#AND DIWALI IS COMING UP TOO LIKE. IF NOT NOW THEN WHEN

[fulcrvm]

you know i say i dont like having restaurant desi food but then i get overcome with an overwhelming love for indian breakfast foods and cant do anything about it

[a-b-riddle]

Okay, but Simon marrying an Indian girl…

Hear me out, okay???

He is a man who, before meeting his girl, had a very mundane life. A gray life, lacking color and warmth. No family outside of work. So when he wasn't deployed, he was alone.

And it’s assumed he’s someone who wants to be left alone, but then he gets thrust into this huge family…. And it’s like breathing again.

Relatives coming to stay with them for several weeks? No worries he has plenty of room. He’s the only fun uncle of the group who never gets tired of entertaining the kids. There is always something going on. Birthdays, holidays. Puja that his mother-in-law insists on doing over FaceTime whenever she’s not in the country.

Trading his Yorkshire tea for Chai.

Who doesn’t mind talking to his mother-in-law over the phone when his wife had her fill. Who is absolutely on board with starting on giving her grandkids.

Simon who never had so much as a birthday cake growing up, now gets his own boxes of homemade barfi and mysore pak. And even though his wife isn’t too found of cooking, he could eat her maggi everyday for the rest of his life.

The only thing in his entire marriage he doesn’t like, in fact hates, is when she fasts. Not in general. But for his health. The first year of marriage when Karva Chauth came up, he figured it was like Diwali or Holi. But when she explained she won’t eat until the moonrises, he wasn’t having it. He swore he hadn’t died yet and she could risk it. The next day he ordered enough take out, it lasted them three days breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Simon who learns how to help his wife pin her saree in place when her mother around to help.

Simon who begins to have a life in his 30s. Who laughs more and smiles often.

Who is thankful everyday that he got out of the gray.

[julymusings]

jalebi baby !

or; Dick Grayson and his Indian gf hosting Diwali 🧨☄️🎆

dick grayson x indian!fem!reader, like one euphemism i originally wrote more but it was kinda off-topic so i didn't include it. but if this ends up like...resonating particularly deeply with anyone i'll make another part also never quite got an answer on that friends question... Read Jason's version here !

In the years you’ve been with Dick, he’s celebrated multiple Diwali’s with you. He’s familiar with the customs and practices by now, knows the story behind the holiday, and has space in his closet for the several traditional garments he’s collected over the course of your relationship. But this year is different; this year, you are the hosts.

The day before, you were a mess. Rife with stress and nerves over your first time hosting the family party, an unspoken rite of passage into adult life. He had to basically drag you away from your checklist so he could sit you down and pamper you, massaging coconut oil into your scalp so you could relax. You can’t lie, though, it did help. That, and him being extra generous while washing it out in the shower later. You slept like a baby that night, worries long forgotten.

When the time for the party comes, he’s looking so…

He’s wearing a kurta that perfectly matches the cerulean of his eyes and has a shimmering silver paisley pattern, and he wears it with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to put his tan, muscled forearms on display. (*Barking*)

Like the gentleman he is, he helps you drape your sari. He presses the pleats flat, secures the pins in place, all with a graceful precision that makes the finished product better than you could ever achieve. He’s pouting the whole time, though, because no matter how much you insist that it’s magenta, it still borders too close to red for his taste.

“It’s magenta, Dick.” “That’s basically red! Why don’t you just wear one that says ‘I Hate Nightwing’ in huge letters?” “Dickie, don’t be ridiculous…you know the pleating would hide the words.”

You thought that was hilarious, but he’s EXTRA pouty after that.

He can’t be mad at you for long, though, not when you’re looking like that. The gold border of your garment, the sparkle of your gold jewelry, and the rosy color against your brown skin with a bindi to match…you’re practically glowing. And if you’re wearing paayals (bell anklets)…that dainty twinkle that follows you when you walk— hold on, he needs a minute. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven because there’s an angel in front of him.

While you’re spending the whole party running around and looking after everything, he’s looking after you. He’s making sure you take sitting breaks, he’s bringing you water, he’s feeding you while you’re cooking, and taking over the cooking (when you let him) so you can take some time to actually enjoy the party.

For dessert you prepare his favorite (jalebi) but every time you remove one from the pot and place it in the serving dish, two seconds later it’s gone. He tries to pin it on one of your relatives, which results in said relative calling him lode (lode-eh), and you having to sequester him in another room so you can finish cooking.

While you take him on his walk of shame, he asks you what that means and you lovingly reassure him that it’s nothing bad. (It isn’t, technically…I mean it is his name, right?)

I didn't include this in Jason's version but I think while Dick likes jalebi, Jason is a gulab jamun kinda guy

divider from here

[lix-ables]

nah because it’s one day after halloween for me and we couldn’t celebrate it here in the dorms cause diwali too but it got me thinking bout something-

you come back from a vv overwhelming but vv chill halloween party thrown by some friend of chan’s and all you want to do after coming back is just be. you haven’t reached the bedroom yet, or even the couch, when you pull his body close to yours, pressing light kisses to his exposed neck making him chuckle.

“easy, bub. what’s gotten into you hmm? you needy?” he mumbles, leaning against the wall behind him to gather whatever amount of support he can get. you nod at his words, your fingers fumbling, trembling rather, to get his belt open and pants off. “lemme help, darling,�� chan whispers, his fingers covering yours as he manages to get his pants off.

sure enough you’d dressed up as ghostface and tatum for halloween, but chan’s mask was off and thrown in some corner of the room, and his outfit was enough to get you wet and needy. “fuck-“ he mutters when your fingers come in contact with his dick, your thumb rubbing the tip as you continue kissing his neck and jawline.

your fingers play with his length, teasing him enough to get him hard, more than he already is. “shit, baby. i need you to stop playing with me like that. i might actually come,” chan breathes out, his hips jutting into your palm as you let your movements get sloppy by the second. your thighs close involuntarily, trying to hide the fact that you might almost be wet enough for him to slip into you.

his fingers that were caressing your arm moved from its place, settling down in between your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your centre, and you whimper in his ear.

“bedroom, now.”

[royalsunshinehotel]

Eating (Vampire!Kid x F!Reader, 18+)

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience. I am back. RIP to that one fic I wrote in 2020 and LOST in the depths of my laptop, you had fisting and dubcon and whatnot. This doesn’t have that, but is a lot better written. YN has very American dialogue here. Editing by @youlooklike-clarabow

It wasn’t right to call this feeling bloodlust. Was it freedom? 

He’d just beaten a mortal to death with a heeled shoe, and, in the morning, the people would think that Baba Shakti had been mauled to death by a tiger. 

He’d drained that man of his life force, the evidence soaked Kid so thoroughly, he felt it down to his socks with each step he took. 

Now, all he wanted was you. 

From the first day he’d met you, he’d allowed you to become a constant. He met Lucky first, your little brother, and Lucky had brought him right to you. 

What a gift that Lucky had given so freely, he’d have to thank the boy when he saw him next. 

He knows exactly where you are too. 

You’re stumbling home after a harrowing shift at the bar. It’s Diwali, so of course your work was a little…intense. 

You couldn’t fault the people for enjoying the holiday, but Christ that was a lot of work. 

And here he was again! 

“Funny how that all works,” you think.

He’s playing it off as if he wasn’t waiting up for you, on the steps of your apartment building. 

Maybe it was that half-drink you’d had earlier, maybe it was that costume he’s wearing, a black suit, covered in blood. 

The blood had dried, but the tears hadn’t. 

Maybe it was that half-drink you’d had earlier, but you could hardly look at him, only holding out your hand to take his arm, tightly, up to your place. 

On a good day, it’s hard to look at him - and truly see him - fully. It was like staring into the sun. Here, in the dark, maybe you’d scrape by. He’s vibrant, even now 

His socks were making a squishing sound with each step. 

You unlock your door, and deposit him to lean against a counter, and calmly walk to your kitchenette for some towels, wetting them under your faucet. 

It wasn’t your business. 

Maybe he’d just been at Tiger’s, Maybe it had been another fight. You’d helped him after those before…

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “just wait.” He droops a little, hopefully relaxing. You’d like him to be comfortable here, with you. 

You take a long step and pull out a stray garbage bag from a drawer, waving it around to open in, and gesturing to him. 

It was safe to say the suit he wore was ruined. And if that blood was real, and didn’t belong to him, it could open up a whole world of trouble. 

Your mind races with a thousand different possibilities and outcomes, what you were liable for, what charges he could be brought up on. 

He only stares at you with an expression you can’t place, and unbuttons his shirt. 

And your thought process evaporates. 

When Lucky had helped him to your apartment after fights at Tiger’s Temple, you’d seen his bare chest before. He was a tall man, and thin to match. His chest was broad, smooth, as ever, but you couldn’t see his ribs anymore. 

When he’d come to you for help before, he’d been something of a stray dog, wandering in the streets, begging for any scrap one could spare. 

And you had fed him before, but you wouldn’t need to now. 

You knew from your little brother that Kid hadn’t been around. Rumors swirled in your little community, but nothing was concrete. He’d been gone, out of town. Eating. 

Blood dried on the breathtaking torso of someone who’d been eating. 

A little spark of jealousy starts to burn in the front of your skull. 

“Had a good vacation?”” You scoff at him. His large brown eyes darken, only slightly. He says nothing. 

Heat rushes to your face as he steps forward, dropping his shirt into the empty garbage bag. 

You want him close, as usual. 

He never takes a half-step more, just to kiss you, be near you. It doesn’t feel as cold as it usually does. It feels like he’s playing with you. 

Kid smiles a little, to himself, taking the wet towel off the side of the sink, running it down his reddened neck. 

You frown. He’ll have to scrub. 

You grab another towel, and begin to do just that. 

He doesn’t make a sound as you dampen your towel under the sink  and step around towards his broad back. 

“This isn't gonna work. You’ll have to shower.” Your voice sounds a little hoarse. It had to be some kind of condition, or spell he’d fallen under. 

He seemed flushed, a little more alive. 

When you first met him, you noticed large, glossy brown eyes first, but seeing the rest of him makes the awareness of being close to him all the  worse, even standing behind his back. 

His thick,curly hair reached out, practically begging someone to put their hands in it. The skin of his shoulders is always warm, just like the rest of him. 

You’d sat next to him, on your couch in your apartment. Being aware of his body heat was obvious, but it felt heightened tonight. Did he run warm? Or did you just notice it because it’s him? 

You knew the answer, but the air was so thick in your room, it seemed to soften any hard thought you were trying to wrap your head around. 

The rag in your hand was spent, so you threw it into the trash bag, and you tap his spine, 

“Go shower.” You command, and he obeys you, removing his shoes and putting them in the bag after. 

He looks around, spell broken, only to feel lightly proud that he’d only left a thumbprint on your counter. 

In the shower, he wishes you were still next to him still, in the water . . . helping. You were so eager to be kind, why? Especially to the likes of him. 

He watches the faint traces of red and pink rinse from his skin, to circle the drain. 

It was all he could do not to step out of the shower and put his face in your neck. 

He’d never indulged so freely in someone’s blood before, and he’d never imagined that his first real taste would be from the man who ruined everything, and harmed so many. 

And he’d come right to you, thinking he’d been sated, but he just wanted more. 

He’d never hurt you, he’d die before he hurt you. 

Kid lets some water fall into his mouth, and spits it out between his feet. 

There had been a time, when he was younger, where he’d known a street performer who’d played a cello. It was a large, cumbersome instrument, but the performer had made it seem light, elegant. 

The vibration of the strings had stayed with him, humming inside his head whenever he’d gotten hungry. 

And now, wet, in the shower, he felt absolutely starved. 

No. Get a grip. 

He needed to pick something else to focus on, not the tantalizing hymn coming from your throat. 

Your apartment! 

He’d been in your apartment before, of course, but he felt he’d never gotten the chance to appreciate it. 

Your bathroom was old, but clean. Faded white tile, and one singular bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the counter in front of a small, circular mirror. 

He already knew that you had made a friend who sold soap to tourists, he recognized the cut of the bar in a little dish to the side. 

He shouldn’t snoop. 

One lone towel is hanging by the shower, and he takes it, dressing in large gray sweats that you’d picked for him. 

He doesn't like that you have men’s sweats, but he doesn’t have a right to not like it, when he benefits from it. 

He gasps a little as he opens the door back to the rest of your studio. 

Warm. 

When he first knocked on your door, he hadn’t noticed the few candles you’d had burning. He didn’t realize you’d be perched on the armrest of your old couch. He’d helped you carry it in, hadn’t he? He thought the color of it suited you, just as he does now. 

“How was your shower?” You ask, voice soft. You don’t betray the fact that your mouth is watering. 

He’d showered, obviously, but the steam coming off his skin didn’t help the knot of feelings, tightening in your stomach. 

Ugh, fucking feelings. They’d never done anything but betrayed you, why would this time be any different ? 

“Um…good.” He replies, just as soft, taking long, even strides to meet you on the couch, and sit on the other side. 

There’s a golden cast of light on your skin, and he knows he has some fundamental truths he needs to face. 

The first being, that he had died with his Mother that night, and came back as well…this. Whatever it was. 

The second was, he’d just torn the nation's religious leader limb from limb. It would look like a wild animal, but if that stupid penthouse had cameras, they’d know it was him. 

The last was, he desperately wanted you. Whatever you’d be willing to give, he’d devour greedily. It was time to do something about it. 

“You haven’t asked me what happened.” He states, almost groaning as he felt the couch lean from your weight. 

“I don’t want to know.” 

Kid exhales a sigh of relief. 

“I do wish you’d stop putting yourself in danger.” 

He blinks at that.

“You gotta stop showing up covered in blood.” 

“Should I show up with flowers? Would you like that?” 

“Depends on the flowers.” 

He leans in, the warmth of his body making your head start to swim, “I’m serious. What the fuck happened tonight?”

“Things have changed. I’ve changed them. It’s going to be better now.” 

You cross your arms. 

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you. No one follows me when I come here.” His round eyes seem to burn in the half-light. 

“If things have changed…does that mean I can kiss you?” the words fell out of your mouth easily, but you wince as they make their impact. The energy that was humming in your ears drops, leaving you in silence. 

Waiting for a response, simple. 

His mouth is on yours in an instant, your head spinning, taken by the impact. 

His hands find your hips, and you’re placed securely into his lap. How, in all this time, had you never felt his hands before? All of those times he’d come to you for help after a fight, and he’d kept his lovely hands to himself. 

You couldn’t allow that anymore! 

You take his wrists in your hands to move his warm, wide palms. You push yourself into his hands because you want to, you want him

His hardness grows steadily underneath you, as he lets you rub yourself against him, allowing himself to get lost, soaking you into himself. He simply had to be yours. 

You were a softness he’d wrap himself in, an extra layer to keep him warm through the winter (A/N: FROM A CHALLENGERS FIC). 

You feel his hands wander to your shoulders, pulling your mouth away from his with a slight pop. 

“You know I’m different.” It wasn’t a question. 

All those fights, all those blows to the head that should have killed him, and he’d simply walked away. Of course you knew.

“Are you trying to scare me?” You asked, earnest. You had nerves, of course you did, but it wouldn’t break through. 

“No! Never. I’m just trying to be honest.” 

You giggle. Your hands cup his face, and you smile at how he relaxes into your grip. 

“I think I’m just curious… How long have you been . . . different?” You questioned, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger.  

“Long enough to know what I’m doing?” 

“So you won’t kill me.” 

“I think Lucky would kill me first. You can send me away if you like. I won’t be back again.” 

“I’m not saying no, I just want to see.”

He blinks at you. 

You trail off, “May I see?” 

“...Sure.” 

 You put your hands on either side of his face, dark beard soft, he lets you pull u a pink lip, revealing white teeth, one long canine tooth, flat, thin, sharp. There’s another one on the other side. Like a predator, like a beast you’d find in the wild. 

Yeah, he’s exactly what he says he is. Different. 

“Good?” He asks, neutral.

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

The air in your room is cool , his eyes wide and wet.  

Is this what all creatures are like? 

You almost ask, but fall into his mouth instead. 

“Still curious?” 

“Ask me tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow. He likes the sound of that. Has he ever had anyone want to stay until tomorrow? He couldn’t remember when. How strange, to be alive as long as he had, and never been more than a kink, someone dipping a toe into the dark, as if he hadn’t had to make a life here. 

That was by design, he thought. Wasn’t he supposed to be the greatest predator and killer of all time? Ha!

Maybe he’s comfortable right here. Maybe the Devil’s perfect predator yearns for a collar and a leash. 

What a magnificent leash it would be. 

Your back arched against him, you gasp, grinding him. You receive a soft peck against your lips, and the most gentle smile. 

Your eyelids flutter close, and he makes himself comfortable against you. 

Kid makes a trail between your mouth and the most delicate column of your throat, licking and sucking. You allow him to pull off your shirt, before lowering you back into the worn out couch.  You shiver, in spite of the heat coursing through your veins. 

He leans over you, tracing his nose against your jaw, inhaling. 

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he hums against your ear, the cello strings getting louder and louder in his head. 

Putting a hand between your legs, he smiles into your neck. You push yourself against the heel of his palm, enjoying the sparks against your clit. 

Your pulse feels too correct under his mouth, and he throbs for it. What a lovely thing, to be able to have your neck between his teeth. 

He lies between your legs, comfortably, like he’d been laying with you for years. 

He smiles to himself as he feels your wetness against his hand, his mouth wandering over every piece of flesh you had exposed. You gasp as his mouth catches a nipple, tugging it, making you squirm. 

He lets you put your hands in his damp hair, his fangs lightly piercing the underside of your breast, red droplets against the softness of your skin for him to lap up. 

You whine at the faint pain, but he knows better. The hand between your legs knew better, your pathetic hole fluttering against him. 

You were everything. 

What a pretty picture you made, wide eyes, a warm, soft mouth, comfortably underneath him like you were meant to be here. How could you make the picture of someone so docile, fuckable, like he didn’t owe you absolutely everything? 

To your dismay, he pulls his hand back, and brings it up to his mouth. Your eyes snap open as Kid is struck with a full body shudder. The red against his hand seems to burn into him. 

It can’t be true. It’s too perfect, he thinks to himself. You watch him pant, chills down your spine. 

“...are you…bleeding?” He asked, rasping into your mouth, 

You couldn’t do too much, only nod. 

He’d had you too intoxicated, you’d gone and forgotten about your period.

A heartbeat passes. Maybe two.  

“I need to eat now. May I?” He asks, polite, but his face betrays him. 

“Yes.” 

In a blink, he’s upon you. Head between your legs, sucking at your bloody heat like he’d been made to do it. And he had, you supposed. 

Your back bows as he smoothly works a  finger into you, your own blood and slick guiding him in. 

Kid slurps, a filthy sound that nearly made you jump off the couch. 

An unfamiliar fog descends over your mind as you let him take what he wants. You're nobody’s fool, except his. 

You faintly feel his hands dig into your ass with an unrecognizable strength. You know he’d let you go if you asked, but his brute strength against yours is nothing short of exhilarating. 

Is this what it would take to keep him? Blood? You had that! You could always make more too. 

Your back arches, trying to get closer to his face, the sharpness of his nose breathtaking against your core. 

Your heart pounds in your head as he drinks from you, ears ringing. If you were a little more coherent, you’d be impressed with him, scraping his fingers mercilessly against your front wall, trying to drain any last drop you had to give. He’s taking what he wants. 

Whatever had happened earlier in the night, whatever put light behind his eyes, you thank every star.

He frantically scissors his fingers into you, lapping and sucking up everything he earned, bringing you closer and closer. 

He lavishes every mark made on you with his tongue, savoring the taste. 

You pout, and he holds you while your shaking and shivering dies down. 

“Will you forget about everyone else?” He asks, low in the dark.  

You blink at him, as if he were speaking another language. 

“What?” 

There was nobody else. No other ‘lovers’ in the past decade that could match what the two of you had just done. 

You feel something twitch against your thigh, in spite of your tiredness, you stick out your lower lip. He stares at it, eyes glittering. 

“You-” You puff, all those pesky feelings rushing straight to your head, “You’re holding back!” 

“And you're about to be anemic if we aren’t careful.” 

You can’t say much to that, so you let out a low, pitiful whine.

“You're going to rest, and you’re going to like it.” 

“Only if you stay put,” you blink. He smiles, mouth wet and red. 

You turn on the couch, pressing against his thin form, wiggling against him, making yourself comfortable. He lets you take his hand in your own, blood is already drying when you take two of his long, elegant fingers, and put them in your mouth. You sigh, satisfied. He does too. 

All will be well, because it’s him. You’ll do anything to keep him. 

[starryalpacasstuff]

LITBC ep 3 & 4: When they're homophobic but you love them

It took me a while to finally watch the third and fourth episodes because it's been diwali season, but having finally watched them I think I can quite confidently say that this part will probably end up as my favourite of the four. I've been having a really hard time trying to figure out how to express my feelings about this episode, because frankly I'm not even sure what those feelings are myself.

I think, surprisingly enough, this section actually hit me harder in the show than it did in the book. The book definitely had more teeth to it and felt far darker than the show, and this may seem counterintuitive, but I think it was because the show continues to be more grounded in the present that the story that it felt more visceral. As a few people have already noted, in the book the reader not only follows only Young's perspective, but there's also Young's bitter hindsight that colours his retelling of the story. Even when he acknowledges how enamoured he used to be with Hyung, it's again accompanied by his resentful commentary. In contrast, with the show we experience Go Young's emotions right along with him: love, confusion, disappointment, desperation, heartbreak, and everything in between. And as @lurkingshan notes here, this makes it all the more brutal when it all comes crashing down. Something else is that, while these episodes did not afford Go Young's mother and Young-soo the same sympathy the previous episodes did for Mi Ae and Nam Gyu, it's true that the wider lens and absence of Young's bitter monologue helped me, as the audience—how do I say this—see the two characters as their own people rather than just characters in Go Young's story. It emphasizes the greyness of morality in the characters. Young-soo is no doubt a bastard, but he's also a product of the environment he was raised in, and everything about him is a cry for help; help he will not accept. And Go Young's mother is an overbearing religious zealot who, when she realized that she couldn't 'fix' her son, resolved to pretend as though her son wasn't gay for the rest of her life; a social contract I am intimately familiar with. But she's also a single mother who braved a patriarchal society to bring up her son and she loves him in ways she will never express to him. The grey morality of the characters allows the audience to see why Go Young loved them and in turn, feel their loss along with him. I feel incomprehensibly sad when I think of the way both characters ruined their relationships with Go Young because they couldn't (wouldn't?) understand. Because he loved them, even though they were homophobic, but their relationships could never be the same after he knew.

Being constantly surrounded by homophobia is suffocating and exhausting, and it's something I know well. Even when it's not being discussed, sometimes just the knowledge of the way the people around you all hate 'people like you' can be incredibly overwhelming; it weighs you down. Go Young having to work through the complexities of loving people who were homophobic, people who hated an integral part of him felt so real to me because it's real life for me. Him going back to Young-soo over and over again even when he was rapidly becoming aware of Young-soo's beliefs. The quiet way in which both mother and son skirt around his sexuality. His brief happiness when he sees the scrapbook his mother made, and the photo that she returned to him. I'm just repeating the same words over and over now but the emotions felt so visceral; it made me feel seen. Go Young seemed so tired whenever he was around his mother and I don't think I need to say anything about how Young-soo's parting words affected him. It's something that hit way too close to home for me; that dawning realization that even more of your world stands against a core part of you than you'd thought, and that you love it anyways.

[ashsimpsalot]

Family Business (Kid X Rich!Reader x Sita)

Your eyes trailed from one of your lovers to the other. You could see the gears in his brain almost wearing out from how much thinking he's doing. It's like his world stopped, he's just standing at the corner of the room, totally oblivious that he's visible to everyone, just staring intensely at your other lover, doing her job.

Well maybe the years of grudge he's held against the owner of the pair of hands that roamed around on her skin isn't helping too. You sighed and took a sip of the whiskey you've been nursing. Your mind wandered back to how you three got into this arrangement. The night you trailed 'Bobby' into the alleyway, confronting him about his plans.

"Kid," You confidently called him by his legal name.

Kid was beyond shocked when he realised that someone noticed him, him, the boy that came from the untouchables, in such a big, rich place.

"I think you and me should go for a little drive," he's even more shocked when he's made the connection that it's you, the only breathing relative of Queenie.

It was Sita, honestly, out of the three of you she's more observant, she came up to you, legs swinging over your own, straddling your lap, your hand carefully placed on her back, knee ready to press on her just like she always love, she had her lips kissing your ear before whispering that there's a man, a mere waiter, she's been curious about.

"could you find out for me, baby?" her sweet voice in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

"How could I ever deny my girl?" you asked her with a tease in your tone, already pulling her chin softly for a kiss.

It took a while, for the three of you to be a thing, though you've known Sita for a long time you two had never made it official. even then she's the only woman you've taken up to your real apartment. Not that you've not had your fair share of people you've brought up to the VIP room.

Sita felt the same way, you're the only person she's followed back home. Others she's only taken in the hotel.

Well Kid is Kid. He's had close to none romatical relationship.. Except that one guy he slept with for a bed and warm food for a couple of days that one time but that's a different story.

"everything's alright?" Queenie's voice cut you out of your thoughts. You hummed, holding up your 4th glass of whiskey and sipping them.

"everything's great," you replied with a fake smile. Fucking hate the bitch, want to pretend she cares and shit.

"oh no it's not, she's been in the blues!" one of the men laughed. You almost successfully tuned out all the annoying business partners Queenie had, unfortunately for you, your dad was a big investor in the hotel, when he died, it all went to you.

Now you're stuck sitting in a circle full of annoying rich fucks that Queenie associated with.

You're a rich fuck too but that's not the point.

She frowned and then gave you a smile.

"pick anyone in the room, my treat," she said. You tried to hold in your expression, can't make a decision too fast, she'll notice. You three had decided to go forth with the plan on the night before Diwali. You'll request Sita as your girl. You've thought about plainly 'buying Kid off of Queenie's hands'. Not like she hasn't done that.

Your auntie's eyes searches the room. You know she's only being nice to you because she thinks that she's still in your will. Jokes on her, when you discovered that she killed your mother, you've taken her name off of the will.

But that's not enough, you want her to suffer, and when she's finally dead, you're coming for all her assets next.

"I assume your favourite girl huh? Sita," she said eyeing Sita who was too busy with Rana. "will he let her go?" you 'joked'. She hummed and called to Sita, sending two other girls towards Rana. Not like the man would care, anything with holes and legs he'd stick his dick into.

Sita walked towards you, one of the men slapped her ass when she walked pass him, making her yelp but professionally covered it with a smile. She immediately straddled your lap, swaying her body with the music. You held her back close. Turning to the man and 'playfully' punched his shoulder, making him yelp and held his shoulder.

"my girl," you 'joked' with a stupid smile. None of these people can do anything to you anyway. You'd love to see them try.

You kissed her neck making her whine, you smiled into her neck before she leaned in, kissing your ear.

You listened carefully. It's a sign that she wanted to say something to you.

"Kid? He's been staring at me, I'm scared seeing Rana triggers him like before," she said softly, the love and worry in her voice made your chest flutter.

You pulled away and turned to your aunt.

"what if I want two?" you asked playfully, your hand tracing on Sita's chest over her black dress. Trying to deceive her, making sure she can't see that this woman in your arms doesn't just hold your lust but your heart too.

"take your pick,"

You pretend to eye the room, not like you don't already have your answer. You pointed towards Kid. "that waiter," you said simply.

"the waiter?" she asked. "the tall one?" she asked again, snapping her fingers at him. Kid immediately walked towards the table. Moving to hand the table the drugs but stopped by Queenie. She whispered something in his ears.

You realised the looks of the men in front of you, it's the first time you asked for two, it's the first time you asked for anyone else when Sita is already in your arms. You had to think quick.

You can't let them think anything is off. You can't elt them use your loves as a point of weakness to attack.

When Kid stood in front of you awkwardly you felt guilty for putting him in an uncomfortable place but you had to do something to throw their suspicions off.

"on your knees," you said simply, earning a look of confusion from Kid. Sita who's still swaying and grinding herself to the music on your lap tried to look unfazed.

Kid does it anyway, kneeling next to your seat, looking up at you like an obedient puppy. You reached out your hand and pat him like one.

"Saw something about pet play in the magazine," you started, putting that stupid stuck up rich face all the people here have. You hands played at Sita's chest, roaming them on the neckline and toying the strap. Before turning your head into Kid's direction and lifted his chin with your index finger.

"they said something about male pet having more ego. It's more fun to break," you bullshit your way through, you figured it worked because they all laughed. Of course, fucking up someone's self esteem is most of these people's past time.

"well have fun then!" one of the men laughed, you just smirked.

You pulled Sita into another kiss, more passionate one, you felt the need to erase any taste of that Rana off of her, at least so that later Kid won't taste anything but you and Sita, she panted at how heavy the kiss turned. When you pulled away, she let out the most beautiful whine, looking into your eyes with pure need.

"you wanna go out now, baby?" you asked softly. Which she then nodded.

"well gentlemen, we'll be going now, our girl here needs some attention," you joked as Sita stood up holding both of your hands. You wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to pull Kid by his tie. "come on, pet" you simply comanded.

The drive towards you apartment was filled with silence. At a traffic light you can't hold it in anymore. "I'm sorry," it came out with a heavy sigh.

"for humiliating you like that. I didn't... I saw the men and they all looked so fucking confused and suspicious an-and I knew these fucking people, I'm so scared they're going to dig in more or something," you rambled quickly only stopping when you felt Kid's huge hand resting itself on your shoulder.

"it's okay, I know you didn't mean anything by it," his quiet voice tried to comfort you. Sita already had her hand reaching out for yours.

"I just felt like one of those stupid rich fucks and I hate it so much" you brought Sita's hand to your lips and left a little peck, then reaching to caress Kid's hand on your shoulder.

The light turned green and you switched the gear and drove. One hand still holding onto Sita's.

"Just a few more days, baby, and we'll be as public as we want," she tried to comfort you, you offered her a tiny smile.

Day in and day out, pretending not to know them beyond just renting or using them at the hotel hurts but it always end with a night of gentle and slow passions pouring into each of you. Before you know it, it's one day before Diwali.

You've 'rented' Sita as your date, you decided to bring her on a little shopping spree, letting her choose whatever she wants, wherever she wants. You just followed her with a stupid smile on your face, carrying whatever bag she decided to hand you. She bought a new dress for herself, then dragged you into a store to find a pair of shoes that actually matches your outfit.

"it's your day, sweetheart, you should buy for yourself, not anyone else," you said simply as she goes through the store to find you the right match. She shakes her head and pouted a little before siting next to you. "what is it?" you asked tentatively, placing all the shopping bags on the floor.

"I just wish Kid was here. I... It's unfair that we're here preparing for tonight while he's just.. God knows where," she sighed, placing her head on your shoulder. You sighed too, throwing an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer and kissed the top of her head.

"When this is all over, I'll bring you two anywhere you want, buy you all the things you want," you said smoothly and she lifted her head to look at you. "really?"

You nodded your head and kissed her. "anything for my favourite girl," you said and kissed her again.

"you can pick out anything for Kid, too. It's not like he can say no to you," you joked.

The night came and you saw Kid outside of the building, he gave you a little nod but nothing more. Though you did note the new necklace Sita bought for him.

"take my card, sweetie, my feet hurt from following you around," you tried to make her laugh. Sita's face light up and stood up to go searching for more things she wanted to buy for Kid.

Sita looked gorgeous, a new gold dress you bought her, a bangle to decorate her wrist, a new necklace. "I feel you staring," she teased as you held onto her waist and lead her to sit at the designated spot.

"hm? Not like you mind," you cheekily answered.

The rest of the night was fucking boring, hearing all the bullshit Baba Shakti spew.

You looked over your shoulder, Kid just went into the hall and stared at you before nodding. You slowly took Sita's hand, kissing her on the back of her hand twice to notify her and Kid that everything's on que.

Multiple gunshots were heard from the lower floor, loud screams of panic filled the hall. Everything was silent before another series of gunshot was heard. People started evacuatimg from the door before you pretentiously pulled Queenie by her hand. "Auntie, what's happening?" you tried to appear panicked.

She just shakes her head. "everyone's evacuating to the lower floor, the VIPs are going up to VIP levels, we should go to the penthouse," she explained the escape route. You nodded and followed her. Sita hand held yours tightly.

You saw Kid trailing Rana Singh. Decided to leave him be and followed her to the elevator.

Once you're in the penthouse, Queenie was going through her purse to find her phone, before she could do anything Sita hit her head harshly with a tray, resulting in her falling to the floor, unconscious.

"that's kinda hot, sweetheart," you smiled and kissed her, Queenie on the floor was barely able to move. You took the tray and hit her head again. "fuck you! You killed your own sister! My mother!" you yelled and stepped on her hands. Earning a loud yell from her. You pulled her hair roughly. Forcing her to look at Sita.

"see that girl you degraded so much? She's the one your filthy money is going to be spent on when they're mine," you said with a mocking tone before hitting her head again with the tray. Again. Again. Again.

Until her face and head is basically a bug puddle of blood.

Before you could turn to say anything to Sita, a figure of a man was about to near her. You threw the knew you see on the counter right into his thigh, earning a loud groan. Sita turned and hit his head with the same tray.

"that's Baba Shakti, good job, baby," you smiled and kissed her, tying him up in a chair.

You chopped a piece of Queenie's finger and looked over to Sita, handing her a gun. "Remember what I said about using this?" you asked her and she nodded, you pulled her into another kiss "take care of yourself, if he wakes up just make sure he doesn't get out of the ropes."

"be careful," Sita said before you smiled and goes down the elevator.

You searched for Kid, finally finding him on the VIP floor, hitting Rana with a high heel.

"love," you said in relief that he's still alive. Kid looked up to you, so does half conscious Rana.

"y-you.." he croaked out. All the hate and stories Kid told you in vulnerability at night comes to you. All the bullshit he had to go through because of this man, the hate came to you and you looked at Kid. "finish the job, love,"

"you think... You can get... Away?" Rana hoarse voice said. You rolled your eyes and gave him a sweet smile. "of course I can, I'm fucking rich," you said and signaled Kid to end it. Which he did with the last swing of the high heel.

"come on, love, Sita's upstairs. Baba Shakti too," you said leading him up to the penthouse.

Baba Shakti was screaming insults at Sita even though he's tied in that chair. Kid just went and slap him across the face. "that's not how you talk to a lady," he said with a stern voice. "do you know who I am?" he asked, eyes not leaving the old man once.

You pulled Sita towards you, holding her, standing little far from Kid but close enough so he knows you're both there. Let him have his moments.

You looked at your phone, one of your guy shoot you a text saying that you all need to be out by 10 minutes, they're burning the whole hotel down. "5 more minutes, love," you said over the sound of Kid beating Baba Shakti again and again. Sita had leaned her head onto your shoulder, arms around your waist, both of you watched Kid fulfill his plans and eventually he's stopped. "let him burn to death," he said before walking towards the both of you and into the elevator.

Life is easy when you have money, much more easier when most policemen you knew speak the same language. Bribery.

It's really not that hard, cough up a little when you got out of the building, give money to whoever needed to testify that the gunshots they heard weren't gunshots but really just glasses being blown because it's too hot downstairs and they start exploding, pay a cop here and there to dispose some evidence.

Cry on interview when talking about your aunt.

Wear white at her funeral, having your lovers by your side and pretend to mourn.

Then voila! You're in a new apartment with your lovers, enjoying a jacuzzi while drinking wine and eating grapes.

You hummed as you laid your head onto Kid's chest, he's chuckling as Sita went from kissing his neck to just tickling it to mess with him. "I can sleep like this," you said with a sigh. Sita leaned over to kiss you before tickling your side. "hey!" you yelped and caught her hand making her giggle. You pulled her towards you and she yelled when you tried to dunk her into the water. She pulled at Kid's hands for help but instead she got the opposite.

"surrender! Surrender!" she begged when Kid lifted her, walking towards the outdoor pool you had. "Wait, wait, dalring, no! No! Bad monkey! Bad! Ahh!" she yelled when Kid threw her into the pool. You let out a big laugh when Sita keep throwing water in Kid's direction.

God he looks too hot like this. Under the sun with swimming trunks and Sita... She wearing her little bikinis.

Barely could hold it in.

"what are you laughing about jaan?" Kid asked walking towards you.

Shit, time to run.

[siriusblack-the-third]

Hey I absolutely adore your Indian James headcanons can you do some for Harry too please <33

Okay this got too long so it's only Harry's first year at Hogwarts. At some point I might do the rest of his years but yeah. Here you go, i hope you like it :)

The first time Harry noticed his skin was darker than the people on Privet Drive was when he was four. The first time he noticed people sneered at him for it was when he was five and a half. He didn't understand it; why did they think the colour of his skin meant that he was inferior to them? He heard the words chee-chee and brownie thrown around like Dudley threw his food, and quietly pulled his shirt tighter around himself.

When Harry is eight, Dudley and his gang throw him in a ditch and throw dirt and soil on him till he's coughing and tears are running down his face. "You blend right into the mud," Piers laughs at him. The next day, the boy turns up to school with black skin. Harry sits in the corner and turns his face away, a secret grin playing on his lips.

He comes to Hogwarts, and there are so many colours. He is approached by Parvati on the second night, and she asks him if he's excited for Ganpati Chaturthi. He stares at her, and then says, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is." She gets offended, but they haltingly talk it out, awkward and stilted like most eleven year olds. When she realises that he's been kept from his heritage and his magic, she flies off the rails with anger. "That's it," she says, "we're friends now. No arguments."

Harry loves talking to Parvati. She's the one that tells him his father was from India. She's the one that tells him the names of his grandparents, that tells him of the importance of heritage in the magical world. They talk about religion and food and all sorts of things, and within two weeks Harry is asking her to teach him Marathi. It's hard at first; the grammar structure is more like French than English, the alphabet sequence is weird and complicated and has too many letters, but he keeps practising his svar and vyanjana and kana and matra. He will do this, he tells himself. (He doesn't tell Ron. He wants this for himself, he thinks. His family, his heritage. He wants to learn before he shares, and so he doesn't tell Ron. For now. He will, when he knows enough.)

Slowly, he starts talking to other Indian kids at Hogwarts. Padma, a seventh year Slytherin named Aarzoo who's Muslim and always has the prettiest hijabs, Gryffindor Kalyani from fourth year and Hufflepuff Rushabh from the third. Kalyani is from Maharashtra just like the Patil twins and Harry, Rushabh is from Gujarat and Aarzoo from Punjab. Harry finds it fascinating that India has so many different cultures and religions, and demands knowledge from them. Aarzoo laughs, and tells him he should have been with the 'Claws.

Harry disagrees. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, he knows, but he is in Gryffindor, where his family had been. His family had been Indian. He wants to know everything about it. If he couldn't have his parents, he would have that which had been a major part of his father's life. And so he reads and observes and studies and asks questions— hesitating at first in case they yell at him (Aunt Petunia hated questions and he feared these people would be the same), but slowly he asks more and more. He talks for hours with Kalyani and Rushabh, and they tell him about Garba and Dhol Tasha, Ganpati Chaturthi and Diwali, Eid and Gudi Padwa. They talk about the languages of India, and Harry immediately asks Aarzoo to teach him Urdu and Hindi. She laughs, and says he should focus on Marathi first. He pouts, but nods.

The Mirror of Erised shows him his father, and he can't take his eyes off. James Potter is a tall man, bulky frame covered in muscles and warm brown skin that seems to glow with happiness. His eyes are light brown, and the bold black lines drawn under them make the green specks stand out. He's dressed in what Harry knows is called a kurta, white and gold threads woven to form images of peacocks and elephants and other intricate designs. The next day, Harry asks Padma what she lines her eyes with, and she promptly hands him a little round metal box and a tiny wooden stick. "It's called kajal." She tells him the differences in pronunciation between Hindi and Marathi, and shows him how to apply it. Harry wears it everyday. It makes his eyes look bright, brighter than they already are, and he falls in love with it. Kalyani presses a kajal covered finger behind his ear every morning. "For good luck," she tells him, a grin playing on her pretty lips. Harry flushes, and smiles back shyly.

For Christmas, Aarzoo gives him perfume. It's chandan and mogra with hints of rose, she says, "and your grandfather made it. His name was Fleamont Henry Potter, and he was an exceptionally talented potioneer." Harry wears it religiously. Padma and Parvati band together and get him books on the Potter family and their historical importance, and he almost cries. Rushabh promises to teach him how to play Garba, and Kalyani gives him a cookbook for everyday Indian foods— breakfast and lunch and a few fancy stuff. Harry hugs it to his chest and thanks her with shining eyes. (he may have a bit of a crush on her. He can't help it— she's really smart, and she's pretty.)

Throughout the year, all of them work to introduce him to Indian food. At first, he thinks it will be easy. It is not. There is no such cuisine named Indian, Parvati tells him sternly. There is Punjabi, South Indian, Mughlai, Maharashtrian, North Indian, Bihari, Bengali and so many more. "The food in India changes with every twenty kilometres of travel," Aarzoo says when he mock complains about it. "It's never the same, and that's what makes it so special." He agrees.

The end of the year arrives, and Harry is still weak from his tryst down the trapdoor. When Ron and Hermione aren't present, his friends from home (because that's what India is, isn't it? His home. The home he never got to see, but is no less a part of him.) crowd around his hospital bed and have long talks with him, filled with banter and laughter. His Marathi is so much better now than it was in September, and he blushes when Kalyani compliments him on it. Rushabh winks at him, and Harry throws a pillow at him, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks at being caught out.

On the last day of school, he hugs Aarzoo around the waist and cries into her stomach. It's the first time he calls her "Aarzoo Tai", and she smiles widely, her own eyes dripping tears. "You will write," she says sternly, "okay? This might be the end of my Hogwarts years, but you are my little brother." He cries harder and nods, refuses to let go until the very last minute.

