hello bad bitches,   after some thought and consideration i’ll be moving vidya to my multi.   mutuals are free to follow,  it’s a bit of a hot mess be warned.   i will be trying to move any active threads over to continue,  but if i lose some feel free to toss them my way if you’re waiting on a reply !

love seeing my mutuals ping pong between sw and mk brain rot

the weight of thousands of years of memories coupled with the lost memories of an endless amount of lifetimes,   topped off by unrelenting visions of tragedies that are destined to happen,    does a whole lot of damage to a mind

Ijeoma Umebinyuo, from Questions for Ada; “Pain”

i haven’t been writing this week but i hope you all know that being mutuals with me means i will write you a starter pulled out of my ass if an idea pops into my head

‘I am Cassandra— she who, without asking, understood it all and still came to her fate, I, Cassandra, full of visions, who sees her own death without turning away,’

Gabriela Mistral, Madwomen: Poems of Gabriela Mistral (via vechernyaja)

ADITI RAO HYDARI in Sufiyum Sujatayum (2020) dir. Shanavas Naranipuzha

Chai is a love language. Cut fruit is a love language. Peeling clementines is a love language. Giving your dupatta to someone when they're cold is a love language. Fresh jasmine is a love language. Gulab jamun is a love language.

‘  believe  me.  say  you  believe  me.  ’               @compluras​

water lapped around her ankles from their vantage point above the village.   the wreckage sprawled before them like a ghost town just barely afloat,  and vidya‘s gaze seemed distant.   they had gotten the civilians out safely enough,  before the rising water came streaming in through the thin dirt roads.   but perhaps the most difficult part of it all was facing the figure standing at the mouth of the town,  rage in her eyes and wind combing through her hair.   with   great,  inconceivable,  power   inevitably came a heaping load of responsibility.   when said responsibilities were discarded in a whirlwind of emotion,  they morphed into   burdens   that not one,   but all of them,   carried heavily on their shoulders.   her own ached as she slowly rolled them back,  releasing the tension that had knotted in the middle of her back.   when her dark eyes fall on monserrat,  all displeasure melted away from her features.

in front of her stood not an eternal,  a celestial being,  but a woman,   pleading to be seen.    with a sharp breath in,  she reached out to gently grasp the others hands in her own.   ❝   i do,  serra,   ❞   vidya made sure to fix her attention on the shorter,  holding her gaze as firm as her grip.   ❝   i do.   ❞   she always would believe the woman before her,  knew her as well as she knew herself.    monserrat was far from unjust,  and despite the consequences of her actions,  vidya trusted her to have reason for them.    she looked over her shoulder and out into the scene before them.   ❝   and you don’t have to explain yourself,   at least not to me.   ❞   when she turned back to her,  a humourous grin graced the curve of her lips.   ❝   can’t say the same for ajak though,  so might want to   get your story straight   beforehand.   ❞

my favourite thing about having an eternals / old as fuck oc is that i just pretend all her verses are just canon to her long ass timeline.   regency verse ? nah thats just them fucking around in the 1800s.   modern verse ? nah that’s just her cover up in the last 500 years.   wild insane crazy verse ? nah that’s just all the bullshit she’s gotten up to in the centuries she’s been alive.

‘  well  then,  come  help  me  stir  the  pot.  ’               @nineprowls​

the halls around her gleamed with the finest hung decor she had laid her eyes on in years,   and she stopped to admire a large painting about twice her size.   a knowing grin crept up her lips as she wondered what the party goers flitting around her would think to know the artist of   the anonymous piece   walked among their midst.   she’d sold the painting to the family two generations ago,  their grandmother had been a woman of   great taste   and even greater fortunes.   it was her money that has trickled down over the years and afforded the host and hostess of the grand gathering such an   exquisite estate.   vidya admired their efforts,  a gala thrown under the guise of charity,   but she knew humans.   she’d been in their presence for long enough to know that such events were only thrown to avoid the hefty tax dollars they would otherwise have to spend.

it’s why she took her space from them.   unable to tolerate much more of their empty words,  she had excused herself from the masses.   little did vidya know that running from   one problem   would only send her barreling into another.   and said   other problem   invited her with sharp smiles and enticing stares.   with her back pressed firmly against the door to prevent anyone else from entering,  she sighed heavily.   ❝   that’s not   exactly   what i had signed up for tonight.   ❞   her eyes fell on the wooden box open on the desk between the two.   even in the little illumination provided by the street lights trickling through the curtains,  she caught the shimmer of   the gemstones piled high.   ❝   please tell me this is all you’re here for tonight,  selina.   you can’t   possibly   think it wise to take anything bigger in a place crawling with security.   ❞

Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; “When rome falls”

she !!!

@itsybitsys​                ft.   shanta   bawme

silks,  satins and sequins glitter   in a visual cacophony of colours under the fluorescent hues of the store lights.    vidya’s fingers land on the sari stretched out across the counter top,  carefully grazing the beadwork along its length.   she offered the store opener a polite nod of her head before clasping her hands behind her back and continuing through the aisles.   she wasn’t looking for anything in particular,  a shopping excursion solely fuelled by   whim   alone.   it has been some time since she had treated herself to a new piece,  and her fingers itched for the   a sense of home.   it was funny the way she viewed india.   it was most definitely   not olympia,   where she was born and raised,  but somehow had become it’s equivalent during her time on earth.   the humans had taught her that   home is where the heart was,   and she wondered if she’d buried her heart in the rich soils of the east.

the unmistakable rattle of beadwork   repeatedly   hitting the tiles of the store drew her in its direction.   in the large mirror,  she noticed the frustrated girl wrestling with the long piece of fabric.   vidya couldn’t bite back   the fond grin   on her lips as she approached the younger.   ❝   it’s almost   an art,   ❞   she began,  coming to a stop beside the girl.   she eyed her reflection with a slight tilt of her head.   ❝   pleating,   i mean.   took me a while to get it right.   ❞   finally turning to the other,  she gestured at the tangled sari.   ❝   may i help ?   trust me when I say,  it’s a fun little challenge until it rips and   aunty runs you out of the store.   ❞

clenches fist give me all ur ocs

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠   :   𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐚   𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚          (   present day   )