#red saree ideas

[shaadiwish]

Red Bridal Wear That Real Brides Aced

[chxrryhansen]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝐀𝐔

Pairing; Dark!Club Owner Ari x Shy!Reader

Warnings; dark themes, unbalanced power dynamic, daddy kink, no smut in this part but as usual Minors Please DNI!!

Summary; You knew it was a bad idea showing up to the most notorious club in the city, but it’s your best friend’s birthday and you can’t say no, right? So, what happens when the owner himself, Ari Levinson, spots you at the bar, claiming you as his own from the moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s finally here! The first instalment of my very first series, apologies for no smut but i promise the next part will be very smutty to make up for it 👀 bare in mind this is just the introduction!!! please don’t be afraid to ask questions and remember to reblog and comment💗 i love to hear your guys feedback!

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

You climb out of the uber, reaching to pull the hem of your dress down as you and your friends stumble towards the club.

You had finally agreed to try out the biggest club in the city, "Cherry Bomb.” Since it was your best friend Sarah's birthday your group decided it was only fair she could choose which clubs you were going to tour for the night. You had been putting it off ever since the opening night a few months ago, the reputation not being something you had particularly wished to be involved with.

All you knew was bad things happened there, and from what you had heard the owners, Ari Levinson and Lloyd Hansen, two brothers in arms, were so cruel and unforgiving that even the richest men in the city dared not to step foot in the place, and those who did shortly regretted it. Their names were known around the streets, the most notorious club owners to exist, 70% of clubs in the city all belonging to them, more money under their belt than the government itself.

An incident a few weeks back had became the talk of the town, according to Sarah a well known patron had gotten a little handsy with one of the clubs dancers and when he was given a warning to back off, he refused. Claiming he spent enough money in the club grounds to do as he pleased, including groping innocent dancers without permission.

Long story short the bouncers ended up forcibly removing the man, cussing and struggling on his way out of course, you know, the usual druken male rage and feeling of entitlement. Seemed like a pretty convenient coincidense that the exact same night the man was found beaten to a bloody pulp in a back alley, his face practically unrecognisible.

It wasn't long before the 'rumour' was quickly snuffed out. They were good at that, making things.. people, dissapear. Almost as if it never happened... as if they never exhisted.

Now that you were standing infront of it, you couldn't deny, it was beautiful. Even from the outside, the bright neon sign glowing in the moonlight, multiple bouncers blocking the large glass stained doors, making sure to check each persons id before unhooking the stanchion, allowing said persons entry. The queue seeming endless.

Lucky for you, your friends had been gifted VIP tickets, you didn't even bother to ask who they got those from, or how. You didn't want to know. You flashed your id at the pretty bouncer, his buzzed hair, large muscles and stern face making it quite obvious as to why he had the job he did.

You bounced your foot as he scanned over your card before opening the barrier and letting you inside. Sarah was quick to grip each of your hands, practically dragging you inside once you began to hesitate, not wanting you to change your mind so soon.

"Come on, babe, let's get those sweet legs moving!" Sarah hollers from ahead, her hand intertwined with your own as the rest of the girls hurried towards a booth.

"I-I don't know if this is a good idea, Sare.." you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers as she tugged you towards your friends and giving you a slight nudge into the cushioned seats, the red velvet material instantly soothing your hot thighs as you sat.

She reached down, holding your cheeks in both hands and facing you towards herself, sliding into the booth next to you "Listen, i know you're worried and if it makes you feel better i promise we can leave and go somewhere else, but just give it a try, please...for me?" she pleaded, giving you her famous puppy dog eyes.

"You know i can't resist that face." you whined as she cheered.

As you slowly got more drunk you began to forget why you didn't want to visit. The atmosphere was astronomical, the whole club being fit for royalty. The girls hooted and hollered as you trotted off towards the bar on your way to buy in a round of drinks. You waited at the bar with your card in hand but as you went to hand it over to the bartender he paused you.

“It’s on the house.” he says while he wipes down the bar with a rag, a smile on his face. He was handsome in all fairness, standing at around 6'2, his bright blonde locks and pretty blue eyes causing you to pause for a moment before giving him a puzzled look, tilting your head sideways.

“Is it a nightly special or something? I didn’t see anything about free drinks on the poster outside…” you begin yet he’s already scuttling off to take another couples order, shooting you a sly smile over his shoulder. Leaving you even more confused than before.

You slowly reach for the tray of shots when you feel a large hand on your shoulder, causing you to spin around in shock, ready to fight off any unwanted men. You pause yet again, having to look up to catch the mans face.

His 6’5 form towers over your much smaller figure, dressed in a dark purple suit and tie, his pearly blues shining in the colourful strobe lights, looking down at you with a slight smirk. His dark beard covered most of his face and his long curtains framed his godly sculpted face. Even with his suit on his arms bulged through the material, his thick biceps almost bigger than your head.

You shortly snapped out of your daze as his leather gloved hand squeezed your arm. “C-Can i help you, sir?” you stammered, worried incase you had been caught gauking.

He laughs “Not even a thankyou, Sweetheart? I thought you’d have better manners than that.” he teases, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. You stutter as you try to find your words, seeming as they were lodged in the back of your throat.

“I’m kidding, name’s Ari…you gonna’ give me the curtesy of knowing yours or you just gonna’ keep starin’ at me with those pretty eyes?”

“A-Ari as in… Levinson?” you question, swallowing harshly as the nerves quickly built in your stomach.

He shakes his head gently with a smirk "So you know me, huh?"

Your eyes widen at the realisation of who the mystery man is, your arms instantly beginning to shake, your card still in hand. You were never good at dealing with situations such as this one, always being labled as the 'shy girl' of your group. Sarah being the complete opposite. Usually men in this situation would back off, sensing your uncomfortable trembles and leaving you alone, but not Ari. If anything the smirk on his face grew wider at the sense of your fear.

"Steve, why don't you head over to booth two, give the girls their shots." Ari calls out towards the handsome bartender from earlier.

The man, Steve, is at your side in an instant "No prob man, have fun you two." he winks, collecting the glasses and sauntering off with a wink.

Ari shakes his head with a laugh, “Why don’t you come with me.” he leans down to whisper in your ear. The vibration of his vocals in your ears sending shivers down your spine before he struts forwards, holding out his thick palm for you to grab on to, and almost as if your in a trance, you begin to trail behind him without hesitation. Sliding your smaller palm into his own as he led you through the club.

Your nerves never allowed you to talk much, or make your own decisions, that being the reason you followed the stranger without any question asked, which is exactly why Sare was usually always there to do it for you. But, your drunken confidence had allowed you to go to the bar alone, which you were beginning to really regret. Your confidence being blown out of the park as the attractive beast watched you from infront with a careful eye.

Shortly you arried at the unknown destination, trailing nervously behind Ari as he unlocked a large door, which was infact bolted shut. He pushed open the door, looking down at you, edging you to enter, and so you did. Your eyes lit up as they searched the vast room, expensive furnature lining the room, bottles of champagne worth more than your house filling the cupboards above his desk.

Ari pushed the door closed, moving to sit on a cushioned purple chair, his thick thighs spread wide as he removed his gloves, pouring himself, and you, a glass of his finest drink. His cold eyes beckoned you forwards, your legs shaking as you stepped towards him, standing inbetween his spread legs.

He patted his thigh with one hand "Sit." he called out, his voice sweet yet stern.

You looked at him shocked, your lips parting slightly, were you really going to sit on his lap? A man you just met? Who you didn't even know? "I-I don't think i should Mr Levinson." you whispered.

His eyes grew shades darker at your refusal, not even giving you time to debate your decisions he reached out, gripping your waist in his thick palm and pulling you down, sitting you sideways on his lap as you gasp in shock. His other hand pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear as you squirmed under the pressure.

"Pretty girl, next time i ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. You understand?" he asked in a low growl.

You swallowed your nerves and nodded gently under his deep gaze, your body trembling.

"Ah ah, words baby."

"Yes, M-Mr Levinson, I-I understand."

Ari groaned underneath his breath, not understanding how lucky he had gotten that a pretty little thing like you would just waltse right in at the perfect moment, almost as if you were made for him. Like a lamb in a lions den. "As much as i love the way you say my name, call me Ari, sweet girl."

Again, you followed his command. "Yes, Ari."

"Good girl." he rumbled, pulling your bottom lip gently inbetween his index and thumb, loving the way you felt on his lap. Your innocence and submissive nature automatically triggering his dominance, his cock growing hard in his slacks as your plump ass squirmed on his knee.

You keened at his praise, a fluttery feeling appearing in your lower half. Of course Ari noticed this, the way your pussy pulsated on his thigh told him all he needed to know.

"You ever been with a man before, sweetheart?" Ari asks while he strokes your hair, not even having to shout due to the soundproof room blocking out the clubs music.

"Um, n-no i haven't, my Grandma wouldn't really approve of that sort of stuff, she said i should wait till m-marriage." you whisper shyly.

Ari blows out a puff of air at your innocence, desperately trying to control himself. All he wants is to ruin you, in every way you can imagine, and more. He smirks, leaning into your shoulder, pressing his nose against your sensitive neck and taking a deep inhale. Groaning softly, your sweet scent driving his instincts wild.

"Your Grandma seems like a very smart lady, little girl. You live with just her, huh?"

"Yeah, i never really knew my m-mom and dad, and my grandpa died shorly after i was born s-so it's pretty much always just been me and her. She does her best to take care of me, taught me everything i know." you speak with a bright smile, Ari notices how your stutter stopped when talking about her, he thought it was sweet, how much you must care about her.

However, the dark side of his mind was quick to take a seat, the realisation that you never had a father figure making his cock impossibly harder. Knowing he could be that for you, and knowing you needed a strong man like him in your life to make all those decisions for you.

"I think i changed my mind, baby. Why don't you call me daddy from now on, mkay?" he spoke softly, yet the edge in his tone still clear.

"D-Daddy?" you muttered, confused as to why he would want you to call him that.

He moaned hearing your sweet voice call him by his new found title. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, choosing not to elaborate on his previous statement. "Good girl. I'm gonna' take care of you from now on, yeah? Anything you need, you come to me. Pass me your phone, sweet girl."

"Oh, i-i don't have a phone.. daddy."

Ari's eyebrows knit together softly "You don't have a phone? Why not?"

You shake your head, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "We uhm, w-we can't really afford that sort of stuff."

"Well that just won't do." he speaks in a teasing tone, tickling your waist making you giggle softly.

Suddenly a loud bang causes you to shoot upright, you quickly dash off Ari's lap, moving to stand away from him, his office door slamming shut as a tall moustached man enters. Your eyes widen in fright, knowing how violent the man standing infront of you truly was. You knew who he was too, Sare had told you plenty of stories about the cruel Lloyd Hansen. You often wondered if he even had a soul.

