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neelihara · 5 months

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Jane Austen would've loved Ao3

Rabindranath Tagore would've loved Tumblr

Agatha Christie would've loved true crime podcasts

Leonardo Da Vinci would've loved drones

Vincent Van Gogh would've loved Procreate

Cleopatra would-be loved Vlogging and Makeup videos on YouTube

Shakespeare would've loved roasting people on Twitter

Benjamin Franklin would've loved memes

Nikola Tesla would've loved WiFi and would binge watch cat videos

Franz kafka would've loved blogging

Socrates would've loved TED talks

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g0j0s · 5 months

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female friendships are so precious and beautiful. sisterhood is so inherent in women. there is a life force where many women are sitting together and conversing. their giggles reverberates through the deepest chambers of the even the coldest of hearts & softens them. when they take care of each other together from oiling their hair turn by turn by to putting henna on each other’s palms, everything is a sacred offering to some source unseen; but only felt. they spend hours talking about things unfathomable from the basis of love to the state of the world, the soul, beauty, last, present & future & many other philosophies. because when they’re sitting in a room together that’s where they’re easily allowed to ‘be’. here, they aren’t someone being smothered by alotted identities. they aren’t just someone’s sister or daughter or even lover, but just humans trying to make the most out of their freedom to breathe.

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 2 months

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Secure in your Lap

ft Nanami Kento

a/n: I can't believe I finally wrote thisI So this was inspired by this ask from @sitarawrites. It was supposed to be a cute fluffy fic, but somehow devolved into this angsty piece, so idk. Although I wrote this fic with a desi/asian reader in mind, I think anyone with a difficult relationship with their parents can relate to this, and I hope it comes across that way.

Rating: 13+, nothing explicit or sexual

Warnings: difficult family dynamics, mentions of familial trauma, guilt, manipulation

Pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

Summary: A phone call from reader's mother results in her remembering all the reasons she's grateful for her now fiance.

Word Count: 2343

It’s never a good day when your mother calls. Sometimes you wonder why you put up with it and allow her to test your boundaries, despite setting a schedule that you would not be calling her except for Tuesday and Friday nights.

Even the hour spent on those nights are tedious at best. They never make you feel better; it's all for her. It makes her feel better. And despite the fact that you have graciously made this time for her, she never seems to appreciate it. In fact, most of these conversations are one-sided. You’ll have your headphones in, while she chatters away, as you try to focus on other tasks, like folding laundry, or tidying up the general clutter that always accumulates in the living room, throwing in the occasional ‘uhm hm’ every few minutes so that she knows you’re still on the line.

You’ve learned to tune out most of the conversation because very little of it is ever relevant to you. Unless you hear a few key words such as ‘dad’ or ‘finances’ or ‘house’ you don’t really pay attention to the conversation at all. Because you know how most of these conversations go. They start with her talking about her day, complaining about her job. Then she complains about your dad, despite knowing you’ve heard it all before. Then it devolves into blaming other people for circumstances she’s in right now based on events that happened long ago.

When all of these topics are exhausted, she gets to her juiciest arsenal; you. Oh, the things she has to say about you, about how you were such a wonderful child, sweet and obedient and how you suddenly became this rough woman who she doesn’t know how to talk to anymore. Or how you’ve stopped visiting of late, that you’re never home for the holidays, and that she blames your boyfriend for this. Then it’s criticism of your life choices, starting with how you moved in with your boyfriend while unmarried, the fact that he’s not from the same ethnic background as you, or the fact that she blames your ‘attitude’ on him because he defends you from her each time.

Today it was about how you could do so much better than him, and you finally snap.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

There’s a moment of silence, then with uncontained glee, she says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Well relationships sometimes don’t work out, it’s ok-”

“Because he asked me to marry him.” You finish bluntly, cutting her off. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore because he’s my fiance.” You wait for the bomb to drop.

“Oh.” Your mother’s voice sounds tight, like it’s been stretched taut between pins on a tacking board. “And when did this happen?”

“He proposed last Sunday.”

“And I’m finding out just now. You really must hate me…”

“Don’t do that,” You warn, keeping your voice deadly calm. You knew if you raised it or gave any signs that her words had affected you, it would give her a rush of satisfaction. “Either you’re happy for us or you’re not. Now which is it?”

“Well, it hardly matters now does it? Although I supposed I should be grateful you’re marrying him after all this time. There’s nasty gossip back in our community…so at least you’ve spared me from the embarrassing idea that you wouldn’t marry a man you’ve been living with like an unprincipled woman.”

