#delhi going businesses

[cinematicnomad]

jet lag is a fucking bitch but you know what? it’s worth it 🇮🇳

[ichorai]

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range. 

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side. 

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief. 

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level. 

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought. 

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment. 

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him. 

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd. 

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple. 

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?” 

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away. 

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium. 

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you. 

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles. 

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu. 

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing. 

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica. 

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now. 

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity. 

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time. 

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. 

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana. 

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults. 

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat. 

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering. 

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes. 

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused. 

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower. 

You didn’t stay to answer his question. 

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips. 

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him. 

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince. 

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively. 

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied. 

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him. 

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him. 

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you. 

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running. 

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it. 

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed. 

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide. 

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun. 

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition. 

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him. 

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter. 

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity. 

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked. 

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him. 

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline. 

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people. 

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off. 

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say. 

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it. 

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?” 

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight. 

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes. 

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening. 

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast. 

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile. 

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba. 

So this was goodbye. 

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat. 

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes. 

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing. 

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes. 

Air.

Gasping for breath. 

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates. 

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind. 

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord. 

The man fell limp in your hold. 

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out, 

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip. 

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang. 

A breath of relief. 

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask. 

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away. 

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his. 

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it. 

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them. 

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages. 

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. 

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be. 

But he didn’t. 

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound. 

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth. 

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence. 

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon. 

[ramayantika]

Krishna (mystery academia)

I was inspired from that old Vishnu post and that Delhi vala post so here we go. No idea how this will turn up though par dekhte hain.

No, it can't be a dream. You have pinched yourself twice, and your sister has been calling your name out from the past five minutes, but you can't help yourself. Your eyes are transfixed at that giant grey cloud hovering majestically in the sky. A face is etched on the cloud. He looks enchanting.

Your books have fallen on the floor. A mysterious flute tune rings in your ear. You haven't heard it anywhere recently, but the melodious tune starts to grow too loud. Look carefully, who is the girl in a pink saree, her golden bangles blind your vision and you hear a boy's sweet laughter before your legs give out.

It's Janmashtami night. The clock struck 12 and kids from your society broke the pot. They jump around in getting some money from the dahi handi while the adults clap and call their kids to come home. Everybody chants jai shri krishna and bows down folding their hands. You too close your eyes. Once you raise your head to look at the Krishna murti, your eyes see a person standing behind the murti, twirling a flute with his nimble fingers. Someone snaps their fingers beside your ear. The figure vanishes.

'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham' Goosebumps rise on your skin and a divine vision graces your being. The sun and the stars collide, but everybody keeps breathing. The sound of a conch fills your mind and you see someone larger than any human, than any other organism on earth stand in a battlefield. He looks fierce once and then in a blink turns as calm as a river.

'paritranaya sadhunam vinashayacha dushkritam dharma sansthapanarthaya sambhavami yuge yuge' Tears flood down your eyes as you wake up from yet another dream of this all pervading misery encircling the world that has given itself to crimes and murders, forgetting that the quest for lust, greed, pride and ruthless power has gone in vain. Once again you stand on a battlefield witnessing hundreds and thousand of mighty warriors flanked by their elephants and horses. On your side stands one man. Just one man -- wielding a chakra and a large mace. He charges off at every soldier. In seconds bodies pile up on the battlefield and a guttural cry pierces your ears. The lone warrior clutches every fallen body and weeps.

The sweet smelling fragrant chandan makes you smile. The old temple priest, a gentle soul patiently applies tilak to all the devotees. After ten people comes your turn to apply the tilak. The priest's eyes brighten as if he has known you since long. You don't know him. This Krishna temple is far away from your home. The priest looks back at the beautifully decorated Krishna murti and smiles. You blink and turn your eyes to a pillar beside the garbhagriha. There stands a boy too gorgeous to be real, a form so enchanting that it etches itself on your eyes. You feel your heart thumping as the fragrant chandan clouds your senses. You are about to fall, but that lovely looking boy catches you in his arms. Flowers fall on your head and a sweet voice whispers, "Will you finally come back, sakhi?"

The night sky is full of stars tonight which is highly unusual for this busy city. Two stars gleam the brightest. You try to figure which constellation they belong too until hundreds of stars come together forming an image of a peacock feather.

At Prem Mandir in Vrindavan, you eagerly watch all the moving sculptures showing different pastimes of Krishna. Somewhere nearby, a group of ladies are singing Meerabai's songs. Your feet tap on their own accord and you feel yourself sway. When did you raise your arms to the sky and twirl? Nobody knows. Your family watches you laugh and dance in the temple. You look at no one but Krishna. The handsome boy from the temple is back again wearing bright yellow clothes -- not too hard to miss. A rough shake on your shoulders makes you open your eyes. The devotees in the temple are staring at you, but you blush in awareness of a certain dark one looking at you.

You sit gazing at the cool waters of Yamuna, the river which played an important role in Krishna's life. She saw his arrival into Gokul and his departure to Mathura. The texts and the old say that she later accompanied him as his wife to Dwaraka. You bow your head at her and dip your feet into the water. Nobody is at the ghat, it's all quiet and peaceful. Yamuna cools your body and a sense of calmness pervades your mind. You feel yourself slipping somewhere. The river like a gentle mother's touch touches your skin. "Do not fear, friend."

The car is about to cross the borders of Vrindavana. You feel your heart cry for an unknown separation. All these nights, you heard female voices whispering, "do not leave." At dawn you woke up with the sounds of a flute and sometimes your evenings were blessed with a boy gracing your hotel's terrace at sunset. He carried a peacock feather with him. You never shared a word with him nor did he with you. The steep silence yet felt comfortable.

Should I stay? Should I go? Should I call that boy and say goodbye, but how do I find him? What is this feeling in my heart? I feel it break into pieces. The driver caught your eye in the mirror and you hear a screeching break, The small flute replica hits the backside of the mirror and there you see a divine view once again.

Surrounded by cows, his feet crossed, he stands with a flute donning yellow garbs. You see the sun and the moon in his eyes. The universe gleams in his limbs. He appears magnificent. The divine sound of the conch rings again and you fall at his feet. 'I am all yours, Shyam.'

'Glad to have you back finally sakhi...' Red palms touch your forehead and the figure in front shines with bright white light like a halo around him. A lotus flower is placed on the last page of your book over Krishna's photo. The afternoon sky is now grey and far away you see a dark cloud emerging towards you.

"It shall start again, isn't it?"

Tagging the sakhis: @sanskari-kanya @shut-up-rabert @krishna-sahacharini @ketchup-jar-ka @arachneofthoughts @jessbeinme15 @ma-douce-souffrance @tumhari-bhairavi @manwalaage @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @reallythoughtfulwizard @bambioleo @morally-gayy @krishna-priyatama @kaal-naagin

[chthonic-cassandra]

Recent books, fiction -

Emma Cline, The Girls - a teenage girl in the late 1960's ends up on the outer edges of a Manson-like (very closely Manson-like) cult. This was okay, but not great, falling too often into cliches about teenage girlhood and lacking a sharp understanding of cult dynamics. By basing the fictional cult in the novel so closely on Charles Manson's Cline gets to handwave a bunch of things about how and why it works, but the seams in the construction show through anyway; Cline's understanding about what leads people to join and stay in these kinds of groups, and how the internal dynamics function, seemed to me persistently surface-level. The strongest part of the novel is the protagonist's potent desire for one of the closest inner circle girls in the cult, which is the reason she becomes entangled much more than any draw from the cult leader himself. There was something interesting there, if Cline had focused on it, and something interesting too in the hints about our protagonist's solitary experiences of lesbian masochistic desire, but this thread was resolved in a way that felt to me disappointingly simplistic. The hints about our protagonist's adulthood following her experience of the cult are also flat, without the messiness of what it can mean to survive that experience. Worth reading as an example of a fictional depiction of organized abuse, but not a great one.

