Tumgik
#indian oc
welldonekhushi · 3 days
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Finally got some inspiration to draw and my very idea was to draw Arjun in his cultural clothes!
He was born in Maharashtra, so I tried drawing him in Maharashtrian clothes (with the help of my friend who lives there) and he looks really good 😫✨
Let me know what you guys think about and, I hope you like it! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠`⁠)⁠。⁠*゚⁠+
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lavenoor · 11 months
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Love your new Quotev profile picture. Its literally so adorable. ❤️❤️
Thank you!!! It was my birthday gift drawn by my best friend cuboid. She was inspired by this one art of sailor moon doing homework - I can’t find the exact piece but it’s basically inspired by this scene. Cuboid is an incredibly diverse artist and focuses on south Asian rep in her art — one of my favorites is an oc she designed based on pani puri (the oc herself is based on the “pani” portion, and her pet dog resembles the puri part). Her Genshin art, like her realistic drawing of rukkhadevata, is also sooo good. She’s also drawn a lot of the art for iaptbap — like Rojo’s chapter image, the chapter image for the Winter White modern AU special, and other doodles I’ve included in chapters
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So for the pfp she drew for me, she basically designed it in a way to incorporate my two most favorite things in the world: 1) my Pakistani culture and 2) the pastel purple cloudy/dreamy aesthetic.
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The aesthetic is obvious in the drawing, but the culture is subtly done.
First, you have the girl in the center, who is wearing a tikka (traditional south Asian head jewelry), a kurta (south asian long shirt/tunic), and a dupatta (south Asian thin scarf worn with most outfits). it's also very common for women/girls in pakistan to grow their hair long and wear it in a single braid so that's why she went with that hairstyle here. and ofc she has melanin bc colorism is dead here !!!
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then you have the paper on her desk showing the moon’s phases with Urdu at the top (it says “chaand” which means moon). the Islamic calendar is a lunar calendar, so moons actually connect to both the aesthetic and culture. The doodles on the side include a markhor, which is the national animal of Pakistan (a type of wild goat).
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The pencil case towards the bottom of the drawing has an image of a mosque (domed building for Muslim prayer; most Pakistanis are Muslim), there is a cup of chai in the bottom left corner (south Asian milk tea), the contact giving her a phone call is named “khar ghosh” and that translates to bunny in Urdu (not that bunnies have big importance in Pakistan; it’s just because cuboid and I are SUPER into the kpop group newjeans lately and their mascot is a bunny lmao)
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This is extra subtle, but the star+crescent moon combo on the forehead of the blue pet is from the Pakistani flag!
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So yeah, cuboid really put a ton of effort into this, in many many ways. I know ur reading this rn bestie so ty 💜💜
please check out her art on her insta :)) (her username/handle is in the screenshots i already showed)
also, here's more of cuboid's art that isn't on her insta - bc she's literally allergic to posting and im always yelling at her about it /lh (and yes beforehand i let her know about this post and she sent a ton of her wip art to me to include here!)
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(1) south asian little red riding hood! the hood in this case is a thick, wintertime dupatta and i love that concept (2) her pakistani cricket player oc 😍 (he kinda reminds me of naseem shah lol) (3) one of cuboid's incredible horror pieces (she does a lot of horror) featuring an Indian doll hiding in a dollhouse & her bratty owner looking in
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(1) another one of cuboid's horror pieces (with a south asian protag). there's a lot to unpack about it but ill let you guys analyze it yourselves for the experience lol (2) cuboid also made art for orchid's fic, housewife simulator! fyi milkman is canonically pakistani punjabi and miss cashier is indian punjabi (yes there is a big difference). mailwoman is black and lil kid is indigenous -- she's a future character im sooo excited to read in HWS (3) humanized version of the annoying ass eel in my fave video game of all time - Super Mario 64! whyd she make him fine tho.. and girl im waiting for you to make an insta post of all your SM64 humanized character designs. pls pls pls
anyway that's pretty much all ive got for this post. tldr; cuboid is amazing talented showstopping and yall should follow her insta ok thankssss
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rosellerivers19 · 11 days
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If you want to learn about your exchange family’s culture :try the food. WIP
Allen is staying with a girl named Vira’s family while some things are getting sorted out. also Allen is a dragon
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So just a few tad bits of info Vira is in the right and Allen is on the left. Allen is a shapeshifting dragon who took on the appearance of a human boy so he could stay with the Viraj residence.
Vira viraj (the one who found him) soon becomes his best friend and only guide in the puzzling human world.
Well hey at least they get Dosa right?
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stuckyfingers · 3 months
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Pranayam, Dilseacht, Chaverut.
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Samyukta Pillai is the daughter of a British-Indian lawyer sent to New York during the London air raids in 1940. She's grown up most of her life in India receiving English education, but is more interested in the freedom of her country rather than trying to be an Englishwoman.
During her time in New York, she explores the tiny publishing houses on the streets and eventually comes across a freelance illustrator and his stevedore friend- and in this reality, they hit off. All three of them.
(And yes this is in the heat of getting a new Native American What If character so I thought why not a South Indian one?)
Also, yeah that's Malayalam, Gaelic and Hebrew/Yiddish that translates to 'Love, Loyalty and Friendship.'
Bonus:
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it's based on me ✨💅🏾
I am the what if OC ya'll.
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My Bleach OC
So it took a lot of time to put together. But I did it! My OC for Bleach is finally ready. As always with my OC characters, I pay homage to my South Asian roots in terms of their personality and abilities.
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Name: Keyuri Ramish (she/her)
Age: 30 in human years (~300 in shinigami years?)
Physical Description: 5 feet 6 inches tall, tan skin, long black hair that is often worn back in a braid. Her body is very curvy, falling under a plus size category, close to an hourglass/pear figure. Her waist is narrow, but she has very generous hips and thighs that are quite toned and a full bust. Her figure makes her self-conscious at times. Large brown eyes, thickly lashed, like a doe’s. 
Position in Soul Society: She’s the third seat of Division12, captained by Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Her responsibilities mainly deal with the Research and Development team, creating new gadgets to help deal with hollows and other reiatsu anomalies. She also assists on missions remotely by observing shinigami reiatsu signatures on the R&D’s computers when they try to tackle hollows. 
Personality: She’s a little reserved, but is a very warm person once she opens up. Very tactile, and expresses her affection through touch. Enjoys reading, writing, and practicing yoga. Observant, sharp, witty, and loves good banter. Gemini, coffee addict, and loves pastries. 
Background: Keyuri is of South Indian origin, reborn into a community called South Asian Soul Adminstration (shortened as SASA, basically South Asia’s equivalent of Soul Society). When her parents first noticed her developing strange reiatsu, they admitted her into a temple soul school, where the priests helped her harness and develop her spiritual abilities. But Yamaduta (messengers of death, SASA’s equivalent of Shinigami) are considered as bad omens in their society, so her advisors work to have her transferred to Soul Society, believing it is a better place for her to grow her abilities and also train her zanpakuto correctly. Her zanpakuto itself is quite rare in the soul world (described in detail below)
Zanpakuto Background at SASA:  Zanpakuto souls are not ingrained into a katana at SASA. Zanpakuto spirits are born, through a cycle of birth and rebirth. Once every few years, enough soul energy concentrates to allow the birth of maybe 2-5 zanpakuto. The priests at the school typically take the most talented students of that year to receive their zanpakuto. The students are taken into a separate spirit realm, where they wait in the dark, sometimes for days, until a zanpakuto spirit chooses to be born into their sword. This creates a deep bond, since the soul chooses the Yamaduta its born to. Keyuri waited 2 days before her zanpakuto’s soul came to her. Students that do not get a zanpakuto born on their first try wait years before the next birth can happen. Some SASA Yamadutas never get a soul born to them, and have to work on their other spiritual abilities to make up for not having a zanpakuto. Because of this, Yamaduta zanpakuto are rare, even within SASA. 
Keyuri’s Zanpakuto: Her zanpakuto is rare, even in terms of SASA because when her zanpakuto’s soul was reborn, it was the soul of a dying sun god from somewhere in a different solar system. Zanpakuto spirits that are born under such circumstances are called Celestial zanpakuto because it can draw on the energy not only from the Yamaduta, but from all the celestial heavenly bodies, such as the sun, moon, stars, and meteors. Keyuri has admitted multiple times the frustration she faced with her Zanpakuto because there is little information on how to train a Celestial zanpakuto, let alone learn to develop and channel its abilities since they can be highly unpredictable. She admits she has said mean things to her zanpakuto in frustration, only to be hurt when she realizes how hard it was trying to befriend her. 
Name: Akashvani (translation: Sky Gift)
Command: Glow, Akashvani
Appearance: Akashvani takes the form of a graceful katar, with a hilt wrapped in fine, royal blue silk embroidered with golden threads. The blade itself gleams with a silvery hue, etched with delicate patterns reminiscent of swirling constellations.
When activated, the blade elongates and emanates a soft, radiant, blue light. The hilt also elongates, giving her better control for attacking. 
Shikai main abilities:
Starlight Strike
A trail of stars begins to emanate from the blade and can be controlled at will. It’s impossible to count how many stars are present at any given time, but they glow as they move, creating a beautiful sight to see. Each individual star in the trail can grow to be over 4000 degrees Celsius, effectively burning and melting anything caught in it’s way. The stars glow brighter when they come into contact with an object and start to heat up, in some cases, creating a blinding glow where no one can see what’s happening. 
2. Phantom Eclipse
Mimics a lunar eclipse, creating shadows at strategic attack points. Keyuri can use the shadows to blast the enemy with the moon’s energy, dealing close range damage. 
3. Radiance Shield
Constructs a protective barrier infused with the warmth and strength of solar energy. This shield absorbs incoming attacks while radiating a rejuvenating warmth that heals minor wounds of allies within its range.
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yournameyn · 2 years
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Feeling Deeply: Ch 6
Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. 
Pairing: Namjoon x OC
Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.
Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Yet. Mention of domestic abuse - transgressor's perspective also included. I'm not justifying what Namjoon did in the last chapter and neither is his character in the story.
Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface  Chapter 1  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Current Chapter: Agonising over a grave mistake he made, Namjoon goes about town in a daze of having completely lost himself. He finds a friend (someone we love too) who reminds him of home and helps him look at himself through kinder eyes.
Dedication: To a great friend and the most loyal, loving reader a writer could ask for and triple bonus she's a brilliant writer herself! @moonchild0297 thank you for being so amaze!
Chapter Six
The next few days, Namjoon couldn’t really move. His head was throbbing with a reality so stark it was cutting into him. Three days passed in a blur. A constant dull thud in his head and in his heart. He didn’t stay awake nor did he sleep. He existed, barely, in the chasm that exists between alert and unconscious. 
On the third night, Namjoon finally fell asleep. 
As did Brishti. 
She had been in a manic state ever since she had arrived at Sayuri-San’s home that night. The night she left the home she had made with the only man, the only person she had ever truly loved.  
That first night, she tried to leave a couple hundred times, “I should go… He wouldn’t know what to do… This is the first time he’s been this way…”
Sayuri-san stopped her with a sentence, “You left for a reason.” The wise woman knew these words wouldn’t have the same power over her the next couple hundred times she would try to leave. So, on the second day of Brishti being away from home, she called in reinforcements - Min Yoongi. 
Even Brishti was relieved to hear he was on his way. The two of them shared a special bond. It wasn’t about being asians, being foreigners in England, it wasn’t even about being librarians. The tie that Brishti and Yoongi shared was the feeling of abandon, of exclusion. Of never having been loved right. Of being rejected by a world whose love they wanted to rule over but also rebel against. And yet, when Yoongi arrived, Brishti couldn’t share everything with him. She sat with her head hung low. Sayuri-San left for work letting them both know she would cover for them. 
