#this may or may not have been an excuse to draw a sari

[miss-rum-hee]

I saw your MH G3 rant and wanted to point out some other things you should add:

1 . Only the villains and sidekicks have accents. All the "pure good" ones are American. Not counting characters who never had accents in the first place.

2. People are slavophobic and make excuses to give the lack of accents a pass. The people calling drac and Abbey's accents stereotypical or racist or exaggerated aren't slavs. They're non slavs.

3 . They insist drac is still romanian. That is the case in the movie but not the cartoon. Somehow they can't get that even though it's clear when her dad has no accent, when romania isn't mentioned or even plans to be mentioned in the future. Compare to Clawdeen. She is afro latina but they don't exclude the afro part, and they actually show it in the MV. Drac is just a vague "half Taiwanese...oooh exotic".

4. Abbey is indeed Russian in g1. South Asians and non slavs don't want to believe it, but there's always been blatant slavic influence on herm her family have names like blitnichik and frostovitch, many slavs have mentioned her features and personality being quite similar to them, the one time she speaks her language she says preluvnyachaychnachtovich , and her supposedly Himalayan idol is literally named Anton Yaklovitch. Her family was also mentioned in her diary so before she even had a voice.

4. She's not specifically from Nepal actually. They never clarified where she was from. Those mountains go through multiple countries and g3 has chosen India. Not only are both her movie and cartoon actresses indian but her mom wears a sari.

5. On reddit, I found from Dutch user NotherSiteNotherName, who is also indonesian, that Russian abbey isn't as weird as it may seem. Nepal and India have Russian diaspora. Tibet had a Russian monk, all of these are from Wikipedia, and even Tibet's actual government website. Even if it wasn't true why do people draw the line at mixed Abbey but are fine with anyone else being mixed?

5. List of every character that retains their original nationality

Cleo is still Egyptian

Frankie is still German

Deuce is still Greek

Spectra is still German-American

Skelita is still Mexican (she's returning)

Characters with revealed nationalities:

Finnegan is Greek

Heath is Greek

Ghoulia is Canadian

Now the big question is that if Rochelle comes back, will she be French or will they make her American? She better be French. Same for any other accented character. I want Irish Scarah. British Robecca. Chinese Jinafire.

You have some pretty good points there, Anon :) Hate how mfs were so quick to praise G3 like it’s the fucking holy grail while ignoring the genuine issues present in it.

Through, on a side note: I found out pretty recently that G3 Cleo’s design is actually pretty orientalist? Through, take it with a grain of salt since this is mostly coming from one source. 

So like, that’s one more reason to dislike G3 Cleo’s design i guess. It’s been 12 years Mattel, you couldn’t have done at least a little more research & put more effort into her design? Her design barely screams “Ancient Egyptian mummy” anymore, it’s some cheap Spirit Halloween shit & a hodgepodge of stuff an out of touch corporate executive thought was “Egyptian”. Yet somehow, mfs were so quick to praise G3 for its rep & diversity when there are this many issues with it. 

By the way, do you have a Twitter account by any chance? I could’ve sworn I saw there was somebody else who was pretty fixated on G3′s slavphobia regarding Draculaura & Abbey.

[teal-bandit]

I thought maybe @thecorteztwins might appreciate a little Haven. As a treat.

[writeyouin]

Tfa request #1: what is the thoughts of bumblebee/jet twins/ blurr/ sari ( when she’s a teen! ) who has a crush on a dorky yet kind hearted person and what is thier reaction of when they kiss s/o, she fainted or got a nosebleed...( this happened to me but I fainted =u=|| )

TFA X Reader Inserts – Blowing a Gasket

A/N – Hey anon, hope you had a good birthday. Here is a gift for you.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Bumblebee

“YEAH,” Bumblebee cheered, punching the air victoriously. He was the only one who had opted out of the nature walk that Prowl had planned, and without Sari who was with her father for the day, he was left alone with the video game console.

You had dropped by only a little earlier to see everyone and had opted to read your book until they all came back. Normally, you would have played something with Bumblebee, but he seemed to be enjoying the single player game so you had left him to it.

“Nice job,” You said, looking up at the screen and seeing that he had finally gotten the golden relic he was after.

“Nice job?” Bumblebee repeated cockily. “I think you mean that I’m the king of ALL videogames.”

You snickered, “That is so precious. You want to talk to me about being the best player, then come back when you’ve got a platinum relic.”

Bumblebee tutted, “Those are impossible. Nobody can win one.”

“Move over amateur,” You said, taking the controller from Bumblebee and moving the small bandicoot on screen onto a level you knew well.

Starting the time trial, you caused the character to jump, spin, crush boxes, and generally beat the score Bumblebee had set. By the end of the level, you were the proud owner of a platinum relic.

“NO WAY!” Bumblebee goggled at the screen. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

You stretched victoriously, “Years of practice. You know, if you play the second game and jump on the head of the polar bear in warp room two ten times-”

Bumblebee tried to look as if he was hanging onto your every word while internally, he was freaking out. How had he never noticed how cute you were before? It was so obvious. Maybe you had a crush on him too? Wait- A CRUSH! Colour rose to Bumblebee’s face plates.

‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. What if (s)he doesn’t feel the same? I need to know, right now. Why is (s)he still talking about the game? Can’t (s)he see what’s going on here?’

Unable to be patient and wait for an opportune moment wherein Bumblebee might learn if you had feelings for him, he dove at you, pressing his lips against yours, making you let out a muffled yelp.

Pulling away, Bumblebee stared at you, waiting for you to say something. Blood rushed to your face, turning it beet-red. You squeaked as blood started trickling from your nose.

“Primus!” Bumblebee screeched, jumping back.

“It’s okay,” You tried to explain, cupping your nose to catch the blood.

“HOW IS THIS OKAY? YOU’VE BLOWN A GASKET!”

Bumblebee practically drove off to get Ratchet, forgetting his comm-link in his panic. You meanwhile, were left to mop up your bloody nose and search for an explanation by the time Bumblebee came back; all in all, it wasn’t the smoothest first kiss.

The Jet Twins

Jetfire and Jetstorm were listening intently as you talked about the movies you were going to show them back at the base. You had a feeling they would like your old favourites as much as you did. The twins both loved that you took the time to teach them about Earth media and its origins. You were like a walking dictionary of what was cool and what wasn’t, yet if they liked a character or plot that you didn’t, you welcomed the new opinion.

The three of you came to a busy crossing where you had to wait for the traffic lights to change. As you chattered away, the twins gave a small nod to each other, indicating that it was time for something they had been planning since Megatron’s defeat.

Bending down to your height, they simultaneously kissed your cheeks. Afterwards, your head swivelled from Jetfire to Jetstorm, who were both grinning triumphantly.

“I- I- Uh-” You opened your mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. Instead, in a rush of nerves, you crumpled to the floor in a faint.

Jetstorm picked you up, watching you curiously, “Brother, I think she may have-”

“-overheated, yes it seems to being that way,” Jetfire finished his brother’s statement.

“Do you think her cooling fans are to be working?”

“I am thinking that human fans may be slower than ours, brother.”

“Let us be carrying her home then.

“Yes, lets.”

With that, the twins took turns to carry you home, each eager to hear what you thought of their kiss once your heating systems returned to optimal condition.

Blurr zipped back and forth in front of your house, waiting for you to come home. He had repeatedly run this one stretch of path for four hours; he’d been at it so long that the path was a mess of tire marks and scraped concrete. Far too anxious to stop for even one second, Blurr remained a prisoner of his thoughts, running to keep a hold of his sanity.

During the war, Blurr was only consumed with thoughts about the Decepticons. Now that those dark times were behind him, Blurr had time to think about other things… mainly you. He’d always known that he had liked you as a friend. You were one of the few people that could keep up with his fast mind and faster mouth after all. However, he had only realised that very day that he liked you.

Blurr hated the anxiety of wondering what you would think of him romantically. It made him erratic, like there was a swarm of scraplets living in his brain, threatening to tear him open from the inside out. There was really only one solution and that was to tell you how he felt; whether you accepted or rejected his affections, Blurr would at least have an answer and that would be enough.

Finally, Blurr saw you coming around the corner of your street. He rushed forward to you and started jabbering.

“(Y/N),IhaveromanticfeelingsforyouandIthinkyoumayreturnthemifyoujustgivemeachance.Itdoesn’tmatterthatwe’refromtwodifferentspeciesifwedon’tletitmatter,therehavebeenweirdercouplesinthepast.Whati’mtryingtosayiswillyougooutwithme?”

You stared blankly at Blurr. Usually, you were able to keep pace with his fast talking but there was no way to understand the fast-paced speech he had just given you.

“Excuse me, what?” You asked, dumbfounded.

Panicked by the prospect of repeating himself over such a delicate manner, Blurr pressed his lips quickly against yours, pulling away just as fast to stare at you.

Only a few seconds later, blood started dripping down your nose. Blurr was sure he had hurt you, and cursed himself for his behaviour, starting a rant about human fragility, though you only caught snippets.

“BLURR!” You shouted exasperatedly, surprised that the usually confident bot was so nervous now. “I’m fine, it’s just a little nosebleed. I- I like you too.”

Blurr, somewhat exhausted from the override of emotions flopped onto the floor. After cleaning your nose up, you laid down next to him and the two of you relished a few minutes of calm, each momentarily lost for words.

Sari

You and Sari walked through the park on the way to meet the Autobots for a game of improvised baseball. As you talked, you noticed how subdued Sari was. She hadn’t been herself all day; clearly something was on her mind.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You asked, drawing her attention back to you.

Sari sighed, then forced a smile, “It’s nothing (Y/N), don’t worry about it. I guess I’m just distracted.”

“C’mon Sari, something’s bugging you. You may as well talk about it. I won’t judge, whatever it is.”

“I know you won’t. It’s just… I was thinking about by dad.” That first sentence seemed to unlock a flood-gate as Sari began spilling her guts, “I just worry that one day Megatron might want him back. What if he decides to take him again? My dad is totally defenceless, and he could end up building something way worse than a space-bridge. I get that it’s not likely, but I still worry, y’know?”

“Hey,” You said, grabbing Sari’s hand reassuringly. “It’s all gonna be okay. No more bad stuff is gonna happen to you, but if it did, then you’ll have the Autobots to help out, and me as well, even if I can’t punch Megadork through a wall.”

Sari giggled, and smiled at you. You always knew what to say. She only wished she had a way to show you how much you meant to her. Blushing at the idea that just crossed her mind, Sari kissed you before she could lose her nerve.

As soon as her lips left yours, you let out a nervous croak, fainting soon after. Sari stood over you for a minute.

“Hmm.” She prodded you a few times in a small attempt at waking you up. “That didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

She called the Autobots to let them know that she would be late to the baseball game due to an ‘unexpected delay,’ and then she laid down on the grass next to you, awaiting the moment you would regain consciousness.

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[petitelepus]

May I request some fluffy fluff cuddle time lazy day fluff with Transformers Animated Bumblebee and a cybertronian self insert? The bot may be a young mischievous little shit starter, but even he has a soft cuddly side that deserves you seen! Plus I want to see your writing for fluff?? Does that make sense??? I look forward to seeing what you come up with!!! :D I love your writing, and I look forward to seeing what you do with this request!

It’s the coldest season on Earth and you have no idea what you’re about to part-take in. Sari says it’s the most magical night of the year when people give gifts to each other. You fail to see the point of giving gifts but certain members of team Prime appear to be taken over by the festive tradition. Primarily Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

You stand there in guard like Sentinel had ordered you to. Something about not letting Optimus’ team do anything that could lead Sentinel into a bad light. Lousy jerk. You watched how Sari and everyone, save for the Optimus and Ratchet are putting on festive decorations.

“Hey!”

You looked down and saw Sari eyeing you up. You blink your optics and smile a little awkwardly at her. “Hello?”

Sari smiles and points at the box in the corner of the factory. “There are some ornaments there. Would you like to help us put them on?”

That sounded like fun. It was exactly what Sentinel ordered you not to do. You frowned and shook your helm. “I’m sorry but I have my orders and--!”

“Forget about them! I won’t tell your boss if you don’t!” Sari cheered and you smiled. That made more sense. You nodded and Sari took a lead start to the ornament box. You dug around it and saw long lines of lights. They were a mess, tangling and hanging everywhere. You started to untangle them when you heard a yell.

“Helms up!”

You looked up and saw huge spruce brought in by Bulkhead. You eyed the plant and Bumblebee jumped out from behind it. “Isn’t this cool? We can relax all we want, exchange gifts and play games!” 

“Bumblebee, that’s not ALL that Christmas is about!” Sari said and pointed a crude drawing in her hand about her, her father and Autobots. “It’s about love and family and sharing things with your loved ones!”

“And gifts!”

“If this Christmas is so great, why do you have it only once a year? And on the coldest time of the year?” You asked. Sari was about to reply, but then she decided otherwise, tried again and failed. “Ugh, it just is how it is! And if we would celebrate it all the time then it would lose its meaning!”

“Oooh..!” You awed. “Okay, but where do the gifts come from?”

“A fat man brings them!” Bumblebee cheered and Sari rolled her eyes. “If you’re good then Santa Claus will put presents under the Christmas tree. But if you’re naughty, you get coal. But enough of that, let’s decorate the tree!”

You set to work on it together. Though you were struggling a little so Bumblebee took over the decorative side. You focused on getting some tinsel decorations all over the walls. In your duty, you didn’t pay attention to where you were going and pumped into Bumblebee.

“Oh, I’m sorry Bumblebee.” You said and the yellow minibot scoffed. “Pfft, you’re okay. I barely felt you!”

“Hold on! Nobody moves!” Sari screamed suddenly and you all turned to look at her. She has a huge smile on her face as she pointed at you and Bumblebee. “You two are standing under the mistletoe!”

You both looked up and certainly, there was some kind of a plant hanging there. “So?” Bumblebee asked and Sari scoffed. “So, you need to kiss! It’s a Christmas order!”

“What!?” Bumblebee’s optics almost bulged out from his sockets and you blushed and averted your gaze. Bumblebee looked at you like you had grown two helms more and then at Sari. “I can’t kiss them!”

“Why not?” Sari asked. “Don’t you guys kiss back in Cybertron?”

“We do, we just, ugh, I don’t know!” Bumblebee was getting tangled with his words. You rolled your optics and leaned down to peck him on the cheek. Suddenly everything stopped. Bee was quiet and Sari was grinning from ear to ear. You wonder if you crossed a line.

“Well, excuse me then, but I think I need some fresh air.” You said and excused yourself when suddenly someone grabbed your arm.

You turned to look as saw Bumblebee glaring straight at you, but it wasn’t a hateful glare but flustered. Even his face was shades of darker. “Bumblebee?”

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. He let go of your arm and shook his helm. “Yeah, no, it’s nothing.” You were uncertain, but you nodded and took off to the city.

There was pretty much to see during this white season. There were old men dressed in red and ringing bells, streets were covered in snow and there were pretty lights hanging everywhere. You get caught in red lights and you look around if you spot anything special. That’s when your eyesight catches something special.

“Oh, he is going to love that.”

You return to the base hour later and everyone is in a festive mood. You smile and take the present you bought and wrapped under the tree with the rest of the presents. Just in time as the whole team emerges from deeper parts of the factory.

“Well well.” Sari shakes her head. “Look who came back.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask in confusion. “Was I uninvited?”

“No!” Bumblebee snapped quickly and blushed when everyone turned to look at him. He coughed and rubbed the back of his helm. “I mean... There are these stone-hard Christmas traditions that we can’t break or Santa won’t bring us any gifts!"

“Yeah, sure.” Sari rolled her eyes and looked at you. “Would you like some oil?” She offered kindly, but you had to refuse. “I’m sorry, but I’m full. I’ll just actually go to my room.” You said and walked past everyone to go and relax in your smaller room.

You take a comfortable position over your metal bed and sigh. It was tiresome to be on Earth because Sentinel didn’t want to have anything to do with the planet, but there are lines. 

There is a knock and you look up to see Bumblebee standing there while looking sheepish. “Hey, uh, you were gone for a while?”

You nodded. “Yes. The city looks beautiful in white. Probably prettier at night.”

Bumblebee nods furiously and laughs awkwardly. You’re starting to wonder if there was anything hiding behind his actions. “Is everything alright Bumblebee? You look like your cooling fans aren’t working properly.”

“Yes, no, I don’t know!” He shouts and holds his helm like he can’t decide what to do with his hands at the same time while having processor pains. Finally, he points at you and he looks pissed. “You kissed me!”

“Hardy, it was a peck on its best.”

“Yeah, but, ugh, I want more...!”

You raised your optical ridge at that. Bumblebee was blushing from horns to pede and you smiled lightly. He looked so frustrated that you couldn’t bring yourself to tease him.

Instead, you scooped to one side of your bed and patted the empty spot next to you. “There is room if you want to snuggle and talk about it.” You offered jokingly, but to your shock, he actually took the offer and settled down next to you.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been kissing guys after boot camp and it felt nice and you’re nice to me and don't underestimate me and it feels good when you look at me and no one else.” Bumblebee explained and you awwed and the dots connected in your helm.

“Could it be that you... Like me?” You asked and Bumblebee blushed so hard you thought his yellow paint would turn red. “I don’t know..! I haven’t liked anyone like this in millions of years and suddenly you come by and win me over! It’s not fair, I’m not strong or big so what could you see in me?“

“Hey Bee.” You caught his attention. “You’re one of the kindest bots I know and not to mention funniest. You know how to cheer me up and you and Sari have taught me a lot from Earth.”

“Yeah...” Bee mumbled until he suddenly snorted and looked like he remembered the best thing ever. “You thought that rain was acid..!”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, I heard Sari tell me that you thought so also!”

“Yeah, but by now it’s old information now! Everyone knows it!” He laughed and you pouted. “For that, I might take away your gift.”

This caught his attention. Bumblebee pushed himself on sitting position and you followed his example. His blue optics were bright like Christmas star you saw on spruce’s top and the smile on his face was so excited.

“You got me a gift?”¨

“Yes?”

“What did you get me?”

“That is classified information.”

“I’ll kiss you if you tell.”

Now is your time to look at Bee like he had grown two helms. Bumblebee smiled and all of a sudden he bolted forward you but before he could headbutt you he slowed down and kissed you on the lips instead. 

Your optics widened in shock and you froze, but Bumblebee kept kissing you despite your lack of returning the kiss. Finally, something seemed to connect in your helm and you kissed him back. The kiss was sweet and innocent, nothing naughty about it.

When two of you pulled back you were all smiles and glitter in optics. “Truck Massacre 3.” You blurted out. Bee looked baffled. “What?”

“Your Christmas present. It’s a video game. I thought you might like it.” You admitted and as happy as Bumblebee looked he didn’t make a move to rush into another room where the gifts were.

Instead, he smiled bashfully like a young bot he was. “I think for once I prefer this over a video game.”

Now it was your turn to flush red. Bumblebee was acting so mature you, you had never seen him being so smooth.

“So kisses?” He asked like a hopeful puppy and who were you to deny mech his present?

[the-firetouched]

About a Muse

REPOST DO NOT REBLOG

NAME OF YOUR MUSE: Vivisha Visha

ONE PICTURE YOU LIKE BEST OF YOUR MUSE:

(Her profile picture! Not a lot of pics of this bean just yet but I like this one a lot!)

TWO HEADCANONS YOU HAVE FOR YOUR MUSE:

She has a deep, passionate love for pastel cakes and fashion, but in her mission to be taken seriously as a member of the House of the Desert Iris, has tried to ignore her dreamier impulses. To varying degrees of success.

She studied arcanima at the College in Limsa Lominsa, but her brain doesn’t function well with focused formulae. She is much more of a ‘figure it out on the fly’ type of girl (hence her dangerous affinity for fire and ice magic!). Also, she gets frustrated easily.

THREE THINGS THAT YOUR MUSE LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:

Sewing. Mostly for decoration, and not so much for actual use (servants are for that!), such as cross-stitch patterns and embroidery.

Gardening. She can at least hide this as something useful for her House, as flower reading/flower messaging is one of their known specialties. She loves brightly colored (and usually climate inappropriate/greenhouse dependent) flowers most of all.

Drawing or painting. Sketching is one of the base art forms taught the upper classes. But she likes to imagine new things to draw. The only thing she really liked from arcanima was the drawing of the aetheric circles.

TWO THINGS YOUR MUSE REGRETS:

Giving up on the College. Despite the fact that she may never be a skilled arcanist, she regrets proving her family’s worst assumptions about her right in that she couldn’t stick with something to its end. It incenses and mortifies her to remember it. She could go back. But it wouldn’t be the same.

Leaving her younger sister during her most formative time. For said experience with the College. Even today she uses it as an excuse in polite company for why she left (based in truth, but still). Yayasha is a softer soul on the inside like Vivisha, but was able to find success with the family business in ways Vivisha has not. Even so, when Vivisha returned, Yayasha was just a touch more closed off than she had ever been in the past -- and she won’t tell Vivisha why.

SEVEN PEOPLE THAT YOUR MUSE LOVES/LIKES:

She doesn’t know many people yet outside her family :(

But one...

Her younger sister, Yayasha. Vivisha is the fourth daughter of five, so she holds a special place in her heart for the sibling closest to her in age. Her younger sister is much more skilled at diplomacy, but she’s the only one of her sisters that doesn’t hold that over Vivisha’s head. She instead encourages Vivisha to follow her heart, even when that gets her into trouble.

A PHOBIA YOUR MUSE HAS:

Losing control. Much of her outward anger (her ‘tsundere-ness’, if you will) stems from a fear that if she doesn’t maintain control of a situation -- be it how she is seen or how she acts -- something terrible will befall her (her sister closing off because Vivisha wasn’t there to help manage it, for example). It’s an instinct she has had most of her life. 

While no major event has instilled this phobia in her, one could surmise it’s partly due to the fact that while she grew up in great privilege, she never had a sense that her life was her own -- or that anyone wanted to give her room to be the person she wanted to be.

Too many people have shouted down her ‘true self’ impulses, to the point where she has sculpted an identity to be used on the job that is completely under her control/whim. Pretending she is playacting the part of a diplomat (while actually doing it) has helped her survive her worst moments.

Could it also be related to her magical heritage...? ;)

TAGGED BY: @sari-hoots , thank you! This was fun!

TAGGING: @nhagoatreecatte and anyone who wants to do it :O

[moonlit-nightingale]

Attachment Test: On Edge-Engaging (Ambivalent)

On Edge-Engaging (Ambivalent): 

On Edge-Engaging individuals tend to be very good at attracting the attention and admiration of others around them. Generally, they employ one of two strategies to do so:

The Helpmate: Either these people become very hardworking and effective with regards to their real-life dealings and practical matters, so that they will naturally draw the attention and esteem of others who could use their help.

The Playmate: Or - more frequently - these individuals attract the attention of others by being extremely charming, colorful, or entertaining. Many have also developed considerable psychological facility for getting under the skin of others.

In both cases, On Edge-Engaging individuals adopt these strategies because they have a root feeling of ambivalence about others: They feel that others wouldn't notice them and give them their fair due without them being a good Helpmate or Playmate. But at the same time, they also detest others for making them put on this act just to get basic love and validation. In other words, Ambivalent personalities tend to alternate between being sensitive to others and neglecting them; between seeking intense intimacy and driving artificial barriers to closeness in between themselves and others. Some individuals of this type feel a deep-seated sense of injustice towards others for having been made to develop their Helpmate/Playmate persona, instead of just being loved as they are. Because they carry with them this representation of others as being unfair, some On Edge-Engaging individuals may find it easy to excuse themselves from their obligations, or for cheating and/or fudging the truth. In general, Ambivalent individuals tend to be quite good at psychological manipulation and getting others to do what they want, and they often have a high degree of sensitivity and accuracy to other people's emotional states. When in their good graces, being close to an Ambivalent personality may feel like heaven, but once they have decided that you are treating them unfairly, being close to them may easily feel like hell.

---

(Um....ok? Sari is about the last person to play emotional manipulation on /anyone./ I think this is a bit skewed due to all the ‘partner’ questions.)

Tagged by: @ofpetalsanddarkness

{Test here for anyone that wants to give it a whirl!}

[littlebrother-mowgli-blog]

Mowgli Makes A Home || One-Shot

now that you got these terribly made visuals out of the way-- the story. excuse typos kthanx

---

Mowgli used to know where his home was.

He had many homes, many bedrooms, in many different houses and in many different villages that dotted the mountains and forests of Bharat. For years, he shared a bedroom with his Ami and for him, home had often meant the weight of her body beside him, the shape of her body curved under the covers, and her lips tickling his cheek as she kissed him awake when the sun came up. When he grew too old and long-legged for this to be appropriate any longer, his bed became a cot at the end of her bed and his home became Ami’s soft breaths and her good-night to him: Shubh Raatri, my little frog.

And on the nights when the pack went to hunt and left him all alone, this home  became empty and foreign and no home at all. Instead, his home was outside—in the long, beautiful howl of Ami, singing her lullaby to him.

On the day he came to Swynlake and entered the apartment, Mowgli did not know where his home would be.

It’s old. It smells like smoke. The walls are empty, the kitchen is just big enough for one person to be at the counter, slicing vegetables. Mowgli is all limbs, his elbows would smash into Akela’s if they were both in there at once. The living room is bare and how big? 933 square feet read the floor plan for the entire place, so it cannot be bigger than 300 or something. There are two other rooms, the master and the smaller one. One bathroom, and one bathroom-with-a-bath. A tiny balcony that can only really fit one. What is the point of it, Mowgli will think.

This place stinks, he wanted to bite right away. They’d arrived late at night, Mowgli tired, hungry, and grumpy. He could not muster his usual play-smile. He wanted to turn to Akela and bark at him.

And as though Akela could sense this, he spoke quite softly. “We will get used to it,” he said. “Once we move in. It will feel like ours.”

It will never be ours, Mowgli thought. He stared at the egg-white walls. It will never be mine.

DAY ONE:

On the first day, their furniture arrives in a noisy truck that spits fuel and makes the air taste foul. Mowgli glares at it as the men push open the back and dump their things.

“Come, Mowgli,” instructs Akela. “It will go twice as fast if we work together.

They hoist the first mattress, called “twin-sized” though this Mowgli does not understand (because where is its twin?) They carry it up into the smaller of the two rooms and push it into the corner. Then clunk, clunk, clunk, back down the stairs to get the second mattress—called queen (but what is it the queen of?) They push it upstairs, grunting and puffing as they go.

“This—” Mowgli grits the word through his teeth “—is terrible!”

“Stop complaining,” hisses Akela.

Mowgli lays down on the grass in front of the complex as he waits for Akela to come back down for a third load. When he hears Akela’s footsteps approach, he groans.

“What are you doing?”

“Dying,” moans Mowgli.

“Get up.”

“Akela, I’m dying.”

“Get up, pup. Now.”

“Akela.”

He gets up.

Next they drag up a table. It’s small, stubby legs, a dark mahogany wood. They stick it in the living room at an odd angle, neither caring much for putting it back in place. Down again, for a trunk of Mowgli’s clothes. Down another time, for a trunk of Akela’s. Down one more time, for another trunk, which is stuffed with linens and pillows. Up and down, Mowgli’s legs aching. He thinks the gods they don’t need a couch or dressers for clothes or other things that Mundus love, but that he and Akela, creatures of the forest, find unnecessary. And so heavy.  

At the end of it, Mowgli is now face-down on the milk-smelling carpet, and his back hurts.

“Tomorrow we have to get food and utensils,” instructs Akela.

Mowgli groans. “Let’s just eat with our fingers.”

DAY TWO:

Mowgli helps fill the kitchen. It is a lot of elbow-bumping, because, remember, it is so small, just a counter, a stove, a set of drawers above the stove and a set of drawers below. No dishwasher. Mowgli doesn’t think before he moves, just turns this way and that as he opens the pinewood drawers and stuffs things in there. Akela is right behind him with a piece of paper and a pencil, taking notes of all the damages: every crack on the off-white wooden counters, every stain, every loose this and that, because the Mundus way is to pinch pennies and earn money however they can. Akela says he will not be made a fool, and that is why he write all of it down.

Mowgli helps. Kind of.

“Look, this knob wiggles,” he announces, wiggling the knob on one of the drawers above the stove where he just put the plates. It comes off in his hands. “Oh, ah—look, this knob came off!” he amends.

“The wood is chipping here,” he says as he picks at a spot right next to the oven. 

“Here—scratches,” he said as he points at the side of the counter next to the sink.  

“The lining is peeling in this drawer,” he tells Akela as he rolls one out. He pulls at another and it does not budge. He pulls again. And again—

“Mowgli do not—”

It jerks open and rolls all the way out, nearly coming off its tracks. “Fixed it,” says Mowgli and grins.

They go grocery shopping and come back to fill their fridge. The freezer part is on top, and there is very little space there. They have nothing to fill there but ice. In the main part of the freezer, they unpack all their fresh fruits and veggies—apples, pears, cherries, blueberries, peaches, mangos, broccoli stalks, peppers, onion, carrots.  

Above the fridge, there is another pair of drawers. Mowgli stretches up to reach it and there they store their spices: cumin, paprika, cinnamon, basil, turmeric.

The final touch comes from the trunk in Mowgli’s room. He digs through it, tossing out his clothes so they cover the floor. He finds it finally: a beautiful wash cloth with a pattern of handstitched flowers. Made by his Ami.

He brings it into the kitchen, folds it, and drapes it over the handle of the oven, and the kitchen feels much bigger.

DAY THREE:

Mowgli sulks on day three. He doesn’t want to put his things away. He doesn’t want to do anything but sleep. He’s tired, his body aches, and though the sun shines outside, he wants to hide in his dark den and pretend to be—nothing.

He draws a blanket over his head and there he stays.

DAY FOUR:

Day four, Akela calls him out of his room late in the afternoon. His alpha stands with his arms across his chest, a grimace on his lips. He points to the small mahogany table they carried in at the beginning of this week. He has brought out the khambadia seating pillows that Ami had created with help from Raksha and Kavya. They had created one for each member of the pack, making them by sewing together old fabrics from lenghas and saris on a cotton backing. There is Mowgli’s, on one side of the table. And there is Akela’s. And there is Raksha’s. And there is Rama’s. And that is all.

The rest, Mowgli assumes are still in the trunk, now probably pushed into the depths of Akela’s closet. They used to all gather around tables like this, so close they bumped elbows too and could easily pick food off each other’s plates. With so much space between each cushion, Mowgli feels the space in his own heart get bigger—the pain in his stomach dig deeper. He could drop a stone inside himself and it would fall and fall…

“Is this alright?” says Akela gruffly. He does not look at Mowgli.

“What?”

“This,” he gestures again to the table, the cushions, and also to the tablecloth he has put upon it. This is one of Ami’s as well. It is cream; the bottom is adorned with green vine work which expands into a gorgeous pattern of sapphire blue flowers. “If you want it for your room—”

“No,” Mowgli says right away. The sadness in him is deep, but he thinks about all those cushions hidden away and he doesn’t want his Ami hidden away. He wants her everywhere. He wants her in every stitch of this new place so he can see her and never forget her. “No,” he says again, louder, and then smiles at Akela. “I like it here, where everyone can see it.”

There is a moment of silence again, the air conditioning chattering over head. “Good,” Akela says after that second. Another one passes.

“We need curtains,” says Mowgli.

“Yes,” says Akela.

“I will get them tomorrow,” says Mowgli.

“Yes,” says Akela. “Good.”

DAY FIVE:

And so day five comes, Mowgli reinvigorated. He wakes up early and disappears out the door before breakfast. He goes to the strange knick-knack store in Swynlake and wanders the aisles with a basket, admiring all the trinkets upon the shelves. He picks up funny salt and pepper shakers that are shaped like squirrels, and he laughs and puts them in the basket. He finds a clock in the shape of a sunflower and takes that too. He picks up a beautiful, porcelain vase the colour of the sky with flowers all around the edges and he knows Ami would love that. He finds a white porcelain elephant lamp, with a dark blue-and-white lampshade and he knows Akela would love that. He gets tan curtains that remind Mowgli of bamboo forests; he finds a welcome mat, made of red scratchy material, with a big pineapple in the middle, which says WELCOME. He gathers all these treasures as once he gathered fruits and stones and lost things in the forest, and he brings them up to the front.

The girl there at the register pops her bubblegum and her eyes bulge at his basket full of things. “Wow. You need help carrying all that stuff, kid?” she says, rocking her chair back onto all four legs before leaping up to start punching in the tags.

“Oh no,” said Mowgli with a big smile. “I am stronger than I look.”

DAY SIX:

Mowgli decorates his room.

He has bought beautiful red curtains for his window and he hangs them, then draws them open so the sun may shine through. He finally makes his bed with the sheets from his childhood (dyed by Ami) and thinks about how proud his mother would have been, seeing Mowgli so responsible, doing it without even being asked. He finally gathers all his clothes from the floor and in the trunk and hangs them in the closet. He unpacks his books and stacks them beside the bed.

And then he pulls out another beautiful red-and-gold-and-purple tapestry that his mother made and tilts his head, looking at it, wondering where it should go. It was something she would have liked to sell, something Mowgli could throw over his mattress or use as another tablecloth. But he decides that it is art and art should not be stepped on nor used for sleeping. He grabs a nail and hammer and pounds it into his wall. It will be the first thing that people see when they come in. It will be his mother saying hello.

That evening, when Akela comes back, Mowgli presents him with the elephant lamp. “Look! IT is like Hathi!” he says in delight. Akela stares at the lamp like he has no idea what to do with it.

Mowgli puts it into his hand. “For your room,” he says. “If you want. Or we can put it out here. Do we need one of those little tables? I can go and get one. Oh, Akela, you have to see it, there’s this store in town full of all these things, like books and jewelry and bowls and plates and stools and chairs and picture frames—it’s like magic, it goes on and on. We should go. Or I can go. Do you need anything for your room? There are paintings there, beautiful paintings, we can hang them up…”

Mowgli follows Akela into his room as he talks and talks, imagining what this place can become.

DAY SEVEN:

But it is not finished.

A week later, Mowgli stands with his hands on his hips staring at the living room. There are curtains now, and a table with the lamp on it. He put the clock on the wall. On the kitchen counter, there are the flowers. He bought three mismatched stools for the counter as well. The house smells less like milk and more like fresh air, for Mowgli leaves all the windows open and brings in new flowers every day.

But it is not finished.

He goes to the store and he comes back with can after can of blue paint. When Akela enters he stops short and stares at Mowgli. He had undone his week of work, everything—table, pillows, accessories-- pushed into the center of the room. He stands with his pants rolled up and his chest bare and his long tangled hair tied up. He holds a brush out for Akela.

“Will you help me?” he asks his alpha.  

And so the room fills with the smell of paint, thick in Mowgli’s mouth as he coats the wall with swath after swath, Akela next to him. They paint in perfect rhythm, making broad, dramatic strokes to bury that terrible egg-white underneath, until there home is nothing but blue, blue as the sky.

[theladyofthewest]

The Darkest Knight - SS

So I was talking to @phati-sari about how my dream crossover would be IPKKND and Batman because Arnav and Bruce Wayne combined is nothing short of pure godly work. So it got me thinking... why sit and wait around for it when I can do it myself??? 

Starring ASR as Bruce Wayne 

Aman as Alfred

Buaji as Commissioner Gordon (I’M JOKING)

Shyam as The Joker (to be fair he has his Joker-esque moments and the Joker is my favourite villain which is why that’s who he is).

This is Part 1 of 3! 

“She did it again, Aman.”

Brandishing the offending newspaper in his hands, Arnav sighed heavily, throwing himself down into his armchair. He leaned his head back against the soft leather, pressing his eyes shut in an effort to make the cruel words fade from his mind.

‘Philanthropist or philanderer? ASR tries to wash away playboy image with charity work.’

Why did she hate him so much? She being Khushi Kumari Gupta. A journalist at The Post, one of his most outspoken critics, as well as Batman’s biggest fan.

He may also have had a somewhat miniscule and really quite insignificant crush on her. It was nothing he couldn’t control. Nothing that would make him act irrationally.

“Aman,” he began, clenching his jaw to ready himself for his next words. “I think it’s time the world found out who Batman really is.”

There was silence for a moment and Arnav suspected that he had likely floored Aman with his selfless offer to sacrifice his own peace and comfort for -

“With all due respect sir, you cannot reveal your secret simply so Miss Gupta will like you more.”

That son of a bitch.

“Excuse me?! You really think that my willingness to sacrifice my private life has anything to do with -”

“With the fact that Miss Gupta adores Batman and well… to put it lightly, despises you.” Aman finished gently, looking at Arnav with sympathetic eyes that made him want to scream.

“I couldn’t care less what she thinks,” Arnav sniffed haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest while he stared resolutely in the opposite direction. “Although I do suppose that she might like me a little bit more if she knew that I was the man she clung to in that alleyway when I -”

“With all due respect once again sir,” Aman interrupted, breaking him out of his trip down memory lane, well it was more of a dimly lit alley actually, where he had held Khushi Kumari Gupta in his arms, cradled to his chest, and had the full force of her adoring eyes on him. “I suspect the opposite.”

“You know Aman, I’m not getting much of a respectful vibe from your statements just now.” He growled, not knowing whether he was more irritated at Aman for bursting his bubble or for drawing him out of his memory.

It was something he had come to terms with long ago that Khushi liked him more in a costume and a mask, and when he spoke in a voice a few octaves deeper than his own. And while, to some, that would have been kinky enough in itself, it didn’t really count if she didn’t know it was him she was fawning over.

Though for a woman as smart as she was, and he had no qualms admitting that he sometimes felt a spark of pride at the inventive ways she managed to insult him, he couldn’t quite figure out how she didn’t know it was him. All that stood between him, her, and true love was a mask with fucking bat ears. Also the fact that she hated him, but that would be easily rectified once she realized he was her caped crusader.

“Can you believe it, Aman?” He sighed, leaning back in his chair again, staring at the crown moulding on the ceiling with feigned interest.

“She studied at DU and a bat mask and my shitty imitation of a chain smoker have completely fooled her.”

“To be fair sir,” Aman interjected, “the suit does give the impression of you being more muscular than...she probably thinks you are.” He finished weakly, quailing under Arnav’s angry glare.

“That’s right,” he said matter of factly, surreptitiously flexing his chest. “How would Khushi Kumari Gupta know that I have abs of steel?”

Arnav attributed it to his amazing self control that he managed to resist the urge to knock Aman out when he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “more like reinforced plastic.”

“You should thank your stars that Khushi was wrong about me Aman,” He snapped from behind clenched teeth while brandishing her slanderous article in the air. “Despite the fact that, that wonderful vixen has managed to find 5 different ways to call me an arrogant bastard in only the 3 paragraphs that I have read so far, I am an exceptionally kind man and thus, will not take offence to your rudeness.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Raizada, sir.”

Grumbling to himself, Arnav stood from his chair and began to make his way down the hallway when his treacherous butler spoke up again.

“You can’t play dress up as Batman today sir, you have a gala to attend and the press, notably your own ‘wonderful vixen,’” Aman spoke, and Arnav didn’t have to be looking at him to know he was smiling as he spoke the words, “will have a field day if you do not attend.”

“I know,” He said, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to face Aman with a glower on his face.

“Without the mask, sir.” Aman continued and Arnav glared at him when his lips twitched with the effort to resist laughing.

“I still don’t understand why she can’t look into my eyes and recognize who I am,” He muttered under his breath, his lips curving downwards into a frown.

‘Perhaps because this is not a Bollywood movie, sir,” Aman said softly, a note of sympathy in his voice, “and no matter how much you may wish it, you are not Krrish.”

He wasn’t completely sure how he resisted the urge to throw the ornate hand painted Chinese vase he kept on the mantle at Aman’s head.

“Krrish?! In his dreams, Aman, I am much better looking than some fool who wears burnt plastic on his eyes. And for fuck’s sake, can you say biohazard? And the smell!”

It was only when he saw that Aman was already walking away and he was still shouting curses at a wannabe superhero flick, that Arnav realized he had lost this round.

...Well fuck.

[titoslondon-blog]

New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.co.uk/the-ultimate-guide-to-kick-starting-your-trousseau-shopping/

The ultimate guide to kick-starting your trousseau shopping

“Will you marry me?” may have been music to her ears, but if we are to be really honest, the four words that every bride-in-the-making really wants to hear is, “Let’s go trousseau shopping?”

For the uninitiated, a trousseau (derived from the French word ‘trousse’ meaning bundle or case) refers to the paraphernalia of clothing, linen, and other essentials collected by a bride ahead of her marriage, which was traditionally packed in hope chests. Wealthy Victorians even practised the tradition of displaying trunks loaded with linens, china and clothes as part of the wedding festivities, in an event that was monikered ‘trousseau tea’.

Since times immemorial, curating an enviable trousseau has been the first order of business for most brides-to-be; one where she ideally does not want to spare any expense. For instance, when Italian noblewoman Catherine de’ Medici married into the French royal family in 1547, the Pope (also her uncle), had to utilise funds originally meant for the fortification of Florence to pay for chests of lace, silks, bed linen, and jewels. American-socialite-turned-Duchess-of-Windsor, Wallis Simpson’s trousseau boasted 66 trunks of clothes and accessories by Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli. Closer home, Maharani Gayatri Devi’s wedding trousseau was bursting with sheets from Czechoslovakia, Ferragamo shoes and bags from their factory in Florence, and mousseline de soie nightgowns from Paris.

For the modern bride, it is also about balancing this extravagance with a sense of practicality. Yes, the process does start out as all fun and games. But once the rose-tinted glasses come off and the novelty wears off, the realisation dawns that trousseau shopping, is in fact, a bride-to-be’s dream come true and biggest nightmare rolled into one.

Sure, it’s an excuse to go all Blair Waldorf or Cher Horowitz (take your pick) on your credit card, but nothing can quite prepare you for the overwhelming wave that is waiting to wash over you once you enter this sea of infinite options at your disposal. “I thought this was supposed to be fun—shopping has never been such a daunting and dreaded task for me before,” an exasperated soon-to-wed friend recently confided in me. So our guide is the ideal starting point for a bride-in-distress. Ditch the haphazard approach and tread one step at a time to keep any bouts of PTSD (post trousseau shopping disorder) at bay.

Draw up a list Physical lists are highly underrated. Just take our word for it, and go old school with this one. Get yourself a personalised wedding planner if it helps. Dedicate separate lists to every area of your trousseau—think clothing, handbags, footwear, jewellery, make-up, bed linen, crockery, and other miscellaneous must-haves. Then move on to meticulously breaking down each list. Your clothing list should be further divided into Indian wear, everyday western wear, occasion wear, honeymoon clothes, swimwear, and so on. Assign a quantity to every last item on your list, but always value quality above all else. Since the list will set the tone for the shopping to follow, practicality should reign supreme. Don’t waste check boxes on whimsical items.

Take stock of what you already have If your mum is of the quintessential Indian variety, chances are that she started curating your trousseau long before Mr Right even entered the picture—an exquisite Pashmina shawl from her last trip to Gulmarg, an elaborate silver dinner set from Bhattar that she has been adding to for years, a Jim Thompson toiletry set acquired in Bangkok, Murano showpieces from when your favourite aunt went to Italy, and on the list goes. Tick these off (phew!) your list already.

Set a budget This is perhaps the most arduous part of the process. No one despises number crunching more than a bride, but it has got to be done. “I’ll get married only once,” will seem like a good enough reason for everything from buying an exorbitant exotic skin designer bag to wiping out Harrods’ beauty department. The urge to splurge will be stronger than usual; so tap into your very last reserve of self-restraint. We aren’t asking you to cut corners, but to exercise sensibility when allocating funds to various aspects of your trousseau. More pragmatic, less pompous is the dictum to swear by.

Do your research ‘Being spoilt for choice’ does not even begin to describe the sheer volume of options that will be thrown your way. Put on your Sherlock hat and do some serious digging around. Get recommendations from recently married or fashion-savvy friends, use the Internet and social media to compare collections and prices, and conduct a preliminary recce of what stores and bridal exhibitions are offering. This will ensure that you don’t end up with impulse purchases you regret later.

Create a game plan Now that you’re armed with adequate ammo, you can confidently march onto the battlefield. Every item on your checklist should be assigned a deadline, but be strategic when doing so. For instance, sale season is an opportune time to shop for clothes, especially traditional occasion wear. Anything that is made-to-order should be a priority on your timeline. Delivery delays are bound to crop up, so factor that in. Use a trip abroad to stock up on lingerie and international brands (one can’t be thankful enough for VAT refunds). If you aren’t travelling yourself, identify friends or family members who you can ship certain items to. Aim at wrapping up all your shopping at least a month before the wedding. That way, you still have a buffer period if end up running behind schedule.

Now would also be a good time to add finishing touches to your trousseau. Order blouses for all those chiffon and Benarasi saris your grandmother passed on to you, order plastic covers to store your Indian wear in, and have the jeweller polish all your bridal sets.

Be open-minded While it helps to have a clear idea of what you want, being rigid will only be counter-productive. Leave room for sweet surprises—be open to brands, styles, silhouettes, and designs you probably never considered before.

And while you may fall in love with a certain brand or trend, don’t go crazy just yet. There is something to be said about variety, after all. The end game is to create a trousseau that is as versatile and classic as it is up-to-the-minute. Balance is more than a buzzword in this case.

This story is a part of the Vogue Wedding Shopping Guide, a series that is a must read for every bride-to-be

The post The ultimate guide to kick-starting your trousseau shopping appeared first on VOGUE India.