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famwhy · 2 years ago

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Judging Aunties

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

Hobie Brown X South Asian!F!Reader

Synopsis: you just wanted to enjoy a nice family gathering with your boyfriend but of course your very rude and judgy aunties had to say something because why would they ever let you be happy? Luckily for you, Hobie loved you too much to let them get in the way. (In other words, Hobie being such a comforting and supportive boyfriend.)

Warnings: minor panic attack (I think?) and there will be depictions of racism in this fic as I can't lie to you, lots of South Asian aunties are very judgy when you bring someone that isn't South Asian to a family meet. I do not condone it, nor do I excuse it. This fic is here to condemn it.

Note: I encourage you to read this even if you aren't South Asian as I'd love to share the experiences of south asians to those of you that don't know much. One of the huge, glaring issues is how judging older aunties can be if you decide to date a guy that isn't brown as well and I wanted to write this fic to highlight that issue. Of course, there are many delights about being south asian too but this fic is focusing on one issue. And dw, Hobie tells them to suck it. (Also, the reader is bengali specifically in this.)

The eyes. You could feel them, boring straight into your back—sending whatever voodoo evil-eye shit they could your way.

And all for what? 'Cause you had a boyfriend that looked different to them? Spoke differently and had different mannerisms? So fucking what? He loved you and you loved him, wasn't that enough?

"Ayo," you heard his voice faintly, and you felt guilty when you couldn't help but pay more attention to their gazes on you, "I'm gonna go grab us some'in to eat, yeah?"

You nodded but your eyes stayed cloudy, barely focusing on if he had left yet or not. Though, judging by the muttering voices that grew louder—he was gone and the aunties were approaching.

"Y/N, beti, was that your new... boyfriend?"

Ugh, her voice sounded like nails against a chalkboard to your ears. And—somehow—she made the usually nice-sounding accent that coated her tongue, seem god-awful.

"Yeah, what of it?" You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes in her direction.

"Nothing... just... did it not work out with Rohan? I thought that boy was quite nice."

Here we go.

"No, fufu, Rohan didn't work out."

"That's a shame. He's training to be a doctor, you know—"

Is that so? I didn't know that after the hundreds of times you already told me, auntie.

"—a perfect marriage candidate."

"Mhm, good for him." You dismissed her with a light wave of your hand, barely managing to keep yourself from sinking your nails into her flesh right then and there.

Though, even your restrained actions were enough to cause her to narrow her own eyes at you. "Does your bhai know you're with... him?"

"He's the first person I told."

"He's the first person you told?"—and so the judging continues—"tor maa baaf khene khoysona foila?" ("why didn't you tell your mum and dad first?")

Your eye twitched. "They were also among the first I told."

"And they approved?"

The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this bitch.

"Why wouldn't they approve?"

"Well, you know—"

"There a problem, ladies?" Lo and behold, the person of interest had made his way back over to you, a plate of your mother's freshly baked samosas in one hand, his other hand resting by his side.

You lit up at his appearance, practically gliding over to him as your salwar kameez jingled with every step you took, emphasising your joy further as your arms looped around his neck and you rested your head against his chest.

His steady heartbeat was always comforting to listen to; always calmed your nerves.

"I can't lie, love, you're looking sweet in dat dress styll."

You giggled, feeling yourself turn into putty from just his one compliment. Even just his presence was enough to melt your bones and render you into an immovable pond of gooey mush, eyes practically turning into hearts as you endlessly swooned.

"And you are...?"

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

"My name's Hobie, Hobie Brown." He held his hand out to her and when she merely looked at it with narrowed eyes, you could feel your grip tighten around his neck.

"Listen, my niece is very gentle—"

"Gen'le?" He interrupted her, incredulous. "This one? Are you mad?"

"Hobie!" You whined but buried your head into his chest to hide the growing smile on your lips that would give away your true feelings.

"What? It's a compliment, you're a mad ting, you know? Enough to make a big man stumble."

Another sickening, little school-girl giggle left your mouth and you could already envision your aunties scrunching their noses up in distaste at the blatant display of affection but—honestly?—you didn't give a fuck. You were in Hobie's arms and that was all that mattered.

"What is with all your... piercings? Are you in a gang?"

Okay, what did she just say?

You were fully ready to just snap at her but Hobie beat you to speaking first. "Nah, I don't do that gang shit."

"Fufu, I think you need to leave." You turned your head her way, grip tightening even further as your brows caved in tenfold; red, hot rage flowing through your veins.

You were about to pull away—give her a piece of your mind and forcefully make her leave—but, Hobie looped an arm around your waist and prevented you from creating any distance with him.

When you looked up to address him, however, you noticed how he wasn't looking at you—instead, he was staring right at your auntie, lips shaped into a straight line. "Just say you don't like me da'ing her 'cause I'm black, yeah?"

