#Best Saree for Woman

[paintkari]

[flippinpancakes64]

I’D LOVEEEE if you could do a cullens x indian s/o ? there’s NOTHING with Indian x Twilight so i’d super appreciate it ! you don’t have to be super educated about the indian culture just mentioning the outfits and food are enough ! TYSM ! also its fine if u can’t do it . I loveee ur work and I ADORE the fact that you don’t like angst like LETS BE HAPPY LOL !

The Cullens with an Indian! SO

I’ve mentioned it before but I am a white woman and I do not know like anything so sorry if this is completely wrong 🙏

And I’m so glad that someone else loves fluff!!! Like just let me be happy if I wanted to be sad I’d go talk to my dad or smthn fr

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

This man has over 10 degrees

He loves to learn

So he is more than willing and happy to sit down and learn about your culture

He asks so many questions

The last thing he wants is to assume something to be true and then embarrass himself when it’s not

So yes he will ask about literally every single little thing

Does his best to respect your culture as well

He wants to learn about all of your folk tales

He wants to listen to all of the music

Hell, he’ll even fly you out to India if you want to go

And he doesn’t take shit from anyone

If anyone says anything that could be even remotely perceived as racist, he is sending them the hardest glare ever

Also there’s a pretty good chance that he can speak Hindi so at least he’ll impress your family

Alice:

She LOVES your culture

She appreciates fashion of all kinds

But I feel like she would love the intricate designs and patterns of sarees and henna especially

Invite her to a wedding please please please

She doesn’t care whose it is

She just wants to go and admire all of the outfits

She is also very open to learning anything you want to teach her

You have a recipe that has been passed down in your family for generations? She’s ready to learn it

Also your parents definitely love her

How could they not tbh

If you wear henna a lot, look no further than your personal artist

She just has so much love and respect for your culture

And you of course

Jasper:

He’s pretty inexperienced

If you asked him what language is commonly spoken in India he would say Indian

But once he meets you and starts to get more comfortable around you, he does his own research

He doesn’t want to burden you with making you explain everything to him

He’s so worried about screwing something up that he just… doesn’t do anything

Like if he reads something about there being a specific holiday, he doesn’t do anything for it

He just gets in his head about what if you don’t celebrate that, what if he does the wrong thing, what if it’s not a holiday at all

You’re gonna need to help him out a little

Or else he’s just gonna stay stewing in his own self doubt for forever

But he’s got the spirit

Rosalie:

She knows next to nothing about basically every culture that’s not American

Not because she doesn’t want to learn

But because it’s just never been a relevant thing for her

Like no she has no idea about the cultural practices in India because she’s never had to go there or been close to anyone from there

But now you’re here, she loves you, and she wants to learn

She finds that she absolutely loves the clothing styles

Especially at weddings

I mean, she already loves extravagant weddings

So this is right up her alley

She’s a little sad to find out the fact that henna doesn’t do anything to her skin

So she just makes do by doing it on yours ❤️

Emmett:

Ok this is going to sound bad but stick with me

He doesn’t particularly care about your culture

Not in a mean way of like “you want me to celebrate what with you? No not doing it”

But in a way of it’s not what’s most important to him

You as a person is more important to him than your cultural background

That doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to learn

It just means he’s more likely to remember your birthday than a holiday

But again, he is more than willing to learn anything you want to teach him

He will sit down and listen to anything you want to say

And he will remember it perfectly

But he doesn’t go out of his way to seek out the knowledge

But he is the best when it comes to people being racist

He can throw a punch with the force of a semi truck and he’s not afraid to do it

Esme:

We know that she does her homework when it comes to meeting new people

She made Italian food for Bella because she was 90% sure she was Italian

I feel like she carries that same energy

She does her best to cook food or put on movies that she thinks you’ll like

But overall food is definitely her favorite

She loves to cook, it’s one of her favorite hobbies

But she doesn’t have anyone to cook for

So you best believe she is always making something for you to eat

And she does her best to learn traditional dishes and how to make them

Carlisle:

He has traveled all over the world and experienced many cultures

He knows all about the history and culture of your country

So you don’t really need to explain anything to him

He’s just respectful like that

King

He will go with you to all of your parties or family get-togethers

He will help you make any dish at all

And he will fly you anywhere in the world or sightsee any country you want

But your culture isn’t the thing he notices most about you

He just loves you

Vampire! Bella:

She’s super curious

She has been three (3) places in her whole life

Forks, Arizona, and Italy for all of a day

So she knows actually nothing about your culture

Sure she knows what she learned in school, but honestly that’s not a lot

She wants to know everything that you’re willing to tell her

What holidays you celebrate, your favorite foods, the history of your family

And she will definitely try her best for you

You might have to be the one to drape her saree

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 02

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

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

Chapter 2

After 10 years

Arnav was threading the busy traffic of the Bazar with his ambassador mark 1 to reach the St.Stephen all-women college of Delhi to pick up certain someone who he hadn't talked to, for almost 2 years. Though it was the cheapest car of that generation, it was his most prized possession at that moment, brought by the profit he got from his first export shipments of the textile factory he bought 1 year ago. But his mind was on that girl who lived in his mind rent-free till that fateful day 2 years ago and hadn't left ever since. Even at that moment, he could still feel her, if he closed his eyes.

Shaking himself off to get rid of that feeling, he concentrated on the road. Arnav's focus cleared to zoom in on that girl of question, no no, a young woman, in a simple white saree with a blue border, a mandatory college ware. The way she drapped the saree over her was very modest, but modesty seemed to allude Arnav today. His heart gave a thud realizing he could vividly feel how that petite body felt pressed to his. 'control yourself, Arnav. you've done so much damage already', Arnav chastised himself, willing his heart to a normal rhythm. Her jet-black hair was pleated into a single braid and a simple black bindi in the middle of her eyebrows that brought out her hazel-coloured doe eyes even more highlighted by a thin line of kajal. That was what Arnav was so scared of. Her little bindi had the power over him that the whole Oxford female fraternity didn't. He might have not talked to her but he saw her secretly every time he came to Dehli and watched her spread her wings like a butterfly to be the beautiful woman she ended up being. Roma Chachi had given her an apt name 'titliya'. All those times watching her from a distance Arnav tried his best to control his heart and mind, but ended up failing every single time. There was a reason why he avoided her for 2 years.

Khushi was standing at the gate of the college with her classmate, Sarita Chauhan, waiting for Akash Vai to pick her up. Khushi was irritated, she insisted on taking the rickshaw back home but due to the overprotective nature of Bhai and Babuji, she couldn't do that. But she didn't expect to see Him that day and somehow she knew he had come to pick her up. The last two years did a kind of magic to him or was it London or the girls of London to be exact, she didn't know. The Arnav sitting in front of her in that car donning the black glasses and clad in a rolled-up white shirt and black suspenders was a far cry from the man she last saw. But he was still Arnav among all of these, Her Arnav. That's why it didn't surprise her when her heart went overboard 'dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak'. Her friend beside her produced a small sound of appreciation,

"oh Khushi, you've never introduced me to your brothers. now I understand why." giving her a little nudge with her shoulder.

Khushi scoffed at her comment " he is not my brother. "

It's been 10 years since she lost her parents. And in the middle of all of these when Mahindar Chachu became her Babuji and Manoroma Chachi became Amma, she couldn't exactly pinpoint. And as a result, she got two brothers who loved her fiercely as their own. Abba had arranged a home tutor for her when she was 10 years old, because she couldn't bear the stress of public schooling. As soon as she started to form complete sentences her tutor advised her to write letters to her brothers, studying in Darjeeling. She wrote letters to Akash bhai and Aman bhai and then she wrote another letter to Arnav addressing him as 'Dear Arnav'. Her tutor chastised her for not adding a 'bhai' or a 'ji' at the end of his name. But Arnav was never her 'bhai', was he? He never felt like a 'bhai'. He was so much more. But above all, he was Her 'Arnav'.Just 'Arnav.' she used to call her 'Arnav' since she was 8. Nobody corrected her till she was 16. Then she started to call him 'Arnavji'. Now she didn't know what to call him anymore.

Arnav parked the car in front of her. when she made no move to sit inside, he took off the glasses unleashing his dark brown eyes on her. he opened the car door from inside and addressed her -

" what are you waiting for Khushi Kumari Gupta? Pandit bulake mahurat nikal na parega kya?" giving her the crooked half-smile that she adored. His familiar husky voice sent a wave of wistfulness through her. A thousand memories spun in her head, tangling together. God, she missed him so much. "Akash bhai and Aman are busy in the printing press. Cachu asked me to drop you home."

Khushi stared at him for another moment then with a huff she entered the car, which was a bad decision she understood not long after. Being in a closed space with him was torture. His enchanting woody scent engulfed her and transported her to a particular day that was in the centre of conflict between them. Both of them stared at anything but at each other, but soon Khushi couldn't resist the temptation to steal a look at him, which was a far worse decision than the previous one. Her eyes found his hands on the steering wheel, clutching it and as soon as a flashback of those hands flooded her mind - those hands clutching her smaller ones when they used to take a walk, those hands closing the hook of a payal around her ankles, those hands teaching her smaller ones to hold the chalk to write on the black slate, those hands helping her to plant rose plants on the garden. Her mind shifted to her smaller hands giving prasad to his larger ones, his hands cracking open the peanut shell for her whenever they went to the mela, his hands pulling her braids.'Have those hands become larger till the last time she saw them?' Khushi mused silently. Then a switch flipped in her mind, more flashbacks, she started to feel his hands on her cheek, on her waist, on the back of her head. Khushi closed her eyes tightly and clutched the books in her hands and to drive away those visions from her mind, blurted out what came to her mind at that moment " Anjali di said, you could not come to Delhi for another 3 months"

Arnav, looking at Khushi from the corner of his eyes, said "I didn't plan to. But My best friend is marrying my little sister. I wouldn't miss that wedding for the world and Roma Chachi said no more auspicious 'mohurat' after this month until the end of this year. And it's not like I have not been travelling to and fro between Delhi and London in the last couple of years."

Khushi nodding and trying to swallow down the hurt, said solemnly "I know."

Arnav had been studying law at Oxford University for the last couple of years. He had passed his bar exam and had been doing an apprenticeship under a Barrister in London for the last year. She knew all of this from Aman bhai. On the other hand, Arnav sold the land that his grandfather gave him and bought a run-down textile factory in old Delhi. She knew he had been very busy and she also knew he had been to Dehli multiple times in the last 2 years. He didn't stay in Rajput haveli nowadays when he came to Delhi. He had rented a two-storied bungalow on the outskirts of the town. But what hurt her more was he went to Rajput haveli to meet Amma and Babuji every time he came to Delhi, only when she was in school. So, it was not so difficult to figure out, who he was avoiding. Why, why she have to ruin the most important friendship she had in her life??? If only she wouldn't have done what she did 2 years ago.

It didn't escape Arnav's eyes the pain that flashed through her face. He still could read her like an open book, could decode the emotions that transpired through her pretty eyes. He regretted hurting her so much, but it was for the greater good. Sometimes he thought he preferred to remember her as still eight years old because she'd adored him then. She would gladly follow him anywhere. In fact, whenever she saw him leave, heading toward the garden where he liked to walk and think, she would come running after him. Even though she frequently fell, her little legs no match for his long, strong ones, she never cried and never complained. She was strong even back then.

Little Khushi used to fill their conversation with a million inquisitive questions though, looking at him with trusting big eyes. Her questions made him laugh and stumbled over answers.

When she was eight, he was her Hero.

As soon as the car reached Rajput Haveli, she all but sprinted away from him. Arnav sighed grabbing the package from the backseat he also entered the house. As soon as he reached the living room, he was met with Madhumati ji scolding Khushi for running around carelessly, even at the age of eighteen and her praying to God to give her 'sanka devi' same 'satbuddhi'. Then there was Roma Chachi, who came rushing towards him to give him a hug. Roma Chachi never failed to make him feel loved. Arnav admired this woman for her enormous capacity to love those who weren't hers.

"London suits you, Arnav Bitwa, look at you, how handsome you've turned out to be!!!! "

Arnav's tall figure folded itself to return her hug, teasing her he proceeded "And you didn't change at all Roma chachi. Still as gorgeous as ever. I missed you so much."

Manoroma smiled at him fondly. A child she once wished was hers so that she could have protected him from the heartbreak he endured at such a tender age " I missed you too, Bitwa. Don't be a stranger now like you have been for past years, ab toh hum ristedaar bhi banne wale hain."

Arnav smilled at her " I'll try."

Manoroma continued, "I hope you are staying with us this time, aren't you?" seeing Arnav nodding his head, she continued "Good, now I am going to the temple, we'll talk after I come back. chaliye, madhumati ji."

Arnav watched them leave and then silently proceeded toward the first floor crossing the stairs. At the very least, he could try to save whatever was left of the friendship he once shared with Khushi.

Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed, looking at the payal that broke as soon as she entered her room hurriedly a few minutes ago. It had been her room since her parents had died. It had seen so many of her tears and held so many of her secrets. Bua ji nowadays, began to get on her nerves, reminding everyone of her spinster status, but Khushi was adamant not to get married before she enrolled for college, now that she finally did it, she didn't have any excuses left.

Looking at the payal, Khushi thought of how it's been almost 10 years since she was wearing that particular payal. One morning 10 years ago, in the garden, looking at her rag doll, she confessed to Arnav that she used to have a similar payal like her doll once, that the bad guys had stolen from her too. And she missed wearing the payals. It was one of the first things she had admitted to Arnav during their long walks.

He'd asked her why she didn't just ask Mahindar Chachu and Chachi for payals and Khushi had tearfully confessed her fear that if she wanted too much, her new guardians would give her away. And the sound of payals must disturbed them as well.

That very weekend, he'd bought her this payal and its pair. She'd loved it. It was the first time since her parents died that she'd bounced in places with joy like she was really eight and not eighty. She giggled with her delighted-little-girl pleasure.

Khushi stared at the payal with a sad smile on her face. The clasp had been given away. Just like their relationship now. She still remembered how the payals were too big for her small ankles, he had to make a loop at the end to adjust them to her size.

Arnav had adored her once.

But she'd messed that up good and proper a long time ago. But did she really mess it up beyond repair?

A knock on the door drew her thoughts out of the past. To her surprise, it was Arnav standing in the doorway, his expression as passive as ever. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, automatically scooting backwards to lean back against her headboard. He came to sit in front of her, and Khushi smirked, remembering playing Ludo with him at that same position, at that same spot when she was 10, 11, 12.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, curious. A smile played at his lips that made her heart feel like a thunder about to strike.

"I was just remembering beating you in ludo," she said quietly. In her room, it was harder to be aloof as she tried to be with him. How long had she been trying to show him she was grown up, grown past the foolish girl she'd been when they...

His smile broadened but only slightly. Still, it was enough to make her blood feel warmer. "So you found a game you can actually beat me at, Phati sari. Don't get arrogant." He pointed a finger in her face.

Laughing lightly, she remembered the origin of her nickname at the kanya puja day, when she was 10, Amma had made her wear a red saree made for little girls. it was so beautiful. She ran to the garden to show it to Arnav where he was helping Babuji to sow the vegetable seeds and ended up tearing the pretty saree in that process. She cried the whole day so much that Babuji ended up buying two more similar sarees just like that. But she couldn't get away from the torment of Arnav's teasing. She gained that nickname a day later. she stared down at her lap, tracing the broken payal with the pad of her finger. He sounded like his old self just then addressing her with the name he gave her, the one who wasn't so uncomfortable and cold around her. 'O Devi maiya, what do she need to sacrifice to have that again.' she sighed and asked "So what did you want to talk about?"

"This is awkward," he said after a moment of silence. "It seems almost pompous for me to say I'm proud of you."

"Why do you think it's pompous?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, everyone else has said it... unless you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it," he said, his tone sincere. "A graduate degree in English literature" He looked down, then back at her again"You always wanted to be a writer. I am sorry I wasn't there when you enrolled on college, I should have been there." he said with a decisive, displeased tone. "I know I haven't been as supportive as I could have been these last few years."

Khushi shook her head. Arnav had always been something of an enigma to her. Well, not always. There was a time when their relationship had been simple. At some point, something had changed. What that was, Khushi was still at a loss as to explain. She knew when the switchover had happened, though.

"Arnav," she said with a sigh. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have even tried to get into a college. You have always encouraged me to write and kept me interested in the world of literature with the books you used to send me."He even sent her books when he was avoiding her those last few years.

Looking up at him, she smiled. "you were the only one who never doubted my capabilities. You just seemed so certain I could do it - even if it would be hard."

"Most things worth doing are difficult," he said quietly. "It never occurred to me to doubt you. If that was what you wanted, I knew you were capable."

And because he knew, she believed, she thought but didn't say. "It was difficult. Still, I did it, and I think I made the right choice. You had everything to do with that."

Their silence then was not so awkward, but more comfortable. Then Arnav reminded the package in his hand and extended it to her. As soon as she saw the package, her face brightened with a brilliant smile and she all but tore the packaging of the book. 'A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens ' It's her favourite book, but it was special.

"you brought me the first edition" She looked in awe both at the book and at the man. When the awe subsided awkwardness seeped in. Arnav was about to leave.

"Arnav," she began hurriedly, blowing out a breath in a huff, she was ready to right wrongs in her life, and start fresh. "I know you've been... wary about seeing me since... since then. And I don't blame you. I know things have been strange for a long time. But I was a stupid girl then. A lot has changed - I've changed. I'm not going to... do that again. So if that's what you're worried about-"

"Khushi," he said quickly, reaching across the space that separated them, putting his index finger over her lips.

For the space of a few breaths, Khushi's heartbeat began to stutter. Time stood still, their breaths caught. She didn't know how long it had been since she was watching his hooded eyes, looking at his dilated pupil.

And then a moment later, a curtain seemed to fall over his expressive eyes, hiding all the secrets she so desperately wanted to reveal, his eyes holding hers. He let his hand drop slowly before he broke eye contact, staring out the window. For long moments, he was silent. "It's not you. It's never been you."

She waited, but he didn't seem inclined to explain further. "Is it so unthinkable ?" she asked finally. She cringed because she'd feared the answer to this question for years. He was her best friend, her confidant - the most important person in her life since almost before she could remember. That had never changed. And she didn't want to lose him. She would take him in whatever capabilities he would like to share with her.

"Is what so unthinkable?" he asked, dreading the answer himself.

"Can't we try to be friends again?" Her voice was quiet, and she struggled to make it not waiver. It felt strangely like her world would crumble if he put the final nail in the coffin of their relationship, as melodramatic as that sounded.

To her surprise, his eyes were wide, almost horrified. He shook his head, chuckling nervously. He thought she would ask about something else. "I never imagined you would interpret my attitude that way." He rubbed a hand over his chin, tracing the line of stubble - it had been some days since he'd shaved. She'd noticed that almost instantly when he walked in the door. She still remembered the way that little bit of stubble felt, brushing against her cheek.

"To answer your question, of course, we can be friends. I've never not been your friend," he said finally.

This cheered her considerably, and Khushi sat up straight, smiling. "Good."

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @msbhagirathi

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[nidhi-writes]

CHAPTER - III | BEAST OUT OF HIM

MASTERLIST

previous

Please be aware that this chapter contains scenes that explore mature themes 18+. Reader discretion is advised.

As the night wore on, Shiya could not sleep, her mind replaying the dream repeatedly. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel Bhallaladeva's touch, the heat of his body pressed against hers, and the intensity of that moment when their lips collided. Also, the image of Shivudu being dead and how his corpse looked, this thought makes her feel guilty that her part of the brain is yearning for that monster's touch. It was maddening; her thoughts kept circling back to him, and a part of her—a dark, hidden part—almost wished he had gone further and taken her and shown her the things her mother had warned her about.

Her mother's words echoed in her mind, both a warning and a lesson. Sanga often spoke to Shiya about women's power, which could cause kingdoms to rise or fall and even kings to go to their knees for it. "There have been women in history," her mother had said, "who used that very power to obtain anything they desired and to bring emperors to their knees. It is a dangerous power and a tool. It can also keep your husband from straying and secure your place in his heart if correctly used."

Shiya had always listened, but she never truly understood the weight of those words until now. As she lay there, unable to shake the memory of Bhallaladeva's kiss, she wondered if she could use that power to her advantage. Bhallaladeva was a man of immense strength and ruthlessness, but he was also driven by desire—the desire for power, control, and, perhaps, for her.

Could she use that desire against him? Could she manipulate him just like he does to others? Could she make him believe that he was winning her over, only to turn the tables and secure her freedom and others? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. If she succeeded, she could escape this nightmare, but if she failed, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Shiya's heart raced as she considered the possibilities. She would need to tread carefully to play the submissive captive while slowly weaving a web around Bhallaladeva. It would require every ounce of her strength, cunning, and resolve.

But what choice did she have? If she didn't act, she would remain a prisoner at the mercy of a man who could destroy her in more ways than one.

As the moon glows, Shiya makes up her mind. She will play this dangerous game, using the very power her mother had spoken of. She will become the woman who could bring a man of power to his knees if that's what it takes to reclaim her life and freedom.

She called for Bangara Amma, who arrived promptly, her expression curious yet respectful. 

"Yes, Dear", Bangara Amma replied to Shiya.

Shiya licked her lips as she requested what she needed. "Please bring me the best saree you ever have", knowing that Bhallaladeva had given orders for her to be granted anything she asked for—except for her freedom. Bangara Amma hesitated only briefly before nodding and leaving to fulfil the request.

When she returned, she brought a shimmering golden saree, its rich and luxurious fabric adorned with embroidery that caught the light. Shiya could tell at a glance that it was a garment fit for royalty. As Bangara Amma helped her drape the saree, Shiya's eyes stayed on the mirror, and her gaze filed with no emotion.

"Lower," she whispered just as Bangara Amma went to tie the saree. So Bangara Amma did that and tied it just low enough to accentuate her figure, particularly her bosom. The gold against her skin made her look like a goddess, the fabric clinging to her curves in an alluring and powerful way.

Shiya dismissed Bangara Amma once the saree was in place, giving her a polite but firm smile. "Please ask the King to come and meet me," she said, calm and composed. "There is something I wish to discuss with him."

Bangara Amma's eyes widened slightly at the request, but she quickly bowed and left the room to deliver the message. Shiya watched her go, her heart beating steadily as she prepared for the encounter. This was the first move in her plan, and it had to be executed perfectly.

As she waited for Bhallaladeva, Shiya walked to the balcony, the cool breeze brushing against her exposed skin. She needed to steady her nerves, to remind herself of her goal. This wasn't just about seduction—it was about survival and reclaiming her power. She would use every weapon, including the allure her mother had warned her about.

When Bhallaladeva entered the room a short time later, Shiya turned to face him, her expression serene but with a hint of vulnerability. She could see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he took in her appearance. The golden saree, the way it highlighted her body, and her confident yet slightly hesitant stance were designed to captivate and draw him in.

"You wished to see me, Shiya?" Bhallaladeva's voice was curious, with an undertone of suspicion, as if he was trying to figure out what game she was playing.

Shiya nodded, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. "Yes, my King," she replied softly. 

"I realized that perhaps I had been... too resistant, too defiant. I thought it might be wise to speak openly with you to understand the situation I find myself in better."

Bhallaladeva's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her, trying to read her intentions. But Shiya held his gaze, her expression unyielding yet open, inviting him to believe she was finally submitting to him and ready to accept her fate.

"You look... different," he remarked, his eyes tracing the lines of her saree, the way it emphasized her figure. His eyes had a predatory gleam and a hint of admiration as if he saw her in a new light.

Shiya allowed a small smile to touch her lips, holding the same warmth and sincerity. 

"Perhaps it's time I stop fighting what cannot be changed," she said, her voice steady. "Perhaps it's time I embrace what is inevitable."

Bhallaladeva stepped closer; his interest piqued, his suspicion mingling with desire. "And what do you believe is inevitable, Shiya?"

She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "That I am yours, my King. That I belong to you, just as you have claimed."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with meaning. Shiya's heart raced, but she kept her composure, knowing that this was just the beginning of the dangerous game she had chosen to play. 

Bhallaladeva studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, satisfied smile, he nodded. "Good," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Very good."

Shiya lowered her gaze, her demeanour shifting as she embraced her chosen role. The confident woman who had faced Bhallaladeva moments ago now seemed to wither into someone entirely different—submissive, almost defeated. She stepped closer to him, her eyes downcast and voice softer, carrying a tremor of fear and resignation.

"My King," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I have come to accept that no help is coming for me. My brother... my family... they are not here. I am alone. And in my solitude, I have realized how merciful you have been, how you could have ended my life the moment I was brought here, yet you spared me."

She paused as if gathering her courage and lifted her gaze just enough to meet his eyes, her expression of gratitude mixed with a palpable sense of surrender. "For that, I am thankful. I know now that you hold all the power, and I... I am ready to accept whatever you wish to give or take from me. I no longer wish to fight."

Bhallaladeva's eyes narrowed as he studied her, the curiosity in his gaze growing sharper. He couldn't ignore the surge of blood rushing through him as he looked at her—the golden saree that clung to her every curve, the way her voice wavered with a mix of fear and submission, the subtle trembling of her lips. Every word she spoke seemed to stroke his ego, feeding the deep-seated desire for dominance that simmered within him.

