#JB is writing

[webanglikethat]

We said our legacies were timeless (but we were not): Ram and Devi

Published on: 11/06/24 Also available to read on ao3: here (would appreciate comments and kudos!) (and look at the beginning note) Words: 4,626 Siri please play:

he didn’t know how it had happened.  all Ram remembered was Devi slipping away from the fight and his voice rising above the screams and clashing blades, urging her to run, to find safety. he would have her back, he reminded her, as she finally turned away, his eyes leaving their trajectory only when her shadow was too far to be seen. he released a sigh he didn't realized had been imprisoned within his chest — where an anxious dance had begun to take shape. so he turned around and resumed his fight, finding himself lost in prayers in his mind, a swirl of “please, please let her find a safe place” and “please, please if the choice is between me and her, take me”. Ram wasn’t a fool, he remembered the prophecy, as precisely as he remembered the way her touch felt on his body, a touch that felt like her birthright, as if the stars themselves had conspired to craft them two with the same cosmical particles. he knew the dangers that lurked outside, threatening to leave him bereft of her, the sole object of his reverence, the only one who had seen right through him and decided to still hold onto him. 

Ram was acutely aware of his reputation, after all, thatwas the only thing he had learned to protect in his life. only few had had the privilege of being close to him, and even then, they still felt like a storm trying to batter an unyielding fortress, an interminable fight which led them to wonder, was the prize behind this wall truly worth it? and the answer was always the same two letters. and so, any efforts to draw near to him were met with a barrage of biting comments and a distant, unapproachable presence that he used like a shield to keep others away from him (and keep himself away from others).

the thing is, Ram had always known his place in the world. he was the second heir to the second most powerful dynasty, a legacy that nobody could undo and if they tried, they would die in their attempt. he was a Brahmin, the chosen one to be connected with Mahakali, to interpret the goddess’s will and carry out her every desire — his life didn’t only belong to the last name he carried, but it did to her too. Ram was now nearing thirty, and for as long as he could remember, his life had never belonged to himself. each desire, each longing, each whim, each craving and anything that could show his true self were carefully tucked away, as if locked inside a box with no lock. he had slowly grown accustomed to this self-imposed austerity, wearing it like an iron cloak that shielded him from the frivolities of personal indulgence. to him, wants were mere whispers drowned out by the roaring call of responsibility, a crown he had to wear because its weight was only his to be burdened with. and as the years passed, he became a master of restraint. his heart had become a fortress where dreams dared not to linger (and yet still tried to knock and pleaded to be let into). his sharp tongue, his quick remarks and abrasive demeanors served as sentinels, warding off anyone who might attempt to pierce the veil of his solitary existence. friendships were fleeting, and connections remained superficial, for Ram had little patience for the frivolities of social niceties. he was a man of action, and his purpose left little room for personal “enchantments”. and so, he’d rather make the choice to isolate himself (in the stead of anyone who surrounded him, because he knew it was only a matter of time till they did that), for that was a better route than losing himself to a game of changes and chances. to him, they all were merely an entertainment for his mind, vessels of his jest, a warmth he couldn’t approach. 

but that all changed when he met Deviya. he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it had been about her that changed the trajectory of his existence, but he knew from the first moment that wherever she went, he would’ve followed her. it had been a crazy idea, an even crazier feeling, especially because he knew that in the road of his life, all stones had already been set. but diamonds are known for being the most difficult stone to destroy, and she possessed that same stubbornness and passion, one he never allowed himself to possess. Deviya was the direct opposite of him. she had always been wild, riding away into the sunset even when other looked down at her for her not ladylike behaviour. to her, the phrase “the sky is the limit” held no importance because a limit was a mere rule meant to be broken; and only they knew how much trouble she would always find herself into, as if she was a magnet for it. 

he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he had dreamed of her for five years, replaying his memories of her in his mind, painting her eyes like maple syrup, brown with golden highlights in the walls of his most vital organ. with all the features of her jointed beauty imprinted in his mind, lingering like a tattoo he couldn’t dermabrase (tere bina kya wajood mera?) he drew constellations on her body, a region of chaos that felt like peace to his starving heart. he painted her with a light colours palette, a reflection of how she would always illuminate life itself and he painted himself with dark colours, for balance and equilibrium and to remind her that hers is the light by which his spirits feels safe. if she was daylight, he would be her gloom. not the lonely and hurt type, but the one where you can gather your thoughts and breathe — a safe place some might even say. he wanted to be a place like that for her so badly that he might have reversed the roles.

and it’s ironic how even with all the knowledge and wisdom of the world at his disposal, he still couldn’t figure this out on his own. it was four letters eluding him, the same way his fate was. but he knew deep down that she ought to be with someone who could give her everything she deserved. he knew it wouldn’t be difficult for her to find someone like that, she didn’t even need to try. she could and would find someone who could be free, give her everything she wanted: someone who could embrace her desires, whether that meant building a legacy together or escaping from it. she needed not a spy in the shadows, but a light at her side. and he knew he couldn’t give her that, so why was he still trying? why was he playing this game of chances with her? what were the chances it would work out? for all his prestigious Brahmin status, his luxury and connection with Mahakali, Ram couldn't see the future. he couldn't predict the outcome of this risky affair and couldn't be sure that his efforts would lead to anything more than heartbreak, a feeling as foreign as freedom. his connection with Mahakali was supposed to give him insight, a deeper understanding of the world's workings and the answers to questions no one else possessed. but love, it seemed, was beyond even the goddess's domain. Devi was everything he had ever dreamed of, but he also saw her dreams, her aspirations, and knew that he might never be able to fully meet them. she needed someone who could be everything he aspired to be, everything he might never become.

but what is love if not an abstract concept leading you blindly through life, making you trust in something unseen yet so profoundly felt? it is the courage to embrace the unknown, to walk a path shrouded in mist, guided only by the light of shared dreams and whispered promises. in love, you don't always see the next step clearly. you don't always have the certainty of solid ground beneath your feet. for all you know, the stairs could open up, and you’d fall right into madness, drowning in a river of despair, leaving you stranded and bereft in a foreign land. but that’s the funny thing — you still take the step anyway, because love demands it and you crave it. it asks for your trust, for your belief in the goodness of the journey, even when the path is obscured; because through the midst, you’ll always find the lighthouse — love. so tell him, how was he supposed to un-love her, then? (to unlove her was to unstitch the threads that had woven themselves into the very fabric of his being, the same tapestry that kept him going and made him who he was. and so, to un-love her would be to deny the very essence of his existence, to extinguish the flame that resided in the fireplace of his heart. to unlove her would mark the ending of his existence, the unravelling of his story.)

he remembered the night before all this mess, how he had kissed her in her room; so deeply till he forgot where he began and where she ended. until the beat he heard couldn’t be claimed by only one of them, for both of their hearts danced in unison, playing the same music. he had laid down next to her, tracing his finger on her face, watching her chest rise and fall, wondering if he’d be the one to witness the last of it all. they’d talked about everything, from their past to their future, and he’d seen her blush and decided to tease her, “you’re blushing”, he had whispered, “and so? never seen anyone fall for your charm before?”, she had replied, watching the pink on her face match the one on his. she would’ve been his end, he thought at that moment, as he pulled her closer and kissed her again, as desperately as one would kill their lover before drowning in a blue ocean, as if she was his anchor and his shore. they knew that what they had possessed an expiration date and that it might just be momentary, an imaginary footnote in their stories no one else would know about, but they’d die trying to make it legendary. and so, despite the uncertainty, they revered in every moment together, chasing the fleeting seconds as if they were timeless. they understood the fragility of their time together but chose to live in the now, letting the future worry about itself. 

that was how they had spent that last night together — wrapped in each other's arms, dreaming of impossible tomorrows. they found solace in the small things — the way her hand fit perfectly in his, the sound of his heartbeat when she rested her head on his chest, the way she would laugh at his lamest jokes and shake her head, telling him he was insane. and he was. Ram knew he was difficult, he knew he was insane, but how could one differentiate love from insanity, for is love not the first madness that reigned in this world? for Ram, her laughter was the sweetest melody, her touch the gentlest caress of fate, her kisses the most intoxicating wine — one he could drink from until it ultimately led to his demise. they knew that in the end, it wasn't about the time they had left; it was about how they chose to spend it — loving fiercely, because in their hearts they knew that such a love, even if none of them had dared to utter those four letters yet, though fleeting, was worth every moment, every breath, every shaking hand, every whisper, every beat of their intertwined hearts, every infringement and every fear.

and sure, the most famous love affairs you can think of ended on a happy note, but not all great love stories have a happy ending, and they lived theirs with a fervour that defied and put to shame the beginning and the middle of any of them. 

now standing in the midst of the chaos that had erupted since that night, Ram couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed irrevocably, a moment he couldn’t undo or stop. the room around him was a whirlwind of noise and movement, of screams and clashes, of blood and tears mixing together till he couldn’t feel the difference, but all he could think about was her — how her eyes had sparkled with promises of a future they both yearned for but could not yet or ever grasp. he thought of how just the night before he had promised her he’d always be by her side, even if it meant abandoning everyone else. but where was she? where had she gone? he had been so concentrated on defeating anyone who tried to curse her and hurt her that he had forgotten to make sure he knew where exactly she had escaped to. he rubbed his temples, trying to focus on the present.

