#amrut rambles

[khwxbeeda]

Date Ideas: Desi Edition

I'm in my TS Lover Era and I need some Pune date ideas so uh.. enjoy my thinking process ig

A proper date: dinner and drinks. Proper manners and polite conversation over good food and good beverages/drinks. You and your date pretend to be very serious adults with very serious jobs, and when you walk out of the restaurant you share a secret laugh as if you've pulled the greatest prank ever.

Chaha date. Standing on the side of a road under the insufficient cover of the chai stall with your fingers gripping the edge of plastic cups or mud tumblers, taking a deep sniff and closing your eyes at the smell of veldoda that wafts up. Looking up and catching their gaze already fixed on you, and looking back down, feeling the heat spread over your cheeks. You attribute it to the chaha's steam, but you know that's a lie. When you look back up, they're wating for you. They wink, and you nearly drop your cup, making them stifle a giggle.

Kulfi date. It's a crowded lane and you cram into the little hole in the wall kulfi parlour that's been there since your parents were children, excited smiles on both your faces. You order laal peru and request them to sprinkle chilli powder on top. Your partner gives you a dramatic scandalized look that has you cracking up and orders a sitafal kulfi without the chilli, please and thank you. With a lot of whining and teasing and mischievous smiles, you finally get them to taste your kulfi, and it ends with them ordering it for themself. You lean back in your chair and grin smugly even as they roll their eyes.

Book thrifting. Hands held, you walk into your usual book shop, a smile lighting up your face at the familiar smell of mogra and yellowing pages that hangs in the little room. It's a tiny shop in the basement of a shady old plaza, but it always has the best second hand books. The idea is to buy a book you think the other will enjoy, and then discuss them when you are done reading them. You pick up Ruined by Paula Morris, because you remember the three M's that your date swears by: Magic, Murder and Mystery. This is a perfect blend of all three, and you rather think they'll enjoy it. When you meet them at the counter, they have Nashtaneer by Rabindranath Thakur in their hands. You both grin at each other.

Juna Bazaar is as crowded as always. You giggle as they grip your wrist and drag you from shop to shop, rambling about their lecture in college. The sonchafa that you had tucked behind their ear is still there, and it makes something warm settle in your heart. You keep your mind on the mission though: buy three of the most interesting things you see, and then explain why you think it is interesting. They gasp and snap up a beautiful crystal vial like a magpie. It turns out to be kajal, made the traditional way. "You have to!" they insist, "it'll look so good with your pretty eyes!" You turn red and accept the little wand, dragging it between your eyelids. When you're done, your partner stares at you with their lips parted. Just as you're about to wave in front of their eyes and ask if they're okay, they lean forward and steal a lightning-fast kiss. "Too darn pretty for your own good, you are."

Camp area date! You two take a whole day to just stroll through Camp, pulling each other into random shops and cafés, looking at everything and eating from restaurants and roadside stalls alike. Your partner drags you deep into a sketchy looking plaza, and you find a clothing shop that sells the most random fashion items. You go to an ittr and perfume store. You visit Pasteur Ice Cream, Cafe Peter, the chaat stalls near Clover Centre and the barbeque corn stalls a little ways from Kumar Plaza. At the end of the day, you go home and show each other all your purchases; they bought you a bejewelled purse that goes with that one pair of your heels and you squeal over it, you bought them a chandan attar because you remember them mentioning it being their favourite smell and they immediately rub it over their wrists with a bright smile.

The two of you are tucked into a little corner of the garden. Sitting on an old bedsheet with several lunchboxes filled with bhel, samosa, kaju katli, shrikhand, slices of mango and watermelon and a bunch of green grapes. Your phone plays a familiar tune— Ishq Wala Love, and you're mouthing the lyrics in the most dramatic style that you can, revelling in the laughter of your partner. There is a mogra cha gajra braided into your hair and three roses tucked behind their ear; your little gifts to each other. Their eyes gleam bright with mirth, lips curved upward into a wide grin, and you can't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to their lips. This picnic date is the best idea you've had in a while, you think, and the late spring flowers in bloom are the perfect addition.

.

Tag list: @mad-who-ra @yehsahihai @natures-marvel @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @orgasming-caterpillar @wyvrens @kanha-sakhi

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi aesthetic #desi academia #indian aesthetic #indian academia #desi tag #romance #date ideas #desi date ideas #maharashtrian aesthetic #pune aesthetic #romantic #romantic aesthetic

[siriusblack-the-third]

Look at my earrings everyone!!

#amrut rambles #theyre so prettyyyy #and they make the chham chham sound!!

