#but actual desis living in desi countries). like. we are not all well off and rich. most are barely getting by.

[usertoxicyaoi]

also! a very good desi gl movie that hit the bollywood mainstream that i would reeeeally rec is ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga (2019) available on netflix!

The Absence of India in Discussions on Queer Asian Media

So, yesterday @lurkingshan tagged me in an ask she got from @impala124 about the absence of India when we're talking about queer Asian media. I was intially just going to reblog it with my thought, but as it kept growing I figured it'd be best to just make my own post. Please read the ask linked above first so this makes sense.

*cracks knuckles* this is going to be the most fun I've had writing a post in ages. (For a little background, I'm a queer Indian, born and raised)

So, this is a very interesting question on a subject I've been rotating in my head for the past several months. There's a lot of different variables that contribute to the noticeable lack of discussion on Indian and South Asian queer media in general, so I'm just going to talk through the ones I've noticed a little randomly.

Talking about Asian media in general, it's well known that the mass popularity of kpop and anime has contributed massively to the increase in popularity of Asian media. If you've been in the Asian media fandom for any amount of time at all, you'll have noticed that media from Korea, Japan, and China gets by far the most attention from international audiences; all East Asian countries. There may be several reasons for this, but in particular, it's no secret that the fetishization of East Asians is a massive proponent in the popularity of media from these countries, while there's no such interest in South Asians. If we shift our focus to queer media specifically, media from these three countries is still extremely popular, with the addition of Thailand and the Philippines to some extent; both South East Asian countries. From what I've seen, there's very little international interest in media from South Asian countries (although, if we're talking about India specifically, I can't exactly say anything. Bollywood has not been good lately). If we talk about queer South Asian media, the scope of interest falls even further. If you'll notice, MyDramaList, one of the most commonly used websites for finding and tracking Asian shows only allows for East and South-East Asian shows. So, that's one reason—there's just not much international interest in Indian media in general. As Shan said in the initial post, it's partially because of a difference in priorities. Korea is notorious for using media to gain global standing, the role of the 'soft power' of Thai bls in the recent bills for equal marriage in Thailand has been widely discussed, the list goes on. Could racism also play a part in the massive gulf of interest in media from East Asian versus South Asian countries? Probably. But I'm not going to get into that too much.

Moving on, there's obviously a massive lack of queer media in India. I think this is greatly exacerbated by the fact that it's very hard to support the people making queer media beyond buying and/or streaming their work. The majority of people engaging with Indian queer media are queer Indians, and a lot of us have to do so in secret because of the society we live in. This means that creators that have to push through several obstacles to publish their work often receive little incentive to continue doing so because of the lack of engagement. Because of the lack of media, international fans are less likely to become interested in queer Indian media, and the cycle continues.

I will say though, contrary to what Shan said, I think Indian media, particularly anything that came out post 2019 might actually be on the easier end of the spectrum when it comes to access. This may simply be bias, so forgive me if I'm wrong here, but from what I've seen, a lot of queer Indian shows are in fact available on streaming sites, and at most you'd need a vpn to access them. I think the two main things that actually hold back queer Indian media from becoming more popular are a lack of noise and it's relatively lower quality.

The main way we find out about new shows in this space is through either word of mouth (well actually, post) or because we follow production houses known for producing media. Because of the sparse nature of both the media and the consumers, there's very few people who learn enough about the media to want to give it a shot. For example, there's a film on netflix called Badhaai Do (hindi for Congratulate Us) that I've been meaning to watch for a while. It centers around a lavender marriage and I've heard a lot of good things about it, so I was slightly surprised to see that most of the people on tumblr I interact with who have been engaging with queer media for far longer than me had never heard of it. There's also a, Indian BL from 2017 called Romil and Jugal that I've written about before here, and I would've never learned of it's existence if not for a friend hearing about it from another friend of hers.

Because there's so little queer indian media, it's natural that the quality leaves much to be desired. The main issue is, because the queer asian media market has become so saturated lately people are becoming a lot more selective with what they watch, and for good reason. This means that queer media from india is simply unable to grow and improve over time, leaving it stagnant. Back in 2016-2018, the overall dearth of queer media from Asia meant that a lot of people were willing to watch shows that were average or even worse. Thailand particularly seems to have benefitted from this, being able to grow and evolve its queer media due to the successes of shows like SOTUS, 2gehter, TharnType and more even recently, KinnPorsche. Queer Indian media will have a much, much harder time with this because of all of the factors I've talked about and more, meaning that it is much harder for queer media to evolve. Honestly, though I haven't been able to watch/read much queer media from India, the stuff I have seen is really quite decent, it's just that it tends to fail in comparison to some of the brilliant stuff we're seeing from other countries. A while a ago, I bought four queer books by Indian authors, and of the three I've read so far, I'd genuinely recommend two, albeit one with quite a few reservations (I'll be writing about them sometime in the future, just haven't found the time yet). While talking about this with @neuroticbookworm, she brought up the excellent point of how Indian media in general has just been of fairly poor quality lately. It seems to me that a lot of it is catered to more conservative audiences, which results in people like me becoming disillusioned with Indian media and simply moving onto things from other countries. It has been a long time since I've watched anything worthwhile come out of Bollywood. So, it becomes even harder for queer Indian shows to be found at all; a majority of their target audience has already forsaken Indian media as a lost cause.

So, those are a bunch of reasons because of which there's not a lot of discussion about queer Indian media in fandom spaces like Tumblr. Something else I'd like to point out is, it's very hard for queer shows in India to gain much traction whatsoever. Live television slots are ruled by the infamous Indian serials, the majority of the audience being people in their late thirties and older, particularly women. And while homophobia is just as prevalent amongst the youth of India as it is amongst older generations, younger people are far more likely to be engaging with queer media, in India at least. This means that it would be near impossible for queer shows to air on live television the way they do in countries like Thailand and Japan. The majority of Indian youth use global streaming services to watch shows, hence the greater concentration of queer shows on service platforms. (Romil and Jugal is something of a dark horse here—I don't believe it was ever aired, but it was produced by a producer who has a few decently popular serials under her belt and is available on an Indian steaming service—another reason I'm determined to research how tf this show ever came into existence) If we talk of movies, the industry is limited by the iron fist of Bollywood, another reason it's very hard for queer movies to be produced and why they're generally found on streaming sites.

There's just not a lot of people who have the balls it would take to make a queer Indian show/movie and push it to the Indian public beyond a streaming service. I mean, we're all seeing what's happening with the Love in The Big City drama right now, and believe me, public backlash in India would be the same, if not much worse. And if no one in India is watching these shows, why would anyone in any other part of the world? There's barely any public figures that would be willing to participate in such a project, so queer media stays underground. Currently, Karan Johar is the most popular—and one of the only—out celebrities in Bollywood, and, well, he's treated as something of a laughing stock by the public. He has one or two queer adjacent shows under his belt as a producer, but once again, they're barely known and available only on Netflix. There was a movie called Dostana in which he played a straight guy pretending to be gay but, well, that speaks for itself. And well, I can't exactly blame him for it, knowing how the Indian entertainment industry is.

To talk a little more about the specific comparison between India and Korea, I think you're fairly accurate in saying that the two countries seem to be roughly on par in terms of homophobia, although that's an extremely vague statement that's rather hard to either prove or disprove. While the difference in international attention towards Korean and Indian media is certainly a major component of the difference in discussion about the queer media from these countries, there's obviously other things that go into it as well. There's this video I watched some time ago on the progression of queer representation in K-dramas that's quite well researched. It's an hour and a half long, so in case you don't have the time to watch it (though I do recommend it), it basically talks about some of the dramas with queer rep that have aired on Korean television and their impact. While it's hard to gauge the level of impact of these shows on the availability of bls and gls in Korea, they certainly had an effect, if only telling the queer population of Korea that they are seen and heard. To my knowledge (although I may be mistaken), no such queer rep has ever aired on Indian television, meaning that there's nothing to push creators to put queer media out there. There have been old movies and shows that depict queerness, but none of them ever reached the sort of the scale where they may have some sort of impact on the industry. As I mentioned earlier, the widespread popularity of K-dramas (and k-pop) does make it easier for creators to make queer media since there's a much higher chance of the shows being successful thanks to the international audience. Bringing back Love In The Big City, the success of the book abroad and the high probability of the show being well received internationally is probably one of the reasons it was able to be produced amongst domestic backlash.

Now, I've been talking a lot about how it's difficult for queer Indian media to gain any sort of international recognition with domestic attention. However, it's not necessarily the case. Here's where I start rambling (I say, as if this post isn't verging on 2k words). It's been proven that the presence of the international market allows for greater creative freedom in spaces beyond television. The best example comes from Korea's very own 'soft power'; K-pop. There's a K-pop group called Dreamcatcher that debuted in 2017 with a rock sound and horror concept that was extremely rare in kpop at the time. They succeeded mainly by focusing most of their promotions to the foreign market, knowing that their concept would not be well liked in Korea. And they succeeded. Today, Dreamcatcher has a sizeable fandom and has even been growing in popularity in Korea, with the Korean public warming up to their genre and having influenced other girl groups to try out similar sounds. We've already talked about the lack of international attention for Indian media, but there's also the issue that the producers of queer Indian media aren't marketing to foreign audiences, which remain ignorant.

That's all I have, this is so long good lord. All in all, there's a bunch of factors that feed into each other creating a cycle which means that, unless there's a break somewhere, queer Indian media will remain unrecognized. I'm excited to see what other people have to say, because this is a topic close to my heart and I'd definitely enjoy seeing more discussions around it.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {1}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, 

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated. 

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride begins. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a note, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Chapter One

“You were supposed to be on your way home.”

 You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. You’d mentioned nights ago that you thought you should just go home, but then you went to your next destination. It was a moment of weakness or it could have been loneliness. Your schedule took a lot out of you. No one saw it because it was all behind the scenes. All anyone ever saw were the incredible places you went to, the fun things you experienced, and the culture you soaked up. What they grasped was whatever you posted in your pictures.

 “You know I can’t. I started this series, and it’s gotten the eye of a lot of sponsors, and one of them is even talking about some really big ideas at the end of it if it goes really well. that could be incredible for my brand,” you explained.

 Anika sighed loudly. You knew she was annoyed with you right now, especially it being December.

 “I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

 “Whatever.”

 “Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It looks like we’re headed right into a storm. We’ll be experiencing a little turbulence as we veer off course a little bit as we try to evade this thing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

 You sighed while buckling your seatbelt, preparing for what was coming.

 “What’s happening?”

 “Going through some turbulence. It should be fine,” you assured your sister.

 “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to hang up.”

 You nodded to the flight attendant and promptly ended the call promising your sister that you’d call her back when you landed in Sandvell. As soon as you hung up, the turbulence began. It started out with slight bumps, that you could sip your drink through. Then graduated to bigger bumps that had you gripping the elbow rests. When the entire plane started to shake, your heart leaped into your throat. One minute passed, then two, and after five minutes or so, the speaker came back on.

 “Ladies and gentleman, your captain again. We’re going to be landing shortly. This storm is not one to be messed with. I apologize for the inconvenience, folks, but on this airline, we choose safety above all else.”

 You weren’t going to argue with him. You definitely didn’t want to risk your life over getting to your next destination. What was a one or two day delay? Once the pilot got to a lower altitude, the majority of the turbulence subsided. It was another ten minutes before the plane landed, but when it did, all you could see from the window was white overcast with darkness.

 When you had your belongings gathered and began walking off the plane along with the other fifty or so passengers, you tried to find cell service, but you had zero bars.

 “Excuse me, where are we?”

 “Uh—I’m actually not sure, ma’am. Patricia, where are we?”

 The two flight attendants looked puzzled. The second asked a third, and that third asked another. None of them seemed to know. That was not a good sign, you thought. Once you’d walked down the long corridor that served as the connection between the airport and the plane, you found yourself in one of the classiest airports you’d ever been in, and you’d been inside quite a few as a travel blogger. As far as the eye could see, it was class, with the exception of the floor.

You looked around you and marveled at the detail in the design that was around you. Where most airports were mainly logically designed without lavishness. This one looked like lavishness was the first priority. The floors looked to be made from the finest paonazzetto marble. You remembered the name because of the substantial time you’d spent in Italy trying to capture architecture through your camera lens. Reaching for your camera around your neck, you began snapping a few frames of the floor. Getting lost in picture taking, you found yourself at one of the many glass windows snapping pictures of the airplanes on the tarmac.

 Hearing the commotion of raised voices behind you, you looked back and saw the passengers of the plane you’d just disembarked from gathered in a huddle. You walked back toward them in time to catch a question from a concerned passenger.

 “How long are we delayed? When will we get back in the air? I have to get to Sandvell.”

 A man wearing a mixture of royal blue and white colors cleared his throat then spoke. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for the delay. There is a storm heading right for us on the path to Sandvell. Continuing through it would be lunacy. Our only viable option is to wait it out.”

 No one seemed to like that answer. All the questions flew out at once. All their voices overlapped, and you could tell that the gentleman was overwhelmed by not only the volume of questions but also their voices.

 “According to our team here, we’re expecting possibly a twenty-four to thirty-six-hour delay.”

 Everyone groaned in unison, everyone but you. You’d traveled enough to always expect the unexpected. Things like this didn’t bother you so much now, three years into your career. The only thing that bothered you now was that you’d have to rearrange your hotel plans as well as finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

 “You said here,” you began with all eyes trained to you. “Where exactly is here?”

 The gentleman cleared his throat again. “Brexendor.”

 The crowd murmured as they looked at each other. Clearly, no one had ever heard of Brexendor. Some even pulled out their travel map to scour it for the country.

 “So what are we supposed to do now? Where do we stay?”

 “We are in the process of arranging accommodations at one of the inns within the capital. If you all would work with us so we have your names to get your luggage to you in a timely fashion so you can be shuttled over to the Inn, that would be appreciated.”

 Everyone filed into a line in front of one of the four airport staff, hoping to hurry matters along while you searched your phone for any information on where you were. When you typed in Brexendor into the search engine, the first thing that popped up was a map of the country. Apparently, it was next door to Sandvell. They were considered sister countries.

 “Population three million, run as a monarchy, considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Average life expectancy one hundred and ten years. Well, damn.”

 Someone clearing their throat brought your attention up in front of you. You were next in line.

 “Sorry.”

 The woman with brown eyes and blonde hair smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Ms--.”

 “Uh, Thornton, Xari Thornton.” You handed her your passport and boarding pass and waited as she scrolled through her tablet.

 “Ah yes, Ms. Thornton. Here is your paperwork. On it, you will find where you can retrieve your luggage and the shuttle number that will be taking you to the Inn. Once at the Inn, just provide your name, and you will find everything has been taken care of. On behalf of Brexendor Aviation, we humbly apologize for this snafu.”

 Her customer service training was on point, you thought. Her smile was warm, as if she really meant the words she’d just said. Finding it refreshing, you took the paperwork and proceeded to where she was motioning. Everyone you passed as you walked the fancy halls had a warm smile plastered to their face and even warmer words of welcome. You felt as if you’d stepped through into some alternate universe. You made a voice note about everything you encountered. You wanted to make sure you captured your authentic feelings and reactions in real-time. It made writing about your experience on the blog page easier. You’d even found that readers and supporters liked the play by play with your added thoughts. They commented it added personality.

Once you’d made it to the baggage claim area, your jaw dropped at the change in décor. There were Christmas trees that sparsely decorated the space, and they were all lit with the same blue, silver, and white theme. It contrasted with the latte color of the leather seats and the cream offset tables. The design gave the space an elegant but also comfortable vibe. When you slipped into one of the chairs, you released an audible moan. It was like sitting on a cloud.

 After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions through a hall lined with Christmas trees, stopping every so often to take a few pictures before you made it to the front of the airport. As you stepped outside, your eyebrows shot up seeing the fresh snow cascading from the sky. The bite in the air had you bundling your jacket tighter, but it did not stop you from snapping a few pictures. One turned to ten and ten to fifteen until another person clearing their throat brought you back to reality and to the waiting bus ahead of you.

You took a break from pictures and called the hotel in Sandvell, hoping to alter the dates of your stay. What you expected to be a hassle and a long drawn out process ending in them saying they were booked and nothing could be done, turned out to be quick, easy, and painless. The Luxembourg Hotel assured you that your room would still be available and there would be no charge for the altered dates. You made another note on your phone, a point you had to stress when you wrote your piece.

 You continued snapping pictures from the window of the bus with an easy mind. Everything you passed seemed like it didn’t belong. It all looked so old fashioned but so modern all at the same time. The buildings looked to have been standing since the beginning of time in the materials they’d been built in, but the displays were from the twenty-first century. It was the most exciting contradiction. The only word you could think to describe it was—quaint.

 When the bus drove over a bridge, you got a semi-bird’s eye view of the town across the water, and your jaw nearly dropped.

 “Brexendor? What the hell?”

 The entire drive had you widening your eyes like a child seeing an insane amount of presents on Christmas morning. Buildings were decked out in Christmas lights, and every door had a wreath with blue and silver Christmas ornaments. Almost every few feet, the sidewalks were decorated with poinsettia trees that were half the average human’s height, and the way the freshly fallen snow-dusted their tops only made it even more perfect.

 By the time the bus stopped, you’d taken so many pictures, and part of you was dreading having to go through them to choose the ones that would make the cut. You knew it was going to be a next to impossible decision. As you stepped off the bus, you felt like you’d walked right into a snow globe.

“Holy shit!”

 You spun, taking in a full three-sixty view of your surroundings. all the glistening lights and the falling snow only made it feel even more magical. You didn’t know where the hell Brexendor was or why the hell they rolled like this, but you were excited to see more. When you stopped spinning, you realized several other people were snapping pictures and looking just as marveled as you were. After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions and walked across the street to the building that a friendly looking man with slightly greying hair was standing before beckoning you inside.

 For the second time that night, you felt as if you’d stepped into a Christmas movie set. The interior was set so cozy. It felt like a Christmas cottage, and you loved it. Instinct had you reaching for your camera and taking a few shots of the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace and the plaid decorations on the leather couch. Even the pictures on the walls got a snap.

 “Miss?”

 Looking back to the owner, you smiled and approached the desk.

 “Hi, I’m so sorry. This place is so gorgeous.”

 “Thank you. I wish I could take the credit, but it is all my wife.”

 Just then, a beautiful brunette came out wearing a bright red sweater and one of those spoof reindeer antler headbands that bounced with every move.

 “Hi, there darling. Welcome to The Beaux. I’m Anita, and this is my husband, Borik. I heard all about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.”

 You shrugged but kept your smile plastered on your face.

 “It’s all right. Can’t control the weather, right?”

 Anita smiled and nodded. “Definitely not in Brexendor.”

 “I have never heard of this place before, and I am lost how. Everything is gorgeous and so quaint. How have you stayed under the radar?”

 Anita and Borik looked at each other with an all-knowing look that you wanted in on.

 “Guess it’s just happened,” Anita cheerfully said.

 You knew they knew something. Staying this under the radar, including from America, didn’t just happen. This took work. You wondered who in charge in their right mind would make a stupid decision like that.

 “Okay, what’s your name, darling?”

 “Uh, Xari Thornton.”

 “Ah-ha, I told you, Borik. Once we were contacted with a list of names that would be checking in, and I saw your name, I told him I just know she’s gorgeous and look. You are a vision.”

 You couldn’t help but smile widely while trying to keep your head under proper proportions.

 “Thank you.”

 “You must have quite the many suitors where you’re from,” Anita continued.

 You snorted and shook your head. The reality was you were as single as the number one with no prospects.

 “No suitors here.”

 Both Borik and Anita looked shocked, as if you’d said the most appalling thing.

 “That can’t be true. Borik. She’s single and at twenty-eight. Even our Kennedy was at least engaged by the time she turned twenty-seven. Here that is unheard of. A woman is usually married by twenty-four, especially if she’s a looker.”

 You pinched your lips, trying to keep your laughter in. this was not the first time you’d been called an old maid. Hell, your mother said it often, especially since you flat out turned down Maurice’s proposal three months ago. She was livid.

 Anita must have sensed the awkwardness of the moment because she cleared her throat and brought all her attention back to the reservation.

 “Well, your room is prepared. I took the liberty of giving you one of our prettiest rooms. Would you like Borik to carry your bags up?”

 “Uh—no, I’m sure I can manage,” you began.

 Borik stood, shook his head, and came around to you.

 “I won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll happily carry your luggage up. Follow me.”

 “That’s my Borik, ever the gentleman,” Anita filled in with an enamored smile before Borik walked off, leaving her to check in a few of the other passengers from the plane.

 You listened to Borik tell the story of the Inn and how it got its name. You kept one ear on his story while you took in every detail around you. The wood looked so rustic, and you guessed that was what gave the place such a warm and welcoming feeling. The higher you climbed, the more you saw, and the more you saw, the more you liked. You followed Borik down a hall, noticing that all the doors you passed had mini wreaths decked out in the same blue and silver ornaments like at the airport and throughout the streets.

 “Ah-ha, here we are,” Borik said before he put the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Once he did, the scent of cinnamon and pine hit you in the face. It was like the hand of Christmas came out and smacked you.

 “My wife loves the smell,” Borik explained as you stepped inside. You smiled and thanked him for his help.

 “If you get hungry, you have a few options. There are plenty of places nearby you can eat some authentic Brexendorian food, but also my wife cooks every night, and dinner usually is at eight o’clock, but tonight Anette has agreed to keep some heated for anyone who would like some. It’s stew, rabbit.”

 “Oh, thumper. Wonderful.”

 Borik laughed loudly with that one. “I know that one, Bambi, the children’s cartoon. Good one Ms. Thornton.”

 You smiled. “You can call me Xari, Borik.”

 “Well, have a good night,” he said before he walked out.

 Finally alone, the first thing you did was text your sister to let her know not to worry and give her an update on what was happening. After you let Anika know what was happening, it didn’t take long for your phone to ring. The next ten or so minutes were spent talking to Anika and telling her how amazing the things you’d seen so far were. You could not shut up about the decorations, the way the snow looked to have been groomed to lay on things perfectly. It was that damn picturesque. Since you couldn’t stop talking about it, Anika was the one to suggest you go out and enjoy it before you got back on the plane. It was a suggestion you fully intended on listening to.

 Fifteen minutes later, you were back downstairs bundled with your camera and your purse, ready to explore. When you told Anita your intention, she gave you a map of the city and highlighted places to look at but cautioned you to hurry because stores would be closing soon, and nights during Brexendor winters could be brutal. You promised you’d be quick and careful, then stepped out, ready to explore like Dora.

 Your first stop was a block down, a children’s toy store. It was decked out with all the latest toys along with some traditional things that Santa would have brought specially made from his workshop. While you were snapping pictures outside the window, a kid ran up to the window and pressed his nose to it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth matched their size. You asked the adult with him if you could take a picture. When they approved, you got one or two from a few different angles before they walked off.

 As you walked through the city, enjoying the scenery, you took pictures of everything that caught your eye, ornaments, trees, people, stores, even pets. Christmas wasn’t your favorite holiday, but it was your second favorite, and being here really as inching it higher on the list.

 When you felt a strong wind hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It was strong enough to have you stagger backward a little, allowing a chill to sweep through you. You looked around and saw a few feet away was some sort of bar, and behind it was swirling snow that looked like a tornado. You hurried toward the building, being careful not to slip on any ice that may be hiding underneath the snow. Once to the door, you walked inside, and the sound of Christmas carols filled your ears.

 “Jesus.”

 If the scent of the Inn felt like Christmas slapped you in the face, the look and sound of this place was the one two-hitter that settled that you were in a whole nother world here. You looked around and found a coat rack along the left wall. After placing your jacket and scarf on the hook, you walked to the bar and slid onto a stool. As you waited for the bartender to come over, you looked around. Here it didn’t smell like cinnamon, but the pine was present, along with the smell of alcohol and licorice.

There were several small dark wooden tables around the bar with chairs and even booths that decorated the walls. The floors matched the tables, and those matched the walls. This place looked like somewhere you’d find in the middle of nowhere. The window to the back of the establishment showed the dark woods with tall snow-covered trees and that howling snow tornado.

 When you turned back to the back, the huge elk head above the wall lined with alcohol bottles had you gasping.

 “Jeez,” you said as you snapped two of three pictures of the creepy looking thing.

 “That is Hogan’s prized possession.”

You looked beside you where the voice came from to see a very attractive man there. When you’d sat down, you didn’t notice anyone beside you, so to see his piercing blue eyes boring holes into you. Your eyes traveled lower to his awkwardly shaped nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice and never quite went back to normal. You didn’t mind it, though. Who liked a perfect face, especially when looking at him, seemed like that was about the only thing that was not absolutely perfect. His jaw was carved to precision like he was specially crafted and not born. When your eyes fell to his lips, you purposely forced yourself to look away.

 “Is—is that right?”

 “Yes. I bet you cannot guess why,” the stranger said in a crisp European accent that was very close to British. You weren’t one hundred percent sure if it was or not, he just sounded proper as hell, and it was actually a bit of a turn on.

 You shrugged while looking at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. “Enlighten me.”

 Just then, a large man with blond hair in a man bun walked over. He had to have been over six feet tall, and if this were America, he’d definitely be a shopper at the store Big & Tall. The man looked to the one seated beside you, ready to speak but suddenly closed his mouth.

 “Hogan, Ms--,” the stranger began waiting for you to fill in your name.

 He thought he was so smooth; you thought as you smiled to yourself.

 “Xari.”

 His eyebrow shot up, and he smiled sweetly. “Wow, what a beautiful name.”

 You smiled, and as you felt it widening, you bit onto your bottom lip to stop it. “Thanks.”

 “Ms. Xari would like to know why Shandoe is your most prized possession.”

 “Shandoe?”

 Hogan looked behind him at the Elk’s head then smiled. “It’s been in my family for generations. It was the first thing my great-great-great-great-great grandfather ever killed for himself to feed his family. They ate everything but the head and decided to keep it as a reminder of where we came from.”

 You were expecting some weird manly story but what you got was a wholesome and heartwarming tale. You smiled, raised your camera, and snapped Hogan, and as he stared at the Elk’s head with such a loving look on his face that was such a contradiction for his large frame.

 “Are you a reporter?”

 “No, no. Not at all. I’m a travel influencer and blogger. I go around and soak up what the world has to offer while taking pictures and writing about it on my blog for others to read about.”

 The man beside you nodded, then raised his glass to his head.

 “What can I get you?”

 “Uh—what is he drinking?”

 “The Mistletoe Bomb.”

 You snorted, unable to contain yourself any longer. “What in the world is that?”

 “You laugh now, but it is a blend he makes special for me. It is not for the faint of heart,” the man beside you informed.

 “Oh no, well looks like I’ll be having one of those.”

 Hogan looked to him, then back to you. “It is all right, Hogan. Give the lady what she wants. I am assuming fell strength is also what you require?”

 “Yes, full strength. I want all the mistletoe and all the bomb.”

 Hogan went to work, making the drink while you continued looking around.

 “Em, I’m Henry.”

 You looked to him to find his hand outstretched to you, waiting for you to place yours in it. When you did, you repeated your name as you noted how soft his hands were. It felt like he’d never done a day’s work with them. Henry rose your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It was one small action, but that action had butterflies flitting in your belly and your cheeks heating as if a heater was aimed directly at your face.

 “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Henry uttered while looking into your eyes.

 “Same,” you whispered.

 Henry released your hand and turned back to his drink at the same time Hogan placed a mug before you.

 “One Mistletoe Bomb for the lady.”

 You looked at the large mug then to Hogan, who waited expectantly. When your eyes drifted to Henry beside you, he too was watching and waiting. No matter how much you felt like this was a setup, you persisted, not wanting to back down. When you took your first full mouthful of the drink, your eyes immediately bugged. Your tongue was on fire in seconds, and it seemed the longer you held the liquid in your mouth, the worse the burn was. You gulped it down and instantly knew the mistake. Not only was your mouth on fire, but now your throat and chest as it burned a fiery path to your belly.

 “Holy fucking shit!”

 The two men boisterously laughed, the sounds booming off the wooden walls before filling the entire room. You looked around, noticing for the first time it was completely empty.

 “What the hell is that?”

 “Something that will put hair on your chest,” Hogan teased.

 “No, shit.”

 Henry seemed to like that response; he laughed again then finished his mug.

 “How can you drink this?”

 He shrugged, then turned his body to you. You gave him a well-paced once over, taking in his furry winter boots, dark pants, and dark sweater to match the pants. Underneath the sweater, though, you saw peeks of a crisp white shirt. He dressed like he had money, you thought.

 “I have done it for half my life. I do not even feel the burn anymore. Do you know why he calls it Mistletoe Bomb now?”

 You giggled and nodded, pushing the mug away. If you drank that, you’d need to be carried out of here. As Hogan appeared to take the mug away, Henry reached for it, insisting he’d finish it while Hogan placed a beer bottle in front of you.

 “Would you like a straw?”

 You looked at Hogan as if he were crazy. Who drank beer with a straw? You shook your head and raised the bottle to your lips to take a swig. This was more your speed, not pure petrol.

 “So you are new in town,” Henry began.”

 “Kind of. My plane had to detour because of the storm, so here I am in a place I’ve never heard of and cannot figure out why.”

 “Is it strange to never have heard of every place in the world?”

 You thought about it for a moment as you took another mouthful of beer then nodded.

 “Yes. I’m from America,” you began.

 “Ah, American. Let me guess. Everything has to be discovered, and if it is not, then either it doe not exist, or it is being hidden.”

 You snapped your mouth shut. He’d guessed American thinking in one try. “Well, that’s not fun,” you added. Henry laughed and took his mouthful of fire.

 “I am sorry. I know America well,” Henry informed.

 “Oh, so you’ve been?”

 “No. I do not need to. I have spent my entire life learning it.”

 You looked back at him, confused by what he meant.

 “Every country gives lessons on other countries of the word, especially powerhouse countries,” he explained.

 “Well, your studies have paid off.”

 “Do you really believe that everything has to be discovered?”

 “No. where is the fun in that? I believe that the world has to have some mystery.”

 “Then welcome to Brexendor,” Henry said with a smile.

 “Brexendor. What’s it’s deal?”

 You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the wood of the bar as you watched him.

 “Deal? I am afraid I do not understand.”

 “What I mean is, the people are nice. Everyone I have encountered, including at the airport, is nice. You know airport staff can be so mean, but not here. The people who own the Inn I am staying at are so sweet. Even strangers I bump into don’t;’ seem to mind. Not to mention, this place has the whole snow globe effect down. It’s incredible. What is the deal? Is the president some fantastic guy who pays everyone well and gives them ample vacation time for them to be so happy?”

 Henry smiled, dipped his head lower, then rubbed the back of his neck.

 “Would that be unusual?”

 “Yes. Compared to what America has going on—highly unusual.”

 “Well, the first thing to know about Brexendor is, a president does not run it,” Henry clarified.

 “Ah right, it is a monarchy. So does that mean there is a king, and queen, lords, dukes,” you began, then gasped, remembering more. “Princesses?”

 Henry smirked, gulped his drink, then nodded. “Yes.” He continued to take another swig from his mug.

 His words slowly resonated. “What!? You’re serious?”

 He nodded, then placed the glass onto the bar.

 “Wow. How interesting. So this King and Queen are they the good kind?”

 Henry’s smile turned somber before it disappeared altogether.

 “Did I say something wrong?”

 “No, no. Yes, the King and Queen are the best kind,” he filled in before he took the last mouthful of his drink. “They would like you.”

 You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Me? I doubt that. While all the mothers of my boyfriends have loved me, I don’t think the King and Queen would care for me.”

 “Boyfriend, so uh—you’re involved,” Henry said as he avoided your eyes.

 His words sounded like a statement rather than a question, so you remained quiet. After a few moments, he looked at you expectantly. You pinched your lips before you finished your beer.

 “Are you involved?”

 Henry took a deep breath looked forward to the bottles at the bar as a pained and confused expression washed over his features.

 “I’ll take that as a yes,” you replied.

 “I am not—involved,” he answered.

 “You said it like you weren’t sure.”

 “It is complicated.”

 “Well, I am a stranger in a bar—an empty bar. You’ll most likely never see me again, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

 Henry smiled then turned back to you, resting his elbow on the bar mimicking your stance.

 “You have not answered my inquiry.”

 “Inquiry?”

 Henry smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. That is where your eyes went to. He had nice lips, you thought.

 “On if you are involved,” he clarified.

 “I am not involved with anyone. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I’m an old maid with no prospects.”

 “I do not believe that. You are funny, intelligent, fun to be around, and quite beautiful. There is no way you have no admirers.”

 You smiled and began toying with your necklace.

 “I’m sure you say that to all the girls you meet in deserted bars during a snow storm.”

 He snorted, and you felt his breath across your cheek. It was then you realized how close the two of you were to each other.

 “To be honest, I have never found myself alone with a woman in a bar. You are my first.”

 You bit your bottom lip feeling more flirtatious than usual as you gazed into his hypnotizing eyes. He was gorgeous and becoming even more so with every passing minute. The two of you ordered more drinks, then drifted off to one of the booths on the wall that was more hidden and even more comfortable. You talked about nearly everything and nothing at the same time. He spoke a lot about philosophy and astronomy and the sciences that motivated a lot of the earlier theories. It was fascinating just listening to him speak. There was something about his mouth and the properness of the words he used. Never once did he use slang or even a contraction. You’d never met anyone who didn’t use contractions. The longer you sat there, the more you felt like never getting up.