Harry goes back to Privet Drive with a heavy heart and a proud smile. He isn't inferior to the people there, he knows. He's special. He's Indian. He's James Potter's son, and he's going to live up to it.

[strwbi-laces]

I’ll leave the light on - the diwali fic

James sits on the pavement in his back garden with his son in his arms, listening to the crackle of fireworks and longing for it. They’d celebrated Diwali, the three of them, the best they could while in hiding. Him and Lily had strung up enough fairy lights and lit enough diyas to rival the sun. But only after installing blackout curtains to ensure the house stayed dark from the outside.

He won’t complain. If it kept his family safe then he’d do it. He’ll let Harry’s first Diwali go by in the dark. This precious boy in his little red onesie Lily had dubbed it his ‘Diwali onesie’. Effie had left it to them while Lily was still pregnant. She’d left a lot when she died; books, clothes and an entire culture James had to make sure Harry knew when he wasn’t sure knew it himself.

“James.” Lily’s calls break him out of his thoughts. “Why are you on the floor? Your kurta’s going to be filthy.” Words like ‘kurta’ always sound special when she says them, the Yorkshire accent not letting them come out quite right. He pats the spot next to him where she gingerly sits down.

“Harry and I are trying to see the fireworks. You can hear them, can’t you? Some uncle trying to entertain all the kids at the party.”

“I can. Did you see anything yet?” Lily asks, playing with the red thread on her wrist. Her right wrist.

“Wasn’t it left last year?” Lily watched as James tied the Moli, having just tied one on him.

“Yeah but,” His grin was wide enough to hurt. “The right hand is for married women.”

“No, not yet. Bloody house is in the way,” he laughs and tries not to let his disappointment show.

“Well, I know it’s not the same,” James looks at her, surprised. “But when you asked Sirius to bring the sweets over, I may have asked him to get these too.”

Lily pulls a packet of sparklers out of a pocket far too small to fit them into. “We could do them in the house. It’ll probably be fine.”

James has to remind himself of the baby in his lap to keep from launching into her. They light the sparklers in the kitchen, closing their hands over Harry’s, helping him hold it.

Harry’s first Diwali is not like the celebrations James grew up with. Huge explosions on an old cricket pitch are now three bodies in a circle on the kitchen floor. But the way his eyes light up when the first sparks appear; that’s familiar.

James will have to keep that memory safe. One day, when Harry’s a moody git of a teenager who doesn’t want to celebrate with his parents, James will lament about how cute he was as a baby. So sweet and pure.

“You’re going to hear about today so much, it’ll be one of those stories you groan at,” James whispers as he tucks Harry into his crib. “Like nooo Dad not the Diwali story again.”

All he gets in response is a sleeping face.

“Alright kanna, good night.”

He mutters a quick prayer and leaves the night light on.

[ramcharantitties]

Diwali

Summary: First Diwali of you and ram.

"Why are you still in your clothes?" A voice boomed from the door, and by the tone, it was a very angry wife of mine. Although I wanted to cross question her, "why don't you take them off?", I knew better and did not utter a word. Maybe we'll do that later tonight anyways. I jumped off the chair in a second and scurried to the bathroom, towel in hand. It's Diwali today. From four in the morning, we have set the fairy lights, spotting dragon flies, then packed the sweets y/n made in the past two days, deep cleaned our house, went to market for last moment shopping, and decorated our house with diya and rangoli. The amount of tea cups lining the sink said enough about our hardwork today. It was around 4 in the evening now, and y/n needed me to get bathed soon so I can go to the temple for an early Pooja, as she sets up the Pooja at our home.

The bath was shivering and cold- November not letting us breath with warmth. Stepping out of the bath, a red kurta and white dhoti with a red lining on it caught my eye. Someone did Diwali shopping for me. And it's shy to say, but the warmth she gives deter a hundred Novembers.

Quickly getting ready, I combed my hair. The red on my cheeks matched one of my clothes, and it was visible in the mirror, hope my wife doesn't catch it. It was almost 4:30, and I knew that if I don't leave now, it's going to be a screaming match. Finding y/n, I saw her in her homely saree with wet hair tied in a towel lock, carrying everything needed to the Pooja in our home. "Get ready first, I'll help you with this when I come back".

She turned around to my voice, the golden skin from sandalwood shining with the golden mangalsutra in orange sunlight. A tint of pink on her cheeks too when she checked me out, up and down. I had to turn around and leave, so she didn't catch me blushing.

It was almost the muhrat of Pooja when I stepped in our home. The sun has started to set and the area was lit up by blinking fairy lights. Blasts of firecrackers were easily heard throughout. I saw our home with white and yellow alternate lights too. Upon entering, Y/n was nowhere to be found near the Pooja, but it was all set and decorated.

Looking for y/n, I realised that I haven't given her Diwali gift- a blue chiffon saree I picked out for her, and that it's our first Diwali together. I called out for her, as she made her way out from our room in a pink saree. Her hair was open and air drying. It was given to her by her family, and she has already worn this twice now.

"Why aren't you wearing anything new?" I led her into the room again opening the side of the cupboard which was reserved for my official clothes. "This is new" she muttered, putting Kohl lines in her eyes. I pulled out the transparent bag which held a beautiful blue saree, laced with white embroidery and deep red design. Her brown eyes caught the sight of it, a breath caught in her throat. She looked expectantly at me. A smile from me was enough for her to pull it from me and rush inside.

About 15 minutes later, y/n came out looking like an apsara. The baby blue insinuated her already pink face. She twirled around giggling. "Do I look good?" I nodded, leaning on the bed frame. It felt good, to see her happy. The childish joy in her eyes and soft smile on her lips. Gazing at her lovingly, it took me a while to realize she wasn't smiling anymore. "We are getting late for Pooja!"

The Pooja went well. We sat down after it, tired from running around the house all day. Busy eating home made sweets, I almost lost the soft touches of her on the saree, her fingertips barely touching the design. She looked content. And that was enough for me to remember how our first Diwali went.

......,...........................

tagging- @budugu @thewinchestergirl1208 @rambheemlove @ramayantika @bishh-kanya @chaanv @nyotamalfoy @obsessedtoafault @phoenix666stuff @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @cursedcursives @hopelessdemonic @nerdreader @bitchy-bi-trash @vijayasena

[creatingnikki]

It's about a week until Diwali. The year is ending and it may be the festive season but there is a sense of longing and nostalgia and sweet sorrow in the air.

I think of how I was spending this time last year. I think of you. I decide to respond to your texts from yesterday. It's not like I don't miss you or think about you. It's just — what even is the point?

Me: Hi, Happy Friyay! You: I'm stacked with work. Me: Okay, I'll leave you to it, then. You: Don't.

You ask me to stay and I ask why. You say you have something important to talk to me about. I sense it. That's not like you. I ask you to call me right away. And you do.

You're at work, in the office I would have been at too if I hadn't moved back to my city. It's raining — it's always raining in Bangalore. You say you have something to ask me. That you finally have the courage. But you're a bit afraid. I tell you to not be stupid and spill, it's me.

You ask, would you have dated me? I keep thinking about how lonely I am and how exhausting the dating process is. And my mind always comes back to you. I always had you. So, would you date me?

At 5:30 on a Friday evening as I am trying to wrap up work, I was not expecting to hear this. Of course, I have thought about it before. We are very different as people and yet, we are us.

I would have been open to the possibility, yes, I say, but not as an option because you're lonely and you don't have anyone else.

Are you mad? You are never an option, not as a friend, not as a lover, you say immediately.

And I sit through this unexpected call with you. Sensing your sadness, sensing your loneliness, sensing your need to always be strong and act like nothing fazes you because you are a 'man'. But you're leaving for home tomorrow, I know it's hard. It comes with its own set of worries and anxieties.

Last year, you and I spent the day and night together before you were leaving for home for Diwali. Now you say you wish I was here today too.

We joke about it, we always do. And I keep aside my feelings of being a filler girlfriend to you. The way you talk to me, how often you reach out to me, the comfort you seek, the tenderness you look for in me — I'll give that to you for now. As much as I can.

In a year or two you will get married to someone your mother chooses for you and then you will invite me to your wedding making jokes about how I must make sure to behave myself. And I'll be happy for you, I will. I never wanted to end up with you as a lover. We were never lovers, my love. We were never going to be. But I love you, my friend.

We wouldn't have to date to make each other happy or satisfied. Because even when no strings were attached you were always here. You showed up. You have never left. Neither have I. Labels or the lack of it are not an issue, I realize. It's always the actions, it's always time, that alone is the litmus test.

You have passed it. I never expected you to. In fact, I never necessarily even wanted you to. But now that it's been a year and now that you have, I see it. And I miss you. I hope before next Diwali we can meet and I give you that hug you keep saying you don't need because you joke about being a strong man (lol) but I know just how much you long to be held like you are precious and loved and seen. You are precious. I do love you. And most importantly, I see you.

[vodika-vibes]

Round 6 *ding ding ding*

(This is where I stopped last time...)

Tup and "No one's ever going to hurt you again. I promise you that on everything I believe in."

Please and thank you, my love 💚💚💚

Never Again

Summary: You make a promise to Tup that he never asked for.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Tup x Reader

Word Count: 1745

Warnings: Reader is shot, Tup is Angry/worried, reader celebrates Diwali though I don't attach any specific ethnicity to them

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: I have an AU problem, I can't not make AUs they're so fun. Anyway, this was fun to write, and I think I'm happy with it. Also, I kept my description of Diwali very vague since I researched for five minutes rather than a deep dive.

Divider by Saradika

Alright, let’s do this one more time.

10 years ago, when you were just a little teeny-bopper from Manhattan, you were bitten by a radioactive spider, and you became the one, and only, Arachne. You saved some people, like your adoptive mom and your grandma, but you weren’t able to save others, like your adoptive dad and your brother.

The most important thing you learned in 10 years as Arachne is to always, always get up. No matter how hard you get hit. No matter how much pain you’re in. Staying down means death.

Three years ago, while in the middle of a fight with Kingpin, something weird happened.

Well, weirder than usual for New York.

A portal opened beneath you, and you fell. And when you landed, you weren’t in New York anymore.

Hell, you weren’t on Earth anymore.

It took you three months to determine where you were (Coruscant), and another two months after that to determine that there was likely no way to return to New York. 

You’ve always been pretty good at adapting to new situations, so within a year of arriving on Coruscant, you had a new identity (well, the same identity, just all your documents claim you’re from Coruscant now, rather than New York) as well as a pretty good job (ironically, the tech in your world is more high tech then the tech here, which is so, so depressing-), the the friendly neighborhood Arachne is officially retired.

After all, Coruscant has the Jedi, it doesn’t need a web-slinging superhero.

And then the war starts.