Mona Simpson, Commitment - family saga novel following three siblings as they make lives for themselves following their mother's depressive breakdown and institutionalization in the early 1970's. This had some flashes of clarity and insight, but fizzled out quickly into banality. There were some things that Simpson wanted to say about pragmatism vs making art, and about living in fear of mental illness, but it all got sanded down. The depiction of 'mental illness' is also two dimensional at best. This suffered especially for me in proximity to a recent read-through of The Frederica Quartet, which deals with some similar themes with an incomparably greater level of complexity and beauty. While this novel wasn't terrible, the fact of how lauded it has been made me feel cynical about the state of contemporary literary fiction.

Dion Fortune, Moon Magic - a hilarious but less than successful chapter in my weird journey of reading Fortune's fiction work. Like The Sea Priestess, to which it is a loose sequel, this novel centers around a blatant Dion Fortune self-insert initiating a repressed professional man into sexualized spiritual enlightenment. Unlike The Sea Priestess, Moon Magic is told largely from the point of view of said Dion Fortune self-insert, which brings the narcissism levels up to the nearly intolerable. Left unfinished at Fortune's death, the final chapter was written by her friends which was also not a great choice.

Melody Razak, Moth - a left-leaning, intellectual family in Delhi struggles to cope with the cataclysmic violence of partition. Stepping back from this book there are elements of it, and of the way each character was drawn, which I appreciate, but I felt consistently uneasy reading it, so much that I put it aside for a week in the middle, which is unusual for me. There was something about Razak's narrative gaze which felt exoticizing in its hazy simplicity; this maybe has to do with her conviction to "tell the untold stories" of women who experienced violence during partition, which I don't think is ever a great way to go into a fiction project for reasons I have written about elsewhere. However, the intensely brutal violence of the final section of the book somehow landed for me more as a reader; I don't actually know how I feel about the representational ethics of it, but something about the extremity brought it to a narratively more effective place. I'm still trying to sort through why.

Stacey D'Erasmo, The Complicities - after her husband's conviction for fraudulent business practices, a woman moves to a town in New England, opens a massage practice, and gets emotionally involved with a beached whale. Ugh. This was very bad, and I don't know how it ended up on my to-read list. Flat, simplistic prose style, irritating narrative voice, unlikable characters. Whatever.

Kikuo Tsumura, There's No Such Thing As an Easy Job (trans. Polly Barton) - genuinely hilarious satire on Japanese capitalist culture. A young woman, burnt out on her previous job (the nature of which isn't revealed until the end, which was an effective choice for me and so I'm not spoiling it), seeks to find a form of employment that will require the least possible from her intellectually and emotionally, ending up in increasing surreal work situations. This kind of book often doesn't work for me (I'm not a big humor person), but this was sharp and understated and very good. The section at the cracker factory in particular had me trying ineffectively to explain its hilarity to people around me. Recommended.

Catherine Lacey, Biography of X - in an AU United States where the southern states seceded in the mid-twentieth century, a newly widowed woman attempts to find out the truth about her wife, a notoriously secretive and manipulative artist. This was ambitious in its metafictional conceit and had a premise that intrigued but ultimately didn't live up to its promise. The world-building of Lacey's AU felt implausible and insufficiently developed; there were so many aspects of it that didn't land, like the distracting use of real-life figures or the total lack of critical analysis around race and gender. If the AU premise had been removed and the focus kept tighter on the central relationship it might have worked, but there too we just didn't have enough to go off of. This mostly just made me wish I was rereading Siri Hutvedt's The Blazing World, a much, much stronger metafictional depiction of a female artist, which maybe I should do.

Mariana Enríquez, Our Share of the Night - in Argentina during the period of military dictatorship, a young father attempts to save his son from the abusive group of which he has been a part since childhood. I loved this book so so very much. As a horror novel, as a depiction of organized abuse and intergenerational trauma, as a representation of the ways that state and interpersonal violence repeat and mirror. It's not a perfect book - I think that the last third could be tightened and shifted in certain ways - but what it's doing is so strong and specific that I don't mind. I sort of want to buy a copy and reread it right away. Strongly recommended, with the content note that it is a very emotionally plausible and unsparing depiction of its subject material.

[carionto]

The Ocean's Call

Life on Earth is... hectic these days. Everyone is so busy with all these projects and plans and probabilities and postulations, it's honestly quite bothersome for people like Cintra Valkeim, who just wants to immerse herself in nature. Particularly - the sea!

Ever since graduating from high school, only a few days after the Earth and Humanity "reappeared" in real space and were greeted back by the rest of the Galaxy, she's felt this calling of the deep unknown. Well, not all that unknown these days, practically every millimeter of the ocean floor had been mapped, and with all the vessels and underwater projects to keep the tectonic plates from shattering completely it was as busy below as above, but Cintra still felt like there was something missing, something that we "should" know, but don't.

She chose nautical engineering as her major with a minor in oceanography, as well as extra classes in classic literature when she enrolled at the Old Delhi Institute of Natural Science and Engineering. At first she did well at all her subjects, but only a few months in and she became obsessed over ancient texts, and barely left the library. As her attendance and grades fell and they were about to call her in, she disappeared.

When the university staff obtained the required permissions, they investigated her dorm room and found it filled with printed out copies of hundreds of books, pamphlets, zines, and every other form of text materials surrounding the occult, fantasy stories about the ocean and sea creatures, papers by discredited academics rambling on about ancient civilizations and sunken tomb worlds, and plenty of obscure works even the librarians were surprised they had in their archives.

There was one notebook, however, which detailed a plan to dive into one of the opened up fissures in the Pacific ocean that goes down to the mantle, and a schematic for a complex suit that could, in theory, withstand such enormous pressure using a miniature gravity field generator to create a sort of field of intense gravity right around it as a "shield" of sorts to hold back the water. Fascinating idea in its own right. Some test notes indicated she felt confident about it. And the last entry simply said "They are calling me more and more every day. I am ready now. I must go."

_________________________

Deep below, far below where the tiny nothings ever dare to go, where they can't go, one nothing stands out.

They are meant to be ignored, yet this nothing insists on being seen. On becoming a "something".

The eye is shut, but it can feel the nothing is calling out. It is dying.

Yet it pleads not for life. Rare, but not new. The nothing becoming a dead nothing is irrelevant to the One Who Observes All.

The nothing struggles. A feisty one. It conveys all it knows to a being that knows beyond what nothings can ever know.

Stop.

It holds a fragment of something new. What did it say?

... expired

Death and consequences are irrelevant where knowledge is concerned.

Rise once more. S P E A K !