A part of him remained suspicious, wondering if this sudden shift in her behaviour was genuine. But the sight of her standing before him, so seemingly fragile and at his mercy, was too intoxicating to resist. He felt the primal urge to claim her, to make her his, swelling within him, and the thrill of knowing she was willingly submitting to him made the temptation even stronger.

Shiya saw the flicker of desire in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on her, and she knew her performance was having the intended effect. She had to keep him believing that she was broken and that she was his and his alone.

"My King," she continued, her voice trembling as she clasped her hands before her, "I am ready to be whatever you wish me to be. I will not resist. I have no strength left to fight, and I have no hope left to hold onto. All I have now... is you."

Bhallaladeva stepped closer to her, his gaze never leaving her face. He could feel the tension in the air, the power he wielded over her, and it fueled the dark satisfaction growing inside him. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle, but his eyes burned with something far more dangerous.

"You're finally seeing the truth, Shiya," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a twisted kind of warmth. "And I am glad you understand your place."

His words sent a shiver down Shiya's spine, but she kept her expression soft, her eyes filled with the same submissive gratitude she had shown before. She couldn't afford to slip now; she needed him to believe she had given in.

"I do, my King," she whispered, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I see now that you are my only protector and hope. I am ready to serve you, to be whatever you want me to be. Please... just tell me what you wish of me."

Bhallaladeva's eyes darkened with desire as he took in her words. The sight of her so willingly submitting to him ignited a fire within him that he could barely control. He leaned closer, gripping her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. His eyes roamed over her features, taking in the vulnerability in her expression; her chest heaved with every breath, and the slight trembling of her lips.

"You are mine, Shiya," he said, his voice husky and needful. "And you will give me everything I want."

Shiya nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and submission. She could feel his breath on her skin, the heat of his body so close to hers, and she knew she had him exactly where she wanted him. 

Shiya's heart pounded as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I am yours."

Bhallaldeva's hands were rough yet gentle as he reached for her, his touch igniting a fire within her that she had not anticipated. His fingers traced her skin, exploring her curves with a mix of reverence and possession. Shiya's resistance melted away as she felt the heat of his touch, her body responding to him despite her mind's efforts to stay detached.

As their lips met, the world around them seemed to vanish. The kiss was fierce and passionate, filled with a hunger that mirrored the tumultuous emotions raging within Shiya. She was swept away by the moment's intensity, losing herself in the warmth and strength of Bhallaldeva's embrace.

Their bodies pressed together, each movement a blend of desire and urgency. The silk of her golden saree slipped from her shoulders, pooling around them as Bhallaldeva guided her towards the lavish bed. 

'Please' she said, her lips quivering.

His smirk widened as he snorted and watched the quivering mess of a woman before him. She was trying to speak a proper word, but she could only let out a babble because of the action.

'Please, what?' He asked as he slowly traced his fingers down from her navel and slowly went up, just his knuckles brushing against her clothed nipple; she let out a faint moan, which made him chuckle. He enjoyed the reaction he could get from the beautiful flower sprawled in his bed.

His fingers continued to trace and softly yet tightly held her neck and raised her head; she gasped at his sudden action as her eyes widened; for a minute, she was scared that her cover would blow off, but just like that, he smashed his lips on to her making her whimper as both of their body mingled in heat.

His lips along her chin lightly bit her ear off ' You were saying?' He asked once again as he continued his action, which caused her to moan again and again, but her moan turned into a squick as he tightened his hold on her throat, causing her to stutter.

'I. ASKED. YOU. A. QUESTION!' he growled, which made her inner pool already wet just with his voice. She bit her lips and tried to speak up. 'I need you, Please,' she whispered, hoping he heard, which he did.

'What you need me for?' He grunted as his lips lowered and went to work on her neck. Just like that, he found her weak spot, causing her to arch her back, which made her breast brush up against his chest, causing a small moan to leave his mouth. Her lips turned upwards, enjoying that even if it was small, she did bring some reaction from him.

'Well?' He asked, biting her neck lightly, which would leave a mark.

'I need you to be inside me.' This time, she spoke up without any shyness; her eyes stayed on his and never left; he liked this boldness.

'Where?' He once again asked; this irritated her to the core, this man knew that he was torturing her to the core, so she took his other hand and shoved it between her thighs where her cunt lays dripping wet. 'There, my king,' She said and captured his lips as she bit them, drawing blood. Bhallaladeva is anything but romantic, but the girl in front of him, who is too young for him, lets a beast out of him, and he is not going back until he devours every drop of her.

"Well, well, Shiya," Bhalla sneered, his fingers trailing slowly down Shiya's bare arm. "I must say, your attempts at seduction are quite admirable. But let me tell you something, sweetheart. You've got a long way to go."

Shiya's eyes widened as Bhalla's hand grazed the fabric of her blouse. A sudden knot in the corner caught his attention, and without warning, he gave it a sharp tug. The delicate fabric of the blouse snapped, causing it to fall from Shiya's body.

Shiya's face was a mixture of shock and embarrassment as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Bhalla chuckled darkly, relishing his power over her.

Bhalla's lips trailed down Shiya's neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses that excitedly made her shiver. His hands moved from her wrists to the curve of her hips, pulling her closer until there was barely any space left between them.

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's mouth found its way to the sensitive skin just above her breasts. He licked and sucked at her nipples, eliciting gasps of pleasure from deep within her throat. Each touch sent waves of electricity coursing through her body, erasing any lingering doubts or hesitations.

Bhalla's lips trailed down fabric that barely concealed Shiya's core. With a teasing smile, he whispered into her ear, "You like that? You want me to take you right here?"

Shiya whimpered in response. She nodded eagerly, unable to form words as desire consumed her senses.

Without wasting another moment, Bhalla's hand slipped beneath the fabric and found its way to the heat between Shiya's thighs. She bit down on her lower lip, torn between wanting him to take her right then and there and wanting to feel every moment of anticipation.

Bhalla chuckled darkly, his fingers circling her clit. He knew exactly how to push Shiya's buttons, and he revelled in the power it gave him. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses that made her shiver with anticipation.

He paused for a moment, his hand moving slowly in circles around her sensitive core. Shiya squirmed beneath him, desperate for him to continue.

"Please," she pleaded softly, frustration lacing every syllable.

Bhalla's eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as he heard Shiya's plea. He smirked and slowly trailed his finger down her thigh, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

"Well, well," he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Seems like you're ready to be taken by your king, right?"

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's words sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't deny the desire that pulsed through her veins, but there was still a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Without warning, Bhalla tore away the remaining remnants of Shiya's clothing, leaving her exposed and vulnerable before him. His gaze roamed over every inch of her naked body - the curves and contours that had captivated him from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

"Please," Shiya begged again, her voice filled with anticipation and uncertainty. "Please show me the pleasures that only you can give."

Bhalla's lips curled into a wicked grin as he heard Shiya's plea. He wasted no time in fulfilling her desire, his hands moving swiftly to spread her legs wide open. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he buried his face between her thighs.

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's tongue flicked against her sensitive flesh. A gasp escaped her lips as he plunged deep into her wetness, savouring the taste and texture of her arousal. His tongue danced across every inch of her cunt, exploring every fold and crevice with an expertise that left Shiya trembling in anticipation.

"Ahhh," she moaned, unable to contain herself any longer. "Bhall..Please..."

Bhalla chuckled darkly against her skin, his fingers curling around her hips possessively. He continued to work his magic enthusiastically, matching their growing passion. Each lick and suck sent waves of pleasure coursing through Shiya's body, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Her heart thumped as her vision turned white, and she let out a scream of pleasure; Bhalla slowly raised and pressed his body against her, putting his hand beside her head to not put total weight on her body. His eyes take in her form, the way her chest heaved and gasps, the way. 

"Look at me," Bhalla whispered, causing Shiya to open her eyes and look at the man before her, who could easily break or make her.

"Are you ready?" He asked, making Shiya look at him. Was he asking for her consent?

She gulped down and nodded, which made Bhalla smile: "I need you to hear you verbally, my dear." This caused her to blush as she used her voice to speak out: "Yes, Please." Her answer made him smile.

Shiya's body trembled with anticipation as Bhalla slowly entered into her, filling her to the brim. A gasp and a moan escaped her lips, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down her spine. It was a reminder of the raw intensity they were about to experience.

Bhalla, sensing Shiya's reaction, smirked in satisfaction. He began to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more forceful and powerful. The pain subsided as pleasure surged through their bodies, tripling in intensity with each thrust.

Shiya clung onto Bhalla desperately, unable to contain herself any longer. Her nails dug into his back as she arched her body to meet his every movement. The room filled with the sounds of their skin slapping together, punctuated by their shared moans of ecstasy.

Bhalla's eyes locked onto Shiya's, a hunger burning within them that matched their growing passion. He relished in the sight of her writhing beneath him, lost in a world where only they existed.

But amidst their primal connection, a flicker of hesitation flashed across Bhalla's face. A momentary pause in his rhythm left Shiya wondering if he was experiencing a similar struggle within himself.

Sensing that they both were nearing the release, Bhalla swiftly shifted their position, pulling her onto his lap. The sensation of being surrounded by him sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't help but feel a surge of power coursing through her veins.

Slowly, Shiya straddled Bhalla's lap, positioning herself atop him as if she held all the cards. With deliberate movements, she slid down onto him inch by agonizing inch, eliciting moans from both of them.

Bhalla's grip tightened on Shiya's hips as he thrust upward, meeting each of her movements with a primal intensity that sent waves of pleasure coursing through their bodies. Their moans mingled in the air, an intoxicating symphony of lust and desire.

Shiya's body arched against Bhalla's as he continued to hit deeper in her cunt, filling her with his relentless thrusts. Their skin slapping together echoed through the trees, blending seamlessly with their desperate moans.

And just like that, Shiys' eyesight turned white as what was left of her was consumed by Bhalla, who moaned into her ears as she clunge down to him. Her thighs quivered, and her body shook as they filled each other with pleasure that no one could take away.

Shiya's mind raced, and amidst the heat of the moment, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—an escape. She had kept the sharp nail hidden in her hair, hoping it might be useful. She reached for it with every ounce of resolve she had left, her fingers trembling as she tried to draw it out from where it had been concealed.

Just as Bhallaldeva's hands were exploring her, Shiya managed to grasp the nail and, in a desperate move, aimed it at Bhallaldeva's side. She hoped to wound him, to create a chance for herself, but her plan was thwarted.

Bhallaldeva's reflexes were swift. As soon as he felt the shift in her intentions, he caught her wrist with a firm grip, his eyes flashing with surprise and amusement. With a decisive movement, he disarmed her, taking the nail from her hand and tossing it aside. His expression turned from intense passion to a smirk that revealed his dominance over the situation.

"What do you think you're doing, my little bird?" Bhallaldeva's voice was low and laced with mockery, though it had a dangerous edge.

Shiya's eyes widened with frustration and fear. Her plan had failed, and now she was left vulnerable and exposed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her face flushed with desire and defeat.

"Why?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Why do you want me? What could you possibly gain from this?"

Bhallaldeva's gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of fascination and control. He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers with a possessive force. "I want you because you are here," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Because you are mine to have and to break."

As he spoke, he captured her lips in another searing kiss, his hands roaming her with renewed fervour. Shiya's attempts to resist or escape were futile against his strength and determination. She could only surrender to the overwhelming sensations that engulfed her, her mind reeling from the realization that her escape had slipped through her fingers.

The night continued in a whirlwind of passion and power, with Bhallaldeva asserting his dominance over Shiya. The intensity of their encounter reached a crescendo, leaving Shiya both physically and emotionally spent. Her earlier resolve had been shattered, and she found herself enveloped in Bhallaldeva's embrace, her plans and resistance lost in the heat of the moment.

As dawn approached, Shiya lay in Bhallaldeva's arms, her body aching and her spirit subdued. The sharp nail that had been her last hope now lay forgotten, and she was left to face the reality of her situation. Bhallaldeva's dominance was complete, and Shiya had given herself entirely to him, both in body and in the complex, troubled emotions that followed.

As the night wore on, Bhallaldeva's relentless passion showed no sign of abating. His dominance over Shiya was absolute, and their encounter continued into the early morning hours, each moment a testament to his control and power. Shiya, though physically exhausted and emotionally drained, had no choice but to surrender completely to his will.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains of the chamber, casting a dim glow over the room. Shiya lay dishevelled on the bed, her strength sapped by the prolonged ordeal. Her body ached, and her spirit was subdued as the events of the night replayed in her mind, leaving her with a deep sense of resignation.