And at first you weren’t going to get involved. Not your monkeys, not your circus. Plus, you’ve read enough science fiction about tampering with things that are supposed to happen, and the last thing you want to do is make things worse for people-

And then you met Tup.

Sweet Tup. Kind Tup. Gentle Tup.

Tup, who smiles at you like you confuse him a little, but laughs at your bad jokes. 

Tup, who you teach to bake cookies in your too small apartment with your side pressed against his.

Tup, who’s destined to die.

You remember the day when you realized you had to get involved like it was yesterday. It was Diwali, and it wasn’t your first time celebrating it here, in Coruscant, but you invited Tup because, well, celebrating Diwali alone is just depressing.

You cooked all of your favorite foods, or, well, as close as you could with the food available to you on Coruscant, and you sat across from Tup and you watched him try all of the food, while you regaled him with the stories you grew up with, the stories your mother and grandparents told so enthusiastically-

And he grinned at you, a lopsided smile, and asked if he could invite some of his brothers next year. He asked if you minded if the Clones adopted this holiday for themselves-

And you remembered that Tup was meant to be dead within a year.

So you smiled at him, and told him that of course he could, and that you’d be more than happy to share other holidays from your culture. And by the time Tup left at the end of the night, with an entire tote filled with leftover food, you had come to a decision. 

Tup will not die. You won’t allow it.

And, well, you’re from a world where all of this stuff was a movie. You know what’s supposed to happen. You know when it’s supposed to happen. And you have the ability to stop it.

So you pull your suit on, and strap your web slingers to wrist, and you pull your hood on, and for the first time ever, Coruscant meets the one, and only, Arachne. 

Of course, back on earth you had a team of people who helped you. And the people of New York loved their spider person.

You don’t have that support network here.

And it only took a few days before you were listed as a threat to the people of Coruscant. 

It takes three months. 

Three months of hard work. Three months of skipping sleep in favor of investigating to find proof that Palpatine is as evil as you know he is. Three months of anxiety that you don’t have enough time to save Tup.

And then you have it. The proof of the chips. The proof of Palpatine’s plan.

And then you’re shot with a slugthrower.

Not your first time getting shot, but it’s not like you develop an immunity to bullets. You use a web to stop the bleeding, and you make your retreat. You stick to the shadows, clinging to walls and only swinging from building to building when you know it’s safe.

And you eventually make it back to your apartment.

You zip through the open window, and land on the ceiling, your hand pressed over your side, where the bullet ripped a hole in you, and then your spidey sense pings.

You lift your head and your gaze locks with Tup’s.

“Oh. Shit.” You breathe out under your breath.

Tup grabs his blaster and immediately takes aim, and you swear, “Wait! Waitwaitwait!” You say quickly, and then you rip your mask off, “It’s just me, Tup.” You say, “Please don’t shoot me. I’m already holy.” You giggle at your own joke, “Get it, because I was shot?”

Tup’s jaw is slack, “What the actual hell, cyare?”

“Because I have a hole in my sid-”

“Not about that! What is this?” He gestures to you and the ceiling and the suit, “Are you wearing spandex?”

You look down at your black and purple suit, and then look back at him, “I look amazing.”

“You…” Tup takes a deep breath, and folds his hands in front of his face, “Cyare. Get off the ceiling. Now. Please.”

You flip off the ceiling, and land lightly on your feet, “Ta-dah?”

“You realize that every single member of the GAR is hunting you, right?” Tup demands.

“Yeahhh-”

“There’s a shoot on sight order!”

“That does explain why the Corries shot me-”

“Cyare! What’s going on? What is all of this?”

You fold your hands in front of your face, “Uh…okay.” You smile brightly, “Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord who is orchestrating this entire war from behind the scenes. You and your brothers have biochips in your brains that are designed to overwrite your free will. Palpatine’s plan is to use those chips to order the clones to murder all of the Jedi, including the babies, and create an empire where he’s the absolute ruler.” You say, very quickly, “I have proof.”

“...what.”

“Oh, also,” You add, “Your chip is degrading. You’ll get decommissioned for the murder of a jedi, and I refuse to let that happen, so I got involved.”

Tup’s complexion has gone a little gray, “What?”

“I spent the last three months looking for the evidence I needed. And I was worried that I was going to run out of time, so I asked Rex to keep an eye on you-”

“Is that why my brothers have been hovering around me so much recently?” Tup demands.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Tup closes his eyes, and sighs again, “You said you have proof?”

“I’m bringing it to the Jedi as soon as I finish stitching myself up.” You reply.

Tup stares at you, “You’ve lived on Coruscant for over a year, but you only recently got involved…why?”

You hesitate, and then you flash a small smile, “No one’s ever going to hurt you like this. I promise you that on everything that I believe.”

“You’re doing all of this…for me? Why?”

You meet his gaze evenly, “Because I love you.”

Tup’s hand falls to his side, “Oh.”

“And I want you to be alive more than anything else.” You continue, “Even if you don’t feel the same. Even if you hate me because of the whole…Arachne thing. That’s what it means to love someone.”

He stares at you for a long minute, and then he laughs, “You’re so…stupid.”

“Yeah…I’ve heard that before.”

He crosses the room in several large strides, and he brings his hands up to cup your face, “You could have asked for help.”

“Didn’t want to get you involved.” You admit as you close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well,” He replies, “I am involved, and I don’t want to see you get hurt either.” Tup gently strokes your cheeks, “You said you were shot?”

“Yeah,” You gesture to your web coated side.

“Let me call Kix-”

“I have a fully stocked first aid kit in my bedroom, Tup. I can stitch myself up. I can’t…he’ll recognize a bullet wound, Tup. I can’t risk that. Not when I’m so close.”

“...fine. But I’m helping.”

“Deal.”

You allow him to help you into the bedroom, and you gratefully sit on the bed as he vanishes into the bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You strip the top part of your costume off, and you grimace as you poke the hole in your side. 

“Cyare-” Tup pauses when he sees you sitting on the bed without your top on, “This is a full trauma kit,” He continues.

“Yeah, I know. There should be a sterile needle and thread at the bottom.” You reply.

Tup sets the box next to you, his gaze darting from scar to scar on your torso, “Cyare…some of these injuries-”

You smile at him as you dig the needle out of the crate, “At some other point in time, I’ll tell you about some of my greatest foes.”

“Including the one that tried to skewer you?”

“Which one?” You ask with an amused smile.

“Babe-”

“Sorry, sorry. Not funny, I know.” Your smile becomes soft and warm, “Thank you for staying, Tup.”

“Yeah, well…” He takes the needle and moves behind you, “I’m still angry. This is stupid and reckless, but…well, you do what you have to when you love someone, right.”

“Yeah…wait-” You crane your head to look at him, “Tup?”

“Hold still, I'm trying to give you stitches.”

“Yeah, I get that, can we talk about-”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-” You stop when you feel his lips, warm and soft against the back of your neck, and you feel your entire body heat with sudden embarrassment. 

“Later.” Tup promises with a small laugh, “Now. Hold still, this is probably going to hurt.”

[sneakyparsnipslicer]

A New Lease On Life

Have you ever felt like being yourself limits you in a way? Like being born to a particular family or culture limits your potential and often how the world views you?

My name is Dr. Kurpreet Singh. I'm 27, single and longing for a life other than my own.

It's a well-known fact that Indian culture gives little freedom to the children. Great expectations from parents, often using the success to flaunt in others' faces. Despite being a well-studied and successful man of medicine, I must be causing my mother and father a great deal of disappointment. They keep setting me up for arranged marriages, but I know it's all for their gain, and whilst I've been introduced to some absolutely beautiful women, they're not exactly what I'm looking for.

During my education, I was envious of the other boys, they could laze about, talk anything they'd like, date anyone they'd like. My life was pre-determined, focus on my studies, ace every test. I love my parents, but the life they forced upon me doesn't exactly offer the freedoms that many of my peers take for granted. It seems clear to me my life was mapped out in their eyes even from conception; create a child prodigy, marry him into a wealthy family, have some beautiful children, die securing a promising future for their grandchildren. A noble plan I guess, but what about what I want?

It took some persuasion, but I was able to move from my parents' home into my own flat. My mother of course always hit with the obvious comments. 'Why are you settling for a flat? You need a mortgage for raising your family!' 'A single bed? No, you need a big bed to share with the right lady when you find her!' 'I don't like this place, too small. Where is the family supposed to sit for Diwali?' 'This is not a nice neighbourhood. You don't know anyone on your street. What you need is a good community, please come back and live with us Kurpreet, you'll be happier!'

Honestly she's not been happy with my flat since Day 1, saying I need to change this and that, chastising me on finding the slightest speck of dust. At least she never stays. When I'm alone, that's when I truly feel free of the pressure and expectations I have had placed on me.

Now, in the time I've had in my flat, I've been able to enjoy all kinds of freedoms, particularly conducting my own research into arcane topics. It's crazy to think that some things we dream of can infact be reality, through the right methods of course. My researches led me to discovering the likes of body possession and bodysuits, methods to change a person's entire likeness! There were stories of people documenting their transformations from their old bodies into new ones and I wondered if I could do the same. Through a few contacts I was able to obtain a small glass container of powder.

To anyone it looked like some kind of seasoning, it really wouldn't have looked to out of place on a spice rack. According to my supplier, it was a powder that numbed the nerves and extracted the soul. More or less, anyone I sprinkled the powder on would become a bodysuit, and I'd also be able to undergo a transformation much like the stories I'd become enamoured by. I kept the container on me, you never know when I might find the right person to become the vessel I need. Of course I went about my usual life at the local clinic as the kindly Dr. Singh, but beneath the surface, an almost inhuman hunger was growing inside me.

It happened on one evening, as I drove home from the clinic, I parked my car in my usual spot in the carpark and made my way towards my flat's front door. Even as I locked my car door I could hear people talking from the direction of my door. Sounded like a bunch of rowdy men. I got my briefcase out of my car's boot, cautiously pocketing my glass container as a precaution. 'I'm just going into my flat' I told myself under my breath. Taking a deep breath I began to make my way to my door. The voices seemed to be sluggishly singing some chant. Maybe they were on their way back from a pub after a football match. I turned the corner and saw four men in tracksuits sitting on the steps leading up to my door, beer cans littered all over the floor. I stopped in my tracks looking slack-jawed at the sight.

