Apparently some people think America Ferrera's speech in the Barbie movie is "corny" or "obvious" or something like that. But here's my personal perspective
First thing out of the way: I am nonbinary. I am not a woman. I am AFAB, though, and was therefore socialized like a girl and young woman, even if I felt like those words never really applied to me. Most of the time, though, other people who don't know me will see me as a woman. It's whatever.
No, this movie is not saying anything new. It is not a groundbreaking statement to say women face all these exhausting contradictions that cause them to bend over backwards to do the slightest thing.
But I don't think it's supposed to be groundbreaking. I don't think most people at the Barbie movie are going to have a huge revelation because America Ferrera said something that never heard or thought before. In the context of the movie, the character is speaking to a literal doll who has only recently learned that the real world is kinda shitty for a lot of people. Because this doll is literally something little girls project on, and little girls very often grow into women who deal with this shit. Yes, this is feminism 101, because it's speaking to a character who, until a day ago, lived in a matriarchal society where she never HAD to learn feminism 101. The oppression she faces is literally new to her!
And let's not forget that this is being said by a Latina woman in a blockbuster film. How often do you see that? She describes herself as a "boring mom with a boring job," and then she gets to rant about the fact that she's expected to always be extraordinary, but at the end of it all, she just wants her daughter to love her back and have a good day. And because of that, she's the hero of Barbieland!
Yes, it's cheesy. No, it's not subtle in the slightest. But sometimes, it's nice to hear someone say the words out loud.
And honestly, if you're going into the Barbie movie expecting subtlety, that's on you.
ah spoilers but i genuinely think the majority of the real feminism actually happens in the final scenes of the movie, not in this part of the movie.
the "feminism 101" part of the movie, as you said - is still groundbreaking when a latina gets to say her piece to an actually-receptive crowd. nobody interrupts her. nobody shouts her down. she says her piece, and it's correct, and it saves the day.
also (like you said!), in the context of the movie: these women never actually needed feminism 101 until then, because the influence of the patriarchy literally hadn't even been known to the world. ken brings an invasive species into the world, one without any natural defenses. these women need basic feminism because they haven't had to battle injustice in the same way. this is also notably not framed as the climax of the movie.
because i think the climax might be barbie - stereotypical barbie - turning away from an idyllic world of basic feminism ... and accepting something else entirely. she has seen the humanity of the real world (that first moment with the old woman) and she knows it is loud and obnoxious and strange and complicated. and then she turns to her creator (a woman!), and she asks her creator: can i be a person?
feminism 101 is "it is hard to be a lady!" and "i am woman, hear me roar!" ...and it is still occasionally exceptionality. it is still assuming we are all powerful and smart and brave and supermom whatever else. but sometimes you are just 30 and bad at math and you're still a fucking person. feminism isn't just "women can be presidents" it's women can be failures. they can be cruel, manipulative, violent. because women are humans.
a woman's personhood shouldn't rely on how palatable she is. you shouldn't have to be white and thin and pretty and pouty with bouncy hair and margot's face in order to be taken seriously. being a woman is also the """"ugly"""" parts that men fucking hate thinking about - being a woman is also hair caught in a zipper and eye gunk and sweat stains and and blood chunks and cellulite and ripped earlobes and yes going to the gynecologist.
the final scene of the movie isn't a woman who accepts her role as president or who is gleefully ready to try to rebuild society: it's a human person having to deal with her human body. it is her Creator giving her the same choice she was given at the start of the movie - perfection, feminism 101, the ideal! ... or mortality, and just having to be a person inside of the patriarchy, every single fucking day.
and this time... barbie chooses the world where it is hard, and ugly, and painful. she chooses the hard way.
and that's a kind of feminism i think... like. might have gone unnoticed. that's all i am trying to say.
Summary: Bheem taking care of an ailing Ram and stumbling upon some unexpected truth-bombs.
Title: Shab-e-izhaar / Nightly confessions
Creator: doodlesofthelastpage
Giftee: @veteran-fanperson
Prompt: A sort of fluffy RamBheem
Relationships: RamBheem
Rating: For General Audience
Warnings: None
Created for: @celebrrration Holiday Swap 2022
*************
“Ram?”
“RAM?!” A bit more loud and worried.
“Kahan ho?” (Where are you?)
A loud clang from the kitchen shocked the newcomer as he sprinted in alarm towards the door. The sight would have been comical if the newcomer’s heart beats wouldn’t be galloping like a wild steed in the meadows on seeing the mess around and a figure bundled up in a dark brown blanket slumped against the counter. There was one pot on the ground, grains of rice scattered all around like confetti at a wedding, the burning smell of something on the stove which was so pungent, the man entering could not fathom what it was anymore.
The curly haired man rushed towards the person wrapped in the blanket after he turned off the stove, coughing a little himself as the smoke assaulted his nostrils. He lifted Ram in his arms, his hands hanging by the sides, one hand under his knees and the other behind his shoulders. The blanket was hot and clammy and so was Ram when the younger man removed it from around his shoulders to check on the guy. Heat was emanating from Ram in waves, his whole body as if lit on fire. Even so, he pressed the back of his hand on Ram’s forehead for the sake of formality, confirming that he was indeed burning up.
Bheem’s mind went automatically in the healer mode, making a mental list of tasks to help Ram before the panic and the questions set in. Firstly, he had to reduce the temperature. The fever was too high for the wet cloth on the forehead method to work; Bheem needed something that would alleviate the temperature rapidly than that. So in the bath it was. He did not care for propriety as the clothes were shucked off while the tub (thankfully Ram lived in one of those smaller but fancy apartments) was being filled with lukewarm water.