Woah.

Your auntie gritted her teeth, nostrils flaring as she fiercely huffed, raising one pointer finger his way in her rage as she parted her lips, ready to let out another one of her long, bitchy speeches.

But Hobie wasn't having it, and so, shut her right up when he turned his head back your way, tilting your chin and meeting your lips in a sudden—and extremely passionate—kiss.

Your eyes stayed open long enough for you to catch a glimpse of him raising his middle finger up and sending it right her way before you smirked and melted straight into him.

Despite the kiss being done to prove a point, it still didn't feel any less magical as every other kiss with him. Hobie was the only one who could ever make you feel this way—and you adored him for it, regardless of what some stuck-up auntie had to say.

When he finally pulled away (much to your dismay), he turned back over to your auntie, who stood there with her mouth hung open, and said, "do me a favour, yeah? Fuck off."

And soon, you were tugged off, away from the multiple pairs of eyes that belonged to all your other relatives in the room and towards another empty one instead.

Though, as Hobie led you over to the couch, you couldn't help but feel a wave of a certain strong emotion you felt when you brought your last non-brown lover over to a family gathering; a wave so strong, you had to voice it.

"I get it."

"Huh?"

"If you don't wanna be with me anymore—I get it. My aunties are really overbearing and South Asian culture is really, really unwelcome to other races so I—" a lump formed in your throat and you could barely finish uttering your sentence, unable to push past the stupid thing.

"Woah, woah, woah, what are you on about, love?" Hobie's voice sounded concerned but he was probably just trying to be sweet, he would leave you just like your past lover did—and all because of a dumb family gathering. God, how could you be so stupid? You shouldn't have taken him in the first place.

"It's just—" you choked up, vision blurring as your heart constricted and it got harder and harder to breathe.

"Woah, look at me, love. Look at me." His hands placed themselves on your shoulders as he levelled with you, making your nerves relax a little just by the sight of his face. "Breathe with me."

You followed the movement of his chest, breathing in rhythm with him until your vision cleared up and your words finally found you again.

"It's just that— my last boyfriend left me because of my aunties and— and— I don't want you to leave me too."

Please don't leave, I love you too much, Hobie.

"I would never leave you 'cause of some jarring prick that's part of your family. Ever."

You blinked. "Really? Not even 'cause I'm Desi?"

"What are you chatting 'bout? My guy Pav is Indian, you don't see me not bein' 'is mate 'cause of that."

He made a good point.

"Look, yeah, Y/N? I love you. No ma'er what. Never forget that."

And it was at that moment where you, Y/N L/N, found yourself falling in love with Hobie Brown all over again.

"I love you too, Hobie."

(Note: If I catch any comments that undermine this experience or call me racist for writing about this behaviour and calling it out, I will delete them and block the commenter. I take this very seriously and I hope you are mature enough to also do so. That's all, have a good day.)

#female reader #desi reader #south asian reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse

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whispersoflullaby · 25 days ago

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"Breaking" the gendering of media: A case study on Shiguang

A question kept coming back to my mind again and again, that why do we tend to criminalize whenever we see a media which was "canonically" (the term canon icks me to the core) built to portray a broader political or social issue being used to deconstruct personal emotions? For example, a song used to portray the pain and horrors of partition being used to reconstruct the grief of personal loss and also about loss of identity. As if talking about personal loss is making a topic less serious or not respecting the depth of a subject. As if it is the continuation of the gendering the places being implicted upon media. The "oikos" (the personal space) , the "non serious" personal emotions are not meant to be dragged into the "polis" (the public sphere). When we take the journey from the home to the world, our personal journey becomes a palimpsest of many others which give us a feeling of community. When we get the feeling that our dilema is not only ours but a shared feeling of many, we tend to raise questions and break the boundary of the "home and the world", it tend to give us a vocabulary to curate.

Link Click as a series breaks this notion of differentiating between the the struggles. The suffering of the world is mine as well as my sufferings are also a matter to discuss, to analyze and to deconstruct, it's of everyone. For example the the incidents of sudent suicide due to excessive educational loan or even if it is about trying to save one's mother or about spreading the word of love, even if it is about the very domestic banters of Shiguang or it is about taking a step further to help Xu Shanshan and not taking money from her and just mere "helping" her to unite with her beloved .

As a very close friend of mine once mentioned " Shiguang through their love creates a brand new "vocabulary" of love" (if they gives me permission I will definitely tag them), the vocabulary enables them to question the normativity. And questioning the normativity makes you a threat to the authority - cause when you ask the right question at the right time , it makes your identity identifiable and then the authority can't treat you like a mass, a mass to be dismissed, to be discarded. I can't control my urge to quote Derek Walcott's "The Schooner's Flight" here- "I am either nobody or I am the nation" .According to me, probably this is how censorship also works - they fear the creation of the new vocab. The love which revolts but don't conform: a love which doesn't leave , but questions the normativitives. We try our best within our capacity - but what love does it doesn't know the capacity. ( They just don't know, how much love is too much love). That's what is so unique about the love of Shiguang. Here I am gonna quote TGCF " Your Highness..do you know why I refuse to leave this world?... because I still have a beloved in this world." - বিনা যুদ্ধে নাহি দিবো সূচাগ্র মেদিনী - ( I will not leave even a pinch of soil, without a fight). The guts to challange the person in control even though one is not sure about the price he has to pay, even self anhilating from each and every freaking time is probably a better option. You are not someone I choose over everything, you are the one who is inseperable from the concept of "being" of mine- you are the "I" of my eye.

The abilites here not only stand for the ability to change, but taking away the ability also stands for usurping one's ability to try, the silencing of emotions. Once your voice is strangulated you are creating a "destiny" for the opressed it is no longer their fate. Here I am gonna refer to a Bengali song "মোদের কোনো দেশ নেই,মোদের কোনো ভাষা নেই" (We don't have any country, we don't have any language)

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But do you know where link click breaks the very gendering? When it identifies the silencing, the numbing. Many media portrays the consequences of the silencing, how the torture affects the people etc etc. But Link Click does is, it identifies where the mess ups are and it doesn't promise that "everything will be ok" and life will be "a bed of roses". No, it never will be- that's not what post modernism teaches us. Rather, Link Click teaches it may not be a smooth walk but still we will take the path as there is no "correct" path. As the author of the Ronxi chronicle mentions - it may not be the easiest path but you will never regret it. The concept of "correctness" is a construt, the "originality" is a mere myth and "TIME"!! … As we all know " Time is a hypocritical construct"...

#guangshi #link click #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #shiguang daili ren #shiguang #shíguāng dàilǐrén #donghua #时光代理人 #time agents #queer love #queer joy #Youtube #shi guang dai li ren #guang guang #sdglr

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saleeba · 10 months ago

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you look good in red and white ; william saliba

summary ♡ new year celebrations back home prove to be a handful but william tries his best to help you out.

pairing ♡ william saliba x bengali!fem!reader

content ♡ fluff, husband!william, reader is stresseddd and just needs a sit-down tbh, bengali words/terminology, reader is mentioned as having siblings, y/c/n = your cousin’s name, y/s/n = your sibling’s name, kissing, willo being the bestest husband ever !!!!

a/n ♡ arsenal football club are so bengali-coded pass it on 💯💯 ok so red & white are super traditional & prevalent in bengali culture + they’re ofc arsenal’s colours so i connected the dots 🤓☝🏽 (you didn’t connect shit ;-;) hehe anyway it was bengali new year this time last weekend & what better way to belatedly celebrate it than with a short and sweet wilo fic :D happy bengali new year / shubho noboborsho & i hope u all (bengali or otherwise!) enjoy this one !! ❤️🤍

“william! here, try this for us!”

no sooner than he had stepped a sandal-clad foot into the kitchen, you’re there shoving a chomchom into william’s mouth, the poor boy immediately being startled by your shouting and the manic running around of your siblings and cousins — not to mention the softly sweet intrusion his mouth experiences at the hands of his wife.

william had decided to escape the company of your dad and uncles once the mid-morning conversation turned to politics, knowing how chaotically passionate the men in your family get once the topic of current events gets brought up, in search of your comforting company in what’s the first time you’ve taken him back home in your relationship, never mind for such an important festivity. bengali new year in your motherland just hit differently and you wanted william to be fully immersed in every part of the extravagancies that your heritage brought to help pop his bengali culture cherry. unfortunately, being one of the “older younger” members of the extended family, you had taken it upon yourself to be at the forefront of all the festive tasks which meant that the new year wasn’t going to be quite the relaxed and enjoyable shared time either you or william had been thinking of.

although, admittedly, he shouldn’t have been so surprised at the utter carnage unfolding in the kitchen since every single one of your relatives was up at the slightest sliver of dawn today, rushing about the residence to begin the pressing yet procrastinated matter of setting up decorations, preparing the food and creating the most stunning of placards for the neighbourhood’s parade; all before one in the afternoon. the hubbub was so sweeping that william had missed a good morning kiss from you — having gotten up so early to denote roles to your younger relatives in the food preparation — and he hadn’t even seen you at the brief breakfast the family had managed to slip into the schedule, making him miss your presence way too much than was allowed in his terms. it was quite definitive of your relationship that you had essentially found him before he had seen you, rushing over in an outfit that william had never seen you in — a red and white shari wrapped around your body, gold jewellery adorning nearly every possible inch of you, the tinkle-tinkle of your anklets melodically ringing in his ears as you make your way over. it all takes his breath away regardless.