"Man it's fuckin' packed down there, what the fuck are you doing up here." the man groans, not even noticing you until he turns. He lifts his sunglasses, staring you down, his eyes scanning over your figure, pausing and licking his lips at the soft flesh beneath the cut of your dress, your pretty pink dress having ridden up your thighs.

"Lloyd." Ari bellows, sighing in annoyance at his disruption.

A smirk similar to Ari's appears on the man, Lloyd's, face. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he speaks in a sultry voice. He begins his descent in your direction and the second gets a little too close, Ari shoots up out of his seat, moving to stand infront of you. A low rumble vibrating through his chest.

Ari stood slightly taller than Lloyd, with broader shoulders and thicker legs, the muscles in his back visible as he stood infront of you, almost as if he was protecting you, a hand wrapped around your hips rubbing his thumb in circular motions over your dress….and of course the most important detail, his luscious full beard compared to Lloyds 90s porn stache. They stared each other down, asserting some sort of dominance over one another… Ari seemingly winning as Lloyd begins to back up.

He lets out a chuckle, lifting his hands in a surrender position, taking a few steps back. "I mean no harm, just wanna' ask the pretty girl for her name, s'all."

You begin to quiver yet again, Lloyd's presence scaring you back into your shell. His dangerous aura sending goosebumps across your trembling figure. "I-I think i sh-should go." you whisper, tugging at the hem of your dress in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

"Don't move, sweets. Lloyd. Get the fuck out of here man." Ari bellows.

“I think you’ll find this club is mine just as much as it is yours, big bro. C’mon. Introduce me to the beauty.” he chucked yet again, probably at Ari’s fury. Steam was practically pouring out of his ears at this point. He didn’t even want Lloyd looking at you, nevermind talking to you.

“I mean it Lloyd get the fuck outta’ here man-“

Before he can stop you, you make a quick dash for the door and at the sound of Ari's resistance your legs carry you quicker than you could've ever imagined. Not looking back once as you pull the door open, swiftly shutting the door behind you.

You take a deep, your chest heaving at the stress of the situation, wiping your sweaty hands on your dress and making your descent down the club stairs, shaking your head in confusion and fear, eager to find your friends, craving their comfort and hearing a hushed "You fuckin' asshole." in the distance.

[yellowfashionsareesonline]

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[fishnets-fingers]

Forbidden Hours

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | PART TWO

….

நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.

Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.

He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.

A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.

Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.

Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.

He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.

One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.

It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.

He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”

Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.

“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.

“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.

“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.

“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”

She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”

“Apologies, Princ-“

“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.

“Sorry, Prin-“

Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.

Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.

“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”

Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”

“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”

“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.

“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.

“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”

“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.

“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”

“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”

“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.

“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.

Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.

“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.

“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.

“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”

“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”

“You’re positive?”

“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”

“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”

“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.

“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.

“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”

“Almost a week,” Harry answers.

“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”

“Your father’s there?”

Harry nods.

“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.

“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.

Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.

“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.

“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.

“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.

“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.

“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”

“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.

“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.

“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.

“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.

“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.

“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.

“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.

“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.

“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.

“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.

Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.

“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.

His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.

“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”

“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”

“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”

“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.

She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”

“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.

He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.

Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.

“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.

“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.

part two

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Anniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 25 ( final)

DISCLAIMER: The story is set in the early 20th century. While I have made efforts to capture the essence of the era, there may be inaccuracies as this is a work of fantasy. I do not own the characters Arnav and Khushi, and this story is purely fictional with no relation to any real individuals, living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

WARNING: 18+, MATURE CONTENT.

Final Chapter

Three years later.

It was the eve of Diwali, the festival of lights. The Rajput haveli was a vision of grandeur and festivity this evening. The entire estate was adorned with intricate decorations. Strings of twinkling fairy lights draped over every window and doorway and vibrant rangoli patterns were meticulously crafted at the entrance. Rows of gleaming diyas, their soft flickering flames casting a warm, golden glow, lined the pathways and courtyards, creating a serene and enchanting ambience. The air was filled with the scent of freshly made sweets and the sounds of laughter and celebration, as the household came alive with the spirit of joy and togetherness.

Arnav and Khushi had been celebrating their Dewalis with the Rajput family instead of their own Haveli, which they had finally managed to build according to their own taste. It was especially Khushi's touch that could be seen in every corner of the new Raizada state. Though they had a beautiful house of their own, they very much enjoyed spending their Dewalis with the Rajputs. Because, all of their near and dear ones were here and with Mahindar and Manorama's advancing age, they wanted to celebrate the festivals surrounded by all of their children.

"Oh shit."

Arnav hurriedly entered the room and locked the door behind him. Khushi was in the midst of getting ready. was adjusting a delicate gold necklace around her neck. She had styled her dark hair elegantly in loose waves that had gone perfectly with the stunning deep red sari, she had worn. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of concern as she looked up from her reflection.

"What happened?"

"The string of my trousers just snapped. Did you bring a spare?" Arnav replied, noticing how gorgeous she looked.

"Let me see."

As Khushi proceeded to see Arnav's broken trouser string, a mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

"Aren't you a bit too eager to see my treasures, Mrs. Raizada?"

Rolling her eyes at his antics, she said, "Take it off."

"As you wish."

Arnav grabbed her waist, gently placing her on the desk in her room. The old desk was not that big, leaving her back pressed against the wall. He moved to stand between her legs, gently pushing them apart.

"What are you doing?" she whispered yelled as his hands slid up her thighs. He wrapped one of his hands around her waist, pulling her a little closer, while he put the other hand against the wall, above her head.

"Nothing, just testing how sturdy the desk is," he said leaning closer to her. A playful smirk curled on the corners of his lips.

"Arnav, everyone is waiting for us downstairs."

"A few more minutes won't hurt them," he said, capturing her lips in a teasing kiss while his hands gathered her saree around her waist. He touched her in between her legs, finding her already eager for him.

"Ap aise nahi kar sakte," she whispered, biting her lips.

"Kyun nahi kar sakta? Biwi ho tum meri, my legally wedded wife." A soft whimper escaped her lips, as he pushed his fingers in between her nether lips. "And look at you," he murmured, "....already so ready for me. The idea of us on this desk excites you, huh?"

Khushi swatted his shoulder lightly and smiled, her eyes full of mirth. "Shut up."

"Make me."

In the past few years, so much had changed. What hadn't was the undeniable pull between them. Despite the upheavals in many aspects of their lives, there they were, still wrapped up in their own little world.

He looked devastatingly handsome, as always-nothing special in that. But the navy blue kurta he wore today made his eyes stand out even more, and they were now focused on Khushi, brimming with mirth.

Khushi clutched his collars and pulled him close as she fused their lips together, successfully wiping off the teasing grin on his face. Meanwhile, Arnav got rid of his trousers and entered her in a swift motion. Both of them moaned softly, their pleasure barely contained. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer. Her back arched slightly while she adjusted to him. His lips travelled down her neck alternately sucking and kissing her soft supple skin. Her head fell back, eyes fluttered shut.

"Don't leave marks. It would be very awkward in front of the relatives." The desk beneath her creaked softly as he began to move.

"Shhh... I won't... at least not where everyone can see." He whispered, lightly sucking behind her ear.

Their rhythm grew frantic. They tried desperately to muffle their moans, as he pounded repeatedly into her. He then realized they were making lots of noises.

"Shit, your bangles.''

"Huh..?" When Arnav saw his wife completely blissed out and lost in the sensation. He just shrugged his shoulder and went back to his previous activities. Soon, their moans mingled in each other's necks as they finished together.

Both were breathing heavily. Khushi cradled her face against his shoulder, her fingers gently playing with his hair. While Arnav tried to catch his breath by resting his head on her neck. A sudden knock on the door startled them. Instead of pushing him away, Khushi clutched his neck even tighter, holding him close. Akash Bhai's voice came through the door.

"Khushi?"

Regaining her composure, Khushi answered in a shaky voice, "Haan, Bhai?" Her body froze in place.

"Where's Arnav? Hasn't he come yet? Bareilly wale Fufaji usko kabse dhoond rahe hain."

"Hume nahi pata, Bhai. Humne unko nahi dekha."

Khushi noticed her husband's shoulders shaking lightly. She cast a glare at his shoulders as if willing them to stop.

"Theek hain, main dekhta hoon. Tum jaldi tayaar hoke niche aao."

As Akash Bhai's footsteps faded, Arnav couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. He looked back at his wife, his amusement contagious. Khushi tried to give him a stern look but ended up laughing along with him, playfully swatting his chest. Arnav gazed at her affectionately before capturing her lips with his.

As much as he loved to kiss her whimpering lips, he loved kissing her smiling ones even more.

After freshening up, Arnav headed downstairs. As soon as he reached the bottom, two little bodies collided with him, and he effortlessly scooped them up into his arms. Three-year-old Akansha, a spitting image of Anjali as a child, brought back memories of his sister's younger days, while five-year-old Ajit, a perfect blend of Akash and Payal. They grinned up at him. Arnav settled into a nearby lounge chair, both children comfortably perched on his lap.

Little Akansha said in her baby voice, "Mamaji, thank you for the gift. Ma said me to thank you." She placed a tiny kiss on his cheek.

Not to be outdone, little Ajit mimicked her. "Ha, Mamaji, thank you."

Akansha quickly turned to him, frowning. "Arre, buddhu, wo sirf mere Mamaji hain. Tumhare nehi."

"He isn't your Mamaji either," Khushi chided little Akansha lovingly. "Remember what I told you? When you go to our house, you'll call him Mamaji. But when we come here, you have to call him Fufaji."

Arnav scrunched his nose in response, "Don't confuse the children, Khushi." Then, turning back to them, he added, "Why don't both of you just call me Uncle, okay?"

Both of them nodded and sprinted off to play in the courtyard.

Meanwhile, two pairs of brown eyes eagerly awaited their turn on his lap. As soon as it was vacant, they climbed onto each of his thighs. A sweet, confused voice asked, "Daddy, do we need to call you that too?"

"Oh, no, I've worked too hard for you to ever call me that."

"Well, your daddy was very close to being called 'Uncle' by my children once upon a time," Khushi said, lightly touching the little girl's nose.

Arnav cast her a mock glare and mouthed soundlessly, "How dare you?" In response, Khushi just laughed.

While little Ayushi snuggled against her father's neck, little Kush played with his toy, absorbed in his own world. Roma Chachi had remarked aptly that Khushi had indeed given birth to their own reflections, as the three-year-old twins were perfect mirrors of their parents.

While little Ayushi was a bit clingy and voiced her need for attention, little Kush was more reserved. Arnav saw himself in Kush more and more as the days went by. Though Kush didn't seek attention outwardly, inside he was just as eager for snuggles and cuddles as his sister. Even if he pretended otherwise, he desired the same affection. So, Arnav made sure to give both children equal attention. And in some cases, he made an extra effort to give affection to Kush while he was still open to it. Because, As Kush grew up, Arnav knew his little boy might not appreciate his father hugging him as much as his daughter might. It's just a man-code.

Arnav pulled little Ayushi closer, planting a kiss on her head, while he affectionately rubbed his son's back. Khushi watched them with a soft smile, her heart swelling with warmth and tenderness. It had been three years since their birth, and Khushi had been pestering Arnav for another child, but he kept refusing. Their birth had traumatized him enough. Arnav till date clearly remembered and almost felt the panic that he had gone through that night.

He had arranged for the best midwife in the area and had called a trained nurse from the missionary hospital for the delivery. The doctor had come as well and assured him that everything was alright and that the birth would proceed naturally. And there he was, pacing in front of the room where Khushi had been for two hours-two hours of listening to her whimpering and screaming in pain. Arnav was just minutes away from asking Hariprakash to fetch the doctor again when a deafening cry of a newborn pierced the air.

A joyous shout of Roma Chachi came from inside, "It's a boy!"

A few moments later, Roma Chachi emerged from the room with a little crying bundle and approached Arnav. But at the same time, another scream from Khushi nearly stopped his heartbeat. Roma Chachi tried to pass the baby to Arnav, but he grabbed her upper arms and asked urgently, "What's happening inside? How's Khushi?"

A hushed whisper circulated among the women in the room who had come to assist with the birth, noting Mr. Raizada's reluctance to take the baby in his arms. Roma Chachi looked around, guessing how the situation must appear, and spoke to Arnav in a hushed voice.

"Take your son, Arnav. Khushi will be alright."

Chastised by his mother-in-law, Arnav looked at the baby, who had stopped crying and was now gazing at him with wide eyes. He took the baby in his arms and sat on a sofa in the corridor. The baby's little body squirmed in the palm of his hand. Father and son stared at each other for quite some time. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness washed over him, though he couldn't exactly name the other emotions coursing through him. He just kissed the baby boy's forehead lightly and spoke softly as if the baby would clearly understand his words, "I'm not mad at you. I'm just scared."

A little while later, Anjali took the baby from Arnav while Khushi's screams continued to echo from the room, driving him to the brink of madness. He asked Hariprakash to fetch the doctor and also asked Anjali to go inside and see what was happening. Suddenly, the screaming stopped, and Arnav's heart pounded at the sudden silence. Roma Chachi emerged with another bundle, her face radiant with a brilliant smile. "There was another baby-a girl. It's a little Khushi."

Arnav placed his hand on the baby's head and asked, "How's she?"

"She will be okay, Arnav," Roma Chachi reassured him and transferred the baby to Arnav. He felt her snuggle into him as he placed a soft kiss on her crown. Since then, Little Ayushi never missed a chance to snuggle into her father's arm.

When everybody went home and the babies were settled with Anjali and Payal in the next room. Roma Chachi decided to sleep in the room, attached to where Khushi was. She was sleeping soundly after giving birth. The doctor said she had lost a lot of blood. Although the bleeding had stopped, she had become very weak. She looked pale, alarmingly pale actually and her breathing was shallow. Fear gripped Arnav's heart despite everybody's reassurance.

He spent the night holding her hand and sitting on the floor near her head, counting her breaths. He didn't know when he fell asleep, his head resting near their joined hands. But he woke up to Khushi's gentle fingers lightly gliding through his hair. When he opened his eyes, she urged him to lie down beside her on the bed. He obliged, and she didn't waste any time snuggling into his chest, her arm draped across his belly.

"Will you be angry with me for the rest of your life if I leave this world before you?"

Arnav's heart dropped at her question. "Don't ask me questions like that."

"Answer me, please."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I can never be angry at you."

"Good, I don't want you to be angry at me at all."

"Then don't even think of leaving."

Khushi tilted her head to look at him and smiled tiredly. Arnav placed a soft kiss on her dry lips. "I felt like I would never see you again, or our babies..... I was so scared."

Arnav gulped down the lump in his throat and didn't say anything in response, only pulled her closer to his body.

She had been quiet for a while, and Arnav thought she had fallen asleep when she spoke again."We have two babies now," she said almost disbelievingly.

"Yes, we do. We didn't even know how to raise one."

"Shhh, we'll manage," she said dreamily. "One baby is for you, one baby is for me. Did you hold them?"

"Yes, I did."

"I haven't yet. I guess I had fainted at the end," she said sadly.

"Why don't you get some sleep and gather some energy, Mommy?" he said lovingly. "If they're to be like you, we'll have a lot on our hands."

"What are you saying? I was a very quiet kid."

"Sure, you were," he whispered against her forehead.

"You were no better, mister. I know all the stories from your childhood, so you can't deny it. At least I didn't get stuck in a patila."

Laughing, Arnav gathered her in his arms even tighter, and both of them fell asleep like that.

"Bhaiya, Bhabi, come quickly! Roma Aunty is calling you," Amelia's voice called out across the courtyard to the little bubble of the family of four, who were just chatting.

Over the years, Amelia blossomed into the remarkable young lady she was destined to be. As the cloud of melancholy gradually lifted, it revealed her true essence—a kind, compassionate, and fun-loving individual, fiercely protective of those she loved.

"Let's go Mrs.Raizada."

He extended his hand toward his wife.

Khushi looked up at his extended hand, recalling a time when he had reached out in much the same way to guide a little girl out of the darkness.

Khushi scooped up Kush in her arms as Arnav held Ayushi. Hand in hand with their children nestled in their arms, they joined the rest of the family. The warmth of the burning diyas cast a golden glow over them.

In the end, as they embraced the spirit of the festival, they realized they found their perfect piece of forever in each other's arms, in each other's eyes, knowing that this was where they were always meant to be.

----------THE END----------

<previous>

@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari @msbhagirathi @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi Aur Ghulaam

#1

For IPKKND’s 13th anniversary, hosted by the lovelies @arshifiesta

1903, Kolkata

Nandkisore sat by the ghats, watching the sun set on the Ganges. Devotees offered prayers while lovers sat in the ferries, gently bobbing from one end of the river bank to the other.

Not too many summers ago he had arrived, with barely a paisa in his pocket, and only a few local words that he had picked from fellow travellers.

“What were you thinking about sahab?” Mohan, his rickshaw puller, asked. Nandkisore chuckled at being referred as a sahab. It would take him some time to get used to that honorific. Granted, his patent for a new type of printer at the printing press gave him a financial security that his ancestors had never seen, but that couldn’t really make him a sahab.

Nandkisore pointed to the sprawling mansion across the river.

Sheesh Mahal

Owned by the richest zamindar in the city. By a true sahab - Arnav Mullick.

“Oh Maa! Did you know him? Were you both friends? Is that how you learned how to make money?” Mohan asked.

“No, Arnav sahab was my employer,” Nandkisore said. The formidable Arnav Mullick was nobody’s friend but his kindest, sweetest wife was the closest friend Nandkisore ever had.

And the only thing he learned in the godforsaken house was tragedy.

— — —

1897, Kolkata

The white marbles and mirrors of Sheesh Mahal made it stand like a diamond amidst the city. A step into the haveli and one would think another city lived inside it. Water fountains to an army of servant, Nandkisore hoped to find some employment within that army.

As a Punjabi lad he struggled to find meaning between all the Bengali words thrown left and right at him, but he was able to piece together what all the househelp agreed on.

Since he hadn’t seen the haveli in entirety yet, he must see the central courtyard! Chhote sahab, although strict, disposed the idea of servants not being allowed in certain areas or using separate cutlery.

Huh, it was surprising that in a house of two brothers it was the younger one that wielded more power.

But why would anyone be surprised? Given his progressive ideals that made him a favorite amongst the workers and a sore in the eye among other zamindars, London return Chhote sahab brought the financially wrought Mullick household into prosperity.

The househelp clearly favoured him, reciting some of his speeches as well. For those who blamed modernization and London as an influence for his liberalism, he laughed that studying the English and seeing the effects of their Industrial Revolution opened his eyes in ways one could never imagine.

So Nandkisore was eager to meet Chhote Sahab. But before that - a trip to the main courtyard. There were whispers of tapestry belonging from the Mughal eras, intricate woodwork that took countless hours and men to produce, ingenious architecture that illuminated the courtyard at all times of the day.

Except nothing caught Nandkisore’s eyes apart from the lady in red, sitting on a swing.

“That’s Choto boumaa,” one whispered.

Nandkisore reddened, for having admired the wife of Chhote Sahab. But there was a genuine goodness in her that radiated an aura of kindness, of childishness.

Little bells chimed in the air as the youngest bride of the house swung high, her alta stained feet adorned with heavy payals, a Jalebi in her hand.

None could ever look at her with an evil eye. She was a good person. He knew it. He believed in it.

The bahu nearly jumped off the swing when a babu appeared. Given the way he strode to her with two helpers who had a pile of gifts - sarees and jewleries - that must be Chhote Sahab!

Then why did a chill run up Nandkisore’s spine?

“Dada, you have no business gifting things to my vwife.” A man strode into the courtyard, his gait enough to frighten the babu’s two helpers.

Tall, sharp nosed and not a hair out of place. His eyes held an icy wrath that could shake the soul out of any ordinary man. Nandkisore knew that that man had to Chhote Sahab.

Then who was the other man? And why was he gifting Chhoto Boumaa?

A bile rose up in NK’s through as understanding dawned.

“A wife who spends all her time alone? Perhaps you and I aren’t that different Chhote,” The babu scoffed.

“If I find you, again, near my wife, then you can find yourself another home.” The young bride cowered behind her husband - clenching her saree in anxiety.

“ARNAV! HOW DARE YOU!”

“Keep your voice down Shyam Mullick, if it wasn’t for boudi’s plea then…”

Of course, the other babu was Barrister Shyam Mullick. The older son, the heir eclipsed by his younger brother.

Shyam threw the gifts aside and stormed off. Nandkisore breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God Chhote Sahab had arrived in time, if not then Chhoto Boumaa would have had to deal with the sleaze of a brother in law-

“Your greed has no end, does it?” She yelped, her arms in Arnav’s brutal grip.

“Na, na ami-” her soft pleas for mercy had no audience in him.

Nandkisore dropped a metal bowl and ducked, Arnav sprang apart from his wife and walked away, while the fragile woman picked up the fallen Jalebi from the floor to put it away.

Her eyes were full of tears, and Nandkisore rued on the fate she had. Her home had two men who abused her and she had nowhere to run.

He was thankful Chhote sahab didn’t see him drop the bowl.

He was careful to tiptoe away.

“Darao,” he halted at Chhoto Boumaa’s order. She studied his face for a moment.

“Shukriya,” she whispered.

“Oh no no, please Chhoti Malkin-”

“Call me Khushi please,”

— — —

A/N; finally!!! Here’s my little contribution to the festival! Enjoy enjoy and let me know your thoughts 😊

[agentoffangirling]

as a south asian why the hell did they make aladdin and jasmine south asian. I am so confused. Isn't jasmine's name literally persian

Okay okay so there's a bit of a story for this

And to quickly answer your last question, yup, Jasmine is one of the forms of Yas/Yasmine, our jasmine flowers

So back in the 90s, and still a little bit today, many production companies such as Disney didn't really see a difference with the Middle East and South Asia. When Disney decided they wanted to make an adaptation of "Aladdin" from "One Thousand and One Nights" (slight tidbit here, the story of Aladdin is not part of the original book. A French guy added it in and for some reason, set it in China? One Thousand is a Persian story, most of the stories in there are Persian, so this choice was. Interesting), it's not like they suddenly hired a bunch of Middle Eastern experts to consult on the film. No, they just created a desert-y landscape and lumped in Persian, Arab, and South Asian all in there

This is why the palace of Agrabah heavily resembles the Taj Mahal on a more Arabic-sounding name. Rajah, Jasmine's pet tiger, is an Indian word for king. Names such as Jafar and Jasmine are Persian in origin, while a lot of the clothing is Turkish-inspired. Villains such as the Captain and Jafar have a lot more stereotypically Middle Eastern features (hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, etc [and it's a convo for another day about how the "good" characters don't have these exaggerated features])

This melding of several cultures is what led up to the live-action "Aladdin" in 2019. The creators of that movie wanted to be more respectful of the region, and so this time, they did hire consultants and the like to help ensure it would be much less offensive ("where they cut off your ear if they don't like your face", nice going 1992)

And for the most part, they did that. Except for Jasmine

Jasmine is played by Naomi Scott, a half white half Indian woman, and look, it's pretty obvious she only got this part because she's well known. I would also like to point out that the casting calls for the characters in general once again lumped Southeast Asian and Middle Eastern people, however, almost all of the cast is Middle Eastern, and several of them are Persian (Sultan and Mara, notably)

So while everyone else is wearing clothes more indicative of the Middle East, you have miss Jasmine over here dressed in sarees and Indian-inspired clothing because costuming department went "oh! She's Indian now!" Agrabah is also a lot more similar to South Asia than the Middle East, further deepening this issue

To an outsider, "Aladdin" is Indian. To them, there's some Arab inspo, but they would mostly think it's set somewhere in India or South Asia. That's what the casting and costuming department in "Rise of Red" were working with, and so they just opted to go the whole South Asian angle. None of the actors who portray Jasmine, Aladdin, and their kid are Middle Eastern, they're all South Asian. The clothes they're wearing are very obviously from that region

And if I'm being completely honest, that's exactly what I expect from Disney. Why would they bother to do research for extremely minor characters with two lines? The problem here is what I've been talking about above, is that Hollywood is constantly thinking South Asians and Middle Easterners are interchangeable when we're not. If I see a MENA character on screen, more often than not the actor is South Asian. This is a continuous problem no one from these places wants to see happening, and yet it is because Hollywood doesn't actually care. The more it's done, the more they think it's okay and so they continue to blur the lines between several different cultures

So, on an ending note, Jasmine and Aladdin are Arab, if not Persian, and the idea that we are interchangable with South Asians harms both our cultures

[hum-suffer]

We'll say hello again (nevermind the chasm between us) 14

The governor of the West province is lacking in all respects. He is late, foremost, and Gauri despises him instantly.

"Wasting the time of the future King," Bhalla mutters from beside her, an equally snide look to him,"He should know better."

Bahu waves a hand,"Let it be. He'll come."

He's always been too forgiving, her twin. Too trusting, too forgiving. If it were up to him, Bahu wouldn't even follow proper protocol because he trusts his people to not hurt him. Gauri once trusted the same too, and look where that got her. An assassination attempt. She hopes no blood has to be shed before Bahu becomes hardened.

Some foot soldier announces the man's arrival and Gauri turns back to the entrance of the palace where a man, quite obviously quite older than her, is walking up the stairs in arrogance.

He's not bad to look at. He is muscled, thick arms and broad shoulders. His moustache is thick and he's smirking in an almost smug way. He has his hands, upper arms, and almost all fingers adorned with gold, and a heavy gold necklace drops down to his sternum.

Gauri is instantly suspicious. Governors of Mahishmati are paid well, very well, but they're not paid enough for all that gold. Especially in the seven years of tenure that this man has had.

He folds his hands in front of his face and only bows his head to Maa and uncle. "Rajmata. Dowager King."

Gauri feels her fingers spasm with the urge to make him bend at the waist but before that, Katappa speaks up. "Bowing is the proper way to greet your royals, Mahoday Vijay."

Vijay smiles, oily and slimey, but bends a bit at the waist nonetheless. "Forgive this miscreant any mistakes, Rajmata."

"Forgiven." Maa replies in a cool tone that let's Gauri know that the man isn't forgiven at all and Maa too sees through his tone.

Vijay's eyes turn towards the siblings and he smiles wider. "Salutations to my future."

Behind her, she almost feels Bhairav bristle as Vijay's eyes stay on her for a moment longer than necessary. She knows what he's done, that smug man. If she were to ask him why he called her his future, he would claim that she is being presumptuous and outlandish and he was talking about his future King.

Gauri wants to hang him.

Vijay turns back to Maa. "Rajmata. I have brought some tokens of gifts for my respected royal family. Shall I call them forward?"

Usually, gift giving would be engaged in, after the meeting. Vijay wants the upper hand as well as the power to ask for something when he's already given something. She admires his audacity, she does, but Gauri is seething as Maa is forced to say yes and the man beckons five of his household servants to the front.

He lifts the cloth off of a tray and passes the tray of a saree to Maa, tells her how it's the best artwork of the West. He gives a shawl to uncle, a dhoti and angvastra to Bahu and Bhalla each. When he turns to Gauri, they need to maintain eye contact as he presses a clothed tray in her hands and lifts the red silk to show a red saree.

Audacious. Ostentatious. Presumptuous.

Gauri had been right. He's here for her fucking hand.

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It figures that absolutely no one except Bahu and Bhairav believe her when she says that the man is blatantly disrespectful.

Bhalla says that she's thinking too hard, Maa waves her off by saying that his behaviour is common for lords, Gauri never goes to her uncle, Katappa says that he doesn't have any idea of the royal etiquette and hence doesn't know what the truth is.

Bahu tells her that he trusts her word, but she knows that he supports her only because he trusts her word, not that he sees the disrespect from his own perspective. Bhairav bows his head stiffly and tells her that while it isn't his place to comment, he knows that she's right.

At the dining table, Vijay talks about the province under his authority. "My province is the most prosperous in the Kingdom, Rajmata. With your blessings and permission, I would love to expand more in the art sector, so we can export more."

Not yours, Gauri wants to say as Maa continues the conversation pleasantly. The province belongs to Mahishmati, not him.

"My daughter overlooks the planning of events, recently," Maa says, passing a smile to Gauri. "I am sure that you will enjoy the Mahashivratri pooja arranged by her."

Even Maa?

Before Gauri can comprehend the level of betrayal she feels towards Maa, Vijay passes her a look of appreciation. "I am sure that whatever the princess does, will be the best."

Gauri gives Vijay a wooden smile and bashfully lowers her head. She sees Vijay's chest puff up in obvious enjoyment to her appeasement. Pleasantly, she replies,"Mahadev has been graceful to us, Mahoday. It is only our duty to return his blessings with genuine prayers."

Vijay hums, almost thoughtful. "I apologise, I am not much of a devout man. However, is it correct that Mahadev is the god who favours a good marriage?"

Uncle nods, almost too enthusiastic. He answers,"Why, yes. His and Mata Parvati's marriage is considered the world's greatest love!"

Gauri suppresses a grimace at his lack of subtlety and glances at Bhalla, who seems to be interested in his dinner only. Gauri knows his ruse, knows that his father would never do something that Bhalla wouldn't already sniff out.

Does anyone in the palace even want her around, if they're this eager to sell her off to a mannerless, disrespectful, arrogant Governor? Do they think that she's not enough on her own? Does someone want to remove her to remove her brother from the race of the throne, again? Do they just don't want the reminder of the previous Queen? Do they not like her because she's not like the previous Queen, her mother?

Is Gauri worth anything more than her hand in marriage?

The poison in her thoughts turns venom in her gums.

Amar— her twin, her other half— already seems to know what she feels. His hand pats her knee gently and brings her back towards the conversation, where uncle seems to be promising Vijay a tour of the palace and the temple built inside the palace.

"Gauri will show you around, won't you, girl?" The sheer amount of disrespect that one sentence brings is atrocious. Gauri forces a smile on her face and nods demurely.

Vijay smiles at her,"Thank you, your highness. I promise to be not to be a nuisance."

Oh, you won't be, she thinks, irrationally vicious. I promise to hang you if you are a nuisance.

She smiles at him still, and tells him,"Oh, you wouldn't be, Mahoday. It would be my pleasure to show you the majesty of Mahishmati palace."

"To know the palace as well as to be honoured with your esteemed presence will be a pleasure, your highness." Vijay says, his smile is almost winning. In another world, Gauri would have surely fallen for a man who smiled and complimented her, who seemed to be intent on wooing her.

In another world, she wouldn't have seen her uncle's satisfaction.

The smugness and sense of achievement that she feels from the eyes of Bijjaldev is enough to make her question if she should really follow through with her sugar promises.

Amar's hand on her knee expands and Gauri can feel his deep breath. She can feel the trepidation that hides in his composure. Gauri feels her stomach clench and her throat contracts at the sheer thought of being alone with Vijay. She hears a shuffle behind her and her eyes dart at Bhairav out of her periphery. She forces herself to calm.

Bhairav will be there, as is protocol. If, somehow, Bijjaldev manages to convince Maa to not allow her brothers with her, Bhairav will be there.

And if Bhairav too will need to go? Katappa serves the throne, and Bijjaldev is the Dowager King, who can order anything from Katappa, even if it may be a demand to see the training of his successor.

Gauri crosses her legs more tightly and feels her ankle brush Bhairav's dagger, still hidden in the drapes of her saree.

She raises her chin and brings a glass of sugarcane juice to her lips. There are things to be done and Gauri trusts no one more than she trusts herself— bar her twin.

If she has to figure it out by herself, all she needs is two conversations, some books, multiple smiles and just Bhairav's dagger.

Vijay's smile is full of achievement, Bijjaldev's excitement is palpable, Maa's shrewdness is natural, Bhalla's calculation is obvious and Amar's naivete is frustrating.

Gauri looks down at her hand. It is covered in alta, but she doesn't mind covering it in blood to survive.

She looks at her uncle and gives him a smile. She's always been a better chess player than he.

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Gauri and Bhalla are discussing her recent read, the very same night, when Gauri finally realises that the love she holds isn't enough of a reason for her to be loved in the same manner.