Bhallaldeva, still consumed by the power and pleasure of the night, was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of his warriors. The alert sounded through the palace, and his expression shifted from satisfaction to concern. The warriors burst into the chamber, their urgency evident.

"My King, the forces of Baahubali have breached the outer defences," one of the warriors announced breathlessly. "The battle has begun."

Bhallaldeva's eyes narrowed, his focus immediately shifting from his recent conquest to the impending conflict. He looked down at Shiya, curled up on the bed, her eyes filled with pain and defeat. A flicker of something—perhaps a trace of regret—crossed his face, but his steely resolve quickly masked it.

Without another word, he rose from the bed, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Shiya. "Stay here," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. "Do not move."

Shiya, too weak to argue, could only watch as Bhallaldeva dressed in battle armour, preparing for the now unavoidable fight. He moved with a commanding presence, and his every action reminded him of his power and authority.

As Bhallaldeva exited the chamber, the door closed behind him, leaving Shiya alone once more. The distant sounds of battle began to filter through the walls, the clash of weapons and the shouts of warriors signalling the commencement of the conflict.

Shiya remained in the chamber, her thoughts a tumultuous mix of fear, despair, and a faint glimmer of hope. The night had left her deeply affected, but now, as the battle raged outside, she found herself trapped between her suffering and the impending chaos.

***

As Bhallaldeva lay on the battlefield, a twisted smirk marred his once fierce and defiant demeanour. The cruel smile remained on his lips even as the life drained from his eyes. "You may have defeated me," he rasped, "but I’ve already done what I intended. Your victory comes with a cost."

Baahubali's eyes narrowed with concern and suspicion as he approached his fallen foe. Before he could question further, Bhallaldeva's body went limp, his last breath escaping with a final, chilling smile.

With Bhallaldeva's demise, Baahubali's thoughts immediately turned to finding Shiya. He raced through the palace, his heart pounding with urgency. Upon reaching her chamber, he found her standing by the window, staring out with an expression of profound desolation.

As Baahubali's hand gently touched her shoulder, Shiya's control shattered. She turned into him and buried her face against his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sobs echoed the deep sorrow and relief she felt. Baahubali held her tightly, his own heart aching at the sight of her pain. Despite not being blood relatives, their bond was as strong as any sibling's.

Two month passes

After the chaos of the battle and the subsequent months of rebuilding the kingdom with justice and care, the day of Baahubali's coronation arrived. The grand ceremony marked the official transition of Mahismati into an era of renewal and hope. Baahubali stood proudly as the new king, fulfilling his father's vision for a just and prosperous rule.

Amidst the celebrations, Shiya watched her brother with pride and concern. As she observed Baahubali’s rise to power, a quiet fear lingered. She discreetly caressed her stomach, a subtle gesture that concealed a significant secret. The passion of that fateful night with Bhallaldeva had left her with more than just emotional scars; it had also left her pregnant.

The realization of this impending change weighed heavily on her. As the kingdom celebrated the dawn of a new era, Shiya faced an uncertain future of her own. Mahismati's legacy was poised to continue, and with the next generation, it seemed once again that the cousins of the great kingdom would have to fight for the throne.

THE END

Whew !!! I'm finally done with this series...and it's also my first time writing this much of explicit scenes...I hope I made it somewhat non cringe...thank you to everyone who read and liked it. I will see you guys with some other work very soon��💜🙏

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[ramayantika]

Draupadi (Goddesses, Rishikas & Women)

A/N: Well i did want to share it here first because this will be a part of the published version but anyway this will be under editing later on so why not share it with you all

“Sakhi? Panchali, wake up.” I feel a gentle hand caress my hair. The touch is as soft as the lotus petals I used to wear around my neck. The fragrance of sandalwood and tulsi leaves fills my nostrils, and I forget about my aching, bloody wounds for a brief moment.

My eyes open slowly. It feels exhausting to even lift my eyelids, but I do. The voice calling out to me resembles my Krishna’s, my best friend, and my truest companion. And amidst the snow-capped mountains of the majestic Himalayas and the dried rocky pathways, I wake up to the beautiful smiling face of my friend.

Dwarkadheesh Vasudev Shri Krishna. He goes by many names. He will gladly accept any name as long as you bestow it with love and affection. My sakha has never been hungry for riches and power, but love is what ties him to everyone, even though he is the invincible Vishnu.

I raise my hand towards him. My vision blurs, but I can make out the angry bruises on my wrist. Krishna gently clasps my hand, his touch feather-light, and maybe that touch alone could heal all my wounds—physical, mental, and spiritual. Mustering all my remaining strength, I sit up on the rocky surface, overlooking the white mountain range. The sun behind me casts its golden rays on Govinda’s face, illuminating his handsome dark features, while the blue peacock feather glimmers as if dusted with gold specks.

Something wet touches my dusty feet, and I move my eyes down. To my horror, I see blood—Krishna’s blood—flowing like a river around my foot. I panic and look up at his face, only to see him smiling as if we are seated in the shallow waters of Yamuna in the summer.

Without thinking, my hands find the ends of my torn and tattered saree, so I may dress his wound when Govinda holds my wrist. Looking up, I see him shake his head, saying, “Do not land me in debt, Sakhi." I am to depart soon.”

The dark blood pooling around my feet swirls along the circular, ring-like pattern on the rocks. “Govinda, you are bleeding so much. Let me dress your wound for one last time. You have helped me so much in my lifetime, Sakha. Consider this a thank you.”

My friend does not let go of my hand. I see a few tears shining in his beautiful lotus-like eyes. “And you bleed too, Sakhi. You haven’t seen your own wounds, and you are on your way to treat mine.”

I look down to the ground at the dark blood staining my clothes. “It was and is my destiny to bleed, Govinda.”

“No more, Panchali. You shall rest.” Krishna wistfully looks ahead, his eyes watching the high peaks of the Himalayas, where the last rays of the sun now shine.

I asked him a question. “Do you see my husband?”

“Did they see you fall to the ground, Draupadi?”

I go, mom. A cool gust of wind slaps my face; the cold air brushing through my skin pains my wounds even more, but I am too tired to groan and grimace at it.

Both of us go quiet. The dried blood on my skin, combined with dust and gravel, makes my skin look ashy. There was a time when I used to bathe with rosewater and fragrant oils. Even in all my years of exile, I would always find a clean pond or a lake to bathe in. I wonder how I look.

Draupadi of Panchal, the queen of Indraprastha, was once the most beautiful woman in Aryavarta. My beauty created ballads, and princes and kings from faraway lands sought my hand in marriage. The maiden with midnight hair who smells like the fragrant blue lotus, whose curvy limbs delight and enchant the eyes, is now nothing but a woman with tangled hair and ashy skin adorned with dust, pebbles, blood, and grime.

I am the blue lotus covered in mud.

“So, is this how it ends?” I ask Krishna, my voice timid and slow.

Moving his eyes from the sun, he glances at my face. His eyebrows arched like a bow as he said, “An end? Sakhi, this is the beginning.”

I am not as wise and enlightened as the man sitting right across from me. But I am aware of his words and their meaning. I fold my legs and bring my knees to my chest. Resting my dry cheek on my knee, I reply, “Govinda, I am aware of the beginning. This is the beginning of Kaliyuga, the period of great advancements for human civilisation and also the darkest for human morals and principles.” I pause. I place my palm over my chest and take deep breaths. The wisps of air remind me of the final breaths I have before I fall to eternal sleep.

I will die speaking. Maybe the word is questioning.

“Is this how my story ends? The woman born from fire will merge with dust.”

“All our stories end the same way, Draupadi. We will turn to ash and merge with the earth. This is the destiny of our body.”

The fire of life still burns, though the flame is tiny. “That’s philosophy. I know the historians, scribes, and poets have already begun writing stories and poems about us and the war. What will they write about me? About Draupadi?

When alive, this Draupadi was blamed for the war. My humiliation was a sacrifice, so the grand tale may play out and the balance of virtue and sin may remain steady. They will write about my valiant husbands and their forefathers, of the mighty Kauravas, of the faithful Gandhari, and of the single mother Kunti, who lovingly raised the sons of her co-queen too. But Draupadi—she is the beauteous woman that shall cause destruction—for beauty is sought by everyone, and everyone yearns and lusts for beauty.

And it is a secret pleasure for beauty to be a tragedy. A beautiful bloom must bloom alone in the deep, wild forest. A beautiful golden deer must be shot. A beautiful woman must be abducted, and in some unlucky times, her modesty must be outraged. This is what Draupadi’s tale has been. A beautiful woman born from fire burned and bled thoroughly only to die pitifully and have the world remember me as the queen whose modesty was outraged in front of a full court. That’s how they remember me, don’t they, Govinda?

They keep writing poems about how the helpless daughter of fire sang and cried, her arms outstretched to the skies for her sakha to save her. They perform to loud drums and ominous beats to show how I was close to nakedness amidst hundreds of men and sing songs of bravado, so the Draupadi on stage shall pledge to bathe her hair in blood.

Draupadi, the woman, was wronged. Panchali, the enchanting beauty, will pave the way for destruction. Yajnaseni, the woman born from fire, is destined to burn throughout her tale. Panchami is the chaste wife of five husbands. Ah! Such an irony.”

I feel my eyes sting with unshed tears as the dark moon-like face of Krishna blurs in front of me. I add, “Perhaps Krishnaa is my true name, my true identity. The dark maiden is radiating purity and honour, but even that is an irony. Purity and honour are foreign concepts to me.”

And for the first time in my life, I interrupted Govinda. “No, you shall not console me. I have been the daughter, princess, sister, queen, and mother. I have lived through the same ending every time. I know what the world thinks of me and what the next generation thinks of me. Today, I let go of every name and every relationship. You are to depart Bhuloka, and so do I, so I, with great pain, let go of my true name, Krishnaa.” My trembling fingers trace the brown dust on the rocks. “I have never asked you for a gift, Govinda. Can I ask you one now?”

I see Krishna wipe something from his face, but my blurry vision fails to observe if it is dust or tears. I hear a crack in his voice as he nods.

Channelling all the remaining life force flowing through my veins, I breathe for one last time. I can feel the burn in my chest, but before I am to go to the world after this, if at all it exists, I must burn off every tie with this tale, of this flesh, of this blue lotus-complexioned Draupadi.

“May they remember me as a glorious queen, as an ambitious princess, as a gentle daughter, as a faithful wife, and as a loving mother. A few blemishes on the moon do not rob it of its beauty, and I am the daughter of fire. Fire provides warmth to those it loves and lights the path for seekers. Fire has guarded my life; let that not be full of revenge and vengeance in someone’s pages. May someone see this Draupadi as a woman, a simple woman at times, and not as the harbinger of war. My story must not be limited to tragedy, Vasudev. I have found moments of bliss, love, and happiness too. May that adorn the pages of my life’s story too. I don’t want to burn and bleed anymore. I have had it enough. I am tired. I want the fire inside me to grant warmth, not revenge and wounds. I-”

***

Vasudev Shri Krishna, the mastermind behind the golden city of Dwaraka and sometimes considered the mastermind behind the war, watches the dead body of his sakhi on the harsh, rocky bed. His bleeding foot has coloured the ends of her pristine white saree in deep red.

Draupadi’s body has turned cold. The wounds on her head and limbs have dried. The last of her tears have left wet trails on her cheeks, and Krishna gently closes Draupadi’s dark eyes.

“Death was the only peace she needed,” Vasudev says to himself, covering her body with his yellow shawl as harsh, cold winds start blowing around them.

He wonders if the red stains on her feet are blood or her favourite red dye that she applies every day to her hands and feet. The sun has set at last. The valiant Pandavas have departed for heaven, though only Yudhishthir will reach heaven in his body. The others must have fallen somewhere around the mountains, Krishna thinks as he stands up, his head reeling a little due to the blood loss.

It’s serene and quiet here. The mountains have been a silent witness to history. The sky is lit up with dazzling stars, and the golden-white moon looks like an enchanted glittery veil of Draupadi. Admiring the ethereal vast skies surrounding the majestic mountains, Krishna spares one last glance towards a sleeping Draupadi, whispering his last words to her, unheard by everyone.

“I know what you wanted to say before your soul flew out of your body, dear Sakhi. Your story shall not be limited to the incident at the court. There will be at least one person who will not only see you as the woman wronged. Someone will write more stories and poems about your mind, intelligence, and strength than about your matchless beauty. Oh, daughter of Drupad, you will be seen as the woman you are, as Krishnaa, your truest name. With this, I bid you farewell once again before we meet at another Mahabharata. Sleep, my dear Sakhi.”