“how is it, huh?” you anxiously enquire, taking a quick bite of the sweet yourself, cheeks filling with the spongey sugary goodness as it muffles your voice. “we spent forever making the mix, first it was too soft then too hard, and then y/c/n accidentally dropped it on the floor then we had to argue about what the shape was gonna be and th–”

your stressed-out rambling causes william to laugh, taking the remainder of the chomchom from you and popping it into his mouth before telling you that it’s delicious and there is no reason to worry about it.

“i can give you a hand, y’know? i’m not that bad in front of dough.” he teases, offering to take some load off you and your appointed kitchen team for the day.

you’re quick to refuse, knowing there are quite literally hundreds of sweets and snacks needed to be made in a short amount of time to share throughout the neighbourhood and you don’t want his new year experience to be tainted with the interfamilial arguments that are sure to ensure within these here four walls over the next few hours.

“you should save yourself and rest before we set out for the parade, will, before we fully make you into our mishti guinea pig.” you usher him as best as you can towards the kitchen door and into the courtyard. “besides, i don’t want to be getting a strongly worded text from mikel for fattening you up too much for your job.”

another chuckle from your husband, who accepts, setting off to lend his hand in something else that isn’t getting in the middle of flour and sugar being haphazardly thrown around.

he finds himself in the company of some of your youngest cousins who assign him the role of batter in an impromptu game of cricket in the courtyard, taking the time to teach him all the techniques of a nationally beloved sport that he’s a complete novice in. after a couple of attempts of trying to understand the rules but giving up, his side nonetheless win the game and your baby cousin pipes up with the notion that william is now a “true bengali”, which makes your husband’s heart glow with affection for this new family of his.

the chattering and rushing of a group of yourself and some other cousins as you all pass through the courtyard pulls at his attention, intently watching as a number of you scramble around tables set up for the food and pace back and forth behind them and the kitchen, carrying what seems to be enough snacks to feed the whole country, never mind the neighbourhood. william can see the tension etched onto your face, brows nearly crossed over into a v-shape, and he so badly wants to step in and tell you to sit down for at least a minute but he knows the tasks at hand are more pressing and you really want to get this right for him, your family and the neighbours. he decides that he’ll have to remedy your stress once it’s actually appropriate to do so.

another hour or two follows before the lack of you gets to william, now missing your presence by his side so much that he’s pacing around the house like a madman, dipping into every room and asking whoever he stumbles into where your whereabouts may be. william was damn near about to start shouting your name from the rooftop before an aunt of yours points him towards the direction of the garden where you’re there by yourself, hastily brushing vivid paint over the sketched-out placards for the parade very, very last-minutely. you don’t even have to look up to know that it’s your lover who’s rushing towards you.

“god, it’s all going on today, isn’t it?” you speak before he can and try to place some humour in an otherwise extremely stressful situation, not even finding the time to take your eyes off the painting to look at william while explaining what’s going on. “y/s/n cut their finger and everyone else is so busy so i have to finish these and get them dried in…” you press your phone to check the time. “... 20 minutes.” yeah, you’re somewhat fucked right now.

“and who said you have to do it by yourself?” william rhetorically quizzes you; a mild scolding for bearing so much stress on yourself. “y/n, when’s the last time you sat down or even stopped your feet from running about the house? babe, i thought this was supposed to be a time when we both celebrated together, right? so why don’t we work together, too, yeah?”

you go to refuse him again and tell him to get ready for the parade with the rest of your family but william is having none of it.

“pass me a brush, please,” he softly demands with a sigh, hand outstretched as you eventually accept what he’s been saying to you since the morning and give him the tools he needs to help you finish the painting. you find yourselves completing it in more than half the time, leaving you plenty of time to fan them over to dry.

you turn to william, wanting to thank him for gently knocking some sense into you but getting instantly distracted when you finally allow yourself to take your husband in and appreciate him. you’re in awe of how extra handsome your husband looks in your culture’s traditional attire: a red and white panjabi set to match your shari, the golden handpainted motifs and embroidery sparkling against the rich colours of the cotton material.

“there, see, we finished it together! teamwork isn’t that bad, is it?” he teases and you respond with a tiny jab of your elbow on his side and a light laugh. “ah, hang on…”

he turns you to fully face him and points out that your red teep is slightly off-centre between your eyebrows, raising his hand to fix it while the other rests on the side of your face. your heartbeat picks up a little faster over his warm touch that you’d been missing for so many hours and the peek of his tongue out in concentration practically has hearts swirling in your eyes.

“there we go.” the way he smiles down at you tugs tenderly at your heartstrings and you can’t help but nearly smash your lips against his, the established habit of getting on your tiptoes to caress your alta-adorned hands along his broad shoulders helping to propel yourself into his embrace. william kisses back with all the might of a lover being starved of his wife’s touch for far too long.

a sudden call of your names quickly breaks the two of you apart, your aunt turning the corner towards you both with a camera waving in her hand and shouting something about taking a big family photo in front of the house before setting off. you and william are far too flustered to really comprehend what she’s saying before you’re wiping at your own mouths to rid yourselves of the red-stained evidence of your lipstick. your husband is about to take off behind your aunt to avoid any more time-wasting but you’re quick to grab his hand and pay him a greatly overdue compliment.

“oi, you look good in red and white.”

glossary of bengali terms ♡

chomchom = a milk-based bengali sweet.

shari = traditional clothing worn by bengali women; other languages may call it a "saree/sari".

mishti = bengali word for "sweet(s)".

panjabi = traditional clothing worn by bengali men.

teep = a small coloured dot/jewel worn between the eyebrows/on the forehead; you may see it being called a "bindi".

alta = red dye traditionally painted onto the hands and feet of bengali women during festivals and celebrations.

#william saliba #william saliba imagine #william saliba fluff #william saliba x reader #william saliba x fem!reader #footballer imagine #football imagine #football fic #footballer fluff #˗ˏˋ 📝 ˎˊ˗

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starryybrained · 4 months ago

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Sold!

Whumptober Day 18: “I see what’s mine and take it”

AN: This is set in the 1920s in @wildwestwhump’s setting of The Bidding

Content: Servant auction, creepy whumper

The Lady wanted that one. She made her choice clear, pointing to the gentleman on the stage, making her pick.

He was a beautiful specimen, long-haired, green-eyed with a few tiny moles dotting his face, simple and put-together — yet he also looked slightly out-of-place among the other men. She couldn’t quite place why.

Maybe it was the way he stood, his posture slightly unconfident, or his expression — the lack of a smile, brows furrowed as if in thought. Maybe it was the hairstyle, long and feminine for a man like him — though the Lady had seen a pair of attractive Bengali brothers with long hair like him, though their demeanors were highly different from her Gentleman.

Yes, hers. She had already decided he was as good as bought the moment she saw him. She’d heard things about this Gentleman from his previous owners that made her thoughts go round and round, imagining owning him.

He was a right piece of work. Ungentlemanly. Rude sometimes, even. But still as obedient as any Gentleman was after coming out of the training facility.

She found that intriguing, worthy of showing interest in him and placing her bids on him and him alone.

The Bidding was in full swing, and very few placed their bets on him. They were sporadic but dedicated.

He was obviously not a very popular pick… yet he appeared for this Bidding anyway. Interesting. He was allowed onto the stage, so someone must have put in a very good word about him. Even more interesting.

She eyed him like a slab of meat. God, now she really wanted him.

She raised her hand. “One hundred and five.”

“One hundred and twenty.” Another lady spoke.

The Lady frowned. How dare she?

“One hundred and forty.”

The other lady smiled. “One hundred and eighty.” She said, her voice sunny and clear.

“Two hundred.”

The Gentleman seemed to be keenly aware of the two Ladies fighting over him, and even in her frustration, The Lady found that satisfying enough that what she said next she didn’t regret in the least.

“Three hundred.”

The other lady’s face dropped in shock. She did not respond, and the Lady knew she had won.

There was a pause to allow other bidders to place their bids, but no one else spoke, not a single word, nor a murmur.

“Gentleman #54, Rowan — sold!” The announcer’s voice rang out across the crowd.

The Lady beamed.

He’s mine.

#whump #whumplr #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #servant whump #creepy whumper #whumptober2024 #whumptober #my whump #my ocs #my writing #rowan oc

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sapphirerogers · 10 months ago

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মনের মানুষ - Soulmate

[Steve Rogers x Indian!bengali!GN!reader

Summary: your heart is aching for a home that no longer exists. Steve finds you in the middle of emotional turmoil.

Warning: homesickness, childhood trauma if you squint, mention of political disturbance, fluff, cursing, Steve being an absolute sweetheart, Steve also getting the feels]

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After the third round of knocking incessantly at your bedroom door, Steve huffed. He didn't want to intrude, in case you weren't decent or something.

"Sorry y/n," he muttered before twisting the handle, fully expecting to find it closed, unyielding.

His eyes widened, first in mild surprise at the ease with which he'd made it in: no locked doors. Then in shock, since his favourite person - you - was currently curled up on the floor, facing the sunset. Knees pulled up to your chest and tears streaming down your face as you whimpered softly now and then.

The next emotion was confusion at the music playing in the room - something that sounded like a folk song sung by a gravelly male voice in a language he didn't understand. However, he'd heard you speak or sing in it to yourself enough to know it was Bengali.

He joined you on the floor, quietly tapping your arm.

You turned your head to look at him, making no effort to wipe away the salty moisture on your cheeks. "I miss home."

Three words. Just three words from you tugged violently on his heart-strings, making him scoot closer and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer. You let him engulf you, finding comfort in him.

