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thegleamingmoon · 4 months ago

Text

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

#desiblr #gopiblr #modern au #love #trivandrum #vishnu #goddess lakshmi #ashtabharya #krishnabhakti #krishnablr #krishna #radha #gopi #aesthetic #writers on tumblr

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fishnets-fingers · 2 years ago

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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

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hand-written-dreams · 1 month ago

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CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 07

Behind Closed Doors

You tell me your secrets

You keep your life between your lips.

- ( The song of the chapter is "Eyes Don't Lie" by Isabel LaRosa)

The door to her walk-in closet creaks open, revealing the warm, smiling face of Buaji. She hands her the matching glass bangles she loves, along with a jewellery set to go with the saree she’s wearing. Buaji is the most constant presence in her otherwise volatile life. Her presence as familiar as the air in the room.

She lets her eyes run through the room she has known all her life. Her room on the second floor is more than just space, it is a fortress, one that holds her in both comfort and captivity. A large bedroom, a private bath, and a walk-in closet, everything is hers, as it always has been.

Growing up, nothing was denied to her. A mere mention, and whatever she desired would arrive at her doorstep, from the latest gadgets to racks of designer dresses. Clothes would line up like soldiers awaiting her approval. For a while, she equated it to love, believing her father’s way of caring was through giving. Thought his love was measured in possessions, wrapped in indulgence.

But she uncovered the truth early.

Slowly, Painfully.

She isn’t placed in this luxurious space to be cherished. No, she is stationed here, high above, to be observed, like a rare bird in a golden cage. Her every wish is fulfilled not out of affection but as a tether to keep her grounded in his world, so she’d never feel the need to fly beyond it.

The gifts, so beautifully wrapped, are chains in disguise.

She stops wishing for more.

She begins to carve out her own choices as much as the invisible chains around her wrists allow. Quietly, carefully.

Each decision is a whisper of defiance in a world built to silence her.

As she stands before the mirror, draped in the saree Mr. Jha gifted her, a sinking realization washes over her.

Choice is a luxury.

She never truly possesses.

No matter how much she yearns for it.

The fabric clings to her.

Beautiful yet suffocating.

Delicate yet unyielding.

Either this or termination of her life.

She always thinks ending her life can never be any answer to anything.

She still strongly believes that.

There's hope as long as she is alive.

She breathes deeply.

She needs to come out of her melodramatic bullshit.

It's time to wear her well-crafted mask.

The soft hum of conversation swirls around her, punctuated by the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, while the city below looks both close enough to touch and miles away.

Saffron, perched atop a tall skyscraper, stands as one of the most exclusive and luxurious restaurants in the heart of Delhi. It offers a breathtaking view of the city, its glittering lights stretching endlessly beneath the night sky.

The walls are dressed in rich shades of deep navy and gold, accented by deep velvet couches in midnight blues and soft greys and rich mahogany tables with golden accents. Low-hanging chandeliers give off a gentle, amber glow, casting soft intimate shadows that make you feel both at ease and on edge, like you are a part of something important just by being there.

This is where power quietly dines.

This is where every glance feels like it carries more weight than the words exchanged.

This is where whispered secrets linger in the air like smoke, while the hum of the city below is nothing more than a distant murmur.

She casts a glance at Mr.Jha, who is sitting across from her, animatedly discussing politics with his colleagues. His passion is palpable, shining in his eyes.

She sighed.

She hates being here.

She hates the small talk.

She hates the looks the men are giving

She hates the way the city pulses with energy while she feels frozen.

She pushes her food around on the plate without really eating, offering a fake smile at the woman sitting beside her. She is well-versed in the art of mindless conversation. She can entertain anyone from world leaders to a discarded piece of tissue paper.

Her skin is humming,

It's burning,

And tingling.

She lets her eyes glance over the restaurant, taking in the well-dressed waiters and the animated crowd, to find out a possible reason.

Maybe it's the air, or the clothes, or the food.

And then.

She sits up straight.

Ice needles prick her flesh.

Akash Singh Rathore sits a few tables down with two women, one is boredly typing on her phone, while the other is giggling, hanging on his every word.

She looks away quickly, her brow knitting together. What are the probabilities of having dinner at Saffron the same night as an Eagle? But then again, it wouldn't be unusual. It's a renowned restaurant and Delhi is their turf, after all.

