#white colour sarees

[elizabethmurray26]

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[samkkshopping]

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[humane-surekha]

Navratri second day colour is White. White represents purity , pristine beauty. Innocence . Am I not all above? 😃😛

Untitled

[gguk-n]

Hi could please write one where the reader is bengali and celebrates Durga Puja with Lando in india ( ollie or kimi works too but I'm not sure if you write for them)?

I did a ‘spin the wheel’ and got Ollie.

Puja Vibes

Ollie was as white as white gets and his girlfriend was the embodiment of the Bengali culture prancing around. She had helped Oliver expand his horizon; taught him new experiences and delicious food. She will argue, that there’s no dessert like Bengali dessert.

So, when it was time for Y/N to return home for Durga Puja, Ollie would be joining her too since he had no races or prior commitments.

They hadn’t dated for long but Ollie had showered her with gifts on Christmas and taught her all his family traditions. Y/N just wanted to do the same for him.

At the airport, they landed together with Ollie in tow who was enamoured by the hustle and bustle of the city. He saw cows crossing the road like it was another Tuesday and no one batted an eye. Y/N pointed out all the building explaining the significance and the reason behind their construction during the colonial era on the way to her home.

At home, preparations for Durga Puja were in full swing. Y/N’s uncle and aunt had decorated their house ornately. Oliver greeted everyone.

The festivities would start the next day. Everyone was up bright and early for the invocation (bodhon) Oliver was mesmerised by the shining lights and the bright colours and the beautiful way Goddess Durga was dressed.

The main event was Maha Ashtami which Y/N’s father had great pleasure in explaining to Oliver. Oliver was like a kid in a candy store; eyes wide open and mesmerised by the events unfolding in front of him.

You would find the poor boy following Y/N around like a lost puppy. It was adorable watching him hold onto her saree palo as she walked in front of him. “Lemme hold your hand” Ollie whined. “Everyone is here for the festival. What will the elder’s think?” Y/N reasoned. In Indian culture, blatant show of affection was frowned upon especially in the older generations, the younger ones couldn’t care less. That’s why Ollie was walking around holding her palo.

They were stood next to each other while Y/N’s mother made the preparations for Maha Ashtami. “Your dress looks so beautiful. Red truly is your colour” Ollie said. “Thank you babe” she said. “How did you do this?” He asked playing with the folds. “My mum helped. I’m still pretty bad at tying a saree” she said. “Is that what it’s called? A saree” he said enunciating each word. “Yup, it’s an Indian traditional wear but everyone wraps the cloth around them differently, depending on the region of the country” she explained. His mouth formed an O in understanding.

They finished up the celebration with all the rituals being done and Oliver asking way too many questions each step of the way.

On the last day after Vijaya Dashami, after the immersion in the water everyone returned back home, exhausted by the events of the past days when Y/N’s cousin showed her a video; actually a few.

One video, had Ollie following her around like a lost puppy. The other one was of him holding her palo so as to not get lost. And the last one was straight out of a Shah Rukh Khan movie where Ollie’s watch had gotten stuck in her palo and he tried to free himself while actively trying to follow her and not let her know that he might fray her outfit. Eventually, he did free himself but his eyes never left her as he walked behind her.

She showed the video to Ollie and the Shah Rukh Khan scene from Om Shanti Om. Ollie was seen laughing, “didn’t know I would be getting my Bollywood moment this year during Puja” she said. “I’m happy I could be of service, m’lady” he said tipping his imaginary hat. “I would still have loved if it was Shah Rukh Khan” she teased. “Wow! I can’t believe this.” He acted hurt with his hand on his chest. “You are unbelievable.” She muttered pressing her lips on his cheeks. “Don’t try to bribe me with kisses” he huffed. “I’m not. I love you my cute little bear” she cooed. “I’m not cute” he huffed again. “Sure, my rasgulla” she laughed pinching his cheeks. “I like that dessert. Can I have some more?” He replied lost in thought. “I’m sure my mother will find great pleasure in feeding you” she said laughing. “Let’s go” she said pulling him along. “I love you Y/N.” Ollie called out while being dragged along. “I love you too” she replied turning to look at him.

Y/N’s family cooed at them, young love

Hope you liked it! I tried my best

[ramayantika]

Parvati (mystery academia)

Black. black. Stillness and dissolution. Nothingness is draped in shades of black which now surrounds you. This darkness however is not heavy. It surrounds you like a gentle mist, and there is a shower of large hibiscus flowers donning the darkest shade of red, like blood.

The chiming sound of anklets wake you up at night. A slow whisper rings in your ears. 'Wake up.' You lie wide awake. Your heart thuds in your chest, but the wake up call never recedes. Wake up from which sleep? There is no answer replying you.

Your mother sends you to light the incense sticks. By routine, you circle the sticks twice around the images of the gods. A jasmine flower falls on your hand, and for the first time, the eyes of the goddess bore into yours.

You sleep soundly. The wake up call of a feminine voice repeats once again. Your subconscious steals you into a dream. A room of mirrors welcome you and there is a sound of distant laughter outside the mirror. It is sweet and lively.

You stand in front of the mirrors. Seven mirrors and seven pieces, each a fragmented image until you peer closely. A woman stands behind you, tall and graceful with her hand raised in a blessing. The pearl stud on her nose shines like a mirror and you remember only the large gold nose ring.

'Wake up.' A warm hand caresses your head. Golden glow surrounds her hand. Your eyes are dazzled and you squint hard. Slumber takes you again in a comfortable embrace, but your soul has never been this aware, as if arising from a long slumber.

'Mother,' you call out. A soft hand caresses your head and some velvety fabric touches your cheek. It reminds you of a distant but loved maternal touch, and you feel like a child again. You are safed and loved.

A large serpent coils around your body. Its hood sits on the top of your head like a crown. Atop its hood lies a lotus. The serpent must terrify you, but there is a sweet smell of sandalwood, a shower of kadamba blossoms, and red gulal sprinkled in the air.

A woman dances in abandon. There is grace, there is desire, there is passion and there is liberation in the air around her, and in her being. It is electrifying. The beautiful queen-like woman transforms into a beacon of darkness, and red fades in your vision. A loud howl alerts your ears and loud thudding sounds of a drum beckon you closer. Black. You faint.

Nine women surround you. Each woman wears a different coloured saree. Some look motherly, some look youthful, and some look terrifying -- every shade of life taking its existence in their bodies.

A flash of lightening and your body jerks open. The serpent from your dreams coils around you tighter. A trident manifests beside you. Your hands touch the weapon and electricity fizzles through your body.

It is dark again. In pitch darkness, a lady in red and white, decked in gold and long flowing hair manifests herself in front of you. 'You have woken up then.' The serpent from your dreams has followed your path and hisses in agreement. It understands human language, some strange way of nature to show her power, the power of the divine feminine, Her. The serpent looks at you. There is humanity in its eyes. What a curious play of Prakriti!

The youthful woman who giggles as sweet as sugar, beware, she is wild and untamed. You may desire to claim her for yourself, but she shall not. She is the Mother of the Universe, manifesting in different forms. The little girls with pigtails who sweetly handed over her ladoo too is her, and so is the frail old lady in your neighbourhood. She is everywhere.

Nobody knows how did those vile men die, but justice was served. The wise old woman whispers about the devi serving justice, a feat these strong and burly policemen who claim to be the protectors of the common public, and the 'fair' judiciary had failed to achieve. 'I saw the devi drink their blood. Their severed heads served as her garlands. It is true.' The rest of the crowd roll their eyes at the rambling woman.

The final night. Loud sounds of the drums make your heart beat thud in excitement. Women march ahead, their foreheads adorned with red vermilion. Little children dance their way to the river as vehicles carry the idols of the goddess to the river. There is a huge crowd, each person chanting the name of the goddess. Amidst the humungous crowd, there is a call that makes you turn your head towards the sky. A golden glow forms against the dark clouds of the night, and there she is.

The cosmos manifests in her. Adorned with the stars and galaxies, she stands tall and large in the skies, her large doe-like eyes looking at her children with love and affection. She is jagat janani after all. Her trident manifests in her arms and she solemnly swears to protect her children from every harm. Jai devi! Jai maa durga!

'It isn't a dream. You have reached out to me, just like I. A mother want her children around her. Remember, you and me, we all are one.'

taglist: @jukti-torko-golpo @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @krishakamal @ma-douce-souffrance @prettykittytanjiro @krishna-sangini @thegleamingmoon @kaal-naagin @chaliyaaa @desigurlie @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @ramcharantitties @houseofbreadpakoda @swayamev @rhysaka @aesthetic-aryavartik @ahamasmiyodhah @vishnavishivaa

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

Pavitr x fem reader

- Jealous HEADCANONS

A/N: Apparently, Pavitr's costume and fighting style is inspired from Kerala, so I went with him also being from Kerala. (Malayalam is google translated)

Also read on AO3

Pav Pooh is a uwu little jelly bean 

It began even before you started dating. You were bffs so, naturally, you're invited to his house for Onam celebration. 

Pav stands spellbound at your beauty as you'd worn the traditional off-white saree with golden border, your hair done and decorated with flowers. He's about to compliment you when his cousin beats him to it. 

"Are all of Pav's friends gorgeous, or is it just you?" 

Pav's face drains of colour as his cousin flirts with you. And you're indulging him!? That's it, you're not leaving his sight anymore. 

"Flattery takes you nowhere, cousin." 

His cousin ignores him. "Chuchudu, you should really visit Kerala sometime! We can go to all the tourists sites, go on a boatride -just the two of us, I can even teach you fishing!" 

The idiot rambles on and on but Pavitr's eyes blaze in green fury 🔥 Chuchudu!? Chuchudu!?! How dare he call you cutie! 

And, Gayatri just HAS to add fuel to fire. "Aww, you guys look so cute together! Don't they, Pav?"

"Of course! You look like father and daughter. What a rare bond, right?" 

Pav tells himself it's because his cousin is an a-hole, which they are, and he doesn't want to see you hurt. 

Lies, all lies. He jello 

He constantly tries to separate you guys or atleast just be next you like a bodyguard, shadowing over your convos. If his cousin got irritated, they don't show it. And, thanks to his spidey sense, his cousin can't talk to you alone for more than 5 seconds, though they do manage to ditch Pav at times XP 

Pavitr lets out a sigh of relief only after his cousin leaves. 

The next time it happens is when a new guy, Ravi, joins school. Ravi takes one look at you and he's interested. He's always flirting at you everywhere: cafeteria, by your locker, in the hallway -even in the field. 

Weekends usually mean extra superheroing so Pav can only meet you again on Monday morning at school. Or atleast, that's what usually happens. Today, though, you're at your locker with Ravi's arm around your shoulder as he talks to his friends. He says something in your ear which makes you laugh and slap his shoulder. 

Pav is seeing green. And you seem to hang out with Ravi more as the days pass!

You suddenly find Pavitr showing up at your house whenever Ravi comes around, tagging along with you two and always standing inbetween, telling how long you guys are besties at every opportunity, touching you a LOT..

"WHAT do you think you're doing, idiot?" Gayatri traps Pav into a corner and gets him to spill. 

"Okay, okay, I am jealous! I.. I like Y/n. Like, like her like her.." 

"You what me?" 

Long story short, you guys (FINALLY) get together and Gayatri squeals in joy.

After You Begin Dating 

Boy, you underestimated how much he flaunts you

Hand-holding, kissing your cheek when he senses potential threat (thanks, spidey sense!), hugging a lot, lost of texting ("miss u moloo 😘", "can i come overrrr I'm boreddd :< ") 

You assure him he's the only guy for you. "Pav, baby, I don't want anyone else. I've always been yours." 

And, a little later in your relationship, you admit that the whole flirting thing with Ravi and Pav's cousin was a ruse to make him jealous. And Gayatri was in on it! ;P

"I'm sorry but you just look sooo cute when you're jealous!", you say, squishing his cheeks. 

Pav feigns offense but he's melting inside knowing you only have eyes for him. 

Also... C'mon, can anyone resist making this cutepie jealous? 

________

reblogs and comments appreciated!!!

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 02

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta. I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not?

I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 2

After 10 years

Arnav was threading the busy traffic of the Bazar with his ambassador mark 1 to reach the St.Stephen all-women college of Delhi to pick up certain someone who he hadn't talked to, for almost 2 years. Though it was the cheapest car of that generation, it was his most prized possession at that moment, brought by the profit he got from his first export shipments of the textile factory he bought 1 year ago. But his mind was on that girl who lived in his mind rent-free till that fateful day 2 years ago and hadn't left ever since. Even at that moment, he could still feel her, if he closed his eyes.

Shaking himself off to get rid of that feeling, he concentrated on the road. Arnav's focus cleared to zoom in on that girl of question, no no, a young woman, in a simple white saree with a blue border, a mandatory college ware. The way she drapped the saree over her was very modest, but modesty seemed to allude Arnav today. His heart gave a thud realizing he could vividly feel how that petite body felt pressed to his. 'control yourself, Arnav. you've done so much damage already', Arnav chastised himself, willing his heart to a normal rhythm. Her jet-black hair was pleated into a single braid and a simple black bindi in the middle of her eyebrows that brought out her hazel-coloured doe eyes even more highlighted by a thin line of kajal. That was what Arnav was so scared of. Her little bindi had the power over him that the whole Oxford female fraternity didn't. He might have not talked to her but he saw her secretly every time he came to Dehli and watched her spread her wings like a butterfly to be the beautiful woman she ended up being. Roma Chachi had given her an apt name 'titliya'. All those times watching her from a distance Arnav tried his best to control his heart and mind, but ended up failing every single time. There was a reason why he avoided her for 2 years.

Khushi was standing at the gate of the college with her classmate, Sarita Chauhan, waiting for Akash Vai to pick her up. Khushi was irritated, she insisted on taking the rickshaw back home but due to the overprotective nature of Bhai and Babuji, she couldn't do that. But she didn't expect to see Him that day and somehow she knew he had come to pick her up. The last two years did a kind of magic to him or was it London or the girls of London to be exact, she didn't know. The Arnav sitting in front of her in that car donning the black glasses and clad in a rolled-up white shirt and black suspenders was a far cry from the man she last saw. But he was still Arnav among all of these, Her Arnav. That's why it didn't surprise her when her heart went overboard 'dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak,dhak-dhak'. Her friend beside her produced a small sound of appreciation,

"oh Khushi, you've never introduced me to your brothers. now I understand why." giving her a little nudge with her shoulder.

Khushi scoffed at her comment " he is not my brother. "

It's been 10 years since she lost her parents. And in the middle of all of these when Mahindar Chachu became her Babuji and Manoroma Chachi became Amma, she couldn't exactly pinpoint. And as a result, she got two brothers who loved her fiercely as their own. Abba had arranged a home tutor for her when she was 10 years old, because she couldn't bear the stress of public schooling. As soon as she started to form complete sentences her tutor advised her to write letters to her brothers, studying in Darjeeling. She wrote letters to Akash bhai and Aman bhai and then she wrote another letter to Arnav addressing him as 'Dear Arnav'. Her tutor chastised her for not adding a 'bhai' or a 'ji' at the end of his name. But Arnav was never her 'bhai', was he? He never felt like a 'bhai'. He was so much more. But above all, he was Her 'Arnav'.Just 'Arnav.' she used to call her 'Arnav' since she was 8. Nobody corrected her till she was 16. Then she started to call him 'Arnavji'. Now she didn't know what to call him anymore.

Arnav parked the car in front of her. when she made no move to sit inside, he took off the glasses unleashing his dark brown eyes on her. he opened the car door from inside and addressed her -

" what are you waiting for Khushi Kumari Gupta? Pandit bulake mahurat nikal na parega kya?" giving her the crooked half-smile that she adored. His familiar husky voice sent a wave of wistfulness through her. A thousand memories spun in her head, tangling together. God, she missed him so much. "Akash bhai and Aman are busy in the printing press. Cachu asked me to drop you home."

Khushi stared at him for another moment then with a huff she entered the car, which was a bad decision she understood not long after. Being in a closed space with him was torture. His enchanting woody scent engulfed her and transported her to a particular day that was in the centre of conflict between them. Both of them stared at anything but at each other, but soon Khushi couldn't resist the temptation to steal a look at him, which was a far worse decision than the previous one. Her eyes found his hands on the steering wheel, clutching it and as soon as a flashback of those hands flooded her mind - those hands clutching her smaller ones when they used to take a walk, those hands closing the hook of a payal around her ankles, those hands teaching her smaller ones to hold the chalk to write on the black slate, those hands helping her to plant rose plants on the garden. Her mind shifted to her smaller hands giving prasad to his larger ones, his hands cracking open the peanut shell for her whenever they went to the mela, his hands pulling her braids.'Have those hands become larger till the last time she saw them?' Khushi mused silently. Then a switch flipped in her mind, more flashbacks, she started to feel his hands on her cheek, on her waist, on the back of her head. Khushi closed her eyes tightly and clutched the books in her hands and to drive away those visions from her mind, blurted out what came to her mind at that moment " Anjali di said, you could not come to Delhi for another 3 months"

Arnav, looking at Khushi from the corner of his eyes, said "I didn't plan to. But My best friend is marrying my little sister. I wouldn't miss that wedding for the world and Roma Chachi said no more auspicious 'mohurat' after this month until the end of this year. And it's not like I have not been travelling to and fro between Delhi and London in the last couple of years."

Khushi nodding and trying to swallow down the hurt, said solemnly "I know."

Arnav had been studying law at Oxford University for the last couple of years. He had passed his bar exam and had been doing an apprenticeship under a Barrister in London for the last year. She knew all of this from Aman bhai. On the other hand, Arnav sold the land that his grandfather gave him and bought a run-down textile factory in old Delhi. She knew he had been very busy and she also knew he had been to Dehli multiple times in the last 2 years. He didn't stay in Rajput haveli nowadays when he came to Delhi. He had rented a two-storied bungalow on the outskirts of the town. But what hurt her more was he went to Rajput haveli to meet Amma and Babuji every time he came to Delhi, only when she was in school. So, it was not so difficult to figure out, who he was avoiding. Why, why she have to ruin the most important friendship she had in her life??? If only she wouldn't have done what she did 2 years ago.

It didn't escape Arnav's eyes the pain that flashed through her face. He still could read her like an open book, could decode the emotions that transpired through her pretty eyes. He regretted hurting her so much, but it was for the greater good. Sometimes he thought he preferred to remember her as still eight years old because she'd adored him then. She would gladly follow him anywhere. In fact, whenever she saw him leave, heading toward the garden where he liked to walk and think, she would come running after him. Even though she frequently fell, her little legs no match for his long, strong ones, she never cried and never complained. She was strong even back then.

Little Khushi used to fill their conversation with a million inquisitive questions though, looking at him with trusting big eyes. Her questions made him laugh and stumbled over answers.

When she was eight, he was her Hero.

As soon as the car reached Rajput Haveli, she all but sprinted away from him. Arnav sighed grabbing the package from the backseat he also entered the house. As soon as he reached the living room, he was met with Madhumati ji scolding Khushi for running around carelessly, even at the age of eighteen and her praying to God to give her 'sanka devi' same 'satbuddhi'. Then there was Roma Chachi, who came rushing towards him to give him a hug. Roma Chachi never failed to make him feel loved. Arnav admired this woman for her enormous capacity to love those who weren't hers.

"London suits you, Arnav Bitwa, look at you, how handsome you've turned out to be!!!! "

Arnav's tall figure folded itself to return her hug, teasing her he proceeded "And you didn't change at all Roma chachi. Still as gorgeous as ever. I missed you so much."

Manoroma smiled at him fondly. A child she once wished was hers so that she could have protected him from the heartbreak he endured at such a tender age " I missed you too, Bitwa. Don't be a stranger now like you have been for past years, ab toh hum ristedaar bhi banne wale hain."

Arnav smilled at her " I'll try."

Manoroma continued, "I hope you are staying with us this time, aren't you?" seeing Arnav nodding his head, she continued "Good, now I am going to the temple, we'll talk after I come back. chaliye, madhumati ji."

Arnav watched them leave and then silently proceeded toward the first floor crossing the stairs. At the very least, he could try to save whatever was left of the friendship he once shared with Khushi.

Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed, looking at the payal that broke as soon as she entered her room hurriedly a few minutes ago. It had been her room since her parents had died. It had seen so many of her tears and held so many of her secrets. Bua ji nowadays, began to get on her nerves, reminding everyone of her spinster status, but Khushi was adamant not to get married before she enrolled for college, now that she finally did it, she didn't have any excuses left.

Looking at the payal, Khushi thought of how it's been almost 10 years since she was wearing that particular payal. One morning 10 years ago, in the garden, looking at her rag doll, she confessed to Arnav that she used to have a similar payal like her doll once, that the bad guys had stolen from her too. And she missed wearing the payals. It was one of the first things she had admitted to Arnav during their long walks.

He'd asked her why she didn't just ask Mahindar Chachu and Chachi for payals and Khushi had tearfully confessed her fear that if she wanted too much, her new guardians would give her away. And the sound of payals must disturbed them as well.

That very weekend, he'd bought her this payal and its pair. She'd loved it. It was the first time since her parents died that she'd bounced in places with joy like she was really eight and not eighty. She giggled with her delighted-little-girl pleasure.

Khushi stared at the payal with a sad smile on her face. The clasp had been given away. Just like their relationship now. She still remembered how the payals were too big for her small ankles, he had to make a loop at the end to adjust them to her size.

Arnav had adored her once.

But she'd messed that up good and proper a long time ago. But did she really mess it up beyond repair?

A knock on the door drew her thoughts out of the past. To her surprise, it was Arnav standing in the doorway, his expression as passive as ever. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, automatically scooting backwards to lean back against her headboard. He came to sit in front of her, and Khushi smirked, remembering playing Ludo with him at that same position, at that same spot when she was 10, 11, 12.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, curious. A smile played at his lips that made her heart feel like a thunder about to strike.

"I was just remembering beating you in ludo," she said quietly. In her room, it was harder to be aloof as she tried to be with him. How long had she been trying to show him she was grown up, grown past the foolish girl she'd been when they...

His smile broadened but only slightly. Still, it was enough to make her blood feel warmer. "So you found a game you can actually beat me at, Phati sari. Don't get arrogant." He pointed a finger in her face.

Laughing lightly, she remembered the origin of her nickname at the kanya puja day, when she was 10, Amma had made her wear a red saree made for little girls. it was so beautiful. She ran to the garden to show it to Arnav where he was helping Babuji to sow the vegetable seeds and ended up tearing the pretty saree in that process. She cried the whole day so much that Babuji ended up buying two more similar sarees just like that. But she couldn't get away from the torment of Arnav's teasing. She gained that nickname a day later. she stared down at her lap, tracing the broken payal with the pad of her finger. He sounded like his old self just then addressing her with the name he gave her, the one who wasn't so uncomfortable and cold around her. 'O Devi maiya, what do she need to sacrifice to have that again.' she sighed and asked "So what did you want to talk about?"

"This is awkward," he said after a moment of silence. "It seems almost pompous for me to say I'm proud of you."

"Why do you think it's pompous?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, everyone else has said it... unless you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it," he said, his tone sincere. "A graduate degree in English literature" He looked down, then back at her again"You always wanted to be a writer. I am sorry I wasn't there when you enrolled on college, I should have been there." he said with a decisive, displeased tone. "I know I haven't been as supportive as I could have been these last few years."

Khushi shook her head. Arnav had always been something of an enigma to her. Well, not always. There was a time when their relationship had been simple. At some point, something had changed. What that was, Khushi was still at a loss as to explain. She knew when the switchover had happened, though.

"Arnav," she said with a sigh. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have even tried to get into a college. You have always encouraged me to write and kept me interested in the world of literature with the books you used to send me."He even sent her books when he was avoiding her those last few years.

Looking up at him, she smiled. "you were the only one who never doubted my capabilities. You just seemed so certain I could do it - even if it would be hard."

"Most things worth doing are difficult," he said quietly. "It never occurred to me to doubt you. If that was what you wanted, I knew you were capable."

And because he knew, she believed, she thought but didn't say. "It was difficult. Still, I did it, and I think I made the right choice. You had everything to do with that."

Their silence then was not so awkward, but more comfortable. Then Arnav reminded the package in his hand and extended it to her. As soon as she saw the package, her face brightened with a brilliant smile and she all but tore the packaging of the book. 'A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens ' It's her favourite book, but it was special.

"you brought me the first edition" She looked in awe both at the book and at the man. When the awe subsided awkwardness seeped in. Arnav was about to leave.

"Arnav," she began hurriedly, blowing out a breath in a huff, she was ready to right wrongs in her life, and start fresh. "I know you've been... wary about seeing me since... since then. And I don't blame you. I know things have been strange for a long time. But I was a stupid girl then. A lot has changed - I've changed. I'm not going to... do that again. So if that's what you're worried about-"

"Khushi," he said quickly, reaching across the space that separated them, putting his index finger over her lips.

For the space of a few breaths, Khushi's heartbeat began to stutter. Time stood still, their breaths caught. She didn't know how long it had been since she was watching his hooded eyes, looking at his dilated pupil.

And then a moment later, a curtain seemed to fall over his expressive eyes, hiding all the secrets she so desperately wanted to reveal, his eyes holding hers. He let his hand drop slowly before he broke eye contact, staring out the window. For long moments, he was silent. "It's not you. It's never been you."

She waited, but he didn't seem inclined to explain further. "Is it so unthinkable ?" she asked finally. She cringed because she'd feared the answer to this question for years. He was her best friend, her confidant - the most important person in her life since almost before she could remember. That had never changed. And she didn't want to lose him. She would take him in whatever capabilities he would like to share with her.

"Is what so unthinkable?" he asked, dreading the answer himself.

"Can't we try to be friends again?" Her voice was quiet, and she struggled to make it not waiver. It felt strangely like her world would crumble if he put the final nail in the coffin of their relationship, as melodramatic as that sounded.

To her surprise, his eyes were wide, almost horrified. He shook his head, chuckling nervously. He thought she would ask about something else. "I never imagined you would interpret my attitude that way." He rubbed a hand over his chin, tracing the line of stubble - it had been some days since he'd shaved. She'd noticed that almost instantly when he walked in the door. She still remembered the way that little bit of stubble felt, brushing against her cheek.

"To answer your question, of course, we can be friends. I've never not been your friend," he said finally.

This cheered her considerably, and Khushi sat up straight, smiling. "Good."

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @msbhagirathi

<previous> | <next>

[hum-suffer]

I love your writing!!!! Could you write a long form piece on Nakul?

Awww thank you so much and also, I'm so so sorry for the late answer!! I hope you like this!

____________________________________________________

Nakul draws a lot.

It's a fact, really. Yudhisthir never lies, Bheem loves food, Arjun is a know-it-all, Sahadev is quiet and Nakul draws.

The first drawing he made was when he was a toddler, made it on the bark of a tree. An amateur drawing, carved in the Neem tree near their hut. It was of a lotus. Madri thought there was some irony in the flower being drawn on the tree which had bitter leaves. She smiled to herself when she saw the redness in his fingers and kissed his fingers. "Nothing good ever comes without hard work," she told him. "And hard work will always leave its mark."

She failed to notice that he had a small cut on the side of his ring finger on his left hand, which scabbed over but Nakul kept on scratching it once in a while, never allowing it to heal. He feared that he would forget his hard work if he didn't have any scars.

Even ages after that incident, the scar on the side of his finger is still red and still a bit raw. It grows warm whenever he runs a hand through his hair.

The drawings kept on piling up after that. First on trees, then on sand, then on leaves, then on flower petals and then, on papyrus. There was never a moment where Nakul did not have some sort of natural colour stain on himself.

His drawing was a source of joy.

____________________________________________________

And then, then came the day when he was forced to see the fire lick the bodies of his parents. He held Sahadev close, forced him to look away from the pyres, but couldn't look away himself. The wood he had used to alight the pyres had come from the Neem tree he had made his first drawing on.

There were no more drawings after that. Not for a long while.

Hastinapur almost forced out all creativity from him. He walked with his shoulders held higher than he would, his chin tilted up and his hair always adorned with some or the other jewellery.

(He doesn't remember all the details about his mother. Mata Kunti says he inherited her hair and Pitashri's eyes. Nakul never looks at Kunti in her eyes whenever talking to her.)

And the next time he draws, it's for his only sister. Dusshala, the poor dear, Nakul finds himself worrying about her sweet nature and soft heart. He worries about her unblemished skin, her blood of Kurus and her quiet submissions to keep peace. He worries for a future for her. He worries that it will be filled with bruises.

So, he draws her. Young, smiling. Surrounded by flowers and greens and a light in the sky that's neither the sun nor the moon. He draws a softer glow around her eyes and hopes she knows that she is the embodiment of kindness to him.

He gifts it to her on her birthday, and two days later finds out where exactly her father is planning to marry her off to.

He wishes he did not paint the painting's saree red.

(a year later, he sees a bruise on her arm that she says came from falling accidentally and bracing herself against a railing.

Several years later, he sees her ghost smile when she's wearing a white saree.)

____________________________________________________

When Nakul first bleeds accidentally in his room, he wipes the side of his palm on the nearest wall— almost in a hurry to run to his brothers and discuss the strategy for the attack on Panchal.

When he comes back to his room later, the stain is dry and coating a small part of the wall, not unlike paint.

He picks up the paintbrush and lets his thoughts guide him, painting with the rhythm of his heartbeat. The wall ends up having a portrait of a horse with red reins, and Nakul names him Kamal.

He tells the servants not to erase the painting while cleaning his room.

(when they visit to Hastinapur after the establishment of indraprastha for the first time, his wall is repainted again. There's a silhouette of black and white and brown paint under the beige. The shadow of his blood is still stark.

Nakul resists the urge to redraw the horse with the blood of his cousin. Barely. But he resists it.)

____________________________________________________

Nakul's half finished painting is burnt in the lakshagrah, and for the locals, it confirms that the Pandavas and their mother are dead.

For, who would leave a half painted canvas in the living room, if not Nakul? For, who would paint such stark painting, if not him? For, who would be painting Maharaj Pandu, if not his son?

(When Sahadev asks him about it later, Nakul shrugs.

"I only managed to paint the forehead and the eyes. The rest was a sketch still. I was painting myself. I would not leave our father in a burning hall."

And Sahadev understands, Nakul thinks. Because he always understands. No one understands Nakul better than Sahadev does. It's the reason why Sahadev holds his hand and puts pressure on his finger's scar and reminds him that they're alive (unfortunately) even if their parents aren't. Because Sahadev understands that Nakul saw their father burn once and he won't do it again, but he will definitely not hesitate to see himself burn.)

____________________________________________________

Life in the forest doesn't allow him to paint. So he doesn't.

Nakul doesn't paint again— until he's suddenly married.

And all at once, she is the muse he has been searching for, all his life. When he paints her, he wishes he was more talented so he could paint her better and show the world now and after them that she is the epitome of beauty.

The first portrait he makes of her, has her gasping and flushing. She tells him she is flattered but next time, she wants him to be in the painting too.

(The next time he paints her is when his hands are bruised and so is his self respect and his hands are shaking but he needs needs needs needs needs to apologise. When she caresses the cheeks of their versions on the canvas, their cheeks come off stained red.)

____________________________________________________

The last painting Nakul makes, is lost forever.

When he starts to move to heaven, he reveals all the paintings he made for all the people he held dear. His wives, his brothers, his mother, his dead parents. Sahadev receives more than any of them, because Nakul always made a painting of Sahadev whenever he wanted to distract the younger or apologise for something.

Karenumati hides the paintings he receives with a blush on her cheeks and tears in her eyes as she realises that her husband always wanted to see her smiling. Only that had ever been his agenda.

All of them ask him where his last painting is but he doesn't say a word, laughing it off and leaving it. He changes the subject, and the painting is soon forgotten.

But the painting stays in Parikshit's room. A painting of all the children of the Pandavas, all of them who died for the honour of Draupadi and for the need of justice. And in the hands of Abhimanyu, is lotus.

[mamani-bento]

five (satoru gojo)

satoru gojo x reader, 1.3k, reader is wearing a saree

established relationship, fluff + humour

gojo would be soooo good at helping you out of your saree. source? trust me.

mamani-bento's masterlist!

"how many did you say there were?"

"four, i think. wait, no. there's one at the bottom of the pallu as well. five."

gojo sits on the edge of bed, surveying your saree-clad body. his eyes move top to bottom, gaze catching on all the places you remember putting pins in. "what about the one fixing the saree to your blouse?"

"oh, shit. yeah, there's one there."

you stand a few feet in front of him, sparkling midnight-blue chiffon wrapped around your frame. if it hadn't been such an exhausting day, full of socialising and preening, you would have been out of the saree ages ago. but you don't think you could take it off gently enough, what with all the pins holding it up. hence, the extra pair of hands.

"do you want to just get started and deal with the pins when we get to them?"

gojo hums thoughtfully at your question. you hope he says yes. you really hope he says yes, but there's no rushing him. this is a project, and every project must have its due diligence.

finally, making you let out an internal sigh of relief, he rises from his seated position. "yeah, okay. let's do that."

placing two hands on your shoulders, slender fingers brushing against the skin that your blouse exposes, he turns you so you're facing the full-length mirror on the wall. you both look at each other through the reflection. the heat of his front warms the goosebumps that had risen on your fairly exposed upper back. his own suit has been discarded on the bed, leaving him only in his light-blue shirt and slacks.

his blindfold was swapped out in favour of a pair of sunglasses, and he looks at you over the top of them now, bright blue eyes ridiculously complementing the colour you're draped in. pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, he kneels behind you so he can access the bottom of your pallu, one end of the saree.

his white hair flashes from behind your frame as he carefully lifts the fabric, gently unlatching the tiny, golden safety pin and holding it out to you on the side. you accept it in your hand, fiddling with the clasp as he rises back up. the free end of the saree is open now, gorgeous border fanning out.

"there are two here," he says, slipping a long finger between your blouse and your skin at your shoulder. he tilts the pin forward as much as he can so you can awkwardly crane your neck to look. "does it matter which one i take off first?"

"uh. one fixes the pleats of the saree and the other fixes the saree to the blouse. maybe open the pleats first?" there's an affection in your voice that you're sure wasn't there a few minutes ago. there's something about his concentrated frown as he carefully, reverently handles the garment, handles you.

he nods, maneuvering the slippery chiffon and taking out the pin above. immediately, fabric tumbles down your shoulder in a rush, covers the length of your arm, flows down until it's nearly brushing your knees.

gojo steps back in alarm at the sudden deluge of sheer fabric, and pauses when he sees your reflection in the mirror. "whoah."

you nod in agreement, marvelling at the easy elegance that the piece of cloth offers in this form, all regality and decadently deep blue. the material is one of your favourites, not stiff like pure silk but delicately flowing and moulding to the shape of your body. the way it sits now – pallu open and saree cascading down your shoulder – makes you look royal.

“how come you don’t wear sarees more often?” gojo asks, momentarily foregoing his pin-extraction mission in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist, one snaking under the open material on your left to meet the other winding along the bare skin of your midriff. his breath puffs over your short hair, already growing past your ears and desperately in need of a trim.

the unimpressed look you level at him through the mirror is in direct contrast to the way you lean back into his chest and place your palms over his hands. “you want me to spend half an hour draping a saree before leaving for my next mission?”

a low chuckle reverberates against your back as gojo dips to place an affectionate kiss against your cheek. “point taken,” he mumbles, regrettably pulling away.

the next pin to come off is the other one at your shoulder, the one holding up the fabric on the upper half of your body. a lone index finger spiders under the fabric of your blouse until it reaches the fastening and unclasps it. in another avalanche of blue, the material tumbles off the top of your body, leaving you in your blouse waist-up. the intricately woven, silver top has a curved v-neck, colour matching the stones lining the length of the saree body.

“nice,” gojo says with a wink at your reflection, fingers reaching out to quickly pinch at the side of your waist with no real heat. you scoff at the audacity, but before you can retaliate, he’s swooping to kneel on the floor behind you again, trying to find the next pin in the fabric.

you decide to keep the revenge for after he finishes helping you out, and throw him a bone so you can get there quicker. “it’s in the front.”

dutifully, he shuffles to round your body. his palms pat you down, fingers smoothing over the fabric from your hips to your feet as he tries to feel out the other pin.

“i think this needs to be untucked first,” you observe. you pull out the folded segments of your falling pleats neatly tucked into your front. before you can address the pin there, gojo’s hands reach out still yours.

“my job,” he says when you raise an eyebrow at him, flashing a cheeky grin.

your smile at the top of his head is sickeningly fond, and you can’t stop yourself from reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. he hums as your nails briefly scratch his scalp, but doesn’t say anything. only holds up the pin he’s retrieved so you can add it to the growing pile on the bed behind you.

it’s easy to see where the next pin is, the last catch holding the saree up. you’re standing in the middle of a shimmering pool of dark blue, and gojo tentatively shifts so he doesn’t end up kneeling on any of the stones. he has to bend a little for this one, sitting on his ankles so he can easily adjust the material to open the fastening.

immediately, the weight drops from your body, settling in a shimmering pile at your feet.

gojo rises smoothly, giving the sides of your covered thighs a quick pat in completion, palms skimming your hips above the material of the navy blue under-skirt. he moves his touch upwards, grazing the sides of your torso, front of your shoulders, toying with the tie at the back of your blouse.

“this too?” he asks, bending his neck to look at you over the tops of his sunglasses.

you nod. his forearms are a solid weight by the side of your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin as he tugs at the fancy end of the bow.

instantly, you breathe a little easier, letting out a whoosh at the subtle give around your lungs.

“thanks,” you say, huddling closer to his frame so you can wrap your arms around his waist. unsuspecting of any ulterior motive, gojo lets his own wind around your shoulders, humming in acknowledgement.

and that’s when you pinch him back.

[six-white-venus]

i.

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.

v.

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.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

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.

[ramcharantitties]

Other Woman, part 6

S/n: since I'm back from stalking charan's insta, here's the fic. If this was a Bollywood movie there'd def be a song here. Also some smut hints in this fic, nothing descriptive.

Y/n did drink with her friends, in parties or meet ups. But she knew how to control her self, to not get absolutely drunk. Living with Ram deprived her of many luxuries, and alcohol was one of them. Ram never had alcohol, and even if he wouldn't mind, Y/n automatically left it too. Somehow that wasn't the case tonight. You have already downed a whole bottle of wine, sitting in a chair silently. The New year's party was going just fine, but the events that unfolded earlier in front of you left you anxious.

You didn't even want to leave the market, but you couldn't find the matching thread colour to sew your blouse there so you had to. By the last shop, a side glance of someone caught you off guard. You recognised your husband talking to a woman, whose face you couldn't see, her head veiled from the shawl. You partially hid nearby, watching them. You could only figure out Ram explaining something to her, his hand movements elaborate. The woman grabbed his arm, the stark contrast of colour raising your eyebrows. It was a white woman. Ram pulled out a small box from his pocket and opened it. It looked like one of the jewellery boxes that carried a ring.

You didn't know what the conversation was, or if it was in your favour or not. But you had to save yourself, so you left. Maybe because you couldn't bear to watch it anymore. You knew who the woman was, obviously, the home wrecker of your life, but the fact your husband was still talking to her after everything that happened? No. You don't know the whole story. Ram wouldn't do that again. He did make a mistake, yes, but what if things were different this time? What if it wasn't her either? But what if it was. What if Ram bought a ring for her and he planned to elope with her. But he said he loved you and he would never leave you. Then again, he said that after your marriage and did cheat. You didn't know your tears made their way down to your chin by the time you reached home. You opened the gates, and sat on your bed, keeping your tote bag by the bed frame. You wiped your tears from the back of your hand. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that Ram wouldn't do anything like that again, and you didn't know exactly either. You decided to talk to him after the new year party.

When Ram saw you ready for the party, the net white saree with small roses embroidered on it, hair in a bun with your baby hair and fringes falling forward, red lips and dark kohl lines with a pink blush on cheeks- Ram decided to finally propose to you after the party. He glanced at your finger, the old, cheap gold ring that you wore with a haste back then. You were so happy to be married to him that you didn't bother to make demands. Ram wondered how tough that would have been for you, for someone who had men swarming and lived with a life of princess treatment till an extent.

Ram did notice, that almost in the first hour of the party, you were drunk out of your wits. You laughed loudly, falling on your girlfriends, patting their arms. He liked the scene, the carefree y/n, but he also didn't understand why you would get so drunk. After some time, you sat alone, far away in a chair, quietly. The reruns of the scene you witnessed outside the market flashed across your mind, when you saw Ram making his way to you. "Y/n, are you okay?" He asked, kneeling close to you. You stared at him, blankly. The red lipstick has vanished, stuck to the empty glass next to you. "Did you think that when you slept with her?" The question left Ram wide eyed and stunned. He gaped, and swallowed. He was speechless. You realized Ram wouldn't answer. You looked away, your eyes heavy.

Ram supported you when you stood up, ready to leave the party. His arm was around your waist, as your sleepy head tried to pry your eyes open. You bid goodbye, making your way to your home. Around 20 minutes later, Ram unlocked the gates, opening the door wide for you to come in. You dragged yourself, taking your shoes off and plopping on the diwan in the living room. You were tired. "You'll get cold, come in" Ram tapped your shoulder, taking off his coat. He knew better than to propose right now, you weren't even able to form a sentence. You wanted to ask him about the early afternoon too, but you physically couldn't. Ram sighed, hooking his arms under you and picking your body up, carrying you inside and laying you down on the bed. Ram took off his suspenders, uncuffing his sleeves. You picked yourself up, leaning by the bed frame. Ram took his shirt out of trousers, taking it off. He folded it neatly, placing it on the chair, then sat on the bed next to you, taking off his socks. Still in his trousers he splayed on the bed next to you, sighing. Today was tiring. He looked at you, staring at him all the time as he undressed. Ram realised that you weren't sleeping in the same room. He got up again, muttering a sorry, and started leaving the room when you held onto his wrist.

Ram looked down at your hand, and then in your drunk eyes. You grabbed his chain, pulling him on top of you as you laid down on the bed. Ram hesitated. You were not thinking straight- a bottle of wine doesn't make anyone think straight. "Y/n, no" he muttered. "Why, you can't sleep with your own wife now?" Your words sent him over the edge. Ram climbed over you, your chest heaving. "Why do you think that?" He muttered close to your ear. Ram traced his nose down your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "I missed you" you whispered in his ear, your hands in his hair. Ram peppered kisses down the side of your neck, your collarbone, his hands clasping yours above your body.

The last time you both were intimate was more than 6 months ago, and you didn't have a speck of that relief in the last 6 months again. You were easily sensitive, moaning at every touch and hissing at every bite. Ram unravelled you, the net finding its place away from your body on the bed. There was not a single place Ram didn't leave a mark on your skin, he missed your presence, your body, your everything. He strived to give you the best, better than he ever had, to show that he is just yours and only yours. He missed his name rolling off your lips with such pleasure. Ram slept with you in the same bed, with all the innocence, after months of heart ache. He couldn't afford to let you go now, his arms tight and firm around you. You breathed the same air, naked under the blankets. Ram and you finally slept in peace after a long time, in each other's arms.

Waking up to the sound of the tipper tapper outside, you noticed it was raining. Rain in the winter was the worst, it dropped the temperature, making life even more miserable. You loved rain, but never in the winter. Cramps resonated in your thighs and arms when you pulled yourself away from Ram. It has been so long, your body couldn't take it. Your head pounded from all the drinking. Ram slept soundly, his bare chest exposed, his arms wide away. You covered him with blanket, scared he will get sick. You slipped on your blouse and wrapped a homely saree, wearing a sweater and a shawl. It was too cold. You freshened up, making tea. You didn't get to talk to Ram about that woman yesterday, but after last night, it was clear that he wouldn't leave you again. He promised that much for sure. You carried a tray of tea in your bedroom, keeping it on the bedside. Ram was still asleep. Running a hand through his hair, you stared at his perfect eyes. Ram emitted a husky voice. "Sarla, nahi" his voice trailed off, going back to sleep.

----------------------------------------------------------------

tagging: @yehsahihai @vijayasena @nerdreader @ramayantika @chaanv

[lxdymoon0357]

Meet my OCs again!!!

Name: Reo Takahashi

Age: 20 years old

Height: 6'4

Ethnicity: Japanese

Species: Human

Job: Mafia Boss

Personality: He's known to be cruelest Asian mafia to be there in the whole underground fanction, and though that reputation is true to some extent, he is mostly a sweet person to his loved ones and kind of clueless about world, even though he is a mafia he was mostly a protected child.

Likes: Cold coffee, chow-chow, raspberries, koto, resin flower dagger, eyeliner.

Dislikes: Being late, dark chocolate, sausage, uggs.

Yandere type: obsessive, protective, manipulative and loving

Name: Ceseline Lynea

Age: 16-19 years old

Height: 5'4

Ethnicity: Japanese-Indian

Species: Lion hybrid

Job: A café shop owner/ manager

Personality: Ceseline is well known in her social circle to be motherly, but though that's true, she's also very chaotic and weird, often confusing people if she has a twin. Her duality helps her with her friendships and every single one of her relationship, sometimes she needs to be motherly and calm and other times she can be chaotic and weird.

Likes: Baby animals, swings, Indian sweets, saree, soft blankets.

Dislikes: hunters, people who are rude for no reason, sweaty people, her height

Yandere type: serving, protective, possessive, obsessive

Name: Emilianna Mylena

Age: 17-19 years old

Height: 5'5

Ethnicity: German

Species: human

Job: Uni student/ part-time barista for Ceseline

Personality: Quite a playful person, loves to spend time with the ones she loves except for her parents, who though were around didn't took part in her raising a lot, only her uncle who was single and she would often spend time with her grandmother, she's quite a sweet person, often helping people she loves and prefers to spend her time alone.

Likes: cranberries, shakes, beaches, volleyball

Dislikes: crowds, people who are loud, pushy people, coffee

Yandere type: Sadistic, caring, possessive, obsessive

Name: Allistor Hillard

Age: ???

Height: 6'0

Ethnicity: british-latino

Species: half-angel half- demon

Job: Librarian, part-time Assassin

Personality: He was raised by two mothers, he's knows to treat someone nicely despite their colour, age, gender, label, sexuality and Ethnicity. He is deemed the perfect 'boyfriend/husband' material by his friends and he knows how to treat someone the way they deserve to be treated. He loves to give affection, get someone gifts, be of service to someone or be possessive, fight someone, get jealous enough to keep you home, it's one thing he's made about a perfect mix of an angel and a demon.

Likes: rabbits, chai-tea, white chocolate, Rainy days, stone paths

Dislikes: Hot days, Glitter, anybody who tried to belittle or harass anybody for their own pleasure, Annoying people

Yandere type: puppy, servicing, loving, possessive

Name: Rikurou Takahashi

Age: 20-26 years old

Height: 6'2

Ethnicity: Japanese

Species: human

Job: assassin, hacker, part-time mafia

Personality: Rikurou, Reo's elder brother is somebody who refuses to say he loves his brother, but he shows it, but unlike in front of his brother, he shoes his whole affection in front of his darling. He loves to spoil them as well, though quite delusional and extremely good at manipulation.

Likes: Gaming, vanilla and white chocolate waffles, red velvet waffles with white chocolate, milkshakes, sakura flowers

Dislikes: pollution, marshmellows, cockroaches, mud, beer

Yandere type: Manipulative, manipulative, manipulative, possessive, obsessive, spoiling, servicing, loving

[cosmicnovaflare]

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

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

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

[apinchofm]

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.

[ramayantika]

Iconic Bollywood women but make it aesthetic

Madhubala

Writes letters, silver jhumke, light coloured flowy kurtis, reads poetry, loves jalebis, has the most beautiful smile, gentle soul, doesn't know how many people fall for her, loves children, moon gazing, dreams of living in an haveli, night time existential crisis, wants to twirl in a white anarkali while someone showers marigold petals, black and white Bollywood movies, falls in loves deeply, stores every small memoir of her friends and loved ones.

Rekha

Desi dark feminine energy, has the most updated wardrobe, blessed with wit and sarcasm, center of attention in a room full of people, best dressed, piercing eyes that gaze deep into your soul, laughs loud and hard, silk sarees, gajra in her hair and wrists, walks like a queen, rarely posts on social media, highly intimidating, eats the spiciest pani puri/gupchup/golgappa, Miss Popular, will turn you breathless with a side glance.

Sridevi

Literal embodiment of sunshine but hides her inner feelings, secretly in love with a boy in her neighbourhood, wears colouful bindis and juttis, has learnt singing and dancing, loves sitting beside ponds and rivers, possesses mischevious eyes, you can never be angry on her, can transform into an outspoken diva within seconds, acts like a heroine in her room or when home alone.

Madhuri

Has a proper skin care routine, loves chocolates, loves eating achaar, light lipsticks, the most graceful in the room, fake scenarios expert, blushes easily, hates waking up early, plant mother, loves playing with puppies, makes birthday cards for everyone, breezy outfits, has the best thumkas to rock a wedding sangeet, warm hugs and forehead kisses.

Aishwarya

Owns too many sarees and desi outfits, gold jewellery, perfectionist, artist but chose science, loves reading about history, philosophy and space, a hidden genius, your school/college crush, can and will beat you in a debate, gajra supremacy, has a pretty voice, should be a model, loves winter, holds hands under the bench, winks and steals your heart.

I know there and many more but abhi ke liye itna hi? Plij! Also do tell who else do you want to see so I can post them in the other parts.