He didn't bother asking any questions. He knew the answers. Unfair elections and totalitarian practices had completely destroyed the political opposition in India five years ago. You'd watched democracy fall apart slowly but surely within fifteen years. Your beloved state of West Bengal, safe from the ruling party till then, had been overpowered too.

You'd run. You'd wished you could stay and do something, be a patriot, but you'd run. Forced yourself to throw yourself and your best efforts into medical school, even if your heart had ached for a different subject instead. You'd clenched your jaw and survived five years of suffocating dictatorship (nobody ever called it that but that's what it was) and communal riots. Then, the moment you'd graduated, you'd packed your things and left your homeland for a stable future.

You hadn't taken anyone with you. Your family wasn't the best and you'd made the decision to go no contact with them while still in high school. You'd lied to them about where you would be living, promised them you'd call. At the airport, just before boarding, you'd sent your mother the final text you'd silently prepared beforehand, listing everything she'd done wrong and refused to make up for and why you felt wronged. You'd apologised for being so harsh, and for abandoning them, but explained that you needed to protect yourself and you couldn't do it while staying with them. Then you'd thrown away your phone.

It was for the best, for your best, but you still missed the carefree life of your early years. Carefree, not in the sense that you weren't being hurt over and over, but carefree in the sense that you were naïve enough not to realise you were being hurt. You were alone in this new environment. Yes, you'd found friends, you'd found Steve. But a part of you still felt lonely.

Steve knew all of this. He'd held you close the day you poured all of it out. And he held you close now as the homesickness returned.

"I'm a fucking coward," you sniffle. "I should've stayed and tried to fight. Spoken up. Done something. Said something. Anything. I didn't even try. Like a selfish bitch."

He pressed a kiss to your head, stroking your hair and shushing you. He'd save that conversation for later. Right now you didn't need a response from him, you needed to let your feelings out. He'd always be here to wipe your tears away and get you back on your feet.

You hugged him tighter, and he pulled you into his lap, leaning against the bed as he closed his eyes, focusing on the song playing on loop.

Weirdly, it felt like home. Nevermind that he understood nothing. There was something earthen and rustic about the song and its ambience, something that called to him. He thought of his mother. A little voice in him said she'd love this music too. He felt his own eyes water as well, and blinked to prevent them from spilling.

You turned in his arms a little so now your back was to his chest, and you both watched the sun go down in silence.

When you'd calmed down, he brought one of your hands up to his lips. "Do you feel like going out and getting some ice cream? Or brownies?"

You giggled - despite the surge of emotions earlier. "I'd love that. Thank you," you met his calm and loving eyes, genuine gratitude in your own.

"Of course, honey."

Minutes later, as you held on to him from behind while his motorcycle wove in and out of traffic, you felt some of the weight lifting off your chest. Life had been rough, but it was better now. You were better now. Safe and loved. You'd be okay, right?

You rubbed his arm softly. He found your hand and squeezed it three times at a red light.

Yeah, you'd be okay.

[AN: This is the direct product of me being homesick, while sitting in my hometown, and being terrified for the future. Steve is my comfort character so I wrote this solely to calm myself; this is the most self-indulgent piece I've ever written. I know most of you won't relate to this much, but I hope that for once, you can put yourself in my place and at least try to understand the emotions in this fic rather than agonise over the details which don't apply to you.

AN 2: India is quasi-federal in structural, meaning while there is a Prime Minister to govern the entire country, every state also has their individual Chief Minister and Cabinet of Ministers for the affairs of said state. The party in power at the Centre isn't always the ruling party in every state. West Bengal is one of such states where the part in power is different from the one at the Centre...so far.

Current affairs in the country are really bad. Abuse of legislation, silencing the national press, completely altering the Constitution, bribing the judiciary, rigging the polls - it's all happening. It's bad enough that the UN and even other countries have criticised the central administration here. This fic is me being super scared that what I mentioned here will actually happen. Elections are this month, and like many other civilians, I'm desperately praying it doesn't take a turn for the worse.

AN 3: The song linked above is the inspiration for the title. মনের মানুষ (moner manush) translates to "soulmate". It is one of the most popular Baul songs. Baul are a category of Bengali folk songs which have double meanings. Most songs, at first listen, appear to be aimed at a lover, however, they can also be meant for God. It depends on how you wish to interpret them. They're a highly respected part of Bengali heritage and can be easily identified by the sound of the ektara in the instrumental, a one stringed musical instrument.]

