#mr. india cast

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

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

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

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

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

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

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

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

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

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

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

Tink!

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

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

Plonk!

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

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

Plonk!

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

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

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

Plonk!

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

Plonk!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dear Sherlock,

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

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

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

Plonk!

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

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

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

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

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

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

Plonk!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

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

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

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

“Errr,” they all purred.

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

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

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

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

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Suspicions?'

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

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helplines:

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

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Fourteen

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Fourteen: Finding the Chest

Summary: Jack, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) land on a strange island to find Davy Jones's heart. They aren't the only ones.

            “There’s something to knowing the exact shape of the world and our place in it,” said Beckett, watching as the map on his way was painted. He glanced at Governor Swann, manacled and lacking his wig of stature.

            “I assure you, these are not necessary,” said Swann.

            “I thought you’d be interested in the whereabouts of your daughter and ward,” said Beckett.

            “You have news of them?” said Swann, eyes widening.

            “Most recently seen on Tortuga, and then they left in the company of a known pirate, Jack Sparrow, and other fugitives from justice,” said Mercer.

            “ ‘Justice?’ Hardly,” scoffed Swann.

            “Including the previous owner of this sword, I believe,” said Beckett, twirling the sword around. “Our ships are in pursuit. Justice will be dispensed by cannonade and cutlass and all manner of remorseless pieces of metal. I find it distasteful to even contemplate the horror facing all those on board.” He looked at Swann, who swallowed.

            “What do you want from me?” said Swann.

            “Your authority as governor, your influence in London, and your loyalty to the East India Trading Company,” said Beckett.

            “To you, you mean,” said Swann.

            Beckett raised a brow. “Shall I remove those shackles?”

            Swann looked down before meeting Beckett’s gaze. “Do what you can for my daughter and ward.”

            Beckett nearly smirked. He nodded to Mercer, who undid the manacles.

            “So you see, Mr. Mercer, every man has a price he will willingly accept,” said Beckett. “Even for what he hoped to never sell.” He would retrieve that chest before anyone else, and then he would have what he desired—control of the seas. Power.

l

            “Beckett?” Jack frowned as he heard the name from so long ago, and the brand on his arm itched.

            “Yes,” said Elizabeth, and (Y/N) nodded.

            Elizabeth had explained all that she had learned from her…discussion with Beckett. He didn’t want treasure; he wanted something else. Not only that, but although he’d handed over the letters of marque, signed, and sealed them, but he refused to let them all go free without issue from the navy if he didn’t receive Jack’s compass.

            “They’re signed,” said Elizabeth.

            “Lord Beckett of the East India Trading Company.” Jack gagged as he looked at the papers.

 ��          “Will was working for Beckett and never said a word,” huffed Gibbs.

            “We told you we were arrested and needed the compass to be free, so of course there was some lord involved,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. They hadn’t held anything back maliciously. It had been unconsciously done.

            “Beckett is a problem, though,” grumbled Gibbs. “If he wants the compass, there’s only one reason for that.”

            “Of course,” said Jack.

            “To control Davy Jones?” asked (Y/N).

            Jack nodded. “With the chest.”

            “He did mention something about a chest,” confirmed Elizabeth.

            “If the company controls the chest, they controls the sea,” said Gibbs.

            Instantly, (Y/N) straightened. The ocean was one of the only places where freedom could still reign—the waves and the winds were not to be tamed by human beings. If Beckett were to do so…freedom itself would be broken.

            “A truly discomfiting notion,” said Jack.

            “And bad,” said Gibbs. “Bad for every mother’s child what calls themselves a pirate.”

            “It’s bad for freedom,” said (Y/N). They crossed their arms. “We can’t let him find it.”

            Gibbs glanced up. “I think there’s a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails.” He didn’t want the navy catching up and hurried away. “Brace the foreyard!”

            “Might I enquire as to how you came by these?” said Jack, gazing at Elizabeth as he lifted the documents.

            “Persuasion,” said Elizabeth.

            “Friendly?” said (Y/N) dubiously.

            “Decidedly not,” said Elizabeth, and (Y/N) grinned.

            “Will strikes a deal for these, yet you were the one with the prize…full pardon,” said Jack. “ ‘Commission as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company.’ As if I could be bought for such a low price.”

            (Y/N) was glad. Anyone who let go of their freedom so easily couldn’t be trusted in any capacity. They were too willing to let themselves be used.

            “Jack, the letters, give them back,” said Elizabeth sharply.

            “Don’t make her persuade you,” said (Y/N).

            Jack shrugged and continued on. Elizabeth’s hand twitched for her sword, but she resisted the urge to stab him. Instead, she huffed and stalked off.

            (Y/N) leaned over the side of the ship and watched the sea go by. “Jack, do you think we can stop Beckett?”

            “If we get the chest, the sea is ours.” The collective pronoun flew from him before he could stop it. “And then we can save dear old Will, he can marry Elizabeth before she gets rid of all the rum, and everyone is free to do pretty much anything they want!” Jack hurried on before the pronoun mistake could be noted.

            “Are you going to abandon us to ensure you have the power of the seas to yourself?” said (Y/N), cutting straight to the point.

            “Didn’t I just say you all will go off and live your happy, boring little lives?” said Jack jovially.

            “You’ve promised a lot, Jack,” said (Y/N). “You have a tendency to twist your words instead of doing the right thing.”

            “There isn’t right or wrong on the seas. Just human nature,” said Jack.

            “Wrong,” said (Y/N), turning and facing him. “There’s freedom on the seas. Freedom to the wrong thing, yes, but also to do the right thing.”

            “Is this going to be about trust again? Because I still don’t think you should put trust in pirates, laddie,” said Jack.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I told you before, it’s about you trusting me. I don’t need to be tricked to help you stop Beckett or Jones. I’m here to protect freedom, the seas. That’s what I care about.” They looked at him. “So you can make yourself an enemy of freedom by leaving us behind to Beckett’s imprisonment or Jones’s servitude, or you can do the right thing and uphold freedom. Something tells me you respect that, even if you don’t respect loyalty.”

            Jack gazed at (Y/N) long and hard. Freedom seemed to be the theme of this adventure. He wanted to be free of Jones’s deal, Will wanted to be free of Jones, Elizabeth wanted to be free of Beckett, and (Y/N)…They wanted pure freedom. To be themself, to explore the seas, to exist without rules holding them to a standard they simply didn’t wish to uphold.

            “I do value freedom,” said Jack.

            He always had. That’s why he’d been branded a pirate. He refused to send another human being into eternal imprisonment. He refused to violate another person’s freedom so fundamentally. Jack may run around and abandon people to be locked away, but he would never turn the key himself to leave them to endless servitude.

            Not to mention, the more that he saw this teenager—(Y/N)—standing before him with nothing but a desire for freedom, genuine and caring, the more Jack wanted to uphold that, too. They had a strange faith in him no one else had as if they could see more in him, and Jack didn’t want to lose that. It was a strange feeling, but it was true.

            “I know,” said (Y/N).

            They smiled slightly. They knew Jack was dangerous, double-crossed everyone, and always had a plan to help himself hidden beneath the surface of any deals he made, but he also had a genuine…genuineness to him. And he never harmed (Y/N). In fact, he protected them at times. So, no matter how far fetched it seemed, there was a part of (Y/N) that had faith that he’d make the right decision in the true times of strife.

            “And that’s why I know you’ll do the right thing one day,” said (Y/N). “You’re just not willing to admit it.”

            “This is awfully trusting for someone who claims not to trust me,” said Jack, attempting to tease, but his tone fell flat, still serious.

            “I have faith, Jack. Not trust,” said (Y/N). They grinned, and the glint of mischief in their eye was akin to the sun skimming the waves. “And besides, I’m sure you’re curious of what glory and rewards doing the right thing may bring you.” They leaned back on the side of the ship.

            Jack gazed at them. “You’re very odd, you know that, laddie?”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “Is that a problem?”

            “No,” said Jack. “You make an excellent pirate.” He grinned.

            (Y/N) laughed. “What can I say, freedom on the seas with a bit of danger excites me.”

            “Careful. Or you may start doing the wrong thing,” said Jack, teasing once more.

            “How amusing it would be if I started doing the wrong thing and you started doing the right thing,” laughed (Y/N).

            Jack looked at (Y/N) fondly. “Amusing indeed.”