“Akhtar?” A couple of minutes after the water hit Ram’s senses, the dark eyes fluttered open like wings of a butterfly- not that Bheem was observant or carefree enough right now to think of beautiful similes about the eyes he adored so much. Ram was looking pale and flush at the same time, sweat forming on his forehead, hair sticking to it. Bheem brushed a strand away that was on his closed eyelids, the dark circles clearer in the light of the lantern. So, this was because Ram was over exerting himself to the point of breaking.
There were no other symptoms of an infection as far as Bheem could see. No cough, no running nose; just a high fever apparent at this point in time. Hence, the inference made perfect sense. Ram had the ugly habit of losing himself in his work (whatever that may be). Bheem had that much figured out by now. He skipped meals, buried in his books for hours, losing sense of time, disappearing without any explanation or intimation that he’d not be available. Akhtar had enough times gone back disappointed finding his house locked, but Ram always came back with a flimsy excuse that he had some work thing and Akhtar believed it because he had no other motive not to. Despite his and Ram’s babai’s nagging, Ram had seldom improved his selfcare policy.
The first thing that came into Ram’s focus was a weary, worried gaze of his friend as the blurry vision cleared away. He extended one hand to place on Bheem’s face but just stopped a centimetre away as if in a dreamlike state, which was very apparent with the next sentence.
“Akhtar! Tum? Mujhe lagaa tha tum aaoge.” (You? I knew you'd come.) There was an insouciant, loopy smile that graced Ram’s lips which led Bheem into believing that he was not yet fully conscious. It was the fever speaking. Everytime they were together, there would be something lacking in Ram’s smiles, his laughs, his behaviour. Bheem always thought Ram was holding something back, not revealing himself in all honesty. Something that Bheem always wanted to know but never had the courage to ask because it meant talking. And real talking. Not the sort they indulged in, speaking a lot but conveying so little. That meant sharing, and sharing meant being honest. Which neither of them could afford at the time. Both of them were living on borrowed days, both tied to their missions, to their duty and their goals.
It meant Bheem would have to share his own tale of woe which would put Ram in danger and he would never be able to live with himself if he such a pure soul would have even a scratch on him because of Bheem’s fecklessness. The stakes were already too high.
…
Finally, after some time, Ram’s fever started to break and Bheem sighed with relief, an audible exhale and he helped a still weary and semi-cognizant Ram out of the tub. He wrapped Ram in a couple of towels, instructing him to sit on a stool that he had brought from the kitchen as he went to get clean, dry clothes for him. He returned with a glass of water with a dash of lemon and honey in it. Ram would have been dehydrated too, the skin on his palms felt dry and more calloused than usual.
The younger man found Ram in the same position as he’d left the man, who was sitting with eyes closed, one towel around his shoulders and another around his waist. Bheem paced and placed one hand behind his head and the other held the glass to his lips that looked drier and more cracked than the arid land of Kutch. The older man drank like a parched man, coughing after a couple of gulps as the water lodged in his nose due to rapid swallowing.
"Ram! Take it easy, it's not going anywhere." Bheem chastised but there was only worry lacing his tone. He rubbed Ram's back soothingly in circular motion as the former sipped the rest slowly. Ram made a face as if he'd just tasted neem leaves. He spit out the last gulp, running the back of his hand in his mouth as if that would help wash away the aftertaste.
"Ughhh." He said, "My whole mouth feels like I've swallowed karela-ras (bitter gourd juice). What was that?" He inquired.
Bheem could not help but grin at that childish expression. "Just warm water with some lemon and honey. Stop being a baby, Ram!"
"Come on! Let's get you dry and on the bed again."
Ram gave another dopey smile at that. "I was wondering for a long while when you'd say that!"
"What?" Bheem wasn't sure what he'd heard.
Ram just grinned again like the cat who had got the cream. Bheem ignored the blush rising on his cheeks, the comments and that stupid smile. It was not Ram. It was the fever. He helped Ram into his clothes which thankfully Ram did most of the work for, his muscles remembering what to do. He pretty much leaned on the curly haired man as he sunk down in the bed. Bheem wrapped him up in the blankets that he plundered from the cupboard.
Just as he turned around to go find a mat for himself to sleep on, he heard a slight sniffle from the bed. Bheem turned around to see Ram burrowing his head further into the pillow, however he caught the tremble in the shoulders of the lying man, facing him. Was he crying? What happened all of a sudden? Distress was a very inefficient word to describe what enveloped Bheem's heart at that second stuffed but wrecked sob. He perched on the edge of the bed, scooting closer until he could reach the blanket, sliding it a little down so that more than the black mop of hair could be visible. He saw Ram’s face, sunken eyes, red rimmed, hollowed out cheeks, the long lashes that were wet with tears, running nose and tight shut lips that were trying immensely to control the next sniffle.
“Ram,” he raised his hand to place it on the older man’s jaw, “Kya hua?” (What happened?) He spoke in the softest tone, the gentlest touch, and Ram let out a long sheltered shudder.
Ram’s voice caught in his throat as he choked out half-words, half-sob, “Maa ki bahot yaad aa rahi hai.” (I miss Amma.) Before Bheem could react, he continued, barely recognisable words mumbled amidst the constant snivelling, weeping and laboured breathing. “Aur baba ki. Aur chinna ki. Kahan honge woh sab abhi? Bacchon ko kahaniyan sunaate hain, pata hai? Ke jab koi duniya se chalaa jata hai toh woh sitara ban jata hai.” He huffs out a chortle, that turned into a cough, yet he continued, “Sab mujhe bhi yahi sunayaa karte the gaon mein, jab- jab…” (And baba. And chinna. Where would they all be now? You know, kids are told stories. When people pass away, they become one of the million stars in the universe. Everyone used to console me back at the village too after the- they…)
Another bout of weeping hit Ram, he broke down in a visceral way leaving Bheem distraught. He had started to catch on what must have happened when Ram had lost his family. He never talked about it. Every time they were together; even a tiny stumble down the childhood memory lane perchance, Ram would hold himself back. Either just stop talking altogether and end the conversation or abruptly change the topic. Bheem knew it must have been painful but to what extent, he’d always wondered. Now it was becoming clearer like the parting winter fog after the rising sun.