"Love is a thing to be experienced and felt. To be enveloped in such a feeling is the biggest haven anyone could ask for."

Bhalla shrugs, almost disinterested. "But if you do love so much, you're bound to get hurt sooner or later. The girl in the book, she loves too much and too fast, and look where that gets her: dead."

Gauri gives him a reprimanding look and counters,"But if you don't love, why would you even live? To thrive is to love. Man is a creature of society and affection."

"Man is a primal animal," he says, rolling his eyes. "The basic instincts that all humans have are: fear, lust, possession, hunger and anger. There's no instinct for love."

"That is because love has to be nurtured. It has to be sewn with care, thread by thread." Gauri frowns at him. Does he feel the same way about the way she loves him and others? "Love is in the very nature of man, but it must be nurtured."

Bhalla sighs like she's the one being obtuse. "When you love, you trust. When you trust, you expect. When you expect, you get disappointed. That's how the world goes."

"Whenever did you get disappointed via love, Bhalla?" She can't help but ask. She doesn't think she's ever been remiss in loving or showing that love. She likes to think that she didn't disappoint him.

He looks away,"The topic isn't I, Gauri." For the first time in her life, Gauri's name from Bhalla's mouth sounds harsh. Gauri is taken aback by the stern tone of voice and winces, looking down at her lap. Bhalla continues,"Love should be there, yes, but you must also acknowledge that love makes one weak. Dependent."

"Dependency is a good thing if the person you're reliant on is a reliable person. As long as you're also capable, depending on someone for something once in a while isn't a bad idea."

"Again," he says,"Dependency brews disappointment. You have not seen it yet and I hope that you shan't have to, but loving so easily is naive. Loving too much is suffocating."

Gauri feels like she's been slapped. Oh. She's back to herself in the past, when she was a new teen and fought maa because maa wanted to separate Bahu and her and Bahu didn't fight for her as desperately as she for him. She's taken to the moment she knew that he will always choose Maa, even over her. And while she feels like a sinner even thinking this, she knows she will choose him over even Maa and their country.

Gauri is back to the moment she heard Bhalla equate her marriage to the economic advantages and the way he seemed utterly unsurprised at Vijay's forwardness. She's back to the moment when she realised that he loves her, perhaps only because she's not in the race for that wretched gold throne.

She's taken back to the moment when Maa told her that her mother usually wore dark colours and Gauri felt like a breathing lie that birthed and died in the ribs of the woman who birthed her.

She's taken back to the moment when her uncle sneered at her, a child, and called her a simpleton. Back to the day she realised that he might have planned her assassination.

Gauri isn't ever going to be loved with the she loves, not from her blood. And if her blood doesn't love her, why would anyone else? It's not surprising, really, that she wants to go for children welfare. It's wretched and horrible, but Gauri understands her subconscious wishes now.

Gauri will become a minister for child development and when she does her job, she will earn a name, a respect. But the people she helps, they will also think of her as some invincible authority and feel indebted. She will earn their questionable gratitude.

It's not love, a voice in her head says snidely, but it'll do.

Tagging: @voidsteffy @vijayasena @alhad-si-simran @allizzprobablynotwell

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 11

Entangled in the Brown Abyss

They say he's morally grey

What can I say?

Grey's my favourite color.

- ( The song of the chapter is 'Morally Grey' by April Jai and Nation Haven.)

"Hi, you are Khushi, right? I am Lavanya, Lavanya Kashyap."

A beautiful girl with slanted jet-black eyes and sleek shiny hair greets her in the garden of the resort. She recognizes her as one of the girls sitting beside Junior Rathore earlier at lunch today. Lavanya's smile is as gorgeous as she is. The highly fashionable white saree that she's wearing compliments her entirely. There is an undeniable playfulness in her demeanour, the kind that makes it hard not to smile in her presence.

"Hi, yeah, I am Khushi."

"I absolutely love your lehenga."

"Thank you", Khushi replies with an awkward laugh.

"You know what they say about you is true."

When Khushi gives a confused look, Lavanya continues, "They say you're the most beautiful girl in the society....They are absolutely right."

Red creeps into her cheek as she offers Lavanya a small smile. "You are beautiful too."

"Oh, thank you," Lavanya responds in a gleeful voice. "Sorry to be overbearing, but I've heard so much about you that I feel like I already know you."

"I don't understand."

"Neil talks about you all the time."

"Neil? NK?"

The mention of her best friend leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She has yet to deal with the betrayal she felt by him. It still stings, an unresolved wound festering beneath the surface, twisting inside her like a knife she has yet to pull out.

"Yeah, one and only, my honey bear."

"Lavanya, Tell her the story about how you and NK eloped to Vagus to get hitched." The other girl she saw earlier with Lavanya joins them. Her almond-shaped eyes glint with mirth as she teases Lavanya. The sequins in her orange lehenga sparkle in the evening light.

"Wait.....you and NK are married."

"Yeah, we are," Lavanya replies sheepishly.

"Not only that, they've been childhood sweetheart," The other girl chimes in. "Hi, I'm Payal Roy."

"Hi, Khushi Sen Gupta. Very nice to meet you, Payal," She says, smiling at Payal. "So, Lavanya, tell me..."

"Oh, we both were born and brought up in the US. We were together in everything... elementary school, middle school..High school. After high school graduation, we went to Vegas for some fun and got so drunk that we got hitched there. That's it...Happy now, Payal?" Lavanya huffs. "What fun do you get from making me repeat this story to every new person we meet?"

"Oh, come on, Lavanya, you know I adore you two. Can’t a girl live vicariously through you?" Payal teases sweetly, linking arms with Lavanya. "Hey, look! Pani puri ! Let’s go, Khushi, we’ll have some."

"Do you think it’s a good idea? What if someone sees us gossiping together?" Khushi asks, glancing around.

"Come on, it’s not like we’re discussing anything top-secret. The men in our family don’t share anything with us anyway." Payal says rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, like they’re a locked ancient chest, with the key long lost," Lavanya giggles. "You, at least, can go to Arnav’s room. I tried once, just to peek inside, and he practically glared me right out of there. The only female he tolerates is you. You can even make him do things he doesn’t want to do."

"Come on, Lavanya, don’t be jealous. You know how it is with Arnav."

'She can go to his room!! Who is she?! It's not like I care. Whatever.' Khushi mutters in her head. She looks back at Payal. She is stunning. Something unexplainable clenches in her chest. She brushes it away. 'Exactly. Who cares anyway."

"Speaking of him, where did he disappear to after lunch?" Lavanya asks as they made their way toward the pani puri vendors set up by the Oberois. It's the sangeet this evening. There is a concert supposed to happen. And the muhrat for the pheres have been set for midnight. Then tomorrow is the reception. Not only elites all over the country but also celebrities and movie stars are crowded around the sprawling complex.

"Akash said he went to receive his date," Payal replies, gesturing to the vendor to prepare pani puri for them as Khushi quietly listens to the conversation.

"Ohh...spicy..anyone we know." Lavanya wriggles her eyebrows at Payal.

"Helena Khan," Payal drawls out secretively.

"Ah, the leading lady of this year's biggest blockbuster. Totally his type," Lavanya says, rolling her eyes before mumbling under her breath, "Fuck 'em and leave 'em."

Payal slaps Lavanya's arm lightly. "You’d know his type well, wouldn’t you? You’ve known him your whole life."

"Payal.." Lavanya whines, rubbing her arm, "Be nice." Then she looks back at Khushi. "See you're confusing our friend here."

"Actually, NK is Arnav's cousin. NK's dad was Mr.Raizada’s—uh, I mean Arnav's father's younger brother. He lived in Chicago and worked for the 'Chicago Outfit.' You know, 'the Outfit,' right? That's where I'm from." Lavanya's voice drops conspiratorially.

Yeah, Khushi knows the Outfit. It's an organized crime group active in the US. She nods her head quietly, and Lavanya continues.

"So, Arnav's mom passed away when he was 14 and then he came to live with his uncle. That's when I met him. So yeah, I’ve known him since I was like, 6 or 7…and we spent pretty much every holiday together. He was super grumpy as a teenager. And it’s funny—I never once saw him date anyone or heard about him having a girlfriend." Lavanya glances around, checking if anyone might be eavesdropping. Lowering her voice, she whispers, "Then I got all the juicy details about his one-night stands from Aman. So that’s his type. One-night stands."

"Aman Mathur? His manager?" Khushi asks feeling slightly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation but equally intrigued.

"Yeah, they’re best friends. Have been since high school. So much so that Arnav brought him back here to India with him." Lavanya pauses, reflecting. "Actually, now that I think about it, he didn’t even have those one-night stands since he moved back. All he does is work. I don’t even remember the last time he brought a date anywhere."

The vendor interrupts their conversation, handing each of them a plate of pani puri. Khushi’s lips curve into a smile at the sight of the crispy, tangy delights. She picks one up, dipping the round morsel into the spicy tamarind water, her fingertips grazing the cool, wet surface as she raises it to her mouth. She parts her lips, feeling the shell break between her teeth, a burst of flavours exploding on her tongue as her eyes flutter shut for a brief second.

The tang, the spice, it all hits her senses at once. And then she feels it. It starts from the tips of her toes and ascends, spreading up her back, snaking around her neck, caressing the ends of her hair before settling in her chest making her heart pound, each beat echoing in her ears.

Dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak

The weight of a stare presses against her skin. Until now, she hasn't realised it's possible to feel a gaze without seeing the person. And yet, every inch of her recognizes that stare. She knows exactly who it belongs to.

She doesn't look his way.

She doesn't need to.

Without opening her eyes, she lets the moment stretch, savouring not just the food but the flame skimming the surface of her skin. She rolls the remaining bite on her tongue, letting her lips close around her fingers just slightly before she pulls them away.

And then she opens her eyes.

Deliberately, slowly.

Her lashes lift and the world around her shrinks. Everything else fades away, dissolving into a soft blur, narrowing her focus to the one individual she can't seem to ignore these days.

Him.

Her hazel orbs clash directly into the dark pool of madness. It's the darkest of all chocolate-brown.

A jolt of electricity shoots through her. She is caught like a prey under the gaze of a predator, but instead of fear, flame surges through her veins.

She doesn't look away.

It's not like she can.

She can't look away.

She's pinned right in that moment.

She swipes the tip of her tongue across her lips, clearing away the last traces of tamarind water glistening on them. They're burning, the spice still tingling. She bites down gently, trying to soothe the heat. Eyes still locked, she lifts another pani puri to her lips.

His jaw tightens.

Subtle but not subtle enough to escape her eyes.

She bites down on the sphere of flavors, letting the tang of the spice sear her tongue, but it's nothing compared to the burn in her chest as she watches the storm gather in his eyes.

It's raw and primal.

It's dark and dangerous.

It's thrilling.

