and 2019.

Interestingly, though the NCRB report attributed only 25 deaths to “honour killings” in 2020, it said there were 27 deaths due to casteism and 1,558 due to “illicit relationship”. Similarly, in 2021, 33 deaths were listed under “honour killings”, but 1,544 and 1,532 under “illicit relationship” and “love affairs”, respectively.

So far, only Delhi, Haryana and Punjab have safe houses for inter-faith and inter-religious couples. Kerala has only announced the setting up of a safe house.

In fact, only 21 States have said that they have complied with the Supreme Court directives, which means that they have asked the police officers concerned of a State for strict compliance, according to Dhanak for Humanity, a non-governmental organisation which works with such couples, helping them solemnise their marriages and providing legal support.

The Supreme Court had in 2018 directed that safe houses be set up in every district as well as a special cell in States for couples facing opposition from families and community.

Gaurav Yadav, an engineer from IIT Chennai, said he was working with survivors of “honour crimes” and couples who are in hiding to petition the government for more safe houses across the country.

“Soon we will form an official grouping and petition the government to follow the Supreme Court directives on safe houses and special cells,” Mr. Yadav said, adding that he had organised a convention regarding the same in Delhi recently.

He said though couples had been demanding that safe houses be set up, the State administrations had looked the other way.

An example is of Ravikant Chandrawanshi and Alisha, who had a harrowing time getting married under the Special Marriage Act in Chhattisgarh.

The inter-faith couple at first decided to elope and marry in Bilaspur. However, a lack of support system and security, including finances, saw them return home in Kawardha within four days.

“As my wife’s family were well to do and politically connected, they kept up the pressure on us. Finally, we had to take legal recourse and approached the High Court asking them to direct the State administration to provide the mandated safe house and police protection.

“However, we were informed that there was no safe house and Alisha had to go to a sakhi centre or a women’s safe house,” Mr. Chandravanshi said.

Though the couple approached the highest of authorities, they were not given any police protection either and had to go into hiding for around six months after their marriage.

According to Asif Iqbal of Dhanak for Humanity, most States send the girl to a Nari Niketan after couples approach them. “It is here that the girl is the most insecure as her family mostly approaches her and puts pressure to go back. Many a time, this also leads to what is known as honour killing of the girl”.

Sanjay Sachadev of Love Commandoes, an organisation which rescues and shelters such couples, said, “The need of the hour is safe houses across the country. In almost every case, the police try and send the girl to a women’s shelter and the boy is left to fend for himself.”

A couple who are staying in a Delhi safe house and did not wish to be identified said that they could not have thought of living together had it not been for the security of the safe house.

Mr. Iqbal, whose organisation has helped many couples seek legal recourse to stay together and get married, said that of the distress calls he receives, the most were from Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra and Rajasthan.

[hindulivesmatter]

Why Gandhi is a piece of shit and you should hate him.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi has been established in our history as a "Mahatma" which means "great soul"

This man is anything but that.

He is EVERYWHERE. He's on our currency, he's revered as a hero who saved India, and we have a mandatory holiday on October 2nd in honor of him.

If you didn't know, now you're going to get to know why he was a horrible human being. Let's begin.

This man managed to fool people Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela (among many others) into thinking he was a good person.

Here is some of the shit he's done:

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty, and live like animals."

 Refused to have sex with his wife for the last 38 years of their marriage. He felt that in order to test his commitment to celibacy, he would have beautiful young women (including his own great niece) lie next to him naked through the night. His wife, whom he described as looking like a "meek cow" was no longer desirable enough to be a solid test.

Believed that Indian women who were raped lost their value as a human.

During Gandhi's time as a dissident in South Africa, he discovered a male youth had been harassing two of his female followers. Gandhi responded by personally cutting the girls' hair off, to ensure the "sinner's eye" was "sterilised". Gandhi boasted of the incident in his writings, pushing the message to all Indians that women should carry responsibility for sexual attacks upon them.

He argued that fathers could be justified in killing daughters who had been sexually assaulted for the sake of family and community honour. 

Gandhi also waged a war against contraceptives, labelling Indian women who used them as whores.

He believed menstruation was a "manifestation of the distortion of a woman's soul by her sexuality".

On 6th April 1947, he gave a speech where he said, “ If the Muslims are out there slicing through Hindu masses to wipe out the Hindu race, the Hindus should say nothing and peacefully accept death”.

He hated the great Hindu rulers, especially Shivaji Maharaj. To please the Muslims, he banned the book named ShivBhaavani which correctly depicted Islam’s intolerance and fierce fundamentalism spread by it.

Refused his wife life-saving medication (for religious reasons), but those religious reasons all of a sudden no longer applied to him when he was in a similar position.

Started a fast unto death when Ambedkar asked for separate electorates for Dalits.

Gandhi left his ailing father on his deathbed, to sleep with his wife. The child born out of this copulation died in infancy. According to Gandhi, the death of this infant was the result of this evil karma.

Gandhi, even when he claimed to be the angel of non-violence, made no efforts to prevent the British from deploying Indian troops at various locations during World War II.

Kashmir was invaded by Pakistan in 1947, the brutal Pakistani army committed heinous crimes against Kashmiri Pandits including mass rape and mass killings consequently many Pandits were forced to flee to Delhi and other places. In one incident Pandits took refuge in an abandoned mosque in Delhi. Infuriated, Gandhi threatened to fast to death if the Pandits didn't leave. The Pandits were slaughtered in a communal riot as soon as they abandoned the mosques.

Criticized the Jews for defending themselves against the Holocaust because he insisted that they should have committed public mass suicide in order to "shame" the Germans instead of fighting back. His exact words were, "But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher's knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from the cliffs. As it is, they succumbed anyway in their millions."

And this is all from a simple Internet search compiled here. I wonder what else is hiding if I do a deep dive.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

IPKKND SS: Fall Out of Love

Chapter 1

When days got tough, and nights tougher, Khushi shivered on the poolside floor wondering what did she do wrong. In her religion, everything was a repercussion for a deed done.

The man she loved grew stranger everyday. At one point his anger was in his words, now they lived as impressions on her arms.

God, wouldn't she give her whole life if she got a day to see the softness she had seen when he had danced his way straight into his heart.

At this point she wondered if that ever happened, or if it was product of her crazy mind. Maybe Arnav had never loved her, maybe it was all a result of her obsession with him.

Her sister had been right, Khushi had been fixated far into Arnav, ever since the day she saw him. Even when he wanted nothing to do with her.

At first it was anger, then disrespect, then curiosity, then infatuation and finally...

A cold had settled into Delhi, the winds chilled her bones. Her thin salwar was no match. She could not find herself to take the blanket on the floor.

This time, it was not self preservation. It was insects.