The twinkling stars, the shining moon, and the chilling winds of the Himalayas have been the listeners to Krishna’s last words for his friend. They watch him descend the mountains, his lovely feet leaving red trails in the snow.

Draupadi sleeps peacefully under the stars, just as she used to sleep during all those years of exile in the forests.

There will be another Mahabharat. That is destiny—unchangeable. Wars and bloodshed are bound to happen, and every time, a Draupadi will arise from fiery, vengeful flames. She has to bleed and burn. She has to pave a path for righteousness to prevail. Great deeds demand sacrifices, and sacrifices demand pain.

But this time, Draupadi will be remembered as a glorious queen, as an intelligent princess, as a woman who grew wise with years, as the woman who learned to control the flames of her life and destiny.

I pay homage to you, Yajnaseni. As long as this world remains, may your strength be celebrated, may every woman be honoured, and may your flames never die out.

--xxx--

This piece was inspired from Yajnaseni written by Pratibha Ray (highly suggested to read this book by her. I loved it more than the palace of illusions)

TBH I have no idea how and why i ended up writing this, but maybe this was krishna's doing and draupadi's wish. I was chilling around until one moment I remembered Draupadi and thoughts spiralled, Krishna came up, my kindle version of Yajnaseni stared at my face, and so here's the result.

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your views which will help me edit (and also motivate me to edit the book for publishing hehe)

Taglist: @swayamev @jukti-torko-golpo @navaratna @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @rhysaka @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @alhad-si-simran @indiansapphic @houseofbreadpakoda @ramcharantitties @kaal-naagin

[rambheem-is-real]

Gold Rings and Black Roses Pt 2

pairing: Radha Rama x Aadhya

warning: siblings!Deva and Aadhya

Pt 1 here

-

Aadhya comes back, fresh from her shower, and is shown to the seat at the opposite end of the table to where Radha Rama was already sitting. A female guard had handed Aadhya a new cotton top and pair of jeans for her to wear, and she could see that Radha Rama had also changed into a yellow saree. The table was laden with various dishes, and both of their plates were already filled with a sampling of each dish. After a silent look from the older woman, all of the guards bow their heads and leave the room. Obullamma also leaves, not before giving Aadhya a look that’s half confusion and half jealousy. 

I don’t know what’s going on either! Don’t look at me like I stole your favorite toy! Aadhya wants to yell at her, but figures that would not be good for her life. 

Finally, Radha Rama turns her gaze to Aadhya, who can’t help but squirm. 

Why the hell was this woman so hot??

She tilts her face, studying Aadhya for a few seconds. Aadhya hopes she won’t take long to decide whatever it was she was deciding, because she hadn’t had actual good food in days. 

Radha Rama finally speaks. She gestures to Aadhya’s plate. “Eat.”

Aadhya hesitantly mixes some pappu with some rice, and brings the hand to her mouth to take a bite. Swallowing, she tries to be polite. “The food is really good.”

Radha Rama keeps looking at her coolly. “I know. I have some of the best chefs in the country working for me.”

Interesting, Aadhya thinks. The words were not meant as a boast, but as a mere fact. Of course Radha Rama, whoever this woman was, would have incredible private chefs. 

She nods, and keeps eating, trying not to show her embarrassment on her face. What would it take for this woman to be impressed? A few seconds later, Aadhya realizes Radha Rama hadn’t eaten anything yet, and her heart skips a beat. Silently praying that the food wasn’t poisoned or something, she tries conversation again. “You should eat too.” And because apparently her mouth has no filter, she can’t help but joke. “You’re missing out on some great dal.”

Radha Rama looks taken aback, then the side of her lip curls up. “...You’re right.” 

Aadhya watches as the older woman, almost like she forgot how to, slowly mixes her own rice and pappu, and tastes it. Her eyes close, and she slowly chews, like she’s experiencing the taste for the first time. Abruptly, Radha Rama opens her eyes like she just realized she’s being watched, and Aadhya can’t hide her wide-eyed look in time. 

Radha Rama chuckles at her, but it’s not mean this time. “I pretended to be insane and incapable of doing anything on my own for seven years. It’s why Obullamma was so surprised that I could stand, and it’s why I haven’t eaten by myself in so long.”

Aadhya… digests that information. She doesn’t want to pry, whatever would make a person do all that would probably be upsetting, so she continues eating. 

They spend some time in silence, and Aadhya is aware that Radha Rama is letting her watch the woman enjoy her food, but what the end game is there Aadhya has no idea. Eventually her curiosity gets too much for her to stay quiet. 

“So why am I here?” 

Radha finishes chewing before answering. “I want your brother here.” She frowns. “The original plan was for him to rescue you from Rinda. He would have broken the seal, and he and that lover of his-” The word ‘lover’ is spat with a sneer. “-would’ve fought to the death. Even he has to abide by the Nibandhanam. One of them would live, and whoever survived I could easily pick off. That is, if they hadn’t mutually destroyed each other.” She shrugs. “But he didn’t do what I expected him to, so I just had Vedha send him a message about your parentage. Now he’ll show up, take you away, and Rinda can go cry to his dear karta that your brother broke the seal.”

Aadhya has so many questions she doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Ok,” she says, trying to process. “Ok, even before I ask who the hell my brother is supposed to be, or what the hell a nibandhanam is, you could have still killed me and sent him a message about that. Then he could’ve come to get revenge or something, breaking the seal by killing Rinda. That was Obullamma’s plan, right? So why am I here?”

Radha Rama studies her, like she’s unsure of whether she should say what she’s thinking of. Finally, she answers. “You remind me of myself.”

“Thank you?” It comes out as more of a question than Aadhya wants it to be. “How so?”

“You were willing to do anything for your father. And brave enough to stand up to the people that kidnapped you, making a deal with them. I was that way, once.” Radha Rama, having finished eating, uses her glass to wash her hands in her plate, and stands up. She slowly makes her way over to Aadhya, who’s sitting frozen. Radha Rama puts her hands on either side of Aadhya’s corner of the table, and leans into her space. 

Aadhya can see now that Radha Rama had taken her time freshening up in the time before lunch. The kajal had been reapplied to her waterline, her hair was neatly braided down her back, and the faded bottu had been replaced by a striking red one. Was that.. perfume? Aadhya can smell a faint floral scent, something expensive. Up close, she can see how much she had underestimated the older woman’s beauty. Even at her age, which Aadhya estimates to be around fifteen years older than herself, Radha Rama is regal and commanding, eyes piercing through Aadhya’s very soul. 

“I was once like that,” Radha Rama repeats herself. “I was going to be the next karta, did you know that? After my dear father’s reign ended. I would have ruled, as I was told since I was a child. I grew up with no votes, no power, no friends, because everyone assumed I would get my fifteen and a kingdom as soon as the time was right.” Aadhya has no idea what a karta is but she believes it, can see this woman on a throne. 

“I sacrificed so much for that throne,” Radha Rama continues, voice dropping into an intimate whisper that does things to Aadhya’s stomach, and she can’t help but glance at the older woman’s dark lips as she talks. “I married a man I didn’t love. I played watchdog for my idiot brother and that boytoy of his, fought for a ceasefire for that ungrateful bastard child, and for what? To be betrayed, to be cast aside like I was nothing.” She focuses back on Aadhya. “Us both, sisters of men who have never cared about anything other than their own self interest, daughters of men who we’ve been separated from, and daughters of dead mothers.” 

Radha Rama leans back, smirking at Aadhya who slowly lets out the breath she had been holding, wiping her hand on a nearby napkin to conceal the way it had been shaking. “That’s what I see in you.” 

Aadhya, for once in her life, practices great restraint to not immediately suggest for this woman to meet with a therapist. She has no idea what Radha Rama was talking about but she knows this speech was seven years overdue. 

She also has to practice great restraint to not jump this woman’s bones. 

Aadhya is saved from her thoughts from the servants that come to take her plate, and she smiles at them. “Thank you,” she tells them in English. 

Once the plates are gone, she looks over to see Radha Rama, now lounging in her chair. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she offers. Radha Rama raises an eyebrow.

“You had no idea what I was talking about, don’t lie.” 

Aadhya shrugs. “No. But as a fellow woman, I’m still sorry that happened to you.” She sees it again, that flicker of surprise in Radha Rama’s face. She presses her luck. “So who’s this brother of mine? Why haven’t I ever seen or heard of him before?”

Radha Rama just laughs again, and Aadhya tries not to instinctively smile along with it. The laughter is sharp and melodic, and goddamn Aadhya stop acting like you have a school crush-

“You spent the last few days with him and your birth mother, actually,” she says. Aadhya stares at her, then the realization hits. 

The momentary elation of learning she has more family members disappears when she remembers the last time she saw who was apparently her biological mother. Of course Aadhya had known she was adopted her whole life, her parents had never shied away from that fact. Aadhya just had never bothered looking for her biological parents. Now, thinking about Amma’s accusing glare, about Deva’s complete indifference to her safety, she wishes she never found out. Aadhya doesn’t know how much Deva knew about her adoption, but there was no way Amma didn’t know Aadhya was her own family when she realized she was Krishnakanth’s daughter. And she still let them take me away.

Radha Rama watches with confusion, as Aadhya’s face falls. “You didn’t like them?” she asks incredulously. 

“More like they didn’t like me,” Aadhya chuckles wetly.

Radha Rama frowns. “Why the hell not? What’s wrong with you?”

Aadhya wants to laugh again. How come this stranger, the woman who had kidnapped her, was treating her better than her own family? 

“Well, it doesn't matter. Either he’ll come to rescue you once he finds out you’re his sister, or…” Aadhya looks up to see a glint in the older woman’s eyes. “Or Obullamma will get her wish.”

A chill runs down Aadhya’s spine. Stupid, she thinks. She had completely forgotten about the fact that there wasn’t much stopping Radha Rama from killing her, that the woman was very much capable of killing her if her stories of ruling were to be believed, and went and started crushing on her. 

Radha Rama smirks at her visible fear, before calling for a guard to escort Aadhya back to her room. 

It takes a while for Aadhya to fall asleep, but when she does, she dreams of Obullamma taking a knife to her face, gleefully slicing it open. In the background, she can see Deva watching it happen, face blank and body unmoving. The dream suddenly shifts, and she’s now on her back, she can’t move- why can’t I move?? and she hears the voice of a young boy in the background. She can’t make out the words for some reason but he sounds distressed, pleading. The dream finally shifts once more to the hospital room she stayed in for days. Aadhya notices her mother, lying on the hospital bed but not hooked up to any of the machines. She’s dressed in one of her regular chudidars, the pink one with dancing figures around the border, not the patient gowns Aadhya had last seen her in. 

Her mother lifts a hand up to caress Aadhya’s face. 

“Naa bangaru thalli [my golden daughter],” she says, her smile radiating joy. “You were the best gift I ever got.”

Aadhya smiles back, wishing she could stay in this moment forever.

-

tags: @recentinterest @theimmortalprince @nini9224 @just-a-lazy-person @alezangona @omgdontlookatmeuniverse @greatkittykoala @sinistergooseberries @inveter and ofc all the server besties

[ramcharantitties]

Rasiya

S/n: just a lil smut :)

Rrr! Ram x fem! Reader

Part 2

"YOU STO-" "shhh" "you stole this?" Jenny stared at you with a smug smile, and nodded quickly. Jenny, with her friend, recently visited a woman deep in the forest, said to heal people spiritually. Her friend believed in such superstitions, and Jenny just tagged along. There, her eyes caught sight of a small vile, which the woman introduced as an aphrodisiac- a potion made of everything that may make a person lost in their sexual needs. Jenny knew exactly whom to give this to.

Jenny spoke up, as you investigated the tiny bottle, "Just add this in a glass of milk, it will be fine. For the worst, nothing will happen, and for the best" you looked back at her, and both erupted in a fit of laughter. "I hope I don't regret this" you muttered, when a clang of metal, familiar as the latch of the door was heard outside. You placed the bottle behind the steel containers in the shelf, following Jenny out. Your husband has finally come home.

"Jennifer, great to see you" Ram greeted her, and they mingled in a conversation for a while. Realizing the time, she bid goodbye to both of you, smiling mischievously.

Ram changed from his uniform and freshened up, settling with a book on bed. "Do you want some milk?" Ram peered at you, leaning on the door frame. He nodded, quickly going back to reading. It wasn't like you weren't getting any action, but you always felt that Ram held back so he does not hurt you. Maybe this will help in some way? You emptied the liquid in the warm glass, mixing it thoroughly. You sipped a spoonful, just to ensure if you could taste something different. Nothing. Making your way to the shared room, you couldn't help but giggle on the inside.

Ruffling his mop of hair, you placed the glass beside him, earning a side eye from him. "I am gonna take a bath" you informed, disappearing behind the door, eyeing Ram picking up the glass.