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

amrut | 19 | they/them | slytherin

Hello! This is my side-blog for my Narnia obsession. My main is @siriusblack-the-third and my other blog is @khwxbeeda where I ramble and write original stuff

my ao3 is Ambrxsia and for my Tumblr writing, click on the tag below

Have fun!

#amrut writes about narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia

[amrutservices]

Content Marketing In 2018 Using Search Engine Optimization

Content Marketing and Search Engine Optimization go hand in hand together, overlap, and blend with one another; therefore, one requires the other to excel. Lee Odden has perfectly explained the relationship between Content Marketing and Search Engine Optimization, ¨Think of SEO this way: If a customer-focused content marketing program is the sandwich, then SEO is the mayonnaise. It touches nearly everything and enhances the overall flavor of the sandwich, but on its own, it´s not very appetizing.”

If you have just started marketing your content, it is unrealistic for you to believe that you will get visitors pronto. Content marketing is a much broader term than SEO and its chances of being successful fully depend on the execution of SEO strategies.

However, in order to successfully execute SEO strategies, content marketing must play its part. In truth, they complement one another more than anything. SEO simply cannot work without content. And, in order to execute SEO strategies in the content, the content/article must have a minimum of 2,000 words possessing all the relevant content, necessary keywords, substance, and keyword phrases.

So, what are the things you should look out for when managing content to ensure effective SEO? We´ll let the esteemed blogger, author, serial entrepreneur, and software engineer, R.L. Adams, explain, ¨I rank #1 for so many of the most competitive searches, and almost all of those articles are over 2,000 words. The goal isn´t to simply write 2,000 words of rambling content. No, size matters, but so does the quality in that size. It needs to be well written for starters, and it can´t go off on tangents. The content has to be laser-focused.¨

Now, when you have the content ready, you can then proceed towards Content Marketing using SEO by ensuring that your content has relevant keywords. When focusing on keywords, you shouldn´t only subject or limit to a couple of words. Instead, you should identify words that are relevant to the topic. For example, if you are writing content about baking a chocolate brownie, you will need to fill your content with relevant words such as dark chocolate, vanilla essence, cocoa powder—basically ingredients that are required to bake a chocolate brownie.

So, how do you go about choosing the proper keywords and how do you incorporate them into the content?

In order to find the right keyword that will help you target the right kind of visitors—the ones that are actually looking for solutions provided by your content, you can use a variety of keyword research tools. These tools will help you identify a proper list of keywords to target, thus, enabling you to get in touch your selected consumers. Some of the keyword research tools you can use to find the right keyword are Ahrefs keyword explorer tool, Ubersuggest, AdWords keyword planner tool, and Moz´s keyword research tool etc.

Here´s a harsh truth, ¨Not all men are created equal.¨ Similarly, keywords too differ with some being more effective than others. Therefore, it is essential for you to identify the powerful keywords. In order to have a better idea of how strong a keyword is, you should know if the keyword has a large search volume and if it is competitive. You should also choose a keyword that you think will reach the targeted audience. The keyword must have a close association to your site.

Focusing on the user interface to enhance the user´s experience

In order to make sure that your content reaches the targeted masses, Google must be able to crawl through your website. Structuring your content properly will allow the searchers and Google to effectively navigate through the site and locate specific content.

One of the important factors that cannot be overlooked while marketing content is ensuring that the site boasts of a responsive design that is easily accessible on multiple platforms including desktop, laptop, tablets, smartphones. Google has mentioned that, ¨Slow loading sites frustrate users and negatively impact publishers. In our new study, ¨The Need for Mobile Speed,¨ we found that 53 percent of mobile site visits are abandoned if pages take longer than 3 seconds to load.¨

Participating in social platforms and online forums

In this contemporary world, if you want your site to be renowned, it is of paramount importance for you to have a strong online presence. Engaging in social media platforms is a powerful off-page SEO strategy for content marketing. By interacting with people on various social media platforms, you will be promoting your site, which, in turn, will only aid in the expansion of your site or business. Doing this can also aid in the increase of backlinks you acquire. Therefore, if your site is regarded as one of the best in its category, it gets easier to optimize it. Having people talk good about your site both online and offline is the key here.

from Amrut Services https://amrutservices.com/content-marketing-in-2018-using-search-engine-optimization/

[khwxbeeda]

At the age of eight, I first learnt jealousy. I learnt it by feeling it, by grabbing it with both hands and tugging it close to my heart; my mother kissed my baby sister's forehead, but not mine. Never mine.

At ten, I learnt betrayal. Someone I though would be a true friend turned her back on me in the blink of an eye, and I spent the days alone, no one to hold hands and laugh with. She walked with the popular crowd, and I walked between the shelves of the library; maybe the books would be better friends.

By the time I turned twelve, I had learnt loneliness. I sat alone at lunch tables in school, I sat alone at the dinner table in my home. My sister was six and a monster for taking away all my parents' love, and my classmates were thirteen or fourteen and monsters for trying to take away my books. It was better to be away than suffer, I decided, and I didn't mind the loneliness much.

Thirteen was the age that taught me sadness. I went to school, studied, came back home, studied, ate, and went to bed. I buried tears and suffocated my crying with my pillows, and woke up with red-rimmed eyes that I ran to hide from my mother, as if she would care enough to ask if she did see them. I cried in the bathroom, my head bent over the sink so I didn't have to look in the mirror and my teeth digging into my bottom lip to stop the sounds from coming out. I learnt to cry silently that year.

Fourteen... was an empty year. There were no more tears left. No more crying. No more sadness or jealousy or anything. I did what I was told to do with a book in one hand and my schoolbag in the other, lips sealed shut and face cast in marble. No one wanted to know what I had to say, I did not want to say anything to anyone. (A few years later, I came across an article describing dissociation.)

Fifteen was anger. So much anger. I was angry at everything and everyone; at the world, at my classmates, at my teachers, my parents, my sister. At myself. An eternal fire burned in the back of my throat and in the pits of my heart and it refused to be extinguished: I wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to throw things and destroy everything in my path. I was so so angry, all the time. I read, somewhere, that fifteen was the worst age to be. I pushed the fireball of anger deeper down, and agreed.

At sixteen, I was good at ignoring my thoughts. I looked at the ledge of the roof and turned away; I refused to step within twenty feet of it. I looked at the shine of the knife blade and put it down; I refused to cut fruit and vegetable. I looked at the rope in the corner of the balcony and stepped back into the house; I would not set the laundry out to dry. I buried myself in my textbooks— Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, English, Hindi. I got higher marks than I'd ever gotten. My mother ran a hand over my head and smiled at me in a way she hadn't in the last ten years. I flinched away from her touch.

Seventeen... I was in bed. Surgery was nasty business, and throughout the seventeeth year of my life I went through seven of them. I laid in bed, a bandage over my left eye and tears rolling down my right cheek. I'd studied. I'd studied till I collapsed when I was sixteen, but I didn't get to sit for my 12th boards. All my efforts were in vain. At seventeen, I was in bed, and I languished.

Eighteen. Eighteen was the whirlwind year. I sat for my 12th boards but didn't get the marks I hoped for. I forgot that I'd registered for PCM and PCB CET until I got the emails, and then gave up on studying. The results were 95% for both exams. I changed my trajectory, and was granted admission in Fergusson. I yelled at my parents with tears in my eyes and kissed my sister on her forehead with a smile on my face. I made friends. I smiled, I laughed, I talked more and more with each passing month. Eighteen was a whirlwind. Eighteen was good to me.

Now, I am nineteen. Let's see how this year goes, shall we?

Tag list: @orgasming-caterpillar @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @yehsahihai @blushlilyyy @budugu

#amrut rambles #amrut writes #life quotes #original prose #prose and poetry #prose #life and living #original writing #original post #original work #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi aesthetic #desi dark academia #desi academia #indian aesthetic #indian academia #desi tag

[khwxbeeda]

two days ago, if someone had inquired about my favourite colour, I would have answered sea blue without even thinking about it.

yesterday, however, when my sister asked me, "tai, what's your favourite colour?" i immediately said, "purple."

specifically, royal purple.

i did not say that two days ago you had playfully swiped royal purple paint on my cheek when we were painting the banner for the college fest, mischief lighting up your pretty face. i did not say that i had retaliated, and that both of us had ended up on the floor in a fetal position, stomachs aching with laughter and tears running down our purple-stained faces.

i did not say that you looked celestial, with a smudge of that brilliant colour right on the edge of your bottom lip and cheek covered in three streaks of purple by my hand. i did not say that the way you smiled at me— brown eyes bright, brown hair matted with purple paint and pink lips pulled back to show slightly crooked white teeth— had my heart jumping from my chest to my throat. i did not say that i imagined cupping your cheeks with my purple hands and pulling you into a kiss, soft and gentle and loving.

i entirely avoided explaining to my curious little sister why my favourite colour had changed overnight.

but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is purple.

specifically, royal purple.

.