She brushes the back of her hand against her lips, wiping away the spicy tamarind juice that escapes the corner of her mouth as the world around her clears a little bit. The corner of his lips lifts, just slightly, and then it is gone in an instant, so quick she almost believes she has imagined it. His presence is undeniable, even in a crowd. He stands tall in his impeccable attire, but that isn't what rattles her. It’s the woman at his side, draped over him like a piece of art—beautiful, poised, and clinging to him as if she belongs there.

But the sweet little angel can't take her eyes off the devil.

The sangeet concert rages on in the main hall, the vibrant music and cheers filling the air. But she slips away from the lively crowd, in search of some solitude. The sounds of laughter and music fade as she steps into the cool night, walking across the lawn. She follows the silver glow of the shimmering water reflected in the moonlight and ends up in a deserted poolside.

She takes a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air that mingled with the scent of blooming jasmine. The melodies of the sangeet echo in the distance, but here, in this secluded space, it's actually pretty quiet. She sits on the cool tiles, letting her legs hang over the pool's edge, dipping her feet into the cold water.

Her mind drifts to a time earlier this evening. She closes her eyes, trying to quell the flutter in her stomach that has yet to settle.

"Get a grip, Khushi," she murmurs to herself, shaking her head as if the motion can dispel the heat coursing through her.

She watches the stars twinkle above. There are tall, meticulously manicured hedges encircle the pool, decorated with strings of fairy lights. A soft breeze brushes against her skin, and she rather focuses on a different conversation.

"Khushi", Lavanya hesitated before she started, her voice softening, "Listen, I know you felt betrayed by him....But, you need to know that you are really important to him. He sees you as his best friend. If you two never meet again, I want to apologise on his behalf."

After a while, she continued. "He wasn’t spying on you, you know. The family didn’t need to keep tabs on you. His father died just after high school, and his mother didn’t want to be alone in the States. So we moved back here. NK just wanted to attend college but Mr.Rathore didn’t. He wanted NK to go back and join the Outfit in place of his father. But NK wasn’t ready to dive into that life....at least, not yet. So, Arnav made it seem like you needed to be watched, and he was the one chosen for the job... and now I’m rambling," Lavanya said, smiling awkwardly. "So, yeah, you get what I’m trying to say. He really is sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt you."

The sound of laughter interrupts her musing, and she turns her head to see Mr.Rathore and Sheetal Kapoor approaching the poolside, with Mr.Rathore already clad in a robe, likely wearing a swimsuit underneath.  Panic surges through her as she spots Mr.Raizada following closely behind them.

She looks around her. Desperate to avoid the confrontation, she turns on her heel, intending to slip away behind the hedges. However, in her haste, she misjudges the layout, only to find herself caught in a tangled maze of greenery. It's a twisted blind loop in the hedge design.

“Great,” she mutters under her breath. Glancing back, she half-expect them to spot her in this embarrassing predicament, but it seems she is completely hidden by the hedges. If she wants to leave, she’ll have to do it in front of them, and there’s no way in hell she’s going to do that. Apparently, she just has to wait here until they’re done.

Shit.

She leans against the hedge, the rough texture pressing into her back as she hopes for her early bail from this imprisonment. Through the gaps in the leaves, she can just make out the vague silhouettes of Sheetal Kapoor and Mr.Raizada sitting on opposite corners of a bench with their faces toward her. A mile between them.

"Are you sure you don't want to join me, Darling?" Mr.Rathore calls from the poolside.

"Yes, I think, I will just watch you from here, handsome."

Mr.Rathore slips into the water, effortlessly gliding through laps, while Sheetal watches him silently, a faint smile playing on her lips. Meanwhile, Mr.Raizada keeps scrolling through his phone, a champagne glass cradled in his other hand,

"What's wrong with you these days?" His deep, detached voice breaks the silence, asking the question nonchalantly, still to look up from the screen.

"Nothing," Sheetal huffs. A pause stretches between them. Then she whispers, almost as if testing the words, “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

"Huh",  he barks a laugh, then after a pause says, "..Really?" his tone is flat, almost disinterested.

"Yes," Sheetal replies, “Is it Stockholm?”

He doesn’t bother responding to her question. After a while she says, “What does it say about me that he’s treated me better than any man I’ve been with? And that he’s... a good lay?”

"I didn’t need to know that."

"Besides," Sheetal goes on, her voice softer now, almost reflective, "I thought I was pregnant."

"You thought?"

"False alarm. It scared the shit out of me." A sigh escapes her lips. "But it made me realize I don't want to be here anymore. If I get pregnant, I'd be tied to this world forever, tied to him forever. I don't want that."

"Initially, it was fun..." Sheetal continues, her eyes downcast. “...having a powerful man like him by my side, all that power at my fingertips... and to make it even better I got a double deal....." she pauses, chuckling as if she's sharing a secret. "But it doesn’t matter anymore. The money, the expensive gifts.......I just want peace and my baby boy... living a quiet life."

Khushi hears him exhale, a calculating look crosses over his face, illuminated by the mobile screen.

"Those are dangerous desires..... Give me a couple of months," his voice suddenly softer, almost negotiating.

"And then?"

“You pick a country. I’ll take care of the rest.”

"I can do that..." Sheetal agrees before her voice shifts, becoming inquisitive. "Now you tell me, what's going on with you these days?"

Without giving much heed to his non-remark, she adds, "I've never seen you this riled up before. My God, the threats you shot toward me that day. You didn't need to do that. I am in this willingly, with my eyes wide open..... You even threatened Aarav. You love my boy."

"Arnav Singh Raizada doesn't love anyone."

"Whatever you say, but my boy certainly does," the woman goes on, her voice softening with affection. "Every time I visit, he can't stop talking about how Mr.Raizada sent him the latest Xbox...Just last month, he was thrilled that you played basketball with him. I didn’t know you played basketball, Arnav."

His jaw tightens as a dark shadow falls over his features, but he remains silent, eyes glued to his phone.

"Oh, silly me," her lips curving into a playful smirk. "The golden boy Arnav, straight-A student, Harvard graduate—of course, he can play basketball as well."

"Careful, Sheetal, don’t push your luck," This whole time, he's not even looking anywhere other than his phone. It seems something really interesting happening on his screen. "Why don't you join, Mr.Rathore? He looks lonely."

"Will you watch if I do?" she replies, her tone teasing, almost flirting. Mr.Raizada doesn't even twitch. "Mind if I have your drink? You aren't going to drink it anyway. You never answer my question, why you don't drink?"

He wordlessly extends the drink toward her. "...And you aren't going to answer my question....again." she quips, taking the glass from him.

There's an indefinite pause fall over over then. Only the distance music and the shushing of water created by Mr.Rathore's swimming can be heard. Sheetal has gone back to watching Mr.Rathore as she silently sips the champagne.

"You know, I've always been curious about what type of women can rattle you. I think I might have found my answer today."  Sheetal let out a low chuckle, leaning in slightly. "By the way.....She is gor..ge..ous."

This time, Mr.Raizada looks up and fixes her with his infamous glare.

'What was the name of his date? Helena khan. Yeah, that's the name.' Khuhsi mutters to herself, remembering her name from a previous conversation.

"Seems like you don't wanna live anymore." His voice is dangerously low as he says that. But Sheetal just smiles at him broadly, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"What?!..I'm just saying." She shrugs her shoulders. "Hey, tell me,...Were you scared when I said I thought I was pregnant?"

"Why? It's not like it's mine," he retorts, annoyance lacing his voice.

"You know, if I had been pregnant... and managed to convince Mr.Rathore to marry me, I would’ve been a mommy by now." She grins at him, her voice dripping with mirth while her eyes sparkle with hidden secrets.

Mr.Raizada narrows his eyes and says in a hard tone. "Mr.Rathore is done. It's time for you to go."

Sheetal waves dramatically at Mr.Raizada before rushing toward Mr.Rathore, throwing her arms around him in a playful hug. Their laughter echoes through the air as they retreat toward the main building, their voices fading into the distance.

"The things my high blood sugar made me do. Now I have to do exercise while I am attending a wedding. Go figure...." Mr.Rathore's booming laughter rings out one last time, leaving the poolside eerily quiet in its wake.

Khushi breathes a sigh of relief, thanking her stars that it's finally over. She steps forward, eager to escape, but the universe seems to have other plans. A sharp tug at her hair and waist stops her in her tracks. Glancing down, she realizes with horror that the fairy lights wrapped around the hedges have somehow tangled themselves into her hair and lehenga, making her look like a Christmas tree.

With a frustrated groan, she raises her arms, trying to untangle herself from the shimmering lights, only to discover a tall, dark figure standing in front of her, watching her silently with his arm crossed over her chest.

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Khushi really can't catch a break, right? I'd love to hear your thoughts on these scenes and what you think will happen next! Drop a comment and let me know!

Until next time! 💕

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @titaliya @msbhagirathi

[lookingfts]

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

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

Anyhow, sorry for fangirling...

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

--

Anthony was used to losing his breath to Kate Sharma.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She kissed him.

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

[shaadiwish]

Vedhika & Kamlesh’s Mesmerizing Maharashtrian Wedding

[ramayantika]

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬: 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(Apna apna sab choose karlo 👀)

Bharatanatyam

The girl in red and gold. Never steps out of the house without a bindi, loves the sun a little too much and gets the perfect golden hour photos. Will drag you out in the sun to prove that her hair is brown. Looks no less than a goddess in traditionals, rocks desi wear as well as western, always the best dressed in the room and sometimes the overdressed one. A walking saree encyclopedia, dreams to have a large wardrobe just for her sarees. Will also lend you some of her sarees and drapes them so well. If you are wearing a saree for a date, ask her for help. Reads a lot of detective books maybe, ranging from Sherlock Holmes to Feluda. Has learnt martial arts too, armed with wit, got the best comebacks and will fight for her friends. Highly intimidating when you meet her first until you get to witness the soft sunshine version of her. Photogenic, loves the camera, could also be a model. Her walk radiates power and confidence. Ambitious and full of ideas, commands attention easily with a snap of ger fingers. Heads turn at her when she enters the room, an eloquent speaker because she is well read. Tries to spread happiness in her own ways, knows everyone in her neighbourhood, is friends with everyone, right from the little kids to the oldies in the park, the Mother hen of her group. Loves puppies and will cry while watching cute puppy videos. Cooks delicious dishes and watch her lash out if she finds out that you skipped breakfast. A pure soul, too kind and generous for the world and does her best in spreading happiness around her.

'It's honestly a choice which we have to make. We can choose to see everything as cold and heartless around us or start seeing at the brighter side of things. Trust me, the latter is a better choice. Why would someone want to live such a miserable life laced with bitterness and resent. I know I cannot singlehandedly make everything right in the world, but I can surely make a difference in at least a single person's life? Why focus on things at the greater scale when we can make changes that should starts from us?"

Odissi

The shy girl next door, writes poetry in her rough notebook, hopeless romantic and a daydreamer. For her, outing means a visit to the temple. Ardent admirer of all types of art, stares at temple sculptures and statues, and is also a history lover. Pink lip gloss, jasmine flowers and a doe-eyed beauty. Makes flower jewellery and will gift you many of her own works if you are her friend. Wears light coloured clothes and minimal accessories, light feminine, crushes over book characters and will make you see the best traits in yourself but forgets to look at the good in herself. Recites romantic poetry in front of the mirror and pretends to be someone's muse, replaces herself with the characters in period dramas Has gorgeous hair but will always keep them in a messy bun, but god when she lets her hair down, she looks like an angel. Her social life includes playing with children and narrating them stories and fairytales.

'His lips gently follow the trail of the small dots of sandalwood paste on her back. It forms a serpentine path on her skin and ends on the curve of her waist where his lips gently caress her soft skin, delighted at the treasure gifted by the perfumed trail.'

"You haven't even held hands with a boy and yet you can come up with this? How?"

"Oh, it's nothing. You have to see my writing journal and you will definitely believe that I am well versed in the arts of love."

"Arts of love? Who uses that?"

"Me. Now come, let's watch Jodha Akbar."

"Again?!"

Kathak

Kurtis and Anarkalis. Has long hair that is half of the time braided. Might also wear a parandi at events. Shayari aur ghazalein, listens to old Bollywood songs late at night under the moon on the terrace. Star gazing, late night deep conversations, vintage clothing, would write you hand written love letters. Knows hindustani music, sings late at night and sometimes in the early hours of dawn. Aankhon mein gehra kajal jise dekh na jane kitne uske aashiq bann gaye, deep eyes that will stare into your soul, loves to wear red lipstick and will wear silver jewellery with every outfit. To win her heart? Take her jhumke shopping. She is the desi pinterest aesthetic. Bases her personality on Sahibjaan from Pakeezah, Anarkali from Mughal-E-Azam, Umrao Jaan and Chandramukhi from Devdas. Has desi aesthetic moodboards on Pinterest and lives like it too minus the havelis and lots of expensive jewellery. If you are a poet, she will end up proposing you.

'जो मेरा नाम अपनी शायरी में अमर कर दे

मरूंगी तो केवल उस शायर के नाम'

"Umrao jaan 2.0 apni pariksha ki taiyari kare aapke non existent premi kavi ya shayar marks nahi dilayenge"

"Tauba tauba sara mood kharab kar diya"

Kuchipudi

Was made to learn dance and music as a child, knows how to play the veena or the sitar well, cannot sing but will play the instrument for you if you ask. Gold jewellery? No. Silver jewellery? No. Pearls? Absolutely! An all rounder, academically brilliant as well as in extra-curriculars, perfectionist and will breakdown at the slightest inconvenience. Loves to go on long walks, sunset photography, has a collection of journals and hauls stationary items. Collects fallen flowers and keeps them inside her books. soft smiles, long artistic fingers that always have ink spots, a small but a close friend group, wishes on flowers, so quiet that you might not her speak at times, notices the minute things about her friends and the people she meets. Looks too long into the mirror and loses herself, has too many questions but will never ask. Has pretty crazy dreams that could become book plots.

"Do you ever stare at your eyes in the mirror for a very long time? Do you feel your reflection change? Those eyes that look back at you... they have so much to say, they carry so many secrets inside them even though at a superficial level, it might seem that your reflection and you are the same, but it's not. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel it's not me. I am not her nor am I anyone else. I feel I am a part of the galaxies, of stars and planets and of souls -- that I have existed here a long time ago and I have been reborn again for unknown reasons, reasons that somewhere my would would know. Do you not feel the same?"

Kathakali

Athletic, into sports, highly dramatic, can and will recite film dialogues at every situation, has a larger than life attitude, grand gestures and celebrations for her favourite people as well as for herself, always brimming with energy even at 3am, colourful flashy clothes that make her stand distinct from everyone, make-up game on point, a HUGE foodie, takes you to the best eateries and restaurants, indulges in pranks and all sorts of harmless mischief that makes her endearing, expresses everything just with her eyes. You can't say no to her because she will conjure such a facial expression that it would be difficult to say no which is why she gets away with mischief. Will debate about literature and philosophy, has a lot of knowledge about historical texts and scriptures, can easily make you laugh by imitating characters from stories and tales. Will also spam you with her thoughts and opinions on text and if you are in her close friend circle, keep your phone on because she will immerse herself about the latest book she read. Races with kids from her colony and lets them win, gully cricket vali didi, street smart, procrastinates assignments until the deadline is knocking at the door. Knows the secret spots in the city as well as their stories, has the best horror stories to narrate at a campfire.

"I know it's 2am, but is it okay if-"

"Even if I say no, you will tell me, but I am interested. Speak."

"What if all the characters in our epics were us, I mean like us normal human beings who achieved greatness and such divine status because of their work and somehow maybe that was the truth, but with time, we began thinking that we are not capable of becoming like them so we decided that we would take the credit of their hard work and replace it with magical powers and worship them, but not try and become like them? And somehow so many ideal kings, queen, warriors and artists when then look at us from heaven want us to achieve the same level of greatness like them? But they are sad that we think so less of ourselves? I am not denying God's presence though, don't get me wrong on that. I am talking about all the great people from stories that have been passed down to us. I do appreciate the creativity and imagination of the writers and poets involved, but what if we are actually failing to look more deeper into it. What if they want us to go beyond the veil of imagination in those stories and find ourselves in them?"

Manipuri

One word: Ethereal. Doesn't look like she belongs to this world. You saw her first at a waterfall, dressed in white and red shades, mostly prefers pastel shades, makes beautiful flower bouquets, has got a very melodious voice and when she sings by the waterfall with the swans sitting beside her, she appears like a water nymph. Playful eyes, whispers words, will wink and smile at you before disappearing into a run. She walks as if she is floating, got the lightest feet, soft dewy skin, nature's daughter. Sings before the Gods in temples, always has a peacock feather with her, makes one wonder if she is a human or someone divine, wants to live in a cottage overlooking lush green hills.

"Ironic isn't it that beauty, riches, pride, nothing shall exist in the end because we shall go back to mother nature, Prakriti? I shall be ash, a small heap of ash in the future and my stories, my experiences, the beauty which people love to talk about, nothing will exist. Even when humans leave a piece of land, they think it shall be dead and decayed, but they have forgotten Prakriti's nature. She is nourishing and a healer. She shall be the only one remaining."

Mohiniyattam

Loves to sit by a riverbank, serenity, looks at you as if she knows everything about you even about the words you shall speak next, mysterious vibe, doesn't trust anyone easily, lotuses are her favourite. Who is the girl standing waist deep in the river looking at the moon? Loves to wear alta on her hands and feet, wears anklets, longing side glances, perfectly arched eyebrows, dances in the rain, photographs everything, a natural charmer, goes to museums and coffee. Date ideas? Boat rides for evenings. A very private person, doesn't reveal much about herself, contemplates about Life and the Universe, space geek, stars are her friends.

When I look at you, at your great depths, I marvel at the power you have subdued while flowing through the land of Man. Born from the great peaks of mountain ranges, like a young girl who is pulsating with energy, you flow down your father's abode. Were you aware of your strength then? You cut through rocks, found your way through dense forests, and finally emerged into our land. We took you granted, knowing you shall forever exist for us, that you shall always nurture our bodies, our minds and our souls, until we witnessed your dance of death.

I wondered how Lasya, the feminine style of dance, also known as Goddess Parvati's style of dancing could be destructive? You swirled to great heights. With each turn, your colour darkened, absorbing the green from trees, the white from clouds, yellow from the sun, blue from the dawn and purple from sunsets. In the end your colour changed to brown and grey as you engulfed everything we held dear. You ultimately showed your hidden strength that you possesses in the days of girlhood until you heard us wail and weep. Motherhood came back to you, and with time, you began nursing us once again. The city repaired itself, we began learning about the secrets of life and death on your banks and children played with your gentle waters. And then you longed for love, so you advanced towards the sea, merging with its grand form. Once, I used to see it as a way of losing your entire identity, but now I see it as being one. You nourish man in the city and then with your dear love, the mighty sea, you nourish the life that resides inside water. I would like to be something like that.

"Is that why you spend so much time at the river?"

"Yes."

Sattriya

Plays the flute, the most non violent human, will never get angry, calm voice that might lead you to deep sleep. Nobody has seen her even glare at someone. Gold jewellery, squints at the sun, sings devotional songs for Krishna, cannot eat spicy food, lives in the hills, will definitely win if you race against her in the hills, knows quiet spots to appreciate the valleys. Has a great deal of knowledge about herbal medicines, one touch and you will feel that the pain is gone. Has Diy skin care methods ready, gives the best oil massage, cold hands in winter, looks adorable when covered in a shawl, red cheeks that appear like natural blush, makes the best tea.

"Close your eyes, open your ears and your mind too. You might begin to understand the language of the hills. They will send you messages of rain clouds, soft kisses of wintery breeze, fragrance of spring and gently warmth of the sun. Sometimes, if you look closely enough, you might get to know who you are in this world in front of them."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ‧͙⁺ ˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙◌

I DID IT :D

Even though it's based on dance, but everyone isn't into dance, so i did try my best to make it inclusive and ofc i had to write these paragraphs because I felt more creative lol (just to sum up the vibes maybe that's why) It was a bit tricky to make for Sattriya and Manipuri. I looked up some articles and then some Assam and Manipur tourism videos and also some of theri dance videos too for this. Now I mentioned some of rhe traits and stuff based on the dancing history and the repertoire plus also from the place where it belongs too

Tell me your favorite one and which one you relate to the most.

Shoutout to @remen-nyoodless for the hindi lines

Tagging: @yehsahihai @swayamev @sanskari-kanya @navaratna @daddojanam @pulihora @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @aapki-pyaari-sakhi @kuhuchan @arachneofthoughts @vedajananixx @pothosinpots @eugenephosgene @reallythoughtfulwizard @ma-douce-souffrance

[yellowfashionsareesonline]

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[cosmicnovaflare]

So I know how much you love exploring the world through historical fashion, and since the Eastern Commonwealth apparently spans all of Asia, have you dabbled in any of the more uncommon Asian garments for Cinder/Kai? I've been thinking about Cinder wearing a Saree but I'm also curious about Thai, Vietnamese, Burmese, Cambodian etc.

