#desi self insert

[brandycranby]

You have Ari wips? ☺️ if you're up for it, may we have a nibble of something ip?

hi needle ☺️🫶🏻 have a snippet from one of my oldest wips, arranged marriage a/b/o duke!ari x princess!reader AU, (asian/desi coded as always but no description)

His hands guide yours off your clothes but he doesn't try to loosen your skirts. Instead, he slides closer on the bench, pulling you onto his lap and enclosing you in the fold of his arms.

"This is a hug, sweetest. Have you… have you never had one?"

Muted by the cloak of his scent, you shake your head. His heart beats under your ear, a steady even pound that soothes the bristling creature in your head. It's so warm, so dark where you're pressed up against his chest, hidden away in his arms. Safe. You're so safe cradled here. It makes you want to nuzzle his neck and breathe in his thick musk until you’re lightheaded, take liberties with this kind Alpha without his leave.

The wetness of your tears doesn't register immediately, but when it does, it's with a jolt of panic that makes you twist away.

long rambling under the cut :^))

i've wanted to write a palace setting ever since i started writing fic, especially during quarantine when i was consuming stuff like bajirao mastani and a shitload of tvb historical dramas. i think about what it must have been like to grow up in a harem, to fight for dignity and respect that should have been given to you, to have to hide your softness and be strong and sharp and smart unless you wanted to get killed by another concubine.

i also think about how physical touch is something so forbidden in many asian cultures and how much im starved for contact. i think about how emotional i am, how many tears i can cry at a time, and how my mom never ever cries when things get tough because it's natural for her to process rationally and logically. she's not broken or missing anything in the same way that someone with autism isnt broken for experiencing life and emotion differently. im not looking to demonizing one culture or another and i definitely not making this into an east vs west white savior thing.

but growing up, i didnt know what to do. it was a big learning process solved by communicating what i needed. i recommend this comic by ruth chan which is very healing

so, this fic is an illustration of the balancing act i've finally kinda mastered after 20 years. duchess isnt there yet, she's still struggling to accept that she's more emotional than what her culture prescribes as proper and appropriate and that she can't control it. because she was never taught why or how and how to feel safe communicating this with someone she trusts.

i thought it'd be interesting to put all of this in the context of a/b/o which we know deals a lot with physical touch and instinct and emotions. i wanted to see how different origins and traditions create miscommunications. and ari is the perfect vehicle for this. it's going to hurt so much (sorry duchess) and then he's going to be a soothing balm for us all.

it's all so very very complicated and close to my heart. thats why it's taking so long :'))

i also understand that this is reader with a lot of personality, one that you (general you) may not vibe with and i say thats valid. jjst please move on if she bothers you or if you feel like you cant connect with the fic.

that being said, even if she's was not written for you, i hope you can still try to understand her and feel affection for her and the story

@punemy-spotted duchess mention <3

[jester-lover]

Hobie with a Desi! S/O

cw/ fem! Reader, horrible attempt at writing British people, including multiple desi cultures bc my girlies need all the representation we can get (it’s slim pickings out here) all fluff, some cultural struggles, but everything is resolved, mentions of insecurities

(LONG POST- headcanons and a drabble)

I'm goth and I had a literary awakening when Hobie showed up

There are literally only two ways I see the two of you meeting

The first involves you being a friend/relative of Pavitir’s, who is exceptionally happy his two homies are getting along

In this situation, Hobie would know a little more about you from the get go, and you most likely would know about him (Pav thinks he’s so cool, he’ll talk about his friends to anyone who’ll listen)

Another; in my opinion, funnier, way for the two of you to meet is him accidentally crashing a desi wedding when he’s on Spidey business

You would be mildly peeved with him for disturbing the wedding, but his spunk and generally opinionated personality make you fall for him

Either way, congratulations! You have the world’s loveliest punk boyfriend

As a boyfriend, Hobie loves helping out in any activity you need help with

He’s the type of boy who tries his absolute hardest to be there for any event that is important to you

No matter if its a massive grad party or a late night pizza run, Hobie is there and having the time of his life

Now, moving onto the cultural aspect, Hobie adores learning about other cultures

Your family is weary of him at first, because of the way he dresses primarily

He manages to find a place in their hearts after they see the way he treats you (with respect and dignity!!!!)

Also the fact that he eats whatever your mom makes, entire plate, man will lick it clean

(I mean, have you seen how much British people love takeaway?)

“Is your mum home yet?” “She’s making something good I bet, she always is.”

He can HANDLE spice, and he’s good with kids (his interaction with Mayday proved that to me)

Your parents may end up, in a shocking event, liking him!

Hobie is your biggest hype man whenever you wear cultural clothes, especially if they’re a little on the edgy side, dark colors and all that

Lehengas, shalwar kameez, sarees, etc, he loves them all

“You're dressed up, aren’t you?”

He’ll explain it to you in this mysticised ‘stepping on eurocentric beauty standards’ type of way, but you know deep down he just thinks you're super pretty

He’s obsessed with your features, no matter what you look like, he thinks you have the most perfect face in the world

If you ever make Hobie Desi food, he’ll be in love with you forever

He loves pani puri, especially if the pani is a lil spicier

His love language is acts of service, and you making him something to eat is like, you are nourishing him?? With bomb Desi food?? he’s is seeing heaven rn

He most DEF asks Pav (who then asks Gayatri) for advice on how to impress you

This leads to him, hanging onto your windowsill, with a Mendhi tube in his hand, and a calm smile on his face

As Hobie slid off his mask, his gorgeous hair fell to the sides of his sharp face. Placing the spiky mask on your side table, he sauntered towards your bed, abruptly sitting down and motioning for you to follow him. 

You sighed, and smiled as you took your spot in front of him. He was alway so considerate, taking your interests into mind whenever he swung by.

“You know, I’m not a pro at this or anything.”

He grinned, almost wolfishly, and placed the small sharp tipped tube into your lap.

“I could care less, do anything on my hands.”

You gently took one of his hands into both of yours, spreading it out to see the flesh of his palm, his nails were painted red this week, courtesy of you, of course.

His long bony hand flexed as you gently took off each of his silverish rings, one by one. 

You were completely focused on this simple act, treating him with a gentleness only you could offer him, a complete contrast from his usual existence. 

“I don’t have a lot of time today, my cousin’s getting married, we have to go to some pre wedding events.”

Hobie perked up in interest, sliding his free hand to smooth out your gingham sheets.

“And what do you plan to wear?”

His mind flashed through all the traditional clothes he’s seen you in, each more ornate and beautiful than the last.

“The lehenga most likely, the peach-ish one, with the sparkles.”

You undid the little plastic pin at the top of the Mehendi tube, applying a slight pressure and making a small line on his palm to start out with.

Hobie looked at you closely, remembering the last time he saw that specific lehenga.

“That one’s cute.”

You laughed a little, looking down at your messy drawing.

“I was going for a flower but it sorta looks like a palm tree.”

He looked down at his hand, a messy smudgy, and less than finished flower was on his palm.

“Maybe, a couple more petals on the top, yeah?”

You squeezed the Mendhi tube again, carefully drawing three extra petals on the top.

“There! I think that's good.”

Hobie looked down at his palm and kept a laugh back, poorly albeit.

The flower wasn’t necessarily bad, just a little wonky.

“It's absolutely beautiful.”

You smiled.

“Hold your hand still until it dries, then peel off the crumbly bits, okay?”

Hobie mockingly saluted with his other hand, matching your smile.

“Anything you say.”

You giggled, taking his face in your hands gently, careful to avoid snagging one of his piercings.

“What am I ever gonna do without you?”

His expression turned a little soft, keeping his smile steady.

“Let's hope it never has to come to that.”

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #81: Harry Potter, but make it Aberforth's Daughter

Having been told that choosing to be a muggle in the Wizarding World is "not getting into the spirit of things", I set about determining under what circumstances I could bear to live in the British Wizarding World. This is what I came up with.

Or: What if the SI were to replace Aberforth Dumbledore's OC daughter?

Some context:

First, we're leaning heavily on book canon while dipping our toes into Hogwarts Legacy as far as the extended magical communities in the Scottish Highlands are concerned. This means no Fantastic Beasts movies, no Credence Barebone, but the Hogwarts Legacy map and the implication the Wizarding World is bigger than just a school and alley - and actually magical.

Secondly, the OC wakes up with memories of her past life as the SI on her fifth birthday. This is less of a true SI than a modern woman in the British Wizarding World, with the middle-aged SI being a critical HP fan with an engineering background.

Thirdly, the SI takes the place of an OC - Aberforth's daughter, Aishwarya Devi, born in early 1979 as a result of fling with an Anglo-Indian astrophysicist by the name of Sandhya Devi who moved to the UK as a young adult. Although Aishwarya - Ash - is never unaware of who her father is, her parents agreed before she was born that Sandhya raises Aishwarya by herself for a variety of reasons that are part wartime paranoia, part not wanting to burden a child with the expectations of the Dumbledore name, and part Aberforth really not being cut out to be a husband or father. Assume she existed in canon, was sent to school in her mother's native India, and never made it into the pages of the books.

Just imagine it:

Ash grows up in the town of Brocburrow in the Hogsmede Valley. She is a quiet but inquisitive child - two traits that only grow more pronounced after she remembers he past life as the SI.

It becomes painfully clear early on that there is nothing she can do to prevent the Second Wizarding War from her position as an untrained underage witch, so Ash concentrates on learning everything she can so as to survive it, soaking up everything her mother can teach her - Wizarding and muggle astronomy, plus more runes and arithmancy than most ever learn in Hogwarts - and reading everything she can about this new world she has unfortunately found herself a part of.

The more she learns, the less impressed with the British Wizarding World Ash becomes. Too much power is concentrated in the hands of too few, with most wizards willing to blindly follow the most magically powerful among them because of a lingering belief that the magically powerful are magically powerful because they are deserving of it. (Think of the similar medieval concept re: nobles and their presumed nobility.)

Aberforth has little role in her childhood. If Ash had really been a child, it would have been easy to mistake his distance for lack of care, but having once been a semi-functional adult it's easier to see that Aberforth simply has no idea how to interact with children. He tries for her sake and Ash can't help but love him for it, even as he fails miserably.

Although Sandhya initially wishes her daughter to attend her alma mater back in India, Ash manages to convince her to let her attend Hogwarts in the fall of 1990, one year before Harry Potter is set to start his schooling.

To no one's surprise, she ends up sorted into Ravenclaw - and wielding an acacia and huma feather wand. ("A kingmaker's wand," Ollivander says.)

First year it's her intention to keep her head down and avoid attracting the notice of her uncle. Ash succeeds in this, coming across as just another academically gifted Ravenclaw, albeit one who makes a bit of a name for herself complaining that the muggles know such much more about outer space than we do. And math. Calculus was invented before the Statute of Secrecy, you know.

She also manages to strike up a surprising friendship with fourth year Percy Weasley - their usual tables in the library are next to each other and so they form a quiet academic acquaintanceship that evolves almost without them realizing it into true friendship. As least half of this is based Percy once telling his brothers off for a prank that borders more on bullying than humor, and the rest on Ash being just that advanced in astronomy and arithmancy.

Second year Ash is determined to stay out of the sorcerer's stone debacle - but also sets out to cultivate a friendship with Harry Potter, initially because it's the only way she can think of to get him away from the Dursleys (as any sensible adult should have done the first time he crossed their path) and out from under her uncle's thumb, but later because he is genuinely a sweet kid who soaks up all the affection he's given and returns it threefold. She does this by inviting him to celebrate Diwali with her and the other Hindi students - which opens up a can of worms regarding Harry's hereto unknown desi background - and establishes herself (and through her, Percy) a trustworthy older student Harry can rely upon.

This works out better than she can possibly dream when Harry takes his fears regarding the stone to Percy, who then presents them to McGonagall in a way that leads her to stake out the third floor corridor in her animagus form, catch Quirell in the act, and watch him die when Voldy deserts him.

Third year starts fairly close to CoS, but after the first petrifaction - about which the Headmaster does nothing save almost seem to encourage the rumors about Harry being the Heir of Slytherin - Ash decides to use her first Hogsmede weekend to act. She goes to the Hog's Head, tells her father exactly what is happening in the school, and watches as Aberforth's face turns into a storm cloud.

She has no idea what Aberforth actually does - only that the next morning the Headmaster announces the school will be closed until the person behind the petrifications is caught. She spends a week at home before the school reopens and though there are rumors the Aurors found a basilisk in the school, not a word of explanation is ever given to the students.

Ash's third year continues without further incident - except now she is on the Headmaster's radar. Albus had been kept carefully unaware of his brother's child, but now that he knows of her existence, he's eager to fit Ash into his Greater Good. Ash rebuffs him, but it's hard to be sure if even that isn't part of his plans.

Fourth year follows PoA fairly closely, though it's Ash's house Harry runs away to following events with Marge. Sandhya is more than happy to take her daughter's friend in, but the more she learns about Harry's home life, the more concerned she grows, and starts the ball rolling in the muggle world to have the situation investigated. This plays out quietly in the background while the school year otherwise follows canon - up to and including Wormtail's escape at the end of the year.

The summer before fifth year starts with both Harry and Dudley being removed from the Dursley home. Harry gets to stay with Ash and Sandhya while the Wizarding World fights over who gets to become Harry's legal guardian. They never get to decide - Harry is legally emancipated when he's forced to take part in the tournament - but the whole situation shines a bright light on everything that has been going on at Hogwarts the last few years. Dumbledore comes out of the situation with his titles intact, but his reputation in tatters - particularly after he claims Voldemort's return, which many think is a way to try to regain his former prestige.

Sixth year - OotP - is where things really start to change.

Despite his emancipation, Harry continues to live with Ash and Sandhya - Ash having very much taken up the mantle of protective older sister at this point.

With Dumbledore's political power already on a downward arc, it makes no sense to send Umbridge to Hogwarts. So Percy Weasley is the new DADA instructor instead. This makes a certain amount of sense, as Percy's frantic work keeping Crouch Sr.'s department running even while he was imperiused/ill/dead meant that things actually ran smoother. Fudge sees Weasley as a potential rival to be cut off at the knees... and one of the few Hogwarts graduates in his employ with an O in DADA.