Bheem left agitated and clueless as to how to comfort Ram. He wanted to gather the man in his arms, he wanted to punch the walls, he wanted to curse the deity who was cruel to do this to a child. He himself had lost his parents quite young, not really remembering them; fortuitously, the tribe had never let him feel the emptiness. He got the feeling that Ram would have been older, much older to have recalled everything. Maybe to witness it even. He prayed he would be wrong, shook himself to be even thinking in such a manner. Now, and here, he sat numbly as Ram went on. Maybe it was best that he let out years of repressed grief and hurt, even if it was accredited to some feverish ramble.
“Kitni dakhiyanusi baatein hain yeh.” (I knew it was just superstitious talk.) Ram gazed far away now, getting up a little from where he was lying on his side, sitting against the headrest. He was lost in his own world again, the blank expression, tears still falling down his cheeks in tiny rivulets, the glassy and forlorn look in those dark orbs returning in full force.
The older man did not register Bheem’s presence, it seemed, “Ghar. Kitna ajeeb lagta hai yeh shabd abhi. Pata hai, ghar se tum jab bhi alag hote ho, chahe majboori mein chahe marzi se, toh tum ekdum toot kar alag nahi hote ho. Kapda jaise fat ta hai na, waise cheer ke alag hote ho. Woh dhaage hamesha tumhare saath rehenge. Woh zakhm tumhari peeth par kayam rahenge, kyun ki tumhe ukhaad diya hai zindagi ne tumhari jadon se. Ab tum kahin ke nahi. Azad bhi nahi, ghulam hi sahi. Koi pehchan hi nahi hai ab tumhari.”
(Home. What a strange word it seems now. You know, whenever you move away, be it of your own will or be it out of necessity, you don’t just break those ties clean. You tear away from them, like when a cloth tears, leaving the mangled thread attached. Those threads always stay, those scars on your back, because you’ve been torn away from your roots, your very being. Now, I belong nowhere. I’m not free, nor am I bound to a place. I am no one henceforth.)
Bheem was left speechless. He knew these past months how miserable he was. How agitated, how the hope was seeping away like leeches at his gut. But Ram had been here longer. Years maybe. How could he even estimate the depth of hopelessness Ram must be feeling? The ever bottled up cocktail of sentiments erupting like lava from his heart. What do you even say to the only solace you’ve found in the city that has devoured your happiness when you find out that the source itself is the singularity of the chaos and despair?
Unaware and not minding Bheem’s reminiscence, Ram blabber on. It was like a dam had crashed open. The water seeping away with resistance at tiny cracks in the doors had finally found its freedom. “Yeh sard raatein, ye awaargi, yeh tanhaai aur us par inquilaab ka bojh, Apne sheher mein hote toh ghar chale jaate. Suna hai yeh misra tum ne Akhtar? Har shaam dhale mujhe yahi yaad aata hai. Baar, baar. Roz, roz.”
(The cold nights, the restlessness, the loneliness and the burden of duty. If I’d been in my city, I would have gone home. Have you heard this couplet, Akhtar? Every evening I cannot get it out of my head. Every day it eats at me, gnawing through my soul.)
He turned to face Bheem, who was stubbornly holding himself back from not shattering on the spot. The older man registered a lone tear that had escaped his friend’s left eye, making its way down his cheek. Now Ram could not withstand this- whatever his state may be. With the support of his hand, he sat up completely, shuffling a little, turning himself toward Akhtar, one leg folded beneath the other as he found his balance in a half cross-leg sitting position. Ram tried to brush away the salty discharge, but his shaking hand meant the drop was spread around on Bheem’s cheeks.
The gond protector, who was until now scared to look at Ram while he was talking, snapped back to the moment. He took Ram’s hand in his own, mouth opening to apologise only to be cut by the older man. “Tum kyun ro rahe ho? Puri baat toh suno meri.” Ram leaned a little more on the curly haired man, settling his head on Bheem’s shoulder. Their hands, still clasped, rested on Bheem’s lap. He sleepily kept going, almost slurring at the end.
“Magar tumhare aane ke baad mujhe yahan ek ghar mil gaya hai. Jis tarah tum mera khayal rakhte ho, maa rakha karti thi. Kaash main mila pata tumhe unse. Bahot pyaar karti woh tumse bhi. Jaise main bhi karta hoon. Pehle pehle mujhe tum mein chinna nazar aata tha. Tumhari sharatein, tumhari maasumiyat. Magar ab tum dost se badh kar ho mere liye. Bhai se bhi aziz. Mere paas koi shabd nahi hai jis se main mere ishq ka ikraar kar sakoon. Bas yahi ke ab tum ho mera ghar, Akhtar.”
(After your arrival in my life, I suppose I have found a home here. The way you look after me, amma did. If only you could have met her. She would have loved you. Just like I do. You know, earlier you reminded me of chinna. Your mischievousness, your innocence. Now, you’re more to me than a friend, a brother. I don’t have words to describe how I feel about you. How much I love you. Just this that you are my home now, Akhtar.)
Bheem was taken aback by this impromptu confession. If he had been standing, he’d certainly fall on his ass like a fool. What was Ram saying? Was he even aware of it now or was still under the influence of the fever? He gazed at Ram who had closed his eyes after tumbling Bheem’s world upside down with merely his words. The yellow of the bulb in the room was flickering a little, giving an earthy glow to Ram’s accentuated, sharp features. There was dead silence around, the sound of Ram’s laboured breathing beating like steady waves of the ocean, loud and clear. Bheem thought his heart might just jump out from his rib cage. All the turmoil within the younger man was in stark contrast to the serenity enveloping the two puzzle pieces that didn’t know they belonged together.