Her blood quickens, the image of caramel-brown eyes flooding her mind.

He can't be here.

She discreetly glances at the Eagle's table, a wave of relief washing over her when she notices that no brown-eyed man is present nearby.

Not for miles.

He is not here.

The tension in her body begins to dissipate slowly. Quietly, she excuses herself from the table, giving a nod to her companions as she rises to go to the ladies' room.

The quiet hum of the restaurant is muffled behind the closed door of the ladies' room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her reflection. She washes her hands with the cold water running from the faucet. It helps, if only slightly.

"Get it together," she whispers to herself.

On her way back, she bumps into an old friend from college. “Friend” feels like the wrong term. They never spoke a word to each other back then. Yet here, the girl is chatting animatedly as if they’re long-lost buddies. Perhaps it’s the effect of graduating, everyone feeling nostalgic.

Her skin is humming,

It's burning

And tingling.

Not again.

And then.

The air catches its breath.

Thunder growls in the distance, shaking the quiet night, as bolts of lightning tear through the dark clouds. The glass of the building vibrates faintly with each rumble.

He is here.

The murmur grows as everyone marvels at the spectacle unfolding in the night sky.

While she is trapped in a pair of caramel-brown orbs.

They are trained directly on her, as he emerges from the opposite direction, clad in a charcoal black suit, walking toward the table junior Rathor occupies. A small part of her can’t help but admire his lethal, powerful stride. Yet the larger part instinctively raises her defences, on high alert.

The tension in the air coils like a drawn bow.

He slides next to junior Rathore and leans back, draping his arm over the back, as if he owns this place, as if he commands every breath in this room. He probably does.

And

His eyes.

His eyes are never not on her.

She doesn't look away.

She can't look away.

She is drawn like a magnet.

Her heart pounds so loudly she is sure everyone can hear it.

And yet.

She refuses to give in.

She will not give in.

She can stare too. As hard as he can, maybe even more.

She will stare forever.

She won't even blink if it means to win this war.

Without breaking eye contact, she bids the girl she has been talking to, goodbye and starts walking back toward her table, aware of the way his eyes hold her and hers hold his with each step, with every sway of her saree.

She is aflame from head to toe.

Her blood sings in her ears, drowning the sounds of laughter and clinking of wine glasses to nothing but a distant static. She is floating underwater.

His stare is raindrops, sliding down her body.

She feels his hands around her wrists in his stare. She feels his hand sliding up her neck in his stare. She feels his body pressed tightly against her in his stare.

A silent threat wrapped in a promise.

She sits down. It is foolish of her to think she can stare forever. She answers a meaningless question asked by one of the wives, the entire time feeling the weight of caramel-brown eyes. She is not going to look back.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Her eyes find his.

A bead of sweat trickles down the curve of her spine. Her hair ends stand on high alert, sending a shiver through her skin, something he notices from across the room.

His eyes flare up.

Her mind screams,

'stop touching me with your eyes.'

A dangerously arrogant voice whispers,

'Make me'

The caramel-brown ones look unexpectedly amused as if he hears the conversation she is having in her head. A slight lift of his lips forms a crooked smirk, marring his finely chiselled face.

His evil calculated smirk.

Oh, how she hates this man.

She hates him so freaking much.

For making her feel so powerless.

For making her sweat.

In this thoroughly air-conditioned room

Only with his eyes

Sitting across the room.

'Fuck you.' her hate whispers.

'You wish,' his voice in her head whispers back like he did a few days back.

He gives her an air toast as he lifts his glass to his lips.

The glass touches his lips.

His throat bobbed.

And, she is an avid watcher.

She averts her gaze, forcing down the knot forming rapidly in her acutely dry mouth.

Mr. Hazard is bad for her health.

And her body.

And her brain.

And her heart.

And, she hates him.

"Khushi?"

She blinks, pulled out of her thoughts as Mr.Jha calls out her name. He stands with the rest of his colleagues. She nods a distant farewell to the faces she knows she won’t remember tomorrow. But it’s that gaze,

Intense and unrelenting.

That keeps her rooted in place.

"I'm heading toward the bar. It's going to rain soon. You should go home," Mr. Jha states in a low voice. "My bodyguard will take you home."

With that, he leads them toward the bar, his bodyguards trailing after him, except for one who lingers, waiting to follow her.

That gaze is still on her.

Piercing and unwavering.

The air between them has thinned out.