            “A child of the sea is a child of all.”

            Tia Dalma’s words echoed in Jack’s mind. He was beginning to see it. (Y/N) was changeable, untamable as the waves. They were willing to fight for one thing—freedom. They cared about their family—Will and Elizabeth—but their heart was wilder than theirs. For all their love and devotion, there was only one place it was clear that (Y/N) was truly at home—the sea. They had a heart of freedom, and it swam freely within the waves.

            Jack wanted to keep that freedom going. If (Y/N)’s free heart was drowned, it would be a great loss. It would be Beckett’s victory, removing any trace of freedom from the sea, including from the hearts that were as untamable and wild as the ocean itself. He wanted (Y/N) to be safe from his influence and allow them grow into their wildness.

            “Child of all.”

            Now, if Jack could only figure out what that meant.

            “Land, ho!” called Gibbs, thankfully interrupting philosophy that Jack wanted nothing to do with.

l

            Jack sat with his jar of dirt at the front of the rowboat while Ragetti and Pintel rowed. Norrington, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) sat within it, and Elizabeth held the compass in her hand to guide them while Pintel and Ragetti squabbled.

            Luckily, their sanities were not lost by the ways to pronounce “kraken” before they reached the beach. They dragged the boat onto the sand, picked up shovels, and waited for Elizabeth to guide them. They left Pintel and Ragetti to watch the boat and tide.

            Elizabeth frowned as they reached a sandy hill and began to walk in circles. The compass needle kept spinning. “This doesn’t work,” she huffed. “And it certainly doesn’t show you what you want most.” The compass kept spinning.

            “Yes, it does,” said Jack. “You’re sitting on it.”

            “Be pardon?” said Elizabeth.

            “It must be buried underneath you,” said (Y/N).

            “Move!” Jack shooed her.

            Norrington and Jack dug into the sand with their shovels, tossing a pile of dirt, grass, and sand behind them as they went. Finally, they hit something solid, and they scrambled to pull it out. Once they did, they revealed a chest. Jack hit the rusted lock, breaking it. Nervously, almost reverently, he opened the lid. Papers and maps sat within.

            (Y/N) brushed them aside to find another, small chest. Tentacles were carved in it, and, when they lifted it out, they found a heart carved over the lock. Leaning in, their eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”

            Norrington, Elizabeth, and Jack leaned in.

            Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

            A faint heartbeat thumped within the chest. The entire legend was true, and not even in a metaphorical sense but a literal one.

            “It’s real,” said Norrington. “You were actually telling the truth.”

            “I do that quite a lot, yet people are always surprised.” Jack glanced at (Y/N). “Most people, anyways. Smart ones consider I tell the truth.”

            “People think you lie for good reason!”

            All heads snapped behind them to find Will standing there, soaking wet.

            “Will!” exclaimed (Y/N) and Elizabeth, running to him and hugging him.

            “You’re alright!” said (Y/N) in relief.

            “Thank god! I came to find you,” said Elizabeth.

            Will hugged them in return.

            “How did you get here?” said Jack, thoroughly surprised someone could escape Jones.

            “Sea turtles, mate. A pair of them, strapped to my feet,” said Will sarcastically.

            “Not so easy, is it?” said Jack jovially.

            “But I do owe you thanks, Jack,” said Will.

            “You do?” Jack frowned.

            “After you tricked me onto that ship to square your debt with Jones, I was reunited with my father,” said Will.

            “That was an accident,” said Jack with a cough.

            “And we bartered to try to get you back,” said (Y/N).

            “How hard did he?” snapped Will.

            “Probably harder than you deserved, seeing as you were resourceful enough to get out on your own!” chirped Jack.

            “Jack, did you lie to me?” said Elizabeth.

            “He didn’t. We told you the truth about the souls and getting a hundred to save Jack and Will,” said (Y/N). They didn’t need infighting right now, not when so much was at stake.

            “You told the truth. He didn’t,” snapped Elizabeth.

            “We were finding a way to save young Will,” said Jack, shrugging.

            Will grabbed the chest and turned the lock towards him.

            “Oi! What are you doing?” said Jack.

            “I’m going to kill Jones,” said Will.

            Jack drew his sword. “Can’t let you do that, William.”

            (Y/N) groaned. And here was Jack, in fact, doing the wrong thing. Are these people incapable of communication?

            “ ‘Cause if Jones is dead, who’s to call his terrible beastie off the hunt, eh?” said Jack. Will stepped jack, and Jack kept his sword trained on him. “Now, if you please.” He held out his hand. “The key.”

            Will pulled Elizabeth’s sword from its sheath and pointed it at Jack. “I keep the promises I make, Jack. I intend to free my father. I hope you’re here to see it.”

            Norrington drew his cutlass and pointed it at Will. “I can’t let you do that, either. So sorry.”

            “Can we all put our swords away and just talk it over like mature people?” (Y/N) loved a good fight, but this was just people being idiotic.

            “I knew you’d warm up to me eventually!” said Jack, grinning at Norrington.

            Norrington just turned his sword on Jack, who frowned and pointed his at Will and then Norrington and then back at Will. All three men were willing to fight one another.

            “Lord Beckett desires the contents of that chest,” said Norrington. “I deliver it, I get my life back.”

            Alright, if that’s what we’re at, then no more talking, I guess. (Y/N) drew their sword and pointed it at Norrington. “I’m not letting you hand over control of the seas to a man like Beckett.”

            “Don’t make me fight a child. I still have some honor,” said Norrington.

            “Well, I don’t, just a raving fury at anyone who helps a tyrant like Beckett,” sneered (Y/N).

            All four with swords stared at each other, all tensed. Elizabeth watched, hands itching for a weapon. Norrington swung. The fight for the chest was on.

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

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@speckle-meow-meow

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@snowy-violet

[ddejavvu]

hi miss mei! happy mvm <3

may I please request the parents at indi's school fawnin over him as a kindergarten teacher? maybe single parent! reader catches his eye :D at a parent-teacher meeting.

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

hi lover!! this ran away from me and it's not either of your prompts but it's kindergarten teacher!indy!! i hope that's okay 😅

--

"No, Miguel, you can't-" Indiana's words fall on tiny, deaf ears as Miguel climbs the ladder regardless of his wet hands, slipping only three rungs down from the top of the play structure.

He falls fast, but Indiana moves faster, almost too fast for you to see as he throws his hands out to catch the kindergartener. Miguel lands safely in his arms, grinning up at his teacher completely unphased as you pull open the gate to the kindergartener's playground and step inside.

"You can't climb with wet hands," Indiana finishes his thought, smiling tensely at the boy, "You know that."

"I wanted to try," Miguel whines, "It was fun! My tummy felt funny when I fell."

"Well it won't feel funny when you land on your butt," You pipe up, keys in your hand as you narrow your eyes at your nephew despite the grin on your lips, "Why don't you thank your teacher for helping you?"

"Auntie!" Miguel shouts, writhing in Indiana's hold to drop to the ground. He offers the man a quick 'thank you Mr. Jones!' before racing to you, begging to be held in your arms instead.

"Hi, buddy," You grin, lifting the growing boy off of the pavement, "Ooh, you're getting pretty big."

Miguel looks pleased with your observation, like it's been a personal project of his. You turn your attention to his teacher who's watching you with a smile, eyes holding your own with an intrigued gaze.

"I'm Y/N," You introduce yourself, "Miguel's aunt. I'm on the release form, his mom is staying late at work today. The front office cleared me." You show off a badge that says 'visitor' on it in big blue letters, stuck to the front of your shirt.

"Indiana," The man sticks a hand out, and Miguel's face wrinkles.

"Indiana," He parrots, "Like where Mommy's friend is from?"

"That's India," You correct the boy, laughing good-naturedly with Indiana as you shake his hand, "Mommy's friend is from India."

"I didn't know your name was India," Miguel stares skeptically at his teacher, who doesn't bother correcting the boy.

"That's because you have to call me Mr. Jones," He raises a brow at Miguel, ignoring the way a little blonde girl bumps into the back of his leg while she's running from her friend, "Because you're my student. But your aunt isn't, so she gets to call me Indiana."

"Okay," Your nephew decides, though you're sure he'll solely refer to his teacher as Indiana now. He turns to you, dark hair mussed from his time on the playground, "Auntie, I have to get my backpack."

"Okay baby," You set Miguel down, patting him on the back, "Go get it, but come right back, okay?"