This is awkward for a number of reasons, not least because despite having remained friends throughout Hogwarts, after running into each other at the Yule Ball (Ash was Harry's date) they're in that awkward stage of waiting for Ash to be older before investigating the attraction between them.

Sixth year goes well, with Percy setting out to teach not torture, and doing just enough to keep the ministry off his back - there are some parts of Hogwarts that need to be investigated, i.e. security and the reduced class offering - as well as doing just enough for his fellow professors to think he's a ministry toadie - Flitwick and McGonagall are not convinced by his act, but others are. There's still an incident at the DoM at the end of the year, but Harry is able to tell the relevant adults so that it's they who spring Voldy's trap, not half-trained children.

Ash's seventh year - HBP - goes by similarly smoothly. The major change here is that 1) Harry repeats everything he learns from Dumbledore to Ash, whose takeaways from the memories are far more critical of her uncle, and 2) Ash and Percy begin dating, but so little changes between them that only those they've explicitly told notice.

With the Wizarding World at war, it's a bit of a culture shock when Ash begins muggle university the next year, majoring in astrophysics. Her flat near the college serves as a well-warded base for Harry and co to hunt for horcruxes after Grimmauld Place is lost. She fights in the Battle of Hogwarts, and though she'd intended to save as many as she could, it's still a surprise when she manages to save Fred Weasley from his canon fate.

Afterwards, Ash goes on to gain a doctorate in astrophysics in the muggle world and work on integrating muggle discoveries with Wizarding knowledge, as her mother had done for the past several decades. Her friendship with Harry means that her work is put in a greater spotlight, and when Professor Sinistra finally retires Ash is the one asked to replace her. Sometime between all this she and Percy marry - much to the surprise of the other Weasleys - and have a single child just old enough to start Hogwarts when Ash begins teaching.

Harry himself takes a more political role in this world, having come to the conclusion very early on that oppression and ignorance help no one, and that it's the Wizarding World's belief that might makes right that got them all into this situation in the first place. He's Head of the DMLE for several years before being elected Minister for a maximum three terms. His administration is marked by efforts to shift Ministry hiring practices from nepotism to merit, as well as make laws apply legally to people of all magical backgrounds. He's not entirely successful, but it's a vast improvement.

Bonuses include: 1) Albus Dumbledore not evil so much as misguided - he honestly, genuinely thinks that he knows what's best for everyone. Maybe he even does. He's simply forgotten that people are not pawns and just because you want what you think is best for them doesn't mean that they want it, or that it is what is personally best for them. All of this should be brought up when he tries to pull Ash into his web; 2) An institutional problem with bullying in Hogwarts. All houses have villains and victims, but Gryffindor has more than its fair share of the latter, compounded by Dumbledore's nepotism and McGonagall being too busy to breathe most days. This eventually comes to a head during GoF, when Ash ties a charm into the school wards that writes the word Bully across the perpetrator's face when they violate standards borrowed from a muggle secondary school's guidebook; 3) Aberforth playing a greater role in Ash's life as she grows older, especially after she comes to him for help with his brother in CoS; and 4) Ash and Harry becoming siblings of choice. Ash never displaces any of Harry's friend group, but is there and willing to listen in a way no one in his life had been previously. And that changes everything.

And that is, surprisingly, more than I'd thought I'd have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

Other SIs: Aberforth's Daughter | Lysa Arryn | Petunia Evans | Princess of Dol Amroth

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[firefly--bright]

Aayat ki Tarah.

jean kirstein x fem!desi!reader

the tinkling of your payal in jean's hands.

warnings : none.

tags : @androphobicslut , @san3ttessimz , @flowersbloominthedark , @pl4ybhaicarti , @voidheichou

a/n : god the amount of support i on posting that one (1) post of making a one shot of jean x desi! reader was. so. thank you.

i am aware that everyone's desi experiences are different, so I've tried not to go into too much detail and tried keeping things general, but i am sorry if i somehow offended you!!! i am open to any and all constructive criticisms!

translations will be given after the work! this is an incredibly self indulgent fic and i had so much fun writing it lol. thank you for reading this, and i hope you like it! reblogs, likes and notes are appreciated :))

| main masterlist is pinned on my profile| playlist i was listening to while writing |

--

Tujhe yaad kar liya hai,

Aayat ki tarah…

Im late, im late im late.  

You put a bindi on your forehead, immediately removing it because it wasn’t centred.

You didn’t have the time or patience to center it, so you just let it drop to the ground, not bothering to put it on your mirror like you knew your mother taught you how to.

Most times, you'd find used bindis on random mirrors all over your house.

Smiling to yourself, you put the finishing touch, the piece of resistance, a dupatta over your shoulder, smearing some kajal behind your right ear to "ward off evil spirits."

“love?” you heard Jean call out, opening your door fully.

The music echoed in your room, the gentle and powerful melody of which did not match the urgency of your situation.

Adjusting the dupatta a bit, you took one last look in the mirror, hoping and praying everyone else was as late as you were to the wedding. You were contemplating putting a pin to hold the dupatta in place, but a soft whisper of “holy shit,” snapped you out of your reverie.

You turned around to see Jean, dressed in a suit as instructed, with his mouth practically hanging open. You smiled a bit at the cliché reaction. You didn’t blame him; this was the first time he’d ever seen you in a lehenga, let alone in a lehenga like this. Usually your traditional wear was something quite simple, but since it was your first cousin’s wedding, your mother practically begged you to purchase the slightly grander one. And judging by your boyfriend’s expression, it was a good choice.

The music changed, playing the next one from your playlist. You walked over to Jean, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“you look good, jaan. But we’re late and I want to get there before my siblings do.” You say, brushing past him.

Jean jumped slightly and followed you to the front door.

“thank you, love. You look gorgeous too,” he says, smirking as he puts on his shoes, following your movements.

You smile back.

The night was somewhat chilly, but thankfully you were in Jean’s car, which kept you warm enough. Luck seemed to be on your side that day, since your mother was also running somewhat late.

Atleast you’d reach before her and avoid her endless berating if you were to reach later than her.

You should’ve just taken her advice and stayed at the hotel with the rest of your cousins, though. It would’ve been easier after the mehendi night, saving Jean from the hassle of picking you up as well, even if he had barely complained the other night.

You glanced at him from the passenger seat. His hands were gently drumming the steering wheel to the beat of the soft songs. He insisted on playing the playlist you had made, which was full of said soft desi songs that made you viscerally feel, in a way you didn’t know you could. Classical music was something you grew up with, along with most of your family, almost like a tradition.

Your grandfather would play classical songs from his mini caravan radio that someone had gifted him early in the mornings, which you’d catch some of before hurrying off to school. Now that you were older, however, you appreciated much more of the music. And Jean just so happened to love them with you.

Despite not knowing anything about the music, Jean still hummed along, warming your heart ten times over. He didn’t know the words, but still managed to hum in a way that was accurate to the original music, his deep voice complimenting the highs of the song perfectly.

You smiled a little. The music changed, playing 'radha kaise na jale' from Lagan.

“oh my god I love this song,” you said, turning the volume a little higher.

You swayed your hips as best you could to the song, mouthing the lyrics.

“what’s it mean?” Jean asks, smiling along with you, a stray piece of his hair visible on his forehead. You brushed it away, making sure not to disturb his driving, as you explained what it meant, immediately jumping into a mythology rant. How krishna, a young reincarnated god, would “innocently” make radha, a princess and also coincidentally a reincarnated goddess, jealous by dancing with other gopis (female villagers). You also gave him the entire plot of the movie Lagan.

You didn’t know that by the time you were finished, you were two songs from the original one which made you rant in the first place. you had also reached your location.

You breathed a bit. “I loved that song as a kid. I still do, obviously.”

“obviously.” Jean echoes with a smile.

His usually sharp eyes were soft as they looked at you. he reached out to adjust the mogras in your hair, the scent of which was filling the car up completely.

“oh! The payal.” You exclaim, your hand diving into your purse to find where you kept them.

They were gold and had bells that didn’t make too much noise; just enough for you to feel like you were walking on sunlight. They had small carvings of tiny gold flowers, delicately placed evenly apart from each other. Your mother had bought them last year for your birthday.

“let me,” Jean whispered, and with the music playing, you could barely hear him. he gently took the payal from your hands, inspecting them as you propped your foot up on your seat.

Jean glanced at your face.

How the fuck did he get so lucky?

If Marco had never spotted you across campus, waving you over to Jean and him, he would’ve never known about your existence. He wondered now how he’d even live without you, without your messy hair, cup of coffee in your hand, somehow juggling a snack, books, and said coffee in both your arms.

Marco had mentioned something about you being in one of his classes and study groups, but Jean was too busy staring at the coffee stain on the corner of your shirt.

“im usually more put together, I swear.” You had said.

Looking at you now, yeah. You were a little more put together. But that didn’t matter because he had seen you almost passed out at the library from exhaustion and still be in love with you, even if his mouth was chastising you for staying there so late without any food and breaks, his mind was running around in frantic circles thinking about you, and how he’d been so glad to find you after spending almost three hours looking for you, and how he would now get to share a late drive-thru meal with you, and how he’d get to put you to sleep, and he felt his heart constrict when you refused to let go of his green sweatshirt after he had talked you to sleep, how he felt his heart completely fly away from his body and probably into your arms as you snuggled close to him after he placed a small kiss on your forehead.

As friends. How was he so stupid?

Of course, not long after that night, he asked you out. It was raining, you were sipping coffee again, he was having a blueberry muffin. You two had taken solace under the front of a café, the side of his shirt was completely wet. But it didn’t matter because you had been smiling, your hand infront of you as you caught a few drops of rain on to your hand. He asked you why you called him jaan and not Jean, why you pronounced the 'j' in his name harder than anyone else did. You told him it meant life in hindi, and he gripped your waist and pulled you in for a kiss, soft and gentle and passionate and so... you.

And despite the cool weather, he had felt warm.

He placed the payal in his palm, gently moving your foot covered with tights on his thigh.

You let out a soft breath as the song changed.

If your twelve year old self would see this, she’d squeal. Hell, present you were squealing internally.

He gently clasped the first payal around your foot, as he motioned for your other. Your eyes didn’t leave his hands as he worked, softly brushing away the fabric of your lehenga, thumb and index finger working in perfect unison.

He clasped the other one. Despite your gaze being locked on his hands, you didn’t make a move to leave after he was done.

The melodies of the song intensified as you looked up, finding his eyes already on yours.

The gold in his eyes was shining with the reflection of the lights from outside. His hand rubbed circles on your calf as you shivered, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

A stray strand of his hair escaped onto his forehead again, despite being subtly gelled back. You leaned into his touch as your hand brushed away the hair, trailing to cup his cheek too.

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes narrow a fraction, glossing over a little. You tilt your head further into his warm hand. How his hand managed to stay warm while yours were a literal block of ice, you didn’t know. What you did know, however, was the fact that he would usually entrap your hands into his own as an excuse to warm them up. when you were just his friend, you knew he was simply using your hands being cold as an excuse to warm them up with his own hands, holding them as he shrugged his jacket onto your shoulder despite your complaints of not being cold.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, kissing the palm of his hand.

He leans in then, his warm breath fanning on your face as he kissed you. his hand leaves your calf and rests on top of your kneecap, while his other hand rubs circles on your cheek, and you swear that you’ve become plyable putty in his warm hands. You pull away only a little, to see his eyes.

They're shining. You don’t control your smile, which makes Jean kiss you again, not caring about your lipstick transferring onto his lips.

His forehead rests against yours, as his hand makes your way to the back of your neck, careful not to mess up your hair. He rubs circles there, in his Jean Kirstein way, and you resist the urge to cry and ruin your makeup.

The song changes.

He whispers another “I love you.”

You are late to the wedding, not as late as your mother, as you re-aply your lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

The bells on your payal tinkle as you walk back to your jaan.

---

translation(s):

tujhe yaad kar liya hai aayat ki tarah - I've kept you in my mind like a promise.

i didn't put more Hindi/Urdu sentences cause i didn't want non hindi/Urdu speakers to feel left out :')

[nuatthebeach]

funniest part??? I’m also brown AND i will fight DIRTY for my man ron!!!!!!!!! BE READY!!!!!!!!

OK BUT ARE YOU PREMED/HEALER SHIT BEHAVIOR THO 🤔🤔🤔🤔

(if so I acquiesce and we can be the parvati twins 💀💀)

[nopain-nokogane]

zatanna is south asian i don’t give a shit about the fact that she has blue eyes dc you are NOT taking this away from me

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ ve kamleya ࿐ྂ "if you want to do something, go fall in love. fulfill your stubborn wish for once"

summary: in which during a deal with overseas businessmen, bonten finds out about your shitty ex from high school

pairing(s): slight bonten x desi!oc, implied mikey x desi!oc

notes: oc is punjabi cuz I said so and this is also kind of a self-insert so... title from my fav hindi song ve kamleya, the video has eng subs btw. dividers by cafekitsune

warnings: dark content 18+, canon typical violence, drug-related business(opium), drug trafficking, slight misogyny, implied/referenced ptsd, past abusive relationship, mean!manjiro, slight insensitivity, blood and gore, implied torture, implied murder, suggestive themes

word count: 3770

The smoky haze of the dimly lit room hung heavy, casting shadows that danced across the faces of the assembled men. Sano Manjiro, the imposing leader of the Bonten gang, sat at the head of the table, his steely gaze surveying the room with a mixture of authority and calm. Around him sat his trusted lieutenants, each one a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The only woman among them, commanded the attention of the room as she rose to address their guests once again after hours of debate. After all, Sano Manjiro trusted no one else to get this deal done. “I understand the… demand, for opium up in the north of India but you should also know we aren’t lowering our price either” She says in English, tone gentle yet somehow firm at the same time 

Her words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the strength of their position in the negotiations. The guests shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the delicate balance of power at play. "We are prepared to meet your needs," she continued in the same language, her gaze steady. "But it must be on terms that are mutually beneficial."

One man clears his throat and speaks up finally. “You must understand Miss, we have no deficiency of suppliers, especially for opium,” The man says in English with a slight accent behind it as he casually adjusts his gold rings “The stuff from Japan is a lot higher in quality which is why we’re here doing this deal anyway. But we—”

“Because it is a lot higher in quality we cannot lower our price” She interjects with a calm smile “You know, labour costs and all” 

The man's expression tightened, his gaze flickering between her and Sano Manjiro as if weighing his options. Behind him, his companions exchanged cautious glances, sensing the tension in the air. "We understand your position," the man replied finally, his tone conceding to the reality of the situation. "But surely there's room for negotiation."

Her smile remained fixed, though her eyes betrayed no hint of compromise. "Of course, negotiations are always possible," she conceded her voice like velvet over steel. "But we must be clear on one thing: our price reflects not just the quality of our product, but the risks we undertake to supply it."

Akashi Takeomi, silent until now, leaned forward slightly. "Our operations are not without their challenges," he added, his voice low back in the same language, his accent a lot thicker than hers "But for the right partners, we are willing to mitigate those risks."

The men turn to each other and start conversing in another language and at the same time, she quietly translates to Takeomi exactly what they’re saying back in Japanese. She eyes Manjiro who’s standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the meeting room. It looked like he was zoned out, staring at the skyline of Tokyo but she and the rest of Bonten knew better than to think that. He was listening alright, even when it didn’t look like he was. The rest were just leaning back in their chairs, bored from the constant debate. “Say, Miss…” One of the men, probably the youngest, says in English with a prominent American accent “I hear you’re from India too. What state?”

She raises her brow at the question but responds anyway. “Punjab”

The other men seem to get excited at her answer. Of course, they would. After all, what language were they speaking this entire time to each other? “Really? I knew I recognized that nose from somewhere” One man switches to Punjabi when addressing her “Women from the north are known for being beautiful. I should have known you were from there”

His change of tone catches Manjiro’s attention and he finally, since the beginning of this meeting, turns to look at the businessmen. He obviously didn’t understand what they said but his instincts were something even the executives were afraid of so she won’t doubt that he had gotten the gist of what had been said. She shifts in her seat, Takeomi and the rest of Bonten looking at her curiously. “As much as I appreciate the flattery, we still aren’t lowering our price” She replies calmly in English, knowing replying back in Punjabi would no doubt make Manjiro aggravated as he liked to know what she was saying at all times

The businessmen exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Behind them, Sano Manjiro remained silent, his gaze now fixed on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that he was listening, that every word spoken in his presence was carefully scrutinized for any hint of deception or weakness. The youngest of the group seemed unfazed by her response, pressing on with his attempts at charm. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, an American accent thick even when speaking in Punjabi, with arrogance. "Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Her smile tightened, a glimmer of steel beneath her gentle facade. "I'm afraid not," she replied in English, her tone cool and final. "Our price is non-negotiable."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. It’s just then the door of the meeting room opens revealing a new face. “Sorry I’m late, traffic in Tokyo is—”

Manjiro waves the newcomer off. He was obviously with the other businessmen. The other executives are annoyed as hell with the lateness, after all the meeting had been going on for hours already, but don’t mention it as they’re tired. But that’s when Manjiro notices his only female executive has gone still. She’s frozen which is extremely uncharacteristic of her and it worries him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind. “How about we take a break.” He says, voice low and everyone knows it’s not an offer but a command

Manjiro headed for the door of the meeting room and his executives followed behind, Takeomi having to literally drag her to stand at one point. They’re in the elevator. Manjiro eyes her as she removes her red-bottomed heels from her feet, sighing in relief. The elevator is going up to the top floor. “Any weaknesses so far?” Kakucho asks, his voice breaking the silence

“Punctuality apparently” Ran mutters in annoyance 

They all look toward her, wondering what she had to say but instead, she’s silent, holding her heels in one hand, leaning against the elevator wall looking very out of breath. Rindo snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Dude” he says

“Hm?” she looks up at him, uncharacteristically dazed

Usually, she would have snapped at him, kicked Rindo in the shin or threatened to stab him with her heels but no, she didn’t. It was… concerning. Her uncharacteristic behaviour caught everyone’s attention. She isn’t usually like this— quiet, dazed and unconfident. No one is sure what to say, not even Kakucho who was Bonten’s collective impulse control and unlicenced and unpaid therapist. The elevator reaches the top floor and they file out of the elevator, into the private lounge. They watch in silence as she sits on the long circular-shaped couch, her heels dropped carelessly to the floor as she puts her hair up, revealing the hanafuda full moon tattoo on the back of her neck— on the same location as Manjiro has his. Manjiro takes a seat next to her and the rest sit on the couch too, staring. She looks at them, narrowing her eyes a bit. “What?”

“We should be asking you that” Mochi says as he lights himself a cigarette 

Her gaze lingered on each member of Bonten in turn, her expression inscrutable, as if weighing her words carefully before speaking. The tension in the room tightened like a taut wire, anticipation thrumming through the air. "I'm fine," she finally replied, her tone clipped, though the strain in her voice was evident to those who knew her well. "Too many languages just making my head hurt"

The response did little to ease the unease that had settled over the group like a heavy fog. They had seen her weather countless storms with unyielding resolve, her strength a pillar upon which they had come to rely. But now, faced with her uncharacteristic vulnerability, they found themselves at a loss for how to proceed. Manjiro studied her carefully, his keen eyes searching for any sign of deception or weakness. He knew her better than anyone and understood the walls she erected to shield herself from the world. But beneath the facade of stoicism, he sensed a flicker of genuine concern, a vulnerability she had never shown before. “Nah uh,” Sanzu says rolling his eyes “You started being all weird when the motherfucker who doesn’t know how to be on time showed up”

She shifts uncomfortably. It seems Sanzu’s observation was a hit. Her discomfort was palpable, her usual confidence shaken by the blunt observation. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of uncertainty betraying her stoic facade. The others watched her closely, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, unsure of how to proceed. Sanzu's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the tension that had simmered beneath the surface since the newcomer's arrival. She felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on her, the pressure to maintain her composure in the face of mounting scrutiny. "I..." She began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words. 

She couldn’t find an excuse. But even as she stayed silent, she could feel the disapproving stares of her companions, their silent judgment weighing heavily upon her. Manjiro, ever the astute leader, sensed her distress and moved to intervene. "Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "This conversation is over."

His authoritative tone brooked no argument, and the others fell silent, their eyes darting between her and their leader. “Go back to the meeting the rest of you”

Rest of you meaning, everyone leave and Manjiro and her stay. Without a word, the others rose from their seats, casting one last glance at her before filing out of the room. As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence descended, leaving only Manjiro and her alone in the private lounge. Manjiro looks at her, black eyes a bottomless pit of nothing. “What’s wrong?” He asks

There was no room for reflecting on his question. Manjiro was direct and needed answers as to why his best negotiator had suddenly frozen up in the midst of a deal. “You know him” It wasn’t a question this time but an observation

Manjiro understood the intricacies of their world better than anyone, and he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of even the most seemingly innocuous interactions. The newcomer's presence had disrupted the delicate balance of power, setting off alarm bells in her mind that she couldn't ignore. “I um… I…” She isn’t able to get her words out

He gives her a look. “Tell me” It’s a command

She shifts uncomfortably. She fiddles with her white gold rings, they glimmer under the artificial lighting. “That’s my ex…”

Manjiro raises a brow. Her admission hung heavy in the air, the weight of her revelation settling like a leaden cloak upon them both. Manjiro's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of concern danced in the depths of his obsidian eyes. "Your ex…" he repeated, his voice betraying no emotion.

She nodded, her throat constricting with the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions. She had hoped to keep her past firmly buried in the depths of her mind, but now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she found herself unable to hide the truth any longer. "He... he wasn't supposed to be here," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought I could handle it, but..."

Her words trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that enveloped them. She could feel the weight of Manjiro's scrutiny bearing down upon her, his gaze penetrating as he searched for some semblance of understanding in her haunted eyes. “And what did he do for my best negotiator to react like a psychiatric patient just at the sight of him?”

She shifts again but this time he holds her thigh to stop her from moving. There was no getting out of this conversation. Manjiro always got what he wanted and right now he wanted answers. “I… I dated him in high school”

It’s been years. She knows Manjiro is gonna belittle her for being this way over something that ended years ago but… She spills. She tries her best to tell him vaguely what happened— trying to be as vague as possible but Manjiro just keeps asking for more details. He wanted to know everything and once he was satisfied he pulled out his phone and typed something then threw it carelessly on the table. “Is that why you don’t date or sleep around like the others do?” He asks bluntly “Because of what he did?”

Manjiro looked angry. It was odd seeing an actual emotion in his eyes for once even if it was anger. She gulps. Oh man did she hate her stupid ex right now. It had been years since they broke up or well, since she forced the break up because he refused to let her leave. That stupid asshole traumatized her so badly that now even though she was an executive for Japan’s most ruthless and dangerous gang, he made her want to throw up from fear. “I’m sorry—”

“Shut up” Manjiro says lowly but she keeps going

“No, it was extremely unprofessional and I shouldn’t let my personal feelings come in the middle of work—”

He cuts her off again, grabbing her face and squeezing her cheeks together. Her lips jut out a bit from the action. The tips of Manjiro’s fingers dig into her cheeks and her skin warms under his touch, turning the most endearing shade of pink he’s ever seen. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Manjiro mutters looking annoyed

She thinks he might just shoot her, empty his Glock out in her head and get Sanzu or Koko to call the cleaners to get rid of her body and turn her into fishbait. “F-For fucking up the deal…” She tries saying as he squeezes her face tighter with the tips of his fingers

Manjiro chuckles and it has to be one of the scariest things she’s heard in her life. “Wrong. Apologize for dating such an ugly little bitch”

“... huh?”

She thinks she’s hearing things. “You heard me,” Manjiro says nonchalantly “apologize” 

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Was this some twisted form of punishment? Or was there something else, something more insidious, at play here? With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, She realized that she was treading dangerous waters, her every move scrutinized by the man before her. And as she searched his eyes for some semblance of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his demand than met the eye. Sanzu and Rindo often joked that she got away with a lot of things and Manjiro was the most lenient with her. Was Manjiro finally giving her the punishment she deserved for all the other times she fucked up? Oh man, no way she was going to die because of her stupid bitch ass ex. “Hey” He says snapping her out of her thoughts

She looks at him. “The deal is off. I don’t want it to go through anyway”

Her eyes widen at his words. “Wait w-what—”

But Manjiro's expression remained impassive, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. There was a hardness in his stare, a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. "I said the deal is off," he repeated, his tone firm.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of Manjiro's decision. Was this punishment for her perceived failure? Or was there something else at play, something she couldn't quite grasp? As she searched his eyes for some clue, some hint of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Manjiro's actions than met the eye. Manjiro's gaze held a steely resolve as she struggled to comprehend his abrupt decision. The implications of the deal falling through reverberated through the room, casting a shadow over their carefully laid plans. But beneath the surface, she sensed a tension, a hidden undercurrent that hinted at something deeper. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of desperation. "Why cancel the deal?"

Manjiro's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something akin to regret in his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that sent a jolt of uncertainty coursing through her veins. "Because some things are more important than business," Manjiro replied, his voice low and measured.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his cryptic words. What could be more important than securing Bonten's position in the underworld? What could possibly justify throwing away the opportunity they had worked so hard to achieve? But before she can speak, he lets go of her face and his hand slides to the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers now digging into her— his— tattoo. Almost as if he could read her mind he asks, “Are you questioning my authority?”

She doesn’t dare move away from him or shake her no to answer him. Manjiro didn’t like being answered with gestures, he preferred words. “N-No…”

“Good” he says 

Manjiro's hand lingered on the back of her neck, his touch was both possessive and unsettling. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His nails slightly dig into the knobs of her spine, right on the tattoo. It doesn’t hurt but it feels hot. One thing Manjiro often reminded her of is that Bonten was his. That included the executives and that especially included her. Her life belonged to him and he clearly wasn’t taking her being afraid of someone that wasn’t him very nicely. “You’re really gonna let a guy like that stop you from ever falling in love again?”

The question almost stopped her heart because it was not what she expected him to ask. She had never expected Manjiro to broach such a sensitive topic, let alone express concern for her romantic endeavours. But beneath the surprise, a flicker of something else stirred within her—a yearning for something more, something beyond the confines of Bonten's ruthless world. "I..." she faltered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

How could she explain the depths of her fear, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's hand tightened on the back of her neck, his grip possessive yet strangely comforting. "You don't have to answer now," he said, his voice softer than before but it quickly went back to being harsh “I am disappointed though”

His hand holding her thigh comes up to hold her cheek now. She’s frozen, unsure of what to do. "How could my executive let a little bitch like that do that to her and not move on for years?" Manjiro's voice was low, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.

Her mind raced as she struggled to find the right words to say. How could she explain the depths of her pain, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's thumb brushed against her cheekbone, his touch both intimate and unsettling. She felt a surge of vulnerability wash over her, a raw honesty that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart. "I... I don't know," She finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'm sorry..." 

Manjiro's grip on her cheek tightened, his touch both gentle and commanding. He held her gaze with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight through to her soul. "Sorry doesn't change the past," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

She felt a knot form in her stomach at his words, a familiar sense of guilt and inadequacy washing over her. She had spent years trying to bury the pain of her past, to escape the memories that haunted her every waking moment. But now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she couldn't help but feel as though she had failed him in some fundamental way. "I know…" she replied softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat.

Manjiro's thumb traced a slow, soothing pattern against her cheekbone, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions raging within her. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he speaks up “Fall in love again…”

His words are unexpected but she also makes no move to pull back from him. “Is that an order, Mr. Sano?”

Finally, Manjiro smiles. It’s genuine. Or at least it seems genuine. “Yes. Yes it is”

“Did you call the clean-up crew?” Ran asks Koko who’s cleaning the blood of his shoes

Koko nods wordlessly, a look of annoyance on his face as he had just bought these damn shoes yesterday. “Let’s go back up” Takeomi says as he lights a cigarette, stepping over a dead body of one of the businessmen

“Maybe not” Kakucho interjects as his eyes are on his phone, cheeks a little flushed

He shoves it into his pocket and shakes his head at his fellow colleagues. For a moment they’re silent until— “fuckin’ hell” Mochi grumbles as he transfers 10 thousand into Ran’s account

“See I fuckin’ told you he’d fuck her” Ran says with a shrug, eyes lighting up at the notification on his phone signalling the transfer had been made and completed

Their conversation is cut out with a loud scream as Sanzu stabs his katana through her ex’s chest. They look towards him and the pink-haired male simply shrugs. 

[punkeropercyjackson]

Finally did my Pjo self-insert properly again for the new blog!!!!

@theautisticcentre @refrigeratedboombursts @nogender-onlystars @moonage-gaydream @kitkatperce @moonage-gaydream @cam24fan @floof-ghostie @desi-pluto @yukii0nna @angel-beloved @sarasanddollar @jellyfilledeyes @jellyjays @someallpowerfulforce @kyojurolover @punknicodiangelo @genderfluid-bat @9ragonmew @biandbored @thisismisogynoir

[chutkiandchotte]

On gold-diggers

So if you watch any amount of Indian tv at all, then you are familiar with a common belief in the world of rich people of ITV (and IRL as well of course, this is how audiences think too), that poor women are always on the make, looking to trap rich husbands for a better life, the double edged sword of the term "gold-digger". I uhhhh rambled a bit on this topic.

The idea of the "gold-digger" is so ingrained that we all instantly understand the negative power of it. We may object with horror and anger when the asshole hero, or his backwards family levy this charge against our beloved female lead; but we, the very same audience won't hesitate to turn around and levy the very same charge against the "vamp" character; the girl in tight clothes who drinks alcohol and *gasp* has no sanskaars - like clearly, SHE is in it for the money, otherwise why would she put up with such a toxic boyfriend?

(like of course it cannot be that the vampy girl is sticking around for the same reason that WE the audience are falling for this toxic male lead despite knowing how much he sucks - it cannot be that she finds him hot & values his good qualities & as for the bad qualities, he's just a traumatized lil baby, i can fix him! - no, that can't be it, because then it feels uncomfortably close to relating to the vamp, and that cannot happen, of course!)

no, she, the vamp, only loves his good looks and his money and his hotness, she doesn't love his "true" self at all, she's a GOLD DIGGER!!! we revel in the power of the gold-digger charge, and how it humiliates her.

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what inspired this rant? i had an intense argument with someone on another platform, about Lavanya's character (from IPKKND). this person insisted that Lavanya was a gold-digger who never loved Arnav. But La is rich, I argued. So what, she said. Even if she is rich, she isn't as rich as Arnav. Arnav is 10000 crore guy, Lavanya is just 1000 crore girl. A gold-digger. She just wanted him because he was a "catch" while Khushi wants him for his true inner self. But La put up with his family for his sake, I argued. She did so much to please him. Well, this person said. That's the proof. Lavanya tolerated all of Arnav's and his family's BS without objection, hence, she MUST be a gold-digger. didn't I know? rich men are always targets of "girls like Lavanya". of gold-diggers. she kept using that word over and over again for Lavanya, probably because by then she had realized how much it was pissing me off. (what can I say? i can definitely be an easy target for trolling at times).

internalized misogyny often goes like - most women are sluts/stupid/useless/greedy schemers/<insert other sexist tropes>, but I - I will prove myself worthy of men's affections by being not <sexist trope>, then maybe I won't suffer the negative consequences those other women do!

and yes, I speak from personal experience. what woman HASN'T harboured deeply toxic thoughts borne out of internalized misogyny at least once in her life? we live in society, how do we escape it's influences?

and caught in these confusions, when we read stories, we project.

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there are, of course, real life cases where there are women who (to quote Amy March) look upon marriage as an economic proposition and make matches based on financial gains. the horror!

of course, that its both men and women, who make decisions about marriage/love based on money, doesn't cross often our minds when we think about gold-diggers. that in desi society at least, majority of marriages ARE economic propositions involving heavy financial transactions, is not at all the same topic. because those transactions are done by the elders; by the men in power, and their enablers. those are transactions that keep society running in its status quo. the horror! the gold-digging horror of it comes in, when its a woman by her own volition seeking to better her financial status as easily as she possibly can, without making any sacrifice or compromise! how dare she? how dare! doesn't she know the tax of living for a woman is sacrifice. you can't pass go without it.

and the OTHER much much larger parts of reality definitely don't exist while people are busy labelling women as gold-diggers. the parts where the leading cause of sudden death for women is murder at the hands of an intimate partner, where 3 out of 10 women have been abused by a partner (and this is just reported stats - who knows what the real figure is). And what about the reality where one of the key aspects of an abusive relationship is financial abuse & power imbalance due to the victim having no resources.

in India, especially, the sad, sorry, disturbing TRUTH is, justice is a monetary transaction. the richer you are, the more you can get away, especially in the matter of women, since as a society we are ever-ready to disbelieve women.

this is also why in this reality we live in, many girls families themselves INSIST on paying dowry - on sending more and more gifts even after marriage - because you know what they're buying? no, not merely a "respectable" husband for their daughter. what they are paying for is the safety, respect, and dignity of their daughter in her married family and their own "standing" in society. its a grand and most successful blackmail scheme; because everybody knows, the girl who brings nothing to her husband's house, is fair game for every other type of exploitation. she's got to pay her dues somehow.

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so. when a poor girl marries a rich guy, it might seem like a fairytale on the outside. it might seem like, its every poor girl's dream. but in REALITY, what it is, is the girl signing up for a statistically much higher risk of being abused, raped, and murdered. not a dream so much as a nightmare.

yet, its always the woman's character that is on trial - SHE has to prove that she isn't a greedy schemer out for his money but a pure hearted girl genuinely in love - while all HE has to do, is stand there and be hot and rich; he never has to prove that he won't abuse her. heck, he will provide categorical proof of being a future abuser, and its absolutely no stumble in a romance path. the power of the word gold-digger is always hanging on her head; the hero as well as the audience, her lover and society, ever eagerly searching to judge her for the same; a little slip, and she could be in vamp territory!

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I tend to be...passionate...about my fictional people opinions. I have definitely heard "its just a story" many times in my life. But I disagree.

These conversations we have about fictional characters are reflections of our realities. And these are Indian daily soaps, not grimdark crazy premise sci-fic/fantasy HBO shows. The same court in which we judge fictional characters, also becomes a court in which we judge real people around us. This is the power of stories, the danger of them - they can reiterate the worst that is in us, reinforce our worst selves; or they can open us up to new perspectives and expand our empathy.

i mean we have seen SO MANY iterations of the angry anti-hero young man, embodying every trope of toxic masculinity, and then turning out to be a perfect husband at the end. character development and taming the beast. alls well that ends well. men can be fixed. sometimes love looks like hate. etc.

i long for a story where we see a heroine who IS a "gold digger"; who is practical, realistic, and smart, who has a career and ambitions but maybe has tasted too much of poverty to ever choose it for herself if given an option. who chooses and chases a guy because the thing that matters to her is financial security and an easy life. why does this girl always have to be the villain? if abusers can reform, why not gold-diggers? why can't SHE be hit with a character development stick, in the same general standard of dignity as a corresponding male lead, and learn some lessons and fall in love and become the best version of herself? and if she does get to do all that, why does she HAVE to be humiliated in some evil way, and/or die at the end, why can't she live, learn and have a happily ever after?

why, in fact, do we reserve so much passionate vitriol for the fictional female offenders - the vamps and the career girls and the ex girlfriends - the ones driven by jealousies and insecurities - while keeping infinite reserves of forgiveness for their male equivalents?

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No - Lavanya has to be a gold-digger, a hopeless harlot, for Khushi to be a perfect wife, for Arnav to be absolved of his sins against Lavanya as well as Khushi, for the audience to be in no danger of relating to a woman as evil and out of bounds as Lavanya, for us all to maintain our collective delusions that rich men are victims of those women, as opposed to being their predators.

EVEN in a show like IPKKND which went out of the way to have a different, ground-breaking narrative...there's this reading of the text. There's the cognitive dissonance to judge/hate Lavanya for certain traits while finding Arnav sexy for those same ones.

I don't think it is at all surprising that Indian tv can never seem to get over its madonna/whore complex - because honestly, we the audience, seem to enjoy it too much!

[brandycranby]

Hey babe!! Can I request Andy x Desi!reader with these prompts:

“how about this. i go out, get your favorite ice cream while you take a nice bath and by the time we’re both done, we can watch our show.” 

and

soothing kisses

Thank you so much and congratulations again!!!

Liquid Love

a/n: hi heather 🥺🥺 love u sm. this turned out to be autistic!desi!reader but ofc everyone's experience is different. i hope it doesn't take away from the story 🫶🏻💕💕banner by @/cafekitsune

“Feeling better? Hm?” Slowly, Andy runs his big palm in circles around your belly button, adjusting pressure unconsciously when you whine, gaze focused on the drama playing on the TV, volume as low as it can go. 

You’re a sweet otter on its back, half-heartedly mouthing at a Kirkland kulfi bar, warm and cozy after your everything shower; traces of coconut oil waft from your head, his careful massaging lulling you to forget your soreness. 

Every month, he prepares for the war your body wages on you, beating you down with bloating and aches and pains that overwhelm you in their intensity. This time, it’s no different, with you coming home and melting down the moment the door shut behind you; the world is so cruel, darling. 

Carefully, Andy moves closer, smiling when you tuck your head underneath his bearded chin, right where it belongs, rubbing slightly to stim as you finish your treat. 

You frown a little, “too icy...” one last taste, “no mango.” He hums apologetically, landing a kiss on your forehead, two, three, five; he’ll make up for it and buy something from a proper brand tomorrow, but tonight, he'll stay by your side as you fight through the pain again. 

---

as always, if i include something in my writing that is incorrect or inaccurate, pls let me know!! im not desi, possiblyyyy undiagnosed autistic(?) so i might get stuff wrong. send me an ask (be nice pls) and i'll make changes.

come celebrate my first fic's 2nd anniversary with me

[attackonchaewon]

headcannoning angel as desi (self-insert tbh)

[catofadifferentcolor]

An Incomplete List of Self-Insert Fic Ideas

Aberforth's Daughter SI: Of all the things Harry Potter was expecting of magic, finding a girl who'd be like an older sister to him was not one of them

Lysa Tully SI: In which Hoster Tully's middle child is the face of Westeros’ Age of Enlightenment

Petunia Evans SI: In which a Modern Muggle in the British Wizarding World doesn’t need magic to change the course of the Second Wizarding War

Princess of Dol Amroth SI: In which a Modern Woman in Middle-Earth changes almost nothing - but still makes a difference to her nephews

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[dazaisdior]

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 . . .

summary — where kaeya and luma like rosaria. they begin a not-so-friendly competition to see who can with her heart the quickest. but along the way, kaeya starts falling for them instead.

warnings — kaeya x oc insert, albedo x self insert, angst, unrequited love (at the beginning), mentions of traumatic backstories, high school!au, some suggestive themes, desi!kaeya

LUMA’S TRAPHOUSE | KAEYA’S HOMIES AND BROTHER

taglist: @n3r0-1417 , @xlovelorn

[jasontoddssuper]

The Outlaws headcanons

This includes mine and two of my friends' self-insert's so if that's not your style,please just ignore this instead of being a dick please and thank you!!

@moonage-gaydream @user1046 @insomniac-jay @julieemarine @cottoncandyspikes @desi-pluto @honeypotsworld (Cindy,i wanted to include Imani but i wasn't sure if you'd be cool with that so if you want,you can add on for her in the reblogs!!) @nogender-onlystars @genderfluid-bat

The lineup is Jason Todd as Red Hood,Eddie Bloomberg as Red Devil,Rose Wilson as Ravager and eventually Willow,Summer Kent as Ignite,Pepper Jackson as Star Sapphire,Artemis Grace of Bana-Mightdall simply as 'Artemis',Kyle Rayner as Green Lantern,Thaddeus Thawne as Inertia and Mathew Wayne as Batboy

The canon ships vary but usually it's either Jason and Summer as the token couple or all the adult members as a polycule

The simply put dynamic is a very weird found family with Mathew as the little brother and Thaddeus as the son(The former is very enthusiastic about his position,the latter pretends to hate it)

Mostly made up of poc:Jason and Summer are afro-dominican,Rose is half cambodian,Artemis is egyptian,Kyle is mestizo-mexican and Thaddeus is part black.Eddie,Pepper and Mathew are the only white members

They traveled around between places to stay for a while until Jason uncovered an old backup mansion of Bruce's that still had the scientifically equipped running water and functioning power(Kyle:Rich people are INSANE Eddie:But useful!!)and this became their base and home.Summer calls it 'The Fortress' for obvious reasons

It started off as just Jason,Eddie and Rose but then Summer joined and they're something of a 'Dark Core Four'(Their counterparts being Tim,Bart,Cassie and Kon respectively).Pepper became a member because of becoming best friends with Summer and his crush on him and is essentially their Greta equivalent

Almost all trans and autistic!!Pepper is the token allistic and Mathew is the token cis

Jason originally only let Mathew join because he was useful but now them and Duke are eachother's favorite brothers!!

After/During Rhato,Summer and Mathew went from regular pastel and nerd to pastel punk and goth nerd

Summer is the chef for everyone and they go crazy for his cooking and pay him back by always trying to bring him back some food when they go out

Artemis casually drags her teammates around and at this point Jason's the only complainer and Thaddeus the biggest (silent) enjoyer

A good amount of Kyle's best drawings are hung up on the walls of The Fortress and he's smug like an elementary schooler over it

Rose loves teasing and pranking the others minus Artemis because they have too much mutual respect going on

Eddie is the most 'ideally heroic' despite being a literal demon

Artemis and Summer are workout buddies and he convinced her to get matching workout clothes(hers are black and red with hints of gold,his are blue and pink with hints of white)

Jason was briefly a Star Sapphire and Pepper comically complained about him 'stealing her thing'.Summer was also a Black Lantern for a few days and Mathew once borrowed Kyle's ring for a mission

Their series lasted 92 issues irl and three years in-universe

[firefly--bright]

hey guys! just a reminder that if you have any criticisms over my writing, please feel free to tell me. I've been seeing a lot of posts about people not feeling included in xreader works and the last thing i want is for people to read through my stories and think that they don't belong. so, if you have any constructive criticisms, please dont hesitate to send an ask or a DM explaining your point, I'm always open to learn!