They had been teetering on edge for a while now, Bheem restraining himself from falling in the colossal well of feelings. He was slipping in nonetheless like a person struggling in the quicksand sinks faster and deeper by the second. The only consolation that held him from stumbling over the cliff was that Ram would never feel the same. It was a delirious confession, sure but there was truth in it. Bheem felt it in his very bones. Ram may not be completely aware of what he implied, however, that did not diminish the depth of his emotions, the ring of honesty in the words.
Bheem could never say them back now, could he? As much as he wanted too, one of them had to be cognizant of reality. The cruelty of the world, the consequences of their actions. If after everything, Bheem concluded Ram felt the same, he would test those waters again. If he’d live, he’d fight for them. Although today, he was shackled by his mission, he was chained to his promise, tied to his purpose. It was best he let the older man rest.
“Ram?” He called out gently, tapping his cheek.
“Hmm…”
“Theek se so jao.” (Sleep properly.) He shifted a little, making proper space for Ram on the bed to help him lie down.
Ram clung more to him, burrowing his face further into his neck. “Main theek hi hoon.” (I’m doing fine.) He shifted and twisted until he was half sprawled on Bheem, one hand around his waist, one leg over his thigh. His grip tightened when Bheem tried to move, whining like a child who’d been denied candy. “Akhtar!!! Don’t ruin my comfy bed!”
“Ram,” he tried to reason. “We can’t fit here. We’ll be cramped and sore in the morning.”
Ram peeked with one eye open at Akhtar, the panic stricken expression raising a juvenile need to rile him further up. Somewhere in his subconscious, Ram knew that tonight he could get away with anything. The softness of the ambience, his unburdened heart acting as perfect catalyst to detach him from overthinking the cause and effect.
He got up, manhandling Bheem to a comfortable position against the headrest of the bed, placing a couple of pillows behind his back, and plopped down again, his own head now in Bheem’s lap, curling onto him like an octopus. “See! We fit. I’m going to sleep now. Don’t disturb me.”
Bheem could not help but smile at Ram’s antics. This was a side to Ram he barely got to witness. The one where he took what he wanted to without hesitation. He shook his head, gazing at the already snoring Ram, who looked ethereal. Up until now, he hadn’t comforted Ram like he wanted to, he didn’t take the liberty. Bheem still believed that he had no right. But maybe at this moment, he could let himself indulge a little. He slid one arm around Ram’s shoulders, gathering the man some more into a half embrace, relaxing himself more. He carded his fingers through the jet black hair, keeping up the soothing motion as he drifted off in a restful sleep.
…
The morning light sieved through the window slit, falling nonchalantly on Ram’s face where it was half sunk into the steadily rising and falling stomach of his beloved. The sun-rays filtering fell on Ram’s eye making him open and shut them a couple of times. He could hear the daily noise the city churned out in the mornings. The milkman, the vendors setting up, the newspaper stands selling ‘aaj ki taza khabar’, the occasional vehicle honking through the already buzzing, narrow streets. Ram felt more rested that morning than he had in a long while, the reason for that snoring right beside him.
He looked at the sleeping, drooling, angelic entity slammed by the headrest beside him and gazed at Akhtar with unreserved affection for quite a time. He looked so young, peaceful and so beautiful. He wanted to take Akhtar's face in his hands and kiss him awake. The urge was so strong, but the sleeping angel seemed innocent and pure and Ram thought that he would spoil him with his touch- just like everything else in his life. A deep-seated fear awakened like Smaug uncoiling in his belly – I can never be with Akhtar! If I do, I’ll destroy him. The revelation struck hard and fast. It left Ram paralyzed for another minute or two or five. He didn't know until Akhtar opened his eyes, gradually waking up and taking in the surroundings.
Bheem sat up straight and blinked several times to get acclimated to the surroundings. He found himself in Ram's bed, with Ram beside him, looking at him with such unreserved affection that he had to look away from those fiery orbs. The same eyes that were glassy yesterday night were now crystal clear, with the same intensity in them that left Bheem baffled each time he looked into them. It was akin to staring at the sun for too long. He wants to, but he will burn. The only difference is, in this instance, for this inferno, he wants to burn. It is scary as it is exciting.
He still is as beautiful as he was, drenched in sweat, soot and dirt all over him when they first held hands under that bridge. Bheem remembers how his breath was caught in his throat at that sight. And it was not all because of the adrenaline pumping through him on saving the adorable kid. That solid grip of Ram was not on his arm, but was on his heart. Of course, all these were just poetic ramblings of his heart- not that Ram would feel anything remotely close to the tsunami of emotions Bheem was going through.
Nonetheless, last night's delirious confession hung heavy between them like a pipe dream. But it was just that, wasn't it? A pipe dream. A feverish babble. Ram had talked a lot about a lot of things. Of course he missed home. Of course he missed his father, his mother, his little brother. And mostly, he'd missed the special someone. Sita. He was engaged to be married for heaven's sake. He was just missing all this and his sleep addled brain had mistaken Bheem as the closest person in its vicinity and acted without deeper meaning. It would be foolish to build up hopes on such trivial things.
Bheem's chest constricted even after knowing all this, because there was an infinitesimal flicker of hope that had awakened in him that maybe, maybe one day he’d be able to say out loud what he felt for the other man. That life would give him one chance to come clean. He broke the silence before the tension would take its own form as the third entity in the room.
“Ab kaisa lag raha hai?” (How are you feeling now?) Bheem sat up straight, swinging his legs off the bed to get up. His kurta was crumpled, his neck and shoulders had a kink from sleeping in the awkward position for too long. He rotated it once slowly, just to avoid looking the older man in the eyes. He had to get out of there before things got real. Last night, barring Ram’s sleep deprived and ill state, was nothing short of magical for Bheem. Taking care of Ram like that, Ram talking a lot, made the younger man realise how much he had fallen for the guy in such a short time. Bheem had found himself closer to Ram more than ever.
The question popped the bubble of fantasy wrapped around the duo from the night, Ram clearing his throat, turning away so that both men had their backs to each other on either side of the bed. The vacant space between them an apt symbol of the chasm of an absurd, short lived fantasy they had braved to create. A tiny fragment carved out from the inevitable struggle their destiny had in hand for the future. “Kaafi behetar kal se. Mera khayaal rakhne ke liye shukriya.” (Much better than before. Thank you for taking care of me.)
Ram’s tone was formal and curt, a sense of finality in it that cut deep through Bheem’s stomach. He didn’t know if Ram remembered any of the things he’d said a few hours before or if he was embarrassed of himself for being sick, because Ram was definitely one of those people who disliked showing their vulnerabilities to others. Bheem had cursed this quality of his beloved friend more often than not, though he had not said it out loud. In this case, they both were the same.
“Of course. Anytime. Khuda hafiz.” (Goodbye)
The last thing Ram heard was a sharp click of the door as Akhtar left the house. He shuddered, taking in a deep breath, got up to get ready for another day of duty, his mind fully retaining the ramblings of last night as both a boon and a bane hanging over his head.
***************
I know this was not in any of the prompts you sent, but I hope this still makes for a half-decent gift that you can enjoy.
A/N: The couplet used is adopted from one of the shers of janab Ummeed Fazli.
The fic is as un-beta'd as they come, so pls pls let me know of the mistakes.
A special shout-out to @fangirlshrewt97 and @stanleykubricks for organizing this amazing event! THANK YOU!!
Summary: Ram tries and fails to have the perfect date with Bheem on their Anniversary.
Title: Murphy's Date (RamBheem fic)
Creator: veteran_fanperson
Giftee: @jrntrtitties
Prompt: RamBheem
Relationships: Ram x Bheem
Rating: Teens
Warnings: None
Created for: @celebrrration Holiday Swap 2022
Read on AO3 here
“So,” Seetha says abruptly into Ram’s ear on a dreary Tuesday morning, making him jump, “what is Bheem planning for your anniversary?”
“Seetha!” Ram grumbles, turning away from his screen to glare at his cousin who also happened to be his best friend who also happened to be his colleague. “Is this really the best time?”
“Probably not, but I don’t have anything to do right now. So spill, what’s he planning?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. I can’t take the day off and Bheem’s due back at the hospital that night so we just agreed we’d celebrate on Sunday.”
“Why can’t you take the day off?”
“I have a meeting with Scott in the morning.”
“You should take the afternoon off. Come on, Ram. Don’t you want to do something and surprise Bheem for a change?”
Ram opens his mouth to dismiss the suggestion, then thinks the better of it. Bheem was the romantic in their relationship — he was the one who planned most of the dates, picked out fantastic presents for special occasions, left little notes in Ram’s lunch at least twice a week, and sent flowers to Ram’s workplace. Ram, by contrast, did not really shine in the spontaneous fun department.
“I suppose I can take the afternoon off, maybe take him out to lunch…” he murmurs, turning to his computer.
“Where?”
“Where what?” Ram says irritably, mulling over his calendar.
“Friday’s just three days away Ram, every decent place will be booked full. Unless you want to take him to McDonalds.”
“I… Maybe we could go on a picnic? I could arrange for a gourmet meal.”
Seetha stares at him. “That’s actually not a bad idea. You should cook. And make some sweets -”
“I’m not that confident -”
“It’s the thought that counts. And how lucky for you, the forecast says it’s not going to be too sunny,” Seetha shows him her phone. “Where do you want to go anyway?”
“I don’t know…” Ram muses. “We can’t drive anywhere too far because Bheem needs to be in the hospital by seven, and I don’t like the GK field trail. Too many necking couples, it’s just awkward.”
“You’re such a hypocrite, it’s not like you and Bheem are going to be filling out insurance forms.” Seetha snorts.
Ram ignores her. “Maybe the Bandlapalli hill trail? Bheem loves the place. It has a lovely view of the city from the overlook, and I don’t think it’s too crowded in the afternoon.”
“There you go! Simple, easy to implement and romantic. You can watch the sunset and then maybe get down on one knee and finally give him the other half of your bracelet.”
Ram gawps at her.
“Seetha! That’s - How did you even - ”
“It was mine at first! You actually asked me first, my dear Bavaaaaaa!” She laughs at Ram’s discomfiture. “Maybe I should tell Bheem you’re planning on proposing to him with your ex-fiancée's reject -”
“We were eight years old!” Ram hisses, “I just thought that marrying you meant that we’d be friends forever! And I can’t believe you were looking in my desk -”
“I didn’t,” she clarifies, looking bored. “The whole damn office knows, Ram. You keep fidgeting with it all the time and staring moonily at it - ”
“I do not!”
“Oh?” She arches her brow. “Hey, Girish, come here a sec will you?”
“Seetha, what are you - ”
“Hey, Seetha, Ram,” Girish’s voice is soft and hesitant, and his arms are loaded with files. “I can’t stop, I need to get these photocopied and on Mr. Scott’s desk by two p.m and-”
“This won’t take too long, I just wanted to let you know Ram here is planning to propose this Friday.”
“Seetha!” Ram gasps, but no one pays any attention to him.
“Oh?” Girish’s smile is shy as he turns to Ram. “That’s such a romantic thing to do. Is that why you were practising your speech the other night?”
Seetha starts snorting inelegantly, breaking off with a squeak when Ram kicks her on the shin.
“Yes, Girish,” Ram says wearily. “Well I don’t want to keep you from your photocopying any longer.”
“I hope he says yes,” Girish says before scampering off.