"You Old Ones are resting, but we saw. We went where a New One was. It saw us. You went with us in your dreams, you saw it too. We took you there and back, but you were asleep. We can take you there again. You can find the New One. You can kill it! Please! Before it finds us..."

... expired again

The one who stared?

Such a brief yet infinite meeting. "New One" the nothing said. No. It is not kin.

Yet to imprint itself onto these nothings so deeply into their minds. This nothing found the marker in its brain.

Curious.

Yes.

This nothing shall become a something.

Rise once more. L E A R N !

[ramcharantitties]

Yes, Officer

Part-1

S/n: I'm sorry for this week old fic but here's the first part. I didn't know if this was good enough to post but I didn't want to go ia, so. Hope you like it <3

Angel stared out the window, the falling autumn leaves setting hopelessness in her heart. Nothing would help these days, the growing anxiety taking over everything in her mind. She was too young to be this stressed, only in her 20's, yet the weight crushing her shoulders was leaving her crying at odd hours.

"My daughter must be the next to reign the empire of Delhi", her father's words never left her mind, engraved like hot iron on a child's skin. Delhi, the bustling city felt more developed in the last decade than ever. Angel wondered if Delhi was teasing her too, telling her she wasn't apt enough to rule a city. With the oncoming opportunities, came oncoming threats- both to Delhi and her throne.

No matter what she said, this decision was strictly taken by her parent's old advisor- who often acted like your guardian. Dada didn't pester, the stubborn man in his 60's, ready to stab everyone in sight ever since the incident. There were oppositions who believed you were not the correct choice for the throne- but your father knew better. To burden young shoulders for the people than to wait for a messiah, if he comes. She laid back on the chair, sighing. They must be here anytime.

When Angel's dinner was poisoned two days back, her first thought was what her parents must think when she finally died. Would they be proud, or still love her as their daughter, or they wouldn't care, that she was a disappointment? Eventually a servant was passing by, at such ungodly hour, that saved Angel. She was rewarded with a prize money worth 500 Rs. Ever since, Dada made a decision that a trained police officer, from the Indian Imperial Army must serve as your personal bodyguard for the next three months, until the next ruler of Delhi is decided. Angel made protests, proposed questions, and shared information against the decision but everything was futile. She finally slumped down, agreeing.

A whole human, trained, with potential- just to protect you? It seemed insensible. That man could probably save crowds of innocent people, or punish troops of criminal but he would just stand here, making sure if she had enough water or not. Angel held her head in her hands. She was happy in the back of her mind.

Ever since the parental figures disappeared, Angel only faced manipulation and mistrust in her life. It felt like a sin to make friends, to drink freely or enter crowds. And now that the election days are coming closer, she felt trapped in herself. Every single movement was noticed, and most likely followed. A bodyguard didn't sound half bad.

Angel could hear the frequent words of Dada down the hall, followed by another pair of steps. She stood up, quickly, smoothing out her dress. A firm knock on her door echoed. "Angel?" Dada called out, impatiently waiting. She opened the door of the room, moving away to let the guest enter. A man in his brown uniform entered, almost three inches taller than her when she was in heels. He smelt good. Angel stood behind them as Dada explained everything to him. From the back of his head, he looked strong and firm. Angel cocked an eyebrow. After all, why would a trained police officer agree to a job like this?

"Angel?" Dada called out again, his hand reaching where she stood. Angel pranced forward, to face them. If this was her bodyguard, she was in a trouble. His chest buffed out, his eyesight peeking over her. Handlebar moustache and long eyelashes. His upper lip was hidden by the hair, his beard clean shaved. Angel gulped, leaning on the table. She did not expect him to have such an effect on her. Angel, busy staring at the man, missed most of the details Dada dictated to him. She leant closer to him. "A. Ramaraju" she muttered to herself, before going back in her position so they wouldn't notice. Well, nothing misses from his eyes. Her eyes, finally turned to the elder guardian.

"This gentleman is your bodyguard. He's a strict police officer and he will be checking everything, from what you eat and drink, where you go, everything. Once the elections are over, you will have a team of bodyguards anyways. But he should be enough for now". Soon, Dada left, and the police officer made himself comfortable in front of her table.

"I don't expect you to be so formal with me" Angel looked at him up and down. "I am solely here for my job, ma'am" Ramaraju's voice had a dusky yet chocolaty tone. It was heavy, but not harsh. "Please introduce yourself" Angel sat her hip on the edge of the table. "Alluri Ramaraju, police officer in India-" "I know that" Angel interrupted the man. His gaze still hasn't lowered down to her, but he could see the diary in her hands. "You have, single handedly, caught a wanted person in a riot with almost the population of a town. And you injured many others. And this is the only most recent news of you, I can skip through various others" Angel peered up at him. "Are you going to tell me why you are really here?" "It has nothing to do with this job" Ramaraju's posture didn't budge. The stoic man, still as a statue.

Angel sighed, getting up. "I don't need a bodyguard" she stepped forward, taking a closer look at him. He smelt really, good. "You must talk to the-" "I don't need to talk to anyone" Angel said, trying to match his eye level. He wouldn't. "You're going to submit a report tomorrow that says how you don't want this duty and want to be back in the field. Is that clear?" Ram didn't answer, neither move. He stared straight ahead, unbothered. Angel took that as an acceptance, might as well be a surprise. "You may leave now" Angel went back to her work, sitting on the table, as Ram turned around and marched out of the room. That was the last of him she saw that day.

____________________________

Tagging: @ramayantika @yehsahihai @vijayasena @raat-baaki @nerdreader @panikk-attackkk @jkdaddy01

[msbhagirathi]

IPKKND LIVE BLOG SEASON 1 [Epi. 6]

Come, let's begin.

1. Episode starts with Khushi flashing back to all the horrible moments that happened that day. Mind you, this is the same day going on, the day just after Payal's marriage broke and the day all of them went to The Dargah.

2. The same day Arnav and Khushi had their fight regarding Gods and their existence. Then him releasing those clippings and the Mul Rajani part and Khushi in the market with her parents and all of a sudden people giving her annoying glares and muttering things about her character, then their encounter with Shyam and coming back to GS, her parents' decision to send her away to Delhi and then finally, them going to the office of that news channel and her finding out about him, releasing those clips. Uff. A lot to happen in a single day. I think, they forgot to end a day, in between. Lol. Enough. Now back to the epi.

3. Khushi is adorably ranting about her horrible day which was made even more horrible by that 'Laard Gorverner'. (Yes that's the official spelling for me now. But who cares? Lol.)

4. I don't think we should take it jokingly tho but I don't know why did they show as if Khushi is intrigued by him more than being indifferent to his existence completely. She's already given him a nick name and keeps using it, at every chance she gets.

5. She's got insulted by almost the entire Lucknow and her neighborhood and yet they show as if she is not that serious with his misbehavior and him in general entirely for something so terrible that happened to her. She never even mentioned it at least once about this incidence later.

I agree that they did it for the show, but still, they could have shown her anger, her indifference like they did it in the guesthouse track. The fierce and no-nonsense Khushi. Whatever.

6. While she is recalling her opinion regarding "Bina dil ki Dilli, machis ki tilli." (It's a rhyme made for Delhi and it's heartless people.) There, Shyam comes up, after stalking and following her from that office and is now pretending as if he was passing from there and merely happened to coincidently see her there too. Bloody b_stard.

7. Now. Tell me. How did he know it was her father's 'batua' ? Okay. Fine. His photo must have been there. And address too. Coz he reveals that he was coming to her house. And Khushi is caught off guard by the revelation, but seeing her astonishment he quickly diverts her attention by twisting his answer. KHUSHI!? DON'T IGNORE YOUR GUT INSTINCT OKAY!?! DON'T!!! I AM WARNING YOU OF THIS LEECH!

8. Lol. Who am I kidding? This is the same girl who was in denial of her feelings for a certain someone, okay let's not go there right now.

9. Btw, this is for all the girls who are reading this. Never ignore your gut-instinct or more precisely the girl-instinct. Never ever. Be very aware of who is around you for what purpose or intention. Now. Back to the epi.

10. Khushi, naively, tells him everything about who she knows there and who is she going with. Girls, I am warning you again. Never indulge into a complete stranger, let alone giving them info bout yourself or your location.

11. She did not have to tell him, any of that. Don't be too good for your own good, Khushi, please.

12. The atmosphere in GS is very melancholic as they complete their last minute packings and babuji comes and offers a spoonful of dahi-chini. Khushi has tears in her eyes but probably this is the last time that she would cry and anyone would not get affected by it, because after this Arnav would always, always, always get hugely affected whenever he would find Khushi crying. Ok. Ab chalo, Dilli.

13. The sun dawns, the next day and we find ourselves standing on the busy roads of Delhi, outside the railway station.

14. Khushi complains about the speeding cars and compares them to the ones in Lucknow.

15. Buaji demonstrates the method to cross a road, this busy. Buaji, leave the girls, even I won't be able to cross the road the way you did. You are unique, Buaji. You are you. No one can be you. Lol.

16. The girls fret over a little, but nervously start to cross the road. But, ultimately, they end up creating, a traffic jam.

17. Hahahahaahahah. The auto scene always gets me. Lol. Buaji tries to get in the auto, while complaining about the size of the 'darwajja' (door). And when she gets in from this side, Khushi falls down from the other side. Lol.

18. "Humara auto mein toh teen ka hee permit hai, mataji." "Toh hum kaa chaar dikhayi de rahe haen?" *smacks the driver* "Chal nikaal riksa." Lol. (My auto permits only three people, ma'am. Do we seem to be four people, here? *smacks the driver* Now come on start the riksha.)

19. So. Tho. Funnily portrayed. But, sad, as well. The driver adjusts the mirror to stare at Khushi while driving and Khushi is well aware, so she covers her face with her dupatta. This. Right, here. You won't believe but this kind of behavior is so damn common, even I have faced these kinds of situations. I HATE THIS. I DESPISE THIS. I DOWNRIGHT ABHORE THIS. UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH. Enough. Now get back to the epi.

20. They are there. Laxminagar. They get out of the riksa. Buaji asks the fare and the driver says it's 200. Khushi feels that it is ridiculously high. She starts arguing but the driver says he is ready to dismiss the fare for her, in a very flirtatious tone. So, Khushi being Khushi, pulls a suitcase so hard, that it smacks his head from the back, before giving a final blow, she says "Maaf kijiye, Bhaiyyaji. (scowls)" Lmao. I love Khushi.

21. Buaji tells them about the situation of water supply in Delhi. And, she goes inside the house. Khushi and Payal share their feelings of the 'weird' experiences they faced up until now.

22. AND. HI BITWA. Oh. When did you land in Delhi? You know what your wife has also arrived in Delhi. Ahhhhhhh. The cravat. (😍) Lol. ASR guitar BG score is so soothing. Arnav is leaving for office. Anjali di has made his 'favorite' Bhuni methi ke parathe (roasted fenugreek seeds' flatbread) "Side rakhne ke liye nahi de rahe hain, kha lena." Lol.

23. Anjali di reminds him to come back home early as today Naniji is coming back from her pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi and there is a puja at their house. But, our chhotte straight up refuses to 'waste' his precious time in 'these' things and asks her to make up some excuse for his absence.

24. Anjali di is reminded of the 'prasaad' that she has to make for the puja so after saying, "Chhotte tum na bohot baatein karte ho, dekha sab gadbad karaa di, hum chalte hein, bye.", (when she did all the talking and didn't even let her chhotte speak a single word. Lol.), she leaves. Her chhotte is left incredulous at her antics.(Those who say that he started smiling or feel any positive emotion only after Khushi came into his life permanently, SEE THAT, GO AND OPEN THE EPISODE.)

25. Phuphaji? Worked? In? Railways? Lol. See this.

26. "Tohre hoth bijli aawat nahi, girat hai girat. Dham dharaam." Lol. Buaji. I hate to admit this. But. You are so damn right.

27. "Haan. Jaise aaj aap girin." Famous Last Words Ft. Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada.

28. And Buaji throws a cushion at her for spitting the fact of the century. Buaji. Please let her be.

29. Did I say it earlier? I think not enough. I will say it again. Babuji is the only person who can read Khushi so well.

30. Hmm. So. Buaji. WHAT IS YOUR DAMN PROBLEM, HUH? Whatever.

31. Buaji makes fun of her tears. Why Buaji why? Why do you exist?

32. Khushi and Payal enter ~what seems to be like~ their room as Khushi describes it aptly- Kamra nahi puratatva vibhaag ki site (Not a room but an archaeological site. Lol. I snorted.)

33. Both the sisters take up the meticulous job of cleaning the room.

34. One jerk of the dirty bedsheet and Buaji is immediately having an attack of asthma from all the dirt shoved her way.

35. Both of them panic and help her lay down on the bed. Khushi rushes to find her pump but to their utter dismay, it's empty.

36. Khushi snatches her basta and phone and rushes out to buy a new one. She takes Paaji's scooter along with her.

37. Bitwa informs his manager that he is crossing Connaught Place and that he will be there for the meeting in ten minutes.

38. His manager further goes on to give him a 'good' news that 'that fashion show wali ladki' has been humiliated so much by the people that she has left the city altogether (Arnav, did you send your men to keep a check on your dear wife Khushi?)

Arnav admonishes him for wasting his 'precious' time. (Tell me something honestly Bitwa, you did feel bad for her, even if it was just for a fleeting second, didn't you?)

And just as he says the line that it doesn't affect him even if she leaves the country, Khushi's reflection appears on the side glass of his car and she whoosh pasts him in a second. (Watch out Bitwa, she is definitely not in some other country but in the same city as you, not very far too, so be careful, you might fall in love.)

39. And, now yet another time, Khushi is on a scooter with a funny-looking helmet and she is driving.....or more like running, skidding, jumping but in a scooter way. Lol. This is her 'Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta' style driving.

(Remember the 'Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta' style running, skidding, jumping, i referred to in Epi. 3? This is the driving edition. Lol. Whatever.)

40. Okay, one more point, after that i am coming back to the epi. See, the last time, Khushi was on the scooter and where did she end up? Infront of her husband Arnavji.

This time as well she is on a scooter, so where will she end up? Not very hard to guess it, i think? Kyun meri Parmeswariyon? *winks*

41. So. Now. Back to the epi.

42. Payal informs her sister that 'pados wale Kaul uncle' had brought a pump for Buaji and now she is fine but Khushi insists that she should get her a new one anyways.

43. And. Within a few moments. Sure enough. She takes a turn towards the wrong side and runs right into a car; scratching it all the way along with one of the mirrors from the scooter, crashing into pieces on the road, within a few seconds.

44. She picks up the broken glass and guiltily walks towards the driver's side of the car only to come face to face with her husband Arnavji.

45. I love how her guilty expression immediately changes into something more like she is about to admonish him for his 'mischiefs'.

46. And our Bitwa. Oh damn. Just look at his positively delicious face and that expression is something like 'Oh. Damn. Uss ullu ke patthe ne toh kahan tha ki isne sheher chor diya tha. Toh phir yeh yahan kya kar rahi hai. Ab tera kya hoga Arnav.' Lol. No. Its something like 'Shit. Shit. Shit. Arnav. Shit. You are a gone case now. No one can save you from falling for this beautiful girl.' Lol. No. You decide his inner thoughts from this expression. A homework for y'all. I will ask y'all in the next one.

47. But look at that face tho. *keeps staring at the screen* *doesn't realize that the screen is now flashing the precap* Shit. Shit. Shit. Sorry. I don't watch precaps but I couldn't stop myself from staring at his beautiful face.

P.S.: Ok. So. Howazit? Do tell. Ok. Then. Bye. Y'all. God bless you.

Previous Next

[boxeboxer]

DEEPALI NIBHANUPUDI (NAGARKAR)

Origin: krtrim (computational phantom)

Status: posthuman, piloting a standard Class-1B civilian 2028 CHOSHI-II vessel (modern Delhi variant) distributed by OURO

Nationality/Ethnicity: Indian, currently resides in southeast Britain. ORANGE color ID

Age: 33KR (date of genesis January 4th, 2019)

Occupation: simple electronics assembler for Loxton-Duchêne

About:

Deepali Nibhanupudi is the surrogate daughter of Mona Nibhanupudi, and goes by the alias Deepali Nagarkar to avoid association with him. She is considered the first and therefore oldest krtrim ever created.

Mona formally trained Deepali in kalaripayattu as a form of discipline throughout her youth. Though Class-1B civilian vessels only stand at five feet (152cm) tall and have smaller proportions than a human her height, she is a formidable threat with her extensive martial arts background. She is quick to think on her feet and highly observant. However, her timid and often pushover nature make her unassertive, and she only exercises violence if the situation is dire enough.

Deepali is quiet, and does not usually speak until spoken to. Her shyness gives her the appearance of stoicism, though in the presence of those she trusts, she is possesses a charming wit and bright personality. She is deeply loyal to those she cares about, even it means risking her own life. She enjoys painting, knit sweaters, and playing word games like Sudoku or Scrabble.

Background:

For what is believed to be sentimentality, Mona kept Deepali for himself shortly after creating her. While other krtrim were advertised as workers to be sold off to corporations, Deepali was raised like a human child. Despite her reserved personality in adulthood, Deepali was very mischievous in her youth, which created tension between her and Mona's strict parenting regimen. Though she expressed her desire to go out into society to make friends, Mona banned her from ever leaving his custody, and she grew to resent him as time passed. In the rare times he was present, Mona would either subject her to training or tests of her cognition. The rest of the time he was largely absent, often traveling for business related to OURO.

After his death in 2029, his estate was ceased by interpol, causing her to flee into the surrounding city. Upon entering the streets she was marked for repossession. She finds and befriends another krtrim named Viggy, a former rickshaw driver, who is also on the run after the company he worked for disposed of all its krtrim staff. Together they try to escape to Bangladesh, but are ultimately caught by OURO authorities. Viggy is killed, and Deepali attempts to commit suicide. She is captured before she can go through with it.

Upon learning of her connection with Mona, Deepali is spared from repossession and instead interrogated for information. Robopsychologist Dr. Emelie Yadavalli is assigned to probe her mind to see what she knows. Deepali’s mental health spirals as she’s questioned on her purpose and the validity of her memories, developing rapid onset magnetic actuator deviancy (ROMAD), also known as Corruption. When OURO concludes that she has nothing to offer them, they plan to retire her permanently, but Emelie decides to buy her vessel-hood out of pity. She rehabilitates her, and once the war is over, she allows her to live on her own devices in Europe.

For the next 10 years, Deepali works as a simple electronics assembler for OURO’s Auxiliary branch in southeast Britain. She lives in a small apartment on the outer edges of Auxiliary by the coast.

[spnfanficpond]

SO MANY EVENTS THIS WEEKEND!

We have a busy weekend planned here at the Pond! Manta Ray chats, writing sprints, and a series rewatch chat!! Everything will be happening our Discord server, which is for members only. If you want to join in but aren't a member, click here to learn how to join! So, going in order of how they're gonna happen, here's what's happening:

Admin Marie will be hanging out in the Discord server:

Los Angeles - Friday 5pm

New York - Friday 8pm

London - Saturday 1am

New Delhi - Saturday 5:30am

Melbourne -Saturday 11am

Our first SPN Series Rewatch chat will happen:

Los Angeles - Saturday 9am

New York - Saturday noon

London - Saturday 5pm

New Delhi - Saturday 9:30pm

Melbourne - Sunday 3am

Competitive Writing Sprints with Manta Ray Dean will be at:

Los Angeles - Saturday 11am

New York - Saturday 2pm

London - Saturday 7pm

New Delhi - Saturday 11:30pm

Melbourne -Sunday 5am

Admin Michelle will be hanging out in the Discord server:

Los Angeles - Saturday 1pm

New York - Saturday 4pm

London - Saturday 9pm

New Delhi - Sunday 1:30am

Melbourne -Sunday 7am

If you have any questions about any of these events, feel free to send us an ASK!

Have questions about this or anything else? Feel free to send us an ASK or send a private message to one of our admins or Manta Rays!

Admins:

Michelle - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Marie - @mariekoukie6661

Stacey - @princessmisery666

MJ - @thoughtslikeaminefield

Mana - @manawhaat (Founder and Admin Emeritus)

Manta Rays:

Kat - @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Dean - @heavenssexiestangel

[webdesigninginagartala]

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[apcseo]

Branding Agency Services: Beyond Logos and Slogans

Explore the multifaceted world of branding agency services and the role of Apppl Combine, a leading branding agency in Delhi. Learn how a professional branding agency defines brand strategy.

In the modern business landscape, branding has become more than just a logo and a catchy slogan. A comprehensive branding strategy involves a myriad of services that work together to create a strong and memorable brand identity. Beyond the surface-level elements, a professional branding agency offers a range of services that delve deep into the core of a brand's values, mission, and customer perception. This article explores the multifaceted world of branding agency services and highlights the role of Apppl Combine, a leading branding agency in Delhi.

Defining the Brand Strategy

At the heart of every successful brand lies a well-defined strategy. A branding agency assists businesses in shaping their brand's persona, target audience, and unique selling proposition. Through market research and competitor analysis, agencies like Apppl Combine identify gaps and opportunities in the market, helping clients position themselves effectively. This strategic foundation ensures consistency across all branding elements and guides decision-making at every level.

Visual Identity and Design

While logos are a crucial visual element, a professional branding agency takes visual identity to another level. The agency's design team creates a cohesive visual language that encompasses colors, typography, imagery, and layout. This identity is applied across various touchpoints, from packaging and stationery to websites and social media profiles. A visually appealing and consistent brand presence fosters recognition and trust among customers.

Storytelling and Content Creation

Compelling storytelling is a powerful tool for brand building. Branding agencies craft narratives that resonate with the target audience, showcasing the brand's history, values, and journey. This narrative is infused into various content forms, including blog posts, videos, social media updates, and advertisements. By engaging customers on an emotional level, brands become more relatable and memorable.

Online Presence and Digital Marketing

A branding agency plays a crucial role in developing and implementing digital marketing strategies. From search engine optimization (SEO) and social media management to email marketing and pay-per-click advertising, these strategies enhance a brand's visibility and reach. A holistic digital approach ensures consistent messaging and reinforces the brand's identity across online platforms.

Customer Experience and Interaction

A brand is not just about what it offers; it's also about the experience it provides. Branding agencies work to improve customer interactions at every touchpoint, ensuring that the experience aligns with the brand's values. Whether it's the design of a user-friendly website or the packaging of a product, every detail contributes to shaping the customer's perception and fostering brand loyalty.

Monitoring and Adaptation

The world of branding is dynamic, and consumer preferences are constantly evolving. A branding agency doesn't stop its efforts after implementing strategies; it continually monitors and analyzes results. By tracking key performance indicators and customer feedback, agencies like Apppl Combine identify areas for improvement and adaptation. This proactive approach helps brands stay relevant and maintain a competitive edge.

Among the plethora of branding agencies, Apppl Combine stands out as a powerhouse of creativity and strategy. Apppl Combine has earned a reputation for delivering exceptional branding solutions that go beyond the conventional. The agency's team of experts collaborates closely with clients to understand their visions and goals, translating them into comprehensive branding strategies.

Apppl Combine's success lies in its holistic approach to branding. The agency believes that a brand is an ecosystem where every element is interconnected. By combining strategic insights, innovative design, and persuasive storytelling, Apppl Combine crafts brands that leave a lasting impact. Whether it's a startup looking to establish its presence or an established business aiming for a rebrand, Apppl Combine tailors its services to meet the unique needs of each client.

A branding agency's role extends far beyond creating logos and slogans. It involves a strategic blend of design, storytelling, digital marketing, and customer experience to build a cohesive and memorable brand identity. With its unwavering commitment to excellence, Apppl Combine exemplifies the essence of a comprehensive branding agency. As businesses continue to recognize the value of a strong brand, partnering with an agency like Apppl Combine becomes a strategic investment in long-term success. To know more, visit- https://apppl.com/

This post was originally published on: Apppl Combine

[topitservices]

Importance of SEO in Today’s World

It is a vital Digital marketing tool that helps the site rank on Google. Even if you have the basic knowledge and understanding, you may not have a strong grip on this multifaceted process. SEO Services is made up of different elements; it is very crucial because it makes your website more visible. In simple words, we can say that it helps in increasing web traffic and more opportunities to convert prospects into customers.

The main crucial elements of SEO are given below:

Keywords

Keywords were the only SEO technique that mattered, but that doesn’t mean they are still crucial yet. The difference is that in today’s world, keywords must be well researched and carefully selected. If you use your selected keywords, then there is a criteria that should be followed: content must be affected by those keywords in a positive way. In simple words, we can say that keywords are phrases that prospects use to find online content and that can be used to connect with prospects who are ever looking for their services to rank their site on the browser.

To find the perfect keywords, there are some steps that every SEO must follow, as given below:

i. That particular keyword must be commonly used in daily day-to-day life that is related to your content. ii. After finding the keyword, there must be a high search rate and low competition. iii.The primary keyword should also have secondary tertiary keywords, as they will add value to your business.

Conent

It is an important part of SEO because this is the vehicle that you use to reach your desired audience and also engage them. If you want to increase your visibility, you must publish a series of blogs about related topics that attract the desired audience. The content must be interesting, valuable, contain relevant information, and last but not least, be shareable with others so that we can reach a larger audience.

Content comes in different forms, like:

i) Blog writing ii) Videos iii) Podcasts iv) Local Listings

Off-Page SEO

It includes external optimization practices that happen on other sites rather than on it. The technique used for off-page SEO is backlink building to your site from external sites. The backlinks must be of high quality, which includes high domain authority (DA). There are many ways to build backlinks; some of the current best backlinks include creating infographics that will be shared, guest posting, and influencer marketing in your content.

Local Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

It is becoming increasingly important as more people use mobile devices for searches. From a survey, it was confirmed that 60% of all searches are performed locally on hand-held devices. For example, if you own a bike showroom, then local SEO ensures that when people in your area go looking for the best bike showroom in the town, they come to your site because of the SEO that is done on your site by using local keywords like “best bike showroom near me,” “Bike showroom in Delhi,” etc. In this way, local SEO works, which is also defined as creating pages for your business, also called doorways pages.

Search engine marketing

It includes paid marketing for achieving greater goals or also to get business and clients leads for their businesses. In short, we can say that businessmen pay some amount of cost to grow their business in less time so that they can get promoted and also get famed for the factfor the fact that yes, this or that company exists in the marketing.

Although search engine marketing (SEM) is not always a major component of a compressive search engine optimization (SEO) strategy, it also has its place so that it helps you achieve highly targeted audiences. You can also make your search engine optimization (SEO) and search engine marketing (SEM) work together.

Some of the paid tools of search engine marketing (SEM) are given below.

i) Google Ads ii) Social media ads iii) Pay-per-Click iv) Shopping Ads v) display ads

[blush-blush-love]

तुम्हें जो मैंने देखा

Sypnosis: Vihaan gets turned on after seeing his girl. that's it.

Warnings: Purely smut work. Minors DNI.

After joining the Delhi headquarters, work has Vihaan drained out mentally and physically. So, obviously he goes to comfort place. Y/N. It's been a month since he saw his woman, so, obviously he is giddy. Though you both talk over calls very regularly. But what he was not expecting his love, sweat drenched and heaving slightly from her dance practice, open the door.

Seeing you put efforts into her passion has always made Vihaan really proud of you, but seeing the flame of determination and focus also has Vihaan super turned on. When you are drenched in sweat? DAMN. Your muscles contracting while performing? SHEESH. When you go through your practice videos looking for mistakes with that flame in your eyes? HOLY FUCK.

Coming back to his senses, Vihaan hugs you tightly, melting into you. "Vihaan, I'm sweaty and probably smell gross." you said trying to break from the hug, only for Vihaan to hug back tighter. "Nah, I certainly don't mind it", Vihaan said chuckling. Finally breaking apart, the couple grinned at each other, completely smitten in love.

"Andar aao" you said with a warm smile. "Roger that, ma'am" Vihaan said in his authoritative voice.

Two orgasms later

You gasp out Vihaan's name for the hundredth time, legs shaking and barely able to keep your eyes open. There Vihaan was, busy between your legs, ravishing your pussy for an hour probably. He suddenly shoved his tongue into your sensitive hole, making you jolt in surprise. Every gasp of yours progressively turned him on more and more. Smirking, Vihaan can't help but grind his hips into the couch, imagining your pussy envoloping his dick. There is no definition of how much he loved you and how he loved strangled between your thighs. You weakly mewl out, hands desperately trying to hold on to something. "Vi-Vihaan, " you plead, making Vihaan raise an eyebrow, proud of making his love blabber like this. Breaking away, he took his pants off. You lied there admiring his muscles with glossy eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, making you taste yourself, "You look fucking gorgoeus, jaan", he said as he broke away from the kiss.

Your glossy eyes spoke more than words could ever. Vihaan sat on the couch right beside your head as you kneeled on the floor. Smirking up at him, you began stroking Vihaan's dick slowly. Looking into his eyes, you began licking the tip. "J-Jaan, aise hi...." he demanded. You smirked, before slowly taking him all in your mouth. His moans and groans kept turning you even more. "Y-You're gonna kill me" Vihaan chuckled, looking right into eyes. He gently held your already loose ponytail, to get a better look at you. The moment he felt the familiar coil in his gut, Vihaan cupped your face as a signal to stop and he leaned into your face to kiss.

Breaking away from the kiss, you stood up. "Bedroom" you demanded. Vihaan grinned, lifting you up. Gently laying you on you on the bed, he just stared at you. Admiring your features, taking everything in. You spread your legs, "Kya hua? Hmm?" You asked. He chuckled, amazed by your actions.

"Say it", Vihaan demanded. "Say what?" you asked with fake innocence, knowing damn well what he meant. He smirked, catching your mockery. "Want me to me in? Say it." Vihaan said in his matter of fact tone, as he rubbed his tip on your sensitive clit. You bite your lip, grinding back onto him. "Put i-it in" you said annoyed. Smirking at your desperation annoyance, he slowly slid his dick in. He groaned as your pulsating insides choke his dick. You exhale shakily as he slid in.

Vihaan set a gentle pace in an attempt to get you used to him. He began sucking your left nipple, while sqeezing the other tit. Annoyed with the pace, you grind yourself on his dick, "Jaan, i-itna dheere?". What you definitely were not expecting was him suddenly to his dick out and spit into his hand, to smear it on his dick. Even before you say anything, he suddenly slid again. this time harder. "Aise?" He asked, smirking. He set up a faster pace this time. You can only moan his name as he kept hitting that spot, making your eyes roll back. "Jaan, you're driving me crazy" Vihaan groans before givivng you couple more hickeys. Him constantly hammering your sweet spot brought you over the edge, you can feel the coil even strongly now. "I'm c-" Vihaan cut you off by kissing you. He slid in his tongue, tasting you sloppily. Toes curling and letting out a short gasp, you came. As the constant pulsating of your insides drove him to the edge, he took his dick only to cum on your tits. Breathing heavily, he laid beside you.

You smiled at each other, eyes filled with love. "Mujhe maar dogi ek din", Vihaan exclaimed, eyes going dark again. "Achchha, dekhte hain", you smirked, getting on top of him. Hence, began the long night.

Hey yalll!! hope yall like it. and as always, suggestions are open.

[carionto]

Light the Fuse and Step Forth

At the Old Delhi Institute of Natural Science and Engineering, after a bit of a panic over a missing student who had merely went on an unannounced diving trip, Professor Iorvan Hal'Ahmat Garaamhan was having some trouble.

His life was boring.

He's 46, single, no kids, a cat, tenure, routine hobbies, and going bald. All his friends are about as boring as him. Except for Ruth, she usually gets the group together for an excursion to touch grass, but she volunteered to help establish a new branch of the institute in East Egypt over the next two years, and she's kind of the glue for their whole friend group.

Maybe he should take a vacation? But where... Earth is Earth - been there, done that; and he's not a fan of space travel either, too many weirdos up there, and really does not agree with all this moon cracking and harvesting business. Seeing footage of them smushing three moons together for that idiotic Death Kebab project really turned him off from all of that space and aliens nonsense.

Noticing a small notebook that had apparently fallen beneath one of the desks, he picked it up to see who it belonged to. It was an unassuming thing with no distinct markings on the outside. As he flipped the cover over, he saw it belonged to a freshmen named Cintra Valkeim, and was about to close it, but a strange line of symbols caught his eye.

"Professor? Is everything alright?" a voice suddenly interrupted his browsing. When did he get to the last page? When did he move closer to the window? Closing the notebook by impulse as he looked up at the voice, it was Cintra. She appeared a little nervous and worried. Putting his professional smile back on, he walked towards her and held out the notebook.

"I believe this is yours. I noticed it had fallen down. Be more careful next time, the cleaning drones don't check ownership themselves and simply dump anything they don't recognize as trash into the lost and found bin." he said as she took the notebook back.

"I will, thank you." She appeared to consider saying more, but closed her mouth and turned to briskly walk away.

Not thinking about it any more, Professor Garaamhan started to pack up his things and head out for lunch, when students for his next class, not due for another hour, started pouring in. Confused, he checked for the time and to his dismay found it had already been over an hour since the previous class ended. Did he really stand around for an hour, transfixed on

What was he doing for an hour?

He picked something up, then said goodbye to a student, but everything in between is hazy. Something was strange, and he didn't like it.

His stomach growled, and he didn't like that either.

Making an executive decision, he quickly scribbled an overly complex task meant for senior students, said anyone who correctly solves this gets extra credit, which immediately got almost all of the sophomores to shut up, sit down, and start working, then he walked off to have a meal.

The next day, as Iorvan was heading for the staff room, he noticed a strange light coming from beneath the closed door of an empty classroom. It was pulsating slightly, like a heartbeat. Without thinking, he put his hand on the handle, but froze before turning it open.

For the briefest of moments, every cell in his body screamed to not open the door. The fear that engulfed him dissipated just as quickly, as a student approached him with a question. They asked something, he answered, both said their goodbyes, and he could not remember what he was doing. Snapping back to reality, he went to the staff room and had a normal day.

That night, going through tomorrows assignments, a notebook with no markings seemed to appear in his stack of documents.

He opened it, noticed a student named Cintra Valkeim was the owner, looked at the scribbles on the side

He awoke in a hospital bed. He felt anemic. His eyes were burning, mouth parched, lips like sand, and a splitting headache made him wish somebody would knock him out cold.

A nurse rushed in as soon as the automated system informed the staff he was awake, delivered the painkillers, and gave him some water. She explained that they found him unconscious in his apartment after the institute and his friends failed to make contact with him for three days in a row. He had been sitting at his desk, and the muscle damage indicated he had remained almost unmoving for the entire time, but fully tensed up.

Three days? What was he doing? He couldn't remember anything out of the ordinary, and when the paramedic who arrived on the scene came by, what she described to him gave no impression of anything different either.

Over the next week, fellow staff, some students he had worked closely with on their thesis projects, and one of his friends came over to see how he is, what happened, etc. Nobody became wiser from any of this. Everything was normal.

After being discharged, he decided to not think too hard about the incident. The stress of a mundane existence got to him, is the explanation he went with.

As he went about his day back at the institute as normal, he walked by a empty classroom that had a strange pulsating light coming from beneath the closed door. He was about to open the door, but noticed he was holding an unassuming notebook in his hand.

"Open the door, please."

A young female voice spoke softly from behind.

He used his other hand to reach for the handle and opened the door and stepped forth into the light.

His world ended. The universe ended. Then it began.

Fast forward to the present.