I have so many outfits saved that I’ve never got to (as I regularly fail them in practice). A lot of the time I’ll start out with a specific idea before I fail and revert back to hanfu since I’ve spent the most time practicing that so far. I want to make sure I do it right, so I’d rather wait until it looks correct. My current work for Kai will hopefully be a yellow Manchu (Yeah that was a lie, I failed again in colour and cloth in the middle of writing this.) I think both the E.C and Luna would wear chut thai (with makuṭa headdresses on the moon) and sarees, salwar kameez, dhoti kurtas, and other similar garments. I imagined Kai’s wedding attire in Cress/Winter to be traditional Thai wedding menswear with the “sash” being a sabai? For festivals I’ve always wanted to try drawing them in a white kosobe with a red hakama (there’s probably a single word for this outfit that I do not know) as well as try out something Mongolian, though I have no specific ideas with that, just a lot of options. Heading back south, anything that resembles lavalavas (skirts, wraps, trousers, etc) would probably be very common in the E.C. Sinhs could be common both in the E.C and the moon, maybe having a unique pattern depending on what sector you’re in. Perhaps the common fabrics used in things would change, which would be a way to include Persian silks and other fabrics, meshing traditional material with other cultural clothes (I think this would pair really well with Áo dài.) I can see garments like the deel and nekhii deel still being worn as everyday clothes, especially for warmer climates. Since the E.C seems fairly homogeneous, (maybe due to Asia being hit the hardest by the last world war, repeat imperialism, foreign government control, or assimilation) all these garments could start mixing and matching with each other. Maybe some of these things are global. This is how traditional clothing has merged and become its own thing in the past. I just really like to imagine these things being embraced because we have already experienced clothing bans and forced assimilation so much, and the world in these books has probably experienced more. Even before humans had the FOXP2 mutation that allowed us to understand language, we were making jewellery and art that meant something to us. It seems trivial, but keeping these things alive seems really important in both real life and fiction.

Once again, I am so very sorry if I have referred to things incorrectly. I’ll have some access to research papers that could help in a few weeks, but I am very much not a smart person, but I will still try my best.

[nihyunluvskookie]

Tum se hi

“Jeonghan one shot”

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x female reader

Genre: fluff [desi setting]

Warnings: no warnings

Word count: 1.1 K

Author’s Note: I am back with another husband Jeonghan imagine, this was actually quite impulsive, and I wrote this at 1 am. I have no idea if this whole imagine made sense or not, but i hope you enjoy reading this small fluff. And i was writing while reading this song, somewhere I felt like this described how much Jeonghan loved her. AND IT’S NOT PROOFREAD

happy reading :)

I walked out of the bathroom and saw, Noor getting ready, more like wearing the red saree. Somewhere I was lost, inside her when she was fixing her saree, and her hair was done with a pretty bun, with her curtains bangs out and making her look so beautiful, as if I was smitten by her beauty. She was literally glowing.

The way her fingers were trying to fix her saree slowly; it reminded me of the day I first saw her in a saree, and she wore a red saree at that time as well. It wasn’t at our wedding, but it was at peheli rasoi. Considering we saw each other in marriage, and the look on her face, made me realize that there was some missing part in my life that I was searching for and I found it right infront of me. The way she looked at me through the flower curtain before signing and saying ‘qubool hai’ three times, was the first time I heard her voice and my heart told me how I would be hearing it for the rest of my life, how I would be waking up to this voice and ending my day with it.

I was still when she moved her hands to fix her pallu, I was still lost in her. She was trying to pin her pallu, but it wasn’t working. I walked towards her, when she looked so focused in her saree.

I held the pallu and she looked at me through the mirror, she looked taken aback, her eyes told me she didn’t expect me to be here. She was about to say something, “let me” and she nodded.

Once her pallu was pinned and she looked at the mirror, my heart almost skipped beat when our fingers touched, she was looking so breathtaking. How does she pull off to look this pretty every time. “and ho gaya yeh” (and it’s done)

“thank you”

“aapke liye kuch bhi” (anything for you) and the smile when she is flustered on her face was something that meant a lot to me. I saw her move her hands to pick up the chain, but I was fast to pick it up. How could I let her do everything when she looked so fine and pretty but mine?

I held her shoulder, and she looked so flustered when I put the chain around her neck, I could say she couldn’t say a single thing because she was very flustered. This was probably the first time I was helping her to get ready, it’s always her who gets ready even before I can admire her in the morning and sometimes I am so thankful for some events or festivals when I see her getting ready in the morning wearing saree or kurti-patiyala or sharara. I love the way she takes my breath away.

“aaj kya ho gaya, you’re helping me today?” (what happened to you today, you're helping me?) she smiled at me, I won’t lie when I say she looks the prettiest when she smiles.

“chain pehena raha hun aapko” I took a pause and told her what my heart wanted to say “Aur itni sundar jo lag rahi hain, thore hi aapko sab karne de sakta hun. Mujhe bhi thori aapki khubsurati ko niharne ka mauka den” she was flustered again. I picked her earrings which were on the dressing table, I helped her with them. Earrings just added lives to my life. If only words could help me describe how much she looked like mine.

I saw the kamarband and picked it up, she was surprised, “Yeh aap kya- I cut her off pulling her waist and then putting the kamarband around her waist. I was too focused on her.

Once I was done, it reminded me how she loved wearing payal and I would definitely want her to wear payal today, afterall she looked so beautiful and I could take my eyes off her “Stay here and give me a second” she nodded. I went to open the wardrobe where I kept the new payal I bought for her. I was waiting for the right time and I won’t get a better time than this.

I went to her and showed her the payal, she almost gasped, “Aapke liye laya tha” (bought this for you)

“Thank you” and her smile was worthless, even millions of diamonds wouldn’t be able to buy her smile, probably because her smile was worth my life.

I bent down and gestured her to keep her foot on my thigh, so that I could put the payal on her. Jab bhi woh payal pehen k chalti thi, mujhe lagta tha meri zindagi chal rahi hai aur mai apni zindagi k samne jhukne k liye bhi taiyaar hun

Once she gave me her feet and I put the payal around her, I got up and looked at her. Admiration was the first thing I could do and it felt surreal that she was mine. Then came love, and she was the perfect definition of love. It felt like my life got meaning ever since she came into my life, her presence was the reason why I was standing here and falling in love with her every second.

I was looking at her eyes and it felt like I was lost in her eyes, her eyes were telling me something with love, we don’t need words to confess or tell that we are falling in love, actions speak louder than words. “aapko payal pasand toh ai na?” she nodded and smiled, “thank you so much” I took a step closer to her and tugged her hair strands and couldn’t resist myself from saying “kitni sundar lag rahi hain aap” She looked at me and gave me a smile.

Oh my gosh. One look at her right now and I realized how much I love her, can she even tell how much I already love her?

God forbid me from falling this hard for her.

I gave her my smile subconsciously while I had her thoughts about how I fell in love with her the moment I saw her behind the flower curtains during our nikah. And how everything she does makes me fall in love with her over again

And in a blink I felt her lips on mine briefly. She ran away even before I could react, my fingers went to touch my lips where she kissed me; I was just standing there processing that she just kissed me like that and ran away even before I could kiss her back.

I ran out of the room, in the hope I would catch her before she could go downstairs, I noticed she was near the staircase and pulled her by her arm, “Where are you running away?” I leaned towards her and kissed her before she could say a single word. I pulled her closer by her waist, she couldn’t just steal my first kiss like that.

Once I let her go, I looked at her, she was way too flustered to speak a single word, so I decided to speak up “I know itni sundar hoke jaa rahi hain, par meri hi hoke wapas aana, meri jaan” and I kissed her once again.

Nothing could describe how much I love her.

[shadowqueenjude]

The Lady of Autumn prays to the Mother and gets a lot more than she bargained for.

“My lady, pardon my insolence, but are you sure this is a good idea?” Seraphina’s handmaiden asked, anxiously playing with her hair. Seraphina sighed, turning to the lady who had loyally served her for the past several centuries. “It is probably not, Tay. But, my heart yearns for a baby girl. Perhaps, if I am devoted enough, the Mother will grant my wish.”

“You intend to carry again?” Tay gasped. “But you almost died giving birth to little Lu-“

“If this sacrifice works, I won’t need to,” Seraphina said confidently. “Trust me.” She straightened her dress, patting her bun to ensure it was perfect.

“How do you think the Lord will react?” Tay asked tentatively. “His lord already knows and has given me permission to perform it in his absence, as you very well know, Tay.”

He might be a monster, but Beron did still love her. It was what made it so hard to stay away, aside from her children. Even when she had a mate elsewhere.

“As you say, Lady,” Tay said. She placed a coat over her shoulders. “Do wear this, won’t you? It is a tad bit chilly today.” Seraphina smiled. “I won’t be needing that. After all…” She let her flame course through her body, let her brown eyes shine as bronze as her dress. “I have the flames to keep me warm.”

The Lady of Autumn floated down the steps to the outside of the palace, every bit the perfect graceful consort to the High Lord of Autumn. No one knew what was happening today, merely that a great yagna was being performed by nobility, and fire sacrifices were always a religious spectacle.

Seraphina gently lowered herself to the position beside the priestesses. They chanted prayers, and at certain intervals, they’d instruct some rare treasure to be lowered into the fire.

Seraphina watched as her favorite ballroom dress was burned to cinders, as her gold jewelry entered the fire as well, praying the Goddess would finally grant her wish. The fire turned blue, then orange, then purple, then yellow.

“Lady, I need you to repeat after me,” the brunette priestess on her left said. Brunettes were not as common in Autumn as they were elsewhere; most here were blonde, or they got the red hair if they were lucky.

“Vakratunda mahakaya, Kotisurya, Samaprabha. Nirvighnam Kuru Me Deva Sarva Kaaryeshu Sarvada.”

The priestesses waited. Please please please, Seraphina begged. I’ll do anything.

“I’m sorry, Lady, it appears that-“

Just then, the fire turned blood red and narrowed into a rapid jet blasting rapidly into the sky. The crowd oohed and aahed at the display as moments later, the fire settled into its calm yellow-orange state.

And there was a shape there. Seraphina watched, transfixed, as a fully-grown woman stepped out of the flames.

She was stunning; her coloration was the farthest thing from Autumn. Her hair and eyes were midnight black, her chocolate skin glowing in the light of the Autumn sun. She wore a red and gold saree, the peacock embroidery dotting the dress from top to bottom marking it as one fit for royalty. She was draped in gold jewelry, a ruby man tika gracing her forehead. But perhaps the most shocking thing was what lay in her hand.

A long, fine sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt.

A noble lady indeed, but a noble lady can still kill.

The crowd was murmuring as they stared at the upstart, who smiled as she made a corona of fire around her head. Gifted, then.

Then, a loud voice from the heavens boomed, “THIS WOMAN SHALL KILL BERON VANSERRA AND RESTORE THE RIGHTEOUS LINE OF RULERS TO AUTUMN!”

The crowd now went completely silent. The woman who had just been born out of the fire looked unperturbed by this declaration; on the contrary, she gave Seraphina a little smirk.

Hah! A Vanserra, indeed!

And now Seraphina must fear for her life.

She had to get her daughter out of Autumn before he heard the news and had her killed.