“Don’t you dare say anything.” Ram snarls at Seetha after he’s gone.
Seetha gives him a look of faux innocence before dissolving into giggles.
Ram sighs.
The idea, however, sticks in his mind.
Handmade by his father as a pretty little trinket for his mother after they were married, Ram had always loved playing with the locket around his mother’s neck, snapping it in half and putting it back together constantly. On his seventh birthday, he was overjoyed when his mother had drawn the locket ring into a thick black thread and tied it around his wrist as a protection charm. He had asked Seetha to marry him a year later, only to have her say no and tease him about it mercilessly for years. The night he met Bheem he had made another bracelet and woven the second half into it. And there it stayed, wrapped in red silk, nestling inside a small wooden box.
Bheem’s certainly dropped enough hints in the past few months that at least indicated he was interested in marriage, so Ram knows his proposal will probably be accepted. The only thing that had held him back all these months was the fear of not making the proposal special enough. He knows Bheem doesn’t particularly care, and would probably be overjoyed if Ram asked him over dosas at their regular place, but Bheem deserves more.
Ram takes out the box again from inside his desk. Maybe it was time to give it to its true owner.
+
Bheem is working a late shift when he gets home, so he makes himself a cup of tea and sits with his laptop and book, ready to research picnic ideas. Four hours and countless Pinterest pages later, he has a somewhat workable plan.
He dispenses with the rose petals, dainty hor d'oeuvres, pink lemonade and four thousand rupee vintage picnic baskets, choosing hearty and easy recipes that his boyfriend won’t be able to inhale in less than a minute.
Bheem’s not due back for at least another six hours, so he decides to go grocery shopping and start on prepping for some of the cooking. He’ll need to hide the results at Seetha’s apartment though, because Bheem is a bloodhound when it comes to food.
This would be the perfect opportunity to show Bheem how much he cares, how special Bheem is, and how eager Ram is to spend their lives together.
Ram smiles. It’s going to be just perfect.
+
It is not perfect.
He wakes up warm and comfortable, Bheem’s arm thrown around his waist. For a moment, he is content to admire his gorgeous boyfriend, at the wild curly hair, the perfect pink lips, the permanent circles around his eyes that demonstrate the strain of being an ER doctor. He leans in to kiss Bheem lightly before lifting his head to check the time — and sits up with a gasp. The meeting with Scott starts in less than half an hour.
Coffee forgotten, he leaps into the shower. There’s no time to shave, so Ram lets his scruff be as he attempts to tame his hair. Five minutes later he’s out of the door, tie put on backwards, his suit crumpled.
Scott stares openly at him as he bursts into the conference room ten minutes late.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he gasps.
“Clearly,” Scott sneers. “Take a seat, Ram. Now going to the second point on the agenda…”
The meeting is an utter disaster as Ram is woefully underprepared for it, and by the end of it Scott is positively tutting at him. He grudgingly approves Ram’s request for the afternoon off after Ram promises to spend the next two weekends preparing and writing the company’s quarterly report. He knows he’ll regret it on Sunday morning, but he’s hoping Bheem will be too busy planning the wedding by then.
By the time he reaches home, after a quick stop at Seetha’s to pick up the food, he’s exhausted.
“Ram?” Bheem is still sleepy and nursing his second mug of coffee by the time Ram comes home. “Bangaram, are you alright? You’re back early.”
Ram opens his mouth to reply, but Bheem’s already putting his cup down and approaching him, placing a hand on Ram’s forehead to check his temperature. Ram kisses the frown off his face.
“I’m fine, Bheem. Just had a rough day at work.”
Bheem relaxes and pulls him into a deeper kiss, and Ram bites back a moan when it starts getting filthy.
“Bheem,” he says, pulling away, “not that I don’t want to, but now is not the time.”
“Why not?” Bheem bites at Ram’s earlobe.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Mmmm, I’ll just bet you do…”
“Please, Bheem.”
That gets Bheem’s attention. He backs off with some reluctance, but there’s a small smile on his face.
“Do I need to wear a suit?”
“No,” Ram says, smiling back. He catches Bheem around the waist and kisses him chastely. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”
Bheem beams back, his dark eyes lighting up. “I thought we were celebrating on Sunday.”
Ram thinks of his report and winces. “I took the afternoon off. Let’s go out? I promise we’ll be back by six.” He kisses Bheem thoroughly for good measure before letting go.
“I’ll be ready in ten,” Bheem says dazedly, lifting a hand to his own lips.
“I can’t wait.”
+
Fifteen minutes into the hike, Ram begins to wish he had left his jacket back in the car. They hadn’t been here in a while, and he had forgotten how steep the climb was. It’s uncomfortably warm and humid for a December afternoon, and the straps of his backpack start digging in all too soon, making him wonder if he had packed too much. The trail is calm and deserted. Ram fidgets constantly with his pocket, fingering the little box inside, trying to draw strength from it. Bheem is unusually silent and thoughtful, and they’re almost at the top when Ram catches him wincing.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Bheem’s grimace belies the statement. “I just- I kind of bruised my ankle in the hospital yesterday.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m so sorry!” Ram groans, wanting to kick himself. He claws at Bheem’s backpack. “Give this to me, you shouldn’t be carrying anything. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I planned this stupid surprise and didn’t even ask if you were up for it - ”
Bheem bats his hands away, hoisting his backpack tighter. “Hey, hey, Ram, come on- no, don’t do that. It’s fine. We’re almost there anyway, right? And I love this place, you know that. I’m fine, really. Maybe we could just walk a little slower?”
“Are you sure?” Ram frets. “We can go back if you want, right away, and - ”
“No,” Bheem says firmly, lacing their fingers together. “Really, it’s nothing, not even a sprain. I’m fine. Come on.”
They walk a little slower, Ram shooting anxious glances at his boyfriend throughout. The overlook is deserted when they get there, and all the agony is almost worth it for the look in Bheem’s eyes, for the way he whistles appreciatively when Ram spreads out the dhurrie and begins to unpack the food.
“Is that- Ram, are those Bajjis?”
“Mirchi and Aratikaya Bajjis” Ram says, just a little smug.
Bheem groans appreciatively.
“And,” Ram preens, “samosas, pulihora, good old fashioned bombay mixture, ginger chai, onion pakoras -”
“And?” Bheem says eagerly, gleefully opening the various containers.
“Mysorepak.”
Bheem groans again. “And you made all this? For me?”
“Yes,” Ram says, not able to keep the grin off his face, “I love you.”
“Oh, Ram,” Bheem leans in to kiss him, his lovely eyes dewy and soft, “I love you too.”
Bheem cheers up exponentially as they eat, becoming talkative and vibrant in the way only good food can make him. Ram tries to relax, taking small bites as they take in the spectacular view of the town, practising his speech in his head. The breeze picks up gradually, bringing with it the scent of the neem leaves from the trees below. He waits impatiently for Bheem to finish, for the sun to start setting, for the moment he has been dreaming of all these months.
Only it doesn’t quite happen.
“Ummm, Baby? I think we’ll need to head back,” Bheem says at the first, low rumble of thunder.
“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” Ram says irritably, beginning to pack nonetheless. “The forecast said it was going to be clear all day — and I left the umbrellas in the car dammit-”
“It’s okay, Ram. We won’t melt.”
“But your ankle - ”
“Is fine.”
It begins to drizzle just as they’re done packing, Ram hurriedly zipping the backpack closed and grabbing Bheem’s hand.
“Walk carefully, we can’t have you slipping. Want me to carry you?”
“Normally I’ll never say no to you carrying me,” Bheem says with a smile. “But no. We have a lot of stuff to carry and it’s just a little rain.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when it begins to pour. They slip and slide a little as they make their way back slowly over the rocks, Ram cursing the stupid weather app silently with every breath. They’re drenched and cold and muddy by the time they reach the car, and Ram is beyond upset.
“Hey,” Bheem says softly, “don’t look like that, sweetheart. I mean it, this was the best surprise I’ve ever had in my life.”
He draws Ram close and kisses him gently, and Ram can feel the disappointment start to intensify. It’s not fair. Bheem is just so perfect, so incredibly sweet and he deserves so much more than this. So very much more.
He drops to his knees and grabs Bheem’s hands, uncaring of the squelchy mud. He's done waiting for the perfect moment, because it clearly does not exist.
“Ram?” Bheem’s voice is breathy and full of wonder.
Ram reaches into his pocket and, to his horror, finds nothing but lint.
“Ram, are you really?”
“Ummm, no.” He risks a glance at Bheem, who looks like he’s been slapped. “I mean I was going to,” he corrects, squeezing Bheem’s fingers reassuringly, “but I appear to have misplaced the - the other half of my bracelet - maybe my box fell out of my pocket somewhere on our way back. I’m sorry, I screwed this up so badly, I’ll make it up to you -”
Bheem hauls him up and kisses him passionately, shoving Ram against the car with a loud thud. Ram catches on a little late, but they’re both breathless and smiling like loons when Bheem breaks the kiss.
“Yes, Ram.”
“Really?” Ram asks him.
“Yes, yes, a million times yes.”
“Oh, thank god ,” Ram breathes, collapsing against Bheem’s chest.
“You’ll still need to go find that half though. My acceptance is only conditional.”
Title: He will search anywhere and everywhere for the missing lamb and will eventually find it. If at that time the lamb is in the tiger’s mouth he will break its teeth, pry its jaws open and take the lamb back to its herd.
They loved Rajamouli to bits. They respected him infinitely. They adored him to the moon and back. The man was one in a zillion. The gargantuan storyteller. The wizard. The alchemist - turning innocent emotions into a force of nature. The myth. The legend. The one and only.
Very rarely, though, in select moments, they wanted to throw a chair at him. Or a mic (which was his preferred weapon for throwing as well). Or anything that is close range, actually. His zeal for perfection was admirable. But it could be anal. So so anal. To the point where he was the only one to spot a perceived aberration that even computer vision could not spot.
They had been having one of those moments for the last 15 days. He had flown them to Ukraine to shoot the ‘Naatu Naatu’ sequence. He had briefed them at length as to how this would be the most pivotal and potentially most popular song of the movie. He also explained to them how this is like a movie within a movie. It was Bheem’s struggle to get to Malli, via Jenny. In his innocent ways, he would conclude that this would be the only possibility for him. This would also be a realization for Ram about how dear Bheem really is to him. This is also the beginning of the revolution - where they defeat the Brits at their own game and refuse to be subservient to them. And this would further cement how they were so in sync with each other - their emotions translating into exact physical movements. Which would play a crucial role in the key sequences for the rest of the movie.
Both Charan and Tarak were thorough professionals and were obviously fully on board with Rajamouli’s vision for the song. They were immensely thrilled about working with him again. But the man had clearly gone crazy this time. He had spent months with the music director and choreographers on this one song - rejecting multiple versions before zeroing in on the current one. They had rehearsed in Hyderabad at length - separately and together. Then they rehearsed for 10 days in Ukraine while he was shooting other sequences. Every evening, he would come to their rehearsal hall to check on their progress and point out impossible details that he wanted them to nail down. ‘Two bodies, one soul’ - he would keep repeating to them. To the point where they started hearing it in their dreams, also.
Tarak and Charan had just completed day 5 of shooting and were still only half done with the song. They reached their hotel and ordered room service. It was Charan’s turn to order this time - Tarak had plopped down on one of the twin beds in Charan’s room and refused to move a muscle.
‘What do you want to have?’ Charan asked Tarak.