She also said to Brishti,“You’ve said many times that everything you’ve ever done has led you to Namjoon. That is not so. This is - everything you have ever done… trying to protect your freedom, your solidarity from everyone who has tried to control you, this is who you truly are… free. And this… this has led to the moment of perfect clarity. Stepping out of that house... that is the Brishti you have built for yourself. And if you do nothing else today, just… be proud of that.”
Brishti raised her head to look at Sayuri-san. In her eyes she saw regret… She saw that Sayuri-san wasn’t able to do the right thing for herself. That so many of us are so shaped by violence, we can’t even recognise it. Brishti held Sayuri-san’s hands in her own and pressed in a warm touch that said thank you. 
When she was gone, Min Yoongi asked, “How are you feeling?” 
Brishti had retreated into her shell again. She answered nonetheless, “Crazy… I feel crazy…”
“Will you please look up?” he asked patiently. 
“I don’t want you to judge him… I know… I know this is not okay. That’s why I left but… this is not who he is. I know every woman says the same thing but I-” Brishti broke off crying.
“Brishti… did you get any sleep? You’re going to hurt your eyes crying so much...”
“Yeah…” Brishti wiped her tears, still not looking up. Yoongi placed a hand on her arm, telling her silently - he’s here. He’s here for her. Brishti raised her head and brushed her hair back. Yoongi could see the light greyish greenish bruises on her cheek and the darker purple bruise on her neck. When she saw his gaze lingering on her neck, tears streamed down her face again and she began to explain, “He... he removed his hand as soon-” 
Yoongi interrupted her, “I’m no one to judge him… not about his worst actions.” He rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt. Brishti had seen the scars on Yoongi’s arms but she knew he was alot more than the jagged, lighter-than-skin lines, protruding just slightly. She understood… This is what he was telling her. Namjoon was not his worst actions, the physical wounds he had inflicted either. Brishti smiled. Yoongi rolled down his sleeve as Brishti placed her hands on his arms, just like he had done a moment ago. They hugged as Brishti wept on her friend’s shoulders. Partly because of the kindness that flowed out of the usually prickly young man. Yoongi said, while stroking Brishti’s hair, “You did the right thing… you did…” He patted her head before pulling away,  “Now stop crying. You look like a banged-up Vietnamese boxer…” 
Brishti let out a half-chuckle before settling back. “I… I don’t want to talk about how it all happened…”
Yoongi nodded, “We don’t have to… What… how can I help?”
Brishti shook her head, out of her wits, “Can we talk about… something normal?... I’m not trying to overlook-”
Yoongi stopped her again, “Hey…You don’t have to justify anything… trying to overlook would have meant you staying with him… pretending like nothing happened. You didn’t do that, did you?” He waited for Brishti to look at him and answer. She could only manage to shake her head no while more tears streamed down her face. Yoongi went on - “You did the right thing. You left. And I’m not saying this as- as an end to your relationship… It's more like... a problem. A big problem. You did your part… by leaving, you said NO, this will not do. The rest of the solution… it needs to come from him.”
She seemed genuinely surprised, “You don’t think… you don’t think this is the end?”
He was emphatic, “Haah! Nooo… this is the Namjoon you’ve been biting my head off about... how adorable he is, how brilliant he is, how sweet he is… I believe you. It’s the same guy… he’s just… in a bit of hot water. How he holds up… we have to see.”
Brishti smiled. Yoongi smiled too, not just in reciprocation. He was truly happy to see her smile. She’d always known his grumpy disposition was just a facade, but beneath it lay such a large reservoir of soft love, Brishti was just finding out. 
He was back in a flash though, when he said,“Come on now you need to sleep... you look like a fisherman who has an allergy to fish.”
Brishti laughed and once again tears streamed down her face. Yoongi gave her an assuring smile and wiped off her tears with his sleeve. He got her to go to sleep. And Brishti did sleep, for the first time in days… without her husband beside her.
Back at what was their home, Namjoon woke up dazed. It hurt him to see her reflected in every little thing here… the distance between the coffee table and the sofa, adjusted to her height, so she could rest with her legs stretched; The bookshelf that she was always, endlessly arranging; The little Bengali and Korean alphabets she had painted along the doorway of their bedroom; The way, in place of photoframes, she had proudly displayed what few poems he had shown her on the mantle. He couldn’t breathe here, knowing he had driven the soul of this home away. When he finally got out of the flat, he saw that it wasn’t dawn as he was assuming, it was another evening. 
He’d lost count of days for the first time in his life and he found himself more and more disoriented. He had to try to walk straight, for some reason. His head felt like it almost wasn’t there, sight felt unreliable.  And then it hit him - a fragrance. Nothing he’d call delicious when he was a child. But right now, this was the most exquisite aroma in the world - someone around this strange place is making seaweed soup… more specifically, Miyeok Guk. For reasons beyond his understanding at that moment, his feet led him towards the aroma. 
When he finally reached the source of the fragrance, Namjoon could recognise that he wasn’t in a proper place… one with walls made of material that is not cloth or tarp or whatever this weird mesh of materials was. That’s the last thing he thought before collapsing in the not-proper place.The fact that Namjoon could think, that he could still process thought, was a marvel in itself because he had been hungry for three days now. It was almost like his body had brought him to a place of food. Unfortunately, that place was a hippie camp by the side of a road.
When Namjoon came to, he saw a beautiful young woman with porcelain skin and flame-coloured hair and deep set green eyes leaning over him. When she saw him opening his eyes, she greeted him, “Annyeonghasseo.” Namjoon was horrified - and only a little bit at her pronunciation of Korean. His mind was telling him he was either dead or hallucinating because the white girl seemed to be speaking Korean to him. That’s when he heard the person who was teaching her. Someone with a sweeter, deep voice laughed a mousy laugh and spoke in perfect Korean, “She’s still beginning but she’ll learn fast… how are you feeling?” 