He is underwater.

The pressure crushes him before he can recognize what is happening.

Then he is underwater again. Not crushed this time.

A voice that is not a voice, more like a decree from existence itself, embeds into his mind. His mind goes blank, and he dies, again.

Once more underwater. The voice is a voice this time.

L E A R N

is all Iorvan understands before passing out, once again.

He steps out of the dark empty classroom and greets Cintra, who was standing behind him earlier.

"I believe this is yours. Third time now, you really need to be more careful about leaving your things behind, Ms Valkeim." he gently reprimands her as she takes the notebook from him again.

"I promise I will, truly. Sorry, Professor Garaamhan. See you later!" are the last words out of her before rushing off to her next class.

Flipping through his own notebook, Iorvan jots down a series of impossible symbols as he walks down the hall to his own next lecture.

[related context]

[ramcharantitties]

Raghuvan, Teri raah nihare

Chapter 10, part 2

S/N: made me cry. @vijayasena enjoy bbg

"What is happening here" the annoyed, manly voice, was no one but Babai himself. Ram pulled Sita behind him, stepping between Babai and her. "You asked me to get them married and then come here, begging to him? What's the point? My disrespect? When will you realize that you will never be anyone's, that you will never get married and you're just a who-"

"Babai, that's enough" Babai stared at Ram. "Even if you get married to this" Babai pointed at Sita "Remember I will never accept her and, what am i even supposed to tell Adikavya?" He threw his hand up. The tension in the room was leaking, and any bypasser could know what was happening. Jangu stared nervously, unsure what was going to happen. "Why won't she leave us alone" babai cried, as Sita huddled closer to Ram.

"Because I love her" Ram realized he didn't get to answer Sita. "I love her and i dont care what her job was. No one who speaks ill of her has ever sat with her and heard her voice, listened what she said, see what she likes to do and what goes on in her mind. No one knew how she loves and how true it is. No one knows that she was ready to sacrifice her love for the sake of my happiness. For your happiness. So no one gets to speak things that are not true. I am going to marry Sita, and Adikavya's family should have known before betrothing her to me. And if they knew and didn't care, then they don't love their daughter"

Babai's anger shot through the sky. Despite Ram's attempts, he hastily grabbed Sita by her arm, dragging her out of Ram's room. "I don't care what magic you have done on my son, but I ask you to leave. Now". Sita held her sore arm, crying softly. Ram didn't like the treatment his lover was getting by his own uncle. He stepped forward, gently pulling Sita towards him. Babai let out a exasperated sigh.

The commotion has gotten enough attention now- the groom enveloping another woman! Hushed voices and giggles were audible by the seekers, and amongst them stood the only well wisher who came to bid goodbye to the groom.

Akhtar made his way to Adikavya's home. The decoration was up to par, the wedding ceremony ready to be unfolded in a sacred space adorned with flowers and traditional symbols. The fragrance of incense wafted through the air as everyone was busy. He hurried through the steps, hiding and making his way to Adikavya's room. As he wouldn't be allowed to enter, he picked up a flower vase nearby, asking girls where the bride's room was- the vase must be kept there. Finally finding her room, he barged in, scaring the lonely bride. He quickly kept the vase down, and Adikavya was confused once she saw Akhtar. "What are you doing here?" she whisper yelled, scared he will be caught. Akhtar couldn't help but rake his eyes. Her red lehenga with gold embroidery, the jewellery and simple makeup, it all matched up. She looked like a princess.

"Akhtar?!" He snapped back to reality

"Sita, she came back to Ram and Ram is determined to marry her. Pack your bags and leave, this is the perfect opportunity" Akhtar said, to a lost Adikavya. He sighed. "Adi, this is your chance. This wedding will be broken because Ram isn't going to marry you. You deserve better."

"You deserve me", Akhtar thought, "You need to leave, now, and you will have a better life."

"But what about my parents? My family?" She looked tired.

"Do you think you will be able to become someone they will be proud of?" Adikavya was taken aback. She wanted to complete her studies, get a job, be in a good position and earn a lot. She wanted to be a change. Adikavya nodded.

"Then go". Akhtar handed her a bus ticket to Delhi. "My mother and sister will be waiting, just tell them your name"

A sudden uproar outside made her anxious. Adikavya stood there, looking at the ticket in her hands. The strings of her life were in her hands now. She went to grab her packed bags, Akhtar helping her carry them. They silently made their way out, but a bride never goes unseen. Her chachi, who looked nervous, came running in her pink saree, when she spotted adikavya out of her room.

"Adi" she started. but before she could say something. the bags and Akhtar caught her sight. "Please" Adikavya muttered. "I'll be fine" her chachi, looked down, back where the mandap was set. She opened her pouch, giving her a bundle of currency notes. Adikavya gave her a teary smile and hug, when they escaped from the back gate, unknowing of the hassle unfolding downstairs.

In the meantime, Ram was tired of Babai disrespecting his going to be wife. Ram took Sita's hand, and pulled her with him, Babai and Jangu running after them. "Ram-" Sita tried, but Ram's eyes only glinted at her. "Don't worry. I am here". Ram stopped in front of Adikavya's home, when he spotted the mandap set.

Sita's heart beat faster and louder than the dhol, which stopped. The fire provided a warmth to her cold, shivering fingers. The anxiety never calming down. When Adikavya's family witnessed Ram holding a dressed up woman, they stared in horror. Her brothers stepped up, holding Ram's collar. "Do you think this is a game?" Ram freed himself from the grip by force, giving a dead stare to her brothers. Adikavya's chachi slipped away. "You think this is a game" he pointed at them, "marrying your sister to someone who already has rumors to his name. Is she a burden to you?"

Adikavya's family was furious. They approached Babai, who were already tired with the drama. "What about our Adikavya?" They hollered, when her chachi came back, whispering something in her husband's ear. He shot her a look, and then looked at Ram. "What do you wish?" he stepped forward.

Sita's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she listened to Ram. "I wish to marry Sita, and I wish that your Adikavya lives a life she wants." Adikavya's family has understood their own situation by now rather quickly. When they don't have a bride themselves, how can they stop the groom marrying someone else? They hung their head in shame, knowing well that they can't let any relative know that Adikavya has run away. But her mother decided to have an upper hand.

"Do what you wish, because we are not letting our daughter to marry someone like you. Better heartbroken than insulted" she said, then disappearing in the crowd. Ram looked at Sita, and the tears that rolled down her cheeks. He softly wiped them away.

Amidst the lively chaos, the Ram's eyes sought his bride. The moment of their glance was magical, as their eyes locked, sharing a silent promise of a lifetime together. The pheras, each step resonating with promises of love and understanding, added a solemn and spiritual dimension to the festivities. The exchange of vows, the tying of the mangalsutra, and the application of sindoor marked the beginning of a sacred union.

Sita only remembered being tired in that golden look of hers, but she never expected that to be her bridal clothes. Hell, she never expected to be a bride. Ram and Sita knew they will not be getting any blessing from any elder anytime soon, but they also knew that Babai will come around. Sita remembered the first time she saw Ram- a wet newspaper packet in his hand with two paans, his eyes curious and clothes neat. Something struck in her mind, giving him a golden shadow whenever she looked at him. Sita remembered losing herself to live life, but Ram was the first time she thought about herself.

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