She exhales slowly.

Hazel eyes meet caramel-brown ones.

Eyes cut through the dim light.

Eyes pin her in place.

Unsettling and sharp.

Without another glance, she picks up her purse and turns, heading toward the elevator, eager to escape, eager to breathe in the cool night air.

The thunder strikes again.

The elevator doors ding as they open, revealing a middle-aged man with a very homely appearance. He smiles politely at her. She smiles back as he steps aside to let her in.

The doors are about to close.

A hand shoots out.

The doors ding open.

A man in a charcoal-black suit stands before the doors.

The guard beside her springs into action and steps out, “You’ll need to wait for the next one, Sir.” he says firmly and then panics pointing a gun at him. She bets the guard never expects him to be in the vicinity of them.

He arches an eyebrow at the guard, not even glancing at the gun pointed at him. With an almost casual demeanour, he grips the guard’s wrist suddenly and in a move that nearly drops her jaw, he twists the wrist, applying pressure and bending it backwards until the guard falls to his knees with a sharp cry. The gun in the guard's grip, is now pointed back reversely, yeah... at the guard.

The tables have turned.

His eyes never sway from hers.

She clutches the fabric of her saree, while willing for her heartbeat to slow down. Her nail digs into her palm, hard enough to draw blood.

The doors ding open, stopped by his hand.

She waits raptly to see what he will do next. The soft light of the corridor casts a dark shadow over half of his face, while the light from the elevator illuminates the other half of it, making him look lethally dangerous, predatory.

He takes the gun from the guard and pulls it apart, piece by piece. With a flick of his wrist, he delivers a sharp backhand to the guard's face, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Unconscious.

The doors ding open, caught on the guard's feet this time.

Show-off, she mutters in her mind.

Then it dawns on her, how easy it must have been for him to kill her at any moment.

She gulps.

This is a knowledge she doesn't relish having, especially when she is completely and utterly armless and defenceless.

Kicking the guard's foot, that is stuck in the elevator door, he steps inside. Pulling out his phone from his slack pocket, he unfolds it to make it a tablet and swiftly types something on the screen.

The doors ding closed.

The elevator starts moving.

He leans on the wall, crossing his ankles, as if he will be in this elevator for a long time, except for a few seconds.

"Mr. Roy, is it?" his voice rough, as he asks the man beside her. He snaps his phone shut, making the poor man jump.

"...ummm..yyeess, sir."

He slides his phone back into his pocket, alongside his hands. "Your floor has arrived." The doors open two floors below. The corridor is empty.

".... but sir, I need to go to the basement."

He stares down at the poor soul. Silently.

The man gulps, "....yes, sir, my floor has arrived, " and he steps out of the elevator.

The doors ding closed.

He crosses his arms over his chest.

Eyes back on her.

Him and Her.

Trapped in a box.

She mimics him, crossing her arms, while refusing to break the silence or the eye contact.

Every interaction with him feels like a risky download.

Thrilling yet potentially hazardous.

She has no idea what he wants. Following her as he has, knocking out the bodyguard as he has, it sure as fuck wasn't just to stare at her.

The door of the elevator is not opening, not even in the basement. The elevator started to ascend.

Fuck.

"What all one has to go through just to meet you, Miss Gupta," he states quietly.

All of a sudden, fury blooms in her chest at the sound of his voice. The anger magnifies at his words but she forces herself to calm down.

"So gracious of Mr.Raizada. Why the formality, especially given the kind of liberties you take?" Her tone is cool, chilling.

"I haven’t taken any liberties," he replies, arching an eyebrow, "yet."

"I should have known you would corner me in an elevator. So many walls for you to execute your special hobby," she says casually.

His lips curve up further.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeat.

Three heartbeat.

"Have you decided yet?"

"What?'

"About my offer."

"Really?" exasperated, she rolls her eyes, while he stares, silent, waiting.

"It's not possible."

"You haven't heard the full details yet."

"I am not interested."

"Ahh..I see..so what are you interested in? Raising snake babies, perhaps?"

Condescending, Egoistic, Asshole.

She clicks her teeth together to stop herself from lashing out at him.

"Are you sure, I can't offer you a deal you can't resist?" He shrugs, tucking his hands back in his pocket.

"Huh...Really? how?" Her tone's suspicious, doubtful, challenging.

"Ever heard of Paragon Tech company? I bought it recently. You can work there as an IT expert. You will have access to whatever you need.......And your father won't know. The company isn't registered in my name." He studies her, the eyes searching for something. "You work for me. I'll provide you evidence equivalent to what you lost, maybe even more."

Her eyes shower fires at him for making such a dangerous yet irresistible offer. He has her all figured out, doesn't he? For an unknown reason that angers her even more. She isn't that easy to figure out. Damn it.

She wants to lash out and tell him he is absolutely wrong. His offer doesn't impress her at all. Instead, she bites her lower lip to keep mum.

The caramel-brown orbs glint with something, she doesn't dare to name, "I suggest you to reflect on the offer."

Is that a threat?

"Or what?" She snaps in response. His fire's burning her as well. Her eyes spark like moulted fire, barely contained. The elevator touches the basement again and starts its ascend. "Why is the elevator not stopping?"

"You always ask the wrong question. The elevator won't open until we are done here."

"I can’t help but wonder,” she says, faking a smile, her body simmering with anger. “Was all of this supposed to scare me?”

He straightens and steps up toward her. She glues herself to the opposite wall as he stands in front of her. Even in her heels, she barely reaches his chin. Her head tilts back to keep their eyes locked.

Brown eyes are holding her hazels captive, "You'd be quite naive if it didn't. "

"I don't think the eagles will hurt her." her father's voice floats in his mind.

She smirks, “I’m a lot of things, Mr. Raizada, but naive isn’t one of them. That’s precisely why I know you won't hurt me.”

The caramel-brown eyes ignite, the embers and oranges in his brown catching flame. His eyes are blazing lava, simmering beneath the surface of calm. He tilts his head to the side while he rests one of his hand on the wall beside her head.

And she steps closer, unsure where her boldness to provoke him is coming from. She doesn't care. She just needs to.

Craning her neck, she leans in until her chin nearly brushes his chest. She says softly, “Did you really believe, that whole 'I despise you' act Or this elevator fiasco would scare me? Not at all. It didn’t scare me one bit. It just pissed me off.”

He doesn't say a word or move a muscle. He merely gazes at her with those eyes and her heart races.

Yet, she continues, "There are four walls right there. Why don’t you just get it over with?" her gaze unwavering. "Pin me down. Invade my territory. Or if you despise me that much like you say you do, hurt me. Go ahead. What's stopping you?"

Her whole body shakes.

Her hazel burns into his brown.

Bodies nearly touching.

Her heart threatens to jump out of her rib cage. She controls her breathing to keep her chest from heaving.

Slowly, after what feels like an eternity, he lifts his other hand to slide over the back of her neck. His massive hand swallows her. His thumb glides along her jaw, the roughness of his skin contrasting with her softness.

Rough & uneven like a cracked leather.

Like he has callouses on his palm.

Like there are scars underneath.

He holds her head in place as their eyes remain locked. A shiver courses through her, involuntary and unwelcomed, his lips barely curving in a sardonic smirk.

The stubble on his jaw appears more pronounced at this distance, guarding his lips. And his eyes. They are abysses, ready to swallow her whole.

He presses his thumb against her frantic pulse. It has gone out of control. Her breath hitches.

“Your pulse is running too quick," His voice a low, dangerous whisper, brushing against her skin. The faint scent of his cologne, mingling with his own scent and something raw, invades the air around them.

Every detail imbeds in her mind.

The striking orange and green flecks in his eyes, the way his long lashes frame his piercing stare.

Everything.

His mouth's mere inches from hers, "I warned you. Don't fool yourself into thinking that you know, what I will do or won't do." he whispers.

Softly, lethally.

His thumb sinks a little deeper.

“And I warned you,” she whispers back, her voice low, yet feral, “not to underestimate me.”

A cold chuckle escapes him.

"When the time comes, Miss Gupta," His Eyes are alive, a dangerous glint sparking within. ".. mark my words....I will ruin you."

A chilling promise.

Under his thumb, her pulse runs wild with the heavens that grumble outside.

And inside.

His eyes are thunders

And she is the lightning.

Author's note: Hey, lovely readers! I hope this chapter made your day a little brighter. Until next time.

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @titaliya @shiyaravi @herelivesahobbit @msbhagirathi @arshisrabbaves @arshiradio

#arnav singh raizada #ipkknd #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khushi #13 years of ipkknd #arshi #crimson_shade #arshi fanfic #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta

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six-white-venus · 10 months ago

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i meet death for the first time when i’m ten and understand nothing about her except a few things-

she’s taking away grandpa

she made dad cry

and i didn’t care for either of that.

what is death for a child, anyway? what is loss for someone who never knew of it? a beginning of something from the end of everything.

ii.

the next time i see her, i’m thirteen.

i think there’s something that ties me and death together so tightly. i am not the same kid i was in ten; thirteen year old me wants to see death, wants her to take me home in her gangly arms. and i do see her, but she’s not here for me. she never is.

she wears a white saree this time and her skin is embroidered with flowers from my grandpa’s garden. i scream at her to leave, just this once. but death has always been cruel, ruthless. she rips him away from my fingers and tears away a good part of my grandma’s soul, too. cruel, ruthless.

but her head hangs low as she leaves the house without meeting my eyes. the sky is blue and filled with the sound of agony when i realize: death is a coward.

after that, she never leaves me, i think. i can never see her (refer: blue skies and cowards), but she presses her icy hands against my head every night when i’m asleep. i’d wake up sobbing, breathless, screaming, screaming for what i lost. i reach my hand out to the sky and try to grab hold of him. and distantly, i wonder if she was hanging her head to hide her smile all along.

iii.

i see him again sooner than i would have liked.

i am fifteen and sadder than i’ve ever been when another beloved of mine is stolen from my arms.

i’m screaming.

this time, he wears a cloak of billowing black and hides his face with a hood. he’s the hands that hold me back as i reach out to what was once mine, alive and breathing. he’s the black i wear throughout the funeral. his eyes (critical, empty, grey) meets mine (salt-filled, miserable, brown). i think i say something to him that day- a singular word collapsing into itself.

the sound of my screams and my lucky charm shattering follows him as he walks away.

iv.

the imprints of his hands remain on my skin. the grime of his fingers colours my arms and the ice of his touch still makes me shiver.

maybe, a mortal was never meant to know the touch of death and go on living. a mortal wasn’t suppoised to bleed at their own accord and wake up smiling with no rememberance of meeting him. i have been tainted by death and it has driven me insane, mother. will you sing me a lullaby and put me to sleep (forever)? would you shut out my smile with your tears every morning and wipe away all my sweet dreams from my eyelids and show me the nightmare that is my reality?

the next time i see death, i am getting ready for school. my eyes are swollen and lifeless and circled with darkness. my movements are controlled by a puppeteer inside my head and i look in the mirror and oh, i see death. i am death.

on my sixteenth birthday, death announces his presence with the sound of seashells and the smell of sanitizer filling the air.

death is a little boy standing at our door and our eyes meet (his- painted black; mine- smeared blue) and i remember what i asked him that day.

why?

and death, he cries. his ink black tears stain our floor. death and i, we are both so tired.

i’m sorry, he says but both of us know he’s not, not really. he’ll be back the next day, the next hour and every minute that follows to devour something of mine.

we’re both tired of this game of tigers and goats, death and i. but he can’t hunting and i can’t stop bleeding and please, i am so tired. can’t you find someone else to feast upon?

i wish i didn’t know the answer to that question.

#my writing #prose poetry #poetry #writeblr #grief #loss #tw death

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aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna · 6 months ago

Text

A Father's Anger

When Draupadi had married the Five Pandavas, the Kuru family had to accept it and considered the DrupadKanya as pure, because she was born from literal fire. And if anyone used to raise even one word towards her, then their own Rajkumari would raise her bow and sword at them.

But when Arjuni had married Dwarakadish Vasudev Krishna, the Kuru elders had raised questions on her virtue, purity and dignity. Dhritarashtra, the blind idiot, said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Arjuni, how could you even think of marrying a woman, let alone marry two people? Do you know how much this shows of your impurity? We acceptd Draupadi's marriage as she is born from fire. But you...we are doubtful about you!" Arjuni was surprised, yet she had also expected it.

"...I agree, Arjuni. All of us think you should take the Agni Pariksha to prove your pious nature." Agreed Gangaputra Bhishma. Everyone agreed. Even the Raaj Maata, the mother of the Pandavas, Kunti, added her own two cents. "I too, in my opinion, see this as a better option. Because I can't seem to have an impure daughter." Some gasped, yet agreed. Shakuni and the Kauravas smirked and gave manic grins.

Krishna and Draupadi tried to argue but were stopped by their wife. Arjuni, who was looking down, looked up directly in the eyes of everyone present, her own silver-blue eyes being indifferent. "If this is what everyone wants, then i shall agree to this. If i am impious indeed, then i will pass on and attain freedom. And then no one would have to have an impious woman as their family member."

Draupadi tried to retaliate again and Krishna squeezed his Parthavi's shoulder, in response of which Arjuni just smiled slightly and nodded at them. "If you wish to Maharaj, then we can do this today." Her voice monotone.

"Arjuni!—"

"Arju di ple!—"

"Jyeshtaa!—"

"Behena no!—"

"It is quite alright, Jyesht, Bhrata Bheem, Nakul and Sahadev." She gave the slightest smile as she ruffled Nakul and Sahadev's hair. Nakul hugged his elder sister.

"You have already suffered so much for us Di! You don't have to!—"

"Nakul, even mother thinks so." Phalgun broke the hug and carressed her younger brother's cheek. "It is alright my dear. Don't you worry about me." Nakul nodded tearfully, like how he used to when he was a kid and his elder sister used to tell him not to worry when something went wrong.

-------

Arjuni sighed as she stood in between the half-built pyre. She joined her palms in a pranam as she prayed for Agnidev to bless her with his presence on the pyre around her, and prayed for thunder to fall on her.

Not even a minute passed when a large cascade of lightning fell on Gudhakeshaa, Agnidev made his presence known as well by making the pyre burst into flames. And the Rajkumari was soon erupted into flames, her body completey engulfed into fire.

Draupadi stood anxiously, Krishna was frazzled, the Pandavas tensed. Kunti looked like she didn't care. Bhishma tried to mask his worried face. Duryodhan and the older Kauravas were waiting impatiently. Shakuni was scoffing disapprovingly. Dronacharya was also trying to mask his emotions, while Karna and Ashwatthama thought that this was wrong, finally getting some sense into their empty brains.

Suddenly the flames shot up high in the sky, lighting up the area around them and the night sky, while the lightning still cascaded around with the sky being lighted up by their strikes.

And out walked someone gently. No wait...not someone...it was Arjuni...but...

But her form had changed. Her cerulean-silver eyes becoming more beautiful and more like a mixture of a swan's and a hawk's eyes, as well as her eye lashes larger. Her already beautiful form had became more bewitching, more sharp, more mesmerizing to the eyes. Her previously gorgeous ivory-blue saree had turned into a red and white saree, the colours mixed and faded into each other and the hem of her saree being extremely extensive. Her hair, which was previously in a braid, had now opened and had got longer and silkier, the ends of her hair still gently curved like before, and it flowed, spread along a large area, in the wind. And her face...it had turned more beautiful, if it was even possible, that is. She still had her chudamani on her hair and the hair accessory gifted to her by Draupadi to always keep a part of herself with her wife.

As she walked down from the stairs, everyone looked shocked at her. Krishna, though shocked himself, was flustered profusely.

Shockingly enough, Indradev himself appeared after Arjuni got down completely from the set of stairs.

"What is all this that i had to witness from the heavens, Maharaj Dhritarashtra? Kunti, do not even think that I do not have the knowledge of what you have put my divine daughter through!" Kunti shrunk under Shakra's words. "What is all this!? How do you even dare to question my beloved, angelic daughter about her dignity and virtue!?" Indra exclaimed, angrily.

Arjuni didn't want to interrupt her father as the God of Thunder glanced at his daughter and back at the Kurus, who cowered under his gaze. "Do you have any idea about her divinity? She is the incarnation of the Tridevi ! The incarnate of Lord Vishnu and Devi Lakshmi's ansh, Naari! And you all still dare to question her pious nature!?"

Kunti, Bhishma, Vidur and Dronacharya looked shocked to the core, while the blind fool of a King and Gandhari were stammering with their movements, horrified at what their children had put their niece through. The older Kauravas looked horrified, and Shakhni as well. The Pandavas looked surprised, and yet looked like they were blessed to have her being even close with them.

"How do you even dare to even think of such explicit things, you mere mortals!?" Devaraj yelled. "I have taken the decision of taking away my child away from such a family as my heavenly child does not deserve such a preposterous family!" He looks at his daughter but he hears the requests, pleas, and begs of the Kuru family.

Keshav and Agnisutaa rushed forwards, faster than anyone and beged Mahendra to not take their wife away.

"Please, i beg you Devendra! Do not take my Parthavi away from me!" Krishna begged.

"Please have mercy on her husband and wife, Indradev! Do not take her away, please!" She requested.

This was the first time the world had seen the reincarnation of Vishnu, the Lord of the Universe, Dwarakapati, beg someone. But Muralimanohar ignored all the stares.

"Pitashree..." came the soothing voice of the Tridevi incarnate as she touched her father's feet. "Please forgive them. I was the one who agreed to their order. They were only doubtful. It is not quite a problem for me. Please do give me your blessings." Arjuni looked up when she felt her father carressing her head. "Ayushman Bhava, Putri." He blessed his daughter.

Indra finally calmed down. "If anyone else questions my Parthavi's virtue, then they would face the end of my Sudarshan Chakra." Finalised Krishna, scaring the living soul out of everyone's bodies.

"I warn all of you, if you even think of questioning my child or even hurting a hair on her head, you would face the wrath of my Vajra. If one drop of tear even escapes from her tranquil eyes and then this would result the bloodshed of the Kuruvansh and a lifetime of thunderstorms above your ridiculous heads!" And then, after nodding smilingly at his daughter, he dissappeared from there.

From then on, no even tried to question anything irrelevant or try to plan something on Savyasachi, because they are scared of her husband's wrath, her father's rage and herself.

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thatchaoticdesigirl · 1 year ago

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It's that time of the year again...

The city has been cleansed with the after showers of monsoon. Blue sky peeking through fluffy clouds resembling the cotton candy carried by the street vendors. The smell of durga puja coming in through the open windows. Standing outside Kumortuli is a small smiling face in shabby clothes and dirty hair. The departure of idols might be significant for the whole city, but not for the little boy whose father will be coming home after months of crafting the inanimate joy that would fill the city for the next 10 days.

The single mother spent her bonus on the little piece of jwellery she had seen her daughter longingly looking at in Gariahat. The transferred father took a few extra days off. A son remembered his father on the banks of the Ganges, while the recently widowed woman longingly glanced at the idol's red saree. They felt what the poets may describe as peace and happiness but for them it was just plain old durga puja.

She arrived with her children, shaking the whole city from its slumber, a ray of hope within the gloomy times. Every year she arrives with the same smiling face and listens to all our problems. To the lost boy trying to find his place in society, to the queer person trying to figure out why they were wrong, to the girl who never saw her father after that day in court, to the lady who never knew what happened to her daughter the night she went out with her friends. Lives filled with tragedy after tragedy lie at Maa's feet asking for a way ahead. Maa listens. She gives them hope and sometimes tragedies do go away. The boy lands a job while the queer person is invited back to their family. The girl recieves a gift from her father while the lady cries at the station,report in hand. Maybe not happy endings, but closure. That's what Maa gives. Hope is just the surface of the abyss of our mind which actually seeks closure.

The bright lights and bamboos wrapped in colourful clothes stand as a symbol of the hardwork of all those people who worked relentlessly to make this festival a pathway to overcome tragedy. The people live another day to fight, blessed by Maa.

At the break of dawn on Mahalaya, someone replaces the oxygen with adrenaline, and for 10 days, the city does not sleep.

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shadowqueenjude · 7 months ago

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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.

#lady of autumn #fanfic #beron vanserra #autumn court

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apinchofm · 1 year ago

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Requested by @angel-starbeam - Edwina and Friedrich meet in India before she leaves for England and exchange letters.

Edwina knew balls would be much different in England. She would not get to wear her saris anymore, having to wear English clothes instead. She would have to drink English tea and soften her Indian ways. She was to be an Englishman's wife.

She took a deep breath, as her mind races with all the changes. Especially standing in the ballroom of the Sivaganga Palace. It was her last ball here before she and her family set sail for England.

Kate, in her beautiful teal sari was standing with their mother, assured it would be well. Edwina was an extremely proficient young lady and excelled in all the skills she put her mind too. Mary was anxious about returning to England. All Edwina knew is that she left after marrying her Appa, given he and Kate were traveling with the Maharaja when they met in London. She hoped there would be a few good memories at the very least, for her mother.

She strolled outside into the water gardens, smiling at the other attendees and taking it all in. She had run around in these gardens as a child. In between lessons and naps in her father's office. Lanterns, covered in different colours illuminated the garden as water lilies floated around in the various pools.

Oh, she would miss home.

Edwina looked up at the sky as she leaned against the pillar. She remembers her Appa telling her the stars were the same all over the world, so they were all looking at the same stars when he went away. It was a comfort. She would see these same stars in London and think of her father. She was determined to make him - and her mother and sister - proud. She would do it. She hummed to herself.

Prince Friedrich had thought himself alone, looked around hearing someone humming. It was a beautiful sound.

"Hello?" He called out. He had seen her. She was much like a startled fawn, trying to hide behind a column. A girl in a pretty pink floral saree, lined with gold. Her deep brown eyes widened.

Edwina looked at him, nervously fiddling with the material draped over her shoulder. She was in so much trouble!

"I-I did not mean to interrupt you, sir!" She protested, seeing his uniform. He was white, tall, with broad shoulders which told her he could be a soldier. But his uniform was different from the British or Indian guards. A deep blue that brought out the blue in his brown-blue eyes.

"No, not at all." He assured her with a kind smile.

"You are German?" She asked, hearing his accent.

"From Prussia, yes."

"Oh, my deepest apologies!" Edwina quickly said, afraid of offending him.

He chuckled at her cautious approach, "Not at all. My mother is from a German principality, so I suppose I am. But do not tell any Prussian purist. A crown prince should not admit being from another country!" He winked and watched as her face fell, this opposite effect he was hoping to have.

She curtsied immediately, "Your Highness."

"I am Friedrich."

Edwina fixed her saree, unsure of what to say. She should know what to say!

"That is a beautiful dress." Friedrich said with a smile, “Who might you be? One of the Maharani’s lovely daughters? Sisters?”

Edwina giggled and blushed, shaking her head, “No, no. I am just Edwina. Miss Edwina Sharma, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Edwina Sharma.” Friedrich replied. He leaned on the opposite pillar from her, “What are you doing so far from the gathering?”

“Oh, I needed some air. This shall be my last ball here and I found myself overcome with emotion.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes, to England in a few weeks.” .

"England? Why leave such a beautiful country for country in which in rains all the time?” Friedrich wondered.

Edwina's face fell, "Well, my appa died. We have managed this far, as the Maharaja has been most generous. They were close. But to ensure long-term stability for my family, we must go to England so that my sister and I will make good matches." She explained. She did not know why she was telling him this but he was listening intently.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your father. But why England?”

“Well, my mother is English. My parents met at a ball.” Edwina gushed, her eyes alight as she recounted the story she had adored hearing as a girl. "Amma always says how she fell in love with him and his soul. How he would always find her eyes in any room. Appa said that it was love at first sight."

"Do you wish for a love like that?" Friedrich asked softly. She looked like someone who deserved a love like that. A beautiful young lady, intriguing too.

Edwina thought hard. She did. She wanted to feel the love and joy her mama had for appa. But she remembers how devest

"I do. But I suppose…” Edwina sighed, “It does matter.”

“I believe it does.”

“I do not think so.”

“Are you sure?”

Edwina giggled, “Such impertinence from a gentleman!"

“I am a Prince. We are impertinent men.” Friedrich replied, then smiled taking a step towards her, "I hope you shall enjoy England. Perhaps we may see one another there. You are most lovely."

Edwina felt her face warm, "You are kind, my lord."

"I am honest. You are beautiful."

She shook her head, “I should go, I do not wish to disrupt you further."

Friedrich stood, wanting to reassure her, "You are not disrupting me. Did the Prince revelation scare you? I do not hope it did?” He asked.

"I think so." Edwina admits, fiddling with one of the gold bangles sliding up and down her arms, "Surely, you have far more interesting people to speak with?"

"I am a soldier. I can only have so many conversations on trade." He pretended to close his eyes and snore, making her laugh again.

She looked back, “I should go. I do not wish for my sister or mother to worry for me.”

"Good evening, Miss Edwina Sharma." Friedrich said in farewell.

"Your Highness." She smiled bashfully, looking back as she walked away. He was still smiling at her and she felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #edwina sharma #prince friedrich of prussia #canon divergent au #first meeting #one shot #but part of a longer thingy that im working on #plot bunnies coming for me again #edwina x friedrich #prince friedrich x edwina #fredwina #fluff

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