#shri writes

[misalpav]

ram being in love with the daughter of temple priest and even though he isn't very religious he still went there for sandhya aarti once he saw her one jhumke had fallen and finally able to gather some courage he decided to approach her and they had a talk or something.

also one more request don't use y/n can you pls use the name vaidehi ?

anon!!!! I love this prompt and I hope I did justice to your vision <3 (I'm on a writing high rn so I can actually write fast for once would you look at that?)

yemito ee maya

Two years after Governor Scott's death

Ram slowly walked away from his house, lost in thought. He could feel the wind in his face, rearranging his carefully styled hair and ruffling the shirt he just finished ironing. The sun, shining brightly in his eyes, slowly began its journey back to the horizon as kids laughed and ran back home from school. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, letting himself relax. There was a time when he didn’t know what the word relax meant, how it felt to feel his heart rate slowing and have time for himself. Now that he did, he never quite knew what to do with it. Sometimes, he would make a beeline to Bheem or Sita’s house to talk to them or have dinner together, other times, when he didn’t feel like socializing, he would sit at home and read a book. On days like today, when he just couldn’t get himself to pay attention to the words on a page, he’d huff and put down his book to go for a walk, thinking about how much his life and his India has changed.

“Ram anna, chai thaaguthara?” (tl. Do you want to drink chai?)

He turned his head and saw a group of kids at a street food stall looking at him eagerly and quickly recognized all of them from his colony. His mouth curved into a smile as he forgot about his earlier thoughts and started walking towards them, his hands checking his pockets to find his wallet.

“Aa thaguthanu. Anna, okka chai isthava?” (tl. Yes, I’ll drink some. Can you give me one chai?)

As the seller made his chai, he pretended to look in his wallet for money while secretly watching the kids, and smiled with a glint in his eyes as the kids’ faces fell, realizing he didn’t get them anything. He pulled out a 100 rupee note from his wallet and handed it to the vendor, who looked at him confused.

“Migilina paisalu tho pillalu ki vallaku ishtam ainadhi edhaina ivvandi, inka mitha meeru pettukondi.” (Give the kids whatever they want with the remaining money, and if there’s anything left you can keep it for yourself.)

The kids’ eyes widened at him in disbelief, and they quickly ran to the vendor before Ram could have second thoughts and asked for bajjis, dosas, lassis, and whatever else they could think of. Ram chuckled and shook his head, taking a seat at one of the tables and enjoying the warm taste of chai. He was completely aware the colony moms would make their displeasure very well known to him when he went home, but he figured he’d take it if it meant upholding his role as every kid’s favorite person.

The kids sat around him and became engrossed in conversations about their classes, the math teacher they despised, the cricket game they played last night, and a few other things and Ram sat back and listened attentively to their stories while tending to his chai, zoning out only once in a while when the conversation was directed away from him. 

At one of these moments, he heard a laugh and the jingling of bangles coming towards them, and he turned his head subconsciously. His jaw dropped as his eyes rested on the source of the laughter: a woman, busy in conversation with a younger girl, walking towards them wearing a beautiful black and yellow saree, her hair tied back in a neat braid, with a book in her hands. As they walked up to her, he suddenly stood up, catching the woman’s attention. When she turned to face him, he held his breath and examined her eyes, bordered with kohl, and the bright red bindi above the bridge of her nose. Silver jhumkas adorned her ears glowing in the sun and the smell of the jasmines in her hair radiated off her, and he was lucky one of the kids pulled on his hand to get his attention. The woman’s face softened as she smiled, turned away from him, and walked away, and he quickly reoriented himself, telling the kids he had other work to do tonight and started in the direction the woman had left towards, promising the kids they’d play cricket together another night. 

Ram speedwalked for a few minutes and finally caught up to them, trailing only a few meters behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to approach her. Internally, he was cursing himself out for making this seem easy to Bheem all those years ago, when he himself was such a mess at it. He wished Bheem, Sita, Jenny, the kids, or literally anyone was with him right now to tell him what to do and how not to embarrass himself. His shoe stepped on something and he tripped over, clasping his mouth to make sure no sound came out. When he turned to see what caused it, he found one of her silver jhumkas lying in the dirt. Ram couldn’t believe his luck and he picked up the jhumka, taking it as a sign from the universe to meet her. He then followed her, his faith in himself somehow reinstated simply by the fact he had something of hers in his pocket.