 “There is something about you that is so comfortable and easy,” Henry began.

 “You too.”

 “I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I even want to.”

 You smiled, “You too.”

 Your eyes lingered, and you saw him sway forward, but then he stopped only to do it again and again. With your faces were centimeters from one another, it was then you noticed the slight speck of brown in his left eye. You felt Henry’s hand gently cup your cheek; then, his thumb slowly stroked your skin. The heat from his palm seared your cheek, and every stroke of his thumb send heat tendrils down your jaw to your lips, making them tingle and yearn for his.

 This had never happened to you in your entire life. You’d known this man a few hours and were ready to possibly bring him back to the Inn with you. Henry didn’t move. It was like he was giving you the last few centimeters to make a decision, but you didn’t make it. A phone went off, but you both ignored it until the sound went off. You raised your hand to rest on top of his. Once your skin touched his, Henry lightly sighed out. Before either of you could make another move, a phone rang again. This time Henry groaned before he looked away just as you did.

 You cleared your throat and slid from his body as he checked his phone.

 “I have to go,” he announced.

 Frozen, you sat there trying to understand if you’d read this entire thing wrong.

 “I am sorry, something—urgent has come up.”

 You snapped out of it, then nodded. “It’s fine. I should probably get back to the Inn anyway. They say a storm is brewing.”

 Both of you stood from the booth while straightening your clothes.

 “I really enjoyed tonight,” Henry added.

 You smiled and nodded. “Me too. It was—nice.”

 Your eyes lingered again, and your bodies drifted closer. It was you who looked away first and stepped back. You reached for your purse, but Henry stopped you.

 “It has been taken care of. Let us call it a tourist special, right Hogan.”

 “Right your--,” Hogan began before Henry looked at him, cutting him off.

 Henry ushered you to the coat rack on the wall by the door then helped you into your jacket.

 “Can I drive you back to the Inn?”

 “No, please. I am more than capable of getting back,” you assured.”

 “Are you sure?”

 You nodded then turned to walk out, but Henry pulled you to him. “I want to see you again.”

 “I don’t see how. I leave tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.”

 Henry looked to be thinking before he sighed. “I guess it was not meant to be,” you whispered, a tinge of sadness filling you as reality set in.

 “In another life,” Henry softly said.

 He came closer then placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek before he released you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, and in those moments, anything felt possible. When you faced that anything could have been possible but not for you, you sighed. A few seconds later, you turned and walked out of the bar.

Once outside, the rough wind caught you off guard. You took a few moments to bundle yourself, then continued walking back to the Inn. The swirling snow in the air made it a little challenging to see, but you tried the best you could. Several times, the wind picked up and shoved you where it wanted, forcing you to grab on to something to hold until it passed.

 Suddenly a big gust of wind blew you to the right and knocking you off your feet to roll for several feet. When the wind slowed, you rolled over onto your back to spit out the mouthful of snow that you’d managed to ingest. It took you several tries to stand, but when you did, you tried to see where you were and what direction you needed to walk in. That was when the wind picked up again, making you scream. When you turned, you saw two headlights coming right at you, then all you felt was pain before you were out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[aynanasstuff]

Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar// Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader.

Summary: Sam and y/n are childhood friends who drift apart as life gets in the way. However, in that moment,it's like no time has passed.

__

(Okay quick A/N:i've mentioned y/n is desi but just to further clarify, in this scenario y/n is indian desi. since the word desi encapsulates a lot of people from a lot of countries, i just thought id mention that y/n is indian here. thanks! hope you enjoy it!)

__

Sam's phone call was a surprise, to say the least. The man was off saving the world, being a hero, making headlines. It didn't make sense for him to be calling you out of the blue.

_____

Growing up in Louisiana wasn't easy as a dark skinned desi girl. The red that some people adorned their values with bled through a lot, some of their beliefs didn't align with the red bindi your mom adorned. It was difficult finding a community, let alone one you could truly say were your friends. Sam Wilson, however, was more than eager to be a part of your colorful life. You lived right next door when you were kids and he seemed more like a blessing than a neighbor. You absolutely loved dancing and Navratri was a time where loud garba music was blasting in your house all the time. Curious little Sam couldn't help but wonder what was happening and walked up to your door, knocking on your door impatiently. You opened the door, looking at the little boy who seemed to be about your age, maybe older by a year or two. "Hey, um, what's up? I live next door, my name's Sam." "Y/n", you say as you extend your hand out to the boy, waiting for him to shake it but his eyes were stuck on you. You thought it was because something was wrong with you while he thought you were the most beautiful 8 year old in the world, in your little chaniya choli and a dainty maang teeka in your parted black bob and payals around your ankles.

"Beta,kya kar rahi hai? Bola hai na darwaza akele mummy ke bina mat kholna?!"(what are you doing,kid? Haven't I told you not to open the door without mommy?!) ,your mom yelled as she ran to the door, halting beside you. "Mummy, yeh Sam hai. He said he lives next door. Aur yeh mujhe khade khade bas ghoore ja raha hai".(this is Sam,he's standing here staring at me)

Sam, realizing he's been really impolite begins talking,instantly kicking in his southern manners, "Ma'am, I'm Sam, i live next door!" "Hi Sam, what can we do for you?", your mom asks the boy with a smile, her annoyance melting away. "Well, I heard really loud music and it's nothing like what the folks around here play, um not to say you're not a part of the neighborhood, I mean you are and I'm not here to talk badly about the music because I really like the music that's why I'm here and yeah I was wondering why you're playing the loud music, it's not that I have a problem with it or anything,like I said,"he finally finishes rambling, "I really like the music." Sam takes a huge breath in as he stops. You giggle in response and your mom smiles at him. "Well Sam, today is a very special day! We're going to be celebrating a festival called Navratri!", your mom replies, "It lasts for nine whole days! We dance a lot, we eat a lot, we pray to Goddess Durga and have a lot of fun,isn't that right,baccha?," she turns to you responding with a nod. "The music playing is called garba music, isn't it fun to listen to?" "Yes, ma'am, it is!," Sam replies excitedly.

"Sam! Where are you, boy?!" Sam perks up, realization hitting him. He was late for dinner and will now have to listen to his mom set him straight. "Well ma'am, I guess I'll leave now, my ma's calling for me, it was nice meeting y'all!" He does a little hat tip, smiling sheepishly. "Sam, come over sometime if you want! You can listen to as much garba music as you like!", your mom calls out to him. "Yeah Sam, I'll teach you how to dance!", you say, confident in your ability to make him your friend. Sam smiles, "Yes ma'am, I will! Oh and y/n, I really hope you do!" He almost has to hold in his excitement so as not to skip and give it away. That fortunate day paved the way for a beautiful, nurturing friendship. Your families became acquainted with each other and they, too, loved each other's company.

The friendship you shared with the boy with the toothy grin sooned turned into something more. You were both too scared to admit it, knowing that if it was unrequited, you'd both lose something that was far too precious to take a chance on. The day before Sam left for his first tour, the two of you spent a few choice hours in each other's presence by the dock, under the stars. "Abhi na jao chhod kar, ke dil abhi bhara nahi," you hummed under your breath as you fought tears knowing the distance would probably not sustain your friendship. It wasn't out of fear that you'd lose him, it was out of the fear that maybe losing him would be better than having to be so close and yet miles away from his heart. "What's that you're singing?", Sam asked, his warm brown eyes making you feel protected against the cold breeze over the water. You reply, with a twinkle of melancholy in your dark eyes, "Just a song."

But the both of you knew it was more than that.

_____

The tours, the avenging, the war, the blip ; Sam Wilson still hadn't forgotten about you. You hadn't forgotten about him either.

You both had a way of staying with each other without having to be there in your form. You lived in each other's minds and hearts and mended each other's cracks with those parts of yourselves.

This didn't mean you had actually seen each other since that night by the dock. The both of you only had a couple phone calls keeping you connected after. But time did as time does and you felt yourselves drifting away.Neither of you tried to reconnect either. Sam felt it was the right thing to do, to spare himself some heartache; so did you. Your lives were vastly different after he left for his tour and the two of you wanted to disturb the balance in your lives after.

So as you sat on the sofa in your childhood home in Louisiana as the sun shone brightly, Sam's name on your phone made your heart drop to your stomach. What could he possibly be calling about?

_____

So much had happened, in your lives, your friendship, the world in general, even the universe if you will. You couldn't help but wish he wanted to build the spark that always was a part of your friendship into a fire that gave you some much needed warmth.

"Hello?," you answer, picking up the phone. "Hey y/n, " you hear Sam on the other end and you find yourself letting out a sharp breath you didn't know you'd held in, " how you doin'? ". " I'm good, Sam. How are you? "you respond. He answers in a single word, "Good ". As much as this small talk felt like it was sucking the life out of you especially because you guys were once inseparable , you were okay with just hearing his voice after all this time. However, you couldn't just pretend this attempt at conversation by Sam and you was exactly normal between the two of you. So, you decided to tell him exactly how it is. "Sam, I-", he cuts you off" Open the door, y/n", "What?", "Open the damn door, y/n", you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

You walk towards the door, almost too fast, nearly tripping over your teapoy and you open the door, hands shaking with nervous hope. "Hey, you," Sam smiles at you with that same toothy smile you'd seen all those years ago during Navratri, "miss me?" You couldn't help but tackle him in a hug, distance and longing and silent innocent grudges be damned and in that moment all you could do was thank Durga Ma for bringing him to your door all those years ago.

___________________________________

Wow, that was a doozy and a half to right. This was my first ever fic y'all!! I'm so excited to publish it here! I really hope y'all liked it, this one means a lot to me! So enjoy it, like it, do whatever but DON'T PLAGIARIZE IT BECAUSE THAT JUST MAKES YOU PATHETIC!

Also tagging the besties:

@lil-stark @jacquessouvenier heyyyy

That's all! Byeee y'all <3

[sasoxichomoshi]

@flukewarm i believe i have a bit too much to unpack about this so i will be writing here

it's actually impossible to tell this by a post that has less than 10 words but it is not about if sun wukong is better than hanuman or vice versa lol, i posted this because i was tired of seeing things about china in pop culture

important to say i have nothing against china government or its people, but i am a bit ?saturated? maybe

i have no statistics to show and everything i am about to say is from the perspective of someone that lives in the west and was by almost all molded after the west perspective but i like to be honest with myself and with the people that i like so i guess story time

once i was talking with a follower (that from what i inferred is desi) and i asked them if they could search for nilah hindi VA for me - i think you already know the answer but i was confused when they replied "there's none", in my head i just could not find bc idk i didnt knew how to write in hindi and bc my keyboard is for the latin alphabet so i couldnt do much about it myself etc

i thought about this situation about a while... why would a localization for hindi not exist? i mean india is just behind china in population no? and then, as we brazilians like to say, the penny dropped

i realized that, yes india had just as many people as china but india has a big problem with poverty and people will work towards the essentials before even thinking about buying expensive hardware to THEN access a (let's be honest) shitty moba, not worth it

despite being incredibly funny that companies are now bending their backs to china to get a piece of the market, i also get sad bc it doesnt seem like we will ever have ramayana in the same level as journey to the west

it's not worth it, it's not profitable

league of legends have dozens of skinlines with asian thematics that cater to the chinese/japanese/korean market and they get a lot of attention and get extra batches and more skins and more cosmetics etc

genshin impact has liyue, based off china and inazuma for japan alone, they are standalone regions, they have their own thing, meanwhile sumeru is an amalgamation of every south asian + arab countries you can imagine, just outright disrespectful

heck even recently they released that triple A video game about su wukong itself like cmon man

and it's even more sad bc i know wholeheartedly that the journey to the west is a good story, i have been loving every single thing i read about asia and i say with sincerity (i have been reading about mongolia recently), but bc of this never ending exploration by greedy companies i dont feel like i am enjoying a story, i feel like i am consuming a product (i know that if any chinese person read this they would say i am just jealous bc they also have just started having their spotlight moment ah well) |may i add an extra feeling to this? this is one of the reasons i love bollywood, not sarcastically, seriously, like india just said "oh you guys wont do anything about us? no problem we got ourselves covered" i like it bc it has some layer of sincerity to it of "i wanna se myself in the screen too" and i think it's precious to have a industry like this to explore such a giant and rich culture (i wish we had a cinema industry as strong as bollywood in brazil like for real i envy this a lot)|

and bc of all this, by saying "fuck journey to the west all my homies like ramayana" i dont mean one is worse or better than the other, but that i dont wanna engage with statistically higher profit margins of these garbage companies and at the same time put energy and attention towards an equally relevant myth to bring it to the mainstream light and to the public knowledge

yea that's what i mean with the 9 word long tumblr post

fuck journey to the west all my homies like ramayana

[welldonekhushi]

To Love An Indian | Tony Stark x Desi!Reader

Summary: The reader is a desi woman who was appointed as an assistant by Tony Stark. How will your relationship with the billionaire genius go?

Warnings: All fluff, used Hindi language! Translations are available.

Word Count: 2,914

The special fact about you was, being an Indian was something common about when you live in a western country.

Mostly migrate to other places for finding a job, same as you. Never believed once in your life, you're going to get a job of an assistant. For a billionaire genius, and a superhero.

Everyone in your family was so happy about it, at least they have expectations that their daughter will finally make her name and earn. Maybe find someone special that you find to be perfect in your life?

Your mom and dad always worked hard for you for a better future and lifestyle. They never been so happier when they found out you were being appointed for a job in America. They felt so successful and proud for making their daughter educated enough to send her further.

Your flight was tomorrow, but the nervousness just kicks inside that how would your interview go. It was actually Tony Stark, the genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist. You can't even mess up with him. But, there was one thing which bugged you about, a tingly feeling.

You remember him since the day when the world was saved from the Chitauri invasion, and everyone was celebrating about the victory of heroes. It filled throughout the Indian media, about the new superheroes, named as the Avengers, who fight the inside and outside evils. The moment Iron Man showed on the screen, you were left surprised. You kept staring at the hero saving others and making sure if they're secure.

Mostly! When he opened his mask, and revealed his face, everyone held such shocked faces, like they never knew Iron Man was basically a human inside controlling the suit.

"Lo, hum joh isse robot samaj rahe the, yeh toh insaan nikala!" Your grandmother exclaimed. (Wow, we thought he was robot, but he turned out to be a human?)

"Chodo na, dadi. Hai toh hero, na?" You replied, turning back to the television. (Leave, grandma. At least he's a hero, right?)

But, you kept looking at his face. The way he spoke, the way he actions, and everything. You were lost into the man, that suddenly you revealed your smile, your sister noticing it.

"Didi, kya hogaya?" Your sister broke your contact, making you jerk in an instant. (What's wrong, sis?)

"O-oh, k-kuch nahi. Bas me usse dekh rahi thi, baat karte hue." You stammered, looking back. (Oh, it's nothing. I was just looking at him, talking.)

"Oho, pyaar me toh nahi pad gaye na?" Your sister teased, making you blush. (Oh, are you falling in love, huh?)

"Aree! Pagal toh nahi ho? Of course nahi! Hero hai, respect karti hu." (Hey! Are you crazy? Of course no! He's a hero, and I respect him.)

You did appreciate him, but this kind of respect leading to somewhere else.

It was morning, and the time for your flight. Bidding everyone a heartwarming farewell, hoping to see your family soon again.

"Beta araam se jaana. Maine tere liye bahut saari kheer banayi hai. Kha lena agar bhuk lagi toh, thik hai?" (Dear, go easy while you leave. I made lots of pudding for you, so eat it if you feel hungry, alright?)

"Haa maa, ghabrao nahi. Me araam se jaaungi. Ashirvad do bas." You kneeled down to take blessing from your mom and dad, them giving it back. (Yes, mom don't worry. I'll go easy, just give me your blessing.)

"Khush raho, beti. Kaam karna aur naam roshan karna." Your father removed his spectacles, crying tears for her daughter leaving. (Be happy, my daughter. Work hard and make your name bright.)

You hugged your dad, weeping because he wasn't ready to accept the fact you were now leaving him for a long time. After breaking the hug, you wiped his tears, giving him confidence.

Stepping in the taxi, you bid them goodbye, waving your hand and leaving for the airport.

Your new life now began, the moment you entered America. Landing, you then stayed in the hotel for the night, tired and exhausted. But, along that you wanted to remember your lines, so you quickly revise and go to sleep. In the morning, you hurriedly reach Stark Tower for the interview, since the time was running a bit fast.

Entering in the huge interior, looking at a lot of people working in. It did made your nervousness kick in again, but behaved like a strong woman, just wanting to complete the interview as a badass.

You reached the receptionist. "Excuse me, can you tell me where will Mr. Stark take the interview?"

"Oh, on the 15th floor, meeting rooms."

"Thank you." You smiled, reaching the elevator and waiting for the floor to arrive. Checking your watch, you were two minutes late, but hoping they'll just manage. Entering the room, feeling the slight cold air hitting your skin. It seemed empty, but hoped he was waiting for a while.

"Uhm, Mr. Stark?" You called out.

"Come in, Miss (L/N)." A deep, masculine voice filled through the room, knowing someone was actually in. Stepping inside, and closing the door, you seat yourself, trying to hide away your nervousness. It seemed you were slowly forgetting your lines but, being a strong woman is your passion right? Who even can—

The moment the chair turned around towards your direction, you lost it. It looks like you totally forgot the lines now.

Because Tony Stark just faced in front of you.

Did you just, blush? No, it might be embarassment. But, he too stared at you for a while. It was like an awkward staring contest, but remembering you were here for an interview, you brought yourself back.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark. Sorry for being so late." You wipe off the flick of hair on your face.

"It's okay. At least you were on time." He replied, giving a smile. Damn, it was cute.

"So, Miss (L/N). You're from, India right?" He asked, looking at your documents.

"Y-yes! I'm from India, also fully graduated from college."

"What really made you accept this assistant job?" He started asking questions.

"I just don't want to work for money, but I want to find what better I can do while I'm by myself."

"That's everyone's expectations. We should really try something new, and it's a fact of finding your true self."

"Right." You nodded.

"Alright, I have appointed you, congrats." He closed the document and gave a grin.

You widen your eyes. "What? I-I thought you were going to ask more questions..?"

"I don't ask many of them, I know you're capable for everything so, no need." He shrugged.

"W-wow.. I mean, it's way different back there.. haha. What a prick I am." You chuckled.

"You shouldn't actually be uncomfortable or nervous around me, okay? I'll always be available for your problems." He stood up from his chair, and you also too. Offering his hand for a handshake, and you happily accept it.

"Congratulations for the job, Miss (L/N)."

"Aapka bahut, bahut dhanyawad." You accidentally speak in your language, making you cover your mouth in surprise. (Thank you very much.)

He raised his eyebrow in confusion, not sure what you really meant. "Excuse me?" He tilts his head, smirking.

"I-I meant, thank you for accepting me as your assistant, Mr. Stark.. I'm sorry about that." You replied, trying not to fluster from embarassment. But, it didn't seem to make him feel weird, he was like.. more interested?

"No no, it's fine. Accidents happen, but your language is just beautiful. Just tell me whenever you're about to speak Hindi, JARVIS, my AI will help me translate it." He chuckled, and you laugh back.

"Mr. Stark you're so funny." You shook your head and continued to laugh. He sees you smile, which somehow warmed his heart. You might not notice it, but something was being created in between.

And time actually told that, when you both worked together for a long time.

"Please, call me Tony."

✧

Years while working with Stark, you really enjoyed the job. He was a sweet, generous person who will look after you, hoping nothing worse happens. It kind of made you both like good friends, later on. Everytime you looked at him, some strange feelings always attacked you. You can't even guess what it means, but maybe because you really appreciate him.

One day came, when you even noticed about his weaknesses. It made you worry when he never came upstairs to sleep, so after a lot of convincing, he accepted your plead and slept. Even it became more forward, when Tony faced nightmares, and wanted to sleep with someone by his side.

He had been lonely, and it hurts.

His tired face made you want to rub it gently, and relax him to sleep. But, it looks like, you weren't friends anymore.

The way he became more protective and caring throughout your job in his mansion. Like a boyfriend.

But, the question came, does he even love you back, that you're feeling it all?

In the morning, Tony woke up to see the side of the bed empty. Maybe you were up early and started working. He got up and rubbed his hair, went downstairs to get some coffee. While drinking, he suddenly heard someone.. singing?

It didn't seem like an English song. It was foreign.

He could even hear the feminine sound softly, coming from the othe room.

Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji,

Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji,

Tu ki jaane pyaar mera, me karu intezaar tera,

Tu dil tuhiyo jaan meri

Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji,

When he slowly entered the room, you were the one singing while cleaning up the documents. Seriously, he never knew you sang so well. It literally made him feel so surprised, by seeing your other talent. He leaned on the door ledge, hearing you sing beautifully without noticing, like he was lost into it.

Everyday, whenever you used to sing this song while working, he secretly saw you and always adored your voice. It just made him fall in love.

On a particular day, he heard you sing the same song again. He stepped in the room, seeing your beautiful face and voice again.

In midway of your song, you turn around and see him on the doorway, and you gasped. "O-oh, Mr. Stark! G-good morning!"

"Good morning." He replied in his groggy, morning voice. "I never knew you sang so well. You never told me you even sing." He chuckled.

"Really..? I uhm, used to sing but, I had different plans.." You rub your hair, looking embarassed.

"But you sing so well.. I'm amazed." He smiled. "Problem is, I didn't understand because, that's a different language. God, I need to take Hindi classes from you, dang. What does it mean?"

You both laughed. "This song.. uhm actually is about, a lover, explaining his.. other lover that, he can't live without her, because they're deeply attached to each other. It's my favorite song, by the way."

"Oh really? You're into romantic songs, it seems." He raised his eyebrow and smirked, finding a seat.

"Yeah but, uhm.. because they show a lot meaning, even after I'm just a single-pringle, haha. Weird isn't it?"

He stared at you for sometime, it wasn't serious, but gentle. "It's not."

You blushed, don't know why but the tone of his voice dragged into it. Both kept staring at each, and had no idea about the surroundings.

You were the one to break through, coming back to reality. "Oh! S-sorry I just got lost.. a while back."

He got up from his chair, and went closer to your direction. Looking at each other's eyes, he found yours the most beautiful. Felt like he can swim in it. Caressing your cheek and rubbing it with his thumb, you started to panic inside, not able to notice what's happening now.

"Y/N.." He said, in a soft voice. "I.. wanted to ask about something."

You gulped, still flustered. "W-what is it?"

He realised something else, and then cleared his throat. ".. can you, teach me Hindi?"

"Huh?" You looked surprised.

"Yeah, I told a very while back, that I will once ask you to teach me Hindi. I'm very interested, can you please?" He flashed a grin. Like, there was no problem for you to teach him your language. It's good to make others know about your culture.

You gave him a nod as a reply, and he became excited. "Thank you, I'll gladly be your student, Miss Y/N."

✧

For weeks, Tony had been taking Hindi classes from you. I swear, it could have been tough for him, but he was just so interested to learn the language. All you know he was just keen so you were teaching him all that. Giving him assignments and worksheets with grammar, you helped him through everything.

"Maine khana khaya.." You said the words, and waited for him to recite back. (I ate my food.)

"Maine khana.. khaya? Did I say it right?" He replied, in a weird way because his American accent was also mixing in between.

"No no, you're going correctly! Now say it again."

"Maine khana khaya." Tony said it properly.

"Good! I'm proud of you. Damn, Tony. You're going good in this language."

"For you, I can do anything, even learning a tough language."

The moment which left you blank again. He still fixed his soft eyes with yours, clearing your throat to break the tension.

"Okay so, do you have any doubts so far?

"Well, uh. I have a doubt, many of them." He rubbed his nose.

"Ask me."

He first rubs his hands nervously, then looks back at you. "How do you say.. love in Hindi?"

"Oh, well.. pyaar." You replied, being straightforward.

"Okay.. now how do we say, you're beautiful in it?"

You felt a tingly feel in your stomach, but still continued. "Tum khoobsurat ho."

He chuckles. "Alright. Now, if I ask my final doubt.. how do I say.. I love you?"

You gasped. Did he really mean it? Clenching your pen, you became nervous.

"Tell me, my love. I want to know about it."

".. me tumse pyaar karta hu."

"Yes, that is what I wanted to hear." He skids closer to you, growing close to your face.

"Mujhe tumse pyaar hai." He said, properly in Hindi. You felt like to explode. Tony Stark.. loves you?

Suddenly, he gets up from the couch, offering his hand. You grab it and get up, till a familiar song plays in the room.

Tony grabbed your waist from one arm and your hand from the other, swifting to the movements as if they're dancing.

He started singing the song, when the verse began.

- play it now! -

"Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji.." He sang the line so perfectly. You were just shocked and surprised. Both were dancing like a couple on stage.

Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji..

Tu ki jaane pyaar mera, me karu intezaar tera,

Tu dil tuhiyo jaan meri

Main tainu samjhawan ki, na tere bina lagda ji..

While he was singing your favorite song, you were about to burst in tears. You never believed it. The billionaire genius, actually loved you this whole time. Happily resting your head on his chest, he continued to dance while holding you close. When the song finished, he still saw the tears in your eyes.

"D-did you wanted to learn Hindi.. b-because of all this?" Your voice cracked.

"Yes, my love. Just for you. I have to tell this but.. I fell in love the moment I saw you for the first time. Your smile, laugh, voice, behavior, eyes.. and your.."

"And your.. what?"

He sighed, and then leaned to close the gap between your lips. The kiss was sweet yet passionate, like he waited for this moment.

He pulled off for air, both of your gazes neutrally looking. "I'm surprised that I fell in love with an Indian, like you. But, you're pretty, no matter what nationality you belong to. You changed my life Y/N. Trust me, the way you took care of, pampered, and worried for me.. I can never forget that. I really love you for that, my love. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.. d-do you accept me as your boyfriend?"

You started to sob, clenching his shirt tight. Maybe she wasn't happy about it. "L-look, if you don't accept, it's okay.. you deserve. Alot better than—"

"Yes, yes and a million times yes!" You said excitedly, and he sighs in relief. "Did you like.. learn the entire song?"

"Yeah, I even did take help from JARVIS for the translation, also from your teachings, never forgetting that." He winked.

"Oh god.." You laughed.

"But come on, you didn't like it? Tell me!"

"I did, Tony. And I want to thank you for it, a lot."

He gently wipes off your tears, and kisses your forehead. "Now, do you want to celebrate for our engagement?"

"Like where, Mr. Stark?" You said, flirtatiously.

He darkens his eyes, and picks you in the bridal style. "Right in our shared bedroom, sweetheart." He takes you in the room while giggling, shutting the door from inside.

[alj4890]

Happy Birthday @desiree-pow 🎂 Here's a drabble with one of your favorite pairings 😉

(Colt x MC) in a Choices: Ride or Die fan fic.

A/N You know I don't have a lot of experience with these two, LOL, but I'll try and do something with them for your birthday, Desi.

Masterlist

Can't Forget

How am I supposed to forget it like it never happened?

Ellie set her journal aside.

How could Colt expect her to erase from her mind one of the most life altering moments of her brief existence? She wasn't the same girl who was once too fearful to step off the straight and narrow path. The times she had done so, those few crazy months, had opened her eyes to not only a new world, but one where everything wasn't so necessarily black and white.

Those gray, shadowy areas were where she found her true self. They were where she felt her most comfortable...free to say or think whatever she wanted with little regard to the consequences.

But Colt had told her to leave it and pretend it never happened.

If he wanted me to forget, then he shouldn't have made it so memorable.

Being across the country did little to stop her from trying to find him. The hours she spent scouring social media sights for any hint of Colt Kaneko would have probably bumped her up a semester or two closer to graduation if she had spent that time studying for classes. Every possible thing she could think of that he either loved or once mentioned he liked was thoroughly searched. Picture after picture of motorcycle expos, drag races, and car shows were magnified and studied. Nothing was left to chance.

She had even made peace with her father in the hopes that he would tell her if Colt was ever found in L.A. and arrested.

Ellie had done everything she could think of to find the one man who had encouraged her to live a life without him.

She knew why he had done it. He thought he was protecting her. Give her a chance for a happy, dull life. He encouraged her to find some upstanding, intelligent person at college to start a life with.

How can I have a life without the one who actually made me come alive?

Her searches in her cozy dorm were giving her little to go on. There was only one thing left to do.

It was time to hit the road and see what she could find.

***************

A few months later, late one night, HWY 439, Nevada...

"Here." Colt dropped a few wads of hundred dollar bills on the table. "My entrance fee."

"You sure about this?" A tough looking man asked. His scarred cheeks dimpled with his smirk. "Ain't nobody been able to even keep up with Reggie." He nodded toward a tiny, young woman with bubblegum pink hair. "She can't be beat."

"Yeah, well, she hasn't raced against me." Colt muttered.

The man snorted with laughter. "Hey man, it's your money. If you want to throw it away, then that's on you."

Colt walked away. After having to lay low the last year and a half, he needed to find a way to make money. He didn't want to deal with the gangs his father had got mixed up in. Since he couldn't show his face in Los Angeles, he had done his best to drift from small town to small town.

Working odd jobs here and there was just not cutting it anymore. He wanted to do something legit, some kind of business he wouldn't have to worry about feds busting in.

There was an even bigger reason for wanting to go straight.

Ellie.

He had tried to forget her. Hell, he had tried to date again, yet no girl could come close to Ellie. Every decision he made now revolved around her in some way. .

Even though he had been the one to end what they had, he held that miniscule glimmer of hope that one day they would bump into each other and decide to try again. His legitimate business wouldn't make her fearful of her dad finding out about them.

And maybe...she would be proud of me.

"Focus." He muttered to himself. He needed to win this last race. The reward would be more than worth it. He could then settle down somewhere and open up a garage with no criminal history attatched.

As he walked back to his own car, he paused at the sight of a sleek, black 2015 Stuttgart 999 Widow pulling up

Ellie had a white one with gray--

Colt's jaw dropped when the driver got out.

Ellie pulled on a leather jacket as the cool desert air hit her skin. The crop top she was wearing along with the ripped jeans did little to help keep her warm. She scanned the drivers and gathering crowd for a familiar face.

"You racin'?" Scar face guy yelled out.

Ellie reached in her pockets and held up the money. "Yeah, I--"

"No. She isn't!" Colt snapped.

Ellie swung toward his angry voice.

The smile she had on her face warmed him to his core. He once thought he would ever see it again, much less directed at himself.

Not really knowing what to do, he started to walk toward her.

She ran and jumped into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she captured his lips in a bruising, deep kiss.

Catcalls and whistles cut through the haze Colt was under with holding Ellie once again.

It took every ounce of strength he had to break away from their kiss. "Ellie, what are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" Her smile grew as he frowned at her. "C'mon Kaneko, I know you're smart enough to figure it out."

"Why aren't you at Langston?"

"I quit." She shrugged when he cursed. "College doesn't fit my lifestyle anymore."

"The hell it doesn't." He argued, setting her down. "You belong there. Not out here with--"

"Hey!" She pushed at his chest with her finger. "I decide where I belong. Not you. Not my dad." Her eyes narrowed on his. "Me."

"Gawd, you are so stubborn." He ran a hand threw his hair. "Get in your car and go home!"

"I am home!" She snapped. "I want to be with you and--"

"Ellie!" He gripped her arms, giving her a little shake. "We can't."

It hurt too much to say that to her a second time. He couldn't leave things between them like that again. He simply wasn't strong enough. 

"Not yet. I'm trying to make it to where one day we can try. Just, I need to know you’re safe and okay in college while I do this. Then we--"

She shook her head, no.

"Dammit Ellie, work with me here." He griped.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I told you, college isn't for me. I tried it for a year. I hated every second of it." Her big brown eyes searched his. "The only happiness I ever felt was with you."

Colt began to curse the unfairness of it all. As he told her that any man who let her have power over him was a fool, he pulled her to his chest and buried his face into her hair. Clutching her tight, he finally whispered how much he had missed her.

Ellie felt the beginning of tears pricking her eyes as he continued to tell how she was the only girl for him...that he loved her more than anything. She began to stroke his back when his voice shook with emotion.

"I love you too." She whispered back.

"What am I going to do with you?" He muttered into her hair.

"I have a few suggestions." She leaned back to look up at him.

"I bet you do." He gestured toward her car. "You're not racing."

"Who says?"

"I do."

"Last time I checked, you don't own my car or me." Ellie reminded him.

"Ellie, please." He dropped the superior attitude, catching her off guard with his plea. "I need you to sit this one out." He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, letting the strands drift through his fingers. "I won't be able to concentrate knowing you’re racing too."

Ellie stepped back, gripping his hand. "Then I'll be your extra set of eyes."

Dropping his head half in relief and half in resignation, he guided her toward his suped up Nissan GT-R.

Scar face snickered. "You two make up?"

"You could say that." Colt opened the passenger door for Ellie. Without another glance at the annoying guy who was holding the possible winnings, he got into the driver's seat and started it up.

His eyes cut to the right and he felt the first smile in a long time form on his lips. Ellie was already buckled up and checking out the other drivers.

Colt reached over the console and placed his hand on top of hers, lacing their fingers as he settled their clasped hands on the gear stick.

Ellie felt a flood of adrenaline mix with her happiness at finally being not only where she belonged but also with the one she was meant for. She had been ready to fight him on allowing her to live this life. Now knowing how much he had wanted her there and not tried too hard to make her leave him again, she knew deep down she had made the right decision.

Scar face stepped to the side of the road, holding a white flag. He raised it high in the air while speaking through a bullhorn.

The couple's eyes met then turned straight ahead. As if they were of one mind, they both moved the gear stick into first.

Colt slammed down on the gas when the flag was dropped, all while quickly shifting through second and third.

By the time they reached fifth gear, they had already left every other car far behind them...just like they had all those months apart.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip​

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed!  So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’. 

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she��d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

[oceanmonsters]

(creating a new post because the original one was being passed around radfems circles and the notes were absolutely toxic - link to original even though it seems to have been deleted by op)

I wasn’t initially gonna reblog this because I was like well, I don’t think traditions like these should be completely beyond reproach / criticism and although I did have my ears pierced as a baby and am personally glad of it, it isn’t something that I would do to my own daughters if I had them. But then I checked the notes:

and I take that back because the people replying to this post prove exactly why it’s fucking needed. Because white women (especially white radfems, whom most of these are) really don’t know how to behave themselves when talking about woc / other cultures. “It makes girls into objects to decorate and look pretty” “A sense of control over their environment which heterosexual and het partnered women seldom get to have” “not owning her body that began with her mother piercing her skin against her will” these people are acting as if woc are literal child abusers for doing something that yes, although it may be a gendered ritual and not one I personally agree with, does very little harm to their child in the long run.

First of all, there are actual cultural / religious roots to the ear piercing of children (x) and yes, it was done to both female AND male children, although it has become more of an aesthetic thing nowadays and boys being pierced is much rarer. I don’t have any concrete sources on this but I’d be willing to bet it’s to do with the influx of western culture starting with colonialism that brought the idea that earrings / jewellery are unmanly and therefore unattractive. In fact, jewellery in general and especially gold jewellery does play a significant part in Indian culture and I know Indian boys who have gold chains that they wear around their necks and have since they were a child, although I don’t know the specific significances of these. My point is, if you actually bothered to research the culture for even two minutes, you’d see that this was about more than just “omg girls being decorated for men to look at!!!”. And even if you don’t agree with the culture of piercing children’s ears, which, as I said, I don’t particularly personally, it’s really not the massive deal that some people in the notes wanna make it. I’ve had my ears pierced since I was a baby and trust me, they have never ever held me back in life. I never even considered them much. You know what probably did affect me more? The general messages I was being fed to me by society that I had to look feminine and pretty, and have “girly” interests. Makeup culture. Beauty culture. My earrings are really very very low down on the list of things that had a big impact on my life. “Why don’t you wait until they’re at least 15” “Because it’s about establishing from a young age that they’re possessions / for male decoration / that exist to be looked at!!!!” etc. etc. No, a lot of the time it’s literally so that it’s done early on and then they don’t have to go through it later. Piercings can be traumatic at any age. My friend decided to have hers done as a young teenager and it left her so scared of them closing up and having to pierce them again that she literally wouldn’t even sleep one night without earrings on. Meanwhile, I had it done as a baby and didn’t even remember. Again, is this something I would choose to do to my daughter? No, but at the end of the day I don’t know a single person who got their ears pierced as a baby who is genuinely upset and resentful about having it done, because it’s really not that much of a big deal. “It sends a clear message that your body doesn’t belong to you” “it’s our culture to train infant girls that they exist to be looked at”! My parents, contrary to apparent popular belief about desi parents, have never encouraged me to exist for male consumption. If there is one thing my mum and dad have tried to impress on my my whole life it’s that education is the most important thing and it comes before boys or relationships or anything like that. My dad has told me on no uncertain terms that my education, my life, should always come before relationships and marriage. And yes, my mum also decided to have my ears pierced when I was a baby because that is the norm and she wanted to get it over with when I wouldn’t even remember it so I wouldn’t have to get it done later if I wanted them pierced. Even recently she’s told me she’s felt guilty about it when she hears people saying things like this and that makes me so angry because my mother is not perfect, but she deserves a fucking lot more respect than these people are treating her and women like her with.

These are the three that pissed me off the most:

White feminists really do not know how to talk about woc without projecting their own narrow ideas of cultural misogyny onto everything they do. Like they’re literally taking the actions of women from cultures they know nothing about and trying to analyse them and pile patriarchal reasoning onto them - and basically assuming that all woc who aren’t from western / “developed” countries are a monolith who all share a hive mind designed around upholding the patriarchy and can’t think for themselves, unlike the enlightened western feminists who have the critical thinking necessary to see through everything.

Radfems will use the violence and misogyny faced by women of colour in countries like India etc. to prove their points and then will turn around and show their faces with posts like this where they demonstrate that they don’t really care about them except to prove a point, and that any compassion and sympathy that they have for them ends when they don’t act in ways that aligns completely with their beliefs. You’ll talk about how misogynistic and terrible things are for women in countries like India but as soon as they don’t completely conform to how you think they should behave (mostly because of the societal pressures they face) they’re suddenly agents for the patriarchy who are seeking “a sense of control over their environment which heterosexual women seldom get to have”. “It’s not clear to me what it has to do with being white or not” what it has to do with being white is that white radfems absolutely refuse to treat women of colour with respect and acknowledge that we have different experiences to them except when it’s to shit on our culture for treating us badly without actually caring about us as human beings!

Do I think desi culture is absolutely beyond reproach or criticism in the way it treats women? No, there are certain aspects of it that absolutely disgust me (as do aspects of almost every single culture in the world). However, if you really cared about the misogyny and violence faced by women in these countries, you’d use your voices to uplift them and listen to their problems and support the causes they think are important and will improve their lives instead of just using them as a stage to soapbox about your own opinions. But of course, you couldn’t do that! Because they might think the wrong things are important! Because they don’t see the world through your special enlightened western feminist eyes who can see that earrings are the real root of the problem!!!!!

Again, I don’t personally agree with this tradition and I don’t think it should be above criticism, but it certainly isn’t awful or horrible enough to justify the sheer amount of vitriol directed at women of colour who do it - as op was trying to say from the beginning, it’s really not that deep. And in addition, what this post has done is reminded me why even if I do think a cultural practice should be criticised, I absolutely don’t trust white feminists to be the ones doing it. This isn’t me saying “my culture is perfect and beyond any reproach or criticism”, this is about white women not knowing how to behave when talking about women of colour of other cultures and being unable to talk about them without acting as if they know everything and projecting their own preconceived ideas about why the people of that culture behave the way they do in order to get their own points across about the society they themselves live in while simultaneously throwing the women of that culture under the bus by treating them as if they are completely helpless naive victims or agents for the patriarchy who are complicit in their own oppression, and either way are not enlightened enough to see through their culture in the way that only western feminists can.

[barnesandco]

Nikah: January

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of grief, war.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. This story will update on weekends, with two chapters each on Saturdays and Sundays. Tags are open, and for now I’m only tagging those on my permanent list. You can always let me know if you want to be added or taken off of something. I look forward to your comments and hope that you enjoy.

Bucky Barnes did not plan to start the new year as a married man. Not until three weeks ago, when this entire ordeal began. Yet here he is, a gold band on his prosthetic hand that is buried beneath the pillow under his head, while he watches his near-stranger bride sleep next to him. They’ve met in person a grand total of two times, the second being the marriage ceremony itself. Ceremony is an overstatement, he thinks. They eloped. Oh, if his ma could see him now. Bruised and war-torn, reborn from Hydra’s ashes with the marvel of Wakandan technology, married to a woman he hardly knows. And it’s all Peter Parker’s fault.

It had started with his silence. Slowly but surely, the youngest Avenger, known for his jubilant enthusiasm, had become unnervingly quiet. 

One week, and they begin to notice. Curious look and additional encouragements to involve him.

Two weeks, and they suspect he misses Tony more than usual. It’s been several months, but the grief comes and goes in waves. Laughter can turn quickly into tears. Bucky’s seen them smile at a joke and turn to the head of the table, or a corner of the room, looking for Tony or Nat’s response respectively, only for the smile to fall at the proof of their absence. They give him time, Sam gives him a talk, and Pepper, an invitation to lunch at the lakehouse.

Three weeks, and they return from a multiple-week mission and brake outside the kitchen like eavesdropping teenagers. The actual teenagers - Peter and Wanda - are inside discussing something. By the distress in Peter’s voice, it’s whatever’s been bothering him recently.

“-but if the student visa doesn’t expire for another year, why is she applying already?” Wanda’s asking from the stove, stirring a Sokovian soup. Peter puts a Tupperware container of extra chopped vegetables in the fridge. Leans on the marble countertop, sighing.

“She suspected that they might reject her. He PhD ends in June so she’s applying for a green card instead, but immigration policies are stricter now. Especially for people from Muslim countries, and she’s Pakistani. It isn’t fair,” He reiterates, tastes the soup. Anything to distract from his shaking hands. Wanda looks on worriedly. “I just mean- like- she’s been living here for almost ten years. She just wants to be a permanent resident. If they don’t let her, she’ll have to go back. She doesn’t want to, but she’ll have to,” He concludes, opening the tap and initiating clean-up.

“And she’s… important… to you,” Wanda states, looking over her shoulder, giving him room to elaborate.

“She helped me with English class and lit in middle school. She was there when Ben died, when Tony died, she’s just been constant, y’know?” He explains. Wanda puts down the wooden spoon, rests a hand on the counter and absorbs her friend’s morose expression.

“So now what?”

“There’s no way they’ll extend her visa. She’ll probably try again for a green card, but I don’t think it’ll work. If she had a steady job, she could apply for a work visa, but she’s freelance. The only other thing I can think of is marriage to a US citizen.”

He hopes it works. The marriage. Green card by family, by marriage, by him vouching for her. The ring is constricting around his finger, a heavy weight reminding of the sanctity of marriage, and how he’s breaching it. He wonders if she feels the same way. At present, she appears unperturbed, lying on her side facing him. The hand bearing the ring is in front of her face, resting on the pillow like a crown on its pedestal. The scarce daylight, just cloudy watercolor, tip-toes through the gap in his blackout curtains, casting a thing stream of moonlight across her face. Snow day.

They had barely made it to his apartment last night before the blizzard hit. She had been quiet then, even more so than now, when he can at least hear her sleep-steady breaths escape the cage built by the pink pillows of her lips. Eyelashes like snowflakes against the bags under her eyes. 

The mildly disturbing nature of his actions occurs to him, and he decides to stop. Gets out of bed and tenses when she shifts.  The duvet slides down, revealing her white night-gown. Bucky moves, steps as soft and sneaky as fog on the carpet, to her side. Lifts the duvet up to her ching, grazing her silk-clad shoulder in the process. A mumble, and he holds his breath, but thankfully, she stays asleep.

Shutting his - their - bedroom door behind him, he makes for the bathroom first. The shower is scalding hot, and his skin pinks quickly. The Wakandan shampoo is running out. He makes a note to ask Shuri for more, and thinks about what American item to send in return. Dunkin’ Donuts, perhaps. 

Coconut goes well with the raspberry scent of his new wife’s body wash, already embedded in the walls because she takes evening showers. Claims they help her sleep. It didn’t help last night, however, because she tossed and turned throughout, only coming to rest around three. Bucky didn’t fare any better, eyes shutting an hour later. 

He rinses his hair, the condensation from the steam on his arm washing off. Resumes his morning rituals - conditioner, shower gel, rinse, dry off. As he’s towelling himself dry, he takes in the evidence of her presence once again. The bottle of lotion on the vanity, the make-up removal wipes in the cabinet next to his shaving things. Like this is all perfectly normal.

It is, of course, everything but. You don’t marry someone you don’t know. The gravity of his actions tug on his stomach as he walks past the couch he offered to sleep on. He hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable, but she had vehemently refused to kick him out of his own bed. Said she would rather sleep in the snow outside. He’s sure she would have, too, given the excuse, and she would’ve melted the snow into steaming puddles around her, anger coming off red-hot like the sun’s rage.

He lights the stove and fetches the ingredients necessary for pancakes. Opens a recipe on his tablet. Never made them on his own a day in his life - Sam’s are better, but he’ll never tell him that. Something in him just wants to put her at ease. Anyone who cares to look past the stiff demeanor, the jasmine flower in her hair, the reluctant mehndi on her hands, the fire in her eyes, will see resentment. At the government, God, fate, destiny - all scapegoats to blame for putting her in this situation. For reducing her to getting married just to stay in the country she considers home.

Bucky is, too. Resentful, that is. What’s worse is, he doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand where the love went. Then he feels guilty, snorts at his own naivete, his blissful ignorance. Lover boy Bucky Barnes. He was never one for politics, he thinks, pouring the first pancake. What little he remembers of his youth wafts up; taking care of Becca, taking care of Steve, taking girls on dates, taking the ship to the war, taking out Nazis. Even in the trenches, where soldiers had a tendency to question Roosevelt, or cuss at Hitler, he’d order them to shut up and shoot. If us fellas were meant to do nothin’ but talk, we’d be in Congress already, but we ain’t. So quit blabberin’ and do your jobs.

The second pancake is on the platter. A door opens somewhere down the hall. He waits, still and patient, as footsteps enter the bathroom and the sound of his sizzling frying pan and running water washes out the anxiety of talking to her. He will have to, at some point or the other. They live together. She had suggested briefly that they not, hadn’t wanted to burden him, but he reminded her of his public image. People would most certainly notice if he wasn’t living with his wife, and then where would they be?

Said wife is now in the kitchen, wringing her hands, the glass bangles - chooriyan - chiming, and he pretends to be unaware. 

“James?” This plan doesn’t last very long, and he turns to see that she’s wearing what he would call a tunic if Peter hadn’t taught him it’s a kameez - he’s been giving him desi culture lessons - over a pair of jeans.

“Just Bucky, please. Mornin’. Sleep well?” He returns to the pancakes, blushing at his ineptitude. Tries to convince himself it’s okay, she’s an introvert, too. She’s uncomfortable around new people, too. The pancake tower is now five high.

“You should’ve woken me. Why are you making breakfast by yourself?” She ignores his question, a question he doesn’t know why he asked if he knows the answer to, and comes up to stand next to him at the counter.

“Why would I do that? I can cook, you know,” He says, only half in jest, the joke the first of the day, of the year, of their relationship. She smiles - a reward.

“Yeah, but still…” She trails off, then shakes away what’s troubling her. Bucky files that response under Things to Worry About Later. “I can see that you can cook. A little too well, it seems,” She laughs, gesturing to the sizable stack. “Can you eat five pancakes?” She asks with wonder.

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t eat more than two, and you just flipped your seventh one, so that means you’ll have to-”

“Don’t worry. They’ll be gone before you can say super-metabolism,” He reassures, and she nods dubiously.

“Can I at least set the table?” Bucky looks at her, soft and kind and wise, wishes that she didn’t have to experience this. Forcing a marriage to stay in the place she loves. What has the world come to?

He shows her where the plates are, sets about pulling out various pancake toppings. Syrup, honey, berries, Nutella. She places the plates on the table, brings him the pot of coffee he forgot he made. Finally, they sit. Minutes of utensils colliding and the pancake stack diminishing pass before either of them say anything. She pours him coffee.

“Thanks. You didn’t pour any for yourself,” He says, frowning around a mouthful of blueberries. 

“I don’t drink coffee?”

“Tea?”

“Yeah, but-” Bucky begins to get up but she reaches for his hand, chooriyan clinking against the vibranium. “I don’t feel like it today,” She tells him, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“You should’ve said something,” He says, upset at not being able to provide for a guest, the guest who’s going to be staying for a while. She shakes her head, spreads Nutella across her second pancake.

“It’s not that big a deal,” She laughs, cutting a piece. “Some days I feel like it and some days I don’t.”

“Okay.”

They finish breakfast in silence, and Bucky drinks more coffee than he should. She’s just picked up the dishes and is picking up a bottle of dish soap when Bucky opens the dishwasher and and takes both the dishes and the soap from her hands. Rinses and stacks them, then looks up at her as he’s drying his hands, still kneeling at the dishwasher. Observes the protest turn to surprise and then to veiled joy, and thinks: they might just make it through this.

Taglist:  @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCILLE BALL: NUMBER 1, BUT STILL TRYING HARDER

July 29, 1974

Editor's note: following is the final part in a series of eight profiles on America's self-made women.

By PHYLLIS BATTELLE 

“Success - whaddya you mean by that?” rasps Lucille Ball in that rowdy voice which strikes adoration into the hearts of Lucy lovers. 

“If your concept of success is happiness in what you’re doing, in being a mother, in being a wife, then I’m a success. I’m also damned lucky that I have my health and guts life takes guts and that my work paid off. 

“But if you’re talking of the kind of success that’s about dollars and cents, forget it. The real wealth is not out here in Hollywood. Its all highly taxable, honey, and who cares? Money has never been important to me. I hate looking at bills. I hate math. I’m a typical Leo: money-blind. What I’m saying is that not one of us out here has more than $25,000 to buy a stamp with! 

“Pennies, Pickles Or Something" 

So much for Lucy’s petty cash. Aside from stamp funds, she has assets: a million-dollar home in Beverly Hills, another in Palm Springs and an apartment near Aspen, Colo.; investments resulting from the sale of her Desilu Studios to Gulf & Western for $17 million in stock, her own Lucille Ball Productions Company: earnings from 23 years of “Lucy” series (now running in 77 countries); a percentage of “Mame”, the new super-movie musical; not to mention the proceeds from diligent work dating back to 1913, when she was two years old in Jamestown, N.Y., and spoke little pieces at the grocery store for pennies or pickles or something. 

At 62, Lucille Ball Arnaz Morton is No. 1 - but still trying harder. (1) Husband Gary Morton says proudly, “Her work is an obsession and a labor of love, and as long as the public likes her shell never retire.” 

Lucy recently did terminate her “Here’s Lucy” series, at least temporarily, but will hold her "business family” (about 500 staff and cast members) together while she produces TV specials. Now, she leers at her orange-haired image in a dressing room minor and says, “I’ve loved to work, always. I discovered very early that the way to please people was to make them laugh at me. So I appeared at church, school, Girl Scouts, anything and anywhere. Made the tickets, sold them, starred in my own shows. That seems backward now. That’s gone out. The business has been hanging itself, and the kids with it, by making stars and superstars out of strange, young people who don’t know their craft."

Drums And Records 

An example, Lucy says, could be found in her own son, Desi Arnaz, Jr. "When he was nine, he was very good on drums. Used to beat them while the records played as background. He got a group together with a couple of kids at school Dino Martin and Billy Hinsche and they called themselves Dino, Desi and Billy. Then Sinatra heard them, and they made a record and had a hit. 

"A magazine took off on them, and they went on tour. Poor waifs - thank God, they didn’t have any more hits. But it left its mark, this being made a star when you don’t know anything at all, and after two years it was damn hard for Desi and the other kids to get back to doing their homework." 

That sort of "big payoff for mediocrity" was not what happened in Lucy's own youth. Her family in Jamestown was "lower than middle-class, hard working, had a truck garden and was never hungry." 

Most Influential Man 

Lucy's father, a mining engineer, died when she was four. (2) Her stepfather was the most influential man in her early life. To encourage young Lucy’s "flair," he took her to see Julius Tannen, a monologist. (3) “When I saw Tannen sitting on a empty stage in a dark theater, making people cry and then laugh - oh, it was magic, pure magic," she recalls. 

At 16, she went to New York, where her stepfather entered her in drama school. "I found out how shy, awkward and unable to cope I was. The teachers put me down, said I had no talent whatever.” Lucy's blue eyes flash. “New York frightened me. Still does. You have to take me out of the hotel on a leash to get me on the streets of New York today. Being tall, lithe and well-sculptured, Lucy took up modeling. But then, almost tragically, she contracted pneumonia with complications and was bedridden for eight months. It took three years of convalescence before she regained complete control of her legs. At 21, through an agent, she was hired to become a Sam Goldwyn showgirl in Hollywood for an Eddie Cantor film, “Roman Scandals”. 

Would Take Any Part 

“Out here in California, I knew as much as the rest of the girls in movies, which was nothing,” she says. “The difference was I would take any part. I never sought to be a star. I didn't mind being typed. I wanted to be typed. One of the greatest thrills of my life was hearing a director say he wanted a Lucille Ball-type for a picture. 

Of course, later it was different, she growls, "when they said they wanted a young Lucille Ball-type. 

In 10 years as willing “Queen of the B movies," Miss Ball was out of work only two days. 

In 1939 she met a young Cuban bandleader named Desi Arnaz, and they married in 1940. From the beginning, their marriage was a difficult venture: Desi toured the United States with his group, while she stayed in Hollywood making movies. Then Desi served in the army, while Lucy starred not in films but a popular radio series, “My Favorite Husband”. They split. They tried again. 

Finally, in 1951, in a desperate move to keep their marriage alive. Lucy sold CBS on what, at the time, seemed an unlikely television series: "I Love Lucy.” 

It was the beginning of greater professional success, but not the end of domestic upheaval. Their first child, Lucie, was born when her mother was 40; Desi was born when Lucy was 43. But the much-adored children were not to save the marriage, and in 1960 - tearfully, knowing her diligent efforts had failed - Lucille divorced Desi, citing his outbursts of temperament, instability and violence. Desi did not contest the action. 

In parting, they split a $20-million television empire. They are better friends today - at arms length, with new matrimonial ties - than they were during the 19 years of marriage. 

Today, Lucy’s sense of well-being with one-time comedian Gary Morton (who is executive vice president of her production company), is obvious and delightful.

"It s really a super life, grins Gary, living with a thoroughbred." Says Lucy, I guess its very possible to live without a good man. Possible, but no fun. To bake a cake is no fun without a man. It’s no fun to make a garden without a man to watch it grow." 

Lucy also is, and always has been, a proud and over-protective mother. Is that bad? I don’t think so." 

A Share Of Problems 

But despite Lucy’s mother-hen" closeness to Lucie, now 22, and young Desi. 20, the Arnaz offspring have strayed into their share of problems. Desi and actress Patty Duke had a much-publicized affair when he was 16 (and Patty was 28); later he became engaged to Liza Minnelli, but that broke up last summer. Lucie was married in 1971 to actor Philip Vandervort, but the couple quickly split. 

Lucy is convinced her daughter, who is featured on “Here’s Lucy," will be a star. “Lucie," her mom says, “has all the material of stardom - ability, inclination, vitality, intelligence, beauty, good sense and good taste. 

“Wholesome Movies Alive" 

In fact, one reason that Lucille Ball finally agreed after three years of rejecting the role to star in the movie “Mame” is that Gary convinced me it could keep wholesome movies alive for talented people like my daughter. 

"This industry," Lucy shudders, “has turned into a sex-and-violence factory. The whole thing’s ugly, with thousands of ugly people ripping-off their clothes and ripping-off the public. If that’s what makes good box office, and if box office is what they mean by success, then success is out of kilter!”

#   #   #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) The advertising slogan “We Try Harder” was developed in 1962 for Hertz Rent-A-Car company, who was perpetually number two in popularity to Hertz Rent-A-Car. Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett satirized the campaign on “The Carol Burnett Show” on October 2, 1967. 

(2) Henry Ball, Lucille’s father, was actually a telephone lineman, not a mining engineer. One story had Hunt as the executive of a mining company in Montana. his death certificate listed him as a ‘laborer’. 

(3) Julius Tannen (1880-1965) was a monologist in vaudeville. He was known to stage audiences for his witty improvisations and creative word games. He had a successful career as a character actor in films, appearing in over 50 films in his 25-year film career. He is probably best known to film audiences from the musical Singin' in the Rain, in which he appears as the man demonstrating a talking picture early in the film.

[starryalpacasstuff]

Indian BL? FROM 2017????

There's an Indian BL from 2017 that I just watched. And I have incoherent thoughts

Before I continue, massive thanks to my bestie @anixknowsnothin for telling me about this show and proofreading the post for me. You don't even watch bl so I have no idea how you found this, but I'm incredibly grateful nonetheless

Here's the link to where I watched the show from, there's a glitch in the first episode subs where the subs seem to be from another show entirely, but it's only for the first ep and about 50% of the dialogue is in English anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to follow.(My ask box is also always open if there's a specific dialogue/scene in Hindi that you want the translation of)

Edit: The link seems to be region locked, so to watch it you can use a vpn and set your region to India, otherwise the episodes are available on youtube, albeit without subs

Note:- this post is going to have a few mild spoilers throughout, but I'll flag major spoilers in red

It's no secret that India is fairly behind when it comes to queer love shows if we compare it to other Asian countries. While it has a handful of great queer shows and movies, it's still quite a small quantity. Additionally, before this, I'd never watched an Indian show that felt like I was watching a bl (if you have recs, please send them my way!!). I'm not going to get into the technicalities of what feels like a bl and doesn't, because honestly, I'm not completely sure myself. For now, I'm just going based off of vibes and feelings, and this show felt like a bl through and through.

Titled 'Romil and Jugal' after its main characters, the story is a modern, desi, bl remake of the classic story...

Romeo and Juliet

Well, Bad Buddy was the first Thai bl I ever watched, so Romil and Jugal being the first Indian BL I watched just feels right, no?

I didn't actually know that the story was based off of Romeo and Juliet till the second episode, because I didn't bother looking for a synopsis, and jumped right in. However, it's links to Romeo and Juliet quickly became apparent, around the same time I started to see similarities between this show and Bad Buddy. I also did not know that this show came out in 2017 before I googled it, having already watched the entire thing, which was a pretty huge shock, because this BL is progressive by 2024 India standards.

Alright, enough of my rambling. Here's a synopsis of the show in case you haven't heard of it. (I couldn't find an official one, so I did my best to write a spoiler free synopsis)

Ramya happens to start talking to a slightly older woman at an airport, who believes that there is no romance in the younger generation. To prove her wrong, Ramya decides to tell the older woman her brother's love story. The story from the past is shown to us as Ramya narrates it to the woman in the present. Jugal is a closeted 19-year-old who lives with his parents. One day, a family moves into the house next door, and Jugal immediately falls for the son, Romil. The two of them attend the same college, and eventually become friends. The two of them eventually get together, but have to face the challenges of a homophobic society and having parents that hate each other.

I was a little skeptical of the show going in, but the show surpassed all of my expectations in the best way possible. It's no masterpiece, and it has its flaws, but it was far better than what I expected. It had both comical elements and darker themes, and it did not shy away from exploring the darker themes at all. Oh, and it has a few musical numbers. What did you expect? This is India after all.

The show is 10 episodes long, with 20 minutes per episode, and so it does unfortunately fall into some of the pitfalls that shorter shows tend to fall into, namely underdeveloped relationships and rushed endings. I did end up feeling a little bit like it didn't make sense for the pair to sacrifice and suffer as much as they did because they hadn't known each other for very long, and I felt like they should have been given more time to fall in love with each other. But it also could be argued that the show stays true to the play, and Romil and Jugal are dumb teenagers who make mistakes and stick with each other through them. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it.

One thing that I loved the show for was that it showed us that the relationship is not all sunshine and rainbows. They argue, they break up, they get back together, and they do argue even after that. But every time, they eventually work through the issue and reconcile. The show even depicts Romil dealing with internalized homophobia and struggling to reconcile with the fact that he will never be who his family wants him to be. Although I do wish they'd have had more time to explore this, I'd say it was decently depicted and handled. The show really delves into how children are forced to uphold their family's wishes and are constantly put under pressure to make them proud. Although it clearly affects both of them, it's more obvious with Romil, who is expected by his family to date and marry the daughter of his father's boss, whom they think he is dating. There's a metaphor along this theme too, where Romil pretends to like the mango shake that his mom has been making for him since he was a kid, even though he hates it, and when he tries to tell her, he has to act like it was a joke to spare her feelings. The show also goes into the communal mindset of basing your actions off "what will people think?", and you can see how a lot of the characters' actions throughout the show are haunted by this question. Some of Romil and Jugal's earlier disagreements are due to this very mindset.

The show also very candidly depicts the extreme homophobia of society in India. Romil and Jugal had to constantly hide who they were, always having to keep up a mask and I felt that reach somewhere deep inside me. When the pair come out, the show really shows how ugly homophobia can be in India. Their parents immediately disown them. They're mocked in college and wrongfully suspended for a fight that was provoked by other students. Very, very few people stand with them, and the pair very quickly realize that now that they are out, they simply cannot live in the city anymore. So with the help of Jugal's best friend and her mother, they flee to Mumbai, where they get jobs and live as paying guests with a friend of the aforementioned mother. But, even in Mumbai, the masks stay up. They have to act like cousins, for fear of being persecuted. The series depicted the worst-case scenario that so many of us live in fear of, so watching it was something of a cathartic experience for me.

Another thing that the show did quite well is showing how different people and their mindsets can be. Jugal's best friend, Ahalya, and her mom are very supportive, and they help the pair out quite a bit. Ahalya's mother provided a safe house for the pair and helped them find a fresh start. Meanwhile, Romil and Jugal's parents are incredibly homophobic. There was a scene that really stuck with me, (mild spoiler ahead, skip to the last sentence of the paragraph) where Ahalya's mother came across Jugal's mother, who prided herself on being educated and well-read, searching up how to cure homosexuality. Ahalya's mother then tells her off for calling herself educated yet believing that homosexuality is an illness. It is so important to me that the show depicted both the violent homophobia that permeates Indian society and the surprising, warm acceptance that one can find.

One final thing that I loved about this show so, so much is just how authentically Indian it feels. Asian cultures share a lot in common, but they also have their differences, so seeing a show where I can imagine encountering the characters in real life is really amazing. Rather than something big, it was little things sprinkled throughout the story that warmed my heart. The story felt like something I could hear the local aunties gossiping about. The way it depicts queerness in India hits incredibly close to home.

One thing I've learned watching Asian bls is that the ending of a show can make it or break it, but with this one, I'm stuck. The best way I can describe the ending is absolutely insane and incredibly Bollywood.

I believe this show was supposed to get a second season because the last two minutes of the show leave us with a massive cliffhanger. Now, it's been 7 years, so a second season is unlikely, so I'm simply pretending that the last two minutes of the show never happened. But the ending has so much more to it than just this (Major spoilers for the ending up ahead. I mean it when I say major, this is like going into Bad Buddy knowing that they're going to trick their parents in the end).

About halfway through the show, I remembered what play it was based upon and realized that there was a very real possibility that Romil and Jugal would die. The first half of the last episode leads up to this, telling us that they died when reconciling after an argument in the middle of the road when they were hit by a truck. We get a super emotional scene (yes, I cried) where the two families somewhat reconcile in their grief as they go to the police station to identify the bodies. Except... they're not dead, which is revealed when Romil's father hugs Romil's (not) dead body. They reveal that they planned this to show their family that they still loved their sons. I did say it was like PatPran tricking their parents in the end, didn't I? So the families reunite, Romil and Jugal get jobs in New Zealand and get married, and return to India for a wedding celebration (yes, I cried. again). The ending does feel slightly rushed, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. Believing that your child is dead for a bit is a somewhat justifiable reason for a sudden change of heart. There's a part where Romil and Jugal tell their parents that if they choose acceptance, they can reconcile, but if they choose to remain prejudiced, Romil and Jugal can simply get back on the stretchers, because they'll be as good as dead to their families anyways and it is *chef's kiss*.

All in all, the show was surprisingly heartfelt and poignant. It had me laughing, kicking my feet and even crying. There's a lot more about this show that I could talk about, but I'm going to stop here for now, and I'll try to write more on it later. This show really does deserve more recognition than it has, and I'm almost mad at myself for not knowing about it before. Am I being really biased when talking about this show? Absolutely. But I do think that this show is a worthwhile watch, and I'd really like to see what other people on here think of the show, especially because I'm aware that I am biased towards this show.

I'm tagging a few people who I know might be interested/have some thoughts about the show because this is a show that I really want to hear other people's opinions on and have conversations about, so I hope you guys don't mind!

@waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @bengiyo @neuroticbookworm

[lizzybeth1986]

I remember you said youre indian right? So far, what are your thoughts on PB's indian representation? What are your likes and dislikes about it? Do you think its offensive to POC having and indian villain characters? why and why not?

Well...first of all I need to put it out there that I haven't read some of these books in ages, so a lot of my input is secondhand.

Soooo...I'd say there are a lot more of them I'm seeing in more prominent roles, than there were last year, which on surface level is nice. I'm glad there are a variety of both side characters and love interests who are either Indian or of Indian origin (there is one I've noticed who I THINK might be from Pakistan - Dr Zaid Mirani - and I'm wondering whether Aisha from BP is from India or Nepal. Edit: Aisha is from India, thank you @doozysuzy!), and the desi rep does do my heart good.

They're all also very different from each other, both personality wise and arc wise. Teja is very different from a Shreya who will face very different issues from an Ajay who won't face the same struggles now as Jackie. Aisha who is a desi transwoman would have very, very different experiences! And characters like Nikhil from MW, or Nikhil from BB, or Parvati and Briar, or Raj - some of them have their own stories. And many of these characters seem to be second-generation immigrants, so I'm not expecting a lot of background information on where they're from in India.

On one level, that can take me out of the story a little, actually. I'm Indian and I live in India. A lot of us living here don't see it as one huge mass, we see it as diverse states put together into to one country. An Indian from Punjab is going to be very different from an Indian from Tamil Nadu is going to be completely different from an Indian in West Bengal is going to be different from an Indian in Nagaland. So when a character is possibly simply introduced as "from India" (and sometimes not even that)...it does throw me off a little, I must admit. The last names do help narrow down the possibilities of where they're from sometimes, but I'd like to whether Teja is from Mumbai, Gujarat or Karnataka, or is Jackie Varma from Kerala (please please please) or someplace else because, like, Varma is also a surname you can find in certain states. Ajay uses lovely names for the MC like jaan (darling) and his brother calls him bhai...but he calls his mom Amma, which...okay. Now I'm even more confused where in India this boy is from. The closest I get to know if someone is from a state here, is with Priya Lacroix who was described somewhere as having a "soft Mumbai accent".

But this is a small quibble from someone who hasn't grown up in the States, and I understand that these teams may not always view "where in India" as important the way I do. That's okay! In any case Indians aren't the only characters that deal with that. The only times I get irritated are when they don't take an effort at all and mispronounce names...like, Briar's mom shouldn't be a Pavarti, okay? It's Parvati. Paaaaarrrrrvati. (also, whose idea was it to lighten her skin for Lady Thalissa's sprite in Nightbound??? 😡)

On a representation level...thing is, I see a lot of problems, but I also see similar problems with people of colour from other places in the books. Many of them (Shreya, Teja, Jackie) are very good characters with a lot of promise, but who aren't always given consistent writing. Certain times they're even pushed to the background, their own character arcs forgotten. But I can't claim that to be a problem that you'll only find with Indian/desi characters.

Like...you will have an Ahmed Khabbaz who the narrative puts out as a Muslim man from Oman who does things a certain way...then they backtrack on that, more than once. You will have a Hana Lee who DID come from a specific place in China (Shanghai), and her writers did not do even basic level research (there is a scene where they made Hana call Shanghai ancient. ANCIENT). Some characters of colour do get better representation, but I'm noticing more and more that those are also the kind of characters that both the writers and fandom can sometimes exoticize (Damien, Zig, Raleigh). And don't even get me started on the kind of narratives/writing they give black characters. Don't fucking get me started.

About whether I'd accept a villain who is Indian/Indian-origin...hmm. At this point, sure. Because there are more on the opposite end of the spectrum to counterbalance that, and that's important. So unless they force said character into some kind of gross stereotype, I'm not too worried. I would have during the time Priya came out (and I said as much back then) because there were way less characters who seemed prominent back then. There are more now, so my issues would be completely different, let's say.

[miraakhan]

10 reasons why Thugs of Hindostan failed

This is not a film review. This is a critique of all the unwarranted criticism Thugs has garnered, which has been so extreme that part of me wonders if it’s all somewhat premeditated. But conspiracy theories aside, nothing evokes such vitriolic more than challenging the Indian people’s implicit prejudices. Which ones? Well, where do I even start. Here are just the top 10 prejudices reasons why this perfectly acceptable movie is getting unacceptable levels of hate...

1.       Because Indians are racists

How many Pirates of the Caribbean movies did they make again? And how many of them flopped at the Indian box office? I assure you, nobody was complaining about ‘illogical’ stuff in those movies. Why, because those movies were made by white and not brown people? Mind you the same junta will go watch Guy Ritchie’s Robin Hood this weekend and come out all praise for its fantastical, logic-defying action sequences. But since he’s a gora, well.. as Khudabaksh Jahazi says – “Ek Hindustani ka sabse bada dushman ek Hindustani hi hota hai.” 

2.       Because Indians are sexists

There are two female protagonists in the movie. And needless to say that is just two too many for the patriarchal junta of India. How dare they have a female character who is not a damsel in distress, but instead is a terrific archer and kicks total ass?!? To top that, how dare they have the other one be a prostitute with clear agency over her body, a rebellious mind of her own, and wield actual power over her male patrons? Nope, that’s just too much for desi pricks to handle, isn’t it? Also, given Aamir’s very vocal support of the #MeToo movement in India, I won’t be surprised if the social media attack on the movie was an orchestrated effort to hurt him for it.

3.       Because Indians are ageists

This is a country that clearly still idolizes youth and still hasn’t seen life expectancy go up like in the developed world. So how ridiculous to have a septuagenarian play one of the leading heroes, isn’t it?!? How utterly unbelievable to have said man look his exact age too, maybe even older. Mind you this is the country that happily sits through heavy-duty special effects just to have Rajni in a movie look half his age, because who the hell would ever come to theaters to watch Rajni the way he truly looks like now? 

4.       Because Indians are casteists

I hadn’t thought of this myself until an article in the Indian Express pointed it out. Firangi Malhar – Aamir’s character is clearly what one would call a ‘low-born’ hailing from an oppressed social and economic background. But that simply won’t do, will it? Did the movie makers really expect Indians to root for a… a Dalit? How dare they force us to confront our deep-rooted casteist prejudices like that, when all we want to do is enjoy a movie on a long weekend?

5.       Because Indians are religious bigots

And let’s not forget the other sacrilegious decision the movie makers now live to regret… to have three out of the four main protagonists be Muslim?! Oh my God. Literally. Keep in mind who this country voted into power five years ago and probably will again next year – a Hindu fundamentalist wannabe-dictator with a track record of supporting communalist elements in his own party. Here’s what’s funnier but also sad: the villains are more secular than the audiences of this movie. The British are actually celebrating Dussehra, and even if it’s nothing more than cultural appropriation, it’s still more religiously tolerant than Indians these days. 

6.       Because Indians are self-righteous hypocrites

The self-righteousness dripping from some of the reviews I read online is both laughable and infuriating. What about the word “Thugs” did these apparently literate guys not understand? Protagonists can be regular people too you know, and regular people are not perfect. The heroes in this story aren’t trying to be heroes, nor do they claim to want anything more than their very deeply personal objectives – revenge, resolving internalized guilt etc. In fact, the only person who ends up risking everything without any personal agenda, is Suraiyya Jaan. But does the desi audience appreciate the multidimensional complexities of these very human characters? Noooo. In a period movie set during the colonial era, desi heroes better be a sati savitri, or sata savitra, or they might as well be villains.

 7.       Because Indians are stereotypers

So if the Indian audience is to be believed, stereotyping morons that they are, Aamir Khan should only do movies with a social message in them and nothing else. He’s an actor for god’s sake, why can’t he just do a movie for the sheer entertainment value of it? He has repeatedly said so in his interviews, to the very same media people who now completely choose to ignore his pleas to just let him be an artist. The fact that he is socially responsible is a huge bonus that we should all be bloody grateful for, not use it to put him in a box that restricts his creative instincts. (And if some of you are now arguing that I’m doing the same thing, stereotyping all Indians as the same, well I’m sorry. I know I’m doing it, but at least now you know how it feels.)

8.       Because Indians are ungrateful

How quickly everyone seems to have forgotten the immense contributions Aamir and Mr. Bachchan have made to Bollywood. And this isn’t unique to the film industry. Indians are just as ungrateful to their sports idols, refusing to acknowledge that sportspeople, like actors, are only human. Everyone is bound to have bad days. So what if Yuvi doesn’t perform today, why let it erase the memory of the six sixes he hit in Durban ten years ago? How is it okay to insult and deride this man who is trying his best? It’s especially hurtful when it happens to Aamir because he’s been incredibly selfless in his attempts to improve quality of life in India. Sadly, Aamir, this society does not appreciate, let alone be grateful for, your activism, or your artistry.

9.       Because Indians are group-thinking morons

I don’t know if this is particularly true for desis or just a human trait in general. But it’s particularly hilarious to see it play out on social media. The lack of individual thought is sorely evident in all the reviews and trolls I read online. Also, newsflash, if all you do is retweet, reblog, and forward, you might as well be a mindless bot spreading fake news but adding no value to the discourse whatsoever. If you have a contrarian opinion (like maybe you actually liked the movie) but are too afraid to share it, why have a social media page at all? And for God’s sake, if you never saw the movie, shut the fuck up.

10.   Because Indians are trolls

Years of repression is likely responsible for this surge in social media trolling in India, but come on, you can only understand and excuse this behavior for so long. These trolls seem to have taken special interest in bringing down our biggest heroes and mind you, Aamir truly is a hero in real life – the kind we sorely need. And yet, for the very same reasons, he seems to have a target on his back, especially on the internet where cowards attack him while hiding behind anonymity. No matter what their agenda (jealousy, SRK stans, an episode of SMJ hit too close to home), they seem intent on holding Aamir personally responsible for shortcomings of the movie. I’ll admit Thugs isn’t perfect but none of its faults are the actors’ fault. Either way, I don’t think they’re doing it mindlessly. Like I said before, I strongly suspect an orchestrated conspiracy to bring the movie down. Why? Well, take your pick. Aamir has definitely pissed off a lot of people who want to keep the status quo. 

[cinema-tv-etc]

“Just the facts, ma’am” — “Dragnet” (1951 - 1959) (1967 - 1970)

“Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.” Such a cool opening for one of the most memorable “cop” TV shows of all time. Sgt. Joe  — My name’s Friday. I’m a cop — Friday (Jack Web) and his detective sidekicks (played by Ben Alexander and Harry Morgan) managed to keep us glued to the television with their subtle tactics in apprehending criminals because all they really needed in their quest was... just the facts. So cool. Dum, de, dum, dum! Check out this very cool short video.

“Stifle it, Edith!” — “All In The Family” (1971 - 1979) Archie Bunker (Carroll O’Connor) had a way with words. He called his liberal son-in-law,  “Meathead”and his faithful wife, “Dingbat “ (and he insulted about every stereotype you can name) without getting his hand slapped from the politically correct community. He was so lovable, though, right? Whenever his wife Edith (Jean Stapleton) had an opinion, he managed to stifle her — most of the time. Check out the time she stifled him here.

“Who Loves Ya Baby?” — “Kojak” (1973 - 1978)

Kojak (Telly Savalas) was probably the only New York City detective on TV who made the Tootsie Roll Pop sexy. And, didn’t he start the bald head craze? (OK, Yul Brenner in the “King And I” helped get this trend started).  Who loves Ya, Baby? We do, we do!  (Look here for clip.)

“Good Evening” — Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1955 - 1962)

Maybe you had to be there, but no one could grab an audience with an introduction quite like Alfred Hitchcock. His “series of unrelated short stories covering elements of crime, horror, drama and comedy about people of different species committing murders, suicides, thefts and other sorts of crime caused by certain motivations” kept us coming back for more each week. It seems like seven years just wasn’t enough for this film director and his spell-bounding stories.  Take a look at his one-of-a-kind introductions here.  

“Would you believe... “ — “Get Smart”  (1965 - 1970)

“Get Smart” (battling the forces of KAOS) had an embarrassment of riches in the catchphrase department. Maxwell Smart, Agent 86 (Don Adams) kept his co-hort, Agent 99 (Barbara Feldon) and the Chief (Edward Platt) on the tips of their toes every time he opened his mouth. “Would you believe” these words of wisdom: “Missed it by that much!,” “Sorry about that, Chief,” and “I asked you not to tell me that.” Yes, we would believe anything you say, Agent 86. Take a peek at these “Get Smart” funniest moments here.

“To the moon, Alice!” — “The Honeymooners/The Jackie Gleason Show” (1951 - 1959) Who could forget the wild and crazy antics of New York City bus driver Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleason), sarcastic wife Alice Kramden (Audrey Meadows), NYC sewer worker, Ed Norton (Art Carney) and his wife Trixie (Joyce Randolph)? These four feisty Brooklyn residents tested each others patience on a daily basis which was the reason millions of viewers tuned in once a week. Needless to say, Alice Kramden knew how to draw blood which is why Ralph gave her the what for... “One of these days, Alice, you’re going to the moon!”   “Just One more thing...” — “Colombo”  (1971 - 2003)

Peter Falk made “Colombo” a household name with his unique way of solving the “whodunit” mystery in this clever television detective show. The Fashion Police would have a field day with this disheveled, cigar-smoking detective. (Oh, that rumpled, beige raincoat... how we loved it.) The criminal always thinks he/she has the upper hand in the investigation only to be caught up in the web of Colombo’s increasingly intrusive presence. Just when the suspect thinks all is well,  the polite detective (who always gets his man/woman), has “just one more thing“ to ask.

“Goodnight, John Boy” — “The Waltons”  (1971 - 1981)

This Great Depression Virginia mountain family sure knew how to grab our hearts. Each episode focuses on the “family of John Walton Jr. (known as John-Boy), his parents, John and Olivia Walton, their seven children, and John’s parents Zebulon “Zeb” and Esther Walton. John-Boy (Richard Thomas) is the eldest of the children (17 years old in the beginning), who becomes a journalist and novelist. In the signature scene that closes almost every episode, the family house is enveloped in darkness, save for one, two or three lights in the upstairs bedroom windows. Through voice-overs, two or more characters make some brief comments related to that episode’s events, and then bid each other goodnight, after which the lights go out.”

“Let’s be careful out there.” — “Hill Street Blues” (1981 - 1987)

“Hill Street Blues“is an American serial police drama that chronicled the lives of the staff of a single police station located on the fictional Hill Street, in an unnamed large city, with ‘blues’ being a slang term for police officers for their blue uniforms.”  In the opening, Sgt. Phil Esterhaus  (Michael Conrad) does the police roll call, concluding with his signature line: “Let’s be careful out there.”

“May God bless.” — “The Red Skelton Show” (1951 - 1971)

“The Red Skelton Show” was mainly known for the comedy sketches performed by Red himself which included an array of comedic characters (Clem Kadiddlehopper, San Fernando Red, George Appleby and Freddie the Freeloader). He also had guest star performers including John Wayne, Phyllis Diller, Jack Benny... the list goes on forever. His opening monologue often included his two favorite seagulls, Gertrude and Heathcliff. At the end of each show, he ended it with thoughts that went something like this.

“Lucy! You got some ‘splainin’ to do!” — “I Love Lucy” (1951 - 1957) That crazy redhead we affectionately know as Lucy Ricardo (Lucille Ball) was never at a loss for words... or hair brained, good-natured mischief. Her cohort, Ethel Mertz (Vivian Vance) was somewhat skeptical at times to play along, but the two BFFs made life interesting for their respective spouses, Ricky (Desi Arnaz) and Fred (William Frawley) to say the least. When Lucy tested Ricky’s patience one too many times, he screamed the only phrase that came to mind (each time): “Lucy, You got some ‘splainin’ to do!” Don’t we all use that phrase ocassionally when we get pissed at our significant others (no matter what gender they are)?

“Yada, Yada, Yada” — “Seinfeld” (1989 - 1998)

Let’s give a big round of applause to Jerry (Jerry Seinfeld), Elaine Benes (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), George Costanza (Jason Alexander) and Cosmo Kramer (Michael Richards) for giving us the best nine sitcom seasons of our lives. Did you know it was actually George’s new girlfriend, Marcy, who came up with the “yada, yada, yada” expression? If you don’t do anything else today, watch this Seinfeld montage.  

“Come On Down!” — “The Price Is Right“ (1956 - 1965) (1972 - Present)

I don’t care how old you are, you have heard — at one time in your life — a game show announcer say, “Come on down!” You know the game show: “The Price Is Right.” And you know the master of all game shows: Bob Barker. The point is, no matter what year you were born, somewhere, on some network, “The Price Is Right” has been on your radar. Unless you live in a third world country. Check out this “Come on down!” video with Bob Barker.

“Sock it to me.” — “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In” (1967 - 1973) The comedy team of Dan Rowan and Dick Martin hosted this psychedelic, fast-moving comedy series that featured series regulars Lily Tomlin, Ruth Buzzi, Judy Carne, Goldie Hawn, Arte Johnson, Jo Ann Worley, Gary Owens, Alan Sues and Henry Gibson. Judy Carne became the butt of the joke when she said, “Sock it to me.” They doused her with water or gently assaulted her with rubber objects. Be careful what you say out there.

“Dy-no-mite!” — “Good Times” (1974 - 1979) “Good Times“ lets us in on the lives of Florida (Esther Rolle) and James Evans   (John Amos) and their three children, J.J. (Jimmie Walker), Thelma (Bern Nadette Stanis) and Michael (Ralph Carter). “Episodes of Good Times deal with the characters’ attempts to survive in a high rise project building in Chicago, despite their poverty” ... and hilarity ensues. Fess up, you know you said the word “Dy-n-Mite!” every time something good happened in your life back in the day, thanks to the adorable J.J. (Although nobody says it better!)

“God will get you for that!” — “Maude” (1972 - 1978)

Who remembers that “Maude“ was a spin-off from “All In The Family?” Yes, Maude (Bea Arthur) was Edith’s cousin —  who  somehow got the spunk gene in the family.  And who remembers that Maude was a “liberal, independent woman living in Tuckahoe, NY with her fourth husband, Walter (Bill Macy)?” And if you didn’t know all that... (say it).

“De Plane, De Plane” — “Fantasy Island” (1977 - 1984)

Picture it: a remote tropical island resort where all your dreams come true. Well, not exactly. There were glitches in those wishes. Mr. Roarke (Ricardo Montalban ), assisted by his adorable miniature side-kick Tattoo (Hervé Villechaize) had the best of intentions of making his guests live out their fantasies, but what kind of show would that be if everything were perfect? You could count on one thing. The beginning of each episode,  a plane arrived with their (we’re presuming rich) guests. Tattoo always alerted Mr. Roarke, by pointing up to the sky, announcing: “De Plane, de plane!” Welcome to Fantasy Island.

“What U Talkin’ ‘bout Willis?” — “Different Strokes” (1978 - 1986)

“Different Strokes” starred Gary Coleman and Todd Bridges (Arnold and Willis Jackson), Conrad Bain (Phillip Drummond) and Dana Plato (Kimberly Drummond) who were perhaps one of the first racially mixed families on television.  Arnold didn’t hold back when Willis came up with some bizarre and/or surprise monologue that got his goat. “What u talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”  Too cute!

“Book ‘em, Danno.” — “Hawaii Five-0” (1968 - 1980)

This may be my all-time favorite detective show based in Hawaii (sorry “Magnum P.I.”). And it may well just be because of one of my all-time favorite detective catchphrases: “Book ‘em Danno.” Detective Steve McGarrett (Jack Lord) worked so well with Danny Williams (James MacArthur) in each episode to put the bad guys in hand cuffs. (And who didn’t love that theme song!? Check it out here and turn the volume up and enjoy!)

“Say the secret word and win a hundred dollars.” — “You Bet Your Life” (TV version, 1950 - 1961)

Groucho Marx was probably the first choice to host this quiz show that featured a show chocked full of competitive questions — and some hilarious conversation. As it turns out, the comedian was the perfect host. As in all quiz shows, there is money to be won. But, with the right “word,” a contestant could win an extra hundred big ones. All they had to do was say the secret word. Easy Not so fast. How many words are in the English language? But we loved to hear Groucho announce: “Say the secret word and win a hundred dollars.” Sometimes they did. And that was seriously exciting.

“Say goodnight, Gracie” — “The George Burns And Gracie Allen Show“ (1950 - 1958)                              

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/catchphrases-classic-tv-shows_b_8142724.html

[vyasgiannetti]

Design, Communication Trends in the Alcobev Industry

Addressing the elephant in the room — India is a dark market where alcohol brands have had to hide behind surrogates such as music, waters, and sodas for years in order to reach out to the audience. However, the tide is slowly changing.

Gone are the days where alcohol is associated with dingy-looking liquor stores adorned by dusty bottles or with men in ganjees seeking desi daaru and sale through store shutter windows late into the nights.

Today, as the taboo around alcohol starts to wear off, in new-age urban India the alcohol industry is also starting to shift dramatically at a fast pace. Drinking culture is becoming normalised and in fact flourishing; giving rise to brands innovating, finding newer ways to market themselves and actively engaging with their audiences.

Vyas Giannetti Creative is an advertising agency in India. Over the years, we have worked with a number of brands in this industry, to help them address various problems their brands have faced. From repositioning and branding exercises to marketing and communication, being one of the top advertising agencies in Mumbai, Vyas Giannetti Creative (VGC) has been able to help these brands across the board.

There are a number of emerging trends in design and communication for the alcobev industry and we’d like to demonstrate some of these through two of our projects -

1. Foster’s, one of the world’s leading beer brands, had trouble connecting with their audience when they launched in India. VGC helped position them for the local context and rolled out a holistic communication strategy, right from brand activation to product advertisements and much more.

2. TJ’s BrewWorks is a brand with a national ambition that opened its first microbrewery in Pune. With microbreweries being a relatively new concept in India, we needed to find a way to educate the audience about the concept of homebrewed beers to differentiate it from the standard beer. To do so, we strategically branded the company, created an environment and various elements within it that showcased the different types of beer on offer, developed communication and a whole lot more.

Now, let’s take a look at some of these trends we spoke about earlier.

Innovative Packaging:

When it comes to beer, most beer drinkers prefer a nice, cold one. Warm beer is despised by beer aficionados, the world over. But, how does one tell if your beer is cold enough to drink. 10 minutes in the refrigerator? 20 perhaps? There’s isn’t really a science or guide to getting this bit right.

              When Warm

To fix this, VGC had designed thermo-sensitive packaging a beer brand. The packaging would reveal a hidden element (like a mountain or the degree symbol, as depicted in the visual) when at or under the preferred temperature for consumption (anywhere between 4 to 7 degrees Celsius for a typical lager) and this element would disappear, when it was warm. This way, even before picking up a bottle or pulling it out of your fridge, you’d know that your beer was cold and ready to consume.

           When Cold

Immersive Experiences:

Today’s consumer prefers experiences over products (oh, that typical millennial mindset!). They are interested in engaging with their environment rather than just sitting around and having a drink. They like to get into the thick of things. So, when we set out to design the brewery, we wanted to create an experience that was definitely out of the ordinary, by making the whole place conversational and engaging the audience across all touch points.

                                           Beer Mood Swatch                         

         Revolving Beer Menu — For those that can’t make up their mind

                                      Conversational Table Mats

Our intent was to establish the brewery as a place that not only brewed beer but also brewed conversations, art, music, news and much more. So, from interactive table mats and coasters, where consumers could fill in answers to certain questions and win a ‘six-pack’ to a blackboard where people could draw or write about what was brewing in their lives, the whole space was designed to interact with the consumer. We even created a beer mood swatch so that consumers could pick a beer based on their mood. Even the menu was playful and interactive. All of this really helped bring alive the place and made it the preferred destination to get a brew.

                           The beer lounge model at an airport

                            The beer lounge adapted for a pub

We were also tasked with creating immersive beer lounges, which were aligned with the parent brand’s positioning; these would offer a customer maximum control over the brand experience while delighting their five senses and also help in driving in traffic. The beer lounges were designed to have chill pits, a bar area and a lounge area for people to relax and move around in. Created for people to actually chill in while getting some of their favourite beer, this model could also be replicated in public spaces and pubs all across the country, from airports to malls and more.

Engaging the audience:

As the mindset of the audience shifts and brands become more inclusive towards them (especially women, who make up a large share of their customer base), it is becoming increasingly important for alcohol brands to actively engage with their diverse target group across various touch points.

A universally simple way to do this is to use elements of humour in your communication. This can be across mainline communication, or in our (India’s case) across customer experience points.

Fun ‘O Clocks

Standees, Banners and Collaterals to bring alive the brand’s positioning

                                  Funny quips under bottle caps

Cheeky lines, punchy captions and engaging visuals are the norm. It helps make the brand more relatable and inclusive. Also, adding an element of fun, helps the brand stay buzzy and entertaining for the end consumer. From pubs to breweries and from experience design to ATL (restricted) communication we have used elements of fun across various places, to playfully engage & captivate our audience.

Compelling Associations:

Earlier, alcohol brands used to settle for being passive sponsors with their logos strewn all over a baseball field or cricket stadium. Today, a lot of brands are developing properties of their own, engaging with new audiences and chartering new paths for customer engagement. Associating alcohol with music however, is a no-brainer.

Invites and Communication for the stand-up event with Vir Das

Coasters with different messages that you could share with a friend or pass to a stranger to begin a conversation with

For one of our clients, we helped curate and create a unique (at the time) platform to associate the brand with — stand-up comedy. Back when stand-up comedy was at its nascent stage in India, we celebrated comedy through LOL evenings — a series of shows anchored by Vir Das, in pubs and bars across the country. This helped us establish the brand as an innovator that was doing something different.

Bringing the brand alive online:

The internet and social media are the perfect place to bring your brand alive. Especially in India, where brands are restricted in terms of mainline communication, the online channels have fewer restrictions, allowing brands to engage directly with their audiences.

Giving people the opportunity to share a talk about their favourite brew

A whole lot of merchandise and gear that could be won or purchased

The Result — A huge number of fans in an extremely short span of time.

For clients in the restricted space, the key is to make the communication engaging, impactful and fun. In fact, we did this at a time where social media marketing was still relatively new to India. From gifting & promoting merchandise to badges, exclusive content, contests and other engagements, the campaigns we created and executed, helped boost engagement and awareness of these brands.

As audiences become younger and as the media by which we engage with them becomes even more diverse, it is important for brands in the alcobev industry to find newer, innovative ways to engage with them, is our belief as an advertising agency in India.

From using cutting-edge technology, to crafting immersive experiences and engaging with talented creative agencies, brands are doing everything they can to stay ahead of the competition.

So, how can you increase your brand’s edge?

Well, watch this space or log on to our website — www.vgc.in for help with your brand or to just watch out for more emerging trends and techniques to tackle the ever-evolving alcohol market. We are one of the top advertising agencies in Mumbai.

Article as featured in Ambrosia India (The Magazine for the Alcobev Industry)

[cursed-saphire-hart]

One of my better earlier stories ♡

(An old pic Im still proud of)

-

Title: If We Had Met In Another Life

Chapter: N/A

Au: 20s

Word Count: 1,853

Rating: T

Summary: N/A

She had been riding awhile, it was morning when she left, and now as she was sitting in the seat of the train, the cool morning, turned into a warm afternoon. Hours passed, and she had fallen asleep under her fathers old jacket, it smelled of pine wood bark dust, and cigar smoke, it made her feel less afraid and lonely as the train traveled further from her home, the vibrations from the wheels below had rocked her to sleep, and the soft music playing lulled her into the world of dreams, as the soft cushions of her seat held her body in place. For a dream that seemed like only minutes, more hours had passed, and the announcers voice over the intercom awoke her.

The train stopped at its destination with a screech as metal on metal slid to a stop, and the announcement along with the sound of the train whistles, and the patter of feet echoed through the station as a young girl stepped off the train. With her, she carried a suitcase and an old carpet bag, both in which had experienced years of use during they're previous owners travels. As she walked through the area, which was all so new to her, she bought a paper which was dated July 1st, 1924, Friday. Thneedville, only 3yrs ago it was named Greenville, and was now a big city, music poured out of every building and shop, all so wonderful, all the bright colors and lights, with the scent of baked goods, grilled food, and perfume to fill the air as it road the soft breeze that flowed through the buildings and streets, it was like a dream.

That's why it was this girls destination, she was 18, and out of house for the first time. As she walked through the town that was as bright as day in the middle of the night, the young girl read the news paper, she had always loved reading the daily paper, on the front page was vibrantly colored print announcing the grand party that would be held on the forth of July. This was defiantly a first for the girl, the papers back home were all black and white, was everything in this city just that amazing, it was defiantly catching her attention, that was for sure.

When she did manage to look up from the paper she saw how many girls were wearing colorful small dresses and expensive furs, while she was wearing plain brown pants that were baggy and hid her other wise pencil thin figure, they were pulled up to her waist and were held by black suspenders, she even wore a plain white baggy button up shirt with the too long sleeves rolled up to her elbows with worn black boots.

She was a lovely young bae, but she stood out among the other flappers in her fathers old clothes. But she liked it that way, she didn't have the need to show off her figure, if she had one, so she wore any clothes her father would hand down to her. Her long hair was tied back and was at least 2 feet past her shoulders, while all the other girls had there's cut short in a bobcut, long and pulled back was just the way she always liked it, with a bright red bandana to hold her thick locks.

Instead of feeling like an outcast, she fallowed her mother's words and held her head high, and walked through the streets, proud to be the girl she was. Now why is a small town girl like her in a big city, you may ask? She was working on a book of course, and the bae had two years to get it done, if it was good enough, it would be published, that was deal she had made. They said she had talent and creativity, but she lacked the writers experience, and if she could write a good novel in a 2yr time period, she would finally be living her dream.

As happy as the girl could be in the big city, all the walking around was getting tiring, the small town of Green Meadows was nothing compared to this huge place. The young bae soon found a place to rest for a moment, and was well relieved, the girl walked through the doors of the club, and took a seat at the bar seats, finally able to set down her bags, and rest her aching feet.

She sighed softly and leaned forward on her arms, she closed her eyes, and took in the smooth music, the soft spoken words between people as they chatted, and the soft pitter patter of feet against the tiled floor.

The old clock in the lounge struck 8 pm, and its loud gong like sound vibrated through the air, just as the soft jazz music did as it was played skillfully by a colored group. It was peaceful, and soothing to the young girl, she finally had a moment to calm herself from all her excitement. Her heart was still pounding in her chest like a drum, and her hands where a little twitchy, this town had so many new things, and so much inspiration, anyone of them could be her writing muse, how was she going to pick just one..?

She let her mind clear, and soon a new sound flowed through the air, it's soft ring, it could only have had been the bell of the door.

She could hear someone walk closer to her, for reasons unknown to her, she drowned out everything else, she focused only on that other person. The bae didn't open her eyes, she didn't move. She took a deep breath, letting go of the breath she had been holding, she could smell whine, cigar smoke, and perfume, but there was something else, something sweet. It smelled like freshly made cream, honey, and wild flowers, the only thing she could compare it to, the only title it could go by, and suit it well enough, was the sweet scent of butterfly milk.

"Can I buy you a drink Miss?" said a calm, mesmerizing voice, with a sly tone.

The girl opened her green eyes and her heart skipped a beat, her cheeks bloomed with a soft blush. Sitting next to her was a tall man, at least 7 foot 8, he had a young face, and peach colored skin, he couldn't be more then 25.

"Oh uh.. sure... I-I suppose.." she squeaked out blushing more, she really hoped he hadn't noticed her staring. "What would you like?" he asked resting his chin on his gloved palm with his elbow rested on the bar table. "Uh... Dr. Pepper I suppose... I don't drink..."

"Alrighty," The bar tender took a bottle of Dr. Pepper out of the ice chest and popped the cap off before giving it to the green eyed girl. She was so nervous to take a drink, she could feel him watching her behind dark blue tinted lenses, "What's your name..?" He asked sitting up right, he reached into his green tailcoat, and pulled out a cigar box and a golden cigar cutter, this man had money to burn. "Desiree Evergreen," she told him gripping the cold bottle in her hands. The fizzy elixir inside was ice cold, cooling her already clammy hands. Her heart was racing, and her face felt so hot, but at the same time, but her blood felt so cold, a new feeling swelled in her heart as it drummed.

"Desiree... sounds kinda French..." he said lighting his cigar, "It is... it means to be desired... and is also the name of a pink potato..." the man tried to suppress a laugh, he balled his hand into a lose fist and held it to his lips as a failed attempt to keep the laugh from escaping his lips,"So... your a desired pink potato?" he teased letting out a small laugh, Desiree pouted, she wasn't nervous anymore, just a little mad, she didn't really like being razzed, especially by a guy like him. "Mind if I call you Desi?" he asked adjusting his tall top hat that was placed over a mop of ebony black hair. "...I suppose," she said finally after taking a swing of her soda. "So what's a girl like you doin in a place like this, an all alone..?" he asked taking a long draw from his tobacco stick, "I mean, you look more like a country hay seed instead of a city slicker," the smoke poured out of his mouth a he talk, and Desi had to wave her hand to fan it away.

"I just got to this city actually," Desi said with a small hope filled smile, "I'm here because I wanna be a writer, and the publishers are giving me 2yrs to write a good novel, if its good they'll publish it." she gripped her soda, with a hopeful glint in her big green eyes, he could see how brightly her green eyes shined even through his tinted lenses, so much hope and wonder, so innocent, he blew the smoke out of his lungs, and sighed.

"Sounds like they're pulling your leg," her smile fell when he said that, with a blunt tone. "Heh... maybe..." she chuckled at the thought, it was there pushed to the back to her mind, the thought that they weren't really serious, or the possibility they might not live up to they're promise. "Then why are you going through with it...?" he asked blowing out more of the tobacco smoke. "Because..." she said sounding ready to cry, the thought hurt like a bunch of needles stabbing her heart like a pincushion, "I wanna believe that it's possible they'll publish if its good..." why was she saying these things to him? Why was she about to spill her heart to a stranger, she didn't even know his name, "I wanna go through with it because..." and yet, "...Its my dream..." she felt like he would listen, and he would care. So much self doubt filled her heart, and threatened to overflow into tears. "... If I cant at least have my dream... what else could I do...?" tears trickled down her cheeks are they burned hot, her throat tightened and she held back the need to cry out.

The mans face softened, he brought his gloved hand up to her cheek and with a gentle stroke, wiped away the hot tears, "Now now, and young girl like you shouldn't cry..." he smiled at her gently, and she couldn't help but smile back. Desi felt her worries begin to melt away, this man, he was like no one she had ever met. He was gentle, and kind, and she had only just met him, but he was being so kind to her, and this man dressed in green, was going to be her inspiration.