It wasn't even ten minutes later, but you couldn't help but rub your bare legs, the anklets chiming by the movement. If a spoonful was making you feel like this, how is Ram so silent outside? You adjusted your blouse and tied the knots of your skirt, your saree waiting on the bed.

For some reason, Ram couldn't concentrate anymore on the words in front of him. His mind wandered off to your scent, your supple skin and bright eyes. It wasn't strange, but this felt ignited and induced. Ram felt his heart speed up, just thinking about you. He gulped, feeling the strain near his thigh. This, was strange. Yes, you have made him feel aroused many times, but usually you did something that attracted him to you. Right now he only drank the glass of milk- was there something in it?

The wooden noise of the bathroom door alerted Ram you were making over to the bedroom. Ram heard the anklets and saw you come in the room, your wet hair open, just in blouse and skirt. He couldn't help but stare. When the gods made you, they spent days to perfection.

You kept your feet on the dressing table, rubbing the scented oil on your shins, switching legs. Later, you moved up, rubbing the oil on your back and neck. Ram shut his book close, keeping it beside the empty, foggy white glass. He made his way to the windows and closed the gates, pulling the curtain over them. You stared at him from the mirror, nervous. When he shut the door, Ram made sure to make eye contact with you in the mirror. The room had slanted rays of setting sun highlighting the floor and some of the books, except that, it was pretty much brown and dark.

Ram slowly walked towards you. You turned around to face him, and backed on the dressing table as you felt him coming close. Only mere centimeters away, Ram leaned in, placing a hand on the mirror behind you. You couldn't find the Ram in his eyes you usually do. There was something far more fiercer, penetrating his gaze. It didn't look like the shy Ram who hugged you and kissed your neck and asked you if you wanted to make love tonight. These eyes looked like as if they would hunt you down and devour you.

"What did you add in the milk?" Ram could tell by your expression you were caught. "Nothing" you muttered, just above your breath. Ram's hand caught your wrist, holding it behind your body. He paid no attention to your scrunched eyebrows. "Are you going to lie to me?" He rasped in your ear, making you shudder. Your mind went in a frenzy, and settled on doing something he might not like. You pushed past him, hurrying to the door, when Ram caught your wrist, pulling you in his chest hard. He then slammed you on the wall, eliciting a yelp from you. He held your hands tightly above you in a strong grip.

"Do you want me to repeat myself?" His voice dropped octaves, sending a shiver down your spine. "A- aphrodisiac" you could see his gears turning physically, from confusion to realisation, to a smirk on his face- revenge? Ram's hand moved to the back of your head, grasping your hair. You gasped, holding his wrist. It sting. Ram sat you down on the bed, loosing his grip. "You don't get enough of what I give?" Ram's question looked more like a threat. Scared, you nodded, only to be pushed back on the bed with a sudden force on your shoulder. You sat up on your elbows, feeling naked all of a sudden. "If that's so, then why would you add a whole vile of that potion in my milk?" That was the last thing you expected to see- Ram holding the small bottle in his fingers. Your eyes widened on their own.

The look of a hunter was prominent on his face as he crawled up on you. He looked like a desperate lion in heat. As if you would succeed, you tried to get back away from him, realising you were caught between the headboard and Ram himself. There was an attempt to run away, but Ram grabbed your thighs and pulled you close to him, holding himself on top of you. The only coldness he had in his body was the Om locket that touched your chin. "If you keep running away, I'll have to tie you. Do you want me to do that, Mrs. Ramaraju?" you felt your breath leaving your body when he rasped the words in your ear. The title from his lips felt like you were floating in the wind. You've started to like the choice you've made.

Ram stared at your nervous face, but the only thing his mind would settle on were your lips. The pink, plump lips he so wanted around his cock. He leaned down to capture your lips in his, pushing his tongue out. Not sure if it was the potion or you, Ram felt that he was dizzy. The only thing that made sense to him was the kiss, the feeling of your lips on his, the rubbing of his facial hair and your occasional mewls. You felt Ram's hand trail down your body, from your naval, to your waist, making his way in the fold of your skirt. You felt his warm hands on your thighs, parting them away.

He didn't want to let go, the sweet taste of your tongue, but the lack of breath pulled him away. Your red lips didn't make anything better for him. You moaned when you felt his fingers on your clothed cunt, massaging it. His hand moved inside, when you felt a cold metal on your clit. You looked at him surprised, only to see him smirk. You realised the bottle of potion was missing. You didn't know what he was doing, but you could feel a wet substance, except you, being spread on your lips. Ram's fingers massaging sends waves down your body, making you moan. His fingers moved down to your aching hole, only to feel the base of the bottle on your entrance. You couldn't help but close your eyes, feeling the now warm bottle enter you. Ram saw your face contort in pleasure, moans escaping endlessly. He was right to close the doors. The bottle was just half a finger long, not giving you enough. You opened your eyes to see him staring at you, your every expression. He heard your plea, your hold on his arm knowing you wanted more but he wasn't willing to fulfill your needs.

Ram pulled his hand out, throwing the bottle somewhere on the bed. You saw his glistening fingers, and your legs shut on their own. Ram crawled off you, and you followed his movements, sitting on the bed. "Whatever you've done to me" he put his hand around your throat, standing you up. "You're going to pay for it."

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

Part 1 Done! Part 2 is wip <3

Tagging: @ramayantika @jkdaddy01 @yehsahihai @chaanv

[lookingfts]

Just wanted to say that I love seeing all of those insights and snippets that expand your stories. Thank you so much for giving us a glimpse into the "behind the scenes" and into how those characters tick in the given universes! It's such a gift!

If you ever find the time and inspiration, I would be so, so happy to see anything from Anthony's point of view or any additional info how you thought up the story for "You echo in the Halls". I think it's my absolute favorite one shot of yours. I have re-read it countless of times (and I come back to it at least once every few weeks) and every time I find something new to speculatate about, which I love.

Anyhow, sorry for fangirling...

Thank you! “You Echo in the Halls” is one of my favorites as well! It’s such a pleasure to hear that someone is re-reading it. Sometimes me and other Kanthony writers will bounce ideas off each other – things that we think would be fun, but might not necessarily have the time or inspiration to write ourselves. The lovely @mxkateb pitched the idea of Kate struggling with a big life event for her ex, Tom, and Anthony following her around, annoying her to distract her and help her get through it. And that evolved into the fic. So, here’s a little companion/continuation scene from Anthony’s POV.

--

Anthony was used to losing his breath to Kate Sharma.

When he saw her for the first time. Leaning against the bar at a seedy pub, ebony hair curling around her shoulders, legs endless in a pair of tight jeans. That was her – the person he would chat up tonight. He couldn’t let a woman that gorgeous slip through his fingers.

And then Tom had appeared, sliding his arm around her waist, a big smile forming on her lips as she fluttered her lashes up at him, and Anthony’s chest tightened. That was her. Kate. The woman that Tom hadn’t stopped talking about since he met her. The woman his best friend, his brother, was falling in love with.

When she kissed him. Standing outside her flat, both of them pretending to be drunker than they were so they could get just a little closer. He knew he should have stopped it, but the oxygen rushed out of his lungs at the first touch of her lips to his. Soft and sweet and wanting.

Kate sank into his arms, perfect there, filling an ache he had felt for so long now. She clung to him as he tasted her, as he moved inside her, and for a second, he thought maybe he could stay. Maybe he could let her hold on to him forever. But she fell asleep and he sobered up and it felt so clear, suddenly. He was a rebound. If Tom hadn’t been good enough for a woman like her, what hope did Anthony have except to disappoint her?

When he chased her out of Tom’s wedding reception. She finally called him out on his bullshit and there were no thoughts in his head except that he couldn’t leave it like this. Maybe there would never be a chance for them, but another two years would not pass without her knowing.

Anthony held her close as she sobbed, all the pain and loss and regret draining from her body. He hated that he’d played any role in it, hated that Kate didn’t feel all the love and security she deserved. So he let her cling to him until she was calm, until she was kissing him again and everything felt like a fresh start.

When they met Tom for drinks to tell him that they were dating. Tom raised an eyebrow. This didn’t start at my wedding, did it? And Kate’s guilty expression probably told him everything.

Before Anthony could even register what was happening, Tom punched him in the jaw, then straightened his jacket and sat back down. Alright. Now that’s out of the way, appetizers?

When she walked down the aisle to him. In a red saree with weighty gold jewelry, her hair pinned back, the most radiant smile on her face. That was her – the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. A few years late, perhaps, but it didn’t matter now. Not when his family and hers were in the audience, all of their friends, and Kate wasn’t even looking at them. Only at Anthony.  

And he had willingly said whatever vows she wanted, done whatever traditions she wanted, let her have anything and everything she wanted because none of it would ever be enough to thank her, truly thank her, for the second chance she took on him.

“It’s funny,” she said quietly as they swayed together on the dance floor. “Dancing together at another wedding. Except this time…”

“Except this time, it’s ours,” Anthony finished, dropping his forehead against hers. “I do hope you don’t plan on bursting into tears and running away from me again.”

“Technically, I ran away and then burst into tears,” Kate clarified a little teasingly, her breath warm on his lips. “What would you do if I did?”

“Run after you. As many times as I have to.”

Kate’s soft hands tightened around the back of his neck. “I don’t have to run,” she whispered. “We got it right this time.”

She kissed him.

And it was the first time he’d ever had the privilege of losing his breath to Kate Bridgerton.

[nspwriteups]

Blind Date - Modern Vanmozhi OS

Kundavai is Keerthana, Arulmozhi is Arun and Vanathi has no name change... happy reading ☺️

Arun fidgeted in his seat. What was wrong with him? His usual calmness had left him ever since his sister introduced the idea of a blind date and had been persuading him to go on one. Now her mission was accomplished as Arun found himself in a fine high-end restaurant, with his sister already booking the seats for him and his mystery date. He sighed. How can he tell his beloved sibling that he wasn't interested in anyone now, that he just wanted to work on his career as a publisher and his idea of a suitable girl for him was too idealistic  to be true.

Whatever. He thought as he took a sip from his glass of water. Entertain her for some minutes and make an excuse to get a pass from this dating thing. 

He couldn't help but wonder about his date. He didn't know much about her, although he did hear a lot about her from his sister, he let the information pass through his other ear. But he remembered one thing - it was Keerthana's (the sister he had been mentioning so much) best friend. Keerthana had even shared some photos with him but he didn't bother to look at it, heck he didn't even know his blind date's name! He looked at his watch. He was actually early to the decided time for the meeting and now there were still 5 more minutes, he had nothing better to do, why not sneak a peek at the photos his Akka had sent him?

He was about to take his phone from his pocket when he saw a woman approch the front desk. She was dressed in a rose coloured saree, her long hair in waves flowing down her shoulders and he noticed her big doe eyes scan  the room, lingering for a few seconds on his form before looking back at the front desk person to ask something. 

Get a hold of yourself, Arun. Arun chided himself. Don't ogle at her, whoever it was. He thought for a second whether that was his mystery date. He suddenly got a feeling of curiosity and familiarity, that he has known this person from somewhere and wanted to get to know her more. He unlocked his phone and looked one last time at the woman and got a shock seeing her walk towards him.

"Hi" She said in a soft voice and Arun gave her a friendly smile "Are you Arun? Keerthana's brother?" 

"That would be me" Arun shaked her hand and they both took their seats. 

"I am Vanathi " She said in a formal tone.

"That's a very beautiful name" Arun said genuinely, and secretly prided himself in making her smile a second time. Maybe this date wasn't going to be a bad one after all.

But he had to correct himself after a few minutes. They both fell into a deep silence which was only broken by a waiter who brought them some wine to drink. 

Arun kept glancing at Vanathi on occasion, noting how she was fidgeting with her hands and how her eyes were looking at everything in the room except at him. It was clear she was nervous, probably in a blind date for the first time. He was no stranger to blind dates thanks to his sister who was intend on making him meet every girl in town so she can plan his marriage  with silent encouragement from his family. The key is to start with small talk.

"So Vanathi, what do you do?" He asked

She looked at him at that moment "I am a dance choreographer" She said, "I heard Keerthana mention that you work in a publishing house?" She was the one to contribute to the conversation next, gaining a little confidence.

"Yes, it's a startup that I have, I am planning on expanding it. That is what I'm focusing on at the moment " He said, thinking back on his career journey.

"Oh" He heard Vanathi exclaim and looked in her direction just in time to see a disappointed look in her face.

"So you weren't looking forward to this date?" She half whispered, while nursing her wine glass

Arun opened and closed his mouth, unable to give a proper answer and not wanting to make her even more disappointed because he realised the person sitting opposite to him was hoping for something more from this meetup "Vanathi, If I have to be honest, I did agree to this because of my sister but is there no way we can get to know each other and make this a good memory?" He was hoping his carefully chosen words would cushion the initial fact that he was disinterested in this ordeal but only got a hum from his listener.

