#any feedback welcome

[thfckhappened]

This is daisuke's lyrics I wrote it's shorter then anya's cuz I kinda got stuck but I hope you still like it

I fell from a star in the sky up above and now I'm here to cheer you up I'll make you smile like it's my job, that's the only thing I'm good for Cuz I'm just a useless ray of goddamn sunshine and I'll try my best to brighten your day

I can't burn forever so I'll shine as bright and fast as I can before my light flickers out

I have no form of passion and I wander around aimlessly

But I can make you happier you if you just chose to deal with me

I may not be able to do anything useful but I'll try and act like I do

You say I could have taught you something but I could have learned to

To do things right like you to find place in life but I guess that doesn't matter now

May we never go to hell but always be on our way

I'm sure it didn't mean much but I always hang onto everything you say

I look up to you, I'll talk till our ears bleed and you'll grow to hate me, I'll hang onto everything word even when it hurts I'm sorry

I just want you to like me

that's the only thing I'm good for Cuz I'm just a useless ray goddamn sunshine and I'll try my best to brighten your day even if I'm not okay

I can't burn forever so I'll shine as bright and fast as I can before my light flickers out

I have no form of passion so I wander around aimlessly

That's why I'm here

Mom was hoping you would whip me into shape

I hope she doesn't think she's to blame

I prefer anya's but my friends said it was really good so I decided to put it still

[ambiguous-sanskars]

Hey y'all I'm super late to the party but I finally watched RRR and needed to write something~ This is a little canon-divergent post-whipping scene where Ram decides to visit Bheem in his jail cell and tell him everything. First shot at writing anything for this fandom, hope y'all like it!

Read on AO3

“Bheema.”

Bheem jerked awake at that voice - and then immediately regretted it. With consciousness returned the searing pain coursing through every fiber of his body. His bloodstained dhoti clung to his legs, and for some reason that made it hard to breathe. His chafed wrists had begun to heal, and the clotting blood had glued them to the ropes that bound him. He tried tentatively to move an arm and cried out in pain.

“Shh. Your left shoulder is dislocated. Don’t move,  I’ll help you.”

Ram stepped out of the shadows. Bheem struggled against his chains, trying to move away.

“No, don’t-” Ram’s voice cracked. “Bheema, please.”

Bheem froze. “What do you want?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“They’ll kill you.”

“You- what about Malli? Why didn’t you-”

“I’ll tell you everything. Just let me untie you for a minute. It will help with the pain.”

Bheem stayed still as Ram knelt at his feet, unlocking the cuffs around his ankles. Then Ram stood and pulled out a pocket knife, using it to slowly peel the ropes away from Bheem’s wrists. Bheem choked back a whimper.

“I know, I know it hurts. I’ll be gentle. Lean on me, Bheema. Take deep breaths. You can do it.”

Bheem pressed his forehead into Ram’s shoulder, breathing through clenched teeth. 

Ram decided to distract him by telling him the truth. By the time the second rope had come off, he’d told Bheem everything - his training, his parents’ deaths, his mission, the atrocities he’d committed in the name of liberation. He explained, shamefaced, how he’d used Bheem as a pawn to get this position. He fought down a wave of nausea as he tried to justify not helping Malli sooner.

And then, when he had cut off the last bit of rope and officially run out of reasons to avoid Bheem’s gaze, he looked up.

Bheem was staring at him in horror. Ram didn’t know what else he’d expected.

“So anyway,” Ram continued. “I’m getting you and Malli out of here. I’ll have to kill the governor to do it. He doesn’t suspect me. If it stays that way,  I’ll survive and return for the weapons. If he puts two and two together…” Ram let out a shaky sigh. “God, Bheema, please say something. Anything.”

To Ram’s astonishment, Bheem got to his knees. With his uninjured hand, he clasped Ram’s feet.

“Annayya,” Bheem choked out. “I tried to kill you. Forgive me.”

“Bheema!”

“I did not understand your great purpose. I did not know what you had gone through to get here. At every step I made things harder for you, and you still came back for me. You are so merciful, Annayya, so good-”

“Enough,” Ram managed, fresh tears springing into his eyes. He took Bheem by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet, watching him wince at the injuries Ram had inflicted on him not even a full day earlier. “How can you say such things? And after what I did yesterday?” Ram tenderly brushed a hand over the lash marks on Bheem’s side, causing him to shudder. “If anyone should beg for forgiveness, it is me.”

Bheem shook his head, leaning weakly into Ram’s arms. “Annayya, I should have understood you, like I always have. I should have trusted you. Forgive me.”

Ram brought a hand up to cradle Bheem’s head, trying to steady his own breathing as Bheem sobbed quietly into his shoulder. He would get them out of this alive, Ram vowed. And when he did, he would apologize to Bheem properly. He would make sure that as long as he lived, Bheem never knew pain again.

But for now…

“Bheema,” Ram began, hating what he was about to do. “We have to relocate your shoulder, okay? Will you let me do that?”

Bheem nodded, looking at Ram with implicit trust. It made Ram sick with regret.

“Okay, here, lie down. This is going to hurt, Bheema, but you cannot cry out. There are guards out there not twenty meters from us. If they find me here, neither of us will make it out alive, understand?”

“Annayya…” Bheem whimpered, finally letting fear into his eyes in front of Ram.

Hot tears streamed down Ram’s face, but he knew what he had to do. He climbed over Bheem’s supine body, using his knee to brace Bheem’s clavicle. He positioned his right hand over the dislocated shoulder, and pressed his left hand tightly over Bheem’s mouth. He counted to three and then pushed with all this strength.

Bheem’s body spasmed under his, but Bheem did not cry out. Ram quickly clambered off Bheem and crawled on his hands and knees to a corner of the cell, retching silently. He had committed innumerable acts of torture before, but nothing had ever gotten to him like this.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his cheek.

“Annayya,” Bheem said softly, turning Ram’s face towards himself. He shook his head, wiping away Ram’s tears with a gentleness of which Ram felt wholly undeserving.

Ram got to his feet, taking Bheem’s hands and walking him back to the bloodied chains and ropes. 

“Bheema, I need to tie you back up. Not properly, just enough to avoid suspicion. The ropes will be loose, and I won’t lock any of the cuffs. Tomorrow, when they come to get you, you will be able to break free easily, okay? Remember the plan. Wait until you are by the forest to escape.”

As Ram went about securing the chains, Bheem’s eyes filled with tears.

“Annayya,” he begged, unable to bury emotion with reasoning. “Annayya, don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me.”

Ram made a wounded sound. His hands continued fastening the ropes.

“Annayya, I swear I will listen to everything you say. Have mercy, take me with you.”

“Quiet, Bheema.”

“Annayya, I’m sorry. Forgive my past transgressions. Don’t punish me by leaving me here alone. Annayya, please!”

Ram dropped the ropes in agony, gathering Bheem into his embrace. Bheem clung to Ram’s trembling frame, understanding how Malli must have felt when he left her behind. Understanding how utterly helpless Ram must be feeling now. He took a deep breath.

“Go,” Bheem whispered into Ram’s shoulder.

Ram pulled back, taking Bheem’s face in his hands. He pressed a long kiss to Bheem’s forehead. Then he stepped out of the cell and locked it.

Ram gripped the metal bars and caught Bheem’s teary gaze.

“Bheema, do you trust me?”

“Always, Annayya.”

“Then believe me when I say that this time tomorrow, you and Malli will be free.”

Ram turned to leave.

“Annayya, that is not enough.”

Ram froze.

“Promise me you will be with us.”

“Bheema-”

“Swear it. Swear it on my life.”

“Bheema!”

“Please, Annayya. I will never ask you for anything else. Just this. Just you.”

As long as he lived, Ram thought, he would never understand what he had done to deserve Bheem. He reached through the bars and placed his hand on Bheem's head. 

“I swear I will be with you. All three of us will make it out of this alive. And then, Bheema, I will see to it that suffering never touches you again.”

With that, Ram turned and disappeared into the night.

______________

@fangirlshrewt97 your writing for this fandom inspired me to try so I figured you might be interested? Please lmk if you don't want to be tagged!

[pinbones]

Real talk though. Cute or creepy?

[prideknights]

(What we have in mind for now are black dragons, with low density silver glitter, silver enamel, so that the pride flag pops)

[corrodedparadox]

Been planning on doing woven tapestries in the future and I’m trying to settle on a few designs I think would translate well. Would yall fuck with these as tapestries? Or does something else catch your eye

[setmeatopthepyre]

Third Act [ now also on Ao3]

They've just evacuated the last of the factory workers when Incident Command calls for total evacuation. Structural integrity can no longer be guaranteed, everybody out. Eddie, who has their patient's other arm draped over his shoulders as they help the man limp to the nearest ambulance, grins at Buck. "Now that's what I call perfect timing."

"Yeah," Buck agrees, maybe a beat too slow, distracted by the number on the turnouts that just darted past them. The name under the 217 started with the wrong letter, the person's shoulders too narrow, height not quite right. Not that he's looking. Not that he's been looking. Not that it would matter if he was. With the enormity of the factory and the spread of the fire they have on their hands, the chances of running into a particular individual are small. Besides, if he's here, he's more than likely at the other end of the staging area, with the helicopters that are being refueled and awaiting instruction. Not that Buck's been looking. Or paying attention to any of that. At all.

They've just handed over their patient to the paramedics when their radios crackle to life once more, this time to confirm that all first responders who had entered the building are safe and accounted for.

"Thank God."

Buck turns to find Bobby has come up behind them, has clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder, a relieved smile lighting up his face under his helmet. And. Yeah. Buck smiles with him, feels terrible for a moment for being so preoccupied when he should just be damn grateful for how their day - night, now - has panned out. Despite the enormous structure, despite how fast the fire spread, despite the upgrade from a three to a four alarm fire when it became incredibly clear the building was not up to code, despite the flammable materials housed in the far end of the structure, (despite the whir of helicopter blades overhead reminding Buck of him, despite the way he had to force himself not to stop and listen when a headcount for the 217 went out over the radio) they got everyone out alive. Some of the factory workers were in critical condition, others would be touch-and-go for a while, but they got them out alive and that was all any of them could ask for.

Perhaps it was too big an ask.

There had been a few moments in Buck's life in which he'd wondered if the universe had it out for him, was just waiting for him to be happy, let down his guard a little, so that it could pull the rug out from under him and send him sprawling. Choking on breadsticks on Valentine's Day. Choking on blood at his own welcome back party. Choking on his own nickname in his own loft as. As he walked out the door.

It feels like he's choking again. Buck watches the faces around him fall when dispatch tells them they were wrong, that there's still two people inside, on the top floor. When the IC responds that there's nothing to be done, the lower floors are ready to cave in, it's too unsafe. When a familiar voice crackles over the radio, saying there's a chance, if they land a helicopter on the roof, get the last two people out from there. That he'll do it.

"Absolutely not, firefighter pilot Kinard. That roof is ready to go any minute now, and you want to land a bird on it? That's a suicide mission. Stand down, that's an order."

There's a static crackle, as if someone, as if he, is weighing his options before he speaks. Buck doesn't breathe. Doesn't think he could if he wanted to.

"If there's any chance they can be saved, I have to try."

And Bobby meets his eyes, still tries, "Buck-", but they both know there's no version of this moment in which Buck doesn't grimace apologetically, doesn't turn, doesn't run faster than he's ever ran before.

He's gone, long strides, lungs burning, everyone and everything he passes a blur. He bumps into someone, yells "Sorry!", he thinks, isn't actually sure that's what he does, eyes set on the rotor blades looming dark against the orange cast of the fire in the distance. It's hard to tell if they're moving, what with how the light shifts in the dark, what with how his vision has become narrowed to that single point, and the dull roar in his ears could be his own blood pounding, could be the commotion that comes with a scene like this, could the be panic rising like bile in his throat.

For one insane moment, he thinks he can hear the sweeping crescendo of an orchestra, thinks, hysterically, like sprinting through an airport in the third act of a romcom. Thinks, I should tell Tommy. Realizes what he's hearing is that dull roar shifting into the high whine of rotor blades gaining momentum and thinks, Oh, god, Tommy. And then, in a blink, he's fighting the dust in his eyes and being buffeted by wind and his hands find purchase on the titanium hull and he's hauling himself inside.

With the wind gone, it's like he's suspended in stillness for a moment. Stillness, not silence, because helicopters are loud and the sound is everywhere, like a physical sensation. Or maybe that's just how it feels to be in close proximity with Tommy again. Tommy, who is staring straight ahead, punching buttons, flipping a switch, and Buck isn't sure Tommy's even aware of his presence until Tommy's reaching back, headset in hand, not looking at him at all, gaze still firmly on the dashboard.

Even when Buck has the headset on, the roar of the engine finally dropping away, Tommy doesn't acknowledge him immediately. The set of his shoulders is stiff, determined, defensive. He lets out a sigh. "What are you doing here, Buck?"

Buck carefully ignores the name, ignores the way Tommy still can't look at him. Squares his shoulders, even if Tommy can't see it. "I'm going with you."

There is a moment in which Tommy doesn't respond, simply finishes the last of his pre-flight checks. When he speaks, his voice is carefully deadpan. "You know we're probably going to die out there."

Buck can't help it, shoots back before he can think about it. "Figured this way I can prove I want you to be my last."

It works. Finally, Tommy turns. Meets his eyes. Breathes out. "Evan."

And Buck knows it's a ridiculous moment to smile, but it's like a weight falls away from him and he can feel his chest expand in a way it hasn't been able to since "See you around, Buck."

"Like you said," he amends. "If there's a chance at all, I have to try."

Buck doesn't think he's imagining the spark of hope in Tommy's eyes, the twitch of a smile, before Tommy turns back to his controls and the ground falls away beneath them.

[leclerity]

stupid gets you killed

Charles Leclerc x Girlfriend!Reader count: 1.1k words summary: Charles and you have an emotional conversation after his reckless driving at a race. a/n: a short but angsty one, with a happy ending!

It could’ve been the end.

The way it felt, it almost was.

You watch as the red of the Ferrari and the green of the Aston Martin come close, inches apart, with Stroll nearly putting it in the back of your boyfriend’s car. Everyone around you gasps and for a split second, you see them touch and Charles’s car fly off into the grandstands – but that doesn’t happen. They don’t touch. Charles drives away unscathed, though you know that won’t be the end of it.

“That was too close,” says Arthur, shaking his head at the screen.

“He won’t like this too much,” you say and grab a pair of headphones lying around, listening in.

Everything is okay with the car, Bryan Bozzi says.

That was not okay! Charles screams. Who does he think he is?! Driving like an idiot… He should know better!

Keep your head calm, you’ve got forty laps to go.

You take off the headphones and tell Arthur what you just overheard. He shakes his head again, but you both know there’s nothing the two of you can do about it. Charles has been under pressure, ready to burst at any given moment, running second in the championship with maybe—maybe—a chance at something more. Anything that threatens it… Well, it throws him off.

You’re just waiting for the moment it happens.

The race keeps running, you listen in to the radio every so often, and his complaints and agitation are getting more obvious. He’s driving riskier, not caring enough about tyre management, and there’s a few moments when his car gets a little too close to another car.

He finishes in fourth. It’s not where he wanted to be but it’s better than out of the race, you tell yourself. There was a few moments where you held your breath, waiting to see if the anger is going to slip into careless mistakes, and it made you angry. Your boyfriend is better than this.

When he finishes the race, you run straight into his arms. “You did so well! I’m proud of you.”

“I could’ve done better,” he says.

“I know,” you say, and kiss him again. “Next time.”

Charles kisses you, too, before going to speak to others in the garage, keeping one eye on you at all times. You know he’s being hard on himself, but you see his clenched jaw, sunken shoulders, and you know this is going to be a tougher one than usual.

He’s in your orbit the most of the evening, glancing at you even when he’s in the media pen. You can hear some of the questions he’s being asked and a lot of them are about the incident and about his dangerous driving he nearly got a penalty for, and you can already hear the regret in his voice. He looks at you every time it comes up, as if he already knows how much it upset you.

At your side, Arthur gives you a nudge. “Are you going to talk some sense into him when you’re back at the hotel?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

“That was scary.”

You nod. “Too scary. I get the pressure and all, but…”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “I don’t want to feel like I might lose my brother because he’s being angry and stupid.”

When you get home, you get dinner – he does the perfunctory celebrations and goes back to the hotel, where you’re waiting with him with your guys’ favourite takeaway. He had some time to hang out with the other drivers and now it’s time to hang out with you… But not before you give him a piece of mind.

He knows something’s wrong the moment he enters the hotel room.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you say.

He frowns. “Okay. You sure?”

You give him a long look.

Charles sits down next to you, looking exhausted but ready to devour the food – but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits with his elbows on his knees, hands held together. “It’s the race.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s why you’re giving me attitude.”

“Mhm.”

“Is it because of the Stroll incident?”

You shake your head. He should know better and he does, it will just take him a moment.

He sighs and leans into the couch, a defeated look on his face. “I should’ve handled it better, right?”

“Yeah.” You put a hand on his thigh. “Driving like that, Charles… You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I would’ve been fine.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Babe—”

“Don’t babe me,” you say, shaking your head. “You got angry and…. Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed.”

Charles opens his mouth and closes it, knowing fair well that there’s nothing he could say in his defence that would make you change your mind. He sees it all on your face, you know it – the terror you’d gone through waiting to see if his anger will make him slip up, make a mistake; the threat of losing him.

He takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it, before placing it on his chest, right where his heart is. “Y/N,” he says, gently. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me.”

“I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“It frightens me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I just—The thought of you—”

“I know. C’mere.”

Charles gives your hand a gentle tug and then your head is on his chest and his arms are wrapped around you, keeping you warm and safe. “I’m sorry for scaring you. My job is scary, but I shouldn’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”

He kisses the top of your head and you feel a few tears escaping down your cheeks, and he holds you even tighter.

“I’ll be less angry next time, I promise,” he whispers. “Less stupid. For you. Okay?”

You nod instead of answering, and he pulls your chin up with a gentle finger, and then he’s wiping your tears and kissing you gently, promising over and over again to never make you feel like that again – and he doesn’t.

[atthecenterofeverything]

the essay is finally out!

in which I try to delineate a harm reduction approach to self-harm and a rejection of capitalistic conceptions of cutting, substance use and other behaviors parsed as self-harm; in opposition to the imposed necessity of recovery, sobriety, and the monitoring (self-imposed or not) in all discussions of self-harm.

full body autonomy for cutters now!

[9hours9persons9bottles]

Its gotta say a lot that i'm at an age my life should be 100% within my control but there's still so much ambiguity

Fuckin incredible

[zelliphies-art]

School gala, aged up version ✨

I loved chapter 96 so much 🥰

[faeryaesther]

Down The Line ㅡ With Jannik Sinner

Looking back at Jannik Sinner's 2024 season from a slightly different view; kits and his looks off the court in tennis settings. The new world number one offered multiple different looks with some interesting takes. This zine brings you a closer look at his on and off court fashion, from multiple of his sponsors, mainly Nike and Gucci.

Digital Magazine | GDrive (maximum quality)

Tag (read tags below): @songganna & @shapovalovvs

[ambiguous-sanskars]

Post-canon fic where Ram fulfills his promise to protect Bheem and they finally talk about the whipping scene. Sequel fic to this one. Hope y'all like it!

Read on AO3

Ram had been trying, unsuccessfully, to apologize for seven months now.

With Scott’s death and the ordeal of Bheem and Malli’s captivity behind them, they had managed to return to their loved ones and create some semblance of a home as they continued the seemingly endless fight for independence. Sita, who had trained by Ram’s side since childhood, turned out to be an even more skilled marksman than Ram; she quickly took charge of instructing their fellow rebels in rifle technique and maintenance. 

Jenny, too, had come back with them. Her courage proved invaluable as she planned and executed back-to-back espionage operations into various British strongholds, accompanied by a handful of comrades posing as “servants.”

After Ram’s scare with the deadly snake, Bheem had taken a special interest in training everyone in the ways of the forest - how to hunt, how to hide, what plants were safe to eat, what herbs were medicinal, how to find potable water, and how to recognize venoms and formulate antivenoms.

Seeing the responsibility that had weighed so heavily on him for so long shared among many capable hands, Ram’s burden was finally eased. Unfortunately, this left him with more time than ever to sit around and think about what he had done.

Several nights a week, he would wake up screaming - sometimes for Sita or Jenny, but mostly for Bheem. They would all rush in to comfort him, to prove to him that they were alive and well, to light the lamps and show him that there was no blood on his hands.

Ram figured he might believe them if he could get Bheem to forgive him. But every time he so much as took Bheem’s name with that intent, Bheem would see right through him and avert the conversation.

It would be one thing, Ram thought, if Bheem just didn’t want to forgive him. The idea that Bheem did not even consider him guilty was unbearable.

One afternoon found Ram particularly unable to concentrate on strategic work. He set his notebook aside and picked up his rifle, intending to exhaust his restless mind into submission by joining whatever drill Sita had designed to push the trainees to their limit today. 

He walked to the living room and sat on the couch to lace up his boots. In their tiny kitchen, Bheem was helping Malli with her math homework as he rolled out dough for rotis. On the woodstove sat a pressure cooker.

“What’s in the cooker?” Ram called.

“Bheem-anna is making dal for dinner!” Malli replied.

“Malli, concentrate,” Bheem chastised. “So to do this sum, you need to carry the one-”

“Bheema,” Ram said, walking up to the kitchen doorway.

“Annayya?”

“I’m going to the training field. Make sure you put the pressure regulator on the cooker, okay?” Ram indicated the small metal weight by the sink.

“Yes, Annayya.”

***

When Ram came home a few hours later, he knew instantly that something was wrong. There was nothing in particular that gave it away, just a gut feeling so intense that Ram thought he might pass out.

In the kitchen, Bheem and Malli were laughing, homework forgotten as they danced to a song of their own invention. As Ram rushed in, Bheem picked Malli up, swinging her around playfully. She squealed in delight.

Then Ram’s eyes fell on the cooker in the corner. It looked exactly the same as it had when he had left. 

No pressure regulator.

Ram leapt between Bheem and the cooker. He shoved Bheem and Malli to the ground, sheltering them with his body just as the cooker exploded behind him.

As the hot steam and boiling water scalded his shoulders and back, causing his skin to erupt in red, angry blisters, Ram spared a brief thought for the karmic justice of it all. The arms that had wielded a whip against Bheem deserved to burn.

A scorching piece of metal slammed into Ram’s head, cutting right to the bone. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was blood dripping onto Bheem’s face beneath him.

It’s not his, Ram thought in relief.

***

When Ram awoke, he was in his dimly lit room, lying on his stomach with his head turned to one side so he could breathe. He felt small hands smoothing a salve onto his back, so gentle he could have been imagining it.

“Malli?” he rasped.

“Ram-anna!” she gasped softly. She set a bowl down on the nightstand and circled around so they were face to face. “You’re awake.”

“Malli, can I- can you help me sit up?”

Malli frowned. “I don’t think you should do that.”

Ram laughed hoarsely. “Please, Malli. I want to see you properly.”

She relented, propping up a pillow and holding Ram’s hand as he struggled to sit up. With every movement, he had to consciously bite back a shout.

When he was finally settled, Malli let go of his hand and reached for the salve. Her lip quivered.

“It hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”

Ram huffed out a smile, too exhausted to lie convincingly. “Who made this?” he asked instead, gesturing at the bowl in her hand.

“Bheem-anna. He said it’s good for burns.”

“Where is he?”

“He went with Sita-akka to bring us food.” Malli cocked her head to the side and grinned. “All the rotis drowned in the explosion.”

“Malli, don’t make me laugh,” Ram warned with a chuckle. “I can barely breathe here.”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who can’t breathe.”

“Just wait till I get better. I’ll tickle you so much-”

“You’ll never catch me!”

“That’s fair,” Ram acknowledged. “You’re pretty fast.”

Malli settled herself on Ram’s bed, putting her head in his lap. Ram moved his hand to rest it on her head, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Malli,” he said after several minutes.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Ram-anna?” Malli looked up at him in confusion.

“I- I was there that day when they brought you to the mansion. I should have helped you. I should have taken you back home. I’m sorry it took so long.”

She sat up, observing Ram thoughtfully. “You saw when they brought me there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want to help me?”

“Yes, Malli. More than anything.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ram squeezed his eyes shut. “I had to trick them. I had to make them think I was on their side.”

“So you could get the weapons to fight them?”

Ram looked at her in surprise. Malli may be a child, but she was sharp beyond her years. “Yes.”

“Then you shouldn’t be sorry. Bheem-anna is right.”

“Right about what?”

“Bheem-anna says that you can do no wrong.”

Ram felt his eyes brim with tears. Bheem said that? After everything that had happened? How had he managed to forget the sting of the whip when Ram could still feel the burn of the handle in his palm?

“Ram-anna, you’re crying!” Malli said, kneeling up on the bed to dry his tears. “What hurts? I can help, I have medicine.”

Ram shook his head miserably. “Where is he, Malli?”

“One second, I’ll go see. They should be back by now.”

Minutes later, Bheem entered the room at a full sprint. “Why are you sitting up?!”

“Bheema-”

“Lie down, you’ll make the pain worse!”

“Listen-”

“Wait, let me re-apply the salve, it will provide some relief and then-”

“Bheema!” Ram seized Bheem’s hands as he tried to reach for the salve. “Breathe. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Bheem drew a long, shuddering breath. “Annayya…”

“I’m okay.”

Bheem refused to meet his eyes. “Why did you step in front of the cooker like that? It was my fault, I would’ve borne the consequences. I would have protected Malli.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Then why-”

“I made a promise, remember? I swore on your life that I wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

“Don’t,” Bheem sobbed, bringing Ram’s hands to his eyes. “Don’t keep your promise like that.”

Ram cupped Bheem’s face tenderly, wiping away his tears.

“Bheema,” he began.

Bheem looked up, reading Ram’s intent. “Annayya, let me get you some food from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

As Bheem stood to leave, Ram grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

“Stay.”

“Annayya, I’ll just be a minute,” Bheem tried to twist his hand out of Ram’s grip, causing Ram to gasp in pain.

“Stay,” Ram repeated before Bheem could react, “because I need to say-”

“No, Annayya, please-”

“-that I am so, so sorry. Forgive me, Bheema, because God knows I will never forgive myself.”

Bheem sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to speak for several seconds. Finally, he whispered,

“The whip hurt less than your words, Annayya.”

Ram drew an unsteady breath. “You don’t remember. The way you cried out-” The memory snatched the air from Ram’s lungs, making him choke. “The spikes digging into your skin, your blood pooling at my feet - these will haunt me as long as I live.”

“Annayya,” Bheem’s voice cracked. “Why do you torture yourself with such thoughts?”

“You trusted me, Bheema, and I betrayed you. It doesn’t matter the reason.”

“Annayya, I am yours. You were just doing your duty. But even if there was no reason, you have every right-”

Ram silenced him with a steely gaze. “No one has a right to hurt you. You are not a pawn in some greater fight. You are not a sacrifice. You are a person. Forgive me for ever behaving otherwise.”

“Okay,” Bheem buried his face in Ram’s chest, trying not to bawl like a child. Maybe it was a little silly, but after surviving the captivity of colonizers, to be seen as a person suddenly felt overwhelming. “Okay. As you say, Annayya.”

Ram wrapped his arms around Bheem, ignoring the way his nerves screamed in protest. His heart was full, and a laugh bubbled up out of him. His Bheema forgave him. What more could Ram possibly want?

“Jenny-akka wants to know if you both are coming for dinner,” Malli said from the doorway.

“We’ll be right there,” Ram said. “And Malli - thank you.”

Malli put on an exaggerated thinking face. “Mm, okay. I guess you’re welcome. This time.”

As she turned and left, Bheem looked up at Ram in confusion. “Was that a threat?”

“Unclear. She is not to be messed with,” Ram said. “Get up, Bheema, let’s go eat.”

[muffinlance]

Crochet Pattern: Rollable Isopuppy (Giant Isopod Dog)

Crochet an isopuppy! As cuddled in Salvage; story and pattern both by me. Whether you’ve read the story or not, treat yourself to a Very Good Dog. You deserve it. <3

>>> Get the pattern here! <<<

[id: Photos of a crocheted isopuppy (giant isopod dog) from various angles. It has the head and tail of a dog, with isopod legs, shell, and antennae. It is a very Good Boi. End id.]

Also that is now my site for patterns, both sewn and crocheted (Dragon Zuko is also up there), so. Subscribe if you're interested in that. If you're interested in my writing, that's at this site. Also I'm on Ravelry now.

>>> Isopuppy Pattern! <<<

[leafsfromthevine]

are we about to kiss rn? (based on that one photo... you know the one)

[evermoresversion]

Brat taming jere x reader who acts out

example“stop acting like a brat or I’ll fuck that attitude out of you”

MDNI, JEREMIAH FISHER. +18

PAIRING Jeremiah Fisher x Fem!Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | JEREMIAH'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

"Kiss me." He ordered, looking into your eyes.

You shook your head, denying him your gaze. So he cupped your face in one hand, squeezing your cheeks to make you look at him.

"I said fucking kiss me." you knew he didn't like it when you disobeyed him so you denied once again to annoy him a little. "Stop acting like a brat or I'll fuck that attitude out of you."

"Make me."

Then a graceless smile crossed his lips.

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?" The only thing you knew was that from one moment to the next, Jeremiah took you into his arms and put you on top of his bed, he stood on top of you and with his hand on your neck, giving a little pressure, he kissed you lustfully.

He broke away to remove your clothes while you tried to take off his shirt, he grabbed your hand to stop you and looked at you, admiring your entire body when you were naked and completely at his mercy.

"Now, this is what's going to happen." He kissed your neck as one of his hands made its way between your legs. "I'm going to eat out this pretty pussy until you beg and ask me to stop like my good girl would, do you understand?"

Before you could respond, his head was already between your legs, leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs making you sigh.

He left kisses around your center but never there, just when you were about to tell him to stop teasing, his tongue gave a long lick to your entrance.

“Oh shit…” you sighed, squeezing your eyes closed, losing yourself in the feeling of your boyfriend’s tongue on you.

He continued his attack, making you flinch. Your senses were drunk on him, you were dazed and could only see white.

He sucked on your clit, lengthening your orgasm but then the overstimulation started to come.

It felt so fucking pleasurable and painful at the same time.

"Baby please..."

"Now I'm 'baby' right? If you want me to stop you know what to do." His fingers continued to move inside you, your thighs tightened around his head to try to push him away but he had more strength than you, so he kept you still and in your place.

Your breath caught in your throat and you couldn't articulate another word other than his name.

"Jere..." your chest rose and fell as you once again felt your second orgasm approaching. "please, please, pleaseeee, "I'll be your good girl, I'll be good, please, love."

"Just give me this last one and I'll stop."

And that's what you did, you rode up the high moaning and gasping his name.

Finally he separated, you could see in your somewhat blurry vision how he licked his lips, cleaning the leftover of your arousal and ran the back of his hand over his mouth as well.

He positioned himself over you again, placing his hand gently on your neck, looking into your eyes with adoration.

"Kiss me." He asked gently this time and this time you obeyed him.

He hummed between the kiss, smiling. "Good girl, now if you don't mind I want you to cum on my cock." He mentioned unbuttoning his pants and you smiled softly, taking him by the back of his neck to bring his face closer to yours and kiss him again.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2023.

[the-troll-book-of-mormon]

i think about dave having chronic pain from his upbringing a lot, and wanna see more disabled dave strider rep, so i figured i'd start doing my part :}