Namjoon sat up and the girl with the orange hair gave him some room. He wasn’t in the hippie camp anymore. This was a place with proper walls but judging from the abundance of incense sticks and dreamcatchers and windchimes, he was still in hippie company. The aroma was a bit different now but he instantly caught the familiar kimchi smells of home here too. There was also daylight. 
Namjoon forgot about his troubles just for a second as he stared at the face of the man approaching him. This man was the most attractive person he had ever seen in real life. He was miles and miles more beautiful than the green-eyed girl. Who now had her arms around the demi god with the broadest shoulders and gave a brief peck to the most gorgeous lips known to mankind. 
He realised, for the first time, what Brishti meant when she spoke about sexuality as being a spectrum. The thought about Brishti brought back all the memories and the most recent incident. He felt the weight of his actions on his heart again. The gorgeous man finally introduced himself, “I’m Jin… well, Kim Seokjin to you. Are you feeling better?” 
“I’m confused… but yes, I feel better. Did you-”
“You collapsed… but we woke you up with an onion. Then you ate. Why did you let yourself go that hungry… you don’t seem poor.” Seokjin smiled. 
“I’m- thank you so much, Seokjin-ssi” Namjoon bowed low as he thanked Seokjin in Korean. 
“Ahhh no need to be so formal. Call me Jin.” Seokjin said, trying to put Namjoon at ease. He could see his compatriot was troubled. “Come on, I’ve made kimchijeon… Tell me what happened.” 
Over food that wasn’t his favourite and yet distinctly belonged to his home tastes, Namjoon spoke to Jin, about his troubles. Some people have a presence that is disarming, that seems to sound a homing beacon. They break down guards that were built up for years. Jin was that person for Namjoon. When he began speaking, he didn’t start with Park Jimin & the discrimination case. He didn’t even begin with Brishti. He began to talk about how excited he was to come home to show his mother the poem he wrote… that was going to be read aloud to the whole school. Even he was surprised by his own story. 
The two men walked along the Thames, reminiscing about their own river, Han. This is where Namjoon recalled another river… the Ganga. He told Jin how Brishti spoke about it. “She… She said the Ganga floods and destroys during the rains, that she is furious and still, the people whose homes she has destroyed, they call Ganga their mother… They still worship her. That’s where she comes from… a place that worships the forest and the river. That’s what she did for me too… She saw me beyond the word ‘husband’... beyond the word, ‘man’... even though she is so afraid of men. I saw her fear when she spoke about the men in her life and then… instead of loving her… I--” Namjoon’s voice cracked. Jin’s silence soothed him. Namjoon wondered aloud if breaking a mirror could break his Self. Because that’s what he wanted to do. 
Jin listened and repeated Namjoon’s speech to himself, with only one addition - Kindness. In Jin’s retelling, Namjoon was a poet who was being poisoned from not writing, a soft heart stuck in a thorny system. Jin knew how that felt.
The two men spoke about the burden of responsibility and making family proud. Jin had felt a deep stab in his heart when his mother had been quiet around her friends bragging about their sons. Both men spoke about the different paths they took from that feeling of being a disappointment - Namjoon did everything he could to please them while Jin did everything he could to please himself. They were reflections of each other in their experience of the abyss that the compulsion of “Being a Good ManTM ” had thrown them in; Seemingly, stuck in a bad advertisement of what it means to be masculine - either stable, responsible or rough, careless - and never, ever, feeling. They laughed about their own performances of masculinity until tears streamed down their eyes; 
Eyes swollen from sleeping so much, hair unwashed & frizzy, Namjoon laughed heartily until he stopped. Until he said, in his native tongue, “I never told anyone this… I left my country because I was angry… I would have snapped in half, if I had to bow any more. It wasn’t a sign of respect anymore for me… bowing was breaking my spine…” 
Jin understood what Namjoon meant. He saw a man who tried to escape but got trapped in a wider, more punishing trap. Namjoon went on, his words thick with rage poured out like lava, “And now, the one thing, the only person who saw me with loving eyes… I had the audacity to lay a hand on her… I’m so… angry… I want to cut off my hands and… and I can’t even do that…” 
Jin felt Namjoon’s blistering tears fall from his own eyes. Neither of their tears were tears of laughter anymore. He took a deep breath, wiped his tears off and said, “Namjoon-ah, 
They spoke about how their paths could have criss-crossed a thousand times before they finally did - Namjoon was the lost wanderer and Jin the young man that had finally found his own path - using his golden face and voice to protest the injustice being wrought over the Vietnam War. That’s what Jin was doing in the hippie tent in South Kensington, by the Embassy of South Korea. From their own personal struggles, the two men spoke about the collective struggles that the youth of South Korea was facing, how it was such a gross miscarriage of justice that Korean men were sent over to either murder or be murdered by their asian brothers in Vietnam. 
What had begun as Korean Spiced Pancakes, went on to chips and ale in a local pub and ended back at Jin & Emma’s free-loving abode. At the end of the night, Namjoon was smiling again. As they said their goodnights, Namjoon made Jin smile wide when he said, “Thank you, Jin-Hyung.” 
And so it happened, that within the span of a day, a stranger who belonged to his home land, became a brother.
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vampirefreakism · 2 years
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The Blue Princess (Chapter 7)
Summary: Luna tries some new experimental techniques and Loki hangs out with Bucky
Warnings: some suggestive content
Word count: 3.2k
The AO3, Wattpad, and Spotify links are on the Masterlist
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It was another lovely day in middle-of-nowhere Oregon, and Luna wanted to make the most of it. She planned to meditate during prime daylight hours but found her plan slowly being foiled. She searched high and low for a beach towel large enough to spread her yoga mat on, but none were meeting her eyes. The wick on her temper burned shorter and shorter until she wanted to give up. However, a gentle voice from behind stopped her in her tracks.
“Hey, what are you looking for?”
Luna turned around and met Bucky’s bright eyes.
“Oh, um, I’m looking for a beach towel,” Luna responded. “Like, one big enough to lay my mat on.” She indicated her yoga mat, which was propped against the wall.
“I have something if you want. It's not a towel, but it's big enough.” Bucky pointed behind him. “I can go get it. It’s still in my bag.”
“I’d totally appreciate that. Thank you.”
With a nod and a smile, Bucky hurried off to fetch his item. True to his word, it wasn’t a towel but a woven mat he’d kept on the floor of his home in Wakanda.
“It’s not much, but it’s made for sitting,” Bucky said as he handed it over.
Luna held it up as high as she could to examine it. It was huge and exactly what she needed.
“Oh, this is perfect.” She folded it up and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks again.”
“Of course,” Bucky said, smiling. “Well, have fun with whatever you’re doing.”
“I sure hope I will.” Luna waved goodbye and headed for the downstairs doors.
Once outside, she took a deep breath, the air lovingly greeting her lungs. She picked a spot beneath a tree and spread the mat Bucky lent her on the ground, then unrolled her yoga mat on top of it. Bucky’s mat gave the perfect cushioning for sitting on the ground, and Luna could not be more content. She popped back inside to get her pen and notebook but quickly returned and got situated.
“Ok,” Luna said, sighing as she sat on the ground. She jotted a few preliminary notes in her notebook and set it off to the side. Shoes off and beside her, she crossed her legs and rested her wrists gently on her knees.
To Luna, meditation wasn't about clearing the mind but focusing it on a singular topic. She closed her eyes and searched her brain for something to hold on to; anything that held some weight. Rubbing her thumb against the side of her finger, she felt like she was fumbling and grasping at nothing. Her concentration was crumbling away before she could even figure out what to concentrate on.
Luna flashed her eyes open and stood up with a huff. She paced back and forth inside the perimeters of the mat, thinking and thinking about what she wanted to accomplish. She wanted to control her newfound abilities, but it was easier said than done. Unconsciously, they did as they pleased, but under her command? It seemed near impossible.
Turning and pivoting, Luna thought long and hard. She knew strong emotions and injuries called them into being, like fear and anger. But such emotions were counterproductive for a meditation session. If she aggravated herself, she would become a menace for the rest of the day and do nobody any good. And she didn’t want to take a knife to her skin again.
Aside from such powerful negative feelings, what could make her feel so deeply? What else could take her heart in its hand and squeeze?
Luna sat back down and propped her elbow on her knee to rest her chin in her palm. She pondered and thought and pondered again. She thought so hard, and yet, the answer was so simple. Loki made her feel deeply, deeper than she ever believed possible.
Luna straightened her posture, set her hands back on her knees, and closed her eyes. She banished any previous or doubtful thoughts from her mind and concentrated on Loki's image, allowing it to wash over her and encompass her every sense.
His gentle voice was in her ear, his hands on her body, and his distinct aroma in her nose. She arched her back as his imagined touch slowly glided up and over her shoulders, stoking the fire in her belly. It raged as his hands inched down her chest, lips parting ever so slightly as her breathing picked up. She let it undo her, no matter how unreal it was.
The fiery caresses moved lower and closer to her core; so close, there was almost a spark. Luna’s uncertainty gripped her will and urged her to stop, but she pushed it aside. She wanted to surrender and let it move her how it needed to. Fingers trembling, the fire exploded and ran its way through her bloodstream. Every inch of her skin prickled with tiny fires beneath the surface. It swayed her and made her sweat and pant so hard, she thought she might pass out.
A deep-seated throb pushed into Luna’s abdomen, making her lurch forward and plant her hands on the ground. As she caught her breath, she stared hazily at her hands. The impact caused a slight poof of frost to emanate and coat the surrounding blades of grass. She slowly sat back up and ran a hand over her arm. Her periwinkle skin shimmered with frozen water droplets. She couldn't be sure whether it was sweat or condensation, but it fascinated her.
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Bucky yawned and stretched his arms on his way to the kitchen. The six-pack of beer in the fridge called his name, and he hadn't the heart to resist. He took the entire thing out and pulled one from the bunch to fiddle with on his way back to the living room. Blowing out a discordant whistle, he stopped in his tracks as he spotted someone already lounging on the couch.
“Oh, hey,” he said. It was Loki, who flashed him a soft smile.
“Hello,” Loki greeted back. He watched Bucky resume his approach and sit down next to him. “Did you expect to be alone here?”
“Yeah. You’re really quiet.” Bucky set his beer down on the table.
“When I need to be.” Loki watched as Bucky grabbed a second beer and offered it to him. "Oh, thank you." The pair flicked the caps off – Bucky with his left thumb and Loki with his right – and clinked them together.
As Bucky took his first sip, his eyes wandered to the TV screen. The volume was low, and the screen played the scene of some movie he'd never seen before.
“What’re you watching?” Bucky asked.
“Mm, nothing, really,” Loki responded, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m just here to keep an eye on her.” He gestured with the bottle to the window. Bucky followed his line of sight and squinted to see Luna sitting under a tree, writing intently in her notebook.
“She’s not going anywhere.”
Loki looked over at Bucky. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Yeah,” Bucky affirmed. The image of Luna’s bloodied body flashed through his mind’s eye. If he were Loki, he’d be keeping the same watchful eye.
Another moment of silence passed until Bucky couldn’t take it and flipped through the channels. He needed something easy and distracting for his busy mind as beer does nothing to dull his racing train of thought.
“Hey, you like conspiracy theories? Like, Loch Ness Monster and whatever?” Bucky asked as he stopped on a mystery channel.
“Sometimes," Loki said and turned his head to face Bucky. “You fancy them?”
“I like to check up on them now and again to see if any of them might be my fault.” Bucky selected the channel and raised the volume a bit. “Like, the Kennedy-second-shooter one.” He tapped his chest with the remote. “That’s me.”
“No,” Loki said in amusement. “I was there that day, I think.”
“No kidding!”
“Junior was a bit of an acquaintance of mine.” Loki picked at his thumbnail. “He wasn’t the best man in the world, but he was a great shag.”
“Ok, I did not need that image in my head.” Bucky rubbed his eyes as Loki chuckled.
“I can give you a better one if you like.”
“No thanks.” Bucky shifted to angle his body towards Loki. “So, why do you watch these?”
Loki shrugged. “I think they're fun, and, uh," he leaned closer, "I'm also responsible for a few of them.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Uh,” he paused to take a sip of his beer as he thought. “Bigfoot, but only a couple of the Northern ones.”
Bucky cracked out a laugh. “Oh my god! No way!”
“That’s what the travelers said too.” Bucky laughed again and patted his thigh a few times out of the sheer comedy of Loki's quip.
“What other ones? I’m curious now.”
“You’ll have to be patient. You get that one for free.” Loki gently poked Bucky’s shoulder.
“Can I guess?”
“Guess all you like. You might get it right.”
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Luna stretched out her neck, feeling the joints between her vertebrae crack as she moved. Her first attempt at conjuring her icy complexion returned as a success, but practice makes better, so she geared up to try again, this time with less resistance and shock.
Wrists against her knees, she closed her eyes and concentrated on Loki again. Not on his touch or his austere visage but on his pure essence. She focused on exactly how he made her feel. All the love, safety, and recognition she received in his eyes. It bloomed in her heart like a flower in bright moonlight. Her cheeks quickly grew warm with emotion, so she kept the sensation flowing. It was all working in her favor.
Luna felt it flow and rush through her veins. She felt it under every inch of her skin. There was no need for Loki's touches as he was already within her. An intimate, beautiful piece of him resided deep inside her and now made up a part of her too. He was the butterflies in her stomach, goosebumps up her arms, and pulsing heat in the basket of her hips. She felt it all and let it fill her from her scalp to her toes.
Fingers moving slowly and rhythmically, Luna felt the flow even out into a continuous spring. It moved and felt like how a river sounded: strong and constant. It was everlasting; it was there before her and would be after her, like her culture and ancestors from the mother country. She always took comfort in the thought, and it was such comfort that gave her the confidence to open her eyes.
She gradually opened one eye first, peeking through her lashes and angling her gaze to her right hand. Glittery periwinkle skin met her eye, so she opened the other and lifted both hands into the light. She rubbed her fingers together and felt rough and smooth textures. The roughness came from the gentle frost forming about her skin and smoothness from dampness that had yet to freeze. Luna wondered if it would and how it would look and feel.
The frozen pieces felt hard against her soft skin, but she didn't feel the cold. She barely felt chilly. She hummed in fascination and traced the patterns going up her arms. Again, she wondered how the rest of her body looked. She hadn't had the privilege of admiring herself or Loki if he would let her at all. She wanted him to feel comfortable with her exploring this with him and through him, but he was still hesitant.
Perhaps she was still a bit to blame. She still hid her body from him, her new scars. He knew they were there. Everyone knew they were there, but she hid them from the one person she didn't need to hide from. Loki had already understood her feelings, but her fear of rejection may begin to read as distrust of his word. He would be within reason to doubt her comfort with him, even a little.
But she was comfortable with him, more than anyone in the universe. He knew her body as well as she knew his. Their scars matched, and they shared a piece of each other. He was a part of her most deeply, down to each cell. He moved her, changed her, and protected her.
Excitement gripped her, as did terror. Change is inevitable and a part of life, but she would need to spend time with it and feel it in its fullness by herself. So, Luna swiveled to lie on the mat and closed her eyes. She loved him dearly, and they swore commitment to each other. To know Loki is to love him, and she needed to uphold her part of the bargain. Luna concentrated on holding the gentle flow in her body, but after some time laying in the shade, drowsiness took over and pulled her into a light sleep.
However long her nap was, she couldn’t tell, but she woke up to the feeling of brisk wind and the sharp tickle of grass. She slowly opened her eyes and looked to her right. Her gaze fell on a lone rabbit grazing peacefully a few feet away. She gasped upon seeing it, but its ears twitched, and it stopped nibbling, causing Luna to hold her breath. It stood on its hind legs, looked around, and hopped a few feet further away. It had noticed her and gotten scared. Luna didn’t blame the creature, for she was a bit thankful because now she could move without feeling like an imposition.
Discomfort quickly snuck up on her as she shifted her arms to push her body up to sitting. She looked down behind her and cringed. The mat and her shirt were completely soaked, as was the rest of her body.
“Ugh, what?” Luna groaned. She pulled the damp fabric of her shirt, and it occurred to her that as she slept, the accumulated frost had melted and gone the only place it could go: everywhere.
She pulled her shoes on and shuffled into the house, making a mental note to pick up her notebook and mats after she’d dried off and changed. As she itched at her skin under the wet cloth, cheerful voices met her chilly ears.
“You? You were the guy?” Luna instantly recognized it as Bucky.
“The very one.” The other individual was Loki.
“But how’d you get away? He just said there was no trace.”
“Well, you see, it was a careful timing of me jumping into the air and then Heimdall calling the Bifrost.” Luna walked into view, catching the attention of the two. “Darling!” Loki greeted with a bright smile.
“Woah, why are you wet?” Bucky said with great surprise and concern. He eyed her up and down, glanced outside at the clear skies, and looked back at her.
Luna stopped and gestured to herself. "Condensation. This happens when something gets colder than the surrounding air temperature, and," she paused and waved a dismissive hand, "ah, whatever. I’m going to go change.” She took a few more steps toward the staircase and paused. “Oh, what time is it?”
"It's, uh," Bucky began and glanced at his phone, "almost 2."
“Ok. Loki, remember we got the lawyers calling in about an hour.”
"I remember," Loki said lovingly. "You go get comfortable." They waved at each other, and Luna ran up the stairs and out of sight.
“You got to go?” Bucky asked, feeling a little disappointed.
“In an hour,” Loki replied. “What, are you tired of me already?”
Bucky raised his brows. “Seriously? Five seconds after I learn you’re literally D. B. Cooper? The story’s just getting good!”
“How right you are.” Loki held his beer up and took a sip. “Now, where was I?”
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Loki's remaining hour with Bucky came and went, with Luna making one more trip outside to fetch her things. Loki had gone, and now Bucky was alone as he had planned. He finished three more beers and two more mystery episodes before calling it quits. In the silence, he sat staring out the window. He was at a loss for what to do. Steve and Sam were busy chatting away with Tony or their lawyers. He didn't know Wanda well enough to talk to her, and there was a grey area with Natasha that intimidated him. Luna and Loki were also busy with their lawyers, so no fun there either.
Checking the time again, he wondered if he might take a walk by himself. It seemed peaceful outside, and the air looked warm and crisp. He could also talk to someone. But who? Nebula? It had been a minute since he'd seen her, let alone spoken to her. He checked his numbers and debated pressing hers when lo and behold, his phone dinged with an incoming call. Swallowing nervously, he pushed to answer and held it to his ear.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hi,” Nebula greeted back in her trademark rough voice. “I don’t know why I called. Everyone else was making calls.”
“And let me guess, you felt left out?”
“Mm,” she replied. Bucky nodded his head.
“That’s ok. I was thinking about talking to you anyway.”
“About what?” Nebula’s voice seemed to relax, which made Bucky relax.
“Um,” he adjusted his seating position, “how’s your day going?”
“Fine. Humans are nosey,” Nebula chastised.
Bucky smiled. “Yeah, they are. So, uh, how are you handling all the attention?”
“It’s awful. And loud. Everyone’s always asking questions.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I expected as much.”
“What are you all doing over there?”
“Just hanging out with everyone. Loki, most recently.”
“Mm.” Nebula sighed quietly.
“I don’t think he forgives you, but neither would I if I was him. I come pretty close, actually, and I don’t forgive those people.”
Nebula’s voice softened. “What happened to you besides falling?”
Bucky blinked. “You don’t know?”
“Mm-mm,” Nebula hummed.
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t since you’re from space and all.” There was a pause as Bucky thought of negating what he said, but Nebula spoke up.
“I don’t forgive my father either.”
“Good. You shouldn’t,” Bucky said confidently.
There was another pause on both their ends. Bucky wondered what to talk about next or if Nebula wanted to keep talking to him. He debated offering an out in case she felt unsure about talking, but instead, she changed the subject.
“I liked dancing with you,” she said softly. “I’d never danced before, so it was nice.”
Bucky smiled sweetly, though she couldn’t see it. “I’m glad you did. I liked it too.” He scratched at the fabric of his pants. “Maybe, when this is all over, we could, um,” he cleared his throat, “we could, uh,” he trailed off.
“Ok,” Nebula answered.
“Really?”
“Y-yeah,” she confirmed, seeming just as nervous. “But don’t tell anyone. I have Quill yapping in my ear enough as it is.”
Bucky laughed and heard Nebula snicker on the other end. "Don't worry; I can keep a secret for ya."
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A/N: apologies again for the late update. I’ve been having the hardest time staying motivated and passionate. I feel like my writing doesn’t matter anymore and I try too hard for no reason. I’m also still coming up with more details to push the story forward and sometimes I forget what I have.
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Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @pinkie-ghuleh @wreckache @will-die-without-chai @marvelschriss @hornybitchwithgoodtaste @fantasyfan4life
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neon-mooni · 7 months
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Earth 7687
Yes I stole The Flash's color pallet.
Shhh
Singh, Amit aka
SpiderCrimson
lost Miles Morales on a cold, snowy night a month after Miles' fifteenth birthday.
The teen was pushed off of a tall building by Harry Osborn,
the Green Goblin's successor.
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routeriver · 4 months
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Ooh, when you were young / You put all your make-up on / Sang a song of Solomon
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meanslackofart · 2 months
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indian government sites are the online version of indian government offices, they're equally slow
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welldonekhushi · 1 day
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Origin of Arjun's name
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Arjun's name and respective codename itself came from the etymology of Mahabharata, the ancient epic of India.
Arjuna was the son of Kunti whose spiritual father was Indra Dev (the God of Lightning), but became the adopted son of King Pandu among his four sons (Yudhishthir, Bhima, Nakul and Sahadev). Arjun was depicted as a skilled archer from an early age, and played an important role throughout the campaign of the Mahabharata War.
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Arjun's name means to be "crystal clear, shiny and lustrous". In relation, it's about always being stuck to your aim and knowing what has to be done to hit the bullseye. Once the Captain finds a target, he'll do anything to fulfill it, even if it risks everything he had before. His aim towards it is "clear". He'd pick the gun, and fight. He'll not hesitate nor back off. He will hit the target.
His patch symbol is denoted as a "bow and arrow", which targets its desired aim. The Captain won't leave a single target behind, he'll eliminate it, destroy it, no matter what the cost.
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iamtabbychan · 7 months
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Doodling my OC Rani.
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Hey I absolutely adore your Indian James headcanons can you do some for Harry too please <33
Okay this got too long so it's only Harry's first year at Hogwarts. At some point I might do the rest of his years but yeah. Here you go, i hope you like it :)
The first time Harry noticed his skin was darker than the people on Privet Drive was when he was four. The first time he noticed people sneered at him for it was when he was five and a half. He didn't understand it; why did they think the colour of his skin meant that he was inferior to them? He heard the words chee-chee and brownie thrown around like Dudley threw his food, and quietly pulled his shirt tighter around himself.
When Harry is eight, Dudley and his gang throw him in a ditch and throw dirt and soil on him till he's coughing and tears are running down his face. "You blend right into the mud," Piers laughs at him. The next day, the boy turns up to school with black skin. Harry sits in the corner and turns his face away, a secret grin playing on his lips.
He comes to Hogwarts, and there are so many colours. He is approached by Parvati on the second night, and she asks him if he's excited for Ganpati Chaturthi. He stares at her, and then says, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is." She gets offended, but they haltingly talk it out, awkward and stilted like most eleven year olds. When she realises that he's been kept from his heritage and his magic, she flies off the rails with anger. "That's it," she says, "we're friends now. No arguments."