'Oi, the fuck you looking at?' demanded one of them when he noticed me looking. The rest stopped singing and turned their attention on me. I cleared my throat. 'Pardon me, Gentlemen. Could I possibly get to my front door?' I asked politely. It took a moment then they started laughing. 'Did you boys get any of that?' asked the one closest to my door. 'Nah man, all I heard was 'Oh deary, deary me!'' said another one imitating an Indian accent. 'Welcome to my Kwik-E-Mart, please come again!' said the one that addressed me at first, and they all broke into outrageous laughter. I wasn't about to let a bunch of racists make me lose my cool. 'Look, you're in my doorway, haven't you all got somewhere better to be?' I demanded sternly, folding my arms. It was at that point the one who hadn't said a word yet stood up. He glared at me and began to walk menacingly over. He was a fair bit taller than I am, quite bulky too. I backed away a few steps, subtley reaching for my little glass container. 'Why don't you fuck off back to India, Curry-In-A-Hurry?' asked the man, staring me down. The other men started laughing again. I mustered up my courage, removing the cork behind my back. 'I was born here in England, my family's been living here two generations' I replied smartly, looking him in the eyes. The man lifted his head from my breathing space, seemingly impressed. 'Well look at that boys, guess he's one of us!' he shouted, turning to the others. I was stunned. 'What, really?' I asked curiously. 'Nah, fuck off!' he said, turning back and aiming a punch at me. I anticipated this and ducked to the side, spraying the contents of the container in his face. He coughed and shook his head, wiping the powder out of his eyes. 'You dirty little…little…' he slurred, gradually losing consciousness and slumping down on the ground. His friends looked on shocked. 'Terry?' asked one of them, getting up to get a better look. 'Guess your friend has had too much to drink' I said shrugging. 'Nah nah nah, you threw something on him!' cried another one, standing up and pointing accusingly at me. The first one approached Terry's body and shook his shoulder. Terry's whole body wobbled like jelly. 'Shit, you've killed him!' he said, looking at me. At this point I looked darkly into his eyes. 'You wanna take your chances with me or are you gonna go?' I asked calmly. The guy shook his head, inching along the wall. 'Fuck no! Let's get away from this Voodoo creep!' he yelled staggering off. The other two ran off after him, leaving me and Terry alone. I gave his body a little kick with my boot, then lifted his arm up, which flopped back down as I let go. 'Well then Terry, looks like your check-up's due!' I chuckled, unlocking my front door and hoisting him over my right shoulder.

Getting into my living room, I placed Terry on my sofa and placed my belongings on the counter to the side. Getting a better look at the man, he looked to be roughly the same age as me, short brown hair, clean-shaven. Dare I say kinda cute. I removed his clothes to get a better look at what was on offer, I was met with the sight of some nice biceps and muscles, a very nice chest and abs. I had no doubt this guy probably could have actually knocked me out if he'd had a decent shot. 'Nice body Terry! Shame about your awful mouth and problematic mind' I said tutting condescendingly. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and took a good, long look at myself. Slim built, soft black hair, a tidy goatee and the glasses I always wore. Not bad, but there was room for improvement. It occurred to me this might just be the last time I see my face like this, but I was ready to give it all up. Staring at myself I began to unbutton my shirt, revealing my flat chest and stomach, my skinny arms and slightly hairy chest. I began to smile, this was like a dream come true. I undid my belt, unlaced my boots, pulled off my trousers, socks and boxers and stood there fully nude. I looked at myself one last time and nodded, turning my attention to Terry. I pulled him off the sofa and placed him carefully on the rug. Nervously, I prised open his mouth, the stretching sound of elastic filling the room. My cock twitched and a grin spread across my face as I looked down into the darkness within his body. It was time.

I began by placing my right foot into his mouth, pushing down my foot and shin began to disappear past his lips. I thought it best to sit down for this, so I did just that. Placing my left foot inside, the rubbery squeaking continued as I pushed my legs down, Terry's mouth seemingly consuming my kneecaps and upper legs. Looking further down his body, I could see his own legs were swelling and darkening slightly, going from pale white a delightful tan. I could only imagine what the outcome was going to look like and my dick began to harden in delight. I began to move my thighs inside, I took care to push my erectifying penis into Terry's mouth too, seeing it further down stretching his length out and amazingly restoring my foreskin. I'd been circumcised as a child, so I'd never really known what it was like to have an uncut cock, but I guess that was going to be something for me to explore in good time. Hands on the floor, I began to slide my belly and chest into the mouth, seeing them firm up and darken Terry's body, I moved my arms inside too and they filled out his arms and hands too. I let my new hands explore my body, this was nice. Like REALLY nice. I stood up and walked over to the mirror, checking it out. Abs, ass, I had it all going on. I bit my lip and locked eyes with my reflection. My old face atop this new body looked back. I took off my glasses and put them on the counter, and through blurred vision I matched up Terry's lower jaw with my own and pulled his head over mine. I could feel my face contorting as I stood there for a moment, eyes shut, letting the transformation finish. I felt my face and hair, with one hesitant breath I opened my eyes. My new reflection looked back at me, clear as day. Terry must have had good eyesight, I could kiss those glasses goodbye. My black hair was still there, my goatee had survived the transformation too. I looked good, Terry and I had created one gorgeous guy. I gave my new cock a playful tug with my left hand and my new ass a squeeze with the right. I could finally leave my old life behind and enjoy any man I wanted, be anything I wanted. Ruffling up my hair and massaging my biceps I remembered, I had kept an outfit aside for this occasion. I hurried to my bedroom and flung open the doors, searching through my coat hangers I found it; a plaid shirt, skinny jeans with chains on them, a G-string to perk up everything on offer, and a leather harness, for later. I'd see about officially leaving the flat tomorrow, for tonight I'm hitting every gay bar in town and getting me some long-desired action. Dr. Kurpreet was gone, any remnants are getting fucked out tonight. From here on out, I am Hari, a cute guy in a big town with big dreams of being the most lustful male stripper around!

[pastara-cell]

God this blog may just turn into a tmf blog for a bit- Sorry hermitblr/trafficblr peeps

Just listing some basic drew headcanons here because I feel like I see the same ones over and over again so I’d like to combat that 🤺🤺/lh ofc, I love all headcanons

>Drew is Bengali, His great grandparents came to the uk from Kolkata (Whether it be from partition stuff or not) And since then, his family blood has still been entirely from west bengal

>Drew isn’t necessarily religious, however, He enjoys Hindu religious holidays (Like Diwali and Holi) and Pujas and He especially loves the food. His parents (who are Hindu) are fine with him being non religious, But do wish for him to participate in events just to spend time with him, which he doesn’t mind at all

>Adding onto that, he doesn’t eat beef or pork. Not for religious reasons, but because he just wasn’t raised on them and doesn’t enjoy the taste or texture.

>His parents love him, but are absent quite a lot due to work and business meetings. The only times he’ll see them for more than a months on end is during the winter months, mainly because thats holiday season. Other than that, 2 weeks at home, 2 weeks on a business trip, repeat

>His parents try to show their affection to him via gifts and food, because its really all they can send over while they’re away. Because of this, drew developed Gift giving and cooking food for people love languages

>this man can COOK. I know I said its one of his love languages, so you’d assume so, but oh my LORD this man can cook. Its half the reason henry and liam come over so often! He best at more traditional bengali food (although he hates doing it), but he can make pretty much anything if you give him a heads up, the ingredients, and enough time to tinker around with the recipe!

>His hair is actually wavy/loose curls, but he hates having curly hair, so he either straightens it so it doesn’t poof up, or uses a bit of hairspray. The only people who really know his hair is curly is the jomies (including jake, lia, and zoey) because they’ve slept over at his house, and have probably seen him when his hair was wet and curly again.

>He’s 15 feet into a glass closet. My sexuality head-canons for him change a lot, but I’ve sort of settled on omni/ace for now. However, For the most part, I think if he were to come out, he’d just be queer. I dont think he’d care for labels too much

>Obvious attachment issues, slight separation anxiety, although, I can see it being more leaning towards henry and liam than jake for that. He might have had an obsession with jake, but I think it’d have hurt more if henry and liam left him, considering they had been there the longest.

>He loves zoey, even still. He really does. He’s terrible at showing it, but he does his best.

>Zoey, knowing his love language is gift giving, and he’s rich, befriended him in late middle school/early high school, and they started dating seconds year odd high school. Drew definitely was the one who confessed after being hyped up about it by henry and liam and jake. Zoey definitely wasn’t planning on dating him, but shrugged it off as being able to get him to do more stuff. She eventually did develop feelings for him, but she was too far into the mess she had created to stop, so she kept pushing

>He has such an rbf guys, like, he would be thinking about the happiest thing ever and his face would be just this 1000 yard stare

>He definitely drinks energy drinks guys, probably monsters but I can see him bringing an alani to school because he knows he’s gonna get called emo if he brings a monster to school

>He is called emo quite a bit at school, although he isn’t. It doesn’t bother him much anymore.

>He loves cats and really really wants one, but he’s severely allergic. Like, your throat closes and you die unless you get to the ER or have an epipen level allergic.

>He has Two bearded dragons (Each around 18 inches long, a boy and a girl) named Jevin and Pearl, his two favourite hermits

>he watches hermitcraft. Probably the life series and Empires and Outsiders and Life steal and all that stuff too, but He watches hermitcraft RELIGIOUSLY (He’s watched every episode that Jevin, Pearl, Grian, and Xisuma have put out, and he’s working on Mumbo’s pov right now)

>His favourite broadway musicals are Heathers and Six. Mean girls is up there too, but those are his favorites

>He didn’t cry during the titanic because it was sad, but because he watched it with zoey and she was crying, which made him cry

>i’m not gonna diagnose him with anything necessarily because i’m in no way qualified for that, but he definitely has mood swings and his opinions change a lot depending on who else he finds has them. He can go from hating something for years to immediately liking it if Liam says its good, or go from liking something to hating it if Hailey likes it.

>He listens to music, heck, one of his main designs are airpods- So, I think that he definitely listens to electronic stuff, scenecore type shit (Asteria, Barely human, Odetari, Clover!, and allat jazz) Not because its his favourite, but because Liam and henry both listen to it, so drew likes it.

>He really cares about his friends, but is really shit at showing it.

>He’s not good at communication, and is not often sure how to communicate what he wants or what he needs without sounding blunt or rude. He often rehearses how talks will go.

>This mf does not regret bullying that music club guys- I love him but i’m not even gonna attempt to justify him bullying them because I feel like it takes away from his character a lot

>He hates Hailey and Zander, Mainly because he finds them annoying and freaky.

>He’s only bullied luke because of his connection to zander and the music club, he doesn’t really mind luke as a person

>Milly Is his second cousin, they really only have their families meet up on holidays, so they never grew up close. Drew and Milly dont view eachother as family, so they dont care about bullying eachother/doing stuff to eachother’s friends. Drew and Milly do both occasionally pull the “I’m going to tell Thamma (grandma)!”, which does admittedly stop the other from doing whatever they were going to do.

>Drew has picked on pretty much all the club members, except for sean. Whether this be because Sean is taller than him, older than him, Or because they simply just have never really talked, drew mostly leaves him alone. He forgets sean is there most of the time

>Insecure as shit, do I even need to say it lol?

I have a lot more, but these are my main headcanons. Ofc, I fluctuate a lot with them, I’m like a multishipper but instead of shipping its with headcanons.

[hum-suffer]

Of course, you'll hurt me 1 (Rajneeti)

"You know, I didn't ask for you to come pick me up," Samar says, with a smirk that tells her how proud he is of the fact that she indeed came to pick him up at the airport in the afternoon, in this scorching heat.

She wouldn't have come, if not for Prithvi telling her. She'd have preferred not to see his face for more than 10 minutes in all of his stay and then book a ticket in his name and send a car to escort him back.

Amrita gives him a side eye over her shoulder. "Don't be ungrateful. It's unbecoming." She says, in a particularly dismissive and airy tone that she knows he'll despise.

"Are you trying to imitate Mamaji? It's not working very well, you don't have the accent for it." He says snidely, eyes narrowing as both of them slide in the car— him at the front with Ram Kaka and Amrita at the back.

"Please," she says,"if anything, you now don't have the accent for it. Mr. Rare and Sophisticated."

He ignores her and turns to Ram Kaka, giving him a new watch as a gift. Amrita can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness but all her pleasant thoughts are curved off the moment there's a loud horn behind them. And it continues. Over and over again.

"Must be Indu beti," Ram Kaka says with an exasperated sort of smile.

Indu surpasses them by her car and parks on the road haphazardly. Samar doesn't spare Amrita a glance before going over to greet her. Amrita kisses her teeth but doesn't say anything. He's become rude.

(It's obvious that he kept in contact with her. When he blocked any away of contact with Amrit, he's kept in contact with everyone else. The taste of vicious betrayal in her mouth is sour and cold.)

She deliberately makes sure that her tone is soft when she talks to Ram Kaka. "Kaka, I suggest you go directly to the hospital. Indu is here, she'll take him home. Don't waste your efforts."

"But beta, it's no trouble. Plus, you're here too. Are you going home with them?"

Amrita shakes her head and starts to get out of the car. "I have my ways, Kaka." She's out before he can say anything further.

Indu smiles at her happily. "Amrita! You should have told me that you were going to pick up Samar, too! You could have come with me."

Amrita raises her eyebrows,"And risk my life? Nope. Anyways, now that your union is over, I'll take my humble leave."

"Wait, what?" Samar frowns at her. "You're not coming home with me?"

Amrita bites her tongue before she can say anything bitter but shakes her head. "I have to meet Prithvi bhaiya. I am his personal assistant, not yours. You can go home with Indu."

Indu presses a hand on her heart and grins dramatically,"Did you just give me a job?"

"Isn't him your job already?" Amrita snorts and Indu giggles. Samar is still staring at her but Amrita doesn't deign to look at him again.

"Off you go," she urges them all when they don't move, starting to dial Harsh—Prithvi's bodyguard. He picks up on the first ring. "You were in Indiranagar, weren't you?" She says without bothering with a greeting. "Come pick me up, please. Near Ajay complex."

"I'll be there in five," he says,"Weren't you gone to pick up Samar? Oh, I get it. Do you need anything? Chocolate? Water? Teddies? Box of tissues?"

"I need you dead." She deadpans, turning her back as Indu finally coaxes Samar to leave with her.

There's a brush of fingers against her spine and she flinches, whipping her head back. Samar is pulling out his luggage from the storage.

Fucker.

He turns towards her with almost concerned eyes.

"Bye." She says to both Harsh and Samar.

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

Harsh picks up Amrita and the first thing Prithvi does is interrogate Amrita.

"How is he? It's been years since I saw him. Idiot didn't even visit in Diwali." Prithvi is the older one of them and yet is more animated. He sounds like a child whining about the absence of his father and yet Amrita finds his love endearing.

She rolls her eyes. "Are we talking about your brother or Voldemort? Just say his name, bhaiya."

Prithvi swats the back of her head in a joking manner. "Watch it. Your paycheck depends on me."

"Actually, it depends on me. Do you even know your own back account?"

He doesn't have any answer to that and Amrita hums in satisfaction.

"Take me home," he tells Harsh, who's driving,"I'll meet him and then go to the headquarters."

"You should also start giving me the salary of a chauffeur if you're gonna treat me like your personal driver," Harsh says, giving her a stink eye.

"Your salary isn't in my hand."

"You just said—"

"Focus on the road, my friend. You have a wife and kids."

"What's that got to do with anything?!"

Amrita enjoys the baffled silence and closes her eyes.

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

Amrita feels Samar's eyes on her the moment she walks inside the house, following Prithvi.

Even as Prithvi hugs Samar, he keeps his eyes trained on Amrita and there's nothing she can do about his audacity, so she moves towards his mother and greets her quietly.

"Now that you two are here, come and eat something, too." She says, patting Amrita's cheek gently.

Prithvi tells her of their plan to go to the office headquarters and unintentionally, Amrita yawns.

Prithvi looks at her mockingly. "Are you slacking off by trying to sleep during work hours?"

Amrita gives him a deadpan look. "I'm sorry, who told me to organise the party for his uncle's birthday? And who organised your schedule for the next whole week? And who bought the gift for the said uncle?"

Aunty gives her a one arm hug. "You're more my child than either of these two useless fools."

Impulsively, Amrita sticks out her tongue at the two of them. Prithvi sneers back at her but Samar doesn't say a word and his eyes dart all over her face, something so intense in his look that it has her straightening up.

She clears her throat. "Let's go before your bootlickers get irritated."

"They're my supporters, not bootlickers." Prithvi tells her, eyes narrowed. "Aren't you too feisty today?"

"Yes, I don't get paid for my overtime hours."

After saying their goodbyes, Prithvi stalks out of the house while Amrita waits on aunty, who insists on filling up some fresh juice for her son. Coddled bastards, the two of her sons.

"Amrita."

She doesn't turn towards him. She knows he's almost pressed against her and turning will press her into him completely.

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't deign to look at me, at least take my name." He sounds like he's trying to make his words sound more light than he means them to be.

Amrita shakes her head. "Like you did, in these five years?"

"Amrita—"

She's saved by her phone ringing. "Excuse me, please," she mutters distractedly and picks up the call, not even checking who it is as she leaves the room.

There's a soft brush of fingers near her elbow as she moves past him without looking at him.

Bitch.

____________________________________________________

@akshinayak hehehehe you enabled me soooo

[royalsunshinehotel]

Little Star (Monkey Man, 2024)

Author’s Note: I watched Monkey Man twice this past weekend! Here’s a scene between the woman in the Green Dress, and the dog. This fic is dark and sad, but has a hopeful twist. Tara is pronounced Taara here, and it’s the hindi word for Star. Stay tuned for information about my patreon (soon)!

Blood. Blood everywhere, and it was a beautiful thing, and the thought made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. How far had she fallen from the girl she was, to look at all this destruction in what was left of the kitchen, and see only beauty? 

Sita instinctively picked up the hem of her silky green dress, so it wouldn’t drag on the red tile of the kitchen, as if it mattered now, as if Queenie’s blood hadn’t spattered all over her face when she’d caved her skull in. 

She shuffled forward, slowly, steadily, so as not to slip on her stupid shoes. She’d never minded high heels, she liked the idea of being tall enough to look someone in the eyes, but not now. Not anymore. 

He’d really done it, hadn’t he? A month ago, when he’d taken his first shot at Rana Singh, she knew by the look in his eyes it was only a matter of time. And it was. 

Bobby. 

Another shaky step brought her further to the fucking exit of this cursed place, and she laughed to herself thinking of how she would never come back here. 

She giggled thinking about how hard Queenie had hid the ground, and the dull crunch that her hand made when he’d stolen her thumb. 

It wasn’t funny. Nothing about it would ever be funny, but it sent her forward. There was no other way to go. 

There was a split second, stepping over all of the blood and death, where Sita almost slipped. A moment, where her breath caught and she thought a moment ahead, to when she would have hit the ground. Knowing herself the way she did, she likely would have stayed there. 

But she didn’t. She didn’t. She caught herself, as she always did, and almost winced at the loud clack of her heels on the fatigued pavement. 

The night air was cool, descending like a blanket. When was the last time she’d been outside? She wondered. 

Diwali was in full swing, she could hear it from blocks away. There was a chance she could run into the night and never be seen again. It wasn’t as if her jailers were able to come find her from the afterlife. It wasn’t as if she had any money that could be stolen from her. Anyone who had cared for her was in the wind, or dead, including the man on the top floor with a finger in his pocket. 

Last time she stood in this alley, Sita told him not to keep feeding the dog. That she’d only keep coming back, with hope. Hope breeds misery, and she wouldn’t wish that on such a sweet creature. 

He’d known her tattoo was a koyal, and he’d seen right through the rest of her too. She couldn’t do the same, and she’d hated him for it. 

How could someone wear their softness so openly, and be completely opaque at the same time. She had to hate him, and he’d let her, with complete understanding. But she couldn’t now, could she. . . Why not?

Who was left to tell her she wasn’t ladylike enough, or enough for that matter? In the many evenings from that one night, she’d heard him whistle. Sita copied the tone.

She had been kind once, maybe with everyone dead or gone, she could be again. 

Several heartbeats passed, and she found herself wondering if the dog was alright. She thought the worst, as that’s what the truth probably was. 

The little dog had been trampled to death, maybe some drunk men had decided to torture and kill the poor thing, maybe the sweet creature was in heaven now…Her large eyes began to well, and she tried whatever she could to shove it down. 

Perhaps after all this time, Sita was still a fool. 

And then, tap tap tap tap of little paws on the pavement. 

In the alley, Sita turned slowly, met by a pair of bright, brown eyes, and a warmth spread in her chest, like a paintbrush in water. The dog looked alright, more robust than the last time she’d seen her, and sat perfectly still, waiting. 

She couldn’t help but coo at the good girl. 

“Come here, my little star,” The puppy inched closer, body wiggling in the way babies do, “we can’t stop to eat now, but we will.” 

The dog - Tara, she decided - tapped her cold, wet nose against Sita’s hand, and the woman reached down to pick her up. She was mostly bone, with more muscle and fat than other dogs she’d seen - Bobby would take the credit for that, in her mind. 

By the size of the dog's feet, Tara would be large, and with Sita at her side, she would, in fact, grow up. 

“What have you got?” She asked the puppy,  meeting her big brown eyes, Sita took the burlap scrap, to reveal a gun. A very, very old, heavy gun - loaded. With a note, in bold, curved, letters: 

TIME TO REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE