#every lata

[everylata]

[meefy]

Lata being the best Akagami no Shirayukihime character for one entire post...

[mad-as-a-box-of-frogs]

More violence isn’t the answer, not when you’ve spent a lifetime with it, when it’s touched everything you’ve ever had. [...] When I was 13, my country was attacked, and my father went to war. When he returned, he was different. He was angry all the time. He had these violent outbursts. It was like the war infected him. I tried to make myself smaller, so the violence wouldn’t find me, but it did. For the longest time, it made me feel powerless, until one day, it made me feel angry. And that anger kept growing inside of me, just like it did for my father. And I acted on that anger for years until I hurt someone, and that’s when I knew I had to make the change. 

You can keep hurting those that have wronged you, keep living in that anger and violence, but it won’t bring you peace. Peace has to be chosen. It’s what I chose. 

Latika Dar in Art of Dying (1x06): Best of SPN WIN Gals and Nonbinary Pals [25/?]

[sehnis]

so was anyone gonna tell me that K.I.Z sampled Lata Mangeshkar's "Wada Na Tod" in their own song "Hurra die Welt geht unter" or

[creamflix]

MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE DESI BOYS! — featuring gojo, nanami, sukuna, toji, choso, geto  content warnings: south asian & desi settings/culture/reference(s), certain non-english phrases or words have been written in italics. established relationship, more of character headcannons than x reader moments. lots of fluff and crack and very self indulgent. part one

gojo makes the most ridiculous pick-up lines that don't even make sense. “you're the gulab to my jamun.” you still tolerate him. he's raiding all the vogue india magazines you have and is critiquing every single cover as if he knows what he's doing (suprisingly he does). he hates not being the center of attention so he goes so far as to learn bollywood choreography, screeching at your cousins when they miss a step. throws a tantrum when he is dragged off the stage to make way for the next family performance. if he figures out you like paani puri, you best believe he is finishing his plate even if he is left with tears and a runny nose at the end of it. he needs to prove he's the strongest even if he keeps asking for multiple sukha puri at the end. needs to be chained under a tree during diwali because no gojo, you cannot light twenty rockets at once. begs you to take photos of him with lit sparklers or bombs in his hand. he's the only man you know who can burn milk while making kheer. he “covers it up" by adding five spoons of sugar. his excuse? “it needs to be sweet anyways!” he's also the type of guy who'd get along with literally anyone, even your bitchy grandmother from your dad's side. he loves arijit singh. he was the dude who defended kesariya's lyricism when it released. obnoxious when he plays tum hi ho super loudly during car rides, though his favorite song is raabta. can't get over deepika padukone, almost cried when you told him she's married and even has a kid now? demands om shanti om to be played during every movie night, ignoring everyone's groans of protest. unironically liked chennai express.

nanami is so insistent on cooking for your mother once that it turns into one of those “no please i insist” arguments in the middle of the kitchen. promptly solved by you ordering takeout, much to their dissapointment. sweats a ridiculous amount when he wears a kurta but insists on wearing it to every family gathering. insists on holding the edge of your saree when you’re walking down stairs because he’s terrified you’ll trip. takes rangoli competitions way too seriously. he’s that guy using rulers to make the lines perfectly even while kids scribble around him. epitome of manners. always folding his hands and touching his elders feets. naturally, he is a family favorite. loves listening to lata mangeshkar after a long day. he's one of those people who listens to retro music while drinking tea. he loves amitabh bacchan's movies. adores the family themes in k3g, but mostly watches it for amitabh's towering presence.

suguru is the designated family member to oil everyone's hair with champi. you know that little train you used to make with your grandmother, your mom and you? yea he's leading it always. bonus points if he braids it after he's done. no one's allowed to oil each other hair because “suguru's hands have magic in them.”  the habit of eating with his hands grows on him and he does so even when coming back home. loves drinking fizzy drinks out of those glass bottles - those really retro ones with the plastic straw. when you're not around he's secretly practicing the lyrics to all your favorite songs and sings them with your drunk uncle(s) during karoke night.when asked how he learned, he casually says youtube. a man of manners like kento - touching his elders feet and all that jazz. your family collectively swoons over his manners and looks. loves aishwarya rai's movies, quotes devdas occassionally, and you try not to ruin his moment by giggling.

sukuna spends half of the time in your the terrace, partaking in activities that are but not limited to; air-drying the papad he made himself, shooing away anyone who tries to get close to the home-made pickle he has sealed in glass containers (with a little help from your mom), and feeding the pigeons. pigeons. he takes the last job very seriously too, and throws a hissy fit if anyone gets to him before he does. comes back home every evening with a tan that gets darker and darker by day and complains about it to you. a very good bargainer. gives the women in his family scary dog privileges when he walks behind them with all their shopping bags. your cousin brothers love him because he’s the only one who can beat them at arm wrestling. will hold your belongings when you get your mehendi done. tries not to smile when he sees you hiding his initial amongst the design. this man....he's always blasting sidhu moose wala. i don't know why, he just seems like the type of guy who does. loves nawazuddin siddiqui. gangs of wasseypur is his comfort movie. yes, comfort. also loves sacred games, quotes the scenes to scare off random people.

choso is always tasked with buying the raw materials for family functions - extra vessels, flowers, paper plates, you name it. he leaves at the ass crack of dawn and comes back at noon with enough supplies to sustain your family's next generation as well. and yes, he did bargain well. but in all honesty he didn't even need to try that hard since the whole neighborhood loves him so they always throw in freebies along with a ridiculously low rate for literally everything. the first one to ask guests if they would like to eat or drink something, already rushing to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. the golden boy of hospitality. ends up sitting with the aunties during pre-wedding functions and learning how to play the dholak. gets ridiculously good at it by the end of the evening. loves sitting on the floor with your cousins to eat thalis instead of at the dining table. he says it feels more relaxed that way. likes lighting flower pots and sparklers during diwali as opposed to other crackers, prefers watching your family burst the bigger ones. i hate to say this but he probably listens to prateek kuhaad like a basic bitch and cries over his music because it "reminds him of you." what a guy. his favorite actress is alia bhatt and outright had a breakdown when he watched raazi with you. he was put on a movie timeout for one week effective immediate after that.

toji becomes such a diva the minute he finds out about matkas. always wants his drinks to be cooled and served from it, otherwise he refuses to drink it. water from a bottle? please, that is so 2020. always walks around with an unbuttoned kurta, not that anyone is complaining. in fact, you probably understand now why every aunty always gifts him a kurta for every occasion. the designated nariyal opener during temple visits. acts smug about his skill but secretly loves being helpful. knows all the family drama and fills you in on it every night before bed. refuses to let any random guy ask you to dance. he’s the guy standing in the corner, glaring at potential suitors while casually eating jalebis. eats mirchi like chips, leaving your family absolutely stunned. earns a ton of respect from your dad. i just KNOW this man listens to yo yo honey singh during his pre-workout...stop playing. his favorite actor's probably sunny deol, because "he's literally me."

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[orgasming-caterpillar]

F1 Drivers As Desi Boys

A.K.A. The F1 grid as Indian guys

Also, I will be writing an entire chatfic about this AU on ao3, so stay tuned ;)

Charles Leclerc — “Charlie”

I think he would be from Mumbai. But like, he lived in the very high-end part of it so it's very hard to know right off the bat.

I just KNOW he studied abroad, okay? Italy or Canada I think. Look at his face— you just know he's the kinda guy people see on the street and think “angrej”

Speaks Hindi with a subtle but insufferable white guy accent. He can't even help it, that's just how he speaks. He once called Max “bhenchod” with the most authentic, desi accent when he was mad and they have all beaches in that high ever since.

Dropped out of university in his last year and came back to India to handle his dad's business after his dad's death.

Fell in love with the hot employee and made him the manager. Everyone knows Carlos got the position by sleeping with the new young hot boss but they stay silent to avoid getting fired.

Now lives in the same complex in Mumbai as Carlos, Max, Lando and others. Lives with his mother, two brothers and a dog.

Leo is a recurring guest in every society event no matter what. Shanta aunty ki kitty party? He's invited. Children playing cricket below? He is the referee. Security guard's dad died? Arthi Leo hi utha raha hai.

Best friends with Pierre. went to the same school as him in his childhood.

Not friendly at ALL with Max.

Carlos Sainz— “Mirchi”

Marathi Mulga for sure

Maula Mere Maula king of guy

His ass should be in a TV serial

Was a regular office worker before he fucked down his boss and now he's the manager. And, well, a win is a win, right?

His parents were kind of homophobic before he became the manager. It's hilarious, actually.

He has such a good voice. If you catch him singing one of the old bollywood songs of Lata Mangeshkar or Muhammad Rafi, consider yourself blessed by the gods.

Knows how to cook since he lives alone

Literally the guy every aunty dreams of marrying their daughter to. Manager of his office. Cooks. Cleans. Respects his elders. Funny. Charming. Every time he and Charles go out at least one middle aged person has asked Carlos if he's married yet and frankly, as his boyfriend who's Right There, Charles is pretty offended.

Have y'all seen the pictures of him in those button up shirts and trousers? The eyes that make Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs play in your ear every time you look into them? So desi husband material

Best friends with Lando, basically brothers with his they are with each other

Like any best friend, he does NOT like Lando's boyfriend

Max Verstappen— “JATT DON'T CARE 💪🔥💯”

From Haryana

The M in Max stands for Mharo Balam Thanedar Chalawe Gypsy��� jkjk

Some say he's aggressive, hot headed, quick tempered; some say he's just Haryanvi.

Is in a psychosexual homoerotic rivalry with Charles and is in denial because of his internalised homophobia.

His dad and Charles’ dad were business partners and now they're always wanting to one up another in the family businesses.

Talking about his father— his dad is very rich and also a typical Haryanvi dad. Bapu sehat ke liye haanikarak type shit.

His father made him do kushti when he was younger and Charles still teases him about it

Will randomly infodump about his father whenever the opportunity presents itself

Married

With how he usually is and what his childhood was like, you'd think he'd be a horrible father but you're WRONG

Everyone loves his daughter Prithvi, or P, for short.

They love spoiling her. Every year on her birthday she gets so many gifts it takes her two days just to open them.

Funnily enough, she once “betrayed” him by saying her favourite was Charlie Uncle.

I just think it would be so funny if he drove a Toyota Fortuner.

Lando Norris— “Lassan 🧄”

From Bangalore

Youtuber. Makes videos for every one of his channels religiously. Has a channel for gaming, another for vlogs, another for shorts and somehow manages them all while uploading reels and posting on Instagram???

He's a university student but nobody knows it because he's always posting videos so they just think he's a full time youtuber

“Shares a room” with Oscar, who is his boyfriend, by the way. You'd never guess. (that is a fucking lie. If you watch even one of his livestreams you'd know that they have explored each other's bodies. He's always “dekho guys Oscar aa gaya 😄😄😄” bro you're not fooling anyone)

Has his own merchandise. His designs are always so cool that they sell out before they're properly out.

Will probably make his own content team when he graduates

He once slipped on the desi toilet while travelling and Carlos made a reel about it. It is one of his most famous reels and Lando will absolutely ignore you if you talk about it.

Kinda fuckboyish???? Like he gives off the vibes of the kinda boy that only texts you past midnight and says shit like “what are you wearing? ;)” Like thank god he has a boyfriend or he would single handedly destroy the faith in love of every girl in a 5 kilometre radius

Oscar Piastri— “gora pakora”

From Goa

Frequently shows up on Lando's videos and livestreams

Studying engineering and living with Lando, basically taking care of him because of course he is

Regular victim of Lando's youtube shenanigans. Gets pranked one too many times every other day.

Has this kind of dead stare where he's just 😐 until Lando comes and annoys (see: kisses or pranks) him

Gets asked “bhai tu kabhi kuch bolta kyu nahi hai” so frequently he should just write “pata nahi yaar” on his face.

Has strong beef with Carlos. Do not talk about that man in front of him. Now this is really inconvenient because Carlos is Lando's bEsT FrIeNd iN tHe WoRlD

There beef started when Lando cried because he missed Oscar and Carlos showed up to Oscar's parents house asking him to square the fuck up. His parents —poor them they don't even know their son is gay— were left to wonder why their son was on a video call with his roommate OUTSIDE in the middle of winter vacation while a strange man cussed him the fuck out.

Lando can and will and DOES make him do silly dance trends with him on Instagram reels

Best friend is Logan, who studies engineering with him. You don't know how much you can depend on someone else until you're an IISER student and they're the only good friend you have.

Daniel Ricciardo— “Paaji”

From Chandigarh

Y'all remember Sodhi from Tarak Mehta Ka Ulta Chashma? Yeah. Him.

No one knows how he's able to control Max. Literally his best friend. Max will always have a resting bitch face but when Danny paaji is there he's all “😆😆😂😂🤣🤣” like bro 😐

I just know he would randomly say “oye balle balle balle balle balle” for no reason other than to annoy people. I just know it.

Actually works very hard and always helps people, but he's such a troll that people just think he's some unemployed youtuber with a prank channel

Absolute party animal. Do not ever in front of him mention that you're free that night.

George Russell— “nazuk kali”

From Delhi

Graphic designer. Edits Lando's videos for nim. Studies computer science.

Shared a room with Alex Albon and Logan Sargeant. Their relationship status is very complex. I'm not saying that they're a throuple, I'm not saying that they're friends. What I'm saying is that they're so dependent on each other I don't think they could function alone anymore. These three idiots make a full functional human being together. George cleans the house, Alex does the cooking and Logan does the laundry and the dishes. They manage, thanks.

George Russell is the type of guy to say “ghar pe maa behen nahi hai kya?” When he sees a girl getting catcalled.

George Russell is the type of guy to say “aapko kahin lagi to nahin?” When he bumps into someone.

George Russell is the type of guy to cover his mouth and say “uff” when he eats something spicy on accident.

On that note, George absolutely cannot handle his spice. Never bit into a raw green chilli willingly in his entire life.

You just know he eats the meethi pani puri with the red chutney and all.

Thinks momos are better than pani puri (he's wrong).

Closes his eyes and covers his ears when a condom ad or a spicy movie scene comes on the TV

Very pale because he rarely leaves his room (which— he's a computer science major, come on)

Lewis Hamilton— “dac saab”

From Kozhikode (Kerala)

Fashion influencer, gets brand deals all the time. Always promoting this brand or that.

Also actually a veterinary doctor with his own dog clinic.

Has a youtube channel where heostly makes affordable fashion tips etc but also posts the dogs at his clinic from time to time.

Spent a lot of years in South Delhi where he fell in love with a guy when he was a teenager but when he eventually moved back to Kozhikode they fell out of contact. Now he’s moved to Mumbai as he opened up a new clinic there and doesn't even know that he actually lives in the same goddamn building as the guy he fell in love with 20 years ago back in South Delhi.

I think y'all can already guess who the guy was, but if you can't (shame on you) it's Nico Rosberg.

Had a wife but she cheated so they divorced or something idk how do you justify a 40 year old guy being unmarried in India?

Loves his dogs more than anything, if there's a dog at his clinic that he can't save he will be sad for days.

Speaks Hindi in a voice that's like three octaves lower than his usual voice. Thinks he sounds bad but he sounds so damn hot.

Nico Rosberg— “thi ek.”

From South Delhi

News anchor for sure. Has a sadness in his eyes that makes you wonder if he ever got over the heartbreak he had at 19 (he did not)

Most people think his hair is dyed (it is not) because he's a chapri (he might be)

Legends say that the only time he has been seen with a smile on his face on TV was when he was talking about his childhood best friend.

The reason he doesn't anchor for any of the big or daresay political news channels is because they don't like how he compares international disputes to the fight he had with his best friend when he was 19.

Regularly travels to other metropolitan cities for news coverings (mainly sports) but lives in Mumbai for majority of the time.

In fact, lives in the same building as Lewis. The fact that they haven't run into each other in the elevator yet is a miracle (or a curse).

Will talk about love and heartbreak to anyone who would listen. You know those boys who say “thi ek” whenever someone tries to talk to them about love? Yeah that's him.

Married and has two daughters that he loves very much.

No pets because they remind him too much of Lewis.

Sebastian Vettel— “Chacha”

From Delhi

Lives in Mumbai with his wife.

Best friends with Lewis, knows everything about him and Nico.

Kind of a father figure to Charles.

The beloved colony uncle that always has the wildest stories ever. Catch him at the tea stall and just get him talking— you will be a changed man when he is done.

“Aur phir uska accident ho gaya aur usne apna haath kho diya, to uski manghetar ki family ne unse rishta tudwa liya. Jiske baad uski manghetar ki sagai mujhse hui aur phir hamari shaadi hui or shayad aaj bhi wo akela hi ek haath se apna hila raha hai bechara”

“...”

You would think considering how sweet he is, he was always this sweet but NO, this man was a MENACE.

Everyone who knew him before he got married wants him dead even now after all the years.

Fernando Alonso— "Kaka"

From Jaipur

The exact opposite of Sebastian.

The old man you see on the side of the road with paan in his mouth and a gaali on his lips

Also tells you stories from his youth and they're just as interesting but he's so arrogant about it that you're no longer interested in listening five minutes in no matter how interesting the story is

The kind of old man who sees children playing in the streets and starts acting like an overly invested referee for no reason.

Goes to the park in the morning at the same time as Sebastian but unlike him, Fernando does not let the joy and whimsy of life have any effect on him making you wonder why he's there at all

Lance Stroll— “vegan wali diet almond wala ghee 😌💅”

From South Bombay

Ameer baap ki bigri aulad

“What do you mean I can't buy the whole store?”

Y'all remember that “Mawn, terew paaw ki jewtie maawwww” girl??? Yeah

Sonam Kapoor is jealous of how much better he is at being a nepo baby

Logan Sargeant— “ye bhi thik hai”

Lives with George and Alex

From Goa

Thank god he does because he would not be surviving otherwise

Might have feelings for his roommates but all he knows how to do is wash the dishes and the clothes and he doesn't wanna die of hunger so he's silent.

Except maybe in front of Oscar but that's his best friendddd

Studying computer science too

Alex Albon— “dhokla4lifer”

From Gujarat

I might be projecting a bit but as someone who fucking LOVES dhokla, I don't see any reason as to why Alex should not.

Cooks for his two roommates, and always cooks so good.

Dhokla on Sundays and a tiffin box full of thepla and aam ka aachar whenever one of them is travelling home

Studying history and geography

Yuki Tsunoda— “momo wale bhaiya”

From Dehradun

Do not call him momo wale bhaiya. He can and will kill you.

Actually does love cooking

Has his own restaurant near the university campus

Pierre Gasly— “tantar mantar”

From West Bengal

Tired of everyone's “kaala jaadu” jokes.

Charles’ best friend and confidante.

Gossip girls. They have all the tea on everyone in the uni.

“Bokachoda”

Does sports.

Final year law student

Esteban Ocon— “Pierre's ex (he is NOT)”

From Odisha

Has beef with Pierre.

Will argue about anything from the origin of roshogulla to the state's contribution in the fight for freedom of the country.

Also final year law student

Extras—

Sergio Perez from Bihar

K Mag from Kashmir (haha get it? Because he's a track terroris—)

Nico Hulkenburg from Kashmir too

Valtteri Bottas from The Andaman Nicobar islands or something idk he shows so much ass it's unreal

Zhou Guanyu from Meghalaya

[comicallybored]

When lata di said

"Na hi janam mile toh accha hoga"

I felt that in every inch of my body

[pray4jensen]

if there's ever a season 2 of the winchesters, i need an episode where lata decides to summon dean and his magical monster-crushing impala and cas shows up too because apparently when the summoning happened, cas must've been gripping dean tight because he got flung through time and space too.

so the kids are like hey who's this, and dean rubs the back of his neck and says it's a friend.

so they're on the case and they're mid-battle when john's thrown straight through a chain-link fence and mary gets a nice face-to-face with a concrete pillar. so when they finally get out of there, lata brings out the first aid kit, except dean grabs it and rushes over to cas because cas just fell onto paper at that very moment and he's got a devastating 1/8 inch cut to his pinky (it's not even bleeding).

cue carlos looking at them with a very strange expression on his face and the heteronormative viewers watching the show laugh and giggle because haha look how funny it is that dean's mother-henning cas when john and mary are personally on their death beds.

anyway, because the rest of the gang was too busy dealing with life-threatening injuries, it's only carlos who notices the weirdness and for the rest of the episode, the camera keeps cutting back to his face every time dean and cas are together.

they head to a diner and lata accidentally drops her entire burger onto the floor. but cas still feels hungry after devouring a platter of fries so when the waitress comes up and lata's about to reorder because she's literally starving, dean butts in and orders cas an eight-course meal. lata throws him a dirty look but carlos once again has a strange strange expression on his face.

and it's like this the entire day. the monster traps them into a meat locker and cas reports feeling chilly so dean immediately takes the jacket off his body and wraps him up and he's already stripping down to his birthday suit to offer cas his body heat. meanwhile john's hemorrhaging on the floor and his temperature is plummeting and mary and lata are freaking out and carlos...oh boy, carlos. he can't even help. he just stares at dean.

finally, after several more instances of dean's cas-induced incompetence, even the others have noticed, so when they get to the motel room for the night, mary angrily lets them know that actually, they don't need dean's help because clearly dean's more preoccupied with his friendship with cas than the literal monster chasing them.

so dean shrugs and says suit yourself and as soon as they're gone, carlos, who's been having a mental breakdown all day, is like they are so not just friends. mary and john, like the heteronormative viewers watching the episode, are like what and they're confused but lata, the realization dawning on her face, says oh my god and starts looking faint.

so john and mary head to the window and to their shock, dean and cas are parked outside, making out in the impala. as it so happens, the monster they've been hunting is out there, creeping closer, except dean (with his tongue still shoved down cas' throat) picks up his gun and shoots once, the monster instantly bursting into a ball of dust, and john and mary just look on incredulously.

anyway, once they recover, they turn back and say um yeah so those two are definitely not straight and carlos just throws up his hands and looks into the camera like it's the office and the episode abruptly ends there.

but, even as the end credits play, you can see still hear the sounds of dean and cas making out though before it slowly turns into suggestive moaning.

[anxiousflyfox]

My gf and I decided Laios is NOT a golden retriever, he is actually a Vira-lata Caramelo! (caramel stray)

(very common dog, seen in literally every corner of Brazil, a true cultural patrimony)

[sabraeal]

a heart felled by you, held by you; Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2024, Day 1: Quadrille

It’s not that Suzu didn’t know Lata’s name or whatever; it’s impossible to forget when it’s stamped right across the office he refuses to use three months out of the academic year— why should I let the university know where to find me? he’d huff, stoking the forge. If they’re going to interrupt my work to harangue me about class numbers and securing grant funding, I have no interest in making it easy for them— and scrawled on every lower right corner of his notes. It’s what every colleague calls across the university atrium before he hurries to out pace the persistence hunter that is professional collaboration; and what Ryuu had tried to stutter through for a whole week when he confused formality for maturity.

But between the towering aisles of his yet-to-be-catalogued accessions, and the number of times Shirayuki— and sometimes even Suzu himself— have been left to make his excuses to professors and professionals far above their pay grade, the idea that’s he’s a noble— a capital ‘F,’ weasel-thing-rampant Forzeno— well, it doesn’t seem quite real.

Not until now, when the doors on this stately manor swing open, and—

“I thought you lived in a shithole,” Suzu blurts out, momentarily blinded by polished marble and gold filigree. He’s no expert on architecture and has only a dubious grasp on history, but even he can tell this place is old. Storied, his mental Kazaha supplies, buzzing through his thoughts like flies over an ungrammatical carcass. “Or at least, that’s what Shidan said when—”

“I said apartment.” Shidan glares at him, like it’s Suzu’s fault he spent ten highly memorable minutes complaining about the stack of specimens that almost toppled onto him that one time he tried to brave Lata’s front parlor.

“It’s a townhouse.” Lata’s all noblesse oblige now that they’re ensconced in his family’s home, acting generous and tolerant, like they’re a good friend’s dogs that he knows are going to piddle on the carpet and he’s determined to be gracious about it. The kind of patience that’s pushed out between a man’s teeth instead of welling up from some internal font of goodness or whatever. “Private land ownership is the only way to receive permission for a forge of that size. And yes, I do.”

“But why not hang out here?” Suzu peeks into one of the fancy urns lining the walkway— disappointingly empty— before letting it rock back onto its pedestal. “It’s big and fancy and there’s a bunch of people whose job is to wait on you hand and foot. I’d never leave.”

“The commute,” Obi offers, sticking his own head down some fancy pot too.  “Or maybe the wallpaper bothers him.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it,” Lata mutters, steering Obi away from the crockery with a scowl. “This is family land, owned by countless generations of Forzeno since time immemorial—”

“672.” Kazaha strides down the runner with his hands clasped behind his back, like he’s the king of the castle— or like it might convince the man who is that he’s not about to have any sticky fingers. “That’s when Motouji Forzeno ordered a fitting home to be built for him within a day’s ride of the capital, which at that point was still based in Wirant, not in Wistal. That only happened once the Wisteria family inherited the throne from a series of strategic marriages over the previous three generations—”

“And in any case, not mine.” He clears his throat, shoulders pulling straight beneath the heavy wool over his tunic, looking more lordly per inch than he ever has at the university. “At least, not in name.”

For as long as Suzu’s known him, Shidan’s never been a confrontational kind of guy; Lata might duck and dodge and, if cornered, bite and rend any interference from the university’s board, but Shidan chooses the path of least resistance. Or more accurately, the path of least surveillance— he might sit and stay and sign the papers the higher up sent his way, but as soon as they had their back turned cajoling some of the more recalcitrant academics in their department, he’d slip right off the leash, doing what needed doing before the deans were any the wiser. That’s how they’d gotten into this whole orimmallys project anyhow, and that all worked out in the end. Mostly.

So when Shidan hums, all considering— the way he does when he’s about to quibble over wording on a paper, but so nicely Suzu won’t even know he’s gotten the run-around until he’s halfway to the dorms— it’s a sign. A portent, even.

“Your father gave you lease over the entire place, didn’t he?” He’s got his gloves caught in his hand, running fingers along some fancy wainscoting. There’s some gold leaf on it, gilding a few fussy fleur-de-lis, and his fingers run slow enough that there’s got to be some grit. Dust, even. “That’s what Garrack said, at least.”

Lata’s brow sours like samples left too long on the bench. “And of course, Head Pharmacist Gazelt would be the expert on my family’s internal affairs.”

“No,” Ryuu murmurs ponderously, so soft they all hush up to hear him. “But she’d be less invested in avoiding them.”

Big blue eyes blink up at his lordship, and if they were any less guileless— or maybe, if Ryuu was any less fifteen— there’d be some sort of dust up. Some flavor of raised voices and shaking fists, and maybe someone would end up with a cold ass on the big field of snow Lata calls the front lawn. But instead he just sucks in a breath, whistling like a hole in a window when the wind’s got its back up, and says, “I thought I was being quite generous offering you all a place to ready yourselves before the gala, but now I’m quite wondering just why I extended the invitation.”

“Because you’d rather be annoyed with us than risk being left alone with one of those lords?” Suzu barely realizes he’s spoken until five sets of eyes swing his way, goggling like he’s hauled off and said something out of band. Again. “Or ladies?”

A laugh’s dour cousin scrapes out from Lata’s chest as they climb what Suzu assumes is the grand stair, if only because it’s larger than the last three. “Yes,” he agrees, more weary than waggish. “Something like that.”

“Hey.” Obi hangs back, lingering on the landing with one thumb hooked over his shoulder. “Is that you?”

There’s a portrait beside him, larger than he is— or Suzu, or Shidan, or any man he’s seen living; so big that it must have taken a whole crew of footmen to install, if only to keep one of them from being crushed under a lordly boot. He’s got to squint to see above the knee, daubs of oils glistening in the gaslight, making it hard to pick out more than the curve of thick, dark hair, or the stern, squarish set the to jaw, or—

“I gotta say,” Obi hums, arms folding over his coat. “Quail hunter isn’t what comes to mind when I look at you.”

“I’m not.” Lata paces a step back toward them, then two, glowering up at the most detailed bird carcass Suzu’s ever seen outside the ruts of a country road. “That would be my father, in his youth. He had a great love of…working his will on the world, one way or another.”

“Ah…” Kazaha sighs, searching for something properly ingratiating to say. “There’s a certain, hm, strong family resemblance.”

Suzu seizes the opportunity to inform the professor, “He means that you both look grumpy.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Right,” he agrees blithely. “It’s what you meant. Like I said.”

Lata snorts, starting back down the hall. “If you think I am ill-tempered, wait until you meet my sire. Why, I’m practically a ray of sunshine next to that old—”

“Oh, are we gonna?” Obi whips around, determined to be underfoot as he asks, “Will I finally get to meet my Knight Grandpa? Sir Grandpa—?”

“I would thank you not to call him that.  And no.” Lata’s mouth thins to a line as tight as his shoulders. “Besides, if we are to take Knight Grandpa at its most literal, it would not be my father, but instead the man who was my master as a squire.”

“Is he gonna be here? Can I meet him?” It’s not physically possible for Obi to wend himself around Lata’s legs, but by the way he bats his eyes up at him, he’s spiritually there. “I promise I’ll be a good little knight. I’ll even bow and scrape and write poetry about women lying in ponds—”

“No.” After a begrudging pause, Lata adds, “He’s dead, actually.”

Obi pops up, shoulders suddenly soldier-straight beside him. “Oh, well. That’s a pretty good excuse. Did he die from some battle wound or…?”

“The drink,” Lata confirms. “He wasn’t, honestly, a very good master. But he was a friend of my father’s. That seemed to matter more back then.”

A laugh saws out of Obi, rough enough Suzu’s surprised it doesn’t take a bit of throat with it. “Seems to matter just as much now.”

The professor doesn’t do anything so obvious as look at Obi, oh no— he just simply clasps his hands behind his back, favoring the hall in front of him with an approving nod. “Doesn’t it just.”

“You frown the same way.” Both men peer over their shoulders, but Obi makes confusion seem casual, whereas Lata just scowls. Ryuu, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice. “You and your father, I mean.”

“Yes.” Lata surveys the hallway over his shoulder before turning back around. “It runs in the family.”

A beat passes before Suzu dares to venture, “Hey, weren’t the girls supposed to get ready here too?”

“Yes.” The professor isn’t known to smile, and he certainly doesn’t now, giving them all a disapproving glare. “They arrived on time.”

*

“What if” —Shidan’s clever little botanist practically froths over the vanity like a flask left too long on the hob, spilling linen and lace where she leans— “I told him I had something in my eye.”

This is hardly the first volley of hypotheticals Garrack’s fielded from that quarter; oh no, the girls had all been down to chemises when the preliminary speculation began— what if…I said I needed some air?— and now what had already been a serviceable set of natural curves has become a feat of human engineering, bolstered by a bulwark of baleen and batiste. There’d been endless layers added on; bust improvers and corsets and girdles, all requiring additional helpful hands, and it lends a weary edge to Izuru’s, “Oh, it’s a him, now is it?”

Shidan’s long-time assistant hasn’t bothered to batten down her hatches— at least, not as much as the botanist girl’s— with only enough corsetry to turn her posture from academic to appropriate. Another assurance that she’s coming along nicely, just the way Garrack always thought she would so long as Shidan’s quiet perfectionism didn’t infest her work ethic the way his little pet project did the university’s water supply.

“What next?” It has to have been ages since there was a woman in this place— heavens know Lata isn’t bringing any inamorata around here to parade around in front of his mother’s mirror— but the painted wood Izuru slumps over is pristine. Or, well, as much as whale bone lets a body slouch.  “Identifying details? A name?”

“He’s hypothetical,” the botanist snaps, which almost guarantees that he isn’t. Too bad she hasn’t caked on the powder yet; even with the lights dimmed as they are, it’s impossible to miss the flush that creeps up her shoulders, pouring onto that pretty face. “He doesn’t exist. Yet.”

There’s quite a bit Izuru seems to have to say about that; her shoulder straighten, her mouth cants, and—

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” Shirayuki frowns into the mirror, hands swallowed up by the untameable beast that is Izuru’s hair. “Having something in your eye?”

“Well, not usually,” the botanist admits, undaunted by the sharp elbow of reality bursting her dreamy little bubble. “But an eyelash…that’s all right. Delicate even! Demure. And when he bends down, BAM.”

Shirayuki blinks. “You hit him?”

“Kiss him!” The girl slumps into a chair— despite all her scaffolding, she makes a better show of it than Izuru— heaving the most world-weary sigh. “I would kiss him, Shirayuki.”

It’s years since she’s been that diligent apprentice, quietly working under Ryuu’s precise direction, but Shirayuki still flushes as red as her hair at the barest mention of grown adults touching in any way but a professional handshake. Garrack would have thought Zen would handle that— three years is a quite a lot of time, and considering what some of her cohort got up to on these cold Lilias nights, she’d have expected the bar for blushing to be a few sexual acts higher. Under the clothes, at least.

“W-wouldn’t that be an awkward angle?” Shirayuki busies herself with Izuru’s hair, letting it twist around her hands as she pins it in place. “You m-might crash heads! And noses.”

“Fine.” The botanist flops on her chair, thoroughly put upon. “What about dropping my handkerchief? I let it flutter, just like this”— there’s no fabric in her hands, but she sticks out an elegant arm, turning away as her fingers go limp— “and when he bends to retrieve it, I—”

Garrack snorts. Not a soft one either; for as unintended as it is, it draws quite the audience. The pretty botanist included, one of her well-shaped eyebrows raised.

It’s a struggle to keep the laugh in her chest from bubbling out, making this whole situation worse. Or injure this girl’s more tender emotions, at least.“Listen, you really think a lord would stoop? For a botanist?”

“He will if he wants to be kissed!” she huffs, arms crossed. Quite a bit of lace froths out over them, like a puffed-out pigeon’s chest. “Which he will, since I’m going to be the best looking girl at this gala!”

There’s one of these girls in every cohort— a little too pretty for their own good, always thinking about which assistants they might be able to catch alone in the fourth floor stock room. Clever, of course— you don’t end up in Lilias if you’re a slouch in that department— but just a bit silly. Whimsical. Destined to be disappointed when they find out royals don’t marry researchers.

At least most royals with most researchers. It probably doesn’t help that the statistical outlier is in the room right now, sending her a long suffering look. “Yuzuri…”

“That’s no slight on the rest of you, Shirayuki,” the botanist— this Yuzuri— assures her, “I’ve just been planning for this my whole life. Or at least since I found out Wirant throws one of the Solstice things.”

“We’re supposed to be here for professional purposes,” Izuru reminds her, having worked for Shidan too long to believe in mixing work with pleasure.

“Oh, boo, Izuru!” Yuzuri straightens, bustling over to the mirror to fuss with the glossy fall of her hair,  pinning up parts of it with her fingers and frowning at the results. “Don’t be dull.”

“It’s not dull,” Shirayuki protests, placing the last pin in hopes that this time, Izuru’s hair might not simply bend the mess of them to breaking. “It’s what Shidan’s asking us to do. I’m not saying you can’t dance too, but if you’re going to be mingling with the nobles, maybe you should try to talk to some of them about what we’re doing with the Phostyrias. Just a couple of them giving permission for us to plant the bulbs would really be—”

“Oh, fine, fine.” She waves one hand— painstakingly manicured, done up in a pearly sort of polish that wouldn’t last five minutes once she was back in the greenhouse— but undeterred. “I can chat them up a little bit too. For the project.”

Tonight might be the darkest night of the year, celebrated in the coldest, most ass-end part of the whole country, but when Shirayuki smiles, Garrack might well be back in her office at Wistal, enjoying the mild summer breeze winding through her window. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“You better,” Yuzuri huffs, twisting her hair in her hands. “Don’t think I don’t notice that it’s the girl with a guy who’s down to kiss her anytime, any place that’s asking the rest of us to consider this a work party.”

“I…” Shirayuki sputters, and hoh, there’s that blush again, with a vengeance. “Obi wouldn’t…I mean…that’s not…”

Well, well. Looks like she’s been a little behind on current events of the frigid north. And maybe not so wrong about royals and researchers after all.

“What if I asked him off into a side corridor? Or an alcove? Maybe a balcony,” Shidan’s botanist continues, saving Shirayuki a few more stumbles. “Those always have the right ambiance. And then I ask him to check the clasp on my necklace, and—”

“At that point you might as well ask him to kiss you,” Izuru is quick to point out, stepping up to help her hold a swag of hair in place. “You’re not really being subtle.”

Yuzuri groans, pins clattering against painted wood. “But where’s the romance in that? There’s got to be some uncertainty, some risk—”

“You do know,” Garrack hums, crossing her ankles on the convenient hassock in front of her. “Shidan and I are here specifically to help keep down the kissing, don’t you?”

The girl sighs, eyes rolling in her reflection. “But you’re not really going to do anything, are you, Master Gazelt? You know how silly this whole rule is. Aren’t you just going to look the other way?”

Her mouth twitches. It would be funny to see that old goat get twisted up over some twenty-year-olds playing mother-may-I with their tonsils. “Maybe,” she allows, “if I thought it was funny enough.”

*

It hardly seems fair to say Suzu is disheveled when he hardly ever seems, well, sheveled, for lack of a better word. But with his shirt still merely half-buttoned and flyaway wisps of blond escaping their tie with every scrape of his hands over his scalp, Shidan has little else to call him.

“Is the mazurka step-step-clap-turn, or is that the redowa?” His half-coat flaps out around him as he marks out the movements— poorly, but at least recognizable, even if Shidan would be at pains to reproduce them. “Or maybe it’s the waltz? Help me, Obi,” — he seizes the knight as he slips through the door, rumpling the black wool of his coat— “I can’t remember!”

“I’ll run you through the steps before we get out there,” he promises, detaching Suzu from his lapel with more gentleness than Shidan would, under the circumstances. Suzu is a valuable member of his team, a long-time collaborator who will perform any number of demeaning tasks to see a project through, so long as he can avoid a single shred of responsibility and complain about his sorry lot the whole time, but well— even Shidan has his limits. “It’ll all come back to you once you got the band to back you up. These things always make more sense with the music.”

Suzu stares at him, utterly blank, and Obi huffs out a laugh. “Theoretical versus practical knowledge, right?”

“Oh.” Suzu endeavors to smooth back his strays, but they only pop back up in his palm’s wake. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Easy, then.”

“Right.” Obi pats his shoulder with a purposeful sort of confidence, as if he could pass it through flesh and fabric with the ease that footrot does through hoofs. “Easy.”

That is until Ryuu glances up from his book, brow furrowed in the faintest vee, and says, “If that’s the case, then how are you and Shirayuki so bad at it?”

Obi whips around, wide-eyed with betrayal. “H-hey!” he squawks. “We’ve gotten better!”

Ryuu doesn’t reply— not verbally, at least— but the look he turns to Obi is eloquent enough to speak for itself. And what it says is: not appreciably.

“Why are you even concerned about all that?” Kazaha’s costume is so crisp carpenters could use it to cut corners, cape and coat and pants and stymieing haircut all in perfect place. “It’s not as if anyone is going to ask you to dance.”

“Why not? I’m dressed all nice.” Suzu blinks down at himself, taking in the uncuffed sleeves and half-buttoned shirt and the coat canted askew on his shoulders, and adds, “Well, I will be.”

Kazaha may cluck his tongue, may shake his head hopelessly, but even still, he reaches out, straightening Suzu’s cuffs before buttoning them tight. “Because you’re a man, idiot. Girls might inquire if you’d like to take a stroll down Pavilion Street when we’re at the university, but in a ballroom, men do the asking.”

Shidan can’t say Suzu’s ever been popular with the female population, especially among the more established academics who are already well aware of his reputation as a rather acerbic eccentric, more apt to be cozened under tables or smudged with sweat and grit from Lata’s forge than doing the more respectable pastime of benchwork. But there’s always a flush of fluttering young freshmen flouncing outside the lab each year, eager to catch a glimpse of— or even speak a word or two with— the herbology department’s most striking scholar. That is, of course, until they actually talk to him.

“Really?” Spoken like a man who has had invitations hurled at his retreating back for five years running. By Kazaha’s strangled sigh, it’s clear he’s thinking the same. “I’m very pretty, though.”

“That may help with young ladies wanting to dance with you,” Kazaha informs him, pulling his lapel into a shape somewhat approaching acceptable. “But it will be expected that you approach them.”

“Oh.” It’s startling to see that sharp face turn thoughtful. “So I don’t have to do this dancing thing at all.”

“You do.” Shidan’s order scrapes out at the same time Kazaha’s does, creating an odd sort of echo before he presses on, “We’re the guests of honor at this gala. The department is expecting us to socialize with potential donors.”

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean I gotta—”

“You will,” Shidan promises him wearily. “And you’ll have to at least pretend to like it, if you want to continue our work in the lab.”

“And not in some tiny closet,” Obi adds, brightly. “Where you’ll have to knock elbows with Kazaha just to get a beaker on the burner.”

“Well, yeah.” Suzu slumps, waving off Kazaha’s continued ministrations. It’s too late, however— he already looks respectable. Not enough to pass for a peer, but someone well on his way to professor. “But what if I just hung out along the wall instead. Then I could talk to people, and—”

“It’s rude for young men to be idling when there are eligible young ladies waiting for a partner.” Obi’s words nearly sparkle for all their polish, but he ruins the effect with one of his slant-wise grins. “Don’t worry, I told you I’d show you how to cut a rug. It’s better than getting stuck in a conversation with one of those stuffy old—”

There is a gravitas to the way the doors open in this place, a stately creak that does not imply age so much at maturity; this manor was built long before the sovereigns of Wisteria sunk their roots into Clarines’ throne, and it would last long after they were nothing more than musty portraits in halls long forgot. For as much as Lata might chafe under the weight of that history, might complain about the burden of expectation placed upon a son— the son— of Forzeno, he looks every inch the part as he steps over the threshold, trousers tailored and coast pressed within an inch of their lives, more institution than man.

“The guests are arriving,” he intones with all the cheer of a funeral bell. “Are you through with your preparations?”

“Almost!” Obi sing-songs, helping Kazaha tug the sleeves of Suzu’s jacket straight. “There, done.”

Lata surveys them with the same sharpness as he does his specimens, assessing them as if their flaws were as easily apparent as a gem’s through a loupe. With a long-suffering sigh, one pristine glove pinches at his nose, as if it might be any help at all stemming the incoming headache.

“Passable,” he grates out, stepping aside. “Now if you would follow me, I will ensure that you all make it to the hall.”

Obi’s mouth twitches, threatening a smirk. “Can’t trust us to get there on our own, eh, sir?”

“I have been an academic for nearly as long as you have been alive.” The fit of his coat already has Lata at his full height, but he lifts his chin for good measure, just to give his glare a few more momentum before it meets Obi’s grin. “And there is not a single scholar alive that can travel from one point to another in a straight line.”

Both brows raise now, scrunching the scar right to his hairline. “Not even you?”

Lata clears his throat. “If you would all come this way please. In an orderly fashion,” he adds, when Suzu traipses after him, elbows nearly colliding with Ryuu’s nose as he comes up behind. “I would prefer to avoid any accidents before we even arrive.”

Obi slinks closer, like a cat approaching a precariously placed cup. “But not after?”

A heavy sigh flares out of Lata’s nostrils. “I would prefer you not. But ‘after’ is not part of my purview.”

For all that Obi enjoys dogging the professor’s irritable heels, he makes no move to follow him. Instead, he lingers just inside the door, watching as first Suzu, then Ryuu, then Kazaha pass. Being polite, Shidan assumes at first, but then the moment for him to fall in line comes…and passes, utterly unmarked, save for the amused glance Obi turns his way, gold flaring in the lamplight.

He’s a different man than the one that appeared with the snow, all those years ago. Even more so from the boy that simply manifested in the university’s library, slotting himself between the two royal pharmacists with an ease that had Shidan squinting even then, trying to figure out how such incongruous pieces could fit. Lilias drew all types, it’s true, but even so— he’d never seen one quite like this: a knight with a thug’s scar cut into his brow, swaggering through the stacks like they were old enemies.

Don’t be fooled, Garrack had written him once, loops spiking tight with barely restrained humor. He might look a little rough-and-tumble, but that kid cleans up well.

He sees it now— the strong line of his shoulder accentuated by the cut of his coat, the belt at his waist complementing the taper of his torsi, the loose trousers that only barely obscure the acrobat’s body beneath. There’s no way to cover the scar, not even with a judicious application of pomade, but there’s no need— not when it only makes him look roguish, like a man who might sweep a girl into an alcove and teach her the sort of things proper young ladies only learned from novels. Still dangerous, but not deadly.

Worrying, really, considering. Shidan doesn’t make a habit of listening to scuttlebutt, but, well, he does have eyes of his own. And red is hard to miss. More so than the black he always finds bent beside it. “Obi, if I might have a word?”

That brow of his pitches up, amusement apparent in every angle. “You academics really will do anything to keep from having to go where you’re told.”

Shidan blinks, confused, before shaking his head. “I only thought I might remind you, that er…” There’s no delicate way to put it, not when he’s already wearing a smirk that would set every fine young lady’s fan fluttering. “That this year there is to be no Solstice kissing. By Lata’s request.”

“So I’ve heard.” Obi’s head cocks, curious, though when he takes in the emptiness of the room, the pointedness of the request…the slant his brow takes is clearly…confused. “Is there any reason you’re telling me, specifically?”

It’s a romantic sort of night, he might say, and it’s easy to forget yourself in the moment. Or maybe, you already stand so close I couldn’t fit a paper between the two of you, all it would take to close it is a well-timed trip. Or perhaps more accurately, you’ve been together so long all you need is an excuse. Trust me when I say you should take it.

But Shidan knows better than to speak, not when silence is all the more eloquent. The mind, he finds, often finds the most pressing reasons all on its own. Especially when one's thoughts never strayed too far from them anyway...

“Hey!” Obi presses a hand to the placard of his coat. “I haven’t caused trouble for years.”

It’s a feat worthy of song that Shidan keeps from reminding him of the last time him and Shirayuki rode through these gates. And yet, there’s no graceful way to admit that he hadn’t been talking about that sort of trouble anyway.

“Months, at least,” he relents, grudgingly. With a few moments of thought, he adds, “I’ve been really good this week.”

Shidan, with the patience of a saint, restricts his reply to simply, “If you’re sure.”

Obi does him the courtesy of hesitating. ��Well, none of that’s been of the kissing variety, anyway. Not like any of the ladies here are going to be looking to make time with a guy like me tonight.”

He gives him another one of those charming grins, and Shidan sighs, resigning himself to an evening of being pointedly unobservant. “So you say.”

[piemonnie]

A day where laughter, joyful music, and beautiful lights outside the house is seen and heard... The best month of the year i called Christmas. "Wasn't that the definition of Home? Not where you are from but where you are wanted." - Abraham Verghese, the quote that have been lingering in my mind this past few days, it's a quote about family, about comfort and mostly about love. That's the quote i believe so highly, that always happens when it's Christmas. Each year when Christmas arrive, I'm always greeted with hugs, gifts, and regards to my family and honestly i can't blame them since most of the year i only get to see my loved ones twice or once a year. Which is not that much but I'm grateful enough to know that they are still thriving, full of spirit, and is healthy.

In this year, i get to join some of my cousins walking around the neighborhood, singing "Joy to the world" with our D. I. Y. handbells and a bright smile to our faces... Haha Adorable. We also celebrated Noche Buena where all of our families gather around and have a feast of every kind of food. Of course who would have forgot the Karaoke at home in Christmas? My Tito and Tita's was all up ears trying to grab the microphone first, while the kids went to play Tumba lata and Tago-tagoan in our backyard. Moreover, i was honored enough (Mom doesn't like cats) to clothed my cats with Christmas costumes!... And last but not the least, we attend Simbang gabi and Misa de Gallo where we woke up super early and attend early masses like 4:00 am, there is also a superstitious where you complete the 10 days series of Masses and your wishes will be granted.. Though for me, i don't think that matters because going to church during Christmas is like showing up and celebrating Jesus for being born and being thankful for everything that he have given and sacrificed for us. But one thing i like about the month of December is the Christmas Break!.. Even if we don't have that anymore, i can only reminisce about it huhuhu.

But anyway, Christmas is indeed my favorite season since it literally means that i get to meet and spend time with my loved ones as long as i want and overall just celebrating Christmas with my FAMILY is enough to fill in the missing gaps in my heart with their warm hugs! That is why i truly believe that a HOME is not where you are from but instead where you are needed, because just knowing that your family is looking for you, asking if you came to celebrate with them is enough for me to know that I'm LOVED AND ALWAYS WELCOME WITH OPEN ARMS.

[everylata]

[meefy]

Diverse Autistic Characters in Akagami no Shirayukihime

I could go on for hours about my dislike of how autism is, for the most part, portrayed in popular media - the butt of a cruel joke; autism representation by a non-Autistic actor; or centered around the plot of the story itself, where it boils down to the Autistic person "overcoming" their autism or some outside force "fixing" it (or, semi related, an Autistic character being shoehorned in as a token minority).

I think that's one of the reason I love Akagami no Shirayukihime so much. While none of the characters are confirmed as Autistic, the ones that are quite blatantly Autistic-coded are so diverse and so welcomed by the cast that it's both sweet and refreshing to see.

I have talked at length about Ryuu and why I love his character so much, so I don't want to get into it too much here because I've said most of what I want to say. He is, at first glance, the "typical" popular culture depiction of autism: the male child savant who has no friends, can't socialize, and has the niche restricted interests in science that seem to characterize every big Autistic character in media. But it doesn't take long to see he is so much more than that! His interests in poisons has granted him a field of study and work where he thrives and does what he loves day in and day out. His mentor, Garak, supports him and treats him as an equal, and looks for opportunities for him to grow - as does everyone around him, including Shirayuki.

Ryuu's time in Lilias was so beautifully depicted. The years he spends studying and working there are not him masking his Autistic traits or "beating" them; they are years of him feeling safe and supported enough to test his comfort levels and branch out because he knows he won't be mocked or scorned for it. He has found an environment where he thrives because of his Autistic traits, not in spite of them. And so, as of most recently, we see that he wants to remain in Lilias to continue his studies there because of this. His growth is not reduced to finally acting neurotypical; Ryuu being Autistic has not changed. But he has found others who share his passions, who support him, and who encourage him without changing who he is.

I also want to touch on Kirito specifically, because he is one of the few people Ryuu's own age who interacts with him. Kirito is too young to hold back his questions about Ryuu's behaviour. Why is he running away from a crowd of people? Why has he never had a snowball fight? But Kirito doesn't dwell on Ryuu's quirks; he accepts them, moves on, and focuses on what the two have in common - which is what I would hope for any Autistic person, myself included.

What is particularly special to me about how Autistic characters are depicted in AnS is the diversity. Too often I see Autistic characters depicted in the same way, like the author read a WebMD checklist and created a character around said list. Autism is a spectrum, and with that comes two ends of the spectrum.

Which brings me to Lata.

Although I haven't explicitly mentioned at length Lata + autism the same way I've discussed it about Ryuu (and although I could write a whole essay on it), I do want to go in a bit more depth because his overlap and contrast with Ryuu is exactly the kind of Autistic representation I live for. Ryuu actively wants to work to help people; Lata seeks to work in solitude. Ryuu is open and generally friendly with others, Lata is blunt and evasive. Ryuu's expressions are generally flat (and his voice monotone in the anime); Lata is quite expressive (even if he doesn't smile often, and neither does Ryuu). Yet we see certain similarities between the two; for instance, both have their own niche hyperfixations that they absolutely live for, and neither is totally at ease in crowds.

But leaving Ryuu out of the equation, one of my favourite things about Lata's character is that none of the Lyrias crew seemed genuinely bothered by how he acts. Like, even Obi's teasing is, by and large, in good faith. They're just like "Oh, that’s just how Lata is..." and move past it. Most recently in Chapter 133, Shirayuki is visibly happy to see him. And related to that, the other scholars always go out of their way to include and invite him to their outings - to their banquet celebrating the successful germination of the phostyrias, or to see them blooming in their lab. Even if he always declines, and they probably know he will always decline, they ask. Speaking on a personal note, I am like Lata and really, really hate parties or any large gathering; so people (understandably) stopped inviting me. And that hurt; even if I knew I'd say no, and wouldn't go, people actually thinking of me meant a lot more than they likely realized.

So, seeing representation of people actively trying to invite and include their Autistic comrade means so much to me.

Lastly, I want to talk about Shirayuki. It's not terribly often that Autistic representation in media is a female character, let alone the lead character. I know I am not alone in thinking Shirayuki is Autistic, but I do love its subtlety unless you know what to look for. The long running theory that there is a "girl" autism (versus the stereotypical "male" autism that is most commonly diagnosed and seen in popular culture) is absurd; autism is a spectrum, and just where some Autistics are reclusive, have a flat affect, and exhibit quirky behaviours and interests, there are plenty that are the complete opposite, or somewhere else along the spectrum. In many respects, this describes Shirayuki; she seems to have no trouble making friends, attending parties, or showing emotion.

And yet, she has the intense focus in herbalism and pharmacology that mirrors Ryuu's in many respects; she just does not express that interest in the same, "typical" Autistic way. She reads her textbooks to relax and spends time in a garden (the latter of which is, stereotypically, a perfectly expected behaviour for someone of her gender). It's easy to forget that, much like how Ryuu ran away from the crowd on his first day in Lyrias (a depiction of an Autistic shutdown), Shirayuki ran away from Zen when her feelings for him became too overwhelming. She asks Zen for a comfort object of his when she leaves for Tanbarun, much like how many Autistic people have a particular tangible object that gives them comfort. Shirayuki is also blunt; she tells Prince Raji to act more like a leader she can be proud of, and rebuffs the knight who insults Ryuu at the beginning of the story - her low rank does not deter her. Autistic people are sometimes known for apparently "not understanding" power dynamics and rules (which I doubt, as do most Autistic people - I think it's more likely that the rules and dynamics are simply unfair, and created and upheld by neurotypical people) - Shirayuki's behaviour certainly seems to fit this. She is not rude by any means...but where it might intimidate many others, a person's title does not keep her from speaking her mind. In many respects she reminds me of myself!

I could go on and on about this topic - and how different Autistic traits are present in different characters - but I'm comfortable stopping at Ryuu, Lata, and Shirayuki (at least for now), and reiterating that media like AnS proves that diverse Autistic characters can exist without being a punchline, can grow throughout the story without shedding their Autistic traits, and can be accepted, supported, and loved by others for who they are. This series is dear to my heart, and this is but one (albeit huge) reason why!

[thecrazyinktrovert]

Love English music all you want, but NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING, hits harder than desi music. Like every single singer has their own trademark genre which they can execute PERFECTLY?? 

Can we talk about Arijit’s Mai gehra tamas tu sunehra sawera main tera in Kalank? 

or his Tum sath ho ya na ho kya fark hai, bedard thi zindagi bedard hai in Agar tum sath ho? 

or Tujh sang sukhi roti bhaye in Mast Magan? Ok leave that. 

Lets talk about Atif’s Khayalon me lakho baaten yun toh keh gaya, bola kuch na tere saamne in Tu jaane na?

or Rafta rafta tera hua, tere bin mai hu benishan in Tera hua?

or Tenu lakhan ton chhupa ke rakhaan akkhaan te sajaa ke tu ae meri wafaa, rakh apna bana ke main tere layi aan yaara in Dil Diyan Gallan? Ok leave that

Let's talk about KK's Chaand Teri roshni ka halka sa ek saaya hai in Ajab Si?

Or dil kyun yeh mera shor kare, idhar nahi udhar nahi teri orr chale in Dil Kyu Yeh Mera?

Or lut Gaye hum teri mohabbat me in Tadap Tadap? Ok leave that.

Let's talk about Jubin Nautiyal's tum se jo mil gaye, Mausam khil gaye, khudse ladne Lage hum sawarne lage in sawarne lage?

Or Mausam mohabbaton ke, lamhe ye chahaton ke apne liya bane hai maan le in Gazab ka hai din?

Or tere bina main na rahu mere bina tu in raatan lambiyan? Fine, leave that as well. 

Lets talk about Shreya Ghoshal's kaise huzurji ye lab dikhlaaye, chuppi lagake bhi gazab hai yeh dhaye in saibo.

Or Ye ishq haaye baithe bithaaye jannat dikhaye hain in ye ishq?

Or Dil bharta nahi, aankhen rajjti nahi, chaahe kitna bhi dekhti jaaun, waqt jaaye main rok na paaun in Thodi Der?

And DO NOT get me started on Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Lata Ji, Asha ji and Sonu Nigam. Desi songs are peak lyrics, romance, emotion and vocals. You're straight up wrong if you think ANYTHING can beat that. I love Taylor, 1D and all, but Hindi songs? Absolutely unmatched!

Comment/reblog you favourite lyrics below!

[indian-kahani]

Desi LGBT+ Fest 2023

@desi-lgbt-fest

Day 2: Legacy

All her life, Durga had been told that she was a good daughter.

All through school, she had been called a ‘pleasure to teach’. Students regarded her with wary awe: she was the good girl, who did her homework and listened to the teacher and never, ever stepped a foot out of line.

All my life, her father had told her, “Beti, you have to be a good girl. Strike that – you have to be the best. There are many eyes watching us.”

He was right, of course. He was a major army lieutenant – Arjit Sindh, a household name for his medals and bravery. Ever since Durga was a child, she had watched him salute the tricolour every morning, watched his juniors (and god, there were lots of them) salute to him.

While others dreamed of being artists and musicians, she dreamed of her first day holding a rifle.

While others looked up to Abdul Kalam or Lata Mangeshkar, her walls were covered in photos of Gunjan Saxena, Vikram Batra, everyone who had ever won the Param Vir chakra.

She had a legacy to inherit, a place to fill.  

Her dreams may have been out of place, but they were in vivid technicolour none the less. She faced up to her dream with a steady heart.

Her father approved, and watched from a distance as the Indian Army became entrenched deep inside her heart.

She had always followed in his footsteps. The golden girl she might have been, but she was a golden girl you shouldn’t mess with. She had always been raised to be a loyal servant of the army, the loyal servant of her country.

As her father's daughter, she was proud to uphold his legacy.

Karate, Jiu Jitsu, yoga, junior boot camp. Durga was signed up for all of it, and every summer she trained without fail.

On her eighteenth birthday, she joined the army. What else could she do? I mean, it had been her dream for as long as she could remember. She hit it out of the park. She had been training to assemble a gun since she was sixteen. The other recruits were no match for her.

They were playing for glory (or so she thought).

She was playing for honour.

Or was she?

Durga saw her first at her graduation ceremony.

Her name was before Durga’s.

“Sharma, Saranika!”

Saranika. Such a beautiful name.

All of a sudden, she was reminded of her childhood when her mother sang beautiful Hindustani music. That was what Saranika Sharma's name reminded Durga of.

“Sindh, Durga!”

She snapped out of she reverie, and walked onto the stage, determined to forget the girl with the beautiful name.

-

Months passed. Promotion after promotion came her way. Talent, or nepotism? Who knew? Slowly but surely, she was becoming jaded. Life seemed grey and joyless, and even at the young age of twenty-one, the lines under her eyes were becoming more and more pronounced.

The day was an ordinary one – so mundane that Durga didn’t even read over the details, instead preferring to wing the training exercise. She was assigned two officers to help out. Major Raj Kuldeep and Major Saranika Sharma.

…wait, what?

She re-read the document again, eyes alight. Major Saranika Sharma.

Almost unbidden, her mind flashed back to that day, when she had heard her name but didn’t see her face. Durga’s heart stumbled at just the thought, secretive smile stretching her lips open. It hurt – maybe the first time she had smiled in days, weeks even.

She arrived at the training exercise fifteen minutes early, pretending to be absorbed in the details of the exercise.

An officer arrived, and saluted in front of her. “Ma’am!”

From the evidently male voice, her hopes were dashed already. She looked up. “Major Kuldeep.” She inclined her head in recognition, and the man smiled at her tightly. It was a regulation army smile – deferent and not too intimate.

“I believe Officer Sharma will be arriving in a few minutes, ma’am.” He informed, and she nodded, returning to her papers to hide the thumping of her heart.

Why was I feeling this way? The thought hit her all of a sudden, but she didn’t have time to process it.

She had arrived.

“Ma’am, it’s good to finally meet you.” she deferred from the standard greeting, and she looked up.

She was beautiful. My God, she was beautiful. Her cinnamon skin looked so soft, and Durga fought to tear her eyes off of her prominent collarbones-

Durga’s eyes widened as she hastily raised her eyes to meet her face.

She instantly regretted it. Wide, honest eyes, full lips, and a gorgeously sharp jawline.

Before she could say something she would regret, she greeted her. “Major Sharma, may I ask why?” Hints of curiosity pricked at her. She wanted to unravel every secret of this Saranika’s, big and small.

Saranika met her gaze with the barest hint of a challenge in the way she raised her chin. “Who wouldn’t want to meet the prodigy of the army?” she smiled with a small shrug. Major Kuldeep was watching, slack-jawed, at the casual way Major Sharma was addressing Durga, but the women had only eyes for each other.

“I hardly believe I’m a prodigy.” The words slipped out before Durga could change them, and she disguised the raw honesty in them with a short laugh. “Hard work gets you far, Major Sharma.”

Suddenly, she wanted to get as far away from this enchanting woman as possible. She could feel her back prickle with sweat and she could swear her face was heating up.

“I don’t doubt it, ma’am.” Saranika – no, she was Major Sharma, when had Durga started addressing her so casually? – replied promptly. “Talent can only get you so for before you need more to take you further.”

Durga ended the conversation with a clipped nod, checking the watch on her wrist. “We had best be going.” She turned to Kuldeep, who snapped to attention. “At ease.”

She finished the training in a daze, dismissing the recruits five minutes early with an uneasy frown on her face. Rumours were flying around that the infamous Durga Sindh had something on her mind. She heeded none of it as she headed to the mess hall to eat lunch.

Almost out of instinct, she scanned the hall for Saranika, finally noticing her tucked away in the back of the hall.

She sent her a note to come and eat with her in her office. Saranika arrived five minutes later.

Durga gestured for her to sit down. “I was impressed with your performance in the training exercise today, Major Sharma.” Bullshit. She hadn’t paid attention to even a single second of that training exercise.

Saranika ducked her head shyly, a strand of hair falling forward, and Durga resisted the urge to lean forward and tuck it behind her ear. “Thankyou, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“Call me Durga. No need for formalities in my office.” She blurted out, cursing herself immediately as the words slipped out. That seemed to happen a lot around her.

Saranika looked up suddenly, startled. “I couldn’t possibly be so… informal, ma’am.” She hesitated.

“I insist.” Durga said.

“Very well, then… Durga-ji.”

-

From then on, it only got better. Lunch turned into days off, days off turned into weekends until finally, Durga worked up the courage.

“I- I wanted- what I meant to say was- the thing is- will you be my girlfriend?”

The sight of her then, with her hair loose and framing her face, was enough for Durga to plant a chaste kiss on the cheek of her girlfriend.

Only one thing was left.

Durga had to tell her father, a strict adherent to tradition and principles, that she was a lesbian.

-

“Papa… I met someone.”

She had phrased it carefully enough, hesitating over each and every word. Her father, aged but no less sharp, looked at her (or through her, it seemed sometimes).

“That’s lovely, beti.” His old face creased in a smile. “Bring him home this weekend, hm?”

There it was. Durga opened her mouth and closed it again, pressing her lips together in shame of her own cowardice. Her father was watching.

“He’s a Hindu, right? Not a Muslim? It’s okay if he is, as long as he’s respectful to you.” Her father tried to reassure her seeing her distress, and tears fell down Durga’s cheeks.

“She’s not a boy!” she burst out all of a sudden, hiding her face in her hands as she heard her father’s small intake of breath. Water dripped from her eyes, wetting her hands and falling in droplets onto the cold marble times.

“Accha, I see.” Her father leaned forward in his chair, wiping Durga’s tears away. “Bring her home this weekend, hm? I hope she’s pretty.”

Durga couldn’t do anything much more than stare. “You’re- you’re okay with this? But people will-”

He let out a deep chuckle. “The world has changed since I was young, Durga.” He smiled down on her fondly. “You young people are teaching us that it is okay to love whoever you love. There are people out there like you and your girlfriend, right?”

Durga nodded, open-mouthed. “But- papa- you- I’m a lesbian.”

He waved her away, a mock frown on his face. “Of course I know that now. I’m not stupid. Bring that girl home on Saturday, and I will see what food we can get for her. Leave it to me.”

Yes, her father followed tradition. Yes, he had his legacy to uphold, and his honour. But he was a man of good sense, and the world was changing after all. Why not see what good it could bring?

---------

Okay so I know nothing about the military, literally nothing so the ranks/greetings/whatever might be off, please suspend disbelief while reading :D and tell me what you think in reblogs/comments!

[rockislandadultreads]

May is Asian American & Pacific Islander Heritage Month!

Check out these fiction picks as we celebrate Asian American & Pacific Islander Heritage Month this May!

Late Bloomers by Deepa Varadarajan

After thirty-six years of a dutiful but unhappy arranged marriage, recently divorced Suresh and Lata Raman find themselves starting new paths in life. Suresh is trying to navigate the world of online dating, while Lata is enjoying her newfound independence. Meanwhile, their children, Priya and Nikesh, embark upon their own relationships, but hide the truth of what they really entail. Over the course of three weeks, the family uncovers one another's secrets, confront the limits of love and loyalty, and explore life's second chances. 

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

Authors June Hayward and Athena Liu were supposed to be twin rising stars. But Athena's a literary darling while June is literally nobody. So when June witnesses Athena's death in a freak accident, she acts on impulse: she steals Athena's just-finished masterpiece, an experimental novel about the unsung contributions of Chinese laborers during World War I. Doesn't this piece of history deserve to be told, whoever the teller? But June can't get away from Athena's shadow, and emerging evidence threatens to bring June's (stolen) success down around her. 

Portrait of a Thief by Grace D. Li

History is told by the conquerors. Across the Western world, museums display the spoils of war, of conquest, of colonialism: priceless pieces of art looted from other countries, kept even now. Will Chen plans to steal them back. His crew has every heist archetype imaginable and each member has their own complicated relationship with China and the identity they've cultivated as Chinese Americans. If they succeed, they earn fifty million dollars and a chance to make history. But if they fail, they will lose everything they've dreamed for themselves, as well as the chance to take back what colonialism has stolen.

Happiness Falls by Angie Kim

Mia, an irreverent, hyperanalytical twenty-year-old, has an explanation for everything - which is why she isn't initially concerned when her father and younger brother Eugene don't return from a walk in a nearby park. They must have lost their phone. Or stopped for an errand somewhere. But by the time Mia's brother runs through the front door bloody and alone, it becomes clear that the father in this tight-knit family is missing and the only witness is Eugene, who has the rare genetic condition Angelman syndrome and cannot speak.