Tag list: @musaafir-hun-yaaron @orgasming-caterpillar @yehsahihai @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @mad-who-ra @kanha-sakhi

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #love letters #love quotes #love poems #love prose #lesbian prose #prose and poetry #prose #desi lgbt #desi love #indian lgbt #lesbian love #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi aesthetic #desi academia #indian aesthetic #indian academia #desi tag #desi dark academia #indian dark academia

[khwxbeeda]

Indian Dark Academia: Pune

(all of these are my experiences since moving to the city at the end of July this year)

.

The Peth areas are convoluted, haphazardly arranged and teeming with life. You walk through a lane crammed with stalls of fake jewellery, and you want to buy every pair of jhumka and bugdi you can see. You raise your phone and take a close up, deciding that you're gonna post it. (You never do. That picture feels personal, somehow, in a way you cannot explain.)

There is a plaza in Good Luck Chowk on FC road whose basement has a somewhat hidden bookshop. The books there are both fresh and second hand. You make your way to the second-hand shelves and breathe in deeply, savouring the smell of old books and yellowing paper. You want to buy all of them, but you take home the worn copy of a collection of Marathi stories. The old man at the counter gives you a bookmark and tells you to be back with a wide smile and crinkling eyes. (You go back within the week.)

You stand under the dubious protection of a patryacha chhat, cold fingers wrapped around a mud tumbler full of steaming aalyacha chaha. The rain does not look like it will stop anytime soon, but you're not worried. Your best friend is standing next to you with her own tumbler, and both of you are giggling at a story she tells you about her own college— she lives in Mumbai and is visiting for a day, just to spend time with you because she missed you. You silently hope the rain does not stop for a while yet; you're having too much fun.

The sun is high in the sky, but it hides behind rain clouds. You take a step, the soles of your sports shoes scraping over the uneven rock of the tekdi that you decided to explore on an impulse. You're alone, with only the trees and the dog that randomly decided to follow you up the hill in sight. Invisible birds chirp and sing, and you slide your phone out of your pocket to take a photo of the unbeaten path. A little part of you fears getting lost in an unknown place. The bigger, more curious part of you wants to know why the wind sounds so melodious when it slips between the leaves of the trees. You'll post the photo, you think, once you're home.

The college is quiet. It's seven in the morning, and you're already on campus, and have climbed up the walls of the main building to reach that unreachable part of the roof. Except it isn't as unreachable as you thought it to be— the walls are engraved with little messages from the students who came here before you, and you brush your fingers over the letters with a secret smirk. Someone had enough love in their heart to carve a short Urdu love poem for their partner. You search up the words on Google, but the results are inconclusive. An original piece, then. Shame, you think. That is beautiful wordplay. You take a photo, then go back to your book. Class starts at half past seven, and you want to finish at least this chapter.

The library is packed with people, but all of them are silent. It's eerie, but you've been living in libraries for as long as you can remember, and you're perfectly at home in this silence. It feels like being in a temple— there is a awed, almost devotional hush in the air, and you fear that you will breathe too loud. You slip between two darkwood shelves, and brush your fingers over the spine of an old hardbound collection of the works of Pu La Deshpande that looks like it will fall apart any second. You've read this one before, but you check it out anyway.

The exam is tomorrow, but you're sitting in the light of three diyas and feverishly flicking your eyes over the pages of your tattered copy of the Hindi translation of Chokher Bali. This is the eleventh time you're reading the book, but you're still obsessed with it for reasons unknown. Pariksha gayi bhaad mein, you think, and flip the page. The next day, you turn up at the exam hall with bags under your eyes, a completed book, and not a second of studying. You walk out with a score of 19 out of 20, and promptly fall asleep under the shade in the bamboo garden with your head on a friend's lap.

.

Tag list: @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @patriphagy @orgasming-caterpillar @mad-who-ra @kanha-sakhi @yehsahihai @h0bg0blin-meat

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi aesthetic #desi dark academia #desi academia #indian aesthetic #indian academia #indian tumblr #indian dark academia #indian dark academia aesthetic #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia #dark academic aesthetic #desi tag

[khwxbeeda]

I'm wearing a saree for the first time ever why isn't my pallu getting stuck in someone's watch/bracelet what is this

#amrut rambles

[khwxbeeda]

I Dream Of Such A Love

.

I dream of a love that is gentle. I dream of a love where words of affection are whispered into each other's ears and soft kisses are pressed to each other's skin.

I dream of a passionate love. I dream of a love where we scream and yell our love for the world to see, where we celebrate us loudly and proudly.

I dream of a safe love. A love where we can cry and laugh and talk, where we can share our deepest secrets without fear of them being exposed to the world.

I dream of a love that is happy. I dream of a love where the sight of each other lights up our day and the sound of each other's voice has us smiling till our cheeks hurt.

I dream of love a lot.

I hope my dreams come true.

Tag list: @orgasming-caterpillar @mad-who-ra @musaafir-hun-yaaron @kanha-sakhi @krisnosura @yehsahihai @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #spilled ink #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi dark academia #desi academia #indian academia #indian tumblr #indian dark academia #dark academia #academia #poems and poetry #poems and quotes #original poetry #love poems #poem #prose and poetry #love prose #love quotes #love #romance #romantic poetry

[khwxbeeda]

I want to murder myself.

No, not in the literal sense. I have too much of life left in me for that.

I want to murder myself. I want to reach deep inside of my chest, clawed hands gripping tight around the heart that beats, and rip it apart to read the secrets of my existence in the torn sinew. A hepatoscopy of my life using my own heart.

Am I, named after a Goddess, meant for heaven? Am I, so terrifyingly Human, meant for hell?

I want to murder myself. I want to tear through every bit of my own persona, to pull it apart at the seams, to rake my clawed hands through the delicate, glittering fabric that hides the ugly thing under false beauty.

That is me, the ugly thing: clawed hands and unnatural eyes, too intelligent, too terrifying, too cruel.

They say us humans are made in the image of God. Imago Dei.

That is me, the image of God: the closest thing to God itself, with clawed hands and unnatural eyes, too intelligent, too terrifying, too cruel.

I am too human to be a God, too God to be a human; where do I go? Heaven? Hell? Do I remain here, on Earth?

I want to murder myself. I want to dig through the pride, the arrogance, the surface level habits. I want to pull out every persona I ever put on and make them see the ugly thing they hid, the divine thing they hid. The thing with claws for nails and fangs for teeth and thunder for speech. I want to figure out exactly which stars forged the iron that colours my blood: red for human and gold for God, for I am both. Or maybe I am neither. Or maybe somewhere in between.

I want to murder myself.

I want to find myself.

.

@orgasming-caterpillar @morally-gayy @yehsahihai @shanti-ashant-hai @musaafir-hun-yaaron @icantfindmychashma (lmk if you wanna stay in the tag list or not)

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #dark academia #academia #desi dark academia #indian academia #indian dark academia #desi academia #writing #prose

[khwxbeeda]

Idk what's funnier, my criminal defense lawyer dad teaching me how to avoid getting caught or the fact that he fully expects me to commit a crime sometime in the near future

#amrut rambles #im sorta afraid of him being right lol #sahi me gundi hu mai #wont be surprised if i land myself in jail once or twice in my life

[khwxbeeda]

It is the way she lives.

She comes to college every day at seven in the morning sharp, because that is when her bus stops at the gates. She steps down from the bus and the wind greets her with a gentle caress, making her silky, shiny hair float out behind her. There is a small smile on her face and airpods in her bejewelled ears, and I am powerless against that bright gleam in her eyes.

She drags me along with her to the library, a book in hand and babbling excitedly about the book she's about to borrow. As I watch her pretty pink lips move I think: if her voice I the last sound I hear, I will have lived a happy life.

We sit in silence in a little alcove in the abandoned tower of the amphitheatre's building (she nicked the keys to the tower from the guard), her with her head in a book and me with a pen in hand, and it's peaceful. The last page of my notebook is covered in a rough, half-done sketch of her, with her soft features and focused eyes, furrowed eyebrows and locks of wavy hair falling into her face. My skills with a pen are not enough to capture her beauty, but I am not disappointed at my inability to replicate her essence; she is a wild, free being, and caging a tiger has never been appealing to me.

She is, to me, the Truth. She is the One. She is Beauty, she is Intelligence, she is Wisdom, she is War. She is Love. She is the one I worship, the one at whose feet I pray, the one whose name is always at the forefront of my mind and the tip of my tongue.

If I ever come face to face with God, I will do so knowing that I have seen a more powerful being than him.

.

@musaafir-hun-yaaron @morally-gayy @orgasming-caterpillar @yehsahihai @blushlilyyy @icantfindmychashma @shanti-ashant-hai

#amrut writes #amrut rambles #academia #dark academia #desi academia #indian academia #lesbian aesthetic #lesbian #lesbian prose #prose #indian dark academia #desi dark academia #lgbtq #bisexual #queer

[khwxbeeda]

The tattoo gun looks intimidating. The new friends I've made— people from my new college whom I've known for less than a week— ooh and aah over the thing.

I suppress a smile.

It's not that scary, I tell them, and I believe that. It's just a needle.

One of them (the one that's been protesting my decision to get myself permanently marked because she thinks I'm making an impulsive decision) gives me a look of potent disbelief. I simply wink at her before pulling my T-shirt over my head and lean back against the chair to let the tattoo artist press the stencil into my skin. She rolls her eyes, and then all four of them drag their stools to sit in front of my chair.

The artist asks me to check the tattoo placement, and I move to the mirror, admiring the navy blue ink under my collarbone.

I want this. I have wanted this for almost four years now.

I sit on the chair again and watch as the man unwraps the needle's packaging and slides it into the gun, tattooed fingers moving nimbly to perform a motion he perfected years ago. The ink is poured into the little pocket, some kind of cooling cream is rubbed over my skin, and the process begins.

There is no pain.

I sit back and close my eyes, breathing in and breathing out, listening to my new friends whispering to each other and the soft buzz of the gun.

It's quiet. Quiet enough that I am lulled into a drowsy state; not quite asleep, not quite awake. The pressure of the needle is akin to a ball pen being dragged over my flesh— a sensation I'm extremely familiar with. Distantly, I remember that one day, back when I was fifteen, when I had tried to draw this very tattoo on my shoulder with my hand with a pen. It hadn't gone very well; the design had been wobbly and imperfect and the ink had smudged within the first five seconds.

The gun lifts, a soft tissue is used to wipe off the excess ink, and then the needle is moving over my skin again.

I notice it dimly. I am more than halfway asleep, and the white noise along with the gentle pressure of the tattoo gun is only making me go deeper into the realm of dreams. Something— a button— clicks faintly, and soft music fills the air. It's a song from the film Jab We Met, and one corner of my lips ticks up into a soft smile.

Its over before I realise it.

Between one blink and another, I'm standing in front of the mirror with a plastic film wrapped around my shoulder, admiring my ink.

My first tattoo.

A tiny, delicate crown, etched into my skin right beneath the point where my collarbone meets my shoulder.

A crown, as a reminder that my goal is to be the ruler of my own life.

A crown, as a reminder that while a ruler has complete control over their nation, they are the only one responsible for the state of said nation.

A crown, as a reminder that my life is what I strive to make it.

I smile.

Tags: @oohloverboyy @mad-who-ra @musaafir-hun-yaaron @shanti-ashant-hai @that-mad-indian-woman @orgasming-caterpillar

#amrut rambles #amrut writes #tattoos #first tattoo #i got it a few weeks ago #and immediately wrote this #but forgot to post it #so here we are! #desi aesthetic #desiblr #desi tumblr #indian aesthetic #desi academia #desi dark academia #indian academia #desi tag #aesthetic writing

[khwxbeeda]

I'm a stubborn little thing.

It's gotten me into trouble many a time.

I get thrown on the ground and I push myself up into a sitting position to glare at the offender (how dare you-) with bared teeth covered in blood that streams down from my broken nose.

Again, I say. Again, I get up.

Do your worst, and I will stand back up, knuckles blistered and bruises on my body with blood dripping from my fingers in too loud splatters, but there's a smile on my face that shows too many teeth bloody from ripping off chunks of your flesh and a challenge in my eyes (again, again, try again) because I'm a stubborn little thing.

I grew up with it.

It was engraved into my bones and sunk into my marrow through years of sitting on my steel-spined father's shoulders and at my silver-tongued mother's side, where I learnt the ugliest that humanity had to offer.

Sharp cuts hurt and sharp words scar, and I grew up with both being etched into my skin to make it thicker (ignore it) and stronger (survive another day). I became. Stronger and tougher and wild, challenge in my eyes and blood in my teeth from ripping flesh out like a savage animal, because I am a stubborn little thing.

Stubborn stubborn too headstrong too stubborn too hotheaded too this too that too much—

I push off the ground and stand back up on two feet, swaying from side to side in exhaustion but still smiling in that gods-awful way that reeks of insanity because I am a stubborn little thing and I don't give up (never give up) even if I have nothing and no one (you will never have anything or anyone) to help me. This is my legacy, stubborn till death, challenge in my eyes and blood in my teeth from ripping flesh off of bones.

A stubborn little thing, against the world.

@orgasming-caterpillar @yehsahihai @musaafir-hun-yaaron @mad-who-ra @shanti-ashant-hai @wyvrens

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[khwxbeeda]

"Tera wrist theek hai ab?"

"Fucking shit!"

Raghav pressed a hand to his chest and glared half-heartedly at Ranveer, cheeks burning at the amused smirk on his ridiculously handsome face.

"Dammit, dude," he exhales, "give a gay a warning, shit."

Ranveer snickered, and Raghav rolled his eyes before turning back to the music app on his phone.

"Hoy," he answered grumpily. "Theek ahe ata. Dukhat nahi."

Ranveer scoffed, reaching up to grab his T-shirt by the collar and pulling it off in one smooth move. Raghav hurriedly looked back down at his phone, not wanting the other boy to see the blush that was no doubt spreading across his cheeks, and almost missed what he said.

"Mai Marathi nahi bolta phir bhi I can tell you're lying," Ranveer said, turning around to dig into his bag for his kurta and ghungroo. Raghav's traitorous eyes dragged over the exposed tan skin, noting the smooth muscles and the broad shoulders and toned biceps—

He looked away, biting the inside of his cheeks and gulping down the sound that wanted to climb up his throat.

"You are absolutely not fine," Ranveer continued, completely unaware of Raghav's inner turmoil. "You're shit at lying."

"And- and how would you know that, Your Royal Thighness?" Raghav snarked back, mentally applauding himself for only stumbling over one word instead of the entire sentence, and Ranveer snorted and sniggered at the nickname. Or at least, Raghav thought it was for the nickname. He was promptly proven wrong.

"Cute stutter," Ranveer said with a wink that hit Raghav like cupid's arrow through the heart, "but that kind of gives you away, Patil."

Raghav huffed and folded his arms, pushing his lips into a pout and turning his nose up into the air.

He was absolutely not blushing at being called cute. He was not.

"You can't prove shit," he muttered, and the other boy laughed outright as he pulled his kurta on, messing up his hair in the process. Raghav barely held in his groan. He wanted to mess that glorious hair up. He wanted to slide his hands through it and pull, wanted to feel the silky strands between his fingers, wanted to hear the sounds Ranveer might make, wanted to use his hair to drag him into a hot kiss—

Stop right the fuck there, Raghu.

He pushed the thought away. Ranveer opened his mouth to say something, but the door to the studio flew open.

BANG!

It slammed against the wall hard enough to make both of them flinch, and before Raghav could even look at who it was, fingers were curling around his collar and yanking him off the bench.

"PATIL! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, HARAMKHOR?!"

Ayush. He was fuming, red in the face and breathing heavily, eyebrows dragged down into a thunderous expression. Raghav got his feet under himself to stand up straight, anger bubbling in his stomach and eyes narrowing into a glare.

"I don't know, Ayush," he said, inserting a subtle note of challenge into his voice, "what did I do that's got you so riled up?"

"YOU—"

Ayush roared and pulled back his fist. Raghav flinched and threw his arms up in an effort to protect himself, eyes squeezed shut in dreaded anticipation of the pain.

The punch never came.

"LET ME GO!"

Raghav slowly opened his eyes, then felt his jaw go slack.

Ranveer stood behind Ayush, fingers curled tight around his wrist, stopping him from moving forward and making it look effortless. The sleeves of his kurta were rolled up, and the muscles in his forearm flexed minutely when Ayush tried to push him off. He did not move even an inch.

Ayush glared at him. "Let go of me, man," he growled.

Raghav's eyes flicked to him and then back to Ranveer, who slowly tilted his head to the side and regarded Ayush with an amused smile, the kind that you gave to a kid when it was throwing a tantrum.

"No, I don't think I will, actually," he said evenly, eyes glittering with something that made a shiver run down Raghav's spine. There was something in them that almost made it seem like Ranveer had been waiting for this. What this was, Raghav had no idea, and he was not sure whether he wanted to find out or not.

Ayush tugged his arm again, but Ranveer held fast, smile growing from amused to condescending.

"You see, Ayush," Ranveer said pleasantly, "Raghav here did not come to practice the other day. And I went looking for him because he's not one to miss practise."

Ayush tried to pull his wrist away again, but the taller boy held fast, fingers flexing around bone in a manner that threatened breakage if Ayush did not stop moving. The look in Ranveer's eyes changed to something darker. "Imagine my surprise when I see his hurt wrist, and the bruise on his shoulder."

"He got his," Ayush snarled. "Walking around thinking—"

"And then," Ranveer steamrolled over him, narrowing his eyes into a dangerous look that had Raghav unconsciously shifting in unease. That was scary, but also... hot.

"And then, he told me that you were the reason for his injuries."

Ranveer laughed— a sharp, scathing sound that cut through the air like a whip, and oh Gods, Raghav was having revelations about himself. Fuck.

"You," Ranveer said, smile on his lips that implied exactly how much he respected Ayush, "who can't even pull your wrist out of a simple hold."

For show, he flexed his fingers, and Raghav felt like his cheeks were going to burst with how much blood rushed into them.

Gods fuck, that's hot.

"Why's it your concern, huh?" Ayush spat. "Trying to protect your twink boyfriend, you faggo—"

CRACK

Ayush's head snapped back, blood spraying from his nose. Raghav leapt back with a gasp as the boy screamed, hands coming up to cup what Raghav was sure was a broken nose. Within seconds, Ayush's hands were covered in blood and tears were streaming down his face.

"MADARCHOD," he howled, but Ranveer laughed in his face, a sharp, cutting smile curling over his full lips.

"I've been waiting to do that since I saw Raghav's wrist," he said in a casual tone that was completely at odds with the gleam of gratification in his dark eyes. "It was exactly as satisfying as I'd fantasised it to be."

"I'LL GET YOU BACK FOR THIS," Ayush shrieked between sobs of pain. "I'LL GET YOU BACK, YOU COCKSUCKING FAGG—"

CRACK

Ayush screamed again, and Ranveer carelessly shook out his hand, smile showing too many teeth. "Sach me, yaar Ayush," he drawled, "you should know better than to use slurs right after you've been punched. Shows poor form, especially when you can't even block a punch you already know is coming."

Ayush glared at him through puffy, tear filled eyes, and Ranveer simply smiled back, the picture of innocence if not for the blood smeared on his knuckles. Raghav had the sudden, wild urge to laugh, but he pushed it down.

"I'll get you back for this," Ayush choked out, and stomped towards the door, sobs wracking his chest. The door slammed shut behind him.

The studio was quiet for two seconds. And then Ranveer was striding towards Raghav, a worried look in his eyes. He reached out and rearranged Raghav's collar with gentle hands still covered in crimson.

"Tu theek hai?" he asked in a low, soft voice, hands coming up to cup Raghav's jaw, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

Raghav snapped.

He lunged forward, throwing his arms around Ranveer's neck, and pulled his head down to smash their lips together.

Ranveer yelped, but his arms unconsciously wrapped around Raghav's waist and pulled him in closer, till they were pressed so close together they could not tell where one began and other ended.

Raghav pulled back, stared at Ranveer with wild eyes, then lurched for another short, forceful kiss. Then another. And another.

"You—" he exclaimed, then kissed him again, "need to—" another kiss— "stop being—" one more kiss— "so fucking sexy!"

He punctuated the last word with one last, long, searing kiss, eyes fluttering shut and arching his back against Ranveer's body, slipping his tongue into the taller boy's mouth and pulling a soft noise from deep in his throat.

When he pulled away a few seconds later, Ranveer looked dazed— eyes wide and blinking slowly, lips swollen and gently parted.

They stared at each other, and then Ranveer slowly swallowed.

"So," he rasped, "you like me, then?"

Raghav rolled his eyes. "Take a wild fucking guess, sweetheart."

And he slammed his mouth back onto Ranveer's.

.

@orgasming-caterpillar @musaafir-hun-yaaron @h0bg0blin-meat @godnonsensical @yehsahihai

#doyh #dancing on your heartstrings #raghav x ranveer #ranveer x raghav #raghveer #fanfic #first kiss #desiblr #desi tumblr #amrut writes #amrut rambles #these boys are so stupid oh my gods #and i hate them for it #but also #theyre my stupid boys #so i love them #writing about ranveer punching the sHIT out of ayush felt so fucking good #i hope it felt just as good for you to read it

[khwxbeeda]

The monsoon has set in properly, now. You have a love-hate relationship with the rains, but you admit that the season brings a sense of calm to the house.

Your Aai is humming under her breath where she sits next to the window, newspaper hiding her face from view. You tap her on the shoulder as you set down a freshly prepared cup of chaha in front of her, and she smiles at you. She takes a sip, and melts into her wickerwork chair, a soft sigh spilling from her lips. "Masta chaha kelas," she tells you, and you turn away with a pleased smile.

The rain doesn't really stop. It keeps falling, sometimes a downpour but mostly an ongoing drizzle that goes on for hours. Every time you have the chance, you step out into the garden or the balcony and stare up at the cloudy sky, trying to catch the drops on your tongue. A drop lands splat in your eye and you squeal, rubbing at your face, and the roaring laughter of your siblings echoes through the house.

The aroma of freshly made pakoras, tikhat puri and shankarpali wafts through the house and you follow it, eyes closed and nose in the air, sniffing like a dog. You Baba flicks you on the forehead, and tells you to act properly. You rub your forehead, and silently pile a plate with the food, a small grin on your lips.

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@laut-ke-buddhu-ghar-ko-aaye @blushlilyyy @yehsahihai @shanti-ashant-hai @mrunmione @bambioleo @dhuup @the-chaosbringer

#desi aesthetic #desiblr #desi tumblr #indian aesthetic #amrut writes #desi academia #desi dark academia #desi tag #amrut rambles