"I didn't know you were Miguel's aunt," Indiana muses, and your attention is back on him. Now that you're not occupied with your nephew, you let yourself assess the man properly, and you find that his face is strikingly handsome, especially when his pretty eyes are cast upon you.

"I've never picked him up before," You grin sheepishly, "Usually it's his parents, yeah?"

"Mhm." Mr. Jones nods, glancing down at a dark-haired girl that tugs at his pants, "What, honey?"

She's silent as she brandishes an unopened bag of mini oreos, and he pulls the foil sides apart to open the treat, "There, now go sit at the tables, okay? No food in the grass."

She does as she's told, plopping back down in her seat in front of a butterfly-shaped lunch box.

Miguel's done exactly what you'd warned him not to do, and he's talking to his friends, no doubt discussing a bug they've found or bragging about the dollar he'd gotten from the tooth fairy the night before. You aren't upset, though, because it means you have more time to bask in Mr. Jones's piercing stare as he turns back to you.

"So, is this gonna be a regular thing?" He asks, a deep drawl to his voice, "You picking him up, I mean."

"Probably not," You lament, "His mom just had to take some overtime today, and his dad is out of town for the day."

"That's a shame," Indiana muses, "Y'know, I saw you at the supermarket on Saturday, but I thought cornering you in the produce section might not come off great. Here I thought we'd have a chance to talk."

Your spine stiffens slightly at the knowledge that what must be the most handsome man you'd ever seen has set his sights set on you, and you clear your throat, "Really?"

"Yeah." He grins, leaning back on one of the tables, "I thought we'd have easier conversation here. Chatting about macaroni brands isn't exactly riveting, is it?"

"If I came to pick up Miguel on Thursday..." You trail off inquisitively, and Indiana's smirk grows.

"I'd be here. I swap with another teacher Mondays and Wednesdays," He informs you, "But next week is different. I think I should send you the schedule, just to make sure you have the dates right."

"863-" You're already reciting your number before he's pulled out his phone, and you share a chuckle at the quick flow of the conversation.

"Auntie!" Miguel returns just as Indiana's pocketing his phone again, a wink thrown your way, "Look! A cricket!"

"Oh," Your eyes widen at the bug in your nephew's hands, "Uh, can you leave him here? He's not allowed in my car."

"Okay," Miguel concedes drearily, but he drops the cricket in the grass without complaint, "Bye cricket!"

"Bye cricket," You repeat, much more apprehensively, "Okay, buddy, you ready to go?"

Miguel takes your hand to drag you to the gate, and you're the one that turns to say goodbye to his teacher.

"Goodbye Indiana," You call, and the man waves with that charming smile of his, "See you Thursday!"

[aman-rohtak]

#Great_Prophecies_2024

Prophecy of the prophet Mr. Vegelatin

A saint born in India will break the boundaries of country and caste and bring peace and tranquility to the world.

यही हैं वो महापुरुष

[thesleepyfable]

What is the terror?

So, AMC The Terror is both an adaptation of the novel by Dan Simmons and a supernatural retelling of the historical event of HMS Terror and Erebus that went missing in the 1840s.

Historically, the former Royal Navy War Ships were to be used to chart a possible shortcut for China and India. The Royal Navy believed sailing through and finding the North West Passage would be the said shortcut. Terror's captain was Francis Crozier and Erebus had Sir John Franklin and Commander James Fitzjames. Yes that's his real name. Problem was basically everything that might go wrong did go wrong and the ships were lost until 2017. Their last sighting was by fisherman in Greenland. Only a few members of the crews were found and anything else pointed heavily towards cannibalism. However, since we know so little as to what happened, other than hints such as lead poisoning and that Franklin died quiet early, Dan basically wrote a book with a Supernatural twist using local Innuit myth. A monster stalking the crew for disrespecting the culture they've clashed with, even if it was by accident.

The show is a very loose retelling of Dan's book but does follow a lot of plot points. It's a very dialogue heavy show with little humour that focuses on redemption, racism, identity and belonging. Of course Fitzjames, Francis, Mr. Blanky and Doctor Goodsir are everyone's favourite characters and watching the show it's easy to see why. Episode 5 is my personal favourite but it marks a huge turning point in the show that can throw people off, but I still say try it out.

Still Wakes the Deep fans will enjoy it since it has a cast trapped in an isolated place, and I think Terror fans will love the game, but be ready for harsh themes and blood that includes body mutilation.

[beardedmrbean]

Ah thank you, sorry I just saw the statement going around on Twitter and wanted to know if you could back that statement up

Whaaat? Sesame Street was meant to show that everyone can be equal hence why multiple celebrities from different walks of life like Ice Cube to Lucy Liu made appearances on the show and Liu herself said thank you to Sesame Street as it help her learn English?

It not like it supposed to be in New York

A very diverse place

Seriously where the Flying FUCK is Sesame Street in NYC? Must I take a magical portal to go there?

But yeah, Sesame is supposed to be like that. Then race obsessed late Gen x and millennials came along and murder fuck anything

Seriously I grew up in the 00’s, you know when a fuckton of diversity was in kids media?

Now the majority of diversity comes from people who never left their metropolitan areas.

Words can’t not describe the downgrades black cartoon characters got.

Whaaat? Sesame Street was meant to show that everyone can be equal

Here's 2 of the people that had some of the biggest impact on how I am today.

Don't think I saw Carol Spiney's face till sometime in the last 10 years or less, he was just Big Bird.

Did someone say Diversity

Down below we have the 80-81 cast, there's Mr Hooper in front of Big Bird, I don't think there's a show on today that could touch this. Could have used someone from the MENA region and India and Asia but in the mid 70's and even today this is huge.

Look it's Gordon and Susan, and their 'adopted' son Miles.

The introduction of Miles allowed the show to tackle the topic of adoption. Roscoe Orman originally suggested that Gordon and Susan have a child when he first joined the show in 1974. At the time, the producers felt that it was too complicated to cast a baby to play the part.

Ten years later, when Orman's son Miles was a year old, he revisited the idea. Orman remembers, "Caroll Spinney offhandedly said one day, 'That son of yours is so cute -- he's such a great kid -- we should bring him on the show and let him be your son.' I said that I had suggested something like that years ago but it was shot down. And he said, 'Well, you know, you could even adopt him.' That really started my wheels turning and I mentioned it to [Executive Producer] Dulcy Singer." The producers were intrigued by the adoption angle, and cast Miles Orman in the role. "The idea is that he'll grow up on the show -- for as long as he wants to," Roscoe Orman said.

They were there day 1 and through my whole childhood and beyond. Occasionally shifting performers.

Anything you could want to teach a person about being a good, kind, and accepting person you could teach them by putting on a Sesame Street + Mr Rogers Neighborhood marathon.

I'm glad Mr Rogers is free to watch on PBS kids, sometimes I need to just have that perfectly measured voice there cutting through the din of the day telling me the day was better because he got to spend it with me.

Grateful he's still around even if he isn't.

But that's not Sesame Street.

Seriously where the Flying FUCK is Sesame Street in NYC? Must I take a magical portal to go there?

It's there, it's in your neighborhood too. You just have to find some people willing to help make it appear is all.

We're surrounded by legions of good, kind, and giving people. We just need to do some of the leg work it takes to bring them together is all.

[justforbooks]

Things you didn't know about board games

Many of us loving playing board games and people have been playing them for millennia. Here's some fun facts about this excellent pastime

1. We have been playing board games for millennia

Chess, checkers, backgammon and Go all have origins in the ancient world. King Tut was buried with multiple sets of an Egyptian game called senet. Hundreds of pieces of Greek pottery depict Ajax and Achilles hunched over a board in the midst of play. And the Ashanti people of Ghana are believed to have created a board game called wari, which you may know as the count-and-capture game mancala.

2. It wasn’t until the 19th century that board games began to be sold commercially

The first, The Mansion of Happiness, came out in England in 1800. The “mansion” was heaven, and players raced to get there. Decades later, an American named Milton Bradley reworked— and rebranded—it as The Checkered Game of Life.

3. Ludo has roots in ancient India, where it was called pachisi

Pachisi is from the Hindi word for “twenty-five,” the highest possible outcome of a single throw. But whereas Americans only tweaked the name to Parcheesi, the British decided to call it Ludo (‘lew-doh), Latin for “I play.” So when Englishman Anthony E Pratt developed his murder-mystery board game in 1943, he called it Cluedo, playing on Ludo. (In some countries, it’s called Clue.)

4. Around the world, the colourful cast of Cluedo can look quite different

Professor Plum was originally called Dr Orange in Spain. Mr Green goes by Chef Lettuce in Chile. Mrs Peacock is Mrs Purple in Brazil and Mrs Periwinkle in France, and in Switzerland, she’s Captain Blue, a man.

5. Board games occasionally inspire screenwriters

There’s the 1985 mystery Clue, the 2012 action movie Battleship and the 2023 fantasy film Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves.

6. At least one board game is being adapted into a television show

The game's creator was a famous French filmmaker , Albert Lamorisse, who wrote and directed the 1956 Oscar-winner The Red Balloon, also created a board game he called La Conquête du Monde (Conquest of the World).

Parker Brothers, an American toy and game manufacturer, introduced it to the US soon after, and renamed it Risk.

7. Another game inventor, Alfred Butts, called his game a couple of other names before Scrabble

Butts first called his creation Lexiko, then Criss Cross Words, before settling on Scrabble—a word that means “to hold on to something.” The hugely popular game has been translated into 29 languages and more than 150 million sets have been sold around the world.

8. Over a game of Scrabble, Canadians Chris Haney and Scott Abbott came up with the idea for their game, Trivial Pursuit

Its success launched a years-long legal battle with an American encyclopedist who claimed Haney took trivia from his books, something Haney readily admitted to doing. In the end, the courts decided you can’t steal trivia and dismissed the suit. During the 1980s, Trivial Pursuit outsold even Monopoly, racking up $800 million in sales in 1984 alone.

9. At the highest levels of play, it’s not all fake money

The winner of the World Chess Tournament takes home up to 60 per cent of the €2 million purse, with the runner-up receiving the smaller share. Even the Monopoly world champion takes home real cash: US$20,580, the amount that comes in a standard Monopoly game.

10. Arguably the wrong person is credited with the creation of Monopoly

The American who sold Monopoly to Parker Brothers in the 1930s, Charles Darrow, often receives the credit for creating the game. But it was another American, Elizabeth Magie, who, decades earlier, earned a patent for her invention, The Landlord’s Game.

Players purchased railroads, paid rent and occasionally ended up in jail. Ironically, Magie’s aim with the game was to show the evils of accumulating wealth by bankrupting others.

11. Monopoly was a polarising game in communist countries

Fidel Castro banned it in Cuba, and it was also banned in China for much of the 20th century. But an even more dramatic bit of board game history occurred during the Second World War. Since prisoners of war in Germany were allowed board games, American troops hid maps, compasses and real money inside Monopoly sets to help them escape.

12. The idea for the kids’ classic game Candy Land came from Eleanor Abbott, an American polio patient

In 1949, Abbott wanted to create something for children to play in quarantine. In fact, illness has served as game inspiration many times. In the British mobile-app-turned-board game known as Plague, players take on the role of deadly diseases trying to mutate and spread across the world. Conversely, in Pandemic, created by an American, players try to contain the spread of diseases and discover cures.

13. Thousands of new games are released each year and there's annual awards for the best

How can you tell which ones are worth buying? One reliable indicator is the Spiel des Jahres (“Game of the Year” in German), a prestigious award given each summer by a jury of (mostly German) game critics who volunteer to play and vote for the winning games. Previous award recipients include Settlers of Catan, Dominion and Ticket to Ride. 

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[whitegownsandflowercrowns]

The Characters of 2023

It’s time to talk about…The Characters™️. They shall be graded on a scale of “get behind me” to “I’m getting behind you”

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Belinda (The White Lotus)

The only unambiguously decent person at the resort (who stayed longer than an episode, sorry Lani) and just the absolute best who deserved better. GIVE HER HER OWN WELLNESS CENTER GODDAMMIT. Scale: GET BEHIND ME

Ellie Williams (The Last Of Us)

Precious, hilarious and ferocious.

SCALE: While I could technically get behind her, I’ll have her get behind me in order to spare her trauma.

Misty Quigley (Yellowjackets)

She has never done anything wrong in her entire life (she has committed multiple murders and was a horrible person even before the plane crashed). But it’s fine, we love her anyways.

SCALE: I’m getting behind her 100%.

TOP 10

10. Quinni Gallagher-Jones (Heartbreak High)

Deserves better, the sweetest, I love her so much.

SCALE: GET BEHIND ME

9. Peter Gordon (The Power Of The Dog)

The second that Tumblr discovers this movie (highly recommend by the way) it’s all over. I need people to join me in understanding the power of Peter Gordon.

SCALE: I’m getting behind him. Easy.

8. Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks)

Absolutely tragic, could have been saved by listening to Preacher’s Daughter, has the best theme. Of course I love her.

SCALE: GET. BEHIND. ME.

7. Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks)

Fictional husband. Absolute king. Get this man a cup of coffee immediately.

SCALE: He’s an FBI agent, so I should probably get behind him.

6. Armond (The White Lotus)

An icon, a legend, and the moment. No one is doing it like him, and no one will ever do it like him again.

SCALE: Honestly we’re probably on the same level. We’ll fight Shane together.

5. Mrs. Lovett (Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)

Served (both literally and figuratively) at unprecedented levels. Absolutely horrendous in the most amazing way. I am a stan forever.

SCALE: Probably getting behind her.

4. India Stoker (Stoker)

She has the best fashion sense and was always true to herself (even if true to herself meant…well, the movie). Love her.

SCALE: I’m getting behind her.

3. Laura Lee (Yellowjackets)

The human embodiment of Sun Bleached Flies. Sweet sweet girl, was not built to survive Yellowjackets and deserved better.

SCALE: GET BEHIND ME. DON’T GO ON THE PLANE.

2. Alicent Hightower (House of the Dragon)

Come season 2, everyone has their (genuinely awful) character that they will be defending to the death. She is mine. Do not come to me with Alicent slander; I will justify it.

SCALE: Young her needs to get behind me, older her and I are probably on the same level.

Helaena Targaryen

Who else? Love absolutely everything about her. I’m dreading Season 2, but in my mind she’s away from King’s Landing, happy and safe with her babies. She is The Character.

SCALE: GET BEHIND ME, I WILL BE SEEING THE REST OF THE CAST IN COURT

[madamlaydebug]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL TRUE!

Born November 15th, we celebrate the 57th birthday of Rachel India True (November 15, 1966 in New York City, NY); an African-American actress. She is best known for her roles in such films as The Craft (1996), Nowhere (1997), and Half Baked (1998). True is also known for her role as Mona Thorne on the UPN sitcom Half & Half, which ran from 2002 to 2006.

True was the middle of three children. Her father is of Ashkenazi Jewish descent, whereas her mother is of African American heritage. Her younger sister, Noel, is also an actress. True attended New York University.

True made her television debut in 1991 on the Cosby Show episode "Theo's Final". In 1993, she moved to Los Angeles and made her feature film debut playing Chris Rock's character's girlfriend in the comedy CB4. On television, she appeared in episodes of Hangin' with Mr. Cooper, Beverly Hills, 90210, Getting By, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Family Matters, Dream On and well as made-for-television movies Moment of Truth: Stalking Back (1993) and A Walton Wedding (1995). In 1995, she had supporting role in the erotic horror film Embrace of the Vampire starring Alyssa Milano.

In 1996, True landed her breakthrough role as Rochelle Zimmerman in the supernatural horror film, The Craft, where she played a member of a teenage coven. True stated that she had to "fight" to audition for the part and was actively going up against her future co-stars Fairuza Balk, Neve Campbell and Robin Tunney. Her role was originally written for a white actress, but that didn't deter her from auditioning. In 1997, she starred in the comedy-drama film, Nowhere alongside James Duval, the film received mixed reviews from critics. The following year, True starred as Dave Chappelle's romantic interest in the comedy film, Half Baked. Also from 1997 to 1998, she also had the recurring role of Janet Clemens on The Drew Carey Show. From 1999 to 2000, she appeared in the ABC drama series, Once and Again.