“we have to get out of here," a voice called, snapping him back to reality. it was Kamal, eyes wide with urgency. "they’ll be here any minute, and while the three of us can easily defeat them, the rest of the Dozen is left unguarded." Ram nodded, though his mind was still lingering in that room, her scent lingering on his skin, memories of her shaking hands as he had begun the ritual, his trembling eyelashes and her rogue breathing. "I'll be right behind you," he assured, glancing one last time at the door they had come through, the same one she had used to leave. 

as they made their way through the narrow alleyways, occasionally stopping to defend someone or to push away the enemy, he felt a pang of guilt, rooting itself into his heart, taking place into his shaking hands. he had promised her safety, whispered reassurances in the dead of night. yet here he was, leading them both into the jaws of uncertainty, their Iives a feast for it. 

the moon hung high and all he could think was about his desperate hope that he wouldn’t lose her, not to a reincarnation of a star in the same nefarious sky that refused to give them a sign. it was getting late now and he was getting tired. he could feel his bone aching to rest and lie down, yet he could never get tired of her and her mere existence. every time the world exhausted him down to his bones, she was there to filter the bad and alter it into vitality. it was getting late and he still loved her. he had loved her this morning when the birds were singing and she has stepped out the carriage, he had loved her this midday as he awaited her arrival at the temple and noticed her buying earrings at a stall; he had loved her in the afternoon as she was walking around the place with him and she made fun of him for being so nervous; he had loved her in the evening as he was writing and her name filled all his notebooks to the brink. he loved her so deeply that he wished this had happened to him instead, that her fate had been his. hadn’t she been dealt enough pain already in her life? he knew he could take her pain and inject it into his vein, transform her scars into his own, asphyxiate the grief from her heart and drink it like a thirsty man. he longed to breathe in her sorrow, to swallow her suffering whole and let it poison his own blood instead. he would gladly bear the weight of her wounds, let it etch itself onto his skin until he was marked by her struggles. he could cradle her agony within his soul, let it drown him in its depths if it meant sparing her another moment of despair. he wanted to weave her nightmares into his own dreams, face the demons that haunted her, and fight them to his last breath, as long as she was safe. 

but then it happened.

and somehow, he knew it before it happened. he could feel it in his bones, on his palm, an interminable shaking he couldn’t stop, as if her existence was like clematis growing on the walls of his heart and he could sense it desiccating. he heard it despite the distance — her scream as she fell down. and he ran, he ran like he never did before, as if his life depended on it, because hers did. his breath hitched in his throat, every step a desperate plea against the inevitable because he knew, even if he couldn’t see it. the world blurred around him, enemies and friends, rain and buildings merging into a frenetic backdrop of panic and fear. his heart pounded a relentless tattoo in his chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his thoughts. not her, please not her. everyone, anyone but her. please. his lungs burned, a fire of exertion and dread, but he pushed through, because stopping meant accepting, and he couldn’t and wouldn’t accept a world without her. he had promised her to be by her side just a few hours before so he couldn’t leave her, not now and not ever. 

time seemed to slow down, stretching his agony into infinity, and he felt as if he was watching himself from the outside. the silence was deafening, the absence of her voice a cruel confirmation. he finally got outside the temple and saw before his eyes how the dagger had pierced her chest, as blood trickled from the wound, a grotesque river of life ebbing away. his gaze followed the red trail, only to find her hands clutching a matching weapon, driven with finality into her assailant's heart. even in death, she was defiant and her last act was a testament to her indomitable spirit. her eyes seemed to convey a silent triumph, a desperate, unyielding desire to have the final word. that was his stubborn girl, he thought to himself as he ran to her.

he stumbled, knees almost hitting the ground with a force that sent shockwaves through his body. he didn’t care who saw him, he didn’t care what others would say and he didn’t care if for the next days or hours headlines about him and her would be spoken through the mouths of hundreds. all he cared about was her. the world itself could have burned down in flames and swallowed them all, but all he could see was her. Mahakali herself could’ve appeared in front of him in that moment and he would've given away all of his powers, <u>if it meant saving her.<u>

Ram ran into her, pushing away the British Lord, not caring about how it would look to see a member of the Dozen disregard the Governor of Bengali like that. he whispered as he cradled her in his arms, “Devi, Devi answer, Devi.” she could barely open her eyes as she saw him and it felt like a mirage to her, a dream. she couldn’t tell whether it was wishful thinking or if, even in death, all her mind could conjure was him. 

someone tried to strike Ram from behind, using this moment at their advantage, but he stood up and summoned shadows from the ground. tendrils of darkness coiled and writhed around him, obeying his will as a necromancer. the shadows thickened and solidified, forming an impenetrable barrier that separated him from his assailant and the rest of the world. the assailant's blade halted in mid-air as the shadows surged, inky blackness wrapping around the intruder's whole body. the darkness tightened, crushing bone and sinew with force. the sound of snapping bones echoed through the chamber, followed by a guttural scream of pain.

he should’ve done that since the start, he thought to himself. he should’ve protected her as soon as he realised what her destiny was. how foolish they had been to think they could undo it all. he dropped to his knees, cradling her body, not caring about his clothes or the stares he could feel on himself, and the whispers of “she was the traitor! and look.. he must’ve helped her.” they could all go to hell for all he cared, but not her, not her. "stay with me, Devi," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "please, stay with me." her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto his. "I’m... sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "don’t apologize," he choked out. "we’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. just hold on.”

“funny how I said I’d drag you to hell with me, yet I’m going way earlier than you are.” she whispered, her eyes meeting his, trying to mirror the love she felt into his reflection. “you — you damned rakhasi, this isn’t the time for that. please, just... just stay with me, damn it. I can't lose you now.” but for all he tried, he knew that the privilege of knowing her so well had come with one price; having her for too little and too fleetingly. 

his voice broke as he begged once again, "stay with me, Devi. fight, please. you’re so stubborn, so incredibly strong, you can do this.." she reached up, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek, as if to calm him down, even when that was supposed to be his job. "I’m sorry," she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, a gentle sound he never wanted to hear again. "I wanted more time. more time with you."

he clutched her hand, tears spilling freely down his face. "we’ll have more time. we will. just hold on. please." he laid her head on his lap, clutching her body as if the mere nearness of his and hers could have a healing effect, as if he could undo it, reverse time and be the one to have felt the dagger in his chest. “at least I loved you till my very last breath” he felt Devi whisper, and Ram could no longer differentiate between the blood on his fingers and the tears on his face as he kissed her fronthead. “don’t talk like that," he choked out, his voice breaking. "you’re not leaving me. not now, not ever. you rakhasi are supposed to haunt me forever, remember?  but not like this, not like this.” she smiled weakly, her lips barely moving. "you always were stubborn." he let out a desperate laugh, mingled with a sob. "and you loved me for it." her eyes fluttered, her breath growing shallower. "I did. I do. forever."

he held her tighter, his heart shattering with every passing second. "stay with me, Devi. please, stay..” he pleaded, and he didn’t care who heard it, but he begged her, begged the goddess, begged the fate’s string, begged his own self to do something, to change this. a man of his status should never beg, never kneel and never show weakness — that was one of the first lessons he was taught since the earliest memory he possessed. but he looked to the sky, mud on his luxurious clothes, and begged. he begged until his words were a swirl of pleas and her name. but fate is a cruel parent, never giving, and always demanding. Devi’s eyes closed, her body growing still in his arms. he felt the life slip away from her, leaving him in a cold, silent devoid of her warmth. his tears fell onto her face, mingling with the remnants of the colour on her face.

he hadn’t even told her how he loved her yet.

