#indian wrap skirts

[namastevintageonline]

Why Backless Halter Dress is Top Choice of Women?

This form of dress has gained great fame among women all over the world since it effectively balances style, comfort, and sophistication. From casual day outings to glamorous evening events, the backless halter dress has become the ultimate choice for many women's wardrobes.

Let's now see why this dress is such a popular choice.

Read More:- https://sites.google.com/view/namastevintageonline/blogs/why-backless-halter-dress-is-top-choice-of-women

[junipernight]

I redesigned Yangchen's outfit!

... I actually designed a lot of outfits for her, because I am Extremely Normal about these books, and also I like costume design and learning about historical clothing.

Short disclaimer: These fantasy clothes aren't culturally or historically accurate, just historically and culturally influenced. I don't have any expertise in East or Central Asian culture or clothing, I've just been clicking around on the internet a lot the last two weeks learning things because that's my idea of fun lol. If you wanted to talk to people who actually know things you should check out @atlaculture or like @ziseviolet, both of whom's blogs I referenced while drawing.

I only designed two alternates for the outer robes. The first is based loosely off the robes Buddhist monks wear (loosely, because drawing draped fabric is hard ^^') especially the Tibetan zhen robe. This garment is just a long wide rectangle of cloth which can be draped across the body in lots of ways (versatility ftw!).

The other garment I drew is a Chuba, a traditional garment from Tibet and the Himalayas. It's a robe, but it highkey reminds me of kilts and hoodies, in that it a) can be worn over one or both shoulders or just as a skirt and b) it makes a giant pocket over the stomach. The long sleeves can be folded up or tied back btw.

I spent the most time on the middle layer, because I was thinking it has to be something she could comfortably fight in while also being suitable for diplomatic meetings, meditating, espionage, and possibly sleeping.

And like. You can fight and hike and whatnot in loose skirts, but it's annoying how twisted up they can get while sleeping. ALSO, YC does a lot of flying and leaping, so my girl needs pants. My faves are definitely the Xiaolin monk pants and the yellow wrap pants Aang wears. I tried dhoti (Indian wrap pants) because that kind of looks like what the giant statue of Yangchen meditating might be wearing, but I think it looks odd paired with a highwaisted shirt instead of a long tunic. Maybe I'll do some more drawings with her in a tunic and dhoti or a monk's dhonka and shemdap later, idk.

As any good historical fashion nerd knows, foundational garments are everything (◡‿◡✿).

But also, there's a scene where Yangchen and Kavik pretend to be lovers, and are "discovered" by a maid sleeping in the same room, with Yangchen in a state of partial undress (gasp!)

I am living for this fake drama; I need to know how scandalized the maid was lmao.

When the maid walks in, Yangchen immediately wraps herself in a bedsheet before ushering the maid back out the door. Maybe all she did was take off her outer robe... but why would she need to wrap herself in a sheet if she was wearing a long-sleeved high-necked gown? I got the sense from both the book and cursory research about buddhist monks that walking around without your outer robes was socially acceptable, at least in casual settings. I think it more likely she was in her underclothes, which historically (in the west anyway) would also double as sleeping clothes.

"The Aang" is censored because this is Tumblr-dot-com. Its mostly a joke, but also, I know other countries are less uptight about bººbies, so like, maybe it's a valid option ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ~Water Tribe~ look is based off Sokka's swimwear and not Katara's, mostly because chest binding seems antithetical to airbending.

All the other undergarment designs are based on hanfu neiyi, because that's what I could find reference photos and romanized names for.

I'm tired of typing now. Lemme know if you have questions about something, or want me to post a larger version of a specific outfit. I am open to feedback and tentatively open to requests.

[evie-writes-sometimes]

its a fucking saree idiot

even I know i am not indian

Oh but darling, I am (also rather racist of you to assume only Indians wear sarees, when there's more countries in South Asia than just India, but I digress). And sarees are characterised by a long dupata wrapped around your body like this.

While lehengas are a three piece (gagra/long skirt, choli/blouse and a seperate dupata which you can wear as you please).

Of course, there are many variations of both and can sometimes overlap. I assume that you're talking about this SN post where I called it a 'lehenga' in the tags, which is not a saree, although it is a fair assumption. But the model is wearing an uncharacteristic cape and her dupata is a seperate piece, making it a lehenga, not a saree.

Next time choose a struggle anon 😉 either be a fool (talking about a topic you clearly do not anything about) or a coward (sending this on anon probably because you knew your own arrogance and lack of expertise could bite you in the ass, which it did).

[forlovvers]

( meant to be )

pair: prince!jake x princess!reader | genre: fluff, meet-cute, royal!au | warning(s): none! | wc: around 1k | synopsis: in which you plan to escape from meeting your husband-to-be. 

lynne’s notez🗒️: HAPPY BIRTH MONTH TO MY MAN JAKEEE😵‍💫😵‍💫 i cannot explain in words how much i love jake !!  also this is soooo inspired by bridgerton queen charlotte 

Climbing out of a three-story window, in an Indian sapphire encrusted gown should be considered a triathlon with the way it had you panting as if you had just swam thirty meters, ran five miles and cycled through a rusty forest. The old Victorian window was also no help at all, the way it wouldn’t open without some elbow grease.

Your grip tightens around the ivy vine as you feel yourself slip ever so slightly. You needed a better way to escape. You jump and almost lose your grip when a gentle voice appears from behind you.

“What are you doing?” the voice asks, laced with curiosity. The cold wind of the night blows and it makes you wish you had thrown on something a little bit more covering as the chill settles over your skin.

You roll your eyes. “Baking cookies,” you say with sarcasm. You assumed the voice was a random maid, prying on your royal life. You ignore him, hoping he’d be uninterested and leave. You loosen your grip and drop down just a bit, almost touching the ground with the way your gown draped just over the soil. 

“Do you want help?” the voice offers. He sounds amused and that boils your blood. How could he laugh at the princess trying to escape from meeting her royal suitor? 

“No. I don’t. Now please, leave.” You shut your eyes and pray he’d listen to you. “That is an order from your princess.” You say (a bit embarrassed), trying to assert your dominance and instead of leaving like you asked, the voice laughs. 

“But, I can’t just leave a damsel in distress.” He says and you can almost picture a smirk on the mystery person. You groan indefinitely and throw your head back. He just wasn’t going to leave you alone, was he?

“Well, are you just going to stand there or help a damsel?” You say irritatingly. He chuckles and you can hear shuffling from behind you. He reaches up and suddenly a strong pair hands of wrap around your waist. You slowly let go of the vines, pleading to the angels above that he doesn’t drop you. 

His grip tightens and you feel a bit a flustered. He’s impossibly close as he gently lets you down and you feel your feet hit the earth once again. 

You look down at your dress and pretend to dust it off, thanking the moon for not shining down your rose-dusted cheeks. Your heart was beating so fast and loud, you were sure he could hear it. Deciding you had had enough, you gather your skirts and begin to walk away. 

“Wait a second,” the voice says and his hands catch your forearm, spinning you around and into his chest. He holds you by the waist as you stare into his big brown eyes. He smells of vanilla and fresh parchment. He has high cheek bones and pink lips that curve into an adoring smile, one that makes your stomach turn. His hair is swooped neatly and his clothes are adorned with gold finishes. Your breath shortens and you want to lean in. Lean in and be close. It’s enticing the way his pretty eyes invite you in. 

And then it dawns on you. He is no random maid. 

“I found the princess!” You hear one of the royal guards yell. The mysterious man lets you go almost instantly at the sound of new voices and takes a step back to clear his throat. You cough awkwardly, letting the new thought sink in. 

Your head snaps up at the sound of your mother’s voice approaching you hastily. The queen is walking quickly towards the two of you, a stern look on her face. “Y/n, where on earth have you been?” you can tell she’s trying hard not to raise her voice.

“I believe she went to take a moonlit stroll in the garden, which I must say is lovely.” The mystery man says, showing off his heart-melting smile. You’re slightly stunned. He just saved you from a long and terrible lecture from your mother. 

And it must work because your mother nods and her face relaxes. “Well, I see you’ve meet your suitor.”

“Prince Jaeyun of Bane, your majesty.” he bows and he suddenly takes your hand, his lips meeting with your knuckles, leaving a small kiss on your skin. You swear your knees buckle and you lose your balance. 

Jaeyun smiles his smile as your mother turns away and orders for the front doors to be opened. His steps fall into tune with yours as you walk. 

“You did not tell me you were my suitor.” You huff, cheeks pink with embarrassment. You refuse to at look him and fall under a spell once more. 

“You did not ask.” He says simply. Jaeyun bites his bottom lip as he tries to get you to look at him. He finds your embarrassment quite cute. Strands of your hair escape from your loose bun and he reaches out to tuck some behind your ear. 

This sets your heart on fire. You finally turn to look at him and Jaeyun fights back a smile when you give in to him. 

“I am not ready for marriage.” You say clearly, anticipating his reaction. Instead of becoming upset like most people have when you told them, Jaeyun’s smile only grows. 

“Then I am willing to wait for you.” Jaeyun says surely. He laces his hands with yours and your heart swells.

Maybe you are meant to be.

[sgstories123]

You are my Valentine

“You got Valentine’s date tonight?” Leena asked Peipei, as she poured hot water into her mug. The smell of Nescafe immediately filled the small pantry room.

“Why, you want to be my Valentine is it?” Peipei gave a naughty smile, caressing Leena’s perfectly round butt seductively before giving it a pinch and slapping them softly.

“Fuck lah! You think I lesbian?” Leena pushed Peipei’s hands away.

Peipei laughed. Since she joined the company about a year ago, Leena had been her closest colleague. They have lunch together most of the time and also meet each other to go shopping during the weekends.

Peipei thought to herself. Was she a closet lesbian? She looked at Leena closely. She must confess that Leena was indeed a voluptuous and sexy woman. Her breasts were the size of watermelons. Wearing a low cut, tight, bright red blouse, her breasts were squeezed upwards, screaming to be let out of the clothes, revealing a deep abyss of a cleavage that many men would be lost in. Her body tapered from the large upper body to a waist that was just right for any man to wrap their arms around. Wearing a short, low hung skirt, she showed enough of her smooth, light brown skin to make any man want to peel away all her clothes to see her naked.

“Adam wants to take me out for dinner at a fancy restaurant in Orchard Road tonight.” Leena continued. “At first, I thought it was a romantic Valentine Day’s dinner just for the two of us. But I was wrong. His cousin from Australia is in Singapore and wants to join us. So, I was thinking if you don’t have a date, how about you come along and double date? It will be so weird to have dinner with two guys on Valentine’s Day by myself.”

“What is so weird? You can do a threesome.” Peipei giggled, before adding, “Not like you have not done it before.”

“Fuck!” Leena shoved Peipei, spilling some of her Boh Tea.

Peipei was well aware of Leena’s sexual exploits as Leena had shared them freely with her. With Leena’s good looks and sexy body, she has no shortage of boyfriends. Sometimes, she even has more than one boyfriend at any one time. There was one time when she was caught on a date with one boyfriend by another of her boyfriend. To pacify both of them, they had a threesome. Somehow, all of them ended up being happy and broke up amicably after that. Leena was good not only in getting boyfriends but in breaking up with them as well.

“So, you have a date or not?” Leena persisted.

“You know I broke up with Ah Hock last July. How to have Valentine’s Day date? I am not like you, boyfriends lining up from one end of Orchard Road to the other end.” Peipei replied.

“No, you are wrong. My boyfriends line up from one end of Orchard Road to Changi Airport.” Leena laughed. “So you on for tonight?”

“Wait. The guy is ang mo?” Peipei asked, a little frown crossing her face.

“You stupid or what? Adam is Malay. How can his cousin be ang mo? I Malay. Is my sister Chinese?” Leena sighed exasperatedly.

“You say he from Australia what. How I know?” Peipei replied sheepishly.

“Why is that important? Whether he Malay, ang moh or Chinese?” Leena looked at Peipei curiously. “ You racist?”

“If I racist, I would not be your best friend, silly.” Peipei countered.

“Then why?” Leena’s curiosity was piqued.

“I only have a few boyfriends and they were all Chinese.” Peipei said slowly. “I am not like you. I don’t have boyfriends who are Malay, Indian and Caucasians. I am scared that they are different.”

“Different? What you mean? All the men are the same, just different skin colour.” A sudden realisation hit Leena. “Oh. You dirty-minded girl. You worried ang moh cock too big you cannot take it. You thinking of sleeping with Ahmad’s cousin, a guy you just met? You are a fucking slut!”

Leena roared loudly with laughter. She recalled telling Peipei about how her previous Caucasian boyfriend had a 9-inch dick and how Peipei was horrified of the thought of having such a large monster in her. Peipei must still be concerned with having sex with men with big dicks.

“Stop it. The whole office is going to hear, you idiot!” Peipei was embarrassed and pinched Leena on her shoulder. But that only made Leena laughed louder.

“Look. It is Valentine’s Day. I was only thinking that it is natural to have sex with your date. I am not dirty-minded.” Peipei said defensively. “If you don’t stop laughing, I won’t go on the double date with you tonight.”

It worked and Leena stopped laughing almost immediately, suppressing it into silent giggles and dirty looks.

Several hours later, Peipei and Leena joined Adam and his cousin Hazer at a fancy hotel restaurant in Orchard Road. It was the first time that Peipei had seen Adam. It was not surprising as Leena had only met Adam at a Christmas party. Leena change boyfriends so fast that Peipei has not even the chance to meet most of them.

Adam was good-looking with a boyish charm. He wore a long sleeved pale blue shirt and a pair of tight, black pants, with a very noticeable bulge. “Stop staring at my boyfriend’s cock.” Leena whispered when she noticed Peipei stealing glances at Adam’s crotch. Before Peipei could utter a protest, Leena teased her further. “Yes, he has a huge cock, thicker and longer than your Ah Hock and all your other Chinese boyfriends. You scared?”

Peipei ignored her and turned her attention towards Hazer. At thirty years old, he was the oldest among them. He wore a green casual jacket over a white t-shirt. He must have worked out in the gym as Peipei could see the muscular contours of his body behind the t-shirt. He told them funny stories of his life in Australia. Peipei caught his large eyes looking at her several times and could feel herself easily attracted to his charms.

After chatting and laughing over dinner, Leena stood up. “Sorry guys. Peipei and I have to go to the Ladies to touch-up our make-up.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled Peipei out of her chair and led her away.

“Did you see what the boys were eating?” Leena asked, once they entered the Ladies.

It was a buffet-style dinner. Peipei tried to recall what each of them was eating. “Adam ate chicken, prawns, noodles and ice-cream? I think Hazer had the rendang, soup and some cakes for desert. I can’t really remember. Why?”

“You silly girl. They both took oysters, a whole plate stacked right to the top.” Leena rolled her eyes.

“Oh yeah. That was quite early on. I forgot about it.” Peipei thought further before continuing. “And Hazer had some mussels as well.”

“You know what that means, right?” Leena probed.

“What?” Peipei was still puzzled.

“They want to fuck us. Oysters? They give men strength and stamina?” Leena offered. “Gosh. You are so inexperienced. Are you prepared?”

“Prepare?” Peipei asked.

“What do you have in you bag? Let me see.” Leena lost her patience and snatched Peipei’s clutch bag. It was only large enough to carry some cash, credit cards, keys and a couple of other small items. “I knew it. LuckyI prepared them for you. Here. Take this.”

Peipei looked at the small metallic case with a yellow smiley face on it. “What’s this?” She opened it and found three condoms. It was a condom carrying case.

“I can’t carry this. They will think I am a slut.” Peipei protested.

“Hazer’s staying in this hotel. I am sure they will ask us to his room later and fuck us there. Are you hoping that they are prepared? I don’t think so. Men prefer doing raw and don’t care if they get you pregnant.” Leena replied.

“You carry it. I get from you if I need it.” Peipei was totally embarrassed by this conversation. She looked around nervously and hope no one will overhear what they are discussing. Although Peipei tries to act mature at work, in reality, she was still sexually inexperienced and conservative.

“Don’t worry. I have my own special ones for Adam.” Leena gave a devious smile. She took out another box of similar size but with a picture of a naked couple in hot embrace. She opened it and inside were Okamoto’s Big Boy condoms. “Adam’s cock is bigger than most. Maybe bigger than my Caucasian ex-boyfriend. Scared right?”

“You think Hazer’s small size meh? For all you know, his one bigger than Adam’s.” Peipei fell for Leena’s taunt.

Leena giggled. “You crazy bitch. You defending Hazer like he your boyfriend. That’s it. You are definitely fucking him tonight. You are such a cheap whore.”

“This cheap whore will not only fuck Hazer but also your boyfriend Adam. I will show you I love big cocks as much as you do.” Peipei raised her voice. She regretted immediately as the door to the Ladies swung open and a group of teenage girls walked in. They clearly heard Peipei as they stared at her, giggling uncontrollably. Peipei walked out quickly, head turned away, hoping that they  did not catch a good look of her face. Leena really knew her well, tricking her into saying and doing all the most embarassing things. Peipei sighed. Is that the price of friendship?

Leena was right. When they returned to their table, they saw the men finishing off another plate of oysters, the empty shells glistening in the light. Now that Peipei was more aware of the significance of the oysters, she also caught meaningful glances between the two men. After dinner, the men suggested that they go up to Hazer’s room to catch the night view of Orchard Road. However, once they entered the room, Adam started hugging and kissing Leena passionately. There was only enough time for Hazer to close the door before Adam started removing Leena’s dress. Adam was more interested in the view of Leena’s naked body than Orchard Road at night.

Once Leena’s clothes were fully removed by Adam, Peipei realised that Leena was really beautiful and sexy. Her large breasts were equal in size and shape, a perfect mirror image of each other. They were beautifully shaped, large, round mounds of pleasure with large protruding nipples, seemingly invitingly delicious. Even Peipei who was a woman felt desire in wanting to suck those nipples and squeeze those huge ripe melons of breasts. The curves continued downwards from Leena’s breasts to her contoured waists, expanding outwards again at the hips, providing support to the perfect globes of ass that just hours ago, Peipei had pinched and slapped them. Further down, the curves flowed into her legs, showing off beautiful skin covering tight, muscular calves. Leena was a sexy goddess, Peipei thought. No wonder she had so many boyfriends.

Adam continued to kiss Leena, covering her whole body with his mouth. His hands worked feverishly in removing his own clothes. Peipei gasped when Adam stood out of his briefs. Leena did not lie when she said Adam had a huge tool. Adam’s cock was already erect, protruding outwards, quivering just so slightly as if it was also anticipating the union with Leena’s vagina. Adam covered Leena’s body with his own, moving along her body as he continued hugging, touching and kissing Leena. The only sound coming from Leena was her satisfied sighs of pleasure. Adam must be one good lover.

Lost in the sex show of Adam and Leena, Peipei was awakened only when arms went around her waist, pulling her backwards. She felt a blunt rod pushing up against her ass. She turned around, only to have Hazer pushing his mouth onto hers, forceful, with a tinge of animal lust. She could feel his breath on her cheeks, warm and moist. Hazer forced himself down further. Peipei craned her neck backwards, opening her mouth. Sensing an entry point, Hazer stuck his tongue into her mouth, sending electric sparks along her body as their tongues touch each other. He continued exploring her mouth while his hand moved upwards, partly supporting her arched body and partly unzipping her dress. A cool draft touched Peipei’s skin as her dress fell to the floor. It was only when her skin touched Hazer’s bare skin, that he was already naked. He must have removed his clothes when Adam and Leena were removing theirs. Peipei had been too mesmerised by the sex between Adam and Leena to notice. She moved her hands towards her back to gain some balance but instead grabbed Hazer’s hard cock. That was the blunt object that was pressing against her ass.

“You like my cock? Want to suck it?” Hazer whispered in her ear. Peipei looked into Hazer’s eyes. It was so beautiful and enchanting that it seemed to hypnotise her. She simply nodded, kneeling in front of Hazer and kissing his cock on its head.

Hazer’s cock seemed to be about the same size as her previous boyfriends. She did what they seemed to like, licking the head of the cock with her tongue, making swirling motions. She squeezed Hazer’s cock, sliding her hands along the shaft, before licking it from the balls all the way to the top. Sufficiently lubricated, she swallowed Hazer’s cock, slowly taking it in till it reached the back of her throat. Slowly at first, her lips traversed along the shaft, her tongue wrapping it tightly and her fingers squeezing the base of the cock. She let Hazer’s hands on her head guide her, increasing her pace as needed, to provide Hazer with maximum pleasure. She knew she was doing well as Hazer started moaning louder and louder in pleasure. He started to push her head onto his cock at a faster pace simultaneously pushing his hips, fucking her mouth relentlessly. With several quick thrusts, he ejaculated into her mouth, as his body shuddered with pleasure. He held onto Peipei’s head tight, forcing her to swallow his cum. Peipei held onto his bare butt, her mouth pressed against his body as his cum dripped out from the sides of her mouth.

“Good girl.” Hazer smiled at Peipei, stroking her head lovingly as he pulled his cock out of her mouth. He turned to look at Adam and Leena on the bed. Adam was now fucking Leena furiously in doggy style, his back towards them. “The bed’s occupied. Get up on the couch and lie down on your back.”

Peipei obeyed without a word. Hazer pulled off her panties, bringing them to his nose for a quick sniff. He closed his eyes and made a satisfied grunt. He unclasped her bra, revealing her erect pink nipples to the cold air in the room. Covering them with his mouth, he licked them, jabbing them expertly with his tongue and causing little waves of pleasure.

Peipei moaned softly. Hazer was so much better at sucking her nipples than her other boyfriends, she thought. She held onto his body, enjoying the touch of his muscled body, feeling the sense of masculinity strength behind the skin. She sighed as he pressed his body against her, feeling the contours of his muscles rubbing against her body. His fingers caressed her inner thighs and Peipei’s body tensed in anticipation. This is it, she thought. I am going to be fucking my first Malay man.

Hazer’s fingers rubbed against her slit, spreading the moistness that was emanating from her insides. Spreading them slowly, a finger pressed against the entrance, pushing its way into her. Peipei moaned in pleasure as a familiar feeling of warmth and completeness engulfed her lower body. It had been too long since she lost had sex. Her body jerked uncontrollably, beckoning the finger to enter her even more deeply, to fill her even more completely. Hazer allowed a second finger and then a third, expanding her entrance to pleasure. Peipei was now moaning even louder as Hazer quickened his pace. She grabbed his hands as the pleasure becomes more unbearable. She wanted him to stop and yet wanted him to continue. It was a dilemma. She thought she was going crazy with pleasure. Her body jerked upwards, towards Hazer’s fingers, willing it to go even faster and deeper. Her ass lifted, her body gave a final shudder, squirting her love juice all over Hazer as she groaned loudly, giving herself up to her orgasm. When she opened her eyes, she saw Hazer looking at her sweetly. She was tired but happy. She smiled.

Hazer returned the smile and spread open her legs. She saw Hazer’s cock was hard again and positioned between her legs.

“Wait. Put on a condom.” She remembered what Leena told her earlier in the evening.

“I don’t have a condom. Let’s just do it raw.” Sensing her hesitation, Hazer continued. “Adam is also not wearing a condom. What are you worried about?”

Peipei looked towards the bed. Leena was now riding Adam in reverse cowgirl position, her huge breasts swinging up and down, moaning loudly. She could not make out whether Adam was wearing a condom.

“Wait. I get you a condom.” Peipei sat up and retrieved the condom box from her bag, retrieving a condom for Hazer.

“You carry condoms in your bag? Alright. Looks like we are going to enjoy ourselves tonight.” Hazer smiled.

He rolled on the condom before spreading her legs again. He pushed it in slowly, enjoying the warm, tight cunt grabbing his hard cock. Peipei groaned in pleasure as Hazer’s cock filled her up. It was so different from his fingers, going much deeper and spreading her sides so much wider. This was what nature intended. A cock can never be replaced by anything else, not fingers, not a dildo.

Hazer lifted Peipei legs onto his shoulders as he pumped her, harder and faster. They were both now moaning and groaning in pleasure. Hazer turned Peipei over to her side, fucking her sideways. In this position, Peipei saw that Adam was done fucking Leena. He was seating on the edge of the bed, smiling at her while watching her being fucked by Hazer. Leena was lying motionless on the bed on her back, her legs spread wide open, proudly displaying her vagina for all to see.

“Cumming!” Hazer grunted as he thrust deeper and faster. He held onto Peipei’s body tightly as he ejacluated into her. Peipei grabbed her breasts, squeezing her nipples as she enjoyed the last few thrusts of pleasures. Hazer waited for his pleasure to subside before pulling his cock out of Peipei. Bending down to give her a kiss, he whispered “You are my Valentine.”

He got up from the couch and went to the bathroom. Peipei could hear the shower running. She was too exhausted to do anything except to continue lying on the couch.

She saw Adam smiling at her. She smiled back. Adam stood up, his cock erect. As he approached her, Peipei saw his cock up close. It was really much longer and thicker than any cock she has seen, much larger than Hazer’s even though he was older than Adam.

He kissed her, a gentle seductive kiss. Peipei knew it was wrong. Adam was Leena’s boyfriend and she is just sleeping in front of her in the same room.

“No, wait. You are Leena’s boyfriend.” Peipei whispered.

“So? When I first saw you enter the restaurant, I wanted to fuck you. You are so pretty.” Adam confessed. “I knew I had to fuck Leena to tire her out before I have a chance with you. So I ate a lot of oysters in preparation. I am so jealous that Hazer gets to fuck you first but now that both are away, you are mine.”

Adam turned her over on the couch and on her knees. Without warning, he positioned his hard cock onto her entrance.

“Wait. Wear a condom.” Peipei grunted.

“I can’t. They are too small and won’t fit.” Adam continued to pry open her vagina walls with his fingers, guiding his cock into her.

“Wait. Leena. Leena has condom of your size. Please.” Peipei moaned, trying to remain focused as Adam’s giant cock slowly entered her and the pleasure emanating from it started to blur her senses.

“No, she doesn’t. We fucked raw just now.” Adam insisted. “Just keep quiet and let me fuck you. I have been waiting for this the whole night.”

As Adam’s huge cock entered her, Peipei’s senses started to fade. She was only aware of a pleasurable numbing sensation from her lower body coursing through her whole body. She could not hear or see anything, just floating in pleasure. She is aware she must be screaming in pleasure as there was a vague sense of soreness in her throat. It was as if she was on drugs as she seems to see things floating past her. Then she came to her senses, as Adam bent forwards to kiss her. His body rubbed against her, one arm grabbing her from behind, fondling her breasts.

“Let’s cum again for me.” Adam whispered. He thrust harder and faster, and Peipei clutched the arms of the couch tightly, her body once again losing control to the her carnal pleasures. Arching upwards and backwards, she screamed in pleasure, as her love juices squirted in buckets, this time drenching the couch with a large dark patch.

Peipei was exhausted and wanted to rest, but Adam continued pounding into her, his cock seemingly reaching deeper and deeper into her, finding new spots of pleasure that was unknown to her. Adam pulled her up from the couch and pressed her against the glass windows. Peipei could see Orchard Road lit by the street lamps and the occasional vehicle. It was already well past midnight and there were few people on the streets. Peipei wondered if any of the people on the streets looked up, will they see her being fucked against the windows.

As Adam was taller than Peipei, in standing position, his cock dug even deeper into her. She tried to stand on her toes, to give herself some respite from the deep fucking that she is getting but Adam was not having any of that. He closed the distance between themselves and the window, flattening Peipei’s breasts against the glass. The cold glass on her nipples send another wave of pleasure coursing through her and Peipei no longer had the strength to resist whatever Adam wants to do with her. Several thrusts later, Peipei released another round of love juices, spraying against the window and onto the carpet.

“Please, no more. I cannot take it any more, Adam.” Peipei whispered as Adam now pushed her onto the bed. With her legs lifted upwards and lying on her bed, Adam entered her again.

“You are so fucking sexy. So tight. So warm. I have to try so hard not to cum even though I have already cum thrice with Leena earlier. I want to fuck you all night long.” Adam replied.

“Please. I promise to fuck you anytime you want. Please stop for now. I cannot take your big cock any more.” Peipei whimpered, all her strength sapped out of her.

Adam smiled and bent down to give her a kiss. He closed his eyes and thrust even faster and deeper. Minutes later, he groaned in satisfaction, ejaculating into Peipei. He opened his eyes and gave Peipei another kiss. “You are my Valentine.”

Withdrawing his cock from Peipei, he walked over to the bathroom. “Hey Hazer, you done yet? I need to use the shower.”

Peipei heard the bathroom door open and then close. She looked around. Both Hazer and Adam are in the bathroom. She looked down at Adam’s cum flowing out of her vagina. Then she looked down at Leena. She was sleeping soundly, her breasts heaving upwards slowly with each breath.

Peipei bent forwards to suck on a nipple, squeezing the large breast gently. Yes, it was very sweet. She whispered to the sleeping Leena, “You are my Valentine.”

[lovestay-channie]

Written in the Stars ☆ Chapter 6

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem reader

Genre: SMAU, Stray Kids x Modern Hogwarts, Hufflepuff x Slytherin, (minor/one sided) Enemies to Lovers, Reverse Grumpy Sunshine

Warnings: mentions death, several battles, a few swear words here and there

Synopsis: It is modern time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One Hufflepuff who suppresses her emotions while one Slytherin who breaks the stereotype of the Slytherin Prince. Will they connect? Or will they continue to clash?

Word Count: 1.6k

Screenshots: 9

Taglist: OPEN

It’s day one of the Triwizard Tournament.

Hogwarts is filled with students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. It almost feels claustrophobic with how many students are in the castle. There wasn’t one person who wasn’t talking about the first task today. That includes your friend group. All during breakfast, they kept smothering poor Chris about the first task. He just kept his bright, charming smile on his face even as strangers kept coming to the table.

It was finally the afternoon and time to head to the Forbidden Forest. You, Marina, and Annaliese linked arms together to keep each other warm. “Why couldn’t they have done this closer to the spring? It’s absolutely freezing out here!” Marina shrieks.

“Mare, you are wearing a skirt. Of course you are freezing!” Hyunjin laughs.

“Fashion doesn’t stop in the fall/winter, Hyun!” she smirks.

“Don’t you know her at all?” you giggle.

It had been a while since you have been to the Forbidden Forest. You used to go to feed the Thestrals after studying for your OWLS. Lee Know would have to drag you out of there because you found comfort in the invisible creatures. One caught your eye as you were walking to the bleachers set up. It made you feel like you were becoming yourself again.

“Bloody hell! Why are there so many TV’s?! Are you saying we could have just gone to the Great Hall to watch the task?!” Changing whines.

Jisung puts his arm around Changbin, “Oh come on! It won’t be that bad!”

“We are here to support Chris. That means we are here live so he can see us at the finish line. Aren’t you best friend after all?” Annaliese jokes, dragging you and Marina up the bleacher’s stairs.

The group finally decided to go to the middle of the bleachers as if they were in the movie theatre watching a new film. You guys almost take up a whole row: Changbin is at one end, Marina sitting next to him, then I.N, Seungmin, Annelise, Hyunjin, Jisung, Lee Know, and lastly you at the other end. Crowds of students were gathering around the bleachers to watch. You scan the forest. You couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. However, you did find Chris with the other two champions. He is laughing at something one of them said. Viktor, who was related to Viktor Krum, was a talk, buff, guy. He is 5-6 inches taller than Chris. Chris looks tiny compared to Viktor. Zora was a beautiful Indian girl. She has long, black hair that was pulled back. You envy Chris; you wish you could connect with people like he does. It used to be one of the reasons you couldn’t stand him, but now it was becoming a reason you admire him.

“Y/n!” you hear a deep voice call out.

You snap your head towards the direction of the voice. It was Felix. “Hey! Over here”

Felix runs up, maneuvers around the herd of people, and sits down next to you. “Finally made it!” he smiles.

“Yeah, where were you?” I.N asks, wrapping his blue and silver scarf around his neck.

“Oh! I just had to take care of a few things. Don’t worry about it!” Felix says.

“Where you snogging that Gryffindor girl from your DADA class?” Jisung asks, raising his eyebrow and smirking.

Felix scoffs and turns his attention to the forest in front of them. You look to see what he was looking at, and it was Headmaster Waterburn with his wand to his neck. “Attention students! Welcome to the 126th Triwizard Tournament!” Students rawer with cheers and applause. “It has been way too long since our last tournament, and we do we have a show for you guys! Our champions have been practicing these past few days for an exciting task! They will be participating in Capture the Flag!”

“Well, that’s boring,” Seungmin mutters. Annaliese smacks his arm, and he over exaggerates his pain, leaning into I.N who shoves him back into Anna.

“Each champion has a flag in the forest they need to find in order to win the task. Viktor, orange; Zora, blue; Christopher, green. Now, this isn’t any ordinary Capture the Flag. We have put a spin on it. Instead of a flag, they will be finding flame. Hence forth this is now Capture the Flame. There are items scattered in the forest to help them. Since they are finding their flame in the Forbidden Forest, there will be creatures along their path. What will those creatures do? We will find out!”

“This’ll be interesting!” Hyunjin shakes his head, inhaling sharply.

Chris stands behind a green line. Professor Ryner was behind him, rubbing his shoulders while probably giving him a pep talk. The other champions had their teachers encouraging them as well.

“We will be watching them in the forest with our handy dandy drones! Who knew Muggles could invent something like magic!” Waterburn smiles.

Lee Know rolls his eyes, “Weirdo.”

“Next he’s going to find out there are cars that drive itself!” you nudge your brother.

“But we have had carriages that have been doing that for years!” I.N says.

All eyes are on their youngest friend. Marina pats his shoulder, “You’re too cute, Innie.”

Waterburn continues his remarks, “At the sound of the canon, our champions will march forth into the forest. Are you ready, champions?”

They all give Headmaster a thumbs up. “Let’s give them a countdown. Shall we?”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

The canon fires and the champions bolt into the forest. There were 3 TV’s; one for each champion you could watch. Your eyes bounce from each TV, not knowing which one to watch first. While looking at each of the screens, you could see there were different colored lights to indicate they were on the right path. It had the champions corresponding colors. They soon faded away once they got deeper into the forest.

Zora is the first to find an item: a sneakoscope. A very handy item to let her know if there is any deception around her. After a while, Viktor found an item: a broom. Another great object, but it has limitations. It only could fly for 10 minutes. Chris, however, is having a really hard time finding items. Zora kept finding object after object, but Chris couldn’t find anything.

The first creature was discovered, and Chris is the suspect. He is surrounded by huge spiders. The audience gasps at how huge they were. Lee Know grabs your hand, knowing you don’t like them. Thankfully, Chris thinks quickly and casts them away with an Expelliarmus. Cheers fill the bleachers. Hyunjin and Changbin even stood up to cheer on for Chris.

The next creature that surfaces is a swarm of Billywigs around Viktor. He runs faster, trying to lose them, but their tiny wings are faster than his long legs. You could see him contemplating with the broom in his hand. He finally puts the broom between his legs and flies towards the sky. He thinks that he out flies them, but one latched onto his shirt. It stings him and flies away.

“What did that bug just do?” I.N asks.

“For how much you study, did you pay attention to Care of Magical Creatures?” Hyunjin laughs.

“My potions classes were harder, so I needed to study for that more,” I.N defends.

“A sting isn’t harmful. He’s about to just be super loopy and start floating. Nothing too serious,” you explain.

“Puffy,” Changbin coughs. Marina punches his arm which didn’t hurt at all because of the muscles padding around his arm.

“How come Chris doesn’t have an item yet?” Lee Know questions.

“Right! Super unfair. It’s like they didn’t give him any items at all! He has found more creatures than anything. Who even brings Dementors to Hogwarts?” Jisung complains, resting his head on Lee Know’s shoulder.

“It’s super strange. Zora has double the amount of items even Viktor has,” Felix says.  

“Wait, I think he found one!” Seungmin points to the TV.

All eyes are on Chris’ screen. He was looking inside of a tree’s hole. He pulls out a long piece of clothing. It’s an invisibility cloak! He quickly puts it on and disappears.

“At least it’s something! Hopefully that can help him divert around creatures,” Seungmin says, crossing his arms to keep himself warm.

It has been an hour since the task had started. Everyone is starting to get antsy on when the first person will find their flame. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait too much longer. A blue flame came into frame as Zora found the torch. She reaches to grab it and raises it in the air. The crowd goes wild!

“We have our first winter! Beauxbaton’s Zora!” Waterburn announces.

Viktor is a close second as found his orange flame in a tree. After a little while, Chris found his green flame guarded by a centaur. The group still cheers for Chris, even if he is last. The champions are apparated back to their starting line, torch still in hand. Waterburn has them stand in the center holding up their flames. Zora has a huge smile painted on her face. Viktor waves to everyone. Chris slightly smiles, but you can see the disappointed look in his eyes.

Suddenly, their flames cover the torch and change into a bunny rabbit.

“This is your next clue for the next task! Good luck!” Waterburn exclaims.

The group runs down the bleachers to meet Chris. He notices everyone walking towards him, but he turns his back and walks away.

“Wait up, Chris!” Changbin says, running to him. Everyone stays back. Changbin reaches Chris and touches his shoulder, but he brushes Changbin’s hand and shakes his head. He then apperates away, leaving everyone in the forest.

© lovestay-channie (2023) - please do not repost. all rights are reserved.

taglist: @minhosimthings @jiisungllvr @charmer-c @blackhairandbangs @foxinnie8 @sunshinessky @lixie-phoria @asherthehimbo @haewonluvr @hinanitiram (if you would like to be tagged, let me know!)

[calmasyoghurt]

The joker out pride project.

Also on ao3.

June 24th, prompt 12. First time wearing a skirt/dress

Moving to London might be one of the best decisions the band has ever made. It’s so big, and hardly anyone knows them. Kris doesn’t mind when fans stop him in the street back home, they're usually really nice. But when you’re walking home from a pub after closing together with your secret boyfriend, drunk and just the tiniest bit horny, then it’s quite nice not worrying about being recognized. Instead, Kris can just wrap an arm around Bojan’s shoulders, lean his head on the other’s, and tell Bojan exactly what’s going to happen when they get home. He speaks slovene when he does so, as to not give mental images to the few people they do pass.

Not being recognized is obviously not the only good thing about living in London. There’s so much to see, so many restaurants with food from so many cultures to try, and so many songs to write. So far, they’ve managed to do a little bit of all of those things. The day Kris had arrived to England, a couple of days late due to sickness, Bojan had taken him out to see the sights. Together they had walked all over the cold city to see big ben and the London eye. Riding the wheel had turned out to not be possible due to maintenance, but it didn’t bother Kris at all. Instead he had snapped a cute photo of Bojan looking sad at the entrance, and that was worth more than sitting in ferris wheel for an hour. After that, they had gone to lunch at an Indian restaurant before heading to the rehearsal place to meet up with the others.

The process of writing new music is also benefiting from the move. Kris’ creativity is so strong here that he could almost touch it. Chords, melodies and solos all come easy as soon as he sits down with a guitar. Sometimes a guitar is not even needed. Once, while making a sandwich, Kris had gotten an idea for a melody from the way the butterknife had scraped on the toasted bread. Another time had to run out of the shower to write down a chord progression that had come to him from nowhere. Kris suspects that if this continues he might be labeled as crazy.

And then there’s Damon. Damon Baker, the world famous photographer. Kris isn’t really sure on how it happened, but somehow, Damon has become their friend. He’s a really nice guy and always seem to know how to make someone else feel better. He has a kind of calming quality that Kris can’t get enough of. He loves hanging out with Damon, and as it seems, he doesn’t mind hanging out with the band either.

It’s an incredible offer, one that Damon makes one afternoon. He’ll take photos of all of them, and for the first time, they’ll have individual shoots. Back home, all photographers wants group photos, and they’re lucky if they get one individual photo each. But now Damon is suggesting he’ll take multiple individual photos of all of them. He also suggests that Kris should be the first out.

Being photographed isn’t difficult at all. Damon tells him to sit in certain ways or to look in certain directions, and then a snapping sound can be heard from the camera. Damon tells Kris that he’s beautiful, that he could be a model if he wanted to, and Kris blushes from the compliments. First, he’s dressed in a button-up shirt, then a tank top, then nothing covering his chest. Usually Kris doesn’t really show his chest of, especially not when fans might see. It’s because of the scars. They’ve faded a lot but are still clearly visible. Kris asks if Damon can take these pictures where they won't be visible, and he does. He listens to Kris’ needs, makes him feel comfortable.

Just as Kris thinks they’re done, Damon asks if he’s okay with another outfit change. Then he shows Kris a pink skirt and a big, black t-shirt. He says that it’s totally okay if he doesn’t want to wear them. He says that if he does wear them, they don’t have to take photos, and any photos taken won’t need to be published. But Kris might look really sexy in that skirt, so why not give it a try? If it makes him feel bad he can take it of right away.

Damon leaves the room while Kris gets changed. He puts the t-shirt on first, then the skirt. He tucks the shirt in and steps in front of the mirror. There is a weird, slightly familiar feeling creeping in when Kris sees himself. Weirdly enough, it’s not anything he can relate to dysphoria. It’s mostly that feeling he’s always gotten with skirts and dresses, like wearing a shirt without pants. But it’s also the fact that he looks good. Really good. There’s another feeling too, but he can’t place it, so instead he calls on Damon. Kris lets himself be photographed again. He let’s Damon compliment him again. He let’s himself win over dysphoria once again.

[coffeecatsandhealth]

8/4/24

I'm so happy!!!! I got my first pack of Indian skirts. The fabric is upcycled from saris I believe and they're also reversible! Even better is that they are wrap skirts (I think that's what they're called) so they adapt to your size. I bought 2 packs of 5 because the patterns are randomized, but I'm glad I did because my girl kitty is trying to play with my skirt I'm wearing right now. 😂 To be fair I haven't worn skirts very often since I brought her home so she's probably like "what is this?" I love the skirts. They're so pretty and they make me feel pretty. 🥰🥰🥰

In theory, I'd like to do a workout today, but I was out in my car dropping off donations earlier and working in the breezeway, neither of which have fully functioning ac, and it's hot as balls out. I'm cooling off and watching the olympics with my fiance before he goes off to his game night. I'm going to be at the house by myself for a few hours so I'm not sure what I'm going to do just yet. We had a productive day and we're resting. I might do some dishes and clean the cat's water fountain, but I don't know what I'll do other than that. 🤔

[sunnieschaos]

Notes on Chapter 7 and 8

I have quite a few notes on these chapters, so I figured I'd be a little more detailed here instead of typing up and entire paragraph over on ao3.

Starting with chapter 7: Nag/Naag and Nagin/Naagin are cobra shapeshifters. They are born as cobras and after a 100 years of pentenance/repentance (not sure what the word is) they are blessed by the god Shiva and get a human shape.

I very loosely used this story since iirc they don't actually have magic? It's just something I wanted to incorporate into the story bc I was discussing the myth with my mother a little while back and it just gave me this idea.

The main story for nag/nagin is that usually the male gets killed for his pearl and then the female of the pair (or his family) takes revenge on the one that killed him.

Another (not so) fun fact is that the face of their killer gets ingraved into their eyes as they die so their family can avenge them. Chapter 8: A saree is traditional indian wear. It is essentially a long piece of fabric that is wrapped around the body as a skirt and thrown over the shoulder.

Ganga is a hindu goddess and also a personification of a river. In mythology she was cast from the heavens(?) and caught by the god Shiva in his hair. There are multiple stories to this with differences, but that's a bit of backstory.

In the story her real name is Ila(ila without capital I for easy reading purposes) which can mean either "earth" or "speech" I used the "earth" meaning to match with the name of her mate, Parvin.

Parvin, which actually originated from Persian and means "the pleiades" refers to a group of stars in the constellation taurus.

I liked the contrast between the stars and the earth which is the only reason that's their names hehe. I liked the name Parvin and actually didn't have Ganga's real name until the end. I initially wanted to call her Anisha (nightless/sleepless), but I like Ila better. So yeah that's the end of my notes.

(side note: I researched most of the names just because I wanted them to be a little meaningful, but in the end I didn't do much with the meaning.)

[conjuremanj]

The Mystery Of La Madama. With Altar Set-up And Offering

A peculiar figure has recently become very popular in Rootwork. This person is La Madama. As you look around on different websites, or online blogs about rootwork or hoodoo you find more and more people are speaking on La Madama. But the conversation on her has become more misunderstood and that people are just repeating the same misinformation they are getting from websites and blogs and I'm no way a expert on her but I talked to some priest and practitioners in Espiritismo so I'm writing this post for the people who may be interested in La Madama or just want to learn about how to work with this type of spirit.

Who is La Madama? (Let's say, Who ARE Las Madamas?) Well, what she is not is part of hoodoo nor a hoodoo Saint as it is written online. She is not a slave women. These are dolls that are made out of porcelain or plastic and dressed in a particular color and this is a misconception that it's a specific spirit. This is totally incorrect. A Madama is a category of spirits - to which many individual spirits and guides belong to.

Again the question is who is she? Madamas are spirits of the dead, spirit guides that were slave women (or the descendants of slaves) round in stature, who has the stereotypical look of a house servant from the 1800's. Now Madamas are NOT conjure women (as in false American root workers what have you believe). La Madama isn't considered a the patron of playing card readers and bone readers or divination at least in hoodoo. Madama originated in the Latin community I believe Cuba not the US. These women are typically either women who practiced Espiritismo and maybe Santeria. When these Cuban and Puerto Rican women were alive they are depicted wearing gingham skirts (aprons) in the colors of the spirit which they worked with (red gingham for Chango or Siete Rayos, Blue gingham for Yemaya or Madre de Agua, etc.) They usually have their hair wrapped and there clothing in the same color. There are countless "Madama" spirits out there and they are NOT just one spirit.

Where did Madama Spirits come from? These spirits comes from the latino countries lik (Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic) and has spread to many other countries including Venezuela, part of Mexico and even the southern parts of The United States and This type of spiritualism works differently than the more formal "white table" version of spiritism found in Europe in the late 1800's. There have many categories of spirits including (but not limited to): Madamas, Indians, Gypsies, Nuns, Arabs, and even Pirates. There is not ONE spirit of La Madama, just like there is not ONE spirit of The Indian, nor is there ONE spirit of the Gypsy.

La Madama type spirits is NOT native to Rootwork and has actually never ever been a part of Hoodoo at all until maybe the last 15 to 30 years.

In the south southern root workers used other spirit's such as (Black Hawk) or other spirits or not native to hoodoo but were only found in Spiritualist Churches in the south and some would argue and I read that Christianity, praying the psalms and working with Saints, Indian Spirits, etc. is a rather new to Hoodoo that's incorrect hoodoo in the south has all ways use Christian prayers and Psalms in their practice. The spirit like Black Hawk plays a part later because of what he did and what he represents to us the south especially in Louisiana. Just like Marie laveau these spirits in the South like Louisiana has become important to us, and has become a part of our practice. (See post on Black Hawk)

Can I Work With "La Madama"? This is an interesting question. The answer isn't that simple. It isn't whether you CAN work with La Madama -because you can, The question actually should be "Do I have a Madama to work with me?" In (Spiritism), you don't go out seeking spirits to work with. Instead, you work with the spirits in your Spiritual Court that already surrounds you. The Spiritual Court is a group of the most intimate guiding spirits you have around you that protect and teach you. They are your "inner court" and they defend you when you cannot defend yourself. They guide you, teach you and inspire you. Each person's Spiritual Court is different than the next's. Similar to being initiated in Vodou we get our loa who wants to work with us and be a guide to that person we don't pick or choose which. Madama is the same you must have your own already in your court and a medium can help with identifying your spirits on your court.

Before you can work with her. "Madama" type spirits you need to find out IF THERE IS ONE IN YOUR SPIRITUAL COURT! This is the most crucial element that people don't take into account. You must first find out if you have such a spirit in your court with which to work and identify who is there for you. You can then work with to strengthen your relationship with those guides through prayer, meditation and contact with these spirits at your Spiritual Altar.

It is up to each person to learn as much as they can about their Spiritual Court. These spirits will act as the conduit for divine inspiration and guidance for that person. If you have a Madama type spirit you would need to find out where she's from, her name, what she practiced in her life and how to work with her.

Working and Petitioning La Madama: I would often see photos of people putting offerings to La Madama and petitioning her as if she was a saint. This is absolutely incorrect. She is not. This is not the manner in which Spiritists would ever work with a Madama-type spirit. Because there are many of her so who are you praying too exactly.

Not my photo

Setting up an altar to La Madama: people like to have depiction of her on their altar, like a statue, picture, doll or prayer card. This object acts as a physical container in which her spirit can manifest so when you call opon her for guidance and support. What a glass of water.

Making offerings to La Madama: Madamas enjoy receiving offerings thanking them for their assistance. This could be bouquets of flowers or a cup of coffee or a cigar. If you do leave her offerings, they are offerings of gratitude. Remember she's not a saint. These are given because she came through and helped you with an issue or to keep your connection with her strong.

Ultimately she will help you with reading, perceiving and psychic abilities as well as giving you inspiration when you do a spell or ritual. After all, she was a priestess in her time and knows how to work spells, (but she will tell you how to do it HER way, not the Hoodoo way) (because she was not a conjure woman, she was an Afro-Caribbean *spiritual worker).

One must understand very clearly that God is who we worship. A Madama-type spirit is not a saint to be petitioned. She is a spirit guide. She is there to give you guidance, inspire your spell work, guard you from harm, cleanse you when you pick up something nasty, and to be a teacher and mentor. You do not worship your teacher right so you would not worship La Madama.

If you don't have a Madama-type spirit in your Spiritual Court, that's fine and normal. You may have countless other spirits who are very powerful and close to you. But this internet fad of La Madama really needs to be handled with respect and people should have a better understanding so they don't waste their energy and money trying to petition a spirit that's not even accessible to them. Focus on the spirits that do surround you and keep those bonds strong, and you'll be much better off in the long run.

"Madama" is something originating from Latino countries, not the USA,

[fashionthroughtimewithlucy]

Woodstock.

Woodstock, the most famous of the 1960s rock festivals, held on a farm property in Bethel, New York, August 15–18, 1969, at the end of the hippie movement. The hippie flower child look from the late 1960's carried over into the first half of the 1970's, in a non-restrictive bohemian silhouette with a heavy folksy influence. Arts and crafts had a huge impact on fashion during this time including tie-dye, batik, knitwear, crochet and macrame.

1970s Gunne Sax dresses.

Gunne Sax's aesthetic has been described as feminine, nostalgic, Victorian, old world and romantic. Though the brand is now closely associated with formal and bridal wear, its origins date back to late '60s San Francisco.  In 1969, San Francisco boutique Gunne Sax needed a house designer. Enter Jessica McClintock, an elementary school teacher with a life-long interest in fashion. When a friend told McClintock of the opening at Gunne Sax, she applied immediately. McClintock was hired despite her lack of formal training in fashion design or clothing manufacture. Herself and designer Laura Ashley popularized the prairie dress phenomenon.

Sometimes referred to as Granny or prairie dresses, a typical Gunne Sax dress of the early 1970s featured a banded Empire waist and a long maxi-skirt. Lace trim, high collars and long sleeves evoked an amalgam of past eras and created an overall impression of demure femininity.

Vogue Italia March 1970.

Twiggy for Vogue 1970

Thea Porter, Godmother of Bohemian Cheque.

Thea Porter, who is credited with bringing the bohemian look to London catwalks. Although Thea Porter is not as famous a name as Mary Quant or Laura Ashley, her influence on the look of her era is just as potent. Her loose, draped shapes and fabrics helped create the style of stars such as Faye Dunaway and Elizabeth Taylor in the 1970s, and they have since become forever entangled with the idea of rock-star self-indulgence. She celebrated ethnic styles in Indian style prints, free flowing breezy gauzy tent dresses and wide legged pants.

Porter's seven signature looks: the Abaya & Kaftan; the Gipsy dress; the Fraye dress; the Brocade-panel dress; the Wrap-over dress; the Chazara jacket, and the Sirwal skirt, as well as important fashion photography from the pages of Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Women's Wear.

Changing skirt sizes.

This was the year of the changing hemline. There is no longer one length for one woman, but a whole wardrobe of lengths from which to choose. Mini, regular, midi and maxi length. Both emerald and bottle green were popular colours of the 1970s along with rust, wine red, purple, orange, and brown.

Tom Wolfe called the 1970s the "me decade" Across the land, Americans seemed determined to escape from the wars and social movements of the previous decade. Disillusionment with national and global action led many to look inward and find solace in discovering more about themselves. Women demanded respect as equal partners, and began to emerge into the work place. As women asserted themselves economically, socially, and politically, the idea of remaining trapped in an unhappy marriage became less and less appealing. Consequently, the divorce rate soared. An 1974 book entitled the courage to divorce  encouraged individuals to put their own happiness above that of their spouses and children.

Every rule of fashion was shattered in the 1970s. Lapels, ties, and collars, reached record widths. The polyester leisure suit, available in a palette of citrus and pastel colors, was extremely popular among young males. The jacket, pants, and vest were often worn with an open collar to display thick necklace chains nestled in exposed chest hair. A senses of masculine style emerged in the film 'Annie Hall' which created a sensation with Diane Keaton wearing a fitted vest with a collard white shirt and men's neckties.

[stormclouds-chainmail]

Today at an Afternoon Tea.

[Video description: a video of me, a Brown person with long greyish brown hair, wearing a three piece Indian Anarkali suit and metallic blue platform Doc Martens. The Anarkali suit is mostly turquoise blue, with purple velvet and shiny gold accents at the bottom and bodice. The trousers and dupatta scarf are turquoise blue. The dupatta has purple and gold at the bottom and gold along the edge The sleeveless dress part has multiple layers. The top skirt ones are net like fabric and the top layer is split open at the front so it flares out. In the video I'm spinning around so the two top layers of the skirt of the dress flare out quite dramatically. The camera zooms in on the skirt. When I stop spinning the skirt keeps moving and wraps around me. I'm smiling at the camera. A snippet of the Bhangra song Mundian To Bach Ke by Panjabi MC has been added to the video. End description]

[fishnets-fingers]

Six Months - Part Twenty Two

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n - i’d like to apologise for the impromptu two month break. work was hectic and my bosses are grade a pricks. things are slowly starting to wind down. this part took a long time to write with all the angst but i hope it’s readable. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome.  happy reading!

Word Count - 11.5 k

Warnings - angst cental, fluff, allusions to smut.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

Layla does not know how long she can go on like this. She is  currently behind Earl’s stall at the farmer’s market, where he’s selling his produce and flowers. The slanting rays of the afternoon light, permeate through the thin petals of the dahlias, making the pointed edges seem luminous. It was unusually busy, the marketplace, almost all of Earl’s produce were sold out. Her eyes were fixed on the task at hand - wrapping a sheet of newspaper around a bouquet of aster and dahlias. But her body is hyper aware of the boy standing at the other end of the stall, longing for him to glance her way but he was busy counting money to give to the man for whom she was putting the flowers together. 

“Here you go,” Layla smiles, handing him the bouquet.

The man thanks her and heads on and she shoots a quick glance in Harry’s direction. She’s met with the broad expanse of his back clad in a black t-shirt, hair tousled with a pair of glasses tucked behind his ear, and black skinny jeans. He’s talking to Earl, pointing to something on his phone. She sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears, grateful for her Aunt who insisted on getting her a pair of fleece lined tights. The crisp autumn air does not make her quiver, like it used to. She’s still getting used to layering for the cold, but she thought she did a great job with her outfit. Much better than the one she sleepily pulled together this morning for golf, an outfit that made her uncle howl at the green.

She was even looking forward to the compliment when she walked out the door. She was wearing her white tennis skirt, with the fleece lined tights, doc marten loafers, her thrifted jumper and a faux leather jacket that she flicked from Abi’s closet. But Harry had stepped out with a surly look in his eyes, doing nothing but giving her a curt nod and he’d remained like that till now. She chalked it up to a bad day. Everyone had those days, even if he was chipper that morning. Hoping to lighten his mood Layla jabbered about what happened in golf and the nosey question a student asked about the two of them; she received nothing but apathetic nods and muted hums. 

That’s how it started then it snowballed into completely pretending like she doesn’t exist until now. He didn’t meet her eyes and went out of his way to put space between the two of them. Gone was the warm touchy, kissy boyfriend and in his place stood this lanky frigid boy - who looked like he didn’t want anything to do with her. It was someone pressed a button that bought a sledgehammer that shattered Harry’s lavender haze. 

Maybe he realised loving you way too much of a burden, she shakes her head, trying to dispel her thoughts.

“Hey,um, I’m gonna go pick up some stuff and head over to yours to get a head start on dinner,” Layla informs the two who were transfixed at something on Harry’s phone, hiking her bag up her shoulder. THe gang was congregating at Earl’s for dinner today.

“You’re sure? We’ll be done in a few more hours,” Earl tells, looking at her through the rim of his glasses; she was picking away at a fray thread on her tote bag.

“Positive.” She smiles at him. 

“Here, take this then,” Earl hands over the keys to his car. “I don’t want you lugging over that cast iron all the way home.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, putting the key in her pocket, shuffling over to the other side. It doesn't go unnoticed that Harry immediately steps away from her when she brushes past the two, making her frown. Since when does he pass up the opportunity?

////

Layla had managed to make quite a spread. A creole potato salad, sweet chilli halloumi with cashew slaw, and Ribollita . Her Uncle and Aunty were setting up the dining room, Anne and Earl were somewhere in the house and Harry was busy fiddling with Earl’s record player in the living room. Layla’s slumped behind the kitchen island waiting for the stuffed butternut squash to finish in the oven, while lazily flicking through Earl’s wife’s recipe book. There were so many pages that were blank towards the end. She wonders what she would have filled them with had she had more time. 

The ding of the oven, pulls her attention and not before long, she’s slipping on some mitts to take out the pan, to pull out the butternut squash she picked out in the farmer’s market. She notices Harry’s wallet peeking out from his tote - abandoned on the kitchen island - as she sets the hot utensil down. 

Maybe if I put the tickets in there? Maybe the surprise would make him perk up and stop being surly, she ponders. She looks up at him, sitting on the floor hunched over the turntable with his hair pushed back with the red silk bandana she got him from New Orleans. He was fixated on the red light that was on the side of the circular spinning table, as he was tuning something to help adjust the pitch. She takes it as an opportunity to  quickly pull out the black Gucci wallet and flip it open.

The image in his photo pocket makes her want to run over and tackle him in a giant hug. He’d put a picture of her in his wallet. He went out of his way to print a wallet sized picture and slotted it in there. Important enough for his wallet, it makes her smile. It was the picture he took on the day of Abi’s flower braiding ceremony - the two of them on her bed smiling into the kiss, dimples on display, her hands cupped around his face, lips pouring affection into each other. She runs her fingers on the laminate that protected the image inside, almost like she was checking to see if it would disintegrate, like she needed to make sure that the boy who was currently icy towards her all day was the same one who did this. She notices him move from the corner of her eye, making her swiftly dig into the pocket of her black faux leather jacket, slot the two fall carnival tickets she bought at the market behind his dollar bills and discretely slip it inside the tote.

She pretends to look for something in the cabinets as he stalks towards the kitchen, as he swings open the door of the refrigerator. 

“Harry,” she turns to face him, fighting the urge to control the simper that stretches across her face. “I made ribollita.”

The corners of her mouth droops when he barely looks at her, staring pointedly at the glass as he pours in the pineapple watermelon  big boy soda Earl has stocked up.

Despite not being acknowledged, she continues, “I remember you telling me about your final night in Tuscany where you, Mitch, and Sarah were so drunk and how you all stumbled into this dodgy looking place run by an elderly couple at midnight. And how that ribollita was the best you’ve ever had.” He even told her that if he ever got a chance to take her anywhere in the world, he’d fly her out to Anghiari and trudge up the steps of the town, wine drunk with interlinked hands under the starry Italian skies. “I found this recipe on YouTube by some nonna. Took a while to make it; hope it tastes -”

“Whatever,” he says quietly, shrugging his shoulders, walking over to the dining room with the glass of green liquid on one hand and the squash on the other with the dish towel.

“Prick,” she mutters, shooting daggers on his back.

////

Hushed voices float from the end of the hall, it had to be Anne and Earl. Layla walks quietly towards the partially closed door.

“I would not recommend it, Earl,” Anne says, looking at a report.

“You’re being overly cautious,” he chuckles, adjusting the rim of his glasses, so they sit higher up the bridge of his nose.

Layla tiptoes, hoping the wood of the floor does not creak, closer to the door. Angling herself so most of her body is hidden behind the white door.

“Everyone has headaches,” he says, popping an ibuprofen in his mouth.

“Not everyone had a stent placed on their heart three years ago. You’re feeling faint often, yeah?”

“It happened a couple of times,” Earl answers.

“Any fevers? Chills? Body pain?” Anne enquires.

Earl shakes his head. “I think you’re being overly cautious, Anne.”

“I still want you to come into the hospital. I think it’s best to do a cardiac cath, and run some bloodwork. I think Dr. Siegelbaum would also agree,” she states firmly.

Layla knocks - in hopes that she could join in her conversation so she can convince him to visit the hospital. Slowly creaking the door open, popping her head in, “Hey, dinner’s all set. Just waiting for you two,” she tells them in her best chirpy voice. 

“Give us a minute, sweetheart,” Anne says, putting back the papers in a folder.

 “We can talk later.” Earl tells her. “I have something very special planned for dinner,” he smiles, opening a drawer from his bedside table, pulling out a manila envelope.

Layla sits next to her Uncle, putting as much distance as she could with Harry. Earl walks in and sits next to her, handing her the envelope.

“What’s this?” She asks, eyebrow arched, as she takes a sip of water. 

“Open it,” he smiles.

She pries the tab open to find red coloured rectangular papers inside, she shuffles them out and five ticket stubs fall out. There’s a picture of Mickey and right underneath it it says ‘THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH.’ The other end of the tick stub is perforated, and it says ‘ADMIT ONE.’ “No fucking way!” She squeals. “You got tickets to Disney World!”

Earl gleefully cackles. “Yes. I did. All five of you are hopping on a plane for a four day trip to Orlando,” he announces. 

The table chuckles at Layla. “Wait, you were all in on this?” She asks.

Anne nods. “He coordinated with us for dates.”

“We’re going during the Thanksgiving break. It will be crowded but we all didn’t have similar holiday windows, so we settled for this,” Abi says.

“And before you protest. You have to accept it. We’ve been planning this for over two months now.”

“But it’s so expensive - “

“Hush,” Earl shuts Layla down. “You and Harry have worked in my shop and helped me with so many orders. Think of this as your wage.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” She tells him, kissing him on the cheek as she throws her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re very welcome,” he says, giving her a warm squeeze. 

“ Why aren’t you coming with us, Earl?” Vasanth asks.

“I’ve been there multiple times with my grandkids. Plus, I’m heading to Florida in the new year to stay with my son for a few weeks.”

“Did you make these tickets yourself?” Layla asks, passing them around. 

“All the tickets are emailed. I’ve already forwarded them to everyone. It’s a shame that you kids don’t have ticket stubs anymore for keepsakes. Harry made this on Photoshop. He even got it printed, so you all can have a tactile reminder.”

“Thank you,” Layla smiles at Hary who’s scooping up the Ribollita.

He doesn’t say anything, but gives her a tightlipped smile in return as she spoons some salad on her plate.

////

“You’ve been driving?!?” Vasanth screams, looking at Layla who’s burrowing behind Anne on the couch. He quickly walks away from where he was in conversation with Earl to his niece, who he believes Shiva put on his Earth to turn every hair on his head grey. “I see you!” He steps in front of her, arms folded up, stance upright.

“What?” She muffles over a mouthful of leftover creole salad. Earl had specially requested Layla to make it and she spent over an hour trying to meticulously follow his wife’s recipes hoping the elimination of thick cut bacon won’t affect the taste as much.

“Answer the question, kutti.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I’m talking about what Earl told me just now. Like you, manoeuvring his Prius from where it was parallel parked.”

“So it seems,” she shrugs.

“உன்னை அடிக்க வைக்காதே(don’t make me whack you), Layla. I’m being deadly serious. You could end up in trouble with the cops.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad of a driver.”

“I know that. Your Indian licence is valid in this state for only three months. You came here in August, meaning, you are not legally allowed to drive now. Don’t - Do you not care about how that infraction would look when you’re applying for a student visa?!?”

“Calm down, சித்தப்பா! Look,” she shuffles through her tote and whips out her licence from her wallet. 

He examines it closely. “When did you-”

“தாத்தா ஒரு நாள் என்னை அழைத்துச் சென்றார் (Grandad, took me one day).” She winks.”You’re crazy to think I would do anything that would jeopardise my shot at a PhD.”

“If you have an international driver’s licence, then why do you insist on me driving you to the Indian store?”

“Because,” she blushes, knowing Anne’s right there. “I don’t get to spend much time with you,” she says quietly. “Aunty works remote on certain days but you always go out the door at nine and get back home after six. Then you have things around the house to take care of and I know this is really selfish of me to say this but I don’t know how to share you with someone as needy as me.”

“Are you talking about the -”

She nods. “I’m just selfishly trying to bank on Layla Vasanth time before you run out of that because you have an infant to cater to. And I know that’s how it it should be but -”

“நீ என் பயிற்சி சக்கரங்களாக இருந்தீர்கள். அப்பாவாக இருப்பதில். (You are my training wheels. For being a dad.)” He sniffles, pinching her cheek. “Besides we both know the minute you’re gonna start studying here, you’re gonna be my pain in the ass full time.” 

She laughs. “Shut up!”

“How about we go golfing every weekend and head to Dominos for lunch? Just the two of us.”

“No golf. It’s really cold. I much prefer playing back home where it’s sweaty.”

“Bowling then? I can teach you how to,” Vasanth proposes. “We can even go see a movie while we’re there.”

“It’s a date.” Layla smiles.

////

Layla raps against the cherry wood door, before poking her head into the master bedroom. She finds her Aunt propped up against the headboard, legs outstretched on the fluffy olive green duvet, bump in the way - giving an ample distance between Abi and the Macbook bolstered on the wooden bed desk. One of the many advantages of working from home was getting to be the most comfortable - with a rapidly growing five month bump -  while working a humdrum nine to five. That and being in your sleep clothes; Abi’s is in one of her tattered wrap around skirts, and a tank top. 

“Hi, kutti,” she smiles at her niece, who makes her way meekly to the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

“Am I interrupting?” She asks, nodding towards the laptop.

“I’ve got a couple of minutes. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to talk,” she plays with the end of the tie of her kimono style robe. 

“I’d love to talk but I have a hop into Zoom for a meeting in ten,” she informs, reaching out to take a sip of coconut water. “But we can talk after.”

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair then. Have a pleasant meeting.”

“Can you get my blazer on your way out please?” Abi requests.

Layla heads into the walk-in closet to pull out a latte coloured blazer and she hands it to her Aunt, who is now sat straight up on the bed. 

“நன்றி (thanks), kutti.” She shrugs on the coat, and pulls out the banana clip that was holding her hair from her face. Her shiny raven locks cascade down her shoulders and curl at the ends, where it sat atop of her belly. Unfair, Layla thinks as she watches Abi muss up the hair at the scalp to give it that oompf. Layla would kill to look that effortlessly gorgeous. 

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Layla informs. “Do you want the door open or shut?”

“Open, please. Harry’s coming with?”

“He’s not exactly speaking to me at the moment. Don’t know why but nevermind, you finish your meeting.”

“Don’t forget to take your phone with you then,” Abi tells her.

“It’s already in my pocket!”” 

With that Layla heads to her room to throw on her Panic! At The Disco t-shirt and throws Abi’s faux leather jacket over her shoulder. The black paper bag from Fink’s catches her eye. She sighs, as she pockets the long black box with the gold foil lettering. It's one of the things she loves about her high waisted blue denim boyfriend jeans she’d picked up at a factory outlet sale back home. The jeans did not flatter her pear shaped body the least bit, it was loose around her waist - she’d often need a belt to stop it from riding down, tight around the tops of her thighs, digging into her guts whenever she sat down, but the redeeming factor were the pockets. They were as deep as the mines in Moria; Layla was akin to greedy dwarves throwing it into the shopping cart, when the pocket swallowed half her forearm. 

She locks the door, punches the button to arm the security device but instead of heading over to the house next door, she crosses the road and bimbles her way to the playground in the park and settles herself in an unoccupied swing. Best thing about coming to the playground at three in the afternoon was that there were no snot filled cretins running around wreaking havoc. She pushes her heel on the grimy green and orange chequered rubber foam floor, making herself oscillate to and fro. It’s funny that she’s going to her Aunty for advice when ten years ago, her mother and grandmother swore that she will end up miserable when Vasanth gets married. And as much as she believed that it would happen - it was only logical to her - with stories multiple relatives told her about absolutely losing her shit as a child when her Uncle would pick up another kid to endlessly fixating on some potential ‘fault’ with the other with the marriage proposals that came their way; disliking Abi was one thing that never happened. 

Layla didn’t even get to meet Abi in person until the engagement and wedding dates were fixed. Her grandparents came across her profile and breathed a sigh of relief when they found out that she was tall; it was a right pain to find someone for Vasanths’s towering six foot two. Their families got along well, and much to everyone’s delight Abi and Vasanth got along well over FaceTimes, calls and texts. It didn’t take very long before both the families went to the nearest temple and to fix up wedding dates. Layla had only got a chance to meet Abi’s parents and siblings before the dates were fixed. In hindsight, she suspects it was her mum and her grandmum’s doing to keep her away until she had no option but to be a cavalier. The day she met Abi was one filled with a constant stream of advice from her mum and grandmum since this was someone her Uncle fancied - she was told to be kind, respectful, welcoming, and most importantly to not run her smart mouth. Her grandad had taken her to the shops to get some sweets, and had told Layla that she should get something for her future Aunt. So, she used up some emergency snack money she’d set aside in her wallet and got her a set of these dragonfly pearl earrings and a matching pendant. It wasn’t made of real pearls or gold, it wasn’t the fanciest choice either, she’d bought it in a small fancy store - a small shop that often sold bangles, bindis, kaajal, and some cheap imitation jewellery - but Abi’s reaction indicated that it was the most precious thing that she’d ever received. Layla’s heart warmed when she caught sight of the tarnished, worn out dragonfly pearl necklace in Abi’s jewellery drawer yesterday, when she raided Abi’s closet for the faux leather jacket.

Things only blossomed to fruition after that initial reaction, she can’t recall what they talked about but the conversation flowed. Layla was surprised about how much Abi already knew about her; she was privy to some hilarious antics she’d been up to with Vasanth. Layla had managed to convince Abi to try pineapple on pizza and even told her loads of things that would fetch her brownie points with her Uncle. And by the time her granddad came to pick Layla up several hours later, they’d already planned another meetup but this time at a beach.

Layla's phone buzzes with and a picture of her father fills the screen. It was a picture from Vasanth and Abi’s wedding reception, his phone in hand staring to the side trying to flag off one of the venue managers. One where her father refused to buy a suit and bought a suede jacket, paired it with a sky blue button up and some dark wash jeans - he’d insisted to her and her mum that it was something that James Bond wore in a movie, making the two crack up in response.

“Aren’t you up late?” Layla speaks.

“Amma and I came back from a movie half an hour ago,” he answers.

“What movie?”

“Ponniyin Selvan. Did you all watch it?”

“No. How was it?”

“It’s certainly a spectacle but Amma understood it a lot better than me. I think I need to watch it one more time.”

“Book படித்தது உதவியாக இருக்கும் (reading those novel would have helped).”

“Yes. How did your classes go? Are you finding it easy with the time zone and all?”

“நன்றாக சென்றது (they went really well)! Time zones aren’t bad actually, but it’s only been two days. So I can’t say for sure.”

“Good. பேராசிரியர் உங்களுக்கு கருத்து தெரிவித்தாரா (did the professor give you any feedback)?” Her dad inquires.

“இதுவரை இல்லை (not yet). அநேகமாக professor வார இறுதியில் feedback கொடுப்பார் (she’ll probably will at the end of the week).”

“You do exactly what she says, okay? Incorporate whatever she says. That’s how you show her that you’re a good hire. Kutti, listen, do you remember my friend’s house we went to in Bangalore?”

“Yes. The house with two dobermans,” Layla recalls.

“இன்று அவனிடம் பேசினேன். ஒரு ஐபாட் வாங்க முடியுமா என்று கேட்டார் - (I talked to him today and he asked if you could get him an iPad -)”

“Appa! Do I look like an Apple mule to you all?”

“It’s cheaper there, kutti. And there’s nothing wrong in helping.”

“I’m already carrying five apple products with me. One homepod thing for you, iPad mini for Amma, AirPods for அத்தை (Aunty), and the new phone for my cousin.”

“That’s only four, Layla.”

“You do realise I have to bring my own phone too, right?”

“Oh. Then what’s one more product going to do?”

“Fine, I’ll get your friend the iPad. But if I get detained by the TSA for looking too suspicious with this many Apple products in my carry on. You’re gonna pay.”

Her dad guffaws on the other end. “உன் முகம் கடத்தல்காரன் மாதிரி இல்லை (Your face doesn’t scream smuggler).”

“To you maybe, நான் எப்படி மற்றவைகள் இருக்கிறேன் என்று யாருக்குத் தெரியும் (who knows what I look like to others)?” She laughs.

“சாப்பிட்டாயா (have you eaten)?” He asks.

“Yes. Had gobi fried rice  from the microwave. சித்தப்பா made it before he left for work.” 

“You are helping them out around the house, right? Remember that they are both busy with jobs. I know that they’ll never say this but you make sure to not burden them, especially now with a baby on the way.”

“I am helping. Reorganised the garage and all yesterday. I make sure to cook at least a meal everyday. Clean the house.” She exhales. “That’s more than what I do back home.”

Her dad lets out a laugh. “Now, Amma will hold you to the same standard when you get back. Listen, பாட்டி (grandmum) wants me to remind you to buy Ziplock-”

“Already bought three boxes of her precious ziplock bags.”

“Good. Okay, kutti. I’m gonna head to bed. You take care okay?”

“Will do. Tell Amma I said hi. Bye.”

She hangs up the call, and jumps off the swing; slowly making her way to Harry’s. The pit of the stomach seemed to bubble with nervousness. Hopefully his pisssy mood had lightened since dinner at Earl’s yesterday. She could punch in the security code but the boulder in her stomach only weighs heavier. Decking not to somehow piss him off by walking in, she rings the doorbell. Her feet tap against the white porch, waiting for him, mind racing. Usually he would have opened the door by now. She steps aside to peer into the window and spots no one. No signs of a tall lanky boy making it across the foyer. She presses the doorbell again and holds it down for a few extra seconds for good measure, craning her head to see if his Range Rover is parked in the driveway. The door swings open as she makes a fist to try knocking on it and there he was - clad in one of his muscle tank top that had darkened patchily with sweat, blue shorts, hair pushed back with the blue bandana she’d got, lips  and eyebrows pursed in a grimace.

“Oh god, are you okay?!?” Layla exclaims, zeroing in on the frozen bag of peas he had pressed up against the slope of his shoulder. 

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, as he looks down at her - a result of the trapezius bundle protesting.

“I just stopped by to - did you hurt yourself working out?” 

“I’m fine,” he winces.

“You clearly are not, earth boy. Let me help,” she states, taking a step forward into the house but finds her boy fixed in place, blocking her. “Harry,” she says firmly, looking into his forest green orbs.

“Did mum ask you to drop something off?” He asks.

“Well no,” she takes in a huge breath, she slides her hand into her pocket, fingers curling around the box. “I’m actually here to see you.”

“I don’t want anyone’s company.”

“Well -” the door shuts on her face, and she feels her heart drop. “I’m not anyone,” she mumbles dejectedly at the wooden door, tears prick the corner of her eyes and she makes her way back to her room. Tossing the gift box on her bedside table. Tearing off a page from her notebook, she scrawls with tears beading her waterline. 

I don’t know what’s happened

Just tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?

She blinks back the film blurring the words on the page, wiping away the tears that landed on the paper. She uses the back of her hand to wipe her cheeks, breathing out slowly. She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her t-shirt.

I understand needing space. But the door slam to my face hurt

That’s all she manages to jot down before her mother’s voice echoes in her head, “சில நேரங்களில் உன்னை விரும்புவது கடினம் (It’s hard to love you sometimes).”

She crushes the paper with the note she was trying to write. It can’t be. Harry himself said the opposite. She abandons the crumpled ball, as she trudges her way up to the home theatre to fire up her PlayStation. All she needs for the next few hours is to mindlessly kill some Valkyries in God of War. She’d finished playing the game’s story days ago and the open world game gave her the opportunity to kill all eight of the valkyries. But she’d soon found out that  killing them was tricky business. What other perfect way is there to channel gamer rage other than using the bubbling anger directed at her boyfriend to kill the remaining two warrior women with wings.

////

“Wait, you actually wanted to get married?” Layla asks, sitting up straighter, tilting her head from side to side until an audible crack is heard.

“Hmm…” Abi smiles at the huff her niece lets out. She had trailed upstairs - after her meeting - to the sounds of Layla shouting ‘சாவு, பன்றி, சாவு (die, pig, die)’ at the projector screen armed with one of her video game controllers.

“You were the perfect daughter weren’t you, Aunty?”

Abi laughs. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have to negotiate.”

“Go on,” Layla motions with her hand, as she reaches for her water bottle.

“My relatives zeroed in on my parents the minute I graduated from engineering. They initially didn’t give it much thought but then matches actually came home through Aunties and Uncles we knew. They sat me down and asked me if I was seeing someone -”

“Wait! Your parents were okay with a love match?”

“Yup. As long as the boy was Hindu and from our caste,” Abi answers.

“Of course. It came with terms and conditions,” Layla giggles. “As long as they were from the same caste. Could you imagine going around and asking people what caste they belong to when you’re out on a date.”

“I know right! Hella awkward.” She joins in with Layla, giggling away feeling her baby move in accordance. “But I guess it really didn’t matter because I wasn’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. I told them I wasn’t in love with anyone but I also asked them to give me three years to get some work experience. I knew I wanted to do an MBA in the US. My parents weren’t on board with my moving abroad alone. They wanted me to have ‘protection’” she explains, making air quotes for the last work.

“Ech,” Layla reacts. “Why are all parents the same? When Vasanth told everyone that he’s gonna prep for his GRE and move to the US for his Masters my grandparents were over the moon. I bet they never even considered his ‘protection.’ Fucking double standards.”

“It enraged me too but I realised it was that or not doing my MBA in the States. I pulled up some of the prerequisites and my parents got to know that the degree needed students to have work experience. After many fights, they finally relented and gave me three years and started looking for matches while I was working.”

“Didn’t that throw you off? Knowing that time was ticking?”

“It did. It made me feel guilty, knowing I needed to have all of these experiences before I got tied down but it melted away when my friends and coworkers started settling down and starting families. They still had the experiences just married and sometimes having those experiences with their significant other; life didn’t stop. It took four years of searching before Vasanth.”

“Four years?!?”

“Yeah,” Abi chuckles. “I didn’t make it easy for my parents either. I had given them a zillion expectations that they needed to meet. I rejected many. Plus, they had to find someone taller than me.”

Layla laughs. “It’s the same thing that happened with Uncle. Finding someone tall enough for him, தாத்தா பாட்டி (grandad and grandmum) almost pulled out their hairs trying to find someone tall.”

Abi laughs. “My dad made so much fun of me on the days leading up to our engagement, because I was running around trying to find heels to try and match his height. I only owned flats prior to your Uncle.”

“How did you know சித்தப்பா (uncle) was the one?”

“There was no one moment. We got along well. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing what I envision my future to look like. Others I talked to often talked about the future in terms of their goals or a collective familial goal. Your uncle asked me what I wanted, rather than ask me what I want as one half of a couple. He was supportive with my MBA plans and work goals too. Seemed open to moving closer to whatever college I got in. That’s how we moved to North Carolina from San Francisco; I got into Kenan-Flagler. I haven’t told him this but when he readily put his notice in and moved to Charlotte with me - before he found himself a job here - he just became so much hotter.” Abi uses one of her hands and fans herself.

“Eww,” Layla grimaces. “Don’t call him hot.”

“Is it a crime to find my husband hot?” She laughs.

“When the husband is my Uncle, yes.” She shivers in disgust. 

“Oh- லேலா உன் கையை கொடு (Layla, give me your hand),” she says urgently, grabbing her palm and pressing it to the side of her ever growing tummy. The baby rewards the two with a jerky roll. “Never gets old,” Abi whispers with a smile blooming. “I initially thought the kick would be like a ping but it’s like a jelly rolling around with her. Getting more active by the day this one.”

“Even Laya agrees with me,” Layla says. Bending down to the active baby, “Don’t worry. I find it weird that she thinks he’s hot too.” She whispers, making Abi laugh at their private conversation.

“You two are gonna team up and make fun of us, aren’t you?” She manages to get out in between fits of laughter.

“Obviously.” Layla’s eyes flicks up to her Aunt’s with the most earnest expression on her face. She settles back into the recliner and lets out an audible sigh. “So is that all it is… I can’t possibly get out of this arranged marriage thing and the best I can do is negotiate.”

“I never said you can’t get out of it, kutti. It will just be an arduous journey to get there but knowing your mum and knowing you're the only girl child - I think the best course of action is to negotiate like I did. If you say no marriage and stand your ground now, what’s to say your mum won’t also resist and force you with that intensity of your refusal. So, don’t say anything, stay out of it. This way your PhD won’t be affected by it.”

“What do you mean PhD not being affected?” Layla sits up, tucking her feet under her thighs.

“I mean, your அம்மா (mum) might just put her foot down and refuse to send you to school -”

“But she can’t do that,’ Layla shakes her head. “I’m an adult and it’s not like I will be financially dependent on them. The colleges that I’ve shortlisted are the ones that are the most likely to give me financial aid.”

“That’s all true,” Abi agrees, taking Layla’s hand. “You were also an adult and financially independent for the Singapore trip, weren’t you? Look what happened. You ended up coming here.”

“So you’re asking me to let things be?” Layla says quietly.

“I’m asking you to consider playing it smart. Don’t worry about all this marriage nonsense. You have your eye on your goal - PhD, don’t get distracted. The time to fight this battle is not now. It took me four years to find a match. Who knows how long it’ll take for you? Maybe you can get your doctorate by that time. If not, don’t worry; one of the perks of an arranged marriage is that it’s democratic. Everyone - or at least most of them -  in the family should agree. Vasanth and I are on your team no matter what. And as for அப்பா, பாட்டி, and  தாத்தா (dad, grandmum and grandad), you can always convince them to join your side. We will not let you discontinue your studies, kutti. I promise. You have no idea how proud we all are that you’re so bloody smart.”

“I’m not that smart and all,” Layla mumbles.

“Hush,” Abi shushes her. “Plus, if you do change your mind on marriage, we all be here to make sure that you are on board with the match. We will not force you to marry someone you do not like. For now let it go. They won’t bother you much until they have matches shortlisted and that itself could take a long while. And we will cross that bridge when we get to it, for now you worry about your PhD applications. ”

“Okay. What you’re saying makes sense. Besides, the application deadlines are on the first of December; it’s not very smart of me to keep fighting this and get distracted. Need to have my eyes on the bigger picture.”

“Are you applying for Chapel-Hill?”

“It’s on the maybe list. Why?”

“Vasanth has been wanting to sit down with you this weekend, to look at the places before you start applying. Get your safety and reach colleges and all in order. He’s been secretly hoping you have UNC at the top of the list, so you can live with us while you study.”

Layla chuckles. “Do you reckon he’s gonna convince me to move Chapel-Hill from the maybe list to the yes list?”

“I’m sure, he’ll try bribing you with all sorts of things,” Abi answers, warmly squeezing Layla’s freezing fingers. “Kutti?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m just saying because I think it’ll be best for you to figure out what you want in terms of a relationship. Especially now that you have Harry to consider too. I heard you tell him the other day that you’re gonna marry him when you were eating the focaccia he baked. And I know it’s not my place to say this but I get that you meant it as a term of expression but sometimes it necessarily might mean the same for him. Have a talk with each other. The sooner the better. I know he means the world to you and I know you mean the same to him.”

“I didn’t think of it that way… I never thought that I’d feel all these things for him. I just thought it’ll be a fun hookup but I guess you’re right. I think he knows that I don’t mean it like that. Whenever we talk about things we know our priorities - colleges. We always talk about the future like it’s distant. I think the hardest thing about January rolling around soon is him. I don’t want to leave,” Layla bites down on her wobbly lower lip. It only makes the angry flames in her chest spark up again because Harry’s being an utter asshole to her. All she wants to do is cosy up to him and drum her fingers down his back as he presses wet kisses on her pulse. 

“Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds but do you ever see yourself getting married or are you just saying no because of what happened between your mum and dad?”

“Oh um,” Layla worries her bottom lip, trying to think things through and lets out a long sigh.

“Bit of both, I think. As much as I respect the sanctity of marriage, I’ve seen it go right and wrong. Sometimes I think I’ll end up just like அம்மா (mum) - you know how everyone says we often butt heads because we have similar personalities - and that means I’d have to go through the same things she did. As much as I do and villanise her sometimes, I honestly don’t think I have an ounce of the strength and determination she does. We lived alone for almost a year and she single handedly took care of all of the finances and even now, she works and does so much work at home too. அப்பா (dad) is not like Uncle, he never does things around the house, except groceries; and on most of the days, I don’t either. But I don’t think I need to get married either, as long as I’m in a long term relationship with someone I trust. It’s just a piece of paper, right? I don’t see it happening for a long long time.”

“Marriage is more than a piece of paper, Layla.”

“Easy for you to say, you and சித்தப்பா (uncle) have the breeziest of marriages,” Layla comments.

“That’s not true, kutti. We hit a rough patch during my final year of my MBA. We even talked about separating,” Abi explains.

“What?” Layla can’t help but gape at her. They were the perfect love birds in her eyes. 

“I don’t know what it’s like universally but with arranged marriages, it’s more companionate, the relationship. You go into it with a stranger, you become friends and then start loving the other. Yes there is passion in there too but it’s more so a companion type thing. We went months leading our own lives, devoid of the other in it. Vasanth was busy working two jobs, and I would be busy with schoolwork and friends. All of the little free time we had went to chores. We went weeks without talking to each other, and didn't even acknowledge each other. It was like two strangers living in a hotel. Every time we’d open our mouths, we’d snap at each other and both thought that things weren't working out because we’d grown apart.”

“Wait, is that when your parents and தாத்தா, பாட்டி (granddad, grandmum) all flew over and stayed in shifts with the two of you for like three months?”

Abi nods. “We’d told our parents that we didn’t see a point in being married and they’d all immediately created an intervention of sorts. They asked us to give it one last try - wholeheartedly - and that they’d take care of things around the house. We signed up for marriage counselling and went to multiple sessions. Since we had our parents taking care of everything else - the minute we came back home after work and school - we would spend time with each other; getting to know each other again from scratch. Marriage is not easy. They don’t just work. You make it work. It’s very easy, at least, with arranged marriages to drift off to your separate paths - be strangers - and it takes work to meet in the middle again. And it needs to be done because you’re growing as your own individual too. That’s how we make it work - we’re not the same Vasanth and Abi who’d agreed to marry each other. We set aside time for ourselves. We talk. Go out on dates. Take holidays. We make each other a priority. It’s work. We are at this point because we put in the work to get here and we will need to put in the work after the baby too.”

“Isn’t it exhausting though? Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Everything in life requires work, Layla. But it's not exhausting with Vasanth. It’s easy to put in the work with him. Because it doesn’t feel like work with him,” she smiles.

“I guess it makes sense. This was a great talk. I should come to you often,” Layla tells her.

“Oh yeah? Finally realised that Abi is like that tortoise from Kung Fu Panda,” her Aunty jokes around.

“Yeah. An old tortoise,” Layla snickers.

“Are you calling me old?” Abi pinches her cheek.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Layla tries to say it earnestly but her giggles give her away. She shuffles closer to her, throwing her hands around her shoulders, slotting her body to the side, mindful of Laya’s residence. “By the way, you didn’t overstep your bounds at all. I’m glad it took you four years to find Uncle because there’s no one else I’d rather have as my Aunty.” 

////

Harry can hear Layla’s voice faintly drifting from the floor above - wrapping up her class - as he makes his way up the stairs to her room. It’s twenty past one in the morning and every time Harry shut his eyes, he couldn’t help but shake the image of her walking back home dejectedly when he slammed the door. When he silently creeks open her bedroom door, he’s hit with a mixture of baby soap and Charlie Red that makes his shoulders slump in relief. Her room is neat - like it always is; there was freshly washed load of laundry that she hadn’t gotten around to folding stacked in an opened suitcase pushed to the corner of her room. What catches his eye was the crumpled ball of paper lying limply at the foot of the bed.

He grinds his teeth at the pain shooting from his shoulder, bending down to pick it up, and his heart falls to his stomach when he reads what she’s scrawled in cursive. Fuck, he shakes his head, plopping down on the mattress.

Layla walks into her room rubbing her eyes, clad in her embroidered Winnie the Pooh t-shirt dress and the kimono robe loosely tied around her waist. “ஹம்மாடி (whew),” she exhales out, looking forward to cosying up in her duvet. Harry can’t help the way the corners of his mouth tug upward - she always grunts out that word when she’s finished with whatever exhausting activity she was engaged in. “Oh,” she mumbles, stopping in her tracks at the sight of him holding on to the letter she wrote.

“Layla, I-” Harry starts.

“No!” She says, voice louder than either of them anticipated, stalking further into the room. “Leave,” she seethes, chest heaving as she rapidly takes in shallow breaths, clicking the door close to not wake Vasanth and Abi. “I don’t care. Just go.”

Harry gets up. “Baby, please listen to me.”

Layla steps back - out of his reach - shooting him a warning glare that told him to not get closer to her. “I don’t know what’s up, but you’ve done nothing but be an asshole to me -”

“I’m sorry that I’ve hurt yo-”

Layla chuckles. “The hurt ship has sailed. I’m fucking livid!” She blinks back the angry tears that begin to prick her eyes. “Please just leave! I’ve had a long day and I’d like to go to bed.”

Harry’s eyes blur as a thin film beads at his waterline, and he’s quick to blink them away before they have the chance to trickle down. The last thing he wants to do is upset her further, so he sighs and mutters, “Okay. I’ll go.” He makes his way to the door with his head hung dejectedly.

“Wait,” Layla calls out, quickly rummaging through her bedside table to find the long black box. “This is why I came over in the afternoon before you so kindly slammed the door on my face,” she says, voice dropping an octave lower. “Take it and fucking go,” she throws the suede box in his direction. 

Harry’s hands lift up to catch it in reflex but the second the box lands on his palm, he lets out a loud grunt, face twisting in pain from the muscles of his shoulder. “Christ,” he bites, as the other hand - one that’s not holding the box - cups over the spot of affliction.

Layla’s eyes soften, instinctively stepping closer to him. “Shit. Your shoulder still hurts?” She enquires, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he gives her a weak nod. “Go wait downstairs in the kitchen… I’ll be right behind you,” she exhales.

“But…” he trails off, not knowing what exactly to say when she’d just asked him to leave a few seconds ago. When he blinks his eyes open to examine her face, she’s already stalked off to the bathroom when he can hear her meddling with her stuff. He takes a deep breath in, hoping it quells the pain, and calls out to her. “Okay.”

He sits on the bar stools, gently placing the black box on the kitchen island, as she walks in. He watches her beeline towards the microwave, taking a small bowl from the cabinet, Harry examines the two glass containers she’d placed on the island. A hexagonal glass jar with a copper lid that reads Tiger Balm and a green cylindrical container that reads  Monison’s. 

“Can you take off your hoodie for me?” Layla asks, as she spoons some of the brown and green balm into the bowl.

Harry slowly slips off his grey hoodie, watching her punch in thirty seconds on the panel and shuts the door. Layla steps over to the pantry, coming out with a tiny blue chequered cotton kitchen towel. She takes the melted mixture from the microwave when it beeps, using the spoon to stir it together. She dips her pinky in to check if the liquid is not scalding, and proceeds to sink her fingers in the murky looking concoction. 

The room is filled with scents of herbs, camphor and eucalyptus as she slowly lets the liquid drip down from her fingertips onto his defined shoulder blade. “Sorry about the smell,” she tells him quietly as she kneads his muscles in circles - easing the taunt muscles under. 

Harry’s speechless as she works her way down his shoulder and back, letting the warm liquid trickle down and later gently rubbing it all over. He doesn’t deserve this from her, especially with the way he’s treated her the past two days. But here she is carefully working the knots in his shoulder, even after asking him to leave her sight. He feels his heart weigh heavy in his throat, and he closes his eyes to succumb to the emotions his girlfriend’s tender act stirs up in his chest.

“Once in basketball practice, these huge fifth graders tripped and two of them managed to fall right on my arm. I was in so much pain that I thought it was fractured but it wasn’t. And Amma (mum) did this for me and I swear the pain subsided the next day, which I know is not possible but I barely felt it after. I mean it’s just pain gate theory, right?” She waffles on hoping to distract him from the pain she might be causing him as she massages the last of the liquid on the expanse of his shoulder. When she’s done she quickly washes her hands before she takes the clean towel and presses the button on the sink tap for hot water. Once it’s dripping wet she wrings the excess liquid out; opening it up and flapping it twice for good measure, when she’s satisfied she drapes the toasty damp towel over his clavicle and smooths it down his shoulders. “Sometimes I think I’ll perish if I don’t have a jar of Tiger Ba-” she stops where she hears a sniffle, followed by a shaky inhale and feels his frame tremble under her palm.

“Harry? Shit.” Layla rounds the corner to stand in front of him. “Hey,” she coos, gently tilting his chin up using her thumb and pointer finger. Moss green eyes gleam up at her under the buttery overhead lamp, a broken shudder follows as tears trickle down his face, and Layla realises that he’s hurting. He’s been hurting the past two days and that he wasn’t apathetic and detached. 

“Oh honey,” Layla says soothingly, thumbs coming to wipe away the hot tears that stream down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - Sorry,” he blubbers, pulling her close to him, burying his face in her midsection as his arms hold her in place.

Layla wraps her arms around his head, one hand caressing his scalp and the other tracing circle on his cheek, “Shh. Har, you’re okay.” She presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m -,” he hiccups, a fresh wave of tears halting him and all he could do was nuzzle into her warmth as he bawls.

“We’re okay. You’re okay. Let it out. I’m sorry too, babe,” she whispers, mollifying him as she rocks him to and fro, letting him cry it out.

Harry pulls back, with broken shudders, sniffling, blinking at the dark patch on her t-shirt dress from his tears. “I - I uh - came -,” he breathes out between empty sobs. “I saw the tickets for the carnival,” he says with a weak smile.

“Yeah? You wanna go?” She asks, sitting down on the stool next to him, slotting her knees between his and scooting closer to the edge to weave their hands together.

He nods, looking up at her shyly through wet lashes. “I’m sorry.” He says, rapidly blinking down another fresh set of tears.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, hand coming to caress his cheek.

“Why?” He chuckles. “I’m the one in the wrong.”

“It wasn’t very nice of me to ask you to leave and throw that at you,” she points to the forgotten black box on the counter.

“You were angry.” He shrugs. “When did you manage to slip the tickets in my wallet?”

“When you were busy fiddling with the record player at Earl’s.” Layla worries her bottom lip, not knowing how to phrase her next question. “Why were you so cold to me?”

The question only makes Harry tilt his head to the side, as he tries to weigh the answer in his mind. “I uh - I was jealous,” he replies, cheeks reddening in response.

Layla snorts out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the words that had stumbled out of the messy beheaded boy’s slightly pouty mouth. She slaps down on his wrist as she guffaws, driving her emphasis further. “Harry,” she gets out. “Be seriou- oh!” She stops in her tracks when she’s met with his earnest gaze. “Jealous of what though?”  

“Ashwin,” he admits, feeling the blood rush to the tips of his ears as he hangs his head.

“Why would you be jealous of Ashwin?” She asks.

“It’s just - It’s like - Like you getting into his car this morning and just driving away,” he explains.

“You make it sound weird. You know we were meeting up with the others at the golf course.” She swallows. “Do you not trust me?”

It doesn’t escape Harry that she’s now leaning away from him, and the hands that were holding him, now were crossed protectively over her chest. “I do! It’s a me thing. Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t understand. How am I not supposed to take it personally?” She barks offensively, eyebrows arching. “Harry, I’ve met the girl you were hooking up with! Do you see me getting jealous and throwing a fit whenever you take me to the lookout point in Chapel Hill? No, because it was before us and I trust you. Ashwin is literally an acquaintance and you throw a hissy fit for days because I hitched a ride to him to the golf course. That’s fucking stupid!”

“Hissy fit,” Harry chuckles, and it only makes Layla shoot daggers as she glances up at him. 

“I cannot believe it. Fucking jealous,” she continues and she isn’t sure if the last past was directed at herself. “Your mum told me that you tend to latch on to people but I didn’t expect you to be possessive. I don’t know if I’m okay with that.” She shakes her head, hand coming to frustratedly rub at her forehead. “How are we gonna work through this? What are you gonna say next? ‘Let me mark my territory when you hang out with others, like how a dog would do?!?’” She shuts her eyes, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths through her nose so she would raise her voice and wake her Aunty and Uncle. She knows she’s spiralling and spewing out ridiculous things but she can’t help but feel hurt by his admission. 

“Have I -” she says softly looking up at him, “did I do something to make you feel that way?” 

“No, baby. No. It’s not you!” He sits up cupping her face cursing himself for making her doubt herself. “It’s just,” his voice breaks as the tears well up in his jade irises, “every time I see you two hanging out, it makes me insecure and I didn’t like feeling like the second best again.”

“Again?”

“It’s stupid,” he sniffles.

“It’s clearly not stupid if it’s hurting you,” she reminds him.

“I’m just scared that you’ll realise he’ll give you something I can’t.” He confesses. “Like you don’t need to check if a Tamil movie has subtitles at the cinema to watch with him, he gets all the references you make, you don’t have to translate things in your head or explain why you’re doing certain things - like the other day when you accidentally stepped on my book and you’d stopped talking to bend down to touch it and bring your fingers to your eyes and you’d spent the next twenty minutes explaining why for me. And it’s scary to think that one day you’ll realise that I’m not worth it and leave.”

“Babe,” Layla frowns. “I don’t think that at all. If anything, all those instances only makes me endeared that you’re curious about where I come from, plus, you actively participate in them. It works both ways too. You taught me so much about your home too. I didn’t know what a chip butty was before I met you,” she jokes weakly. Harry doesn’t laugh - or even smile - instead he looks crestfallen, Layla leans over and stamps a soft kiss on his pink lips and his splotchy cheeks. “I’ll never not think you’re not worth it. Ever. You mean the world to me. You make me feel safe and you make me feel loved. And that is something I will not take very lightly. Ever. I have nothing like that with Ashwin. I hitched a ride with him the other day because everyone else was gonna shower at the country club and head straight for work. Ashwin had a day off and obliged to drive me to Raleigh to pick something up for you,” she tells him, nodding towards the black box. “Besides, he acts like he’s from the hood sometimes - I guess most brown boys do that when they come here; pretend to be an African American rapper. It just does not get my motor running like you in a pair of fishnets.”

There’s a lingering undercurrent of teasing in her voice towards the end that makes Harry smile - the ones where he flashes his teeth and it makes the dimples carve out in his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have been cold to you. That was wrong of me. I should have come and talked it out with you. I cannot apologise enough for that,” he resolutely tells her.

“It was,” Layla agrees. “I did not deserve to be treated that way. I thought you were mad at me or that you needed space which is very unlike you. Because I’m the one that pushes you away-”

“Not in the way that I did. You always told me that you need some time to yourself before you share but I just pushed you away.”

“True,” Layla sighs. “Would inviting you along help whenever I go out with that gang? I’m not gonna stop hanging out with them because I feel like I’m hanging out with my cousins. And I’m trying to make the best out of that because they’re gonna fly out as soon as the wedding is over.”

“That’ll be nice. I sorta felt left out when you went to watch that movie without telling me because I’m really used to being your number one go-to person for everything,” he admits.

“I understand that you felt left out but I didn’t invite you because the movie didn’t have subtitles and I didn’t want you to be bored because of me. It would have helped if you told me earlier. We could have gone to the cinema - just us - and made a date night out of it.”

“I didn’t want to seem clingy I guess.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Layla questions and Harry nods. “You said earlier about not wanting to feel second best again. Has it got something to do with your dad? I mean you don’t talk about it and I’m just theorising but feel free to tell me to back off if I’m crossing a line.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if he chose us. He was a good dad, Layla. He was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. But I guess, I was not enough for him with anything I did,” his lower lip wobbles. “He’d had another family and I guess in the end my step-siblings - god,  it’s so weird to call them that - had something that I didn’t and when he figured it out he’d just left mum and me.”

“Harry,” Layla whispers, arms wrapping around his torso to pull him into an embrace. Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of her shoulder, chest shuddering as he takes in his favourite scent. It made sense to Layla now - his icy behaviour was not to attack her but to protect him, his inner child. She had the power to make him feel the things he once felt, and the second Harry realised that she held the power; when he felt ‘not enough,’ he’d cut her off so she wouldn’t put him through that - like a hedgehog balling themselves up and straightening out it’s quills when it senses his predators were nearby. “Babe, I’m so sorry you went through that. Those choices were your fathers - an adult. You in no way played a role in the shitty choices he made. You were a child, babe, and it’s not your job to make yourself the best option for your parents. Remember when you told me love is not a burden?” She can feel him nod against her neck. “Love shouldn’t be earned either. It’s not conditional - especially from a parent.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, crying again, but this time it’s tears of relief. “You know,” he chuckles, pulling back to wipe his eyes. “Earl said something along the same lines.”

“He’s a wise man,” Layla says. “How’s your shoulder? Is the warm towel and தைலம் (pain balm) helping?”

“It is. Thank you.”

“No need for thank yous. I’d take care of you anytime,” she shrugs.

“So you made Ashwin drive to Raleigh to get me something?” He questions, stretching out to grab the black velvet box.

“Uh huh.” She smiles. “I got a commission from this woman. She wants three still life oil portraits of her favourite food for her kitchen. She’s paying me three fifty dollars for each. So, I’d figured I’d treat you with something.” She nods to the box. “Open it.”

Harry’s fingers trace the gold foiled lettering - Fink’s -  against the soft material. He flips the box open to find a dainty gold chain and a thin cross pendant hanging from it of the same metal. It looked identical to the silver one he’d have around his neck - he’d go on a limb and say this one looked even more beautiful. He immediately looks into her homey raven eyes, bottom lip trapped with her teeth, as she looks at him expectantly.

“I know I ripped it off your neck that day,” her face flushes with heat thinking back to their lecherous activity upstairs in the swing room in front of his giant ornate mirror. “I’ve been feeling bad since. I’ve never ever seen you take it off and when I got the deposit money for the commissions, it was the first thing I thought of. I wanted to get you an exact replica but I just couldn’t bring myself to get it in silver, so I called Fink’s and had them make it gold. You kept complaining that the clasp on the old one was too tiny, so I asked them to use a circular clasp, so it’s easier for you.” She rambles. “They said they couldn’t make the chain dainty in 22 karats, something about them not able to get the metal to bend, so it’s only 18 kara-”

Harry cuts her off with a passionate kiss, hands clutching her cheeks holding her close, as he pours his devotion. His tongue melds with hers and it makes her breathe out a quiet moan, as she sinks his fingernails into his bicep. He breaks apart, pressing his forehead to hers as they both catch their breath from the dizzying ordeal. “I love it! Put it on for me?” He asks her, thumb caressing her bottom lip, making her smile.

////

Bright blue powdery skies can be deceiving, especially in North Carolina. While Layla usually dressed up in her lightest cotton clothes with skies like this, today she’s tugging the drawstring around the hood of Harry’s hoodie to protect herself from the nippy breeze that blows through. Once she’s done securing the hood in place by knotting it under her chin, so the frigid air caused by a hurricane in Florida won’t freeze her ears off.

She kicks up the basketball that was at her feet, dribbling it up the driveway towards the garage door where her Uncle had screwed in a hoop. She jogs to it, gasping for a breath of air as she spins, tossing the ball above her head towards the net when she faces the street. She turns around expectantly to watch the ball kiss the rim as it tumbles into the basket but huffs when it bounces off the ring towards the hydrangea bushes.

“Ugh,” she groans, trudging behind it and when she’s picking it up she feels a sharp swat to her ass. “Hey! Not nice!” She squeals at Harry, turning around to face him.

“Not so nice when someone spanks you now, is it?” He laughs, clutching a pair of headphones in his hands. He’s dressed in his workout gear - brown trousers with a spatter of gold paint he’d managed to get when he helped her paint the ornate frame of his mirror. It cuts off at his knees, exposing his si no and oui and non tattoos. It baffles her that he’s not freezing while she’s been having goosebumps wearing sweatpants. He’s in one of his full arm length muscle hugging athletic t-shirts, with a hoodie tied around his waist.

“I don’t do it hard,” she replies.

“Well my stinging ass cheek would beg to differ.”

Layla rolls her eyes at his dramatic flair. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you were not gonna work out until your shoulder is better.”

“My better is better but I’m not gonna work out for the rest of the week and fuck up my muscles. Just going out on a walk. What are you doing up at seven in the morning?” He asks.

“Had a review meeting with my department head at four about my first week. Couldn’t go back to sleep after,” she shrugs. “I was scrolling on Instagram and I came across this trick shot on this basketball page where people run up to the net, do a spin and throw it in. Been trying to do that for an hour now and I’m nowhere close to nailing it,” she frowns, nodding to the ball she’s stationed against her hip.

“I could just lift you up and spin you around,” he suggests.

Layla laughs. “Cute that you think you can lift- aaah!” She shrieks as Harry quickly squats down, to grab the junction where her bum and thighs meet, hoisting her up.

“You were saying?” He arches his eyebrow up at her.

“Put me down,” she demands as he makes his way to the hoop.

“Nope. Make this backwards basket and come on a walk with me around the pond.”

He positions her right in front of the hoop and she’s hoisted up high up that the end of the net touches the top of her head. “I’m not supposed to face the net, you idiot,” she giggles.

“Alright then,” he turns them both around towards the street and marches down to the end of their driveway. Layla spots Nandhini Aunty right away, standing right in front of her open garage door, staring at the two with a cardboard box in her hand.

Layla tosses the ball and Harry turns them around to watch it perfectly go into the net, making him hoot and spin her around in celebration. They both laugh as Harry loosens his arms around her thighs making Layla slide down his torso. She doesn’t stop giggling as she wraps her around his neck, fingers massaging the baby curls at the nape of his neck, as she rubs her nose against his - feet still dangling above the ground as he holds her in place. “I like this trick shot so much better,” she whispers.

“Nandhini’s watching,” he mumbles, reminding her of her PDA rule around brown aunties, as she angles her head.

“Fuck her,” whispers with a smirk as her eyelids flutter close and she closes the distance between their lips.

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