“How lovely,” you said through gritted teeth. “Be sure to tell the community I have zero fucks to give them as well.”

“Language…I raised such a proper girl, when did you start saying filth like this?”

“I have to go mom. Your behavior will determine if you’re invited to the wedding or not.”

“You are the type to exclude your mother from your own wedding.I’ve known that for years. So it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Anyway, talk to you later…Friday night now?”

She disconnects the call and you sit there in disbelief, heart racing. Every time you stand up for yourself, you know it should feel like a victory but somehow, she manages to even steal that from you. You sigh and rest your head against the back of the car seat.

You had just driven home after a long day’s work and decided that it would be easier to talk to your mom in the car and finish it off since you didn’t want to detract from the peace you feel at home. You feel tears prick the back of your eyes and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.

Why did you let her in on your life? There’s a strange sense of loyalty to her despite her abuse of you. Because despite everything, there are certain things she did which she wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t loved you. Putting you through your degrees, both bachelor’s and master’s. Letting you live at your parent’s house for free when you were in between jobs. Letting you borrow their car to get to job interviews. There’s signs of love there but why did it have to come attached with this emotionally manipulative price tag?

You let yourself cry for a short while, then hold up your left hand to admire the engagement ring your now fiance had picked out. A watery smile breaks out over your face as you look at it. You feel vain when you allow yourself to do this, but you can’t help it. You weren’t really looking at it for it’s monetary value, but more so for what it symbolized; the peace and balance he brought to your life, the maturity your own parents lacked while raising you, and the security that it didn’t matter if you made a bad choice, he’d never make you feel worse about it.

Wiping away your tears, you turn off the car and quickly look at yourself in the mirror. Thankfully your makeup hadn’t smudged much and you could chalk up the tiredness in your eyes as lack of sleep. You take a deep breath before getting out and entering your home. Your fiance was unloading takeout containers from a bag as you entered. He looks up and smiles warmly at you.

“Thought I heard you in the driveway,” he says as he comes over to embrace you, his arms enveloping you with affection. Nanami presses a kiss to your forehead then pulls you in closer, tucking your head under his chin.

You let yourself rest against the warmth of his broad chest, the comfortingly familiar feel of his body relief to the turmoil inside your chest. Resting your cheek on his chest, you close your eyes and breathe in deeply.

“Y/n? Are you all right?”

Nanami always notices. There’s never a single moment when he’s out of touch with your feelings. He’s learned all the lines in your face, the way your different facial muscles contract or relax depending on how you're feeling. He notices the tension in your shoulders, the slight drop in energy in your step as you walk through the door. Nanami always notices.

You slowly shake your head no. The flurry of feelings inside you, the hurt, the disappointment, the inability to cut off your mom for good, the overwhelming feeling of being inadequate, a disappointment, churn inside you to the point that you feel like you may never come out of this cyclone feeling like a winner. It’s so complex that you’re not even sure where to begin or how to put it into words. Your thoughts and feelings tangle like a ball of string, knotting into a mess of strands that are impossible to separate.

“Kento.”

“Yes my love?” His hands run soothingly over your back.

“I need your lap.”

That was all you could say at the moment. The complexity of everything was too much to bear. Over the years his lap has become a safe space for you. A quiet, designated spot where you could feel everything you wanted to, without any judgment.

Nanami nodded wordlessly, gently taking your hand and leading you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you on top of his lap. Your feet wrap around his lower back, wedged between the sofa cushions and his body while your head rests on his chest, listening to his breathing and you try to match yours to his, a calming technique you’ve learned over the years.

His large hands play with your hair, stroking it, cupping the back of your head and gently pressing kisses to your forehead. He’s learned over the years that lap sessions meant you were in a state of distress and that it wasn’t his place to force you to talk. You would talk when you’re ready, if at all.

“Mom?” he asks softly, his voice fluttering through the top of your hair. You merely nod, the thought of explaining it too difficult to even form words. A deep hum of understanding echoes from his chest and you close your eyes at the comforting sound.

Everything about him screamed security. You remember one time breaking a cup while making your morning coffee, the distinct crack of shattering porcelain filling the kitchen. You had flinched, waiting for the tirade of blame and accusations of clumsiness to come at you, only to see Nanami rushing over to you, concern etched all over his face.

“Are you all right? You didn’t get cut?” His words had brought you to tears, that his primary thought had been you and your safety, instead of a very replaceable coffee cup. No one yelling at you for making a mess in the kitchen, or muttering under their breath that you had wasted a usable mug. Nanami had, in a befuddled state, watched as you came to his side, wrapping your arms around him. It wasn’t until 2 weeks after the incident had happened that you had told him what that moment meant to you.

And now here you were, again, allowing your mom to rob you of the happiness you had worked so hard to build. You're amazed at the patience Nanami has with you, at the way he always reassures you, never letting you forget your worth. That you're more than just your parents’ child. That you are a whole human being on your own, that has the right to live your life without their interference.

“I don't think I want my parents at our wedding.” The words fall out of your mouth. There's lingering guilt but deep down, you knew it was for the best.

Nanami adjusts himself on the couch and leans back against the cushions. Most of the time, he leaves handling your parents up to you, despite how much it bothers him that they ruin your mood every time. But there's understanding in his eyes.

“Not even your dad? I thought you wanted him to give you away.”

“My dad’s an enabler. He'll never come if I don't invite my mom. Besides,” you inhale deeply and continue, “The only person worthy of giving me away is myself.” You gaze into his warm brown eyes, feeling proud that you had come this far. This would be your achievement today. That you were able to say these words and believe them.

“That’s so very true sweetheart.” He gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Look at you, remembering your affirmations.”

Although it’s not much, you still feel yourself glowing at his praise. Growth on your end. “Besides, if they got involved, they’d hijack all the planning, blow it up into a grand ceremony even though that’s not what we want. It’s just easier without them.”

“Anything you want.” He brushes his lips against your hair.

“No, not anything I want. It’s your wedding too. I’d be ok if you wanted a ceremony. I imagine there’s lots of people you’d want to invite. I just won’t be inviting anyone from my side. Except for my best friend.”

He grasps your chin between his fingers and with sincerity asks you, “How did you imagine it?”

You consider this for a second. Previously, you had imagined the typical traditional wedding that people of your background were expected to have. But the image has been fading lately, and now, unburdened from your parents’ expectations, your mind immediately creates a picture.

“I want to do it at the beach. Just…no expectations, no one grumbling about how we skimped on decorations or other unnecessary things like flowers. I want…to walk down towards you on the sand, barefoot. Feel the ocean breeze on my face. There’s a small group of guests. Very minimalistic.”

He looks like he’s considering it for a moment but his expression doesn’t show signs of objection. “We could do that. Small wedding, intimate ceremony.”

“Really?” You look at him with love in your eyes.

“Really. I think all the people I want to invite would easily fit into this setting.”

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him tightly. There were simply no words to express how grateful you are for him, for his presence in your life. That you could actually be a family, just the two of you. You lean back to take in all of him, just sitting serenely on the couch, in this shared space the both of you called home now.

“Thank you, Kento.” You say quietly. You know it’s unnecessary, that his love is so very unconditional, no emotional price tags attached. “I know I’m not the easiest to love sometimes.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He draws you tightly to his chest. “It’s so easy to love you. Because every small thing you do is filled with love and consideration. Thoughtfulness. Emotion. And that’s enough. You don’t have to be more than that.”

Your heart swells as you hear his words, the only person to ever really understand just how much you needed to know those things.

“I’m enough.” You whisper softly, still on his lap, resting comfortably in his embrace. You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closing.

I’m enough…

all banners and dividers by @cafekitsune

#nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #kento nanami #nanami kento fluff #desi reader #nanami kento x desi reader #desi writers #desi women #nanami kento x indian reader #desi tag #nanami kento x you

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hobiebrownismygod · 4 months

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Hobie Brown who fell in love with an Indian girl he saw in Mumbattan when he went to Pav's universe for the first time

Hobie Brown who spent every waking moment in Pav's universe just to get a glimpse of her every now and then

Hobie Brown who begged Pav to introduce him to her, going as far as to promise Pav that he'd do literally anything in return

Hobie Brown who was speechless when he met her upfront for the first time and needed a couple seconds to collect himself

Hobie Brown who immediately turned into the most flirty, delusional, weirdo simp that anyone'd ever seen

Hobie Brown who spent a whole afternoon researching how to say a couple phrases in Hindi so he'd seem even cooler the next time he saw her

Hobie Brown who would just keep on blabbering about random stuff whenever she was around because he didn't want the conversation to end

Hobie Brown who got her to fall in love with him too

Hobie Brown who had his first kiss in the warm summer rain, after having spent the most perfect day with her

Hobie Brown who found out about canon events, specifically losing a loved one

Hobie Brown who had to make the hard decision to stay away from her

Hobie Brown who cried himself to sleep the night he ghosted her and had nightmares about losing her the rest of the week

Hobie Brown who was so afraid that she'd end up being his canon event, to the point where he never went back to Pav's dimension after that day

Hobie Brown who was on Miles' side because if he could help Miles prove that canon events were bullshit, maybe he could be with her

Hobie Brown being a lovesick loser, who after finally saving the multiverse with the rest of the spider-gang, got to hold her in his arms again

:')

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daughterofruins · 25 days

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Alright, here's another pov, and I'm not saying I'm great at this or something, but c'mon guys thoda acha toh mai bhi likhti hun:))

_________________________________________

POV: Manwa Lage

I never learnt classical dancing, but man did I love it, and that love made me participate in all these dance competitions in intra school level even if I was sure I ended up looking like a cow vibing to nursery rhymes.

With my jhumka set in place, I looked at myself one last time in the mirror. This was it. My first onstage performance after two years of no dancing.

Relax, breathe in and out. You've done this before. Remember, grace.

As soon as I stepped out of the greenroom and into the wings, waiting for my introduction, I knew something was wrong. There were far more people at the back of the hall then required, and I could see a dash of red and grey in the usual pool of white and blue skirts. Before I could give the commotion anymore thoughts, I could hear my name being called.

Right. Grace. Lets go!

As the music started wafting in the air, I allowed my body to softly move from side to side.

Ras bondiyan nayan piya ras rache

Dil dhad dhad dhake shor mache

As I tured around, all I could see was him. Him with his signature stupid smirk, except right now, when his lips were morphed into a smile, with surprise and admiration dripping from his honey brown eyes.

Yun dekh sekh sa lag jaaye

Mai jal jaun bas pyaar bache e e e e.

His eyes were following my movements with a certain...hunger in them, a deep longing embedded in them.

All logic failed me. My eyes were stuck on his. I couldn't, for the live of me, smile at my friends who had made it their personal mission to scream at every move and start a series of applause or my teachers who were as shocked as him, because me and dancing had been as faraway as fire and ice for the last two years.

Aise dore dale, kala jaadu naina kale

Tere mai havale aaja seene se lagale, o mai teraa

I knew I was messing up. Expression was a major criteria in the marking, and currently my eyes were set on certain honeybrown ones that refused to let go of the eye contact.

Oo dono dheeme dheeme chalein

Aaja dono aise milen

There. His smirk was back, his lips falling out of the smile as if it had never been there. Only the dimples still prominent, as though refusing to vanish without my closure. He cockily raised an eyebrow at me.

Zamin pe lage na tere na mere paanv reeeee

I snapped back into reality. This was it. I knew I was not going to win, but man I didnot want to lose because I was distracted, by him, nonetheless.

Manva lage, manva lage,

Lage re saanvre, lage re saanvre

Le tera hua jiya ka jiya ka jiya ka yeh ghav re.

As I did a final twirl, I could feel the push falling out. My left jhumka went for a toss, and landed somehwere with the audience and I was forced to exit the stage. I decided I would come back to look for my jhumka later. Other important concerns were bothering me.

As I exited the stage without looking back to check who was applauding and who wasn't, I was told to go back down to the hall and sit with the other contestants, except, I wasn't told that he would be sitting there.

Exiting the greenroom, I was about to enter the hall when a hand pulled me into the tiny corner adjacent to the hall, used for storing old practical files.

"Aakhir apne jhumke toh sambhal lo, is school ki responsibility baade mein sambhal lena"

There he stood in all his glory, his hand covering my lips in order to prevent me from screaming.

His hands reached for my clammy palms and softly, he dropped the jhumka in my hands. His touch was fleeting and gentle unlike his hands which were big and rough. I couldn't decide which of the two he thought were more fragile, the jhumka or my hand.

"Jhumka girane ka mujhe koi shauk nahi hai. Pata hota tumpe giregi toh mai ghumti hi nahi-"

Cutting me off he leaned closer and whispered,

"Aksar aise mauko pe log thank you bolte hai, lekin aapka pyara jatane ka tareka kuch alag hai, aur us hisab se mujhe thank you se kuch bohot zyada mila chuka hai. So thank you"

And he walked off, winking at me, leaving me with his lingering touch in my hands, and the ghost of his lips on my ears, stupidly making me wonder how they would feel on my neck, or worse, on my lips.