Another few minutes of torturing silence prevailed and Arun was contemplating on renewing the small talk when Vanathi suddenly stood up.

" I'm sorry but I don't think this is working" She gave him an apologetic smile " All this formal wear and high-end restaurant and molecular food with expensive prices are not my idea of a date. Let's just tell Keerthana that it didn't work out. I don't want to take up any more of your time. I'll get the check" 

Arun was gaping at this sudden monologue. Wait, she's leaving? Wait, why was he so upset with that , it's not like he was having a picnic either. Then he realised something - this idea of a blind date was Keerthana's, the choice of place was Keerthana's and even the choice of clothing was Keerthana's. They were made to spend time in an ambience of a third person's tatse! That was what was wrong with this entire situation.

"Wait" he said, surprising Vanathi who looked at him curiously. "What is your idea of a date then?" He asked

She hesitated "You wouldn't like it" She stated

"Try me" He insisted . Vanathi blushed a bit and said "Street food. Chai in those little clay cups. Long drive with lofi music or slow walks on the beach"

He grinned at her answer. His first impression of her was sophisticated,Elegant, Nervous. But now she made a new impression - simple, composed and alluring. 

"Then what are we waiting for?" He stood up too and caught a shocked look on Vanathi's face. Let Keerthana think they're having a top notch wine and dine, "I can keep a secret from my Akka" He added, looking at her challengingly "Can you?" 

She gave a short laugh and shook her head, as if she couldn't believe how different the siblings were from each other "Okay then let's go on a real date"

Let me know if you want me to write a second part to this

@ramcharanobsessed @dumdaradumdaradum @vibishalakshman @harinishivaa @hollogramhallucination @kovaipaavai@rang-lo. @willkatfanfromasia@thelekhikawrites@thegleamingmoon@deafeningflowercat@yehsahihai@whippersnappersbookworm@itsfookingloosah@gemsmusings@chiyaanvikram@elvenladysakura. @matka-kulfi. @madatdisney@bumblebeeskywalker@vahnithedreamer@nkarti@dosai-maavu@utterlynotperfect@winter-birds@happy-bookworm @tumbledout @anabanana4115 @freeunknownwasteland @bhataktiatmacore@rapunzels-stuff@celestesinsight@mairablue@rationalelderberry@existenceiswhateven@arachneofthoughts@spider5884fan11 @cara-2003 @nirmohi-premika @stella12 @thereader-radhika

[women-throughout-history]

Gayatri Devi

Gayatri Devi, born on May 23, 1919, in London, United Kingdom, was a prominent figure in Indian royalty, politics, and fashion. She was the third Maharani consort of Jaipur from 1940 to 1949 through her marriage to Maharaja Sawai Man Singh II. She has left a significant impact on the cultural and political landscape of India. Gayatri Devi was a trailblazer in Indian politics. In the 1962 parliamentary election, she achieved a historic victory, securing the largest majority vote of any candidate. A member of the Swatantra Party, she served as a prominent critic of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's government during her 12-year political career. Despite facing political challenges, including imprisonment during the Emergency in 1975, she remained steadfast in her commitment to public service. Her commitment to women's empowerment extended beyond politics. She established schools in Jaipur, including the Maharani Gayatri Devi Girls School, providing education to thousands of girls and women. Her passion for education was evident in her efforts to promote the first steps of development through learning. An avid sports woman, she excelled in polo and shooting, reflecting her adventurous spirit. She was also known for her love of automobiles and was credited with bringing the first W126 model to India.  Maharani Gayatri Devi was listed as one of Vogue's 10 most beautiful women. Crediting her mother as her style inspiration, she said, “she was one of the most fashionable, most independent and most modern Maharanis ever. She always knew the best places to buy anything and she shopped all over the world.” Gayatri was known for her signature chiffon saris, crafted in Lyon, France, which were adorned with pearls and emeralds.  After retiring from politics, Gayatri Devi spent her later years in a quiet life on her large estate, engaging in hobbies and leisure. She passed away on July 29, 2009, due to paralytic ileus and a lung infection

https://www.financialexpress.com/life/lifestyle-meet-gayatri-devi-the-maharani-of-jaipur-who-started-the-trend-of-chiffon-sarees-know-the-politician-who-is-a-passionate-rider-and-a-social-worker-3229152/ (shows images of gayatri) https://books.google.co.in/books/about/A_Princess_Remembers.html?id=5CoWAQAAMAAJ&redir_esc=y (her autobiography)

[paintkari]

[girlsgirl06]

WHAT'S YOUR STYLE?

DISCOVER YOUR STYLE!😉

Fashion is very important. Being well dressed makes the personality more beautiful and strong.

The way you dress tells a lot about you. You might have noticed the type of outfits you wear, you feel the same way. For example: When I wear that oversized baggy clothes I feel so cool and become kind of very open and confident. And when I wear beautiful dresses I feel like I'm the princess. So you understand our clothes create a great impact on us and our behaviour.

So dress for not getting attention but to feel confident and pretty. Dress for yourself, not for others. Dress the way you want to.

Now, let's have a look on some of the most trendiest and amazing types of style. Observe each style and find which style matches your vibe☺️

1. CASUAL/ STREET WEAR/CHIC STYLE

Casual/Street style or Chic style is about being a little simple like pair of jeans and top or shirts, like anything that's comfy.

2. DARK FEMININE/FEMME FATALE/ ELEGANT

A Dark Feminine or Femme Fatale is a woman who styles mostly in black, red or dark colours. Her style is so elegant and classy. She often wears backless dresses or Blazers with a pair of heels accessorizing with beautiful jewellery. She dresses like she's the queen.

3. SOFT GIRL/GIRLY GIRL

A Soft girl style is very cute one. She often wears floral dresses or anything of floral print, skirts, a-line dresses etc. She mostly chooses colours like white, pink or pastel light colours. This style is more about being cute and girly. You can also add cute stuff as accessories.

4. TOMBOY

Tomboy style is one of the most savage styles among all. It is all about wearing oversized shirts, tshirts, sweatshirts, hoodies, baggy jeans/trousers accessorizing with caps, beanies, headbands, shoes, chains, studds etc. This style is more about being a cool girl.

5. Y2K

Y2K which is one of the most trendiest styles nowadays is a recreation of 2000's fashion. Wearing dresses and jeans underneath, styling skirts with oversized tees, bell bottoms jeans and accessorizing it as much as possible.

6. COQUETTE

Coquette style includes Ribbons. It is accessorizing ribbon on hairs or on clothes, mini skirts with cute crop tops. This style is very similar to soft girl style.

7. COTTAGE CORE

Cottage core is also similar to soft girl style. Wearing light colour outfits, mostly floral print, accessorizing with bows and pretty necklaces, bracelets, earrings etc. You can add crochet bags, baskets if going on trip, long skirts and cardigans.

8. OFFICE SIREN

Office Siren is also recreation of 2000's style. It is a classy and attractive style. If you wanna be looked up as a classy, elegant, smart and charming woman at office or wherever, you should go with this style.

9. DESI CORE

Desi core is an Indian girl's style. Wearing Indian traditional outfits like kurtis, lehengas, sarees etc. Accessorizing with Indian jewellery like jhumkas(earrings) or bangles etc. I'll make a detailed blog on Desi Core as it's one of the most beautiful styles.

Your style makes you known. Wear more of your style, buy clothes according to your styles. Remember buying expensive clothes is not the point, buying the clothes that matches your vibe and style is more important. But also remember to spice up your personality by switching the styles. So do have more than one style, it will make your personality mysterious and interesting. You can also make a mix of styles to look more stylish and fashionable. For example: You can have that Femme Fatale look with a bit of soft girly style.

You can find the inspo of your style on the best app of all time PINTEREST❤️

I hope I made it easier to find your style. Dress well, Vibe well😉

Thankyou for reading my blog ❤️

[hezzabeth]

The lost princess, the biggest grandest portrait in the entire gallery, stared down at Revati. Amma had often said many claimed she was the most beautiful woman on Mars. Papi would then laugh and say she didn't hold a torch to Amma. Revati honestly agreed with her father; the princess always seemed to have an insipid, fragile look to her. She seemed like the sort of person who would cry when stepping on an ant. Also, her saree in the picture was a hideous combination of beige and mustard yellow.

"Drink, Ma'am?" a tourist dressed in an ill-fitting servant's uniform asked, holding up a tray.

When it became clear that everyone was going to be trapped in the park forever, people started getting creative. Revati's father had raided the tea shops on Baker Street for any easy-to-grow fruits and vegetables. Thankfully, he came across a bag of potatoes, some old lettuce, and the heads of a few carrots. By the time the supply of souvenir-themed food had run out, they had their own little garden.

"Nice to know you're using the potatoes I traded with you to make strawberry vodka instead of food," Revati sniffed, grabbing one of the glasses. Thirteen years later, Jay's vegetable scraps were now a profitable farm, guarded that Revati kept heavily under guard.

"At least it's better than the apple drink they were serving last time. I spilt some of it, and the paint melted off the wall," Aurora remarked as she joined Revati.

"True, but I was able to use it to burn that dimwit who tried to break into our rainwater supply," Revati remarked as they moved into the assembly room.

The assembly room had been designed decades ago to resemble a "cherub's paradise." The walls were covered in chipped baby blue paint, while someone had painted a mural of fluffy white clouds and flying naked babies on the ceiling. Forty or so teenagers, the children of Whistleton actors, were lined up in formal outfits with numbers on their chests. When the appliances invaded, the actors on Baker Street had fled for their lives, leaving the tourists to their devices. The actors in Whistleton, on the other hand, seemed to think Armageddon was an excuse to fully commit to their historical romance fantasy. The teenagers all bowed to each other and then began to dance in an intricate pattern. Several servants, trying their best to make music using a prop piano and several empty water jugs, accompanied them. None of the dancers were Dityaa.

"So, are you going to keep the boy or cut him loose?" Aurora asked, and Revati shrugged.

"Not sure yet, the plant thing is interesting… we could use him in the garden," Revati said, weighing her options. Other leaders firmly believed in trimming the fat; Revati, however, knew it was better to turn the fat into soap.

Bridgadeiro was approaching them now, eating a canapé fashioned from strawberries and a lettuce leaf.

"This food is fascinating! It actually tastes like it was grown in the ground," he remarked.

Aurora and Revati exchanged a confused look.

"Of course it was grown in the ground; all the food here is... or they're fried insects," Revati said, explaining. While Baker Street had potatoes and carrots, Whistleton managed to grow strawberries, pineapples, and peaches.

"Really? Where I'm from, only the very rich get to eat actual grown food! We make do with fruit made in our Creatrix," he said before taking another bite of his strawberry lettuce cup.

"What's a Creatrix, mistress?" Aurora whispered to Revati.

"One of those metal box things that makes food and clothes using sand from Saturn, my parents had one before the invasion," Revati explained, and Aurora's eyes widened.

"You mean you live on a planet with actual modern technology? That must be thrilling," Aurora cried, clapping her hands together.

"Well, technically I live on the southwest space station," he said. Revati merely walked away, taking a sip of her drink. It tasted like a mouthful of expired perfume.

A queen was sitting at the very back of the ballroom on a small stage. A majestic queen, her dark skin and towering wig dusted with gold powder. Unlike the other dancers, her ballgown was fluffy, modern, and a deep blood red. She whispered to one of the teenagers in an empire gown standing next to her. Then crisply she nodded towards Revati.

"Well, Queen Victoria has spotted you," Aurora remarked.

"Queen Victoria? Don't you mean Vicky Ditchwater?" Revati smirked.

"Shh! The last person who mentioned her old name got thrown out to the hair dryers," Aurora hissed back, and Revati just shrugged, casually walking across the ballroom, disrupting the dance.

"Mistress Rave, how lovely to see you! And in such a becoming gown," Queen Victoria said, her smile parting into a frozen smile.

"I like your dress as well, is it new?" Revati asked, not really caring to hear the answer.

"The latest design from New Singapore! It's part of a new style called robotic vampirism," the Queen replied.

"And how many of your unmarried subjects did you have to give to the appliances to get it? Three? Four?" Revati asked, raising an eyebrow.

Queen Victoria's expression froze. One thing the appliances were constantly searching for was new fresh feet. One thing Whistleton constantly strived for were "perfect matches."

"Just two, last season was incredibly successful," smiled Queen Victoria serenely.

"And I see this season you have your eyes on my sister”

Revati pointed out.

Here's the corrected version of the text:

"Well, she is uncommonly pretty, and has such a gentle personality," the Queen smiled.

"Gentle personality? Her brain is made out of marshmallows and glitter! The last thing she needs is for the Duke to abandon her in hostile territory," Revati said, folding her arms dramatically, and the Queen waved one hand.

"Oh, she'll be fine! The Duke is a lovely boy! He brought us an entire crate of heating blankets," the Queen said.

"She's clumsy! She trips and sprains her ankle at least once a month; she won't last a week in occupied zones," Revati replied wearily.

"The Duke specifically asked for her! He parachuted from the sky, insisting he was here for the eldest Sheikh sister," Queen Victoria protested, sounding vaguely annoyed.

"He wanted Dityaa? Why would he want her? How would he even know she exists?" Revati asked, incredibly confused. The only record of Dityaa’s existence came from the one year she spent in public school before the invasion.

Once Revati had asked about her birth certificate when working on a recorded list of residents on Baker Street. "Your sister was born in a refugee camp during the beginning of the war! There were no birth certificates," Amma replied.

When they were little, Dityaa would frighten Revati with ghost stories. Tales about how Dityaa’s “other mother” would visit her as a ghost while everyone else slept.

"Do I have another mother who’s a ghost?" whispered Revati, hiding under her blanket.

"No, just me. She says I have four strands of life inside of me instead of two," Dityaa whispered. The stories stopped once they found themselves stranded on Baker Street. Sometimes Revati would wonder if there was any truth to it.

While Revati helped her mother fix broken electronics, Dityaa would spin around giggling. While father and Nani dug up potatoes, Dityaa picked flowers, turning them into a crown. Dityaa wasn’t quite like anyone in the family. But then again, she did look an awful lot like Amma.

[cybermart-india]

Why Indian Ethnic Wear is So Popular Worldwide #

Indian ethnic wear is more than just a fashion statement - it reflects the rich cultural heritage and traditional values that have been passed down through generations. From the intricate embroidery to the vibrant colors, every aspect of Indian ethnic wear carries a deep significance that goes beyond mere aesthetics. Wearing these garments is not just about looking fashionable; it is a way to honor the traditions and customs that have shaped the Indian way of life. The act of draping a saree or donning a kurta-pajama is a testament to the enduring spirit of a culture that has weathered the test of time. Looking out for the latest fashion for women online visit Cybermart India.  

The Enduring Charm of Indian Ethnic Wear: From Sarees to Kurtas 

Celebrate being woman with the stunning collections. From exquisite sarees to elegant kurtas, the richness of Indian traditional attire speaks volumes about its everlasting appeal. The beauty lies in its intricate designs, vibrant colors, and timeless elegance that leave a lasting impression on fashion enthusiasts worldwide. Immerse yourself in fashion with best ethnic wear for women at our leading platform for online shopping, Cybermart.  

Stunning Kurta Sets  

Elevate Your Ethnic Wardrobe with the best in style kurta sets. These are a staple in every Indian woman's wardrobe, offering a perfect blend of tradition and style. Whether you're attending a wedding, festival, or simply want to add a touch of elegance to your everyday wear, a stunning kurta set is the perfect choice. By choosing the right fabric and color, experimenting with different silhouettes, accessorizing wisely, mixing and matching pieces, and investing in quality pieces, you can create a look that is both elegant and stylish. Shop our best kurta sets online & turn heads wherever you go.  

Elegant Saree Drapes 

Sarees are a timeless and versatile garment that can add a touch of elegance and sophistication to the wardrobe. The beauty of the saree lies in its draping style, which can vary depending on the region in India or the personal preference of the wearer. Whether you're attending a traditional Indian event or a modern-day party, wearing a saree is sure to make you stand out and make a statement. So why not add a saree to your collection and embrace the beauty and grace of this iconic Indian attire? Buy sarees online at Cybermart.  

Lehenga On the Go 

A lehenga is a timeless and elegant outfit that can make any woman feel like a queen. With the right choice of fabric, color, styling, and accessories, you can create a stunning look that is bound to turn heads at any event. This beautiful outfit consists of a long skirt, a blouse or top, and a dupatta or scarf. The lehenga comes in various styles, fabrics, colors, and embellishments, making it a versatile and stunning choice for any woman looking to make a statement. So, the next time you have a special occasion coming up, Buy new design lehenga and embrace the beauty of traditional Indian fashion. 

What role do Bollywood celebrities play in promoting Indian ethnic wear globally? 

Many celebrities have been seen rocking Indian ethnic wear on various occasions, from award shows to weddings to red carpet events. If you want to style your Indian ethnic wear like a celebrity, here are some tips to help you achieve that glamorous look: 

1. Opt for Designer Outfits: Celebrities often choose designer Indian ethnic wear for their events. Investing in designer outfits can instantly elevate your look and make you feel like a star. Look for designers who specialize in Indian ethnic wear and choose outfits that suit your personal style. 

2. Experiment with Different Silhouettes: Traditional Indian ethnic wear comes in a variety of silhouettes, from sarees to lehengas to anarkalis. Experimenting with different silhouettes can help you find what works best for your body type and style. Don't be afraid to try new styles and push the boundaries of traditional Indian fashion. 

3. Pay Attention to Detail: Celebrities pay attention to every detail when it comes to styling their outfits. From jewelry to makeup to hair, every aspect of their look is meticulously planned. Take inspiration from celebrities and pay attention to the details of your outfit. Choose accessories that complement your outfit and make sure your hair and makeup are on point. 

4. Mix and Match: Don't be afraid to mix and match different pieces of Indian ethnic wear to create a unique look. Pair a traditional saree with a modern blouse or mix a lehenga skirt with a crop top. Mixing and matching different elements of Indian ethnic wear can help you create a one-of-a-kind look that stands out. 

5. Confidence is Key: The most important tip to styling your Indian ethnic wear like a celebrity is to wear it with confidence. Celebrities exude confidence when they walk the red carpet, and you should too. Own your look, stand tall, and walk with confidence to truly rock your Indian ethnic wear. 

By following these tips and taking inspiration from celebrities, you can style your Indian ethnic wear like a star and make a statement at any event or occasion. Remember to have fun with your outfits and let your personal style shine through. 

Conclusion: Embrace the Beauty and Diversity of Indian Ethnic Wear for a Truly Unique Style 

In essence, Indian ethnic wear for women is a timeless and versatile style that celebrates the rich heritage and craftsmanship of India. So, whether you're a fashion lover or someone looking to embrace your cultural roots, Indian ethnic wear is a must-have in every woman's wardrobe. Whether it's a traditional wedding or a festive celebration, Indian ethnic wear has the perfect outfit for every event.  

If you're tired of the hassle of traditional shopping for ethnic wear, give Cybermart a try. With their extensive collection, convenient online platform, and dedication to customer satisfaction, you're sure to find the perfect ethnic outfit for any occasion. So why wait? Start browsing their collection today and elevate your wardrobe with Cybermart's best online ethnic wear for women. 

Customer’s Frequently Asked Question & Answers (FAQ’s) 

1. Why Indian Ethnic Wear is On-Demand? 

Indian Ethnic wear offers a variety of styles that cater to different tastes and preferences. The craftsmanship and attention to detail that go into creating these garments make them stand out in the world of fashion. 

2.. How to Rock Indian Ethnic Wear Like a Bollywood Celebrity? 

Indian Ethnic wear has gained considerable global attention in recent years, with celebrities and fashion influencers from around the world embracing traditional Indian outfits for red carpet events, fashion shows, and social media posts. 

Why Choose Cybermart to buy Indian Ethnic Wear for Women? 

In a world where online shopping has become the norm, finding the perfect ethnic wear for women can sometimes be a daunting task. However, Cybermart is here to save the day with its wide range of ethnic wear options for women that cater to all tastes and preferences. 

Sarees | kurtas Kurtis | Dress material | Blouses | lehenga choli | Gowns | Dupattas | leggings-churidars | Palazzos 

[honeybellexox]

Khushi’s Fashion Makeover

This is my attempt at giving Khushi a reimagined, 2022 makeover, as some of you were curious to see a alternative take.

Khushi was incredibly challenging, compared to Payal. Her fashion is less straightforward and more up to interpretation. Also, being the main character adds another layer of pressure! Idk if I’ll ever get a chance at working for AR but here’s what I came up with:

So I know this is either a hit or miss but I had 3 factors that I had to try and meet … 1. Colourfulness 2. Mobility/Comfort 3. Quirkiness

Khushi is a person who loves colours, she loves being bright and has a very playful personality. It’s also important to dress her in clothes that visually separate her from other characters as she is the main character…so I got all these outfits from brand called Indya, they do really fun, modern and quirky Indian clothes! I feel this brand was perfect for Khushi!

I tried to stay away from sarees because Khushi prefers dresses and churidaar, for mobility reasons ..she’s always running around, energetic, up to some shenanigan! Sanaya is a petite/ Gamine-like woman (a lot like Audrey Hepburn), so she looks the best in fitted silhouettes. I liked the idea of her in sleeveless dresses, just to give her a more youthful, flirty feel (this is her wardrobe post elopement - kidnapping period …so there’s a sexiness and modernisation to her dressing that didn’t exist previously). Also, I know those sets don’t have dupattas, but I would definitely add them …Khushi wouldn’t feel comfortable without one and I think they would make the outfits more elegant.

I chose some sarees too (not that Khushi needs any help in that department, she’s got amazing taste in sarees!)

But these sarees are for a mature, sexier Khushi who’s settled into her marriage and new lifestyle. So they’re very much on the glamorous, sparklier side (a call back to her ‘chamkili’ self!)

Now hair!

I actually love Khushi’s long dramatic hair, it’s very iconic and paired with ^^^ outfits, it would look amazing. I’m just not a fan of when it’s pinned from the sides, I feel it looks a bit dated. I much prefer it long, open and dramatic.

(Pic from Pinterest.)

Alternatively, the curtain bang style she sported in the serial Rangrasiya really highlighted her Gamine features (again, like Audrey Hepburn). I know she had a fringe in the later episodes of IPK but I feel it wasn’t styled as nicely as it was in RR.

(All images from Pinterest)

I think it would have paired nicely with the fitted, vibrant clothes.

I want to just add an alternative style too…as the above style is a bit unconventional! Khushi looks amazing in Jewelled tones so I could also see her wearing a collection of high-end Anarkalis and elegant suits.

I don’t know if I completely missed the mark with this one, I certainly won’t be getting that job at AR but again, this was really fun! 🥰

I’m curious to know how would have styled Khushi differently??

Honey!💗✨

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

So here it is a desi reader x Stephen where she visits kamar taj in saree and he falls in love. She comes as probably a junior journalist. Like he's got a big crush on her. And she's like young and pretty looking.

a/n: hey sorry for taking a long time, hope you like this.

warnings: fluff

It was your first big assignment as a junior journalist and you were very excited, nervous too. This was like nothing before you had done, the world changed after the Alien attack in New York in 2012. Since then there has been robots, aliens, wizards magic and what not.

That’s how you found yourself in the mystic place called Kamar Taj, interviewing the students learning the mystic arts as well as the sorcerer supreme.

You chose to wear a Saree, a classic desi professional look. Kamar Taj felt something out of the world. People using magic to open portals, people hard at work to learn magic, it seemed like a fairy tale.

While talking to the Sorcerer Supreme, Wong, you spotted a tall man coming your way. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“This is Stephen Strange, he was the Sorcerer Supreme before disappearing in the Blip. He is considered to be the best of us.”

You turned your head to said Stephen Strange and you couldn’t help but stare at him. To your surprise, he was staring at you as well.

Strange couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your dark hair lusciously gracing you, the attire you were wearing made you look like a princess he thought. You were gorgeous and he was mesmerised.

“Please to meet you Miss, i’m Dr. Strange, you can call me Stephen.” He shook your hand gently.

You had to stay a few days in Kamar Taj for your assignment, and gradually you became more intrigued by Stephen.

He was always very sweet to you, he shared his journey of initially not believing in the mystic arts to becoming the protector of the time stone and how things changed for him.

You shared your own story, where you come from and how being a journalist was your dream. You also told him how this world of magic intrigued you so much.

One day he asked if you would like to see the sunset with him, he knew a great spot. You agreed. It was beautiful indeed but Stephen was way more focused looking at you than the sunset.

“I had a great time today Stephen, thank you” you politely smiled at him.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman i’ve seen and it would make me very happy if you agree to go on a date with me.”

You nodded and kissed his cheek, which made the strong man blush.

“See you soon for our date then, Dr. Strange.”

“Yes indeed. Just have one request, wear a Saree please.” he winked

“Yeah? what is it?” “Wear a Saree please.” he winked

“Wear a Saree please” he winked.

“Wear a Saree please.” He winked.