Akshaya Raman

[asheathes]

Animated posters ❀ (click to enlarge)

[hanginggardenstories]

THE DARK FOREST

by Axie Oh

I thought at first I imagined the dark forest.

We’d been driving for hours at that point, on the long road from Los Angeles to Phoenix, my parents in the front, my kid sister and grandma in the middle, and me in the back with the luggage.

I’d forgotten to charge my phone the night before, which meant no music, no texting, and no games.

At least in L.A. there are things to stare at, buildings or people in other cars. In the desert, there are shrubs and more shrubs, a cow if you look close enough.

I shifted lower in my seat and drew my knees to my chest. The car hit a bump in the road and my kneecaps clipped the bottom of my chin.

I couldn’t even ask my mother how much longer we had because we were in a fight. Earlier, at the gas station, I’d suggested, quite reasonably, that I sit up front to charge my phone.

“And what,” my mother had said, arching a brow, “have your grandmother sit in the back seat?”

“You could,” I said.

That didn’t go down well.

I understood, in theory, why I had to sit in the back. My little sister needed the booster seat. My grandmother, at eighty, needed space to spread out her legs. Once in awhile, an old injury of hers acted up, though you would never know it from the look of her. I’ve only ever seen two expressions on her face: happy or confused, mostly when I was speaking broken Korean to her or when she was speaking broken English to me.

“Jennie-yah,” she would say. “Eat?”

“Yes, Halmoni.” She would make ramen in a metal pot.

“Sleep?”

“No, Halmoni.” I would continue binge-watching Netflix shows.

To my three-year-old sister, she only spoke in Korean. They would sit together on the floor for hours playing with puzzles or jabbering nonsense words to each other. Throughout the car ride, they’d laughed and clapped along to the same Disney Sing-Along Song DVD for three hours straight. In front of me, I watched as my grandmother, leaning over, said something in Korean to my sister, and she giggled. In the distance I heard the rumble of thunder as a storm approached.

If my grandmother had said the same thing to me, would I have laughed? Would I have even understood her?

The dark forest.

It came at first like a Polaroid snapshot. One moment, we were driving through the desert, barren stretches of earth, on either side, and then—sudden night. I blinked and I was alone in a forest, trees in every direction, like dark sentinels, towering, watchful. But it was more than a picture because I was there. My feet, encased in worn brown boots, were rooted in mud. I couldn’t move. I felt a scream inside me, building and building and then…

The car, the desert, the low-pitched crooning of a Disney prince.

Keep reading

[sabyaasachi]

[debbie-sketch]

Hogwarts Houses common rooms in Halloween season 

[sabyaasachi]

[eucalles]

No one can unring this bell, Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new. God knows, I am dissonance Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune.

space moodboards ✩ m e r c u r y

[hanginggardenstories]

That’s it for our 4-Gif Challenge cycle!  In order of publication, our stories were:

A KISS FOR THE SANDMAN by @bethanyhagen​

LIKE/NOT LIKE by @nataliecparker​

HAUNTED by @lindsaysmithdc​

BRIGHT LIGHTS AND DAYDREAMS by @authorwrightnow​

A BOY MADE OF LIGHT by @zoraidacordova​

THE WEEPING TREE by @lorimlee​

THE WITCH WOOD by @shvetathakrar​

DREAM AND DARE by @getnicced​

THE NAVARASA POTION SHOP by @akshayar​

Join us on Monday as we start our third cycle of the year, with the writing prompt: Queens.  

See you next week!

[tarasimauthor]

what would all the timekeeper characters dress like in the present day?

Oh man, I had WAY too much fun with this.

Danny:

Definitely a balance of nerdy and preppy. Look at this jerk. He knows he’s a Ravenclaw. He probably reads for fun.

Colton:

The energetic hipster wannabe. Obnoxiously bright shoes? Check. Skinny jeans? Check. Unnecessary hoodie? Check.

Daphne:

Low-key classy. Probably also prefers skinny jeans. And boots–lots of boots.

Brandon:

Super casual. Tanks and t-shirts. Shorts and baggy jeans. This guy is ready for summer at all times.

Cassie:

The “funny t-shirts” girl who doesn’t give a flying fart about what she looks like. Comfort > style.

[thewinedarksea]

mythology moodboards | živa

slavic goddess of love and fertility

[aly-naith]

Disney aes:

princesses 2/… - Cinderella, Moana, Mulan

[akshayar]

Short Story Aesthetics | The Navarasa Potion Shop

Love could be bought—if you knew where to look.

[akshayar]

Hello Akshaya! May I ask what inspired you to write this lovely F/F story with Indian protagonists? It's something one doesn't come across too often!

Oh yes! So the prompt was to pick one of four gifs given by the lovely authors over at The Hanging Garden. I had a fledgling idea that fit in with the gif of two girls kissing so I decided to go with that.

As for the Indian characters–I wanted to write a story about girls who looked like me. I learned about the emotions of the navarasa growing up, and I thought it would be fun to explore what they might be like as physical potions.

The bit about the cupcakes is just because I am really into baking & food photography. In another life I definitely would have had a very pretentious food blog full of tarts and cakes and macarons with really weird flavor combinations.

[hanginggardenstories]

THE NAVARASA POTION SHOP by Akshaya Raman

Ma had always told Kiran that true love couldn’t be bought.

“You can buy knowledge, friendship, even justice for the right price,” Ma would say. “But not love.”

Kiran believed her mother as she navigated her first awkward crush, her first hesitant kiss, her first loving girlfriend. And then she had her first painful breakup. And somewhere among a box of lavender cupcakes, a Netflix show binge, and two dozen phone calls to her friends, Kiran realized Ma had been wrong.

Love could be bought—if you knew where to look.

#

From the outside, there was nothing noteworthy about the Navarasa Potion Shop. A simple wooden sign carved with the store’s name hung from the lime-green awning, swinging in the cool spring breeze. Kiran pushed open the door.

Coconut and rose. Sage and saffron. Ocean waves and flickering flames.

She breathed deeply, inhaling scents that were no longer singular but a harmonious blend of fragrant notes and familiar feelings.

The marvel of a thousand clay lamps floating down a winding river. The terror of a plunging drop off a jagged seaside cliff. The victory of a battle waged and won on the soccer field.

#

The girl behind the counter was not the old Indian aunty that Kiran’s friends had told her to expect but a young girl barely older than Kiran. And she had the most beautiful hair. It was waist length, parted to one side, and wavy in that magazine-photoshoot-on-the-beach way. That run-your-hands-through-it-forever way.

“Can I help you?” Her voice had the smooth rasp of coffee shop singers. She ran her eyes over Kiran, from her messy bun down to her scuffed sneakers, and then back up to meet Kiran’s gaze. There was an intensity in that look, a blend of curiosity and intimacy, that made Kiran’s stomach flip. This girl could tell entire stories just with her eyes.

“Are you… Mythili?”

“That’s my mother.” The girl tucked her curtain of black hair behind her ear, revealing five gold piercings lining the outer shell.

Kiran pointed to the wooden shelves full of delicate glass bottles. “Do they really work?”

“Sure.” The girl put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “What are you in the mood for? World peace? Vigilante justice? Zombie apocalypse?”

“Oh—” Wait. “You have potions that can cause a zombie apocalypse?”

The girl smiled dryly. “Joke.” She laced her fingers together. “How can I help you?”

Kiran’s face heated. She’d spent the whole drive thinking about the words she wanted to say, but somehow it was easier to imagine saying them to an aunty than a girl who could be her classmate. “Um.” Kiran toyed with the hem of her tank top. “I’m looking for… a love potion.”

“Oh.” For a second Kiran thought the girl sounded disappointed, but when Kiran looked up, her face was expressionless. “Over there.” She gestured to the cabinets with a dismissive wave. “The pink ones.”

#

The navarasa, Kiran recalled from bharatanatyam dance lessons, consisted of nine universal emotions you could evoke through art. Kiran’s eyes wandered over the bottles, taking in the nine colors meant to represent the nine emotions. Adbutha, or wonder, shimmered like trapped sunlight, warm and radiant. Raudra, or anger, beckoned like a decadent pomegranate tart, bloody and brutal. Peace. Laughter. Fear. And then Kiran saw it. Sringara. Love. It was the pale pink of rosebuds awash in dawn’s glow, and it tugged her forward, both enticing and warning.

She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and inhaled. Crushed rose petals and flecks of sandalwood. The space between her heartbeats grew, the gaps filled with intoxicating emotions and memories of Alia.

The bliss of rosewater cupcakes and lazy kisses on sun-warmed grass.

It was as if the very fabric of the world around her had been ripped apart and painstakingly sewn back together in way that made sense.

The girl at the counter had that wry smile on her face again as Kiran approached, but now Kiran noticed a small dimple in her right cheek. This close, she could that the girl’s eyes were not black as she’d thought, but a very dark brown, deep and soulful and expressive. Every flick, every glance, was filled with intention.

“Find what you wanted?”

Yes, Kiran meant to say. “What’s your name?” She slid the bottle across the counter.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Rohini.”

“I’m Kiran.”

“So, Kiran,” Rohini asked, smiling brightly as she rang up the purchase, “whose choice are you intending to take away with this?”

Kiran’s smile fell. She was beginning to see the seams and the rips in the universe again, the way things didn’t quite fit together. She couldn’t stand the judgment exuding from this girl. Alia still loved her; Kiran just needed her to remember how much.

“It’s not like that. My girlfriend broke up with me because we’re going to different colleges in the fall.”

Rohini wrapped the bottle in tissue and slipped it into a bag. “That doesn’t change anything.”

The effects of the potion Kiran had inhaled were fading away, and she felt… ordinary. Empty. “If you hate it so much, why do you sell it?”

The girl’s expression darkened. “It’s a family business.”

Kiran snatched the bag off the counter. “Well, your family might want to consider hiring someone else.”

Keep reading

[akshayar]

I wrote a thing!!

[strictly-indian-fashion]

The Royal Indian Collection by Dar Bushra Couture | SS 2017

Models | Dayana Erappa, Preeti Dhata & Meenakshi Rathore

[demondarlington]

YA LIT MEME » [1/1] AUTHOR » leigh bardugo

“The less you say, the more weight your words will carry.”

[library-mermaid-blog]

Six of Crows | | TV Intro Concept

“I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.” 

[angelthor-archive-deactivated20]

url graphic ↳ requested by @padmaspatil