If she tried to get it washed, questions would be raised. The househelp was familiar with the bedroom linen. Why would it be in the garden long enough to get infested? Mami had been suspicious, and Khushi could not bear Arnav directing another play of them being happily married.

She could never see the difference between his acting and reality.

-

The blanket was washed, dried, and neatly packed. The floor was cleared, and an outdoor bedroll was in the corner of the garden.

Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks as she smelled the fresh blanket. Her body cried in relief as she laid down in the mattress.

It was the first time she slept for more than three hours in a month.

-

"Slept well?" Khushi was caught off guard. Not by the question, but the person asking it.

Shyam Manohar Jha.

Khushi ran away, her mind coming to a conclusion it didn't want to.

She bumped into Arnav, anger blazing in his eyes.

Her question of the blanket being washed remain in thin air as Manorama commented on their proximity as lovebirds being unable to separate, not noticing the soft bruise that began to swell in her arms once he left her grip.

In another time, she would've thought she saw true concern in Arnav's eyes over the mention of insects.

But for now, her mind worried over other details.

Over who got her bedding clean and washed.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

A/N: Thoughts? XOXO (Please ignore any typos/grammar errors)

Read future chapters on AO3

tagging: @shaonsim @zaphbeeblebrox @shiyaravi @chutkiandchotte @featheredclover @goals1024 @honeybellexox @darkchocolatestuff @thedupattaknowswhatsup @bigfatreader @lostafpanda @exosexosekai @hi-this-is-permabanned @scorpio-smiles @noor1025 @minpdnim @laad-governess @barshifan @whateverworks21 @maansiloves @samuraisamsworld @dropsofserenity @myloveforstuff @leila1 @onadaanparindey @dimaagkadahi @ijustchangedmyname @australian-desi @muttonthings @aye-masakalii @phuljari @msbhagirathi @rae-blogging (updating this list - lemme know who wants to be added/deleted)

[prettyinpurplelights]

COME HOME

in high hopes for tomorrow’s psg game but also missing kylian and still feeling like a proud mom after his achievements this weekend so all of that kinda almagamated into this whatever this is to keep y’all off my back abt pt 6 of care (for now) 😭

*********

You wait nervously in the bed, your thumb nesting between your lips as your teeth chip away at the nail anxiously. So much had happened since you’d last seen him, almost a week ago. The firm had sent you to New Delhi to woo your new potential clients, a task that had taken you far too long, your planned two day trip extending into six, nearly seven before you’d managed to get the oil execs to finally close the deal. They somehow found a problem with every contract you’d drafted, anyone would’ve given up after the 75th hour and you had a feeling the firm knew this, hence why they sent you, their hardest, most immovable closer. And the most annoying part about all of this was you still weren’t done, you were due in London tomorrow, to present everything to the head office there before you’d be able to finally go back home to Paris. The one and only saving grace about this was the 7 hour layover in Munich before your flight to England, which couldn’t have come at a much better and more convenient time. Your phone pings in your lap and you pick it up, reading the text that had appeared.

we’re almost back from the press conference, did you get in okay?

You unlock your phone to reply.

yeah, the front desk were great. thanks for your help again.

always.

he still has no clue?

not one 😌

you’re awesome. i owe you.

make me your world famous carbonara next time i come over and we’re even 🍽️

You laugh as you type out your response.

you got it sergio 😂

You place the phone facedown on the bedside table, standing up and straightening out your pencil skirt. You move to the mirror opposite the bed, raking your fingers through your shoulder length hair, trying to bring some life to the curls that had lost their volume after 9 hours of being pressed onto the headrest of the airplane seat and another 3 hours on the hotel bed when you’d knocked out the second you saw the pillows. Reaching into your blouse pocket after you finally feel satisfied with your hair, you take out your lipgloss, opening the tube and spreading some of the shiny liquid along your plump bottom lip when you hear the door open, his voice drifting into the room as his laughter pulls your mouth into a smile.

God, you’d missed him.

“Putain!” He shouts at whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Good night! Save that energy for Bayern Kylian.” The other voice teases and you watch him flip its owner off. His back is still facing you as he closes the door, he was yet to turn around and notice you.

“Language Kyky.” You stand with your hand on your hips, a faux stern look on your face as he finally spins and jumps, a surprised gasp escaping his throat.

“What the fuc-“ Then he stops himself when his eyes zero in on you, drinking you in and realising who you are. “Y/N??”

“Hello 201.” You grin and he drops his backpack to the floor, rushing to engulf you in a hug as he lifts you off the floor instead.

“What are you doing here?” He says in a small voice, almost as though he was speaking to himself.

“Had to see my ooof-“ You’re unable to finish your sentence because he slants his lips over yours unexpectedly, heavy and hard, and you open your mouth to welcome him as your fingers grip his shoulders. His hands untuck your blouse from your skirt, slipping under the sheer material to hold your waist. You eventually grow light headed as he continues to kiss you passionately, needing to replenish the air he drew out of your lungs so you pull away. His chest rises and falls as he takes in deep breaths of his own, looking at you beneath his lashes.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly but his eyes roam your face as though he is trying to commit every inch of your skin to memory before you fade away again. It’s intense, too intense and you can no longer hold his gaze, feeling your stomach turn to jelly so you drop your head to his chest, your ear pressed against his heart and he holds you there.

“I missed you.” He whispers into your hair, his nose nuzzling your earlobe as he breathes you in and you scrunch your nose, pulling your head back to face him. His arms are crossed behind your back over your blouse so your frame still leans against his from your upper body down.

“Ugh, don’t do that. I just spent almost half a day on a stuffy flight and I haven’t washed my hair since the last time you saw me. I forgot to take my shampoo with me and you know how those white ass hotel toiletries dry my hair out. I probably smell bad all over.”

“You smell like home.” And to make his point clearer, he dips his head to your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply, his warm breath tickling you. You push against his chest, laughing and he pouts as the cool air from the room replaces the feeling of you against his body instead.

“Well you definitely smell like grass and sweat.”

He shrugs, throwing off his windbreaker.

“Didn’t get the chance to shower before the press conference. I was gonna jump in as soon as I got back.”

“Dang, so I interrupted something?” He looks up at you from a bent position as he pulls his socks off.

“Perfect timing actually. You get an exclusive performance.”

“Is that right?” You suck your bottom lip into your teeth as you watch him shimmy out of his shorts so he’s standing in just his boxers and long sleeved thermal. Both tight as hell and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“And private backstage access.” He flicks his head towards a door you guess leads to the bathroom. “Join me.”

You twist your lips to the side, humming as though you’re deep in thought when he pulls the thermal over his head, now staring at you with nothing covering his tight torso, and your breath catches in your throat a little bit; he’s truly a sight to behold.

“Last chance.” He smirks, holding his hand out and there’s no way you could say no to his dimples, although you knew you were following him into that shower, dimples or no dimples. You stretch your arm, your palm landing on his and he closes his fingers over the back of your hand pulling you flush to him.

——

You end up in the bath again a while after the shower, Kylian between your legs as you run your manicured nails over his scalp in a fashion you know he loves. He had ordered room service for the both of you, not wanting to go down for dinner with the rest of the squad for the fear of losing out on whatever little time he had with you before you left. Kylian had thought it would somehow be possible to soak chocolate sauce through his skin as he wasn’t actually able to eat it or his nutritionist would have his head.

“Kylian that’s literally impossible.” You’d laughed as he spread the spoon covered in sauce over his bare chest.

“If the hagfish can do it so can I. Shhh.”

“What the fuck is a hagfish?” He laid back on the bed, his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Some weird eel thing that absorbs food through its skin.”

“And you know that how?” You’d shifted so you were lying between his legs, your hands laced over his stomach and you rested your chin on top of them, watching him.

“Vitinha was shouting random facts he was googling on the jet here.” You nodded as you both laid there in a comfortable silence.

“I don’t think it’s working.” Kylian said after a while, opening his eyes to look at his chest to see the chocolate hadn’t diminished at all in quantity.

“Well no shit.”

“Wanna lick it off instead?” He had a cheeky shit eating grin spread across his face as he watched you crawl up the bed towards him. You stopped just as your lips brushed against his, your body hovering above him, careful not to rest your entire weight on him and risk getting the sauce on you too.

“I bet that was your plan in the first place.” You whispered against his mouth before dipping your head and running your tongue over his chest.

“Mmm, and it worked.” He replied, grabbing your face and pressing your lips together as your legs wrapped around his waist and he flipped you over, getting the sauce all over you in the process anyways. It was a wonder amongst everything else you did following that, the bed itself managed to stay clean.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He murmurs, his hand laced in yours, the one that wasn’t in his hair.

“Only for a little while though baby. I gotta go catch my flight soon.” He grunts disapprovingly, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ll see you in Paris in a couple of days though.”

“I wish you’d stay longer. For tonight at least.” You feel his shoulders tense against your chest and you move your hand from his head to his shoulders, trying to work out the knots. On nights when he’s feeling most nervous about a match, you knew he loved to sleep next to you, and wake up by your side, claimed it was his good luck charm or something of the sort. So much so that there had been several nights when you’d been woken up at ungodly hours by the buzzing of the intercom in your apartment, letting you know he was downstairs. You’d let him into the building, leaving your front door unlocked as you went back to bed, eventually hearing him enter your room and sliding onto the mattress, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. You’d lean wordlessly into him, letting him take whatever good luck he needed to still his racing mind and calm the nerves wracking his body. It had almost become a kind of ritual for him. And you know tonight, he needed it more than ever, your heart breaking slightly because you’d have to leave him in less than an hour.

“You’ll be fine Ky.”

“I don’t know.”

“Kylian Sanmi Mbappé Lottin, you just became the highest scoring player at one of the biggest football clubs on the entire globe at 24 years old. There’s nothing you can’t do, Boy wonder. World at his feet. The future of football.” You repeat the headlines that had been circulating the news following his historical feat. You wish you’d been there to celebrate with him in the moment, you’d been so proud of him, you were sure the hotel you were staying in in New Delhi had received complaints of the yelling coming from your room given it was well past 1am when you were watching him play and receive his award.

“There’s just so much riding on this match. I’m scared.” He sighs and you feel the heavy weight resting on him in your hands as you kneaded them across shoulders, wishing in your actions you could somehow take some of it on.

“PSG believes in you baby. Your coach, the staff, your teammates, the fans, they all believe in you. Your family believes in you. I believe in you.”

He turns to face you, the water sloshing over the sides as his eyes burn into yours. You smile, running your finger over the frown lines etched into his forehead as you smooth them out.

“You got this-“

“Move in with me.” You both speak at the same time.

This isn’t the first time he’s brought this question to you, and initially, you had been very hesitant. You loved him, no doubt about it, and wanted nothing more than to spend every waking second with him but there’s something so big and final about sharing a living space that scared you. You loved your apartment, your independence and freedom, proud of the life you’d managed to build for yourself. You knew Kylian appreciated that about you, he was never one to make you feel like you needed to depend on him to be better or worth more. He just wanted you around more. You’d thought about it a lot in the week you’d been in India, what that would mean for you and your relationship with Kylian.

“Ky-“

Your alarm goes off on your phone in the other room, the one you’d set to remind you you had 45 minutes to leave, and you’re silently grateful for the interruption.

“Come on.” You rise to leave the bath, ignoring the pained look in Kylian’s eyes as you wrap a towel around your body. “It’s almost 10, you gotta sleep and I need to get ready.”

You step out into the bedroom area, reaching for your phone to turn the alarm off. You’re in the middle of trying to put on your bra when Kylian eventually comes out of the bathroom, digging into his bag for a pair of fresh boxers. He pulls them on and kneels onto the bed, next to where you’re sitting, removing your hands from behind you, his rough fingers brushing against your spine and he fastens the clasp of your bra.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Lay with me until you have to go?”

You stand to lift the thick duvet as you slide underneath it, sitting up against the headboard with your arms open. The corner of his lips lift slightly, his body getting lost under the duvet as his head rests against your stomach, and you run your nails over his scalp once more, soothing him to sleep.

“I love you.” He mutters into your skin, his words vibrating from your abdomen and spreading their warmth all the way to your peripherals.

“I love you too.”

It’s not long before you hear his soft snores against your stomach; he never struggles to sleep when he’s next to you. You reach over to grab your phone, seeing you have less than 5 minutes to leave for your flight. Carefully and slowly, you peel his arms away from your midriff, slipping out of the bed, miraculously without waking him. You quickly put your clothes on and gather your things silently in the dark room (you knew Kylian was sensitive to light and you really didn’t want to wake him), making sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. You’re ready to leave when you take one last look at your boyfriend, resting peacefully albeit the frown lines still present above his brows. You watch the small slice of moonlight cutting through the gap in the drawn curtain illuminate his face ever so slightly, his lips slightly open, his right arm reaching out as though he is looking for you and your heart tugs. There, in that moment, you realise how much you hate you have to leave him, how much you hate to be without him, how much you did need him around you and you make a decision. You spot a hotel-branded pen and some post-it-notes on the desk, quickly scribbling some words onto the paper, hoping it would be legible in the daylight since you could barely see in the darkness. You rip the piece of paper off the pile and slip it into his right boot that he had lined up in front of the wardrobe next to his gym bag ready for the game tomorrow before leaving the room.

———

“COME ON BOYS! LET'S SHOW THEM WHO WE ARE!”

Verratti yells as chorus of “yeahh”s follows his motivational words. The air in the dressing room is thick with anticipation, and excitement and nerves as all the players get ready to make their way to the tunnel for kick off. Kylian blows out a big breath, grabbing one of his boots from his bag. He pulls up the flap as he puts his foot in, stopping when he feels his toes press against something crunchy. A small piece of paper falling out in the process of him removing his foot to figure out what was in the boot. He unfolds it, revealing messily written note, as though the person had written it with their eyes closed, but he can recognise your penmanship anywhere.

BRING IT HOME BABY xo

He smiles at first, not realising the deeper meaning behind your message until he notices several lines underlining the word “home”. His eyes widen as he reaches for his phone quickly, snapping a picture and texting you.

You’re seated on the plane back to Paris from London, having finalised everything with the office so you were free to go home, and you couldn’t wait to get back to your own bed, sick of living out of your suitcase for the past week. You are about to put your phone on airplane mode, per instruction from the in-flight cabin crew, just as your phone lights up with a new notification. You had texted him good luck earlier, and guess he is probably responding to that. You open the message to find he’d sent you a picture of the note you’d left for him with “you mean it????” You laugh to yourself, you know he’s not stupid, he would figure it out.

win the match and find out :)

gonna score two for you.

Kylian is anything if competitive, jumping up onto his feet as he locks his phone and throws it in his gym bag. He had his obvious reasons for wanting to win this game, the most glaringly clear one being it would bring him one step closer to winning a UCL trophy for his beloved club, their first ever. But now he had something else to win for, something he’d been wanting for months now, and absolutely nothing was standing in his way.

Ramos makes his way to Kylian, patting his shoulder firmly.

“You ready bro?”

“More than ever.” Kylian nods, before taking his friend’s hand and dabbing him up. “Listen, thanks again, for earlier man.”

“Don’t sweat it. And look at you, you're glowing! And got a little bit more fire in your eyes. Thank you Y/N!” He raises his hands and eyes to the sky, as though thanking god. Well you. A goddess. A true deity to Kylian himself.

The referee blows the final whistle, 3-1 to PSG, meaning they win by a point on the aggregate, and the ultras crowding the stadium go wild. After all the celebration, he finds himself in the dressing room, high off his win and claps of praise on his back from his teammates as he tries to find his phone to text you.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, knowing who was trying to contact you as your Uber pulled up outside the huge apartment complex. You’d seen all over Twitter that PSG had won, and you couldn’t help the surge of pride that bubbled up in your chest as you scrolled through the various tweets of congratulations for your boyfriend and his squad, especially for him winning man of the match. You wait until you’re inside the apartment, your suitcase resting on the wall by the front door before you pull your phone out of your pocket to read the message.

we did it. and i scored two for you.

i saw. had no doubt you could.

You hit send as you finally find yourself exactly where you wanted to be. You’re stood in Kylian’s living room, in front of the double doors on the far left of the large room that lead to the balcony, with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, a view you knew you didn’t get from anywhere in your apartment. You could see your yourself slightly in the glass door, you hadn’t turned the light on too bright, so the glare wouldn’t erase your reflection and the background but the monument was still visible.

Perfect.

You look down at your phone to see the bubble that showed Kylian was typing disappear before reappearing again.

so?

He finally sends.

so.

You quickly click on the camera icon in the bottom corner, lining the frame so he could see you in picture as well as your surroundings. You snap the picture and send it to him.

hurry up and come home.

*****

As always, lmk your thoughts, I love hearing from you guys, thank you to everyone who comments and sends me asks, love and appreciate each and everyone of you <3 also GOOD LUCK PSG! LETS GO! 😌💙

[srbachchan]

DAY 5641

Jalsa, Mumbai                July 28,  2023                Fri 10:27 PM

🪔 .. July 29 .. birthday greetings to Ef Amar Brar aka Ef Renu UK 🇬🇧 .. and Ef Shardha Aggarwal from New Delhi .. wishes of good health and happiness .. from your Ef Family always .. 🙏🏻🚩

Birthday - EF - Amar/Renu Brar .. Saturday, 29 July .. love from the Ef family ..

The night is young as they would say .. and yes it is .. so at  2:23am of the next day, the 29th,  it is still in time for the DAY of the 28th .. though there have been many reactions to the manner in which I have been mentioning my days and dates here .. many feeling I am not doing it right .. 

If I have to write for the DAY of the day , within the time frame of the day .. then it is quite simple .. mention the day and date and all is well within the Ef WORLD .. BUT when the DAY of the day has passed the midnight hour, I mention 2 dates .. the one for which the day of the DAY is being written, and mention also that when the DAY is being written it has passed the midnight hour and on to the next day, else the timing that I give shall confuse the reader .. for the timing when the midnight has passed, shall reflect the next day .. hence ..  

Assertion in the lives of the many are an essential ingredient for the functioning of living .. many of the living feel or have asserted that they know without fault, that the assertion of the one they are employed for , is quite literally a waste of time , or they are unaware of the doings of the employed .. 

NO .. 

The employer with his or her checks and balances does find out and needs to find out the fault and immediately confront and correct .. 

Eg., 

cctv cameras and staff that man them all day long 24 hrs in 4 shifts .. security at the gates and homes that maintain regimen 24 hrs in 4 shifts .. are employed to keep vigil .. make attendance and in and out movements with details of names and purpose on attendance sheets .. sheets which the employer checks before resigning for the night .. checks too at odd hours when unexpectedly through the cctv ap., on your phone you can discover personally what movements occur .. and a quick questioning to the staff manning property, keeps them attentive to the fact that they are being watched .. 

ASSERTION .. ladies and gentlemen of the Ef .. the essential ingredient of living .. never understood .. never misunderstood  .. never stood .. 

and when the defaulter is caught .. OUT ! out of the gates of the job .. find another place buddy .. warned several times, and when disobedience takes place often enough .. they must find another place where disobedience can be tolerated .. or not ..

The luxury of unknown disposition is a luxury, until the roof falls upon you  !!

Be in discipline  .. assertion be the norm .. the essential ingredient .. for the living in the lives of those that be employed for the job .. employed .. !!

A difficult naming .. a difficult practice .. but practice makes perfect  .. keep at it .. and at some stage the door shall open .. and if it does not ..  ‘jump’ - philosophically, or better metaphorically  - and enter  !!

Metaphorically  .. 😁 ..

Life is such a metaphor .. !!!

Amitabh Bachchan

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSOM SHADE

Prologue

The Monster in the Shadow

A shadow loomed in the dark stillness of the night.

A pair of eyes gleamed.

The eyes of a predator.

Eyes like fire and thunder, laced with venom.

Multiple computers flickered to red all of a sudden. Someone had dared to invade the monster's lair. He was at once thrilled and in awe of the audacity of the intruder, "TheSwallow."

TheSwallow had breached the first layer of firewall the monster had built around his empire of dark web.

And the monster was no stranger to TheSwallow.

He knew her.

He had stolen from her.

How did the monster know the intruder was a "her"? Experience. Years of navigating in the dark corridors of hacking taught him to distinguish between a "he" and a "she". The "she"s usually had a specific style in writing code. These codes in his screens were so damn gorgeous to be written by a man.

The "she"s were very rare in the hacker business, but when there was a "she", it was a fucking spectacle to behold.

Just like what's transpiring right now.

The monster could kiss her dainty little fingers for the show she was putting on. So sexy, so sensual.

A smile curved in the corner of his lips.

His smile was a blade wrapped in silk.

A sinister mixture of danger and delight.

It was time to lay a trap for the little bird. Let’s see how the swallow fared in the sky of the eagles.

------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

A Serpent in the Eagle's Den

TheShadowMonster

It was the name she hated the most in the whole universe right now. Who was TheShadowMonster? She didn't know. No one knew. He was a notorious hacker on the dark web, the lord of that shadowy world. Hackers all over the globe admired him, some worshipped him, others peed their pants at the mere mention of his name. He was a name of admiration, reverence, and fear in their world.

Khushi Sen Gupta used to admire him, even worship him in certain weak moments, but not anymore. Right now, she hated his guts.

TheShadowMonster was a thief.

He had no morals.

Growing up in a notorious mafia family of Kolkata wasn't bad enough, now she had to face this drawback in her secret life as well.

Yes, Khushi Sen Gupta was a hacker.

A highly proficient one.

A childhood full of mommy issues and daddy issues does that to you, when you find computers more emotionally available to you than your own parents.

Khushi Sen Gupta was a born genius. She discovered the language of computers when she was 8 years old, and since then, she never looked back.

Her father, Sashidhar Sen Gupta, the Deputy Commissioner of Police in Kolkata, was also the most corrupt in the country's history, not that anyone knew about his crimes. He was a member of 'The Serpents,' one of the three families that established the mafia in this country in the fifties.

The infamous 'Triad.'

Three families had formed an organized mafia syndicate that had been dominating the county for decades. They had vowed to follow the rules set by the Godfathers and assist one another in times of crisis.

When territories were being distributed, the head of the Serpents, Samol Kumar Jha, had claimed West Bengal and its borders. They had started operating from there. The Sen Gupta family had the honor of being the consiglieri of the Serpents and had held that position ever since.

A consigliere was someone not related by blood to the family.

An outsider.

But he offered legal and financial counsel to The Boss while shielding them from impending threats. That was Khushi's father now. The consigliere of the Serpents.

The Serpents ruled West Bengal for decades, but a few years ago, they moved to Delhi when The Boss, Prakash Narayan Jha, decided to dip his toes into politics. As a result, the Sen Gupta household also relocated to Delhi. Even after The Boss was mysteriously murdered, they didn't move back. The Serpents now operated their business in Kolkata from Delhi, as the brother of the deceased boss took over that part of the business. The Heir wanted to venture into even more dangerous games.

The Politics.

The son of the deceased boss, Shyam Manohar Jha, was eager to try his luck in the political arena, just like his father.

People called him "The Viper".

A fitting description of his nature.

The second family was the Mumbai Wolves. As the name suggested, Mumbai was their territory. Khushi didn't know much about them. She had never needed to. She hadn't encountered any of them in her entire 22 years of life. But she could vaguely recall that last month, the boss's daughter was killed in plain sight, such an insult to the power the Wolves possessed.

And the last but not the least, the most notorious of them all.

The Black Eagles.

In whose territory she was standing right now. The Serpents and the Black Eagles didn't see eye to eye. They were enemies. But since they were in the same alliance, they had to tolerate each other. Why were people who were once friends now enemies? That's a long story. Let's just store it for another time. For now, there's more pressing issue to focus on.

Her whereabouts.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

It was a mistake.

It could be nothing but a mistake.

A grave one in nature.

Entering enemy territory like this!

But it was a mistake she needed to make.

A party was going on. A costume party with masks, nonetheless. At least it would be a tad bit easier to hide her identity.

The knives she strapped to her thighs were biting her skin.

Ignoring the pain in her thigh, Khushi simply observed. She had been preparing for this night for days. She had meticulously transformed her appearance for the evening. The long black gown concealed the knives strapped to her thighs. She paired the dress with a simple black lace mask. Her dark hair was curled into long waves with lips painted a vivid red.

It wasn't her.

But it was essential for her plan.

She forced herself to maintain an air of nonchalance, her wine glass raised in one hand. She feigned drinking from it, but her eyes were locked on the crowd, never losing focus. A few sips of the drink might have soothed her jittery nerves, yet she refrained. A clear head was more crucial than any liquid courage. The party was being held in a mansion associated with the Black Eagles. The mansion was alive with the vibrant energy of the party in full motion.

Perhaps tonight she would get some answers. It was good that she had gathered as much information about them as possible over the past few days.

"Mr.Rathore, so nice to see you."

A man's loud greetings drew her attention. Khushi studied the man being greeted. He stood tall, his medium-built frame filling out the sharp lines of his tailored suit, a classic black that contrasted with his neatly combed white hair. His face was wrinkled with age.

Vikrant "the Butcher" Singh Rathore.

The boss of The Black Eagles.

He had so much blood on his hands. Everyone in her world did. But he had the bloodiest of them all.

Hence the name "The Butcher."

His ruthless demeanor commanded respect in their world, admired by many. Khushi had encountered enough men like him in her life to remain unfazed, or at least to hide it well.

Standing beside him was his son, the Prince of the Rathore Empire, Akash Singh Rathore. A tall, well-built man. His role within the Eagles was still uncertain. Rumor had it that the Junior Rathore wanted to leave the mafia world. Not a promising prospect for the Rathore family, with an heirless empire hanging in the balance.

Those men in the eastern corner cared very little about the masquerade, standing barefaced while others concealed themselves behind masks. Good for Khushi. Nonetheless, she had studied them so much over the past few days that she would recognize them anywhere-masked, unmasked, veiled, or unveiled.

Khushi finally let herself take a little sip of the red liquid for the first time that night. The bitterness of the wine burned her throat. A spark compared to the burning hate prickling her skin as her eyes wandered to the man who stood silently beside Junior Rathore.

The man she had come here for.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

The consigliere of the Black Eagles.

The Outsider.

Her eyes traced over him, lingering on every detail. He stood tall in an all-black suit. The black shirt underneath had its top three buttons open in absence of a tie. His black hair was slightly messy, as if he had just run his fingers through it. He kept his gaze fixed on the man in front of him with the most bored, expressionless face she had ever seen. It was hard to see his eye from this distance.

But she knew they were brown.

Light chocolate brown.

Like caramel and chocolate mixed together, sprinkled with a hint of orange and green if you got the right angle.

Eyes like shadow and flame.

Eyes that could kill you, literally and figuratively.

She had seen pictures of him in great detail, just for research purposes.

Purely and absolutely.

Not because she found him attractive or anything. Like right now, she couldn't take her eyes off the handsome man, not because his well-built body was flexing in all the right places as he shook someone's hand, but because of the stories she had heard of him over the years since he returned from the States seven years ago.

The words had it that after Senior Rathore's retirement, he would be the boss of The Black Eagles, not Junior Rathore. They said Vikrant Singh Rathore favored Mr. Raizada over his own son. In parts, Mr. Raizada even bore a closer resemblance to Senior Rathore than to his own father.

Arnav "The Vulture" Singh Raizada.

He was The Vulture among The Eagles.

In the business world, people called him ASR. He was the son of the former consigliere of The Black Eagles, Arvind Singh Raizada. After Arvind was murdered, his wife committed suicide. Following that, Senior Rathore had sent him to the USA to study at Harvard. He had taken over the Rathore Industries at 25 and transformed the once-dying company into a Fortune 500 corporation. People said his net worth was over 500 million dollars, with some even claiming it was more.

But the more impressive thing was how he got his nickname. He cleared away all their illegal affairs and whitewashed all of their black money, giving them the cleanest reputation in the entire mafia world in the police database. Under the shade of the massive wings of The Vulture, The Eagles could easily operate their business without any hitch.

Such a waste of a Harvard education, Khushi huffed.

There's a saying in her world that became popular in the last few years, "When the vulture surrounds you, try not to die."

He had the reputation of being the deadliest Eagle of them all,the most predatory. He would rarely go on a hunt though, but when he did, it was over. He went straight for the jugular.

No distractions.

No playing around with the prey.

But no one had ever seen him in action. Her bodyguard-turned-driver, Mohan, thought it was all just rumors The Eagles spread to create fear about the next boss among the masses.

She smiled politely at an older lady passing by, slightly raising her wine glass and pretending to take a sip. She kept her inspection ongoing from under the rim of her glass. She was right. Mr. Raizada did run his fingers through his hair a lot. The tattoo on his hand caught her eye.

He had a tattoo of a swallow on his right hand. Her favourite bird.

She had even named her hacker ID "TheSwallow." She yearned for the freedom of the bird and wanted to fly away to a far-off land one day. She didn't want to be frowned upon like the peacock or the swan. She wanted to be free, lost in the crowd like a normal human, not caged away in a castle.

She felt bad for the bird inked into his skin. Such a pretty bird trapped on the hand of such a despicable man. Just as he had caged the swallow forever in his skin, The Vulture had robbed her of her freedom as well.

She worked through all her university years at IIT Delhi to collect information and proof about the crimes committed by his father and the Serpent, so that by the end of her graduation, she could share them with the police in exchange for protection and escape from the country. She also coded a deadly virus that could evade any high-end security system, which she intended to sell on the dark web for a high price. But as she was transferring the data to the CBI, it stopped at the 10% mark, and all her data and the virus she created were gone. Absolutely gone. Not a single file remained on her computer. To make matters worse, her computer was formatted.

He was hacked by none other than TheShadowMonster. Why the infamous hacker in the history of all hackers needed to target someone like her, she had no idea. She didn't have any idea about the 'why's, 'how's, or 'who's anymore.

She only knew that the information he had hacked was dangerous. It could destroy the entire mob world if it fell into the wrong hands. They could use it as leverage against the mob families, especially the Serpents, to achieve anything. And it had fallen into the worst hands possible.

The hands of an enemy.

She had been tracking the data and TheShadowMonster relentlessly for the past few days. She even managed to hack TheShadowMonster's server. All of this tracking had led her to Mr. Raizada. TheShadowMonster had sold the information to him. She discovered text messages, transactions, and every detail that pointed to the fact that the information was sold to Mr. Raizada in exchange for a huge amount of money.

And with that, all her escape routes had been blocked. She was trapped in this hellhole.

She couldn't stay in Delhi any longer. She couldn't afford to wait to collect more information against them as the day of her wedding approached rapidly. She needed to retrieve the information tonight, at any cost, from none other than Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada.

She was going to kill The Vulture.

She knew it seemed foolish, utterly illogical, but she had no other choice. Either she would kill him and obtain the information, or he would kill her and put her out of her misery. Either way, she would be free.

There was one more reason behind her desire to eliminate The Vulture.

Her only friend from university, despite her father's hovering and overprotectiveness, had vanished after the hacking incident. She didn't want to assume the worst, but her efforts to track him down and inquiries among other students led nowhere. Nikhil Khurana, whom she called NK, had vanished without a trace. She knew NK could remain untraceable if he wanted, as he was skilled with computers and in removing his online tracks as well. But Khushi was Khushi. She discovered a number NK had shared text messages with before his disappearance, and that number belonged to Mr. ASR.

Khushi didn't have time to cry over her pathetic life or the fact that she had befriended someone sent by The Eagles to keep an eye on her. Not just befriended, but she had made him her best friend for life-the pathetic, lonely, friendless life that she had.

That was indeed a solid reason to kill Mr. Raizada, for giving her a best friend and then snatching it all away.

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@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @arshisrabbaves @titaliya

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard:Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 01

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta. I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not?

I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

warning : death,murder,rape,suicide. so it's a trigger warning.

Chapter 1

In the early 20th century, in Delhi, standing in a field where the cremation was happening, the people gathered in their white clothes watching two pyres of fire burning, mourning for the two lives that ended too early.

"Give them peace and make it easy for them to pass the afterlife."

Praying silently for the departed soul, Manoroma Rajput wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked at the small soul beside her. The child hadn't uttered a single word in the two days following her parents' tragic death. Manoroma reached down to take the young girl's hand, hoping to offer some comfort to the only child of her dearest friend, Garima Gupta.