The women approached a Shiva temple, removed their shoes, and entered, and Ram stopped outside. He hadn’t been inside a temple since his father was killed by the British. Everyone close to him had tried to reinstate his faith in god, but he always shut down the idea by stating that if god was real, his father wouldn’t be dead, and if god is real and let his father be killed, then he had every reason to be extremely angry at that god. Ram almost turned around and left, but then he saw the woman returning outside, and froze, realizing she was staring at him. 

“Intha dhooram vachi lopadiki raara?” (tl. You came this far, won’t you come in?) she asked. Realizing he was stuck, he slowly took off his shoes and stepped into the temple.

Once he was standing next to her, she asked him what his name was and he replied saying his name is Ram. She introduced herself as Vaidehi, and he said the name back to her, appreciating the way it rolled on his tongue. They sat in the back of the temple, and Vaidehi opened her book and started reading while he examined her features, and noticed she had removed the other jhumka. Ram hated being interrupted while reading, but he also needed to close this silence somehow, so he craned his neck to see what book she was reading. 

��Avunu, gudiki vachi em pustakam chaduvuthunnavu? Adhi intlo guda cheyyachu kadha?” (tl. What book are you reading in the temple that you can’t read at home?)

That beautiful laughter that first got him to turn his head towards her escaped her mouth again and she told him his father was the head priest and she enjoyed attending the sandhya aarti whenever she could. She told him about the book she was reading, History of Dharmashastra, and they both fell into an animated conversation about the development of Indian ancient societies and their dreams for a modern and independent India. She said India needed more men like Alluri Ramaraju and he smiled and agreed, hiding the joy in his heart from hearing her say that. He never bothered mentioning that he was Ramaraju because he found it refreshing to talk to people normally without being treated like a savior everywhere he went. 

Suddenly, a man, who he assumed was Vaidehi’s father, stood in front of the garbhagriha and everyone in the temple stood up. They recited bhajans, and while Ramaraju knew all of them from memory from his childhood and his mother, he quietly listened to Vaidehi’s voice. At the end, he took the prasadam from one of the other priests and walked back outside with Vaidehi. She asked him if he didn’t know the bhajans, and he replied saying he did, but he enjoyed listening to them much more than singing them, opting to leave out the truth about his father. They talked more about their interests, exchanged addresses, and talked about meeting again. As the sun finally set, she told him she needed to leave, and that they’d definitely meet again. Ram watched her walk away and put his hand in his pocket, touching the jhumka he never returned, whispering, “I promise we will.”

---

(a/n) should I make this a series lmao I have so many ideas for where this could go. also, I haven't been to india in like 6yrs now (curse the pandemic and then school/work) so idr if 100 rupees is acc a reasonable amount for the chai scene 🗿

open tag list: @obsessedtoafault @rambheem-is-real @lil-stark @manwalaage @contemporarykafka @sinistergooseberries @budugu @the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see @hufhkbgg @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @hissterical-nyaan @how-is-it-in-london @gauri-vishalakshi @sada-siva-sanyaasi @bromance-minus-the-b @darlingletshurttonight @voidsteffy @itsfookingloosah @mad-who-ra @fadedscarlets @justmeand-myinsight @rasnak2 @ghungru @irisesforyoureyes @vijayasena

I copied a rrr tag list I literally haven't used in a year and tried to remember as many old urls as I could. if you want to be added/removed from the list pls lmk <3

[sambhavami]

💜💜💜 Satyabhama 💜💜💜

Satyabhama, the daughter of Satrajit; the most beautiful maiden in the three worlds stood awestruck behind a curtain of vines staring as her brothers led Krishna, the newfound Yadava prince towards the Sun temple in her father's quarters. She had heard the rumours, but never imagined he would be this handsome! As he walked up the long hallway, she ran parallelly carefully concealing herself behind the twisted vines. She felt her heart skipping a beat every time he threw back his head, laughing at a rogue joke, or carelessly adjusted the crown on his head that stubbornly kept slipping down.

[expressions-lsr]

Share Between Dreams at Sunset

by Annesha B Bhuyan

Dear Muse,

Sunset Dreams, I once had one.

Vague vision of your eyes, and mild waves of your voice infiltrated my conscious mind and halted at the port where dreams sailed.

Seldom when I paint a lucid portrait of us, it turns out to be as airy as your locks unlike our tangled strands of life sealed in air-tight cardboard boxes.

Contrary to popular belief, storytelling isn’t one of my strongest pursuits. But perhaps I’ll have a marvelous time ruining my treasured mirage for you.

Walking in a gown through the lobby filled with murmur, I spotted an acquaintance walk in. Notably, he was wearing the same colour as me – White. But how did it ever skip my mind that white had variant shades and they don’t always compliment each other. I greeted him with the familiar smile that repeatedly made it quite futile for people to decipher its legitimacy.

He greeted my folks, had lunch and asked me for a place to smoke. I withdrew him to secrecy and walked him out.

Just when I was about to slump against the nearest chair, I espied YOU walking straight to me dressed in the colour that complimented your skin tone the most. Let me just put out the only sane thought that I had in mind, “How do you always manage to be the exact opposite of me?”

But did I enquire that? Nah, I did not.

With sparkling eyes, the only thing I could do was just to return your unwavering gaze. Accelerating to your greeting my dad, given my mom by now grasped that if my wishes came true, it would always have been you.

I chaperoned you to my front porch for a breath of fresh air, and you took out one of your classic cigars. I frenzied, “Have you lost your mind? At least think about your image in front of my folks. I could’ve taken you someplace remote.”

“Do you really think I care about your someplace remote? I am not your whitewashed good boy now. Am I? The only person I care about is you.”

Peeking deep in your watery eyes, I couldn’t infer the latent world behind them. I tiptoed to hold you but rather you bowed to kiss me. We met midway and our noses pecked. And there came the habitual giggle.

I tugged at your coat sleeve. “Where are we going Crybaby?”

“To someplace better Princess”, I replied with the widest grin on my face.

Running through the vast meadows, the aroma of mustard hit us. And we kept running with the collaging sky at sundown. Standing in the middle of nowhere, I turned and gazed at you with teeming emotions. Your face replicated my chords and before another wink, I breathed – I love you!

I got hold of your collar and kissed you until it made every fibre of my being buzz with glee.

Did the auburn hues of the retired sun make my eyelids flutter? You would know better, won’t you? Was it another day of waking up alone? By any chance, was Mary on a Cross playing?

[krishakamal]

𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀

— Krishna x Rukmini

SYNOPSIS : Krishna has yet to meet his Sri but that doesn't mean that he does not know her heart.

KAMAL'S NOTE : Hey guys, I'm back with another RukminiShyam fic. This is a really short one.

Sakhi = Friend, Kaki = Aunty, Priye = Beloved, Sri = Mahalakshmi/Rukmini, Saawariya = Krishna/Tall, Dark & Handsome, Jaganath = Vishnu, Jagatmata = Lakshmi.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎��� // 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄

"Why do you look so downhearted, sakhi?"

Malini asked when she noticed the princess sitting on the window seat with a frowning face. Rukmini casted her a side glance before looking outside again, showing her friend that she had done something which upsetted the princess.

Malini thought back about the past events but she could not think about anything bad enough to upset Rukmini. Rukmini was not someone who would care about small mistakes.

Malini dropped the cloth she was folding and rushed up to Rukmini, "Sakhi, did I do something wrong?"

Rukmini nodded her head in 'yes'. Her lips curled up in visible a pout.

"What is it?"

Rukmini turned to Malini, "It rained this afternoon, right?" Malini nodded her head hasitentaly, she could already guess where this was going, "But none of you called me? Mina kaki told me, she saw you, Vijaya, Ridhima playing in the rain. Without me."

Rukmini snapped her face towards the window again. To be honest, Malini did feel a little bad for her sakhi. She knows just how much Rukmini loved rain.

Malini grabbed Rukmini's hand, "Please, don't be mad Vidharbhi. You were sleeping at that time and we didn't want to disturb you. You looked too peaceful sleeping."

"Stop buttering me." Rukmini muttered under her breath, "You are not the makhan chor."

"Ohhoo." Malini teased Rukmini, "Then why don't you tell you makhan chor to make it rain again?"

"D-Don't speak nonsense." Heat rushed up Rukmini's neck and cheek, colouring her red.

If I ask them he will, right?

Time passed in a flash and it was already night. Malini had left after making sure Rukmini was not mad at her. Of course she wasn't mad, Rukmini can never be angry with her sakhis.

Stars surrounded the moon in the sky. The kingdom of Vidarbha was lightened with lamps and lanterns. In the royal palace, Rukmini sat on the bed, reading a chapter of a novel before going to sleep as per her daily routine.

Suddenly, a sweet flute music started playing. The candle flickered on the nightstand when a gush of cold wind blew past the blinds, followed by the roaring sound of thunder. The thought of raining again made her lips curl up in a smile. Madhav!

Closing the book, Rukmini dropped it on the bed and rushed up to the window, pulling back the red and golden curtains. The one sparkling was now covered in kala megha. In no time, one raindrop hit the ground, then another and then another till it started pouring and wetting everything.

Rukmini grabbed the fabric of her skirt, lifted it up, and ran out of the room. Her feet stopped when it reached the garden. Standing in the middle of the garden closed her eyes and tilted her back. She raised her hand, palms facing the sky.

Rukmini felt the cold drops hitting her golden smooth skin. She felt his love pour on her in the form of rain. In an instant her long black hair soaking all the rain. They stick to her skin like glue. A sudden burst of joy hit her heart.

The surroundings disappeared. Only the sound of rain mingling with the sweet flute and the thought of her beloved. Her body moved on its own, spinning in circles. Soft laughs escaping her heart. The long skirt and her now wet hair whirling with her. The chiming of anklets joining the moment.

Rukmini danced without any care for the world. Between the colourful flowers Rukmini bloomed like a lotus does between dirt. Spinning, Rukmini bumped into something hard. She instantly grabbed it to steady herself. As she was about to open her eyes a hand palmed her eyes and another one wrapped around her waist.

"Mm-mm. It's not the time yet, priye." He teased her.

Rukmini huffed and shook her head, "Even now you are teasing me, Madhav."

"Just wait a little more? The day is near." Madhav said with a plea hidden in his voice.

"For you, Saawariya." She replied softly.

Krishna released Rukmini before grabbing her hand in his, He started twirling her, "So, is my beloved still sad that she couldn't dance in the rain earlier?"

Rukmini laughed, following his lead, "How can I be sad when you are here?"

The garden filled with laughter of two eternal consorts. The nature, the rain and the life witnessed their Jagannath and Jaganmata relish the moment. They witnessed Krishna doing maya leela for his Sri. They witnessed Lakshmi with her Narayan. They witnessed Rukmini putting all her trust in him and going along wherever he takes her.

Time flew by in a blink of an eye and it was close to dawn. But neither of them wanted to stop. Rukmini wanted to be with him as much as possible and Krishna wanted that just as much but that was not possible and they both knew that.

"Rajkumari Rukmini!" A panicked servant called and Rukmini's hand slipped off from Krishna's. Rain gradually came to a stop.

The smile never left her face as servants crowded her, throwing a warm and dry cloth over her shoulder. They started dragging her into the palace before she caught a cold.

Rukmini looked back where Krishna was supposed to but was now empty. Then Rukmini looked in her hand, the peacock feather he left behind. Only one man dazing in her head.

Saawariya.

Madhav.

Murli.

Krishna.

Krishna.

"KANHA!" Balram shouted, snapping his brother's attention, "What are you doing here at this time?"

Balram went out for a walk because his sleep broke early only to find his brother sitting on a stone, playing flute without any break and when he called him, Krishna didn't even hear him.

"Ji, Dau?" Krishna jumped down from the stone.

"What are you doing here?"

"Prem, Dau. Prem. Aap nehi samjhenge." Krishna gave him a mischievous smile before marching towards the castle.

© 𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to KRISHAKAMAL. Do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

[lilavatilikeslemons]

Homecoming

An instance of returning home.

----------

Unedited- You've been warned.

---------

Rama looked down below, overseeing all that was happening.

He saw the many people that had gotten together, with one purpose- to celebrate.

He saw gifts being sent and greetings being shared.

He had overseen them from the very beginning.

From when the seed had been sown,

To now, the fruit being born.

He saw the vision in so many eyes come to life before him.

He chuckled.

His presence was always there.

Always.

It would always be present, for the ones who sought it.

But now, it felt like it was his homecoming, once more.

And he couldn't be happier.

-----

जय सीतारामलक्ष्मण की!

WOOOOOOOOO

LESGOOOOOO

It's not much, but I hope that y'all like it!

Stay safe, hydrated and healthy!

Have a good one!

[bocadelicate]

havent been here in awhile what have i missed 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[iwishihatedyou]

day five of shadowban 😋

[myhindipoems]

      श्री राम का सूर्य तिलक

आज सूर्य देव को मिल रहा अद्वितीय सम्मान,  स्वंय अवध के राघव के ललाट पर विराजमान...

आज श्रेष्ठ सूर्यतिलक से सज रहे सुर्यवंशी,  आलौकिक तेज में प्रगट हुए रघुवंशी...

श्यामवर्ण के राम पर स्वर्ण किरण हो रही  शोभित,                                              यह छवी देख हो रहे जन-जन मोहित...

500 बरस बाद इतना सुंदर उत्सव मनाया, आज आदित्य ने राम के मस्तक पर सूर्यतिलक बनाया...

यह छवि, सबके लिए चमत्कार है,  श्री राम हर मन में बसने वाले अवतार है...                                                                                                                            ~ रेवती 🦚 (17-04-2024)

[misalpav]

काश ये दुनिया वो होती जो में सोचती थी

जब मेरे मासूम दिल हर सुख चाहती थी

क्या गलती की उस छोटी सी बच्ची

जो बस चाँद को देख कर सपने बनाती थी

images aren't mine and belong to their respective owners.

[sambhavami]

💛💛💛 Mitravinda 💛💛💛

Mitravinda felt her brothers dragging her up the aisle of suitors. She could feel their eyes boring into her, sizing her up. Some of them had the decency to look uncomfortable, but no prince charming burst out of the row, putting an end to the farce. Instead, she was marched up and down twice along the length of the sabha by her brothers. Both times the eldest had pressed down on her arm when she had stood before Prince Duryodhana of Hastinapura. She could feel her brothers' glares almost piercing a hole through the back of her neck. She could also feel the forced smiles they still donned for the sake of appearances. Mitra felt a strange rebellion bubbling inside of her. She had never been so determined. She would not place the garland around his neck on her own. If she was to be married to him, her brothers would have to physically make her go through the motions, shedding all garb of decency. If all was to be truly lost, she would go down kicking and screaming at least.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hi hi! I have a req- can you maybe please write a Megumi x reader where they get lost in a haunted house and the reader is too scared to move and Megumi helps her (as a stranger) and then it goes more from that ?

I fell in love with this immediately and needed to write that wonderful request of yours! Thank you so much darling, I'm crossing my fingers you like what I came up with 😭

Getting lost at a haunted house only to be saved by Megumi

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: After your friends dragged you into a tunnel of terror at an amusement park despite your irrational fear of creepy stuff, you find yourself lost in your own panic. Until a sudden blue-eyed boy appears and helps you out...

Warnings: your friends are shitty, Megumi is a sweetheart, reader is obviously scared of creepy stuff lol

„This is probably the worst thing you ever made me do”, Megumi mutters, annoyed by the sheer sight in front of him.

When Gojo-sensei told them about a day off, he certainly didn’t see himself going to an amusement park with Itadori and Kugisaki. He should have stayed back, he could have read the new book he just bought, enjoying the silence of empty Jujutsu High while the others were out doing whatever they want. But instead, he finds himself surrounded by crying children with their hands covered in sweets, people bumping into him with every step he takes.

What on earth is he doing here?

“You’re such a pain in the ass, Fushiguro. How about going out and having some fun instead of making it your mission to look as if somebody killed your puppy? Geez.”

“Look, a haunted house!”, Yuji cries out, his eyes glossy from sheer excitement.

“Oh, I wanna go in!”

“I don’t wanna go in”, you protest while your friends literally drag you after themselves.

To be honest, the thought of going into a haunted house alone makes you want to leave immediately. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s creepy stuff. No matter if it’s as innocent as Halloween or things like horror films based on a true story. There is nothing worse than getting jump scared, feeling as if your heart will stop beating any minute, cold sweat running down your neck. No, there is absolutely no way in hell you will step one foot into this cursed place, you’ll just wait here and get some ice cream, you’ll-

“I really don’t wanna do this”, you whine into pitch-black darkness, heavy creepy music making you feel sick in an instant.

Your heartbeat hammers against your already aching chest, palm getting so sweaty that you are unable to hold onto the hand of your friend any longer.

“Hey, where are you? I-I think I lost you guys!”

No response, no sign of life. Just you, the darkness around you and your own blood rushing through your ears.

Fuck, you can’t do this alone. Where is the emergency exit when you need it? Is there somebody else around you?

“H-hello?”

No response, no sign of life.

Panic starts to rise in your chest, disturbing screams, violent laughter and creepy music drowning your head in nothing but thick fear. You need to get out of here as fast as possible.

Your wobbly feet carry you down the dark hallway. But instead of being able to simply sprint through the tunnel of horror, you are greeted by a never-ending hallway that is that is filled with macabre clowns decorating each and every centimetre around you. There aren’t many things that scare you more than strange dolls that look like Annabell herself, but clowns…You hated them since you were a child, no matter how friendly they looked.

And these ones definitely don’t.

“Are you lost, little one?”

That voice is close, too close for your liking. You rest your eyes for a second, pretend that this deep voice that shook you to your core isn’t really there. No, this must be part of the music, a stupid joke-

“I am still here.”

Something touches your arm. Out of instinct, you widen your glossy eyes, staring straight into the maniac grin of a clown.

A real clown.

Not just a doll.

Your body react on its own, a violent shriek escaping your lips.

Run.

As fast as you can, past the clown decorating the wall, straight into nothing but darkness while this little voice inside your head can’t stop laughing about your pathetic self. How old are you? 10?

It doesn’t matter. Your frightened eyes are darted fowards, adrenaline pumping through your veins while all you can think about is stepping through that door, getting out of this living nightmare as soon as possible. You just need to push yourself a little harder, get through this dark hallway right in front of you and it will be over, you are almost there-

You see stars. Before you are even process what happens, you bump into something hard and fall straight onto the floor with your head spinning in confusion. Was is a wall, a door? No, the dim light shows you the outline of a person. Your guts turn in an instant, the horrifying face of that clown you saw seconds ago still haunting your mind. Please, not another one of these actors.

It stretches out his hand, ready to grab you.

“NO!”, you scream on top of your lungs, crawling backwards in a desperate attempt to escape those fingertips.

Megumi can’t help but stare at your puny figure in sheer disbelief. Why the hell are you so scared? And why are you here on your own? Your thick and heavy breaths hang in the air between you both, distracting him from his mission to find a way out of here after Itadori and Kugisaki ran away like some 4-year old kids.

“Calm down, I’m just trying to find my way out of here”, he calmly announces.

You blink against the darkness around you, too stunned to say a single word. That is definitely a boy with a voice that could calm down entire oceans, making your heartbeat tame down in an instant.

“Let me help you up, okay? Give me your hand.”

There it is, his big hand stretched out in front of you. Like in trance you take it, palms still covered in cold sweat when he lifts you off the ground with ease. In the dim light you aren’t able to see anything but the outline of his features, his tall and actually quite muscular frame.

“We’ll get out of here together, just don’t let go of my-“

In the matter of seconds, your whole body clings onto his arm for what feels like dear life, nails digging into his firm biceps without mercy. He can’t leave you alone here like your friends did, there is absolutely no way in hell you’ll let go of this boy.

Much to Megumi’s fortune, the room is so dark that you can’t tell the deep blush creeping up his face. You’re a girl with a voice sounding so angelic that it caught him off guard, with your breast pressed against his arm-

Oh god.

“Let’s go”, he mumbles.

He forces himself to stare in front of him, to not risk a look at you while tumbling down the dark hallway with you by his side. But the second he opens the next door filled with red lights, his gaze wanders to his left side, gets greeted by your doe eyes immediately.

Time stands still, Megumi’s heart pounding as hard as yours when all he does is staring at your way too gorgeous but frightened features. You have to be around his age, even though it’s hard to tell in that strange light. But oh your face definitely matches your angelic voice.

“Thank you for not leaving me alone”, you mumble against his arm, eyes directed towards the next door ahead of you.

“There’s no need to thank me. How did you end up in here anyway if you are this scared?”

“My friends forced me and left me after the first door on my own.”

Megumi huffs in response. Well, that definitely sounds way too familiar. When he sees these two idiots again…

“But aren’t they aware of the fact that you’re scared?”

“Everyone is. But I guess they just thought it would be funny…”

“It’s not”, Megumi replies in an instant.

“You don’t deserve this. It might not make sense to them, but you are stressed. And no friend should want to see you like this for their own amusement.”

You swallow hard, still holding onto his arm tightly. Of course you know that he’s right, that your “friends” aren’t suppose to treat you this way. But you’d never say it out loud, would never confront them.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

His voice catches your attention just before you start to panic over another set of creepy dolls laughing in the corner, his arm moving you closer to him.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

When you gaze up at him again, his world stops spinning for a minute. You really seem to trust him, your hands still intertwined with his arm, your body firmly pressed against his side. You look so lovely, seem like such a nice person. It becomes more and more personal to get you out of here.

“I’m sure we are close to the exit. Focus on me, okay?”

“My name is (y/n)”, you suddenly blurt out.

“I’m Megumi Fushiguro. Nice to meet you (y/n).”

Out of his mouth, your name sounds so relaxing, so melodic. His calm voice really suits the ocean of his dark blue eyes that never break contact with yours even though he walks down the hallway with you by his side.

“I think this is the last door.”

With a swift motion, he opens it. Slowly but surely his features get light up by lantern light, the cries and screams from the amusement park ringing in your ears again. You take a look around you.

He really did it.

You made your way out of the tunnel of horror.

“Thank you so much for helping me out”, you mutter, pulling him into a tight hug before you are able to stop yourself.

What would have happened if he didn’t find you, if he didn’t keep a cool head and lead you through the right doors? You rest your head against his broad chest, heartbeat calming down completely. How lucky you are to have met him.

“Oh – uh…No problem at all”, he mutters.

Megumi has to tell himself over and over to keep a straight face, to not allow himself to turn redder than the devil himself. But you hold onto him so tightly, so thankful for nothing but the fact that he guided you out of a haunted house.

“Who’s that girl, Fushiguro?”

You let go of him immediately, eyes darting towards a girl with short brown hair coming your way while dragging a pink-haired boy behind her like a bag of trash.

“After you left me alone in there, I met (y/n) and she helped me finding a way out.”

“Nice to meet you (y/n)!”, the other boy greets you instantly, a kind grin plastered on your face.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have helped him, Fushiguro fits just right in a tunnel of horror”, the girl comments dryly.

“There you are! We thought the clowns already ate you up!”

Oh no, not now, not in front of him and his friends. You want to sprint away, to hide yourself from your “friends”. But instead, all you can do is stare blankly why both of them approach you with a toxic smile.

“Is this what you consider funny? Dragging (y/n) in there and leaving her alone even though you know she’s scared?”

Megumi’s body tenses up immediately as he positions himself between you and the other girls. They really have some nerves, approaching you like this after what they did. There is no way he’ll let them get away with that.

“Huh? Who the hell are you and why would you care?”

“Because I was scared as well and (y/n) helped me to find a way out.”

He glimpses at you for the split of a second. It’s more than crystal clear that he’s lying. You need to stand up for him, defend him, tell them the truth.

“Oh, you’re braver than I thought (y/n)”, one of them mutters.

“Yeah…Well…We see each other tomorrow, okay? Bye?”

And with that, they disappear into the evening, their awkward walk leaving you speechless for a second.

“Promise me you’ll never let them treat you like this again”, he finally speaks up again.

“I…I promise….”

“Can you just give her your number so that we’re able to grab something to eat? I’m starving”, the girl next to him complains.

“Yeah, I’m super hungry as well!”

“Can’t you just shut up for a minute?”, Megumi hisses under his breath.

“But…would you mind giving me your number?”

-Bonus-

"Megumi-chan!"

His steps quicken in an instant, carrying down the hallway of Jujutsu High at high tempo. If there's one thing he's not in the mood for right now, it's definetely Gojo-sensei. Itadori and Kugisaki probably told him ever little thing about you.

"There's no running for me. Tell me, who's the girl you've been with today?"

He can't help but roll his eyes, the wide grin on his teacher's face simply driving him insane.

"I just met her today", he mumbles in response.

"Don't forget to use protection, I don't wanna be a grand-"

"CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP"

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Gorgeous dividers by @saradika-graphics

[expressions-lsr]

Adoring the Storm

by Shrutismita Borkakoti

You assured me evenfall till dawn,

I compressed your hand when the breeze got fierce,

Then you comforted me, clasping my heart.

Now I'm standing, in the midway of the tempest.

Having only the landscape to escort me.

I can overhear the scenery, and we're conversing.

The expeditious breeze hugs me tight and moves on,

Returning to reassure me!

The thunder strikes with loud noises,

Telling me I'm not alone over here.

The lonesome sky,

Proving me, I'll have to do it by myself.

The rain falls swiftly, kissing me throughout

With its tender drops.

But the thunder strikes, tearing apart the clouds,

Struggling to light the sky,

And ushering me a path!

Now I thank you for leaving me here.

I loved you then!

But now,

I adore the storm!

[prettykittytanjiro]

REEEEEEEE

Naama Ramayana Series

1.

----

Unedited.

----

शुद्धब्रह्मपरात्पर राम |

śuddhabrahmaparātpara rāma |

Your name is the one to which the lord of Kailasa meditates.

Your complexion is the one which represents all that is encompassed in the universe, in you.

Your eyes are the ones who have overseen justice you have given.

Your hands are the ones who wield the mighty Kodanda.

Your feet are the ones who grant refuge to many.

Your smile is the one that captivates us all.

Your gait is the one that charms whoever you walk past.

Your mercy is the one that cannot even be described- for it is unfathomably neverending.

Your valour is the one which protects those who seek you.

Your love is the one which is continuously showered upon all those who come to you.

Your shadow is the one which so many try to follow.

Your stories are the ones who have been spread far and wide, weaved into the daily lives of many.

You are the one who I surrender myself to.

I bow to you, Sri Rama.

--------

जय सीतारामलक्ष्मण की!

WISHING EVERYONE A VERY, VERY SHUBH DIWALI!

Ok so this naama Ramayana Series has been bugging my brain for a very, very long time, so I decided to inaugurate it on Diwali hehehe

I tried my best to do this- there's so many things I could just yap about him but I limited it to this for now

Who knows I might edit in more idk

As always, I'm open to feedback and constructive criticism!

Once again, wishing everyone a Shubh Diwali!

Stay safe, healthy and hydrated <3

Have a good one, folks!

[amethystarachnid]

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

[iwishihatedyou]

i fear i have procrastinated this a bit too much

[srbachchan]

DAY 5926

Jalsa, Mumbai May 9/10, 2024 Thu/Fri 12:22 AM

Birthday Greetings for May 10th , 2024

Saddened to hear the news of the passing away of Shri Ratan Lal Bhutoria , Father of our dear Ef Rohit Kumar Bhutoria .. Rohit's Father met with a road accident this morning and unfortunately could not survive .. as informed by Ef Sanjay Patodiya .. 😔🙏🏻 .. deeply shocked and grieved .. our very sincerest condolences to you , Rohit .. we hold your hand .. be strong .. the whole Ef Family with you .. in prayer and support .. 🙏🏻

..

Hard to put anything after this 💔 .. but the occasion for it's greatness I think it deserves a mention .. 🙏🏻

..

A bit of historic ”gyaan” today .. 🙏🏻

:

10 May In Indian History :

.. 10th May 1857 .. the great Indian rebellion .. the 1st war of independence against the British at Meerut .. the rebellion began in the form of a mutiny of sepoys of the East India Company's army in the garrison town of Meerut ..

Meerut is situated between the holy rivers Ganga and Yamuna ..

Thanks to its geographical importance, the fertile Ganga-Yamuna doab had been an important centre of human activities since the very early times of Vedic Civilisation.

From the medieval period onwards, the proximity of this city to Indraprastha (present day Delhi) helped it play an important role in the affairs of India.

With the capture of power by the British, Meerut became a major military centre. The aggrieved Indian soldiers of the British Army began their fight against the imperial powers in this soil on 10th May, 1857. They captured the control of the city in one day and marched to Red Fort in Delhi, which was considered to be the symbol of control over the whole of India. On their way, they were joined by the common people who shouted patriotic war cries. By the next morning, Red Fort had fallen into the hand of the freedom fighters.

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Few pictures of India from 1857 ..

Lucknow .. 1857 ..

Calcutta .. 1853 ..

Taj Mahal .. Agra .. 1857 ..

Jantar Mantar near Delhi .. 1858 ..

James Outram's Camp at Alumbagh, Lucknow .. It was occupied by Outram and his 4000 Soldiers After the 1857 Mutiny ..

Humayun's Tomb in Delhi .. 1858 ..

See how the change has taken place .. this is the same location where we shot the song from UUNCHAI, the film of Sooraj Barjatya, pictures of which had been put up here at the Blog

A Sikh cavalry .. Illustrated Times .. 1857 ..

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Jai Hind .. 🇮🇳🫡🕉️🙏🏻

Love .. ❤️🙏🏻

It has been a bit of a history lesson .. and after which it would be too severe to write anymore .. but simply to say , that the time at the Studio Saptaswar was visited after many an hour and days .. and the sonorous sounds for an upcoming film of Abhishek .. and of my own Section 84 , was I felt , in keeping with the moment and the story and the emotion ..

Amitabh Bachchan