he could hear the screams behind him, Saraswati’s voice as she saw her best friend’s body and the tiger’s roar as he sensed something was wrong with his master. somewhere between it all, he could hear Ian’s voice, but he didn’t care about it all. she had died, and in her death, she had taken him away too. but n one notices a corpse as long as its heart it’s still beating and blood is still gushing. the battlefield around him was a blur of noise and motion, but his world had narrowed to the fragile form in his arms. the once vibrant and fierce Devi laid limp, her life nothing more than a memory. he wanted to wield that same dagger to his neck which was dripping with her blood. the sight of it, smeared with the essence of her life, ignited a wild, despairing urge within him. it was the same dagger that had been a symbol of her strength and defiance, the very weapon she had wielded with such fierce determination, one he had to fight for, the same way she fought for a place in this world. his hands trembled as he gripped the hilt, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood against his skin. he could still feel her presence in its cold, unyielding steel, and the thought of using it against himself seemed like the only way to bridge the unbearable chasm her death had created. he wanted the same lake of vitality that had flowed in her to be imprinted on him, melt into his bones, reach where not even the sun had caressed him, where her touch hadn’t graced him with her golden touch and where it never would. his mind refused to accept the reality, clinging to the faint hope that she might still wake, that her eyes might flutter open and meet his once again. he begged that she would laugh and tell her this was one of her jokes and that she wanted to see whether the so grand Doobay heir would crack under the weight of his feelings and force to admit the to himself. she would wake up and make fun of him, with that intoxicating smile whose shape he could draw even in the darkness. she would sit up, brushing off the blood and grime, her eyes sparkling with mischief. he could almost hear her voice, almost see the curve of her lips as she teased him. she would wrap her arms around him and reassure him that it was all a test, that she was never truly in danger. he imagined her stirring, her eyes flickering open with that familiar spark of mischief. "did you really think I'd leave you like this?" she would say, her voice teasing. "come on, you know me better than that. I’m not our parents”. 

but the truth was, Deviya didn’t wake up. she would never wake up again. and Ram would never get to tell her he loved her back, that she was the utmost object of his affection and that in nearly thirty years, he had never felt so alive as he did when she was around. he would never get to tell her how, before she came into his life, even the sun scorched his hopeful skin, dissipating every ray of hope he had. but she, she was greater to him than the sun itself. she cast a light so strong on his existence that he would have gladly let himself burn in it, if it meant being closer to her. but Ram — he would never get to say any of that. Ram would never get to utter those three syllables or that four-letters word he had been keeping locked inside of him. 

Deviya Sharma had died without knowing his love.

and so, his love had died, unknown and unspoken.

they once had said that their legacies were timeless; turned out they were not. 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist: @haitianempress, @pawaki17luna, @goddessofwonderland, @ram--doobay, @liykaii

[sgtpeppers]

David Angus and Ian Hart as Brian Epstein and John Lennon in The Hours and Times (1991)

"Maybe we torment each other."

[gruesome-beauty]

Stay Down // August 5, 2023

[astrangetorpedo]

my eternal gratitude goes to @lettertoanoldpoet for the screencap. another relic from their joint show in portland in 2016. “if you’re really really lucky” i’m eating drywall, thanks

[halfagod]

to the 3 people who said they wanted to read my irish jb au, it's your lucky day! btw jaime is wearing a slim fit hand-fitted hugo boss suit iykyk

Brienne squints at the digital display on the bus stop sign, palms sweating. Her bus will be here in six minutes, it tells her. For the fifth time, she checks Google Maps just to make sure it’s the right one – the H1 towards Baldoyle. Yes, she is at the right stop. The last time she’d tried this, she’d gone to the wrong side of the road. But this time, she’s done everything right, she’s sure of it.

She exhales, relaxing a little, only to have to jump suddenly to the side to avoid being hit by two young teenage boys careening down the footpath on a scooter. They look over their shoulders to jeer at her as they pass.

Brienne suddenly feels very homesick for Inis Oírr.

She glances back at the bus sign, and frowns. The H1 towards Baldoyle is no longer anywhere to be seen on the sign. Behind her, she hears two elderly ladies tutting.

“Gone again,” one of them says. “Typical.”

“Honest to God, Bríd,” says the other one. “We’ll be waiting twenty minutes now for the next one.”

Brienne stares at the sign, not understanding. It was supposed to be six minutes away. Where could it have gone?

At least she’s not in a rush – she’s only going home from work – but she’s exhausted from her first day and wants nothing more than dinner and bed. She sighs. If she has to wait, she may as well call her father.

She digs her phone out of her pocket, hoping he has signal. It can be very patchy out on the island, but she had never minded that when she lived there.

“Haigh,” she says, when he answers in his customary gruff fashion. The sound of his voice sends another wave of homesickness through her. “Cén chaoi ina bhfuil tú?” How are you?

“Maith go leor,” he says. All right. “Agus tusa? Conas a bhí do chéad lá?” How was your first day?

“Maith go leor,” she echoes. She tells him about her new boss, Catelyn, a kind woman from up north who had recently moved to Dublin after losing her husband. She had hired Brienne to help market her new handmade jewellery business, Abhainn.

It’s Brienne’s first proper job out of college, and secretly she is terrifed of letting Catelyn down. Apart from Catelyn’s daughter Sansa, who helps Catelyn out with social media from time to time, Brienne is the sole person on the marketing team, and she can’t help but feel the pressure.

“Ná cuir an iomarca brú ort féin,” her father tells her, as if he’d read her mind. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. “Béidh tú go hiontach.” You’ll be great.

To her surprise, Brienne feels tears well up in her eyes, and chides herself. She’s just tired and a bit homesick, that’s all. There’s nothing to cry about.

Suddenly, she sees the H1 bus loom around the corner. Miraculously, it has come on time after all. Relieved, she bids her father a hasty goodbye and sticks her hand out to hail it.

She lets the old ladies board first, pulling a crisp tenner out of her purse as she waits. Suddenly, she hears a voice from behind her. A male voice, lazy and amused, with a South Dublin drawl. “They don’t give change, you know.”

Brienne turns, startled, and sees the most handsome man she’s ever seen in her life.

He is older than her, in his early thirties probably, wearing a suit that looks expensive. He has tanned skin, flashing green eyes, and curly hair the colour of beaten gold. His smile is sharp and perfect, revealing a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. He looks like he should be on a beach in Australia, or on the catwalk at Paris Fashion Week, not in Dublin about to get on the H1 to Baldoyle.

“What?” she says stupidly, both flustered that the most handsome man in the world is talking to her and panicked by the information he has just imparted.

The bus driver clears his throat impatiently; it’s her turn to pay. Before she can decide what to do, the most handsome man in the world hands the bus driver a tenner of his own.

“For both of us,” he says, nodding towards Brienne.

The bus door closes behind them, and the bus jolts forward at a speed Brienne had not been prepared for. She catapults backwards, and the handsome man catches her, strong arms wrapping around her. He smells of expensive cologne. She feels a flutter in her belly; she has seldom been this close to a man, and never one this beautiful.

“Wow,” he says, still amused, his voice low in her ear. Even with that accent, it’s an undeniably sexy voice. “You’ve really never been on a Dublin bus before, have you?”

She struggles out of his grip, mortified, and grabs a handrail. He looks her up and down, that cutting smile still on his face, and she is suddenly very aware of the fact that she’s wearing a Penney’s jumper and a shabby green anorak.

Her embarrassment turns to anger. She does not need to be made fun of by some posh, rich South Dubliner who has probably never had to work for anything in his life. She mutters, “Thank you,” shoves her tenner into his hand, and wobbles down the aisle to find a seat, holding on to the handrails as she goes.

To her consternation, the man follows her. “I didn’t mean any offence,” he says lightly, sitting down beside her when she takes a seat. “Where are you from? What was that language I heard you speaking?”

Brienne stares at him in disbelief, forgetting her anger for a moment. “You mean... Irish?”

The man laughs. “You don’t say. I wasn’t very good at it in school. I always thought it was a bit pointless.”

Brienne shakes her head. Handsome though he may be, this man is everything she hates about Dublin personified. “Thank you for paying for me,” she tells him primly, then pointedly takes her headphones out of her bag and puts them on.

The man taps her shoulder. When she turns to glare at him, he hands her back the tenner she’d given him. “It was a gift,” he says, smiling. “I like to help out the culchies wherever I can.”

Hot with rage, Brienne screws the note up into a ball and shoves it back into his hand without a word.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, I’m sorry. I’d give you your change, but that’s all the cash I have on me. Can’t fit much coinage in the pockets of this suit.”

Part of her does want to take the tenner back – she’s painfully broke – but it’s a matter of pride. She does not need charity from some insufferable D4 who thinks her first language is pointless. She stares out of the window, ignoring him, and finally he leaves her alone.

At least until they get to his stop, at which point he taps her on the shoulder again. She grudgingly pauses her music, wondering what he could possibly want now.

“My name’s Jaime,” he informs her, as though this is something she needs to know.

“OK,” she says.

He waits, and she realises he’s waiting for her to give him her name. She doesn’t.

He smiles, sharp as a knife. “All right, culchie. Good luck in the big smoke,” he says, and then finally, finally, gets off the bus.

As the bus moves off again, she watches him stride confidently down the street. What an obnoxious, snobby, gorgeous weirdo, she thinks, and can’t tell if she’s relieved or strangely disappointed that she’ll probably never see him again.

[pjshermann]

advertising post for my upcoming/in progress A Little Life fics bc im so excited about them and need to talk about them :D

just what the doctor ordered (title not finalized)

Fic about Andy and Jude meeting for the first time when Jude is seventeen and has a terrible, sustained episode that makes his friends take him to the campus hospital. Fic follows Andy and Jude through their relationship up until Jude's death

I won't put my child in the dark

Fic about Harold and Julia in the days and weeks and months after Jude's death. enough said about that ;)

Scones

A lighthearted, no angst A Little Life fic???? can you believe it. If you've ever watched Derry Girls you will love this one. I'm taking the scones episode from season two, and putting the Boys in the Hood in a similar situation. College shenanagins involving corpses and weed

Gnossienne

Remember when Jude said his worst nightmare would be for Harold and Julia to find out about his past through a doctors report, a photograph, or a film still? Yeah, that's EXACTLY what happens. woops

No title yet (relatively new idea so yk)

Fic about Harold and Julia meeting for the first time, with Harold finding happiness again after grieving Jacob's passing and his divorce from Liesl. First dates, wedding, and general love !

[brandogenius]

Stranded. (small teaser)

‼️RPF‼️

Julien x singer! Reader - enemies to lovers

(based on one of my requests! 🤭🤭🤭)

Description: after missing your flight to toronto for your next tour stop. you’re stranded in a random city with nothing but $20, a guitar, a suitcase full of clothes and a small tattooed guitarist who seems to not like you very much.

————-

“know where you’re going?”

“of course i fucking know where i’m going” you huffed, one hand on the suitcase, the other hand gripping the phone, google maps displayed on the screen.

“doesn’t seem like it.” you snap your head to glare at the other person beside you. she’s staring at the sky, cigarette between her lips. leaned up against the wall, suitcase settled beside her with the guitar case propped up on the ground.

“have you nothing better to do than complain?” you tilted your head, squinting as the rain splashed down aggressively on your head. one hand over your eyes. the tattooed woman shrugged her shoulders. “s’kinda fun watching you just give out” she gave a nod towards the phone in your hand “stop getting distracted princess. we have places to be”

“we have places to be” you mocked in a high pitched tone as you rolled your eyes “and whose fault is it that we’re in this situation?”

“hey, don’t blame me! blame the taxi cab”

“ oh yeah. i’ll blame the taxi driver who was late bringing us to the airport because you lost your goddamn phone in the hotel room” you waved your arms in the air as your voice got louder

“how could i leave my phone there? it had all my documents, my lyrics and bank details on it!” julien snapped back.

“we missed the fucking flight, julien! a flight to goddamn canada! we’re in california” you sighed loudly, getting more annoyed.

“there isn’t any more flights this week, due to this stupid fucking storm. we’re stranded here and we have a show in two days” you wiped the rain off the phone screen, zooming in to look at the nearest location to a hotel.

“it’s fine-“ julien leaned off the wall. grabbing her suitcase and guitar. “get a cheap hotel for the night, rent a car and drive over to toronto, simple. we’ll make it there in no time”

“that’s easy for you to say” you scoffed, walking ahead of her, following the map.

“it’s true. what’s the worst that can happen?”

[swordmaid]

having insane jb thoughts CURRENTLY. like I am PLAGUED with it.

[falllpoutboy]

Game of Thrones 6.08: "No One" (2016)

NCW: The fact that she tries to give him back the sword Oathkeeper and he kind of says, "It's yours. It's always been yours," the subtext is it's almost like saying, "You keep my heart. It's yours. It's always been yours."

[webanglikethat]

an aftermath of episode 8, a life for a life. (a Devi and Ram oneshot)

also available to read here: ao3 published: 2024-06-06 words: 5,123 btw if you read this and don’t leave a comment a fairy will lose her wings

Devi held herself high, walking towards the garden, almost as if hiding behind dirt and leaves could alleviate her anxiety. she couldn't wrap her head around what had just happened, but she couldn’t let anyone know, she couldn’t let the truth slip … how ironic, how could she demand the truth, if she herself was a vessel overflowing with falsity? and yet she ran, for she knew how to do that the best after all. she had come out of the meeting with Mr Vaish, a meeting whose ending she could not have fathomed, not even in the wildest vision of her most ardent migranes. a meeting in which she had discovered a truth that had been eluding her for five years, a truth hiding right in front of her, a mindgame one might say.

Deviya Sharma was meant to die,and it was a fate she could not escape, for it had been demanded and forged by the Goddess herself.

Devi was going to die when she married Ian.

Devi was going to die, and it was going to be soon.

the prophecy had been clear and crystalline. the stars aligned to seal her destiny, perhaps even long before she drew her first breath, a victim of an inevitability that had haunted her before knowing it. this cruel revelation hung in the air like a haunting melody, echoing through the chambers of her mind, a symphony that could never cease to play from now on. tick tock, tick tock, so the clock laughed in her face, as time went on but she felt frozen in it, trapped in a glacier of her doing. the world seemed to shift beneath her feet, as if the dirth beneath the garden was stairs, and each step was an interminable reminder of the weight of the knowledge she now carried, opening and daring her to fall into the pit of her new reality. the truth, elusive and spectral, had finally unveiled itself. for half a decade, she had wandered through a labyrinth of uncertainty, her heart traveling alongside unanswered questions. but now she knew — and life would never be the same. so what was worse, she wondered, the not knowing or the knowing? which was more haunting, knowing she had been laughing and kissing her lover with an expiration date on her body, or now knowing the expiration date of not only herself, but their relationship too? how could she have not known? even a pig to slaughter would notice. the knowing was a double-edged sword. sure, it provided clarity, putting an end to the endless speculation and anxiety that had lingered in the back of her mind. but on the other hand, it brought a firm finality. the path ahead was now clear, but it was a path she had no desire to walk.

in those five years, she had seen it all; she had experienced deaths, some closer than she could process. she was lacerated with disappointment and she combatted grief, a companion that had accompanied her throughout it all, a constant reminder of that fateful night — the night her brother was taken from her and the flames of arson devoured their joint world, leaving behind an existence bereft of him and all the love she had ever known. her throat closed up as the memories surged back with a visceral force, just another force to add to the list of which she couldn't control nor possess. it was as if she were back in that burning mansion, on that damned mountain, that summer night. she could perceive it all again; from the heat searing her skin to the acrid smoke clawing at her lungs like a tiger approaching his victim. she could hear the crackling of the fire, feel the oppressive heat pushing her towards the brink of suffocation as panic gripped her chest and her heart pounded in her ears as the flames danced in her vision, a relentless specter from her past, an interminable hologram that repeated the same movie every. single. time. so welcome to the manuscript of grief, she said quietly to herself.

act one began, the lights dimmed and the flames rose. Devi could almost hear his voice, her beloved brother, beckoning her to Kamal, demanding of her to run, to just run and not look back, to hide in a safe place because it would be okay. but it wasn't okay, it surely hadn't been okay. Devi could almost smell the charred remains of their life, taste the bitterness of the loss that had settled in her mouth that night. the overwhelming dread, the frantic desperation, the helplessness, the screams, the pair of arms holding her back, scratches of nails as she fought, the clang of jewelry as she shook her face, rain mixing with tears —it was as if she were reliving the nightmare all over again.

but this time it was her life that was meant to flatline, and not his heart. (what a cruel twist, it seems the Sharma family is forever meant to star in a tragedy.)

losing her brother had felt like losing herself, as if a fragment of her soul had been cut away, shattered like their dream of a future in which they could live together in happy bliss. the taste of loss was more than a metaphor; it was a physical presence, a bitter, metallic tang that coated her mouth and refused to leave like a distant relative trying to claim what was hers. sometimes, in the middle of the night, she could swear she would sense it again — that smell of rotting flesh, the blaring and deafening gun, denying her brother of one last wish, an honorable death. and instead of running to him, she ran away, like she had promised him to, but that, my dearest goddess, didn't mean she was able to outrun the guilt. she knew it had been the right thing, the only route to ensuring her family legacy and her own safety, but it gnawed at her like a child tugging at his mother's skirt. she should've been with him that night. she should've protected him, she should've gotten him outside before anyone else, and she shouldn't have let Ram lead her away. this was her brother, half of her soul, the vessel of her blood, the echo of her existence, and she left him. and perhaps, she could have saved him, but the lasting fact is she will never know. and once again, she doesn't know what's worse: the not knowing, the guilt, or the what if, or the knowdlege that his presence had been forgotten, as she escaped the mansion with Ram. he hand't even been a thought in the back of her mind. and what is a sibling, if not the first to love you boundlessly, and the first to leave you shamelessly?

as she reached the end of the garden, hidden away from any gaze that would drown her with snotty remarks, Devi’s thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a tempest, and honestly, she thought to herself, comparing her life to a tempest was an understatement. it was a litote where each one was a fragment of the revelation of her path in life, or more accurately perhaps, the path to her death. the reality she had known, the life she had lived, now seemed like a mere fragile illusion, a puppet show designed for the immortals’ joys. how could she reconcile the world she knew with the truth that had just been unmasked? she couldn't hide it, not to herself at least. tomorrow she would wake up, raise her head proudly, wear her Sharma ring, adorn her body with jewelry others could only dream of wearing in the afterlife, participate in the Dozen's meeting, smirk and hold her foot down as she quickly remarked every word or action from the others, and she would smile as if nothing had happened, as if her life hadn't turned out to be a slaughtering transaction. she couldn't let them know and she wouldn't let them know — because any sign of weakness would be seized upon, a chink in her armor that could quickly unravel the balance of respect and authority she had fought so hard to attain along with the place she had so forcefully carved for herself in society. her presence was no longer personal, it was political. and she would do everything to not lose it, even if it meant losing herself first.

but that is the funny thing about attaching your existence to a role so strongly. the very armor you wear can become your prison. and sure, it gave Devi power and respect along with strength, but it subsequently isolated her from her own humanity. and yet, despite it all, she couldn't fraud herself into forgetting or into pretending this truth wasn't a ghost now living in her room and her mind, occupying every land and surface of her existence, as the British had done with her homeland.

and … how different truly, were the British from her destiny, she wondered. she knew it was a foolish comparison, one that could have her even imprisoned and exiled from the Dozen, because how could one compare the brutality of the invaders to the path forged by the merciful goddess herself? the British, with their seemingly insatiable hunger for power and domination, had carved a path of destruction through her land, leaving blood and hope behind every one of their footsteps. they had plundered and pillaged, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. and the goddess — she was her creator. Devi was her child, but mothers often give birth to victims and not lovers, and Devi felt like a pawn in a game she hadn’t agreed to. so how different truly was the act of the British demolishing her country to the act of the Maharani demolishing her existence as she had known it? how difference is brutality truly, for isn’t it the same, regardless of names, status and history? the essence of brutality lies in its capacity to dehumanize and dominate, to destroy and relish in the chaos, to lead astray and drown the blindly faithful. power, whether human or divine, can be equally merciless. names and faces might change, but even a blind woman would agree that the suffering remains the same.

Devi had always been a fighter as her spirit was unbroken even by the worst trials she had faced. she hadn’t always been like this, but the death of her brother and the crowd of people beneath her, who urged her to give up her place in the Dozen, had turned her into a calculating woman. she had been a gentle and laughing child before, but she had to ice her heart because in a war between compassion and intellect, the winner was clear. “so this was no different”, she told herself. she could swim against the current, forging a new way forward. surely she could undo the reins of destiny, unstitch the tapestry of fate, and redo the prophecy. she has done this before, hadn’t she? she had showed everyone who told her a woman couldn’t possibly lead a family’s legacy that she in fact could. she could manage the finances, she could close a deal with the British Lord, she could gain the respect of Vaish, she could take part in meetings on her own without a guardian. she was Devi Sharma, head of her family, the last one remaining, a legacy standing longer than her grief so she would face whatever challenges came her way with the same stubborn determination that had carried her family through centuries. only time would tell whenever the manuscript of premeditated divine revelation would crumble first, or if it would be her stubborn heart.

as immersed as she was in her thoughts, she didn’t hear his footsteps, but she felt his presence and knew immediately who it was. she could’ve recognized him blindly, deafly even perhaps, though she wasn’t sure how that would work. after all, you do need ears to hear footsteps. she smiled to herself at her own joke. he hadn’t even approached her yet, and she was already joking around, if that wasn’t the premise of their relationship, then she didn’t know what it was. a lighthearted back and forth of teasing, of kissing between droplets of wine, of hiding behind curtains and dancing in front of thousands, of chase and run, of passion and a joy she wouldn’t have ever imagine.

Ram stood a few paces away, his expression a mix of concern and quiet determination, a mix she hadn’t seen before. his face used to be a shrine of teasing, of smirks and small smiles, which never truly left his face when she was around, but this time it was different. «Deviya», he said softly, his voice breaking through her reverie. he rarely called her by her full name, it had always been either Devi or Rakhasi — so called man-eaters monsters, his stupid yet loving nickname for her. but what better setting to use her name? so she turned to face him, her smile fading as the weight of the prophecy settled back on her shoulders. his fingers grazed her cheeks, as he often adored to do. that was the thing with Ram — he would always find an excuse to touch Devi; whether it was holding her hand to lead her somewhere, brushing his fingers over her cheek, cupping her face, putting a hand on her waist to surprise her, “trapping” her against the wall to kiss her, putting his finger on her lips, tracing words in her hair. it had always been a game of push and pull, of hide and seek. but it seemed now, they had been found and couldn’t hide, not from destiny, not from Ram’s duties as the goddess’s will’s interpreter, not from Devi’s imminent death. just uttering those words aloud asphyxiated the teasing out of Ram.

«Ram», she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. but Ram could see the turmoil in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty that had taken root — for it was a twin to the one in his own eyes. for how much she could try and hide it, Ram wasn't called a seer for nothing. he put his hand around her waist, bringing their bodies closer, as if the warmth of his body could ease the coldness of this reality, their new reality. «we can change this», he reassured her, but his eyelashes betrayed his calmness as they were shaking.

Devi let out a shaky breath, her eyes searching his, analyzing the face she had gone from finding annoying to being her only anchor in her slowly unraveling madness. «change this?» she echoed, a hint of her usual defiance creeping into her voice, the one he had learned to poke and to adore. "and how exactly do you plan to defy destiny, Ram? by charming the goddess with your smile? because that’s too egoistical even by your standards” she arched an eyebrow, looking directly at him with that signature smirk he had learned to trace even with his eyes closed at night, when he missed her the most.

Ram chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her, a sound she wishes she could trap into a bottle, perhaps a box, so wherever she went, she could have him with her. «if only it were that simple, my dearest demon. it might have worked with you, but I don’t think it will with her» he murmured, his hand sliding up her back to cradle her head. «but I’m serious. together, we are stronger than any prophecy. we will find a way. there is no way we were connected by Mahakali, if not because there is a way, an escape. nothing she does is ever a mistake, our connection is inescapable» his fingers grazed her lips and she leaned into his touch, her fingers gripping his shirt as if holding on to him could anchor her in this storm. «always the optimist„ she teased him, «you know, despite all the fun you make of my rule breaking streak and finding trouble even with eyes closed .. if this were a game, you'd be the one breaking all the rules». «and you'd be right there beside me», he countered, his lips brushing against her forehead, letting out a barely audible sigh. «my partner in crime, my rakhasi.» Devi's smile widened, her heart lifting slightly at his words. «well, someone has to keep you in check», she quipped. «we can’t have you, Mr Doobay, running off and getting us into more trouble than we are already in.» he laughed again, a rich, warm sound that made her momentarily forget the prophecy, as she wanted to just drown in it. Devi knew how to play many instruments, knew many dances, but she had never came across a tune she liked so much that she wanted to replay it and replay it until she went deaf from it. «I wouldn't have it any other way, miss Sharma», he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. «we will face this together, Devi. no matter what comes. I will be by your side, even if it means abandoning everyone else’s.» 

Devi shook her head slightly, as if he just told her a joke, «how can you be by my side, when we are akin to spies in the shadows? we can’t shine in the daylight. you can’t be seen with me, I can’t be seen with you .. well not like this. we are both heirs to different legacies, so how can you promise me this?» she said, her voice shaking on the word promise. what were promises, if not meant to be broken? her brother had promised her it would be alright, but it hadn’t been. it hadn’t been, not since, not ever again. so how could she trust another promise, from another man, once again? but what she didn’t say was how she deeply dreamed to shine in the light, to raise her head proudly, him beside her, and shape her own destiny so whatever they had wouldn’t be a secret but kept akin to a prayer. for what distinction exists between the tender caress of a beloved upon her visage and the heavenly benediction bestowed upon the devout? what semblance does religion bear if not the tender embrace of her lover in the nocturnal hours? and what is prayer is not if not the fervent plea of "remain with me" uttered in the hushed dawn's embrace? what is love, if not the first religion you put your faith in?

«what are promises worth, Ram?». she continued, her tone filled with a bitter edge, shaking away her thoughts. «my brother promised to protect me, to keep our family safe, and look where that got us. promises are just words, easily broken and forgotten when the weight of the world comes crashing down. why should I believe that your promise is any different?», she asked him, almost immediately regretting the vulnerability she had let slip, like a secret she couldn’t contain. but it was alright, for she knew he would keep this moment their secret, as they already did with their relationship. it seemed they were both amazing liars and thieves of truths, just how ironic.

Ram didn’t hesitate for a single moment and pulled her closer, his embrace a fortress against the world, as if the weight of his body against her could calm her turmoil, as if that nearness could be healing. (to him it was). his gaze softened, as it often did when his thoughts traced back to her. «I can’t promise that it will be easy, or that we won’t face more challenges. we both are too smart to believe that. we could die trying, our names could be dragged into the mud if this was ever revealed, but I can promise that I will stand by you, fight for us, and never let you face anything alone. I know that together we have the power to redefine what our legacies mean and rewrite the story. lion and falcon, remember? we can take both the earth and the sky.»

Ram couldn’t believe his own words, since when had he become so sentimental? since when did he began thinking of offering himself to bear her weight? when had his mindless teasing turned into emotions he couldn’t put a label on? all his life Ram had known one thing; relationships weren’t meant to amuse or to revere. they were to carry their surname, carry the weight of their household, carry their legacy. relationships weren’t personal, they were political. an alliance, a partnership, a confederation of sorts, an union for a greater good — a good that was never considerate of his own. 

but with Devi, everything was different. her laughter, her fiery spirit, her unwavering determination, her endless teasing, that raised eyebrows accompanied with her smirk, her eyes when she felt passionate about something, her quick remarks around him — she had so quickly become more than just a fleeting companion in his hidden world. he always joked that she was caught in his trap, but he now realized that if she was flame, he was the moth. the more he tried to distance himself, the more irresistibly he was drawn to her light. that was why he always searched for her in a herd of people, that was why he searched for her condescending smile during the Dozen’s meetings. Ram had always prided himself on his control and his ability to navigate the dance of duty and expectation with precision. but with Devi, all of that seemed to fall away. her presence ignited something within him, a longing he had never known, a longing he couldn’t put a name on. or maybe he could, but he wouldn’t admit it to himself. Ram had always believed that his life was predetermined, a series of obligations and roles he had to fulfill. it wasn’t a matter or if or when. it was a clear road ahead, made of stones he couldn’t turn around and demolish. he had to carry their name, get married, have an heir, and watch the story repeat, unfold in front of his eyes for decades to come. yet here he was, offering promises he never thought he’d make, driven by an impulse he couldn’t ignore, standing in front of a woman he shouldn’t pursue. now he knew; being trapped by her was more freedom than he had ever known.

Devi looked up at him, taking in the scent of lavender and sandalwood, a scent that already felt like her own when he pulled her towards him, «those in charge bend the rules to their will. you are my equal, and .. don’t you dare laugh», she interrupted her sentence, thinking Ram would make fun of her, of little miss Sharma comparing herself to a Doobay, but he didn’t tease her so she continued «we have enough power to change rule to suit ourselves.» Ram's eyes softened as he listened. there she was, the Devi he knew, the one who was able to find escapes in the darkness, solutions to problems no one else could. that was his girl, but for how much longer he wondered. «Devi, I've never doubted your strength or intelligence. you’re not just my equal; you're my partner in every sense.» Devi smirked, raising an eyebrow. «in every sense, huh? so does that mean you'll finally start taking my advice instead of just pretending to listen?» Ram chuckled, a teasing glint in his eye, «only if you promise to stop 'accidentally' forgetting our religious rituals.» and what he didn’t tell her was how often he found himself thinking of her during those, how his eyes searched for hers, just to catch a glimpse of her walking past him. in those moments of chanting and solemn tradition, Ram’s mind often wandered to her, more often than he’d probably admit to anyone, himself at the top of the list. while others were lost in prayer, he found himself lost in thoughts of Devi. (and what is love, if not a prayer? what is a prayer, if not thinking of the one you love?). he would remember the way her eyes sparkled with defiance and mischief, how her laughter could light up even the darkest of days. he would remember how she awkwardly flirted with him when she lost the bet with the Basu twins and how he enjoyed teasing her and seeing the pink in her cheeks, a shade of roseate he could wear everyday. he remembered hearing the wildest stories about her; of her running away riding a horse and getting injured, of closing a deal along with the British Lord, of creating trouble when she couldn’t find any. so he sough her out, lingered between doors to catch a glimpse of her, pretending forgetfulness had put roots in his mind just so he could turn back and linger in her presence again. catching her had become quite a challenge, one he was willingly participating in. in his almost thirty years of life Ram had never known a sentiment even coming close to this. he had always deprived himself of feelings, for he knew he was but a pawn in a game out of his reach, and he had accepted it. as a Seer, he was expected to support Mahakali’s will, under any circumstances or situation, but here he was, defying this one simple rule for a girl he knew he couldn’t have. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t die trying. after all, Doobays are known for being stubborn. (so in a way, he is carrying the legacy by being stubborn, isn’t he?)

Devi chuckled and nodded, «I suppose I’ll attend, as long as you’re there too» and what she omitted was how grateful she was for him. she knew he was a mere mortal like her, but sometimes it felt like he possessed a healing power in addition to his Seer skills. a power that she could feel flow in her vein whenever he reassured her, a power as intoxicating as his words were, and she was but a drunk girl, hanging onto every word, the way a spider hangs onto its web.

Devi flashed a mischievous grin, and added «you know, Ram, for someone who's supposed to be the great interpreter of the goddess's will, you're looking a bit too serious today. did you forget to consult the stars this morning, or did they just refuse to cooperate with your grand plans?» she chuckled softly, her teasing tone a welcome relief amidst the weight of their conversation. «or perhaps I’ve been spending too much time daydreaming instead of focusing on my duties», he countered, a playful glint in his eyes, leaning in closer to her. «who needs duty when I can have the thrill of chasing after you instead?» he replied, watching the pink glow on her cheeks reappear and gods, he swore he’d love to die in a sea of that same shade. Devi arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. «well, in that case, you better keep up, Mr. Doobay. because this rakhasi isn't one to be caught so easily», she declared, her voice lowering, as she challenged him.

and so he took the challenge, as he finally kissed her, her lips on his, her arms around his neck, anchoring themselves to each other like doomed lovers drowning. their lips met with an urgency born of desperation, of “stay with me” hidden on their eyelashes, of “I will” on their noses grazing axis. Ram’s lips, soft and inviting, were a sanctuary that Devi sought refuge in, her own lips a testament to the depth of his longing. how could they kiss like this, if their relationship was a mere fleeting teasing object of foolish affection? they held onto each other as if they were dissipating colors and it was okay, as long as their shadows were inked together, imprinted on an immortal book of their story. each movement was a silent plea for their love to defy the cruel hand of fate. and as she felt his smile against her lips, his fingers tightening their grip on her waist as he could transcribe his fear of losing her in that simple act, Devi knew that whatever happened, it would be alright. if her past was engulfed in flames, he was the soothing stream, quenching the fires of uncertainty. if all she had ever known was a lie, the shadows of them in this moment were the only truth she believed in. «it will be alright», she told herself, and she didn’t realize she had said it aloud until she heard Ram whisper «it will be» back.

and so, at her soon to-be-grave they stood. they knew better than to beg or fall on their knees, pleading to the sky, to their creator. but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to redo the prophecy. destiny after all is just a tapestry made of stitches, and even the greatest pieces can be undone. and if not, if the threads refused to be shattered, at least they would live with the certainty that they, in this exact moment, had existed. Deviya Sharma and Ram Doobay had existed on this day, on the day where life and death had swirled into one. they had existed on this day, and they had tried, for love is trying, trying and trying, until your last dying breath. even as the threads of their existence began to unravel like cards, they knew they would have had each other on this day. and though the threads may never break, and their love may fade into a non existence, lingering between expiration and life, in this moment of certainty, they knew they'd never be bereft of love, even if they refused to utter those four letters — those two vowels and two consonants they weren’t ready to concede and confess. all came in pair of twos — vowels, consonants, mouths, eyes, hands, promises; Deviya and Ram.

falcon and lion, sky and earth, wings and roar — Deviya and Ram. the game has just began for in death one learns life, in drowning you learn the shore, in a trap you learn resilience. their fight had just started. but for now, they would hold onto each other, for their embrace was a temple of their crafting, a religion they wouldn’t let crumble. if their destinies were anything but not each other, the pen was in their hand and they’d craft another.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist: @liykaii

[jb-nonsense]

Convalesce Chapter 2

Rating: T Ship: Gale Dekarios x F!Tav Warnings: Depictions of illness Summary: An outbreak of pox has struck Waterdeep and Gwenifar van Hol has found herself helping at the Hospice of St. Laupsenn. She does her duty and heals who she can, but her most challenging patient yet is brought in. Tag List: Ask to be added

[crashromance]

hitting the lads with the babygirlification beam

[musing-and-music]

The name was a knife, twisting in her belly

Chapter 4

Summary: Brienne grows up in Tarth with the pain that Jaime Lannister’s name inflicts her each time she hears it. She grows up hating her soulmate for his actions and for the pain she feels because of him.

In the dungeons of Riverrun, she finally meets him, and lady Catelyn charges them both with a quest that will change her pain into something different.

Rating T | 8,8k words | Chapter 4/? | Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, POV Brienne of Tarth, Canon-Typical Violence, Tywin Lannister A+ Parenting, This story doesn’t really care about the general plot of ASOIAF, Implied Future Sansan, Implied Future Gendrya | Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth

[batsplat]

hiii your weekly sete ask:

wow his 2005 season was really Cursed affggghjk. like what do you mean he’s 7th with 7 retirements (more than that years top 4 combined) but also is the only guy aside from valentino in top 7 to not finish lower than 5th place…..

valentino was the curse really worth it being runner up to capirossi and melandri TWICE and in a row (joking)

haha... yeah... 'retirement' in motegi... definitely wasn't so eager to seal the title at honda's home race that he made an ill-advised overtake attempt on melandri and cleared them both out... two completely unrelated dnf's... haha...

anyway!! yeah!! valentino would make that trade with you all things considered - always got on well with capirossi, with melandri admittedly you have the whole drama of melandri thinking valentino switched up towards him... but tbf you do have to say valentino was impressively dogged at keeping melandri's first win at bay for as long as possible. the six races valentino doesn't win that year are estoril (very wet, kinda just settled for second), laguna (unfamiliar with the track and would never be one he really liked, finished behind the two americans who knew the track well), motegi (crazy how we'll just never know how that dnf happened... oh well let's move on), sepang (a bridgestone-dominated weekend, sealed the title there though), turkey (hampered by a poor start) and valencia (my god is he mid there, also he tried to smash himself up before the race which I swear he does like. repeatedly at that specific circuit. guess he knows he has the off season to recover)

the way the curse shakes out is that for the rest of sete and valentino's careers, whenever they both finish a race valentino is ahead. not a single exception! not one! but the thing is, right, sete's actual finishing position of seventh in the championship in 2005 is extra cruel because it... just is not representative of how competitive he was that season? this is where it becomes useful I have my 'curse tally' notes... 2004 we've already covered, 2006 is more depressing than fun (how is your luck so bad your ambulance crashes into a bus fifty metres before the hospital entrance), but 2005? oh yeah that sete season is fucked. do you know who won the best qualifier award that year?

narrator: he did not win his home race on sunday

you can also read the qualifying prowess from the average grid positions, and it's not even particularly close. sete averages 2.82 for the season, ahead of valentino at 4.12 and hayden at 4.29. he bags five pole positions, exactly as many as valentino. his average finishing position when he actually makes the chequered flag is 3.6, the third best that year behind vale's 1.44 and melandri's 3.5. unsurprisingly, 2005 is the only season this century where the strongest qualifier does not win a single race. that just isn't a thing that happens!! it shouldn't happen!! this is not a man who was suddenly slow. he also hadn't been particularly crash-prone in his previous honda seasons... one dnf in 2003, two in 2004... and seven in 2005. a nightmare

which raises the question... okay, not winning races is one thing, but what the fuck happened to sete? if you're not just slow all of a sudden, how are you suddenly dipping from p2 to p7 in the championship standings? so. *cracks knuckles* *gets out notes* let's go one by one and tally up exactly how sete's season went wrong (parentheses used to indicate grid positions, e.g. 'g2', and finishing positions, e.g. 'p2')

jerez (g2/p2): after a feisty start, sete leads the entire race up until three laps to the end - when valentino executes his overtake and looks all set for the win. but valentino makes a mistake on the final lap that lets sete back past, and he's frantic in his attempts to correct the error... it looks like sete might have this one won, until valentino steals it from him at the last corner, barging him aside with one foot off its peg. (more on the final lap here.) valentino's victory, immediately controversial, is followed by various post-race theatrics as the spanish crowd voice their displeasure and valentino rubs it in their faces. on the way to the podium, valentino breaks the fourth wall to mock sete for clutching at his shoulder - which he is then forced to walk back in estoril as it turns out sete had actually been injured (clips here). more on this, from broadbent's 'ring of fire':

(details of the gresini/zerbi dispute included below the cut)

estoril (g2/dnf): an increasingly wet race - conditions in which sete has always been excellent in (first 500cc race was won in the wet too). sete's shoulder is still injured from the jerez collision and he'd crashed that weekend already, but he leads comfortably at the start... it's always tricky to be in the front in those conditions and he ends up crashing out of the lead in lap 16 out of 24. would valentino have been so comfortable settling for the podium if sete had still been in the race?

shanghai (g1/p4): another wet race, this time at a new circuit. perhaps sete's confidence was dented by estoril, or perhaps he just wasn't quick enough in the conditions. he doesn't get the ideal start from pole, though he briefly runs ahead of valentino - before vale overtakes him and disappears into the distance. for most of the race, sete runs second, until eventually wildcard jacque overtakes him. with a few laps to go, sete's suddenly losing speed... it looks like he's dealing with some kind of mechanical issue and he's shaking his head down the straight. on the very last lap, his teammate melandri overtakes him for the final podium position. after the race, sete said he had already felt on the warm-up lap that something was wrong with his tyre, and that it was all he could do to minimise the damage and coax the vibrating tyre to the end

le mans (g4/p2): sete had won the two previous races at this track, beating valentino on the final lap in 2003 and extending his championship lead in 2004. this year, both sete and valentino get quite a poor start, and exit the first few corners seventh and sixth respectively. valentino starts his charge to the front before sete does - and sete's progress stalls for a bit when he makes an absolute hash of one of the chicanes. eventually, valentino is on the rear tyre of his teammate edwards, but takes his sweet time overtaking him.... sete hunts them both down, firing in lap records as he muscles his way to third, and valentino is quickly informed of just who is catching him. valentino overtakes edwards, but edwards quickly gets him back - which opens the door for sete, who slips past for second. the three once again converge and valentino eventually manages to get sete back. edwards runs it a little wide and valentino squeezes past, with sete able to take advantage of the open door to get through too. they quickly gap edwards and as sete stalks valentino, the commentators hype up the prospect of revenge, of 'payback time'... valentino takes a new circuit record on the final lap to hold sete off. he extends his hand for sete long enough that sete eventually acquiesces - in doing so affording valentino a courtesy his rival had not extended to him at sepang the year before

mugello (g2/dnf): this time last year, the first public cracks of the valentino/sete relationship were just starting to show. but a fight for victory between the two of them was not to be this time round. sete keeps p2 off the line; after some opening lap scrapping that includes a valentino overtake, sete is still in p2. then his teammate melandri rudely forces him wide while overtaking, so that sete briefly drops back to fourth - before muscling his way past capirossi and into third. he tussles a bit with biaggi... but ends up crashing on lap five. it already feels like curtains on any championship aspirations

catalunya (g1/p2): before the weekend, valentino says he believes melandri and biaggi, not sete, will be his main championship rivals. sete starts on pole, with valentino likewise on the front row. valentino gets a somewhat poor start... by the end of the first lap he's back in the mix at the front. the first few laps are frantic, with melandri leading most of them and making his teammate's life, uh, unpleasant - but eventually both valentino and sete make their way back and break away from the field. soon after, sete gets past valentino and leads the race. for a while, it looks like he's breaking away from valentino just a little... eventually, it becomes obvious valentino has just been biding his time. with three laps to go, vale eases past down the main straight into the braking zone of turn one, and immediately proceeds to destroy sete's circuit record on dying tyres. he wins the race fairly comfortably from there

assen (g2/p5): juan martinez, sete's crew chief, is taken ill on thursday with a migraine. he recovers to come back to the box on saturday, but unsurprisingly the team is on the back foot as a result. (remember, martinez used to work for valentino, and he is someone valentino explicitly blamed for what happened at qatar 2004.) sete starts reasonably well from the front row, second early on behind his teammate melandri before eventually falling behind hayden. meanwhile, valentino has gotten a typically atrocious start and gave himself a bit of work to do. sete eventually makes his way back past hayden - but unfortunately lets valentino through too. at the end of the seventh lap, valentino gets past sete at his beloved final chicane. after that, valentino goes on to win the race while sete languishes in fifth

laguna seca (g13/p5): sete executes a strong comeback ride, besides losing a duel to biaggi which I suppose is a new low. but the main thing I have to bring in at this juncture is one of my favourite sete's moments. this is from broadbent's 'ring of fire' again, in the context of the re-introduction of laguna to the calendar and the discussions around that. just remember that valentino has been tormenting sete for like, over half a year, and sete has not lashed out at valentino once publicly. but here... he finally snaps - and takes it out on the real enemy: marco melandri

quick friendly reminder that melandri was sete's teammate that year

donington (g2/dnf): the race is held in truly appalling conditions. sete - who, remember, was a known wet weather specialist - takes the lead early on. he crashes on the third lap, one of ten riders not to finish the race. after wobbling about in the front-running pack for most of the race, valentino eventually takes the lead before pulling comfortably clear. he mimes playing the violin while crossing the line; this was interpreted by some as mockery of his less fortunate rivals, which valentino refuted

before the race, valentino took another opportunity to twist in the knife:

"when I see gibernau I always want to arrive in front of him" uh huh

sachsenring (g2/p2): valentino had quite a few problems with his bike that weekend, with a tricky build-up to the race. initially, hayden gets the holeshot, as valentino starts piling up the pressure and sete gets stuck in traffic. but the race is red flagged - and while hayden again gets the holeshot at the restart, valentino quickly disposes of him and sete soon does likewise. sete swiftly overtakes valentino ("'take that', said sete gibernau, 'I mean business'" says one of the commentators) and leads from there, with valentino in hot pursuit. for a few laps, valentino ends up behind hayden - and once he gets past him again, he's seven tenths down on sete with six laps to go. valentino closes in and on the very last lap, sete goes wide into the first corner, letting valentino through

always thinking of the suggestion valentino was intending to overtake sete at exactly the same place he had been overtaken in 2003 (from here):

brno (g1/dnf): despite the summer break in between (where sete reportedly did a lot of training), this might as well have been a direct continuation of the previous race. sete leads out front as valentino determinedly muscles his way into second place so as to not let sete escape. on the very first lap, valentino overtakes sete - in a section of the track where sete was planning to overtake capirossi if capirossi got the holeshot (more on how forthcoming sete was being to the commentariat here and here, icl when I replied to those asks I didn't remember quite how bad it was). on the third lap, the two exchange a few overtakes, and then it's sete in front. valentino makes a mistake to give sete a bit of breathing room and almost let the pack swallow him up, but he escapes again to get on sete's tail. around halfway through, valentino takes the lead - and then, with just over four laps ago, valentino deliberately slows down and practically invites sete to go past, before slotting back in behind him. valentino takes the lead at the final chicane of the penultimate lap, setting the stage for a final lap showdown, except sete is beginning to lose touch... and then he slows down. sete has run out of fuel

japan (g7/dnf): all eyes on valentino - who starts from eleventh for his first matchpoint race - as he starts making his way through the pack. on the first lap, valentino's already made his way past sete for sixth. tragically, all footage of the race after this point was erased so we will simply never know what valentino got up to after this point in time, but sete reportedly crashed on lap eleven. "gibernau's wretched season continues, when will it end for sete gibernau... it's almost a year now since valentino rossi put that witch's curse on him at qatar and said he would never win another race, you've got to wonder..."

sepang (g2/dnf): as the riders storm down to turn one, sete and hayden make contact and barely keep their bikes upright - sete is knocked down to sixth. valentino ends up right behind him on the first lap once again, but gets stuck behind him for a little longer as sete works his way past hayden... before sete and nakano go down when the former attempts to overtake the latter on lap two. "sete gibernau's appalling season continues...." - sete begins to walk off before sinking to his knees in despair

qatar (g2/p5): back to the place where it all started. sete deploys some feisty riding to keep that second place off the line against both valentino and hayden. he takes the lead from capirossi on the third lap and valentino takes advantage to immediately force his way into second - ready to exert pressure on his enemy. but sete builds up a healthy advantage as his teammate melandri increasingly puts pressure on valentino. melandri and valentino exchange overtakes as sete's advantage ebbs and flows, eight tenths at one point while his two rivals tussle. could this really be the "resurgence of sete gibernau"? with six laps to go, valentino shows his front wheel to sete, but it gives melandri the opportunity to get past. as valentino attempts to return the favour, melandri cuts off his nose and causes valentino to almost run into the back of him - payback for motegi, which makes valentino run wide and almost fall back into the clutches of hayden. it looks like it will be a fight between the two gresini riders for the win as valentino is 1.2s back, but he quickly claws his way back into contention and is helped by the gresini duo scrapping. and when melandri has another go at sete, sete runs on into the gravel... "the man who has cracked once again is sete gibernau" "and I'm sure both marco melandri and rossi are smiling under their visors" from the commentary team - valentino snatches the win once again, with sete finishing a disconsolate fifth

phillip island (g3/p5): so much for another front row start, with sete getting battered around to fifth through the first few corners and quickly being pushed down to sixth by his teammate. from there, it's an unspectacular ride to fifth, as valentino claims another victory

turkey (g1/p4): another start from pole, but melandri gets the jump on him from the start. sete puts pressure on melandri and eventually gets back past to take the lead...... and then goes wide and runs it into the gravel. he recovers from sixth to a painful fourth. "you can just imagine valentino rossi grinning, can't you, behind his visor, when he saw that happen"

valencia (g1/dnf): once again, sete starts from pole.... surely, surely he has to win one of these? valentino starts from fifteenth on the grid, which you'd have to say is as good a chance as you're going to get to catch a break from the man. sete is shuffled down to third on the opening lap but is right on the tail of melandri and hayden, setting the field's fastest lap on lap two. on lap four, sete slows down... "and the spaniard's wretched season could end in the only possible way, another disappointment at his home round and yet more misery for movistar" - an engine failure. his teammate escapes out front while sete works through his grief on the side of the track

so, having assessed the evidence in an appropriately scientific manner... well, yes. sete was kinda fucked. you have plenty of bad luck, you have races where he's simply not fast enough, you have races where valentino forces the issue and beats him in a straight fight, and then you have quite a few races where sete makes a clear 'unforced' error. it's not even necessarily the crashes that are most painful - with sachsenring, qatar and turkey standing out as real low points, times when he feasibly could have had valentino (as well as his teammate, who he also dislikes) beat. his wet weather dnf's will also have been a bitter pill to swallow, as well as valentino's lovely habit of snatching circuit records as he pulls clear from sete right at the end of races. and all the while, valentino is happy to taunt him with his failures, reminding sete again and again of how he is no longer the challenger he once was. all the while, the narrative of the curse gathered momentum, ever more likely to make its way back to sete. with every failure, the pressure grew. there's got to be at least ten races where sete on pace could have been in victory contention, five races where he bags pole, fourteen front row starts... not a single actual win. and that's how you put together a curse, kids

here's the gresini/zerbi dispute:

Movistar Honda team manager Fausto Gresini sent an open letter to the media on Thursday night in response to a private letter sent by FIM President Francesco Zerbi to MotoGP riders Valentino Rossi and Sete Gibernau following last weekend's clash during the Jerez race. Mr Zerbi´s letter had invited the riders to reflect upon the incident, and to remain as positive examples for all MotoGP fans - asking them to fight fairly and without will of revenge. The FIM President also wrote that he didn't see any infringement to the rules, but stressed that this kind of situation shouldn't be repeated. The comments made by Gresini were: "I fully agree with President Zerbi about the fact that sportsmanship is the most important thing. There's no room for bitter feelings between two great riders, but in the meantime, I'm still perplex." "In this letter, Sete and Valentino are treated equally as if Sete had some responsibility in the facts, and I can't agree with that. I believe there is a contradiction when the FIM president writes 'there isn't anything to reproach you for from a legal point of view', and then warns that what happened in Jerez must not occur again." "It means that we're still far from a situation where all have equal rights, in a sport as dangerous as ours," concluded the Italian manager. [here is the presidents response]: Dear Mr Gresini, I should not respond personally to your open letter given to the press, but through the intermediary of my lawyers; however, considering that I subscribe to the rules of courtesy and that I believe private life is a right that no-one can deny, I am not going to enter into a controversy - an easy one given the ridiculous arguments in your letter. The only thing that I want to stress and which, as a man, mortifies me is that I am mistaken in my judgement of men. And that I say on an individual level far more than on an institutional level. With much bitterness, Francesco Zerbi FIM President NB: I am sending this letter to the press because your employee, by violating all principles of education, more so than of law, did not hesitate to betray the confidence that had been granted to him.

like "with much bitterness" why is everyone in this sport so dramatic. what was everyone on this year

[shellxrls]

and maybe when jb is especially frustrated he’ll just bark out orders, getting r on top of him so she can do all the work, but actually she’s gonna have a girl either side of her moving her hips for her. yeah.

jb mouthing off at you and forcing it inside so u bottom out after barely any prep at all, and your waterline is wobbling with tears but he refuses to give up any comfort :((( so u gotta rely on the two girls either side of you to gently coax ur hips to move and start kissing on ur neck and rubbing your nipples until it finally feels better :((

[jonathanbyersphd]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Background & Cameo Characters Additional Tags: Between Seasons/Series, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Frogs, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, High School, Teenage Rebellion, POV Jonathan Byers, POV Nancy Wheeler, POV Jim "Chief" Hopper, Breaking and Entering, Heist, Debauchery, Dorks in Love, Romantic Comedy, two freaks against the WORLD, jonathan's gonna steal 100 frogs, nancy's gonna stand by him, hopper's gonna lose it, Title from a Taylor Swift Song Summary:

When faced with an impossible task, Jonathan decides that it's up to him to come up with a plan to save the day. What follows can only be described as teenage rebellion, an urban legend in the making, and quite possibly the strangest date Nancy's ever been on.

Or 'Jonathan Byers would release the frogs before they get dissected btw'

“dont just say this fic we ALL KNOW ITS THE GRAND PRIX THE SWAN SONG THE FROG HEIST” - @leslie057