True appeared in a number of independent movies, include With or Without You (1999), The Big Split (1999), and Groove (2000). She starred alongside Monica and Essence Atkins in the 2000 romantic drama film Love Song. From 2002 to 2006, True starred with Essence Atkins in the UPN comedy series, Half & Half, as paternal half-sisters who barely knew each other until becoming adults. She returned to film, playing the supporting role in the 2007 comedy The Perfect Holiday. The following years, she appeared in a number of smaller and made-for-television films, include The Asylum productions Social Nightmare (2013), Blood Lake: Attack of the Killer Lampreys (2014), Sharknado 2: The Second One (2014), and Sharknado: Heart of Sharkness (2015). In 2017, True worked as a tarot-card reader in Echo Park.

True released her book, True Heart Intuitive Tarot, Guidebook And Deck in 2020. She appeared in horror films Agnes and Horror Noire in 2021. The following year, she joined the cast of the second season of Amazon Prime Video comedy series, Harlem. Also that year, True was cast in Half Baked 2, the sequel to the 1998 cult comedy, reprising her role as Mary Jane Potman.

[partisan-by-default]

The trailer for "Annapoorani: The Goddess of Food" promised a sunny if melodramatic story of uplift in a south Indian temple town. A priest's daughter enters a cooking tournament, but social obstacles complicate her inevitable rise to the top. Annapoorani's father, a Brahmin sitting at the top of Hindu society's caste ladder, doesn't want her to cook meat, a taboo in their lineage. There is even the hint of a Hindu-Muslim romantic subplot. On Thursday, two weeks after the movie premiered, Netflix abruptly pulled it from its platform. An activist, Ramesh Solanki, a self-described "very proud Hindu Indian nationalist," had filed a police complaint arguing that the film was "intentionally released to hurt Hindu sentiments." He said it mocked Hinduism by "depicting our gods consuming nonvegetarian food." The production studio quickly responded with an abject letter to a right-wing group linked to the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, apologizing for having "hurt the religious sentiments of the Hindus and Brahmins community." The movie was soon removed from Netflix both in India and around the world, demonstrating the newfound power of Hindu nationalists to affect how Indian society is depicted on the screen. Nilesh Krishnaa, the movie's writer and director, tried to anticipate the possibility of offending some of his fellow Indians. Food, Brahminical customs and especially Hindu-Muslim relations are all part of a third rail that has grown more powerfully electrified during Mr. Modi's decade in power. But, Mr. Krishnaa told an Indian newspaper in November, "if there was something disturbing communal harmony in the film, the censor board would not have allowed it." With "Annapoorani," Netflix appears to have in effect done the censoring itself even when the censor board did not. In other cases, Netflix now seems to be working with the board unofficially, though streaming services in India do not fall under the regulations that govern traditional Indian cinema. For years, Netflix ran unredacted versions of Indian films that had sensitive parts removed for their theatrical releases -- including political messages that contradicted the government's line. Since last year, though, the streaming versions of movies from India match the versions that were censored locally, no matter where in the world they are viewed. [...] Nikhil Pahwa, a co-founder of the Internet Freedom Foundation, thinks the streaming companies are ready to capitulate: "They're unlikely to push back against any kind of bullying or censorship, even though there is no law in India" to force them.

[bollywoodirect]

37 Years of Mr. India (25/05/1987). Mr. India is a superhero film directed by Shekhar Kapur and produced by Boney Kapoor and Surinder Kapoor under the Narsimha Enterprises banner. The film's story and screenplay were written by the duo Salim-Javed, marking their last collaboration before their split. Starring Ashok Kumar, Anil Kapoor, Sridevi, Amrish Puri, Annu Kapoor, Satish Kaushik, Bob Christo, Ahmed Khan, Aftab Shivdasani, Yunus Parvez, Sharat Saxena, Ajit Vachani, Gurbachan Singh and Ramesh Deo. The film tells the story of Arun Verma (Kapoor), a humble violinist and philanthropist who receives a device that grants him invisibility. While renting out his house to pay his debts, he meets journalist Seema Sahni (Sridevi) and falls in love with her. Meanwhile, the villain Mogambo (Puri) plans to conquer India. The film was shot by Baba Azmi in Srinagar, Mumbai, and other locations in India, starting in July 1985 and concluding after 350 days. The music was composed by Laxmikant-Pyarelal, with lyrics by Javed Akhtar. The film was edited by Waman Bhonsle and Gurudutt Shirali, with special effects by Peter Pereira. Mr. India was a breakthrough for its director and cast and became a milestone in Hindi cinema for its unique superhero genre. It inspired several Indian films in later years. The film was remade in Tamil as En Rathathin Rathame (1989) and in Kannada as Jai Karnataka (1989).

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Seven

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Seven: Stranded on an Island

Summary: Abandoned on a deserted island, Jack, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) console themselves, and Elizabeth plots.

            (Y/N) waded out of the water and sat down on the sandy shores of the island. They took deep breaths. Behind them, Elizabeth—burgundy dress gone—and Jack struggled to land after an exhausting swim. (Y/N) wasn’t tired, but they were nervous—scared—about being stuck on an abandoned island without fresh water or food. This could and probably would be their doom.

            Jack stared back at the Black Pearl as it sailed away. “That’s the second time I’ve watched that man sail away with my ship,” he said, frustrated. He turned and stalked into the grove of trees.

            “You were marooned on this island before!” said Elizabeth, following him. “We can escape the same way!”

            (Y/N) nearly followed, but, feeling more secure where they sat, they remained by the sea. Behind them, the argument continued, and (Y/N) sighed. They just wanted to think.

            “To what point and purpose, young missy?” said Jack. “The Black Pearl is gone! Unless you and the laddie have a lot of sails hidden in your clothes, young Mr. Turner will be dead long before you can reach him.”

            “But you’re Captain Jack Sparrow!” said Elizabeth. “You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company! You sacked Nassau Port without a shot. Are the pirate I’ve read about or not?”

            (Y/N) sighed and ran their hands through the sand, trying to calm themself as the threat of death hung over their head.

            “How did you escape the last time?” demanded Elizabeth.

            That had (Y/N) glancing back. They were curious about that since sea turtles felt pretty much impossible, even if magic and curses existed. Jack frowned and turned away from Elizabeth. (Y/N)’s intense gaze bore into him, and he hesitated before speaking again.

            “Last time I was here a grand total of three days, alright?” he said. “Last time…” he opened up a hidden cellar door. “The rumrunners used this island as a cache.” Jack avoided their gazes and went into the cellar. “They came by, and I was able to barter passage off.” He grimaced as he lifted a bottle of rum out. “From the looks of things, they’ve long been out of business.” Jack huffed. “Probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that.”

            (Y/N) sighed. It was more than a little disappointing that Jack didn’t have a way off the island, but at least they had a better explanation than “sea turtles.”

            “So that’s it, then?!” said Elizabeth. “That’s the secret, grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow!” She narrowed her eyes furiously. “You spent three days on the beach drinking rum.”

            “Welcome to the Caribbean, love!” said Jack cheerfully. “Now, who wants a drink before we die? Laddie?!”

            “I like to keep my wits,” said (Y/N).

            “What a depressing idea,” said Jack, swaggering off towards the sea to get wasted.

            Behind them, Elizabeth looked at the bottle of rum, and an idea came to her. She looked back at (Y/N) and Jack and decided to keep her plan to herself. For one, she didn’t trust Jack. For two, she didn’t want to give false hope to (Y/N) in case her plan didn’t work out and they got stranded.

            “(Y/N),” said Elizabeth.

            “Yes?” said (Y/N), looking at Elizabeth.

            “Thank you for coming,” said Elizabeth. “It was extraordinarily brave of you.” She hugged (Y/N). “I’m so sorry you got stuck here.” She held them tightly. “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

            “Of course I came for you, Lizzie. You’re my sister,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Elizabeth held them tighter. She really loved this kid. “Come on, (Y/N). Let’s go celebrate that we’re alive right now.”

l

            “We’re devils, we’re black sheep, we’re really bad eggs!” Elizabeth, (Y/N), and Jack danced around a bonfire on the beach. They sang as they went, and Jack was completely wasted. (Y/N) had drank a bit to keep from being thirsty, and Elizabeth was slightly tipsy. However, despite the varying states of inebriation, they were having a great time. “Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho! Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me!”

            “I love this song!” said Jack.

            Elizabeth laughed, and (Y/N) whooped and spun. Jack copied them and swayed on his feet. He fell to the sand, and (Y/N) sprawled back with him.