Tagging my desi friends:

@mainly-marvel @slut-for-henry-cavill @averageambivert

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x indian!reader #steve rogers x bengali!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x gender neutral!reader #steve rogers x gn!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers comfort #Youtube

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pandora15 · 1 year ago

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okay i'm gonna rant a lot (like. a LOT) about the ahsoka series and most of it is like. pretty critical, so please skip if you love the series! (you're valid and there are things I did like about the show i'm just. frustrated and tired i guess)

i think i just really miss animated ahsoka and like. ahsoka having actual flaws y'know? and like being an actual character that I can relate to.

it bothers me SO much that she like. has no reverence or even respect for all the jedi who mentored her, to the point that she won't even mention them? instead she mentions anakin, who yes had a major role in her training, obviously, but he's also the source of a lot of her trauma. HE'S the one who stormed the temple and killed jedi. he's the one who spent years afterwards hunting down the rest and killing them — the same people who took ahsoka in when she was a child and raised her.

literally, anakin is the one who tried to kill HER in rebels.

but it's fine because "he's the only one who stood by her even when no one else would" right? and "he was a good master" because he left recordings for her and taught her to survive and —

like okay.

okay.

anakin and ahsoka's relationship is wonderful and important and I love their dynamic in TCW. seeing anakin be in a position of mentorship was really cool, and ahsoka's personality worked with his PERFECTLY.

but TCW also made it a point to see ahsoka be mentored by other jedi, and that was one of the things I loved most about it. we get to see ahsoka with plo koon, with aayla secura, with luminara unduli, with tera sinube, and it was amazing to see all these different jedi and how they're all wonderful and unique and AMAZING through the lens of ahsoka.

but now it's like. she doesn't even mention any of them? in rebels she did mention a few and I was happy to see that, but in the ahsoka series it's like. only anakin, the rest of the jedi don't even matter to her because "wow anakin was the only one who ever stood by me no one else did anything for me"

also damn i used to LOVE sabine. when I was watching rebels I was so in awe of her because she's so cool and interesting and intelligent and has that creative fun side to her as well? and the fact that tiya sircar is an american with bengali origins (just like me) made me feel like. really good about her and her character.

when natasha liu bordizzo was cast as sabine for ahsoka I was pretty disappointed — not because she wasn't asian because she absolutely is, but because to me, sabine was indian-coded. in rebels, her entire family (except for her father iirc) were all portrayed by indian voice actors. that could not have been a coincidence. it was something that I was grateful to see — that I can see interesting, intriguing characters in animation and in star wars that look like me.

but like, fine. I decided to look past it and try to be excited for the show.

but now I feel like sabine is like. a totally different character who she was in rebels. and I understand that the show tries to write off her change in personality as grief over what had happened to her family, but it just doesn't feel like a logical direction from where she is at the end of rebels to where she is at the beginning of ahsoka. maybe if the show decided to take more time to explain what happened during that time or even gave us some flashbacks to that time, i'd be more accepting of it but it doesn't. it just feels jarring to me.

more than that, sabine literally condemns the home galaxy to whatever thrawn will end up doing in his attempts to bring back the empire because she gave baylan the map. rebels sabine would never have done that. it's as though she completely forgot not only what kanan sacrificed when he died, but also ezra at the end of rebels.

and the fact that we don't see ezra finding out about what sabine did (and we likely never will) is INFURIATING to me. like????? this is such an important thing and he doesn't know about it?

and we think about the fact that sabine doing all of this for ezra is something that's like. so attachment-coded and such a central theme of star wars but then not really facing any consequences for doing that is like. hello????? it almost feels like the show is encouraging unhealthy attachment, which is extremely counter to what star wars and being a jedi is all about.

and to be clear, the concept of a character in their thirties who was previously considered non-force sensitive training to become a jedi but struggling to reach the force is definitely interesting. i feel like if it was done for a different character, I may have been more on board for it. the problem with it being sabine is that I feel like this arc is almost at the expense of the arc she had in rebels and it takes away from the aspects of her personality that I really enjoyed in rebels -- like her art??? her mandalorian identity????

i would've also been okay with her like. becoming someone like chirrut imwe — like being someone who believes in the force and the jedi way, and like seeking internal balance for herself, but her becoming force sensitive "because she trained and trained and really wanted it so badly for literal years" (even though rebels never showed us that she wanted to be a jedi, even when she was literally living with two of them and learned solely to use a lightsaber from kanan).

also no one tell chirrut imwe that he could've become force sensitive all this time, he just wasn't trying hard enough i guess. RIP.

okay another random topic change.

i'm eternally GRATEFUL that we didn't end up seeing ahsoka taking obi-wan's place on mustafar to fight anakin because that would've. i probably would've turned off my tv right then and there. (there was a leak about obi-wan's dead body being shown i'm assuming on mustafar but who knows. and genuinely i think that would've traumatized me. i'm not kidding.) i was so NERVOUS about this happening, and i'm really glad it didn't. here's hoping they don't do it in season 2 or whatever ends up coming next for ahsoka.

(ewan please stay away from the mando-verse shows i'm begging)

that being said, looking back at ahsoka's journey from start to where we are now, I just feel sad. I feel like we hit such a beautiful ending point to her arc at the end of rebels and now this show completely soured it for me. I have no idea how they're going to resolve it from here, and I'm getting this sinking feeling that we're never going to get to a beautiful ending point for her character now because we've gone way too far and there's no way to step it back.

I feel like sabine is like. a completely different character than who she was in rebels. literally, in my head, sabine from rebels is a different person. I think that's the only way I can make sense of this in my head. I can't connect the two together.

anyways, sorry for the long rant, now that it's been almost a week since the finale and I had time to reflect, I'm realizing that I'm not very happy about this series. there are things I did like (ie. ezra, huyang, baylan, shin, the music), but I feel like they really fumbled on the main two characters here and it's really unfortunate.

#ahsoka show #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka critical #(guess it's time for me to use that tag rip)#it's just sad to me because i LOVE writing ahsoka as a lot of you know #she was genuinely my second favorite character in star wars #now i'm just confused and frustrated #and sad #anyways dave filoni you gotta stop please #knowing when to end a story is SO important #you had it right there but now it's like. hblergh.#ahsoka tano #sabine wren #sabine critical

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denisejgroves · 1 month ago

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To reprise Bengali voice over, hire top notch Bengali voice over services. Voice over is a recognized and have reputation of lending voice over for actors and narrators.

#Bengali Voice Over #Voice Over #Voice #Voice Guide #Voice help #Voice tips

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nicolos · 2 years ago

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rocky aur rani thoughts

it wasn't at all what i expected actually? like I'm not sure what I expected but it wasn't that

rani chatterjee let me raid your wardrobe

they really just promoted tum kya mile and jhumka because there were like no other really memorable songs--

I sound a bit mean but I had a blast, I laughed a lot, did tear up at least once, and didn't want to pull up 2048 at any time during the film

(spoilers under the cut)

the film had some real 2011 style feminism moments mixed in with more genuine things? the interview at the start made me want to die but there were some almost - ALMOST - coherent points in there

bollywood is not the place to make statements about fat shaming etc etc but there was almost smth valid in seeing any jokes about what whatshername ate clearly coming from ...people were not supposed to like?

rocky and rani were actually quite sweet, despite the ...extraness

i think the film kind of rolled over this as rocky was supposed to be wealthy, but there's a great deal of elitism in the sort of attitude Rani and her family have towards Rocky. It makes me wonder what this film would be if he didn't ... colour coordinate his cars to his clothes and live in a replica whitehouse. like on one hand it's arguably his wealth that makes him able to be the way he is, but on the other hand, the traditional/modern divide that they were showing is typically also a class divide. there's no reason for rockys english to not be good as he is now - and nothing apart from personal taste and "traditionalism" for them to critique, even though rocky isn't actually that traditional in comparison to his family, and even if he was, they - esp at the start - didn't know that

on the other hand I don't know a lot of Bengali people or a lot of Punjabi people so it may just be like a culture shock thing they're going for. idk. i understand it, i just think it's a little bit of a miss for a genuine criticism on their laughing at him

the grandparents element was funny lmao. like what's going on THERE. but it was almost kind of sweet, too, the way they just ...liked spending time together I guess

keh diya na... bas keh diya

^ half the cinema actually echoed this line with her. icons only

the film did pretty often pit men against men and women against women. this worked! when alia or her mom were yelling at men... this worked a little bit less? idk. i think sometimes it ends up feeling a bit mouthpiecey, and some of it was weirdly phrased and ...strongly delivered, to say the least. i understand that they're both from an environment in which they feel safe voicing their opinion, but I was nonetheless going - would someone actually say that? so openly? so maybe that's on me

everything about the alias dad storyline was just chefs kiss

i do think rockys relationship w his mom and sister needed a bit of work for the big fight scene to work. it sounds weird to say since so much of the film was abt the randhawas but ranveers mom's dynamics w everyone were a bit underdone

the guy playing young granddad was so hot. hotter than the real actor actually was back then tbh

all I could think during the ranveer dance routine was how much time did it take him to learn that dbdndndjdjf but that was excellent

idk. i think in some senses the scale of the movie interfered with its effectiveness, but I don't want it to be any smaller in the ayushmann khurana sense, if that...makes sense? idk. it did feel very kjo production, and I like that about it

tum kya mileeeee,,,, tum kya mileeeee,,,, hum na rahe hummmmm,,,, tum kya mileeeeee

ranis "i am speaking" was hot though the whole of that non-confrontation made me want to yell, though maybe because it was happening in public

SPEAKING OF when she crashes her car into his in the middle of a four lane road and then they just fucking stand there and talk and kiss for 10 minutes and all the other cars just go around....lmaoooooooo

still think the more obvious solution was for them both to move out of their family homes but ok

#jui speaks #rocky aur rani ki prem kahani #bollywood

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