Harry loves talking to Parvati. She's the one that tells him his father was from India. She's the one that tells him the names of his grandparents, that tells him of the importance of heritage in the magical world. They talk about religion and food and all sorts of things, and within two weeks Harry is asking her to teach him Marathi. It's hard at first; the grammar structure is more like French than English, the alphabet sequence is weird and complicated and has too many letters, but he keeps practising his svar and vyanjana and kana and matra. He will do this, he tells himself. (He doesn't tell Ron. He wants this for himself, he thinks. His family, his heritage. He wants to learn before he shares, and so he doesn't tell Ron. For now. He will, when he knows enough.)
Slowly, he starts talking to other Indian kids at Hogwarts. Padma, a seventh year Slytherin named Aarzoo who's Muslim and always has the prettiest hijabs, Gryffindor Kalyani from fourth year and Hufflepuff Rushabh from the third. Kalyani is from Maharashtra just like the Patil twins and Harry, Rushabh is from Gujarat and Aarzoo from Punjab. Harry finds it fascinating that India has so many different cultures and religions, and demands knowledge from them. Aarzoo laughs, and tells him he should have been with the 'Claws.
Harry disagrees. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, he knows, but he is in Gryffindor, where his family had been. His family had been Indian. He wants to know everything about it. If he couldn't have his parents, he would have that which had been a major part of his father's life. And so he reads and observes and studies and asks questions— hesitating at first in case they yell at him (Aunt Petunia hated questions and he feared these people would be the same), but slowly he asks more and more. He talks for hours with Kalyani and Rushabh, and they tell him about Garba and Dhol Tasha, Ganpati Chaturthi and Diwali, Eid and Gudi Padwa. They talk about the languages of India, and Harry immediately asks Aarzoo to teach him Urdu and Hindi. She laughs, and says he should focus on Marathi first. He pouts, but nods.
The Mirror of Erised shows him his father, and he can't take his eyes off. James Potter is a tall man, bulky frame covered in muscles and warm brown skin that seems to glow with happiness. His eyes are light brown, and the bold black lines drawn under them make the green specks stand out. He's dressed in what Harry knows is called a kurta, white and gold threads woven to form images of peacocks and elephants and other intricate designs. The next day, Harry asks Padma what she lines her eyes with, and she promptly hands him a little round metal box and a tiny wooden stick. "It's called kajal." She tells him the differences in pronunciation between Hindi and Marathi, and shows him how to apply it. Harry wears it everyday. It makes his eyes look bright, brighter than they already are, and he falls in love with it. Kalyani presses a kajal covered finger behind his ear every morning. "For good luck," she tells him, a grin playing on her pretty lips. Harry flushes, and smiles back shyly.
For Christmas, Aarzoo gives him perfume. It's chandan and mogra with hints of rose, she says, "and your grandfather made it. His name was Fleamont Henry Potter, and he was an exceptionally talented potioneer." Harry wears it religiously. Padma and Parvati band together and get him books on the Potter family and their historical importance, and he almost cries. Rushabh promises to teach him how to play Garba, and Kalyani gives him a cookbook for everyday Indian foods— breakfast and lunch and a few fancy stuff. Harry hugs it to his chest and thanks her with shining eyes. (he may have a bit of a crush on her. He can't help it— she's really smart, and she's pretty.)
Throughout the year, all of them work to introduce him to Indian food. At first, he thinks it will be easy. It is not. There is no such cuisine named Indian, Parvati tells him sternly. There is Punjabi, South Indian, Mughlai, Maharashtrian, North Indian, Bihari, Bengali and so many more. "The food in India changes with every twenty kilometres of travel," Aarzoo says when he mock complains about it. "It's never the same, and that's what makes it so special." He agrees.
The end of the year arrives, and Harry is still weak from his tryst down the trapdoor. When Ron and Hermione aren't present, his friends from home (because that's what India is, isn't it? His home. The home he never got to see, but is no less a part of him.) crowd around his hospital bed and have long talks with him, filled with banter and laughter. His Marathi is so much better now than it was in September, and he blushes when Kalyani compliments him on it. Rushabh winks at him, and Harry throws a pillow at him, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks at being caught out.
On the last day of school, he hugs Aarzoo around the waist and cries into her stomach. It's the first time he calls her "Aarzoo Tai", and she smiles widely, her own eyes dripping tears. "You will write," she says sternly, "okay? This might be the end of my Hogwarts years, but you are my little brother." He cries harder and nods, refuses to let go until the very last minute.
Harry goes back to Privet Drive with a heavy heart and a proud smile. He isn't inferior to the people there, he knows. He's special. He's Indian. He's James Potter's son, and he's going to live up to it.
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serenedash · 2 months
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new khux oc in 2024?! wow?! he doesn't have a name though
so me and @luxusdollhouse were discussing Daybreak Town culture and how the residents are all literal children because yknow. keyblade wielders do not have a long life expectancy. so we were saying that keyblade wielders might get married really young and we were like who the hell is officiating that so we came up with this guy! He's just a sweet guy and is very well liked among wielders of all unions :) we said guy would not end up making it to the keyblade war which is kinda where this started because we were discussing the Daybreak Town graveyard and us discussing decorated graves in town,
not pictured is my hilarious idea for a moogle priest lol
[DO NOT REPOST/REMOVE COMMENT]
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kabukiaku · 1 year
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finally posting this! have some more bird characters! I wanted to make my own indian peacock designs with rajasthani/east indian influence. 
Don’t have much on them besides that they’re a wealthy noble family who is in touch/trades with Jiang’s clan. 
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muppet-facts · 4 months
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Muppet Fact #905
Unlike a real West Indian manatee, Blanche the Manatee has some tan and brown spots that distinguish her from the real animal.
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Sources:
Jim Henson's Animal Show. Episode 126: "The Manatee and the Lemur." May 15, 1995.
West Indian manatee. Wikipedia.
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