            “When I get the Pearl back…I’m gonna teach it to the whole crew!” declared Jack, his words slurring. “And we’ll sing it all the time.”

            “You’ll be a singing pirate,” laughed (Y/N), letting free for once on the seashore. “Feared in all the Caribbean!”

            “Not just the Caribbean—the entire ocean! The world!” said Jack earnestly. “I’ll go wherever I want to go, I go!” He grinned at (Y/N). “That’s what a ship is, you know. It’s not just a keel and hull and deck and sails. That’s what a ship needs. But what a ship is…What the Black Pearl really is—”

            “Freedom,” said (Y/N). They gazed at Jack, eyes bright. “It’s freedom.”

            Jack grinned at them. “You’re a bright one, laddie.” He tilted his head and waved his bottle of rum. “You want that freedom, don’t you? The sea air, the waves, the lack of rules…” His face twisted in disgust at the idea of being confined by “polite” society.

            (Y/N) groaned. “I hate the rules. They make no sense.” They sat up and looked out at the sea. “I like it much more out here. With the sea.” They took a deep breath of the salty breeze. “I like freedom.”

            Jack looked at (Y/N), the words cutting through his tipsiness. That was a spirited speech awfully reminiscent of his own thoughts, of his own self when he was their age. Yes, his father had been a pirate so he had always been one, but he, too, had looked at the world and decided that the rules and limitations weren’t for him. Jack wanted freedom; the sea gave it.

            And now a kid was looking at him with that very same look in their eyes—the glint of freedom. (Y/N) had a taste for it, and now nothing would ever be enough if they didn’t have it.

            Jack smiled at (Y/N) and raised his bottle. “To freedom!” A small part of himself, beneath all the drunkenness and braggadocio, hoped that spark wouldn’t be smothered.

            (Y/N) grinned back. “Aye!”

l

            (Y/N) awoke to a terrible heat on their face. They groaned and sat up from where they had found the shade of a tree to rest. Their eyes widened, and they jumped to their feet. Elizabeth was throwing barrels of rum into a bonfire, and a dark smoke was flying into the air.

            “What the—Lizzie, what are you doing?!” said (Y/N), alarmed at the sudden actions of their usually rational sister. That was the only liquid they had to drink.

            “Saving us,” said Elizabeth firmly.

            “No! Not good! Stop!” Jack ran up from the beach at the sight of the flames, also awakened by the smell of burning alcohol and trees. “What are you doing?! You’ve burned all the food, the shade, the rum!”

            “Yes, the rum is gone,” said Elizabeth.

            “Can you actually explain your thinking?” said (Y/N).

            “Why is the rum gone?” bemoaned Jack.

            “One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into scoundrels,” snapped Elizabeth to Jack. She looked a lot kindlier at (Y/N). “Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire royal navy is out looking for us. They’ll see it, there’s no chance they won’t.

            “But why is the rum gone?!” said Jack.

            (Y/N) sighed, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She sat down on the beach and looked out over the water.

            “Just wait, Jack Sparrow. Give it out hour, maybe two, keep a weather eye open, and you will see white sails on that horizon,” said Elizabeth.

            Jack looked ready to draw his pistol and shoot, but a glare from (Y/N) made him freeze. He hadn’t been on the Interceptor when the pirates attacked, so he hadn’t seen the fury their eyes were capable of. Now, that exact storminess was turned on him, and he knew if he tried to harm Elizabeth, (Y/N) would fight to the end. Jack wasn’t interested in that. So, instead, he turned and stalked off in a huff.

            “Do you really think it will work?” said (Y/N), sitting down next to Elizabeth.

            “There’s a very good chance it will,” said Elizabeth, smiling at (Y/N). “And then Norrington and my father will find us, we can save Will, and then we can all go home.”

             (Y/N) smiled up until the final statement. They faltered and looked back at the sea. “Right.”

            Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “Are you alright, (Y/N)?”

            “Yes. I don’t want to be stranded here. It’s just that…” They trailed off and shifted uncomfortably. “I liked sailing. I liked being away from Port Royal.” I liked the sea. The freedom.

            Elizabeth’s gaze softened. “You enjoyed not having my father’s expectations on your shoulders.”

            (Y/N) let out a dry laugh. “I can’t quite live up to them, can I? I can try, but I’m not what ‘civilized’ society wants.”

            Elizabeth smiled at them. “I know.” She nudged them and looked at their clothes. “You left behind the dresses the moment you could, the first bit of polite society you were pushed into.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Yes…” Their smile fell. “But I must return. I know that. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t stay on the sea.”

            “I’d prefer you to be somewhere safer, yes,” said Elizabeth. “But don’t worry. I’ll be with you. I promise.”

            “…Even if your father wants you to marry Norrington? You won’t leave me?” said (Y/N), looking at Elizabeth.

            “Never,” said Elizabeth, hugging (Y/N) tightly. “You’re my family. I’m not leaving you behind.”

            (Y/N) hugged Elizabeth back. “Thank you.”

            “Even if you are the stubbornest, most reckless child I’ve ever met,” teased Elizabeth. “Running off with pirates for me.”

            (Y/N) laughed sheepishly.

            Elizabeth smiled as their good spirits returned and looked out at the sea. She froze and stood. A grin split her features. “There!”

            (Y/N) scrambled to their feet and peered over the slight hill of the island. There, beyond the curve of the tiny isle, white sails of the British navy flew against the bright blue sky.

            They had been found.

l

            “We’ve got to save Will!”

            Elizabeth wasted no time in declaring her intentions to help Will against Barbossa. She, (Y/N), and Jack had been brought aboard the Dauntless where Governor Swann and Norrington awaited them, and she was instantly on the offensive and trying to get them to help her.

            “No,” said Swann. “You and (Y/N) are safe now. We will return to Port Royal immediately.” He looked at (Y/N) harshly. “And we will be having a long discussion about your actions, young lady.” (Y/N) winced at the word and held their shirt tighter. “Helping a pirate escape jail, stealing a ship?! What were you thinking?!” Swann groaned. “You even stole the clothes of a pirate.”

            “Will and I paid for these,” said (Y/N) quietly. Already, they felt the press of polite society and social rules closing in around them, strangling the freedom they’d had.

            “And that makes it alright to go gallivanting after pirates with other pirates?!” snapped Swann.

            (Y/N) flinched. Jack narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth pulled (Y/N) to her side protectively.

            “(Y/N) and Will saved me!” said Elizabeth. “I would have been lost if not for their actions. We cannot leave Will behind now. If we do, we condemn him to death.”

            “The boy’s fate is regrettable, but so is his decision to engage in piracy,” said Swann.

            “To rescue me! To prevent anything from happening to me,” said Elizabeth.

            “If I was in Will’s place, would I be left behind, too, for going to save Lizzie?” said (Y/N), eyes raising to face Swann and Norrington.

            “I—Of course not,” said Swann. “You’re my ward. You are a misguided child.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed as they slid to Norrington. He hadn’t reacted. For a moment, their eyes were stormy with barely contained fury, and they spoke coldly. “But Will isn’t important enough for you?” Norrington and Swann didn’t respond, and (Y/N) knew what the response was. No. Will wasn’t important enough to save. “You’re willing to throw away a life just because he isn’t of high-enough status for you.” (Y/N)’s hands clenched into fists, and Elizabeth saw the same storm stirring within them as it had against the Black Pearl. “Disgusting.”

            “I would watch your tone, young lady,” said Norrington. “It is the grace of your father that excuses you from the harshest consequences of your actions.” He looked at Swann. “Clearly, they have been quite misguided by the pirates. I’d suggest a boarding school to teach them proper manners, but it is your choice, Governor.”

            “Manners? I’ll teach you—”

            “If I may be so bold as to interject my personal opinion,” said Jack, moving between Elizabeth and (Y/N) and the two men.

            After (Y/N)’s speech about throwing away lives due to status, Jack was reminded of the one time he tried to live a “proper” sailor’s life. He remembered what people had deemed cargo fit to buy and sell—other people. Jack had refused to allow that, refused to believe in such a disgusting view of human beings. And now here was the kid, the same one who chased freedom, being pushed around and wanting to help those being thrown away like Jack had. Something in his cold black heart thumped, and he decided to finally speak up.

            (Obviously, it wasn’t so that Norrington and Swann would stop speaking so cruelly to (Y/N). No, it was just so Jack had a chance to escape and get the Pearl. Or maybe it was both. He decided not to consider that).

            “The Pearl was listing after the battle,” said Jack, continuing before anyone could stop him. “It’s unlikely she’ll be able to make good time. Think about it—the Black Pearl. The last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate. How can you pass that up, eh?”

            Norrington narrowed his eyes. “By remembering that I serve others, not only myself.”

            (Y/N)’s heart sunk, and they looked at Jack. They hoped he could see they were thanking him for trying to get them to go after the pirates and Will—even if it was just for his own gain since he was undoubtedly going to try to get the Pearl for himself.

            “Commodore, I beg you,” said Elizabeth, moving forward before Norrington left. “Please do this. For me.” She swallowed. “As a wedding gift.”

            Norrington whirled. (Y/N) sucked in a breath. Swann stared at her in shock.

            “Elizabeth?” he said. He was pleased. “Are you accepting the Commodore’s proposal?”

            “I am,” said Elizabeth. To save Will, she’d do anything.

            “A wedding!” said Jack. “I love weddings. Drinks all around!” The air was too tense for him. Norrington glared at him, and Jack cleared his throat. “I know.” He held out his wrists. “ ‘Clap him in irons,’ right?”

            Norrington’s jaw tensed. “Mr. Sparrow, you will accompany these fine men to the helm and provide us with a bearing to Isla de Muerta. You will then spend the rest of the voyage contemplating all meanings of the phrase ‘silent as the grave.’ Do I make myself clear?”

            “Inescapably clear,” said Jack.

            (Y/N) frowned as Jack was pulled to the helm by two guards and Norrington went with him. They knew he’d try to bargain for the Pearl, and that would lead them into danger. However, they had a feeling Norrington was aware of that. That being said…they also knew Norrington had no idea just how dangerous the crew of the Pearl were. (Y/N) did.

            They exchanged a look with Elizabeth, and they found her gaze was as determined as their heart felt. They knew that they’d have to be the ones to ensure Will escaped. They couldn’t leave his fate in anyone else’s hands.

            One more adventure until they lost their freedom—Elizabeth to marriage and (Y/N) to society. They’d have to make it count.

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

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[scotianostra]

The Scottish actor Fulton McKay was born on August 12th 1922 in Paisley.

William Fulton Beith Mackay was brought up in Clydebank by a widowed aunt after the death of his mother from diabetes. His father was in the NAAFI.

On leaving school, he trained as a quantity surveyor and later volunteered for the Royal Air Force in 1941 but was not accepted because of a perforated eardrum. He then enlisted with the Black Watch and he served for five years during the Second World War, which included three years spent in India.

After being demobbed, Mackay began training as an actor at RADA. Mackay was one of Scotland’s most versatile and best-loved character actors. From 1949 he was a member of the Citizens Theatre Company where he worked with Duncan Macrae and Stanley Baxter. His career on stage and in film and television was cemented by his work as a playwright for BBC Scotland. Fulton appeared in may shows during his career, including The Master of Ballantrae, Rob Roy, Z Cars, Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em but it was his role a the comic menace that was prison officer Mr Mackay in the 1970s comedy series ‘Porridge’,that was his most popular television role.

With Porridge it is well documented that Fulton could be quite irritating to the other cast members as he was such a perfectionist. He was constantly wanting to try scenes again and again. It has to be said, however, that this fine attention to detail paid dividends, as his performances were always flawless.

Mackay developed a movie career post-Porridge appearing in Britannia Hospital, Local Hero and Defense of the Realm . On the small screen other roles included Z Cars, returning over several shows, but as three differing characters, he played Keir Hardie in a 70’s mini series called Shoulder to Shoulder, Special Branch, Crown Court and two Scottish series, The Master of Ballantrae and Rob Roy. Many of you younger ones out there might recall Fulton Mackay as Captain, in our own version of Fraggle Rock.

On June 22nd 1987 Fulton Mackay lost his fight against stomach cancer, he was 64.

[sunsetthedragon]

I promised a conspiracy theory, so you’re going to get one.

Is there literally no point to me making this since we’re probably going to be told the characters in this movie in a couple of months?

Yes.

But I’m making this anyways because I want to.

(Rest is under the break because there will technically be spoilers for The Prom Queen book.)

I’m starting with the actors that were announced and then adding any confirmed actors that I have theories for as well.

David Iacono as Justin Stiles:

This is the most obvious one. There is only one male teenage character worth highlighting over all the other ones.

Suzanna Son as Simone Perry:

So there are four younger female actors that were announced as cast members, and there are five prom queens. Technically anyone could be anyone, but I want to try to be more specific. I say Suzanna for Simone because Suzanna is a singer, and Simone is supposed to be playing the lead in the spring musical. I think it would be weird to cast a musician and then have her play someone who doesn't sing.

India Fowler as Lizzy McVay:

I don't have as strong of theories for the other teen actors, so the best I can come up with is that India is listed first on the actor announcement, so she's playing the main character. Not the best theory, but it makes a little sense.

Fina Strazza/Ella Rubin as Dawn Rodgers/Rachel West:

I'm certain that they are going to be playing one of these two prom queens, but I have no idea who is who. If I had to pick, I'd say Fina as Dawn and Ella as Rachel (just going off of pure vibes alone).

Lili Taylor/Katherine Waterston:

I'm really not sure who the adult actors are going to be playing. There weren't that many adults who were plot relevant in the book, so I'm going to make a few guesses. Some ideas are Mrs. Perry (Simone's mother who shows up a few times), Mrs. McVay (Lizzy's mom who I think shows up once), and Officer Barnett (a cop investigating the murders who is a recurring character in the book series).

Chris Klein:

Also not really sure for him, but I do have some ideas. Officer Jackson (a cop investigating the murders who is a recurring character in the book series), Mr. Abner (a teacher at Shadyside who shows up in an early book), and Mr. Santucci (some creepy guy that shows up for like one chapter).

Now onto some confirmed actors for the movie.

Ariana Greenblatt as Elana Potter:

I mentioned how there are five prom queens but only four younger female actors, and I think Ariana is our last prom queen. I believe she is Elana because out of the five prom queens, she is the least important and the one with the smallest part.

Dakota Taylor as Gideon Miller:

This one is also most based of vibes. Dakota is definitely one of the main teens, and out of the other important male characters, I feel he fits Gideon the best.

Ryan Rosary as Robbie Barron:

Out of the two remaining important male characters (Robbie and Lucas Brown), Ryan definitely fits Robbie more. Also, part of this is just me wanting Robbie to be in the movie because he was my favorite character in the book.

[studentofetherium]

okay so i'm updating the numbers:

Genshin Impact has four playable characters with dark skin (Candace, Cyno, Kaeya, Xinyan). that's out of 59 characters in total. rounding up, that's 7% of the cast having dark skin. that said, i missed Candace on first pass and i only caught Cyno on third pass, despite their aesthetics clearly pulling from Egypt and... i guess India? i don't play Genshin so i'm just going off the wiki and i can't tell what Cyno is supposed to be but since his lore uses Sanskrit words i'm saying Indian. the most recent dark-skinned characters, Candace and Cyno, were added in September

Arknights, on the other hand, has seven characters with dark skin (Chestnut, Ethan, Beeswax, Flint, Tuye, Carnelian, Thorns). that's out of 260 characters. rounding up, that's 3% of the cast. there are some dubious cases where a character could be argued to have dark skin, but i didn't count those. the most recent dark-skinned character, Chestnut, was added in April (for CN) and October (for global)

on the other hand, Arknights has eight full furry characters (12F, Rangers, Spot, Hung, Waai Fu, Aak, Mr. Lee, Mountain). again, out of 260 characters, which means they also make up 3% of the cast (but without rounding). the most recent furry character, Mr. Lee, was added in January (for CN) and August (for global)

[metanightnyan]

Don’t be indifferent to the horrors in Palestine.

I thank my English class for showing me this speech, I just wish that the events in Gaza were discussed as a part of it. Don’t be indifferent, say something.

“Mr. President, Mrs. Clinton, members of Congress, Ambassador Holbrooke, Excellencies, friends: 

Fifty-four years ago to the day, a young Jewish boy from a small town in the Carpathian Mountains woke up, not far from Goethe's beloved Weimar, in a place of eternal infamy called Buchenwald. He was finally free, but there was no joy in his heart. He thought there never would be again. Liberated a day earlier by American soldiers, he remembers their rage at what they saw. And even if he lives to be a very old man, he will always be grateful to them for that rage, and also for their compassion. Though he did not understand their language, their eyes told him what he needed to know -- that they, too, would remember, and bear witness. 

And now, I stand before you, Mr. President -- Commander-in-Chief of the army that freed me, and tens of thousands of others -- and I am filled with a profound and abiding gratitude to the American people. "Gratitude" is a word that I cherish. Gratitude is what defines the humanity of the human being. And I am grateful to you, Hillary, or Mrs. Clinton, for what you said, and for what you are doing for children in the world, for the homeless, for the victims of injustice, the victims of destiny and society. And I thank all of you for being here. 

We are on the threshold of a new century, a new millennium. What will the legacy of this vanishing century be? How will it be remembered in the new millennium? Surely it will be judged, and judged severely, in both moral and metaphysical terms. These failures have cast a dark shadow over humanity: two World Wars, countless civil wars, the senseless chain of assassinations (Gandhi, the Kennedys, Martin Luther King, Sadat, Rabin), bloodbaths in Cambodia and Algeria, India and Pakistan, Ireland and Rwanda, Eritrea and Ethiopia, Sarajevo and Kosovo; the inhumanity in the gulag and the tragedy of Hiroshima. And, on a different level, of course, Auschwitz and Treblinka. So much violence; so much indifference. 

What is indifference? Etymologically, the word means "no difference." A strange and unnatural state in which the lines blur between light and darkness, dusk and dawn, crime and punishment, cruelty and compassion, good and evil. What are its courses and inescapable consequences? Is it a philosophy? Is there a philosophy of indifference conceivable? Can one possibly view indifference as a virtue? Is it necessary at times to practice it simply to keep one's sanity, live normally, enjoy a fine meal and a glass of wine, as the world around us experiences harrowing upheavals? 

Of course, indifference can be tempting -- more than that, seductive. It is so much easier to look away from victims. It is so much easier to avoid such rude interruptions to our work, our dreams, our hopes. It is, after all, awkward, troublesome, to be involved in another person's pain and despair. Yet, for the person who is indifferent, his or her neighbor are of no consequence. And, therefore, their lives are meaningless. Their hidden or even visible anguish is of no interest. Indifference reduces the Other to an abstraction. 

Over there, behind the black gates of Auschwitz, the most tragic of all prisoners were the "Muselmanner," as they were called. Wrapped in their torn blankets, they would sit or lie on the ground, staring vacantly into space, unaware of who or where they were -- strangers to their surroundings. They no longer felt pain, hunger, thirst. They feared nothing. They felt nothing. They were dead and did not know it. 

Rooted in our tradition, some of us felt that to be abandoned by humanity then was not the ultimate. We felt that to be abandoned by God was worse than to be punished by Him. Better an unjust God than an indifferent one. For us to be ignored by God was a harsher punishment than to be a victim of His anger. Man can live far from God -- not outside God. God is wherever we are. Even in suffering? Even in suffering. 

In a way, to be indifferent to that suffering is what makes the human being inhuman. Indifference, after all, is more dangerous than anger and hatred. Anger can at times be creative. One writes a great poem, a great symphony. One does something special for the sake of humanity because one is angry at the injustice that one witnesses. But indifference is never creative. Even hatred at times may elicit a response. You fight it. You denounce it. You disarm it. 

Indifference elicits no response. Indifference is not a response. Indifference is not a beginning; it is an end. And, therefore, indifference is always the friend of the enemy, for it benefits the aggressor -- never his victim, whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten. The political prisoner in his cell, the hungry children, the homeless refugees -- not to respond to their plight, not to relieve their solitude by offering them a spark of hope is to exile them from human memory. And in denying their humanity, we betray our own. 

Indifference, then, is not only a sin, it is a punishment.

And this is one of the most important lessons of this outgoing century's wide-ranging experiments in good and evil. 

In the place that I come from, society was composed of three simple categories: the killers, the victims, and the bystanders. During the darkest of times, inside the ghettoes and death camps -- and I'm glad that Mrs. Clinton mentioned that we are now commemorating that event, that period, that we are now in the Days of Remembrance -- but then, we felt abandoned, forgotten. All of us did. 

And our only miserable consolation was that we believed that Auschwitz and Treblinka were closely guarded secrets; that the leaders of the free world did not know what was going on behind those black gates and barbed wire; that they had no knowledge of the war against the Jews that Hitler's armies and their accomplices waged as part of the war against the Allies. If they knew, we thought, surely those leaders would have moved heaven and earth to intervene. They would have spoken out with great outrage and conviction. They would have bombed the railways leading to Birkenau, just the railways, just once. 

And now we knew, we learned, we discovered that the Pentagon knew, the State Department knew. And the illustrious occupant of the White House then, who was a great leader -- and I say it with some anguish and pain, because, today is exactly 54 years marking his death -- Franklin Delano Roosevelt died on April the 12th, 1945. So he is very much present to me and to us. No doubt, he was a great leader. He mobilized the American people and the world, going into battle, bringing hundreds and thousands of valiant and brave soldiers in America to fight fascism, to fight dictatorship, to fight Hitler. And so many of the young people fell in battle. And, nevertheless, his image in Jewish history -- I must say it -- his image in Jewish history is flawed.

The depressing tale of the St. Louis is a case in point. Sixty years ago, its human cargo -- nearly 1,000 Jews -- was turned back to Nazi Germany. And that happened after theKristallnacht, after the first state sponsored pogrom, with hundreds of Jewish shops destroyed, synagogues burned, thousands of people put in concentration camps. And that ship, which was already in the shores of the United States, was sent back. I don't understand. Roosevelt was a good man, with a heart. He understood those who needed help.

Why didn't he allow these refugees to disembark? A thousand people -- in America, the great country, the greatest democracy, the most generous of all new nations in modern history. What happened? I don't understand. Why the indifference, on the highest level, to the suffering of the victims?

But then, there were human beings who were sensitive to our tragedy. Those non-Jews, those Christians, that we call the "Righteous Gentiles," whose selfless acts of heroism saved the honor of their faith. Why were they so few? Why was there a greater effort to save SS murderers after the war than to save their victims during the war? Why did some of America's largest corporations continue to do business with Hitler's Germany until 1942? It has been suggested, and it was documented, that the Wehrmacht could not have conducted its invasion of France without oil obtained from American sources. How is one to explain their indifference? 

And yet, my friends, good things have also happened in this traumatic century: the defeat of Nazism, the collapse of communism, the rebirth of Israel on its ancestral soil, the demise of apartheid, Israel's peace treaty with Egypt, the peace accord in Ireland. And let us remember the meeting, filled with drama and emotion, between Rabin and Arafat that you, Mr. President, convened in this very place. I was here and I will never forget it. 

And then, of course, the joint decision of the United States and NATO to intervene in Kosovo and save those victims, those refugees, those who were uprooted by a man, whom I believe that because of his crimes, should be charged with crimes against humanity. 

But this time, the world was not silent. This time, we do respond. This time, we intervene. 

Does it mean that we have learned from the past? Does it mean that society has changed? Has the human being become less indifferent and more human? Have we really learned from our experiences? Are we less insensitive to the plight of victims of ethnic cleansing and other forms of injustices in places near and far? Is today's justified intervention in Kosovo, led by you, Mr. President, a lasting warning that never again will the deportation, the terrorization of children and their parents, be allowed anywhere in the world? Will it discourage other dictators in other lands to do the same? 

What about the children? Oh, we see them on television, we read about them in the papers, and we do so with a broken heart. Their fate is always the most tragic, inevitably. When adults wage war, children perish. We see their faces, their eyes. Do we hear their pleas? Do we feel their pain, their agony? Every minute one of them dies of disease, violence, famine. 

Some of them -- so many of them -- could be saved. 

And so, once again, I think of the young Jewish boy from the Carpathian Mountains. He has accompanied the old man I have become throughout these years of quest and struggle. And together we walk towards the new millennium, carried by profound fear and extraordinary hope.”

Say something. That’s all, it’s more than enough. Saying something is doing something. This is the genocide of our time, do not turn your back on them, do not pretend it’s not there and it will solve itself.

If you feel like you can’t do anything, by yourself maybe not. But we are speaking together. That gets attention, that gives power.

Free Palestine 🇵🇸