_________________________________________

Tagging: @alhad-si-simran @om-is-ok @hawa-hawaiii @deesi-academia @hectorfrombritain @khwabedaa @indiansapphic @bandarrrrr @oh-munda-kukkad-kamaal-da @kajra-re and anyone else really. Lmk if you want to be tagged. Comments are more than welcome<3

#radha rambles #desiblr #desi academia #desi writers #writerblr

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journalsofanaesthete · 1 month

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You know one of the best feelings is to be someone's favourite person. And I'm not just saying it romantically but also platonically. It's so cute how proudly they tell people that you are their favourite person. Out of so many billion people only you get to be their favourite person. Because only your company brings them comfort, you get to be the reason of their happiness. And the thing that gets me is you don't have to do anything except being yourself, all you have to offer is your presence. You being there for them is more than enough.

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snehithiye · 10 months

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she/her searching for write/blrs

hello !! I'm Sami (21, she/her, tamil, pretty face, sexy mind) and I am new to writeblr and looking for active writers to follow hehe

I like to write original fiction, adult fantasy and lit fic! My crimes include being a serial spotifyer/pinterester and never finishing a draft. Looking for moots so please ppwease reblog and reply, esp interested in f(r)iends who

have pretty and poetic prose, you're so sexy ahahaha

write fantasy! or lit fic! or intense character studies! also mystery/thriller/horror/atmospheric work

write about queer/bipoc MCs

would bully me into finishing a draft this summer

#writeblr #authors #desi writers #tamil #tamil writers #fantasy writers #original fiction #prose #writeblr intro #writeblr search #writeblr community

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themotherofblood · 3 months

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To add, I’ve been saving like five ideas for possible Bollywood pieces so help yall. It’s my favourite niche on here hence the excessive use of tags.

IDEAS!!

Tere Vaaste: A full blown montage of Daemon trying to woo a Martell Reader or post pregnancy Dancer reader and Daemon just being the cutest human ever.

Ve Kamleya: Daemon choosing his love over his brother/family or continuing the story where Y/N Martell is forced to marry Baelon but Daemon flees with her.

Ye Ishq Hai - Where Y/N Martell basically has the personality of Geet and just is fluffy and romantic of her falling in love with Young Rhaenyra?

Tujhe Mein Rab Dikhta Hai: Could also be a continuation of Dancer reader after pregnancy, you guys already know that Daemon = SRK

Maahi Ve: Where Y/N is forced to marry Daemon but instead of hating it she feels safe because she is no longer abused, Daemon keeps her safe, potential sad soft smut

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kanyasstuff · 3 months

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watching spirited away for the first time is like... being trapped in the melancholic atmosphere.... the tragic isolation and madness of no face..... feeling the same horrified smallness chihiro does.. the hopelessness of losing her misunderstanding but loving parents...... haku's quiet betrayal, and the relief of finding out he really was a friend... the curiousity of kamaji's boiler room, or yubaba's decorated office.... the hope for lin to make it out of the bath house one day, the wonder of the shaddowy figures on the bus....... the world makes you feel so small and part of a true and rich world that you can only give a brief, passing glance before you must part from it, never knowing but wishing to one day see it again

#kanya-ke-dairy-se #spirited away #ghibli movie #studio ghibli #ghibli aesthetic #english writing #writings #writers on tumblr #desi writers #desiblr #desi tumblr

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 23 days

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How do you think the JJK men would react to Desi reader's sari needing to be taken off? 👀👀

Well, now that's an interesting ask!

Gojo

Has the least patience. Will fumble with it like a saran-wrapped sandwich hoping to find a corner he can start pulling it away from. When you mention the safety pins he loses it, and undoes your blouse, unties the petticoat underneath, and pulls it all off in one piece like a gown.

Nanami

Will have looked at Youtube videos in advance and with your guidance, will locate all the safety pins and remove them, making a neat pile on your bedside table. Carefully pulls out the pleats without wrinkling the silk. He'll even fold all 6 meters of it for you.

Geto

He'll figure out the safety pin on your shoulder pretty easily, but the rest of it? He has more patience than Gojo though, running his hands all over it trying to find them. He gets most of them, but a few stray ones here and there cause him to accidentally pull and tug the fabric. He'll laugh as it happens though.

Choso

Shy, will look to you for reassurance that he's doing it correctly. He's amazed how many pins are needed to keep this contraption of clothing in place. Delicately undoes the pleats and helps you fold it away.

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