When the son of Jamidar of Laxminagar, Sashi Gupta, saw Garima Roy Chowdhury, daughter of a respectable Jamidar of Calcutta, in his best friend, Jamidar of Santinagar and neighbour Mahindar Rajput and Monorona Sengupta's wedding, he fell head over heels in love with her. Manoroma was so happy that she could have her childhood friend with her all through her life as a neighbour. But alas a few days ago, a dakoit attack had crumbled all her dreams along with the happiness of the eight-year-old child. Sashi was brutally murdered and Garima was brutally raped and murdered alongside her husband and the details that Manoroma pried from her husband, the little girl might have faced the same consequence as her mother if the servant Madhumati ji had not intervened in time risking her life. Madhumati had been with the Gupta family since childhood. And She considered Sashi as her own brother. So, when she came to Rajput's house that fateful night with that unconscious child wrapped in a blanket, Manorama and Madhumati could nothing but cry at the horror of the situation. To make matters worse, the next day, Sashi Gupta's elder brother came to take the child home, only to marry her off to a man old enough to be her grandfather to shake off her responsibility and capture the property of her father. In these days and age, female children had little right over their parents' properties but Sashi Gupta was ahead of his age. He had a connection with the local government and transferred some of the property to his daughter's name. No wonder her uncle was so ready to marry her off in exchange for money. But Manoroma and Mahindar had intervened in time and all but snatched the little girl back to their home and heard her uncle disowned her of the Gupta title. But who was he to disown her, that title was all she had of her parents left.

Coming back to the present, Manoroma tried to comfort her by squeezing her hand, but the little girl didn't want her comfort. She gently pulled her hand away before looking up at Manoroma with eyes so big and brown and broken that Manoroma felt her heart break all over again. A sob caught in Manoroma's throat. It was unthinkable, unimaginable… and yet it had happened. Sashi and Garima were gone, leaving behind their eight-year-old daughter.

The service concluded, and yet Khushi remained still, refusing to speak or even look at those who stepped forward to offer their condolences. Not wanting to put any additional strain on the young girl's shoulders, Manoroma glanced at her husband.

Mahindar nodded, instinctively knowing what his wife had communicated.

"I'll get the carriage "

The ride back to the house was filled with a strained silence. Manoroma sneaked a glance to check on the child quietly sitting all alone in front of her. Worry and concern battled for dominance, little Khushi was such a sensitive child - how would she cope with such a devastating loss?

The next few days, Manoroma and Mahindar were devoted to the child, trying to draw her out of the little shell she'd retreated into. Mahindar always loved Khushi as his own, always wanted a daughter himself but after two sons back to back his dream was yet to be fulfilled. But looking at his best friend's daughter so small and vulnerable, he vowed to himself, that if God gave him a chance, he would do anything for this girl and raise her as his own as she was gifted to him. And then nobody came to take care of the child from Sashi's in-law's side and God fulfilled Mahindar's wish of having Khushi as his daughter.

It was unnatural for a child her age to be so very still. She seemed to sit and stare no matter where she was. In her room, she would stare out the window, clutching the rug doll her mother had made for her to her chest. If prompted, she would wander outside only to sit on the small bench and stare at the trees. She would pick up things they tried to give her, but her actions were more dutiful than enthusiastic. She had no interest in food or any games they tried to play with her. She spoke not at all, though she could be coaxed to nod or shake her head. She didn't even touch her favourite jalebies.

At the end of the year, Manoroma and Mahindar's two sons came home from boarding school in Darjeeling. Manoroma was excited and hopeful for Khushi too. Because he always adored her Akash vai and the chocolates he brought for her every year since he went to boarding school. Sixteen-year-old Akash swept the tiny girl right up off her feet, tossing her high in the air. His ever-present grin faltered and fell when Khushi reacted not at all. She didn't cry out, nor did she giggle with delighted little-girl pleasure. Unsure how to handle her apathy, Akash sat her back down again. Fourteen-years old, Amandranath Rajput and his friend Arnav Singh Raizada looked at the scene in front of them with a forlorn look.

Arnav was Mahindar's best friend Amarpal's son. Mahindar, Sashi and Amarpal used to be thick as thieves. He never thought in a million years that all of his friends would face such horrible consequences. Amarpal's father was a great businessman at that time. Despite not being a Jamidar, Amarpal's father had the same amount of properties as Mahindar's father. But Amarpal's father wasted most of them on gambling and alcohol. Amarpal and Ratna's marriage was arranged by their fathers who were business partners and the couple had a daughter, Anjali and a son, Arnav from their union. Amarpal Singh Raizada was not like his father at all, he was a scholar and was too fascinated with Western education and culture. Seeing his enthusiasm Ratna allowed her husband to leave India to study at British University for a few years, but little did she know that her husband would have an affair with a ferengi, Natalie Smith there. Upon hearing this news, Ratna Singh Raizada hanged herself, discovered by her 12-year-old son. And on the other hand, receiving the news of his wife's demise Amarpal shot himself in the head in a drunken state out of guilt. After that, Arnav's Uncle had all but thrown them out of their home. Till then Anjali and Arnav were living with their maternal grandmother Suvadra Malik. He too was studying with Akash and Aman in the same boarding school and as a result spent most of his holidays in Rajput haveli, actually he lived with the Rajputs when he came to Delhi as his grandmother couldn't bear the sight of him as he looked so much like his father. But thank god, that lady adored Anjali and had no problem with her. So, Arnav was just bidding his time to end his education and do something of his own and be free from his grandmother's torment. Because without education and no properties, he was no better than a manual labourer. And Arnav Singh Raizada was nothing but ambitious.

Amandranath aka Aman moved first, squeezing Khushi's cheek to get a reaction from her awkwardly but failed. Arnav didn't greet the child at all. Manoroma and Mahindar watched them curiously. Their eyes followed the children, watching as Arnav sat on the step beside Khushi without saying a word.

This continued for several days. No matter where Khushi would choose to sit and stare, Arnav would sit quietly with her. He might read or work on his homework, but he was always with her.

On the fifth day, Arnav stood suddenly and said unceremoniously. "I'm taking a walk," he said to no one, his voice unassuming.

He extended his hand toward the little girl.

Manorama watched, surprised, as Khushi first turned her head, staring at his hand with a look of serious contemplation that seemed wrong on such a small angelic face. Then she stood, tucking her rug doll safely under one arm, and put her hand in his.

Together, they walked out beyond the tree line hand in hand.

@arshifiesta @phuljari @featheredclover

<Next>

[ramcharantitties]

Rangrez

Chapter 4- Prideful Job

Sita's note: I am sorry if this is late and boring- i tried my best. Please have a good read! Also I have posted Raghuvan on Ao3, do check it out <3

Kainat woke up with shock, her chest heaving and body sweating. She felt like Lahore was calling for her. She looked around the room, to realize she was in her own home in Delhi now, no more bound to the golden cage of Heeramandi. As long as it took, Kainat strayed upon a to-let house. It was not as huge as her Shahi Mahal, but she wasn't a tawaif here anymore. Just smaller than her room back in Lahore, she was happy to start a new life with a new family. To march to her goals, away from being part of someone else's lustful fantasies. As much as she hated it, she had to sell some of her precious ornaments to afford the house. She still had the money to use given by Satto bi, but she managed to keep them safe. The first piece of jewelry she sold was a gold chain from what she stole from Rehana. The one thing that was helpful right now, was that the rich quality of these jewelry were going to benefit her. It only took one single chain to get her a house. Upon opening the cloth she tied that jewelry in, Kainat found the keys to Rehana's locker.

Would Rehana notice? She had a bad feeling, as if Shahi Mahal was calling for her. Kainat felt as if Fareedan was calling out for her, as if there was a great trouble in Shahi Mahal. Her hand wrapped around the silver keys, the cold providing her an untold feeling.

Kainat shook her head and got up, it was her first time away from her home and that's why she might be feeling this way. If nawab did go back to Shahi Mahal complaining that Kainat ran away, there would be some searching done for her. Since there was no news yet in Delhi, she was sure she wasn't found yet. Kainat took a deep breath and drank some water. It was pitch black in the night, overlooking the police barracks. Kainat was still very unsure about Ram. What repercussions was he talking about? And who was He to punish her for such repercussions? The only way to accept his behaviour was that he is a paranoid person. Kainat shook her head, settling back in bed.

It only took Kainat one or two stroll in the market to find where the revolutionaries were assembled or having a meeting. The look of being right but sneakily, the fear of being caught protecting the country, it was too much visible in their eyes. The next day, Kainat made to a revolutionary meeting like that. Her face veiled from the world, she was covered in a dark dupatta and a plain suit to blend her in the crowd. She sat in the middle of the audience, where she spotted a few more women.

The meeting hall was a dimly lit, empty space, tucked away in the heart of the city where shadows danced on the walls like silent spectators. The air was thick with anticipation as revolutionaries from all walks of life gathered in unity. Amidst the dimness of the hall, Kainat's spirit burned with the fire of rebellion, pushing her forward with unwavering resolution. With each passing moment, she felt herself drawing nearer to the realization of her dream, her heart swelling with anticipation at the thought of playing a part in shaping the destiny of her nation. "We are the people of the country, and we must be the one responsible for it's better future. The water, the forests and the land is ours, it should be our oath to protect it." A man in sarafa stood ahead, addressing the crowd.

As the high of the meeting reached its peak, voices rose in unison, echoing through the dimly lit hall. The sense of unity among the revolutionaries grew stronger. With a nod of agreement exchanged among the gathered revolutionaries, the meeting concluded, but the flame of revolution continued to burn brightly in their hearts.

Kainat walked out, when she spotted the same leader of the meeting. a flutter in her steps pulled her forward, to meet him; to listen whatever he has to say any further. "-but we need money, we need some resources to make the riot possible".

Her hand reached forward, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned around to see a beautiful young woman, but the madness of independence burning bright in her eyes. "I can help". Kainat knew how to convince men, and she did. Upon their resistance and doubts, she had a firm answer- "I wish to play a role in our fight and I won't back down". Alas, they had to listen, letting her in their plan.

-

It was around four in the evening, when Ram made his way to the police station to enquire something. "I wish to ask something in Lahore police station- it's related to a case". Ram flashed a smile to the old constable, a landline telephone accessible to him.

"Which district?"

"Heeramandi"

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Tagging: @jkdaddy01 @ramayantika @definitelyhim @starlight-1010 @panikk-attackkk @vijayasena @lilliebeingdelulu @multifandom-boss-bitch @yehsahihai

[enigma-the-mysterious]

WIP Wednesday: 31/7/24

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RRR has consumed my brain so all recent WIPs are from there. Almost the same as last week. I managed to combine "Ram's thoughts as he carries Bheem away" with another draft like I said I would. I also added a new work to my WIP list. The plot bunnies are multiplying :p

1. Bheem's thoughts after the betrayal: What it says on the tin. Angst, angst, angst and more angst. There isn't enough Bheem trauma fics in the fandom and I am here to fix that

2. Aftermath of Bheem's arrest: Fucktons of angst and Ram being emo and self destructive as usual

3. Inspired: Bheem still has nightmares about the events at Delhi. He and Ram talk. Angst with comfort

4. Chocolate: Dosti era. Ram introduces Bheem to chocolate :D :D :D Pure, self indulgent fluff

5. Ram's guilt about the flogging: What it says on the tin. Post movie. Angst with comfort

Snippet from WIP 5.

"I should have protected you."

"You did."

"No," Ram snarled, feral, vicious. "I did not."

Bheem smiled, in the same serene way he had on the night when he trusted his most carefully guarded secret with the wrong person. "Yes, you did. I know it in my heart. When you told me to kneel, that was not actually an order, was it? It was a plea from you. You took no pleasure from my torture, did you, anna?"

Ram remained silent. He wanted to deny the truth in Bheem's words, for every word that he spoke felt like it was a word closer to Bheem spelling out his forgiveness, his absolution, his mercy for Ram and Ram hated that.

But he could not do it, not anymore. In Delhi, there were too many lies and secrets between them, half truths that ripped them apart and frayed the bond Ram had once thought was holy. So Ram was tired. He was so fucking tired.

"Tell me, anna," Bheem went on, clasping his hands tighter over Ram's fists, as if he feared that Ram would crumble into dust otherwise. Maybe he would. Six months of torture at the hands of the British and this was what would finally break him. The quiet strength and the tender kindness of his Bheema. How ironic and fitting at the same time.

"Tell me all the ways you protected me, saved me, kept my weary heart beating through the torture."

Ram choked on a sob. "I… I can't."

"Yes, you can. You can do this for me, your tammudu, right anna?"

His lips trembled. Memories flooded unbidden. The weight of Catherine's whip in his hand. The strain on his arm as he ripped out chunks of his dearest friend's flesh. The strength of Bheem's song, the stubborn defiance in his eyes, the fire directed at him, the pride in his eyes, his utter refusal to kneel. The warmth of Bheem's blood on his face. God, there had been so much blood. Blood rolling down his back, blood drenching his white dhoti, blood pooled at his feet, blood soaking the holy soil.

Bheem's body a dead weight on his shoulder.

A warm mist descended over his vision.

Dammit, how was he supposed to form words in such a state?

"I… I tried, Bheema," he finally said, swallowing another fit of sobs. "I tried so damn hard, to make it easy for you. But… but I failed."

Bheem raised both their hands and placed it over his chest. His broad, solid, moving chest.

"You didn't," he said and now his voice sounded strained too. "My heart still beats. My life still thrums in my veins, anna. If it was not for you, I would be dead. If it was any white officer, I would be dead. If it was anyone else, I would be dead at that whipping post."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by Ram's loud exhales.

"Tell me."