‘How does it matter? We are never leaving this country and going to die here anyway.’
That made him look at Tarak, who was still lying lifeless on the bed. Charan smiled at his friend, whose penchant for histrionics was second to none. He was zonked out himself but still managed to be amused by his friend’s antics.
‘Don’t be like that. Look - I found Biryani on the extended menu. Shall we have that? At least it will have some spice and flavor. I am sick of all the bland food we have been eating the last two weeks.’
‘Biryani? Great idea. If Jakanna finds out, he will annihilate both our nutritionists and us. And god forbid, if we end up putting on even 100 grams, he will know. And then he will scream at us for messing with the continuity of the song and the fitting of the costumes. Which would mean spending even more days here. No, thank you - I will pass on the biryani. Order the usual, tasteless food.’
If Charan didn’t know any better, he would have called Tarak paranoid and laughed away his concerns. But he knew this was a possibility. SSR was capable of making them use the weighing scale every day if he suspected any change in their build. It was better to suck it up for a few more days instead of prolonging their agony. So he ordered their pre-approved menu for dinner and plopped down on the other bed. Both were silent for a good while, just trying to gauge which all body parts were sore from today’s shooting.
‘You know - everyone on the set was so sympathetic. Olivia even got me two lemonades between the zillion takes. Karth was almost apologetic for his father’s craziness. But one person who was unfazed and unmoved by all this was Jakanna. He didn’t say a word; he didn’t even look at us between takes.’
‘Yeah, man. He is a tough taskmaster - we both knew that. But this is something else. Every time he calls us to the monitor to show the break in sync, I can’t spot it. It’s not visible to the naked eye, even to him. What is the logic of using screen freeze when people are going to be watching in real time? Does he think we are going to get an Oscar for this, or what? This could have been wrapped up days ago. Why don’t you talk to him? He might listen to you - the two of you started together, and he respects your opinion.’
Tarak let out a snort at Charan’s innocent hopefulness.
‘Baby, he won’t listen to even God. He is a different man now. A crazy, whacky, infuriating man.’
Charan hummed in agreement.
‘So, what then? There is nothing we can do?’
‘What if we call in sick? Just one of us will do - coz he can’t shoot without both of us present. He has all the shots anyway - he is just making us redo stuff that he caught in screen freeze in his 15th viewing. He can literally just use what he already has, and that would be a great song.’
‘It won’t work - he will see right through it. On normal days it could work. But he knows how irritated we are right now, and he would expect us to pull something like this. So he won’t buy it. I won’t put it past him to send doctors to check in on us if we try this route.’
It was Tarak’s turn to hum in agreement now. They both fell silent again.
‘I have half a mind to just run away. Like literally, just catch the first flight tomorrow morning and get back. He won’t be able to find out if we take a commercial flight, not a charter one. Seriously, what’s the worst that can happen? Maybe it will be a wake-up call for him that he needs to tone down the craziness.’
Charan laughed out at Tarak’s sense of humor. But when Tarak didn’t join in the laughter, he looked at his friend curiously.
‘Please tell me you are kidding, Tarak. Say it.’
Tarak paused for a good ten seconds, a pregnant pause. Then conceded half-heartedly. He could never go through something like that, however much he wanted to. But he didn’t give up, not yet.
‘What if he actually sees us getting injured? In front of him? One of us should do a fake fall tomorrow and then cry out for dear life. Even if he calls a doctor, they won’t be able to definitively comment on muscle pain.’
Charan pondered on the suggestion - this one seemed to have potential.
‘And it should be you, baby, not me. He would never believe me. But I don’t think he would doubt you much - he thinks of you as a good, decent, well-behaved boy. Coz he doesn’t know you like I do.’
Charan turned to his side to find Tarak smirking at him, his eyes hopeful and giddy. Tarak’s child-like enthusiasm was infectious, as was his optimism. But in this case, he knew they were doomed to fail. He voiced his concern out loud, and Tarak’s face fell in resignation. He was still not ready to give up, though.
‘What if the costumes got stolen? Or misplaced? I could do that easily.’
Tarak was just grasping at straws now.
‘A - he has backup costumes, Rama ma’am told me. B - the crew will get yelled at for this, which we can’t let happen.’
‘Ok. What if we call the producer and ask him to intervene, citing budget issues or something?’
‘You and I both know we won’t go behind Rajamouli Garu’s back like this.’
‘Do you have anything to contribute here, then, other than shooting down all of mine?’
‘Well, since your ideas are as good as a 10-year-old’s, I have no choice but to shoot them down. Seriously, even Abhay would be able to come up with better plans to ditch school than all the nonsense you just spewed.’
Charan half giggled at his friend, who was pouting and sulking now.
‘Are you saying I am not naughty enough? Not bad-ass enough?’
‘No. I am saying your plans suck because your heart is not really into it. Neither is mine. Deep down, we respect that infuriating man too much to pull any serious stunts on him.’
Tarak huffed, but he knew Charan was right.
‘Urghhhhhhhhh. I will burn that costume if he asks me for more retakes. I have given more takes here than I have in my entire career. Seriously, he is destroying my reputation as a single-take actor. I can’t take it anymore. This is torture. This is a war crime.’
Charan laughed and threw a cushion at Tarak.
‘A war crime huh? Try saying that to him tomorrow.
‘Oh, I will. I most definitely will. I will also report him to United Nations Human Rights Council while I am at it. The videos from the set are enough proof of torture. And captive labor. And slavery.’
Even Tarak could hear how ridiculous he sounded right now, but he kept going anyway. Charan continued to humor his friend.
‘At least your individual takes get approved in one go. Because you are such a fantastic dancer, and Rajamouli knows that.’
Tarak was lying on his stomach, with his face buried in the pillow. He just gave a brief ‘hmm’ and didn’t say anything more. But Charan was in a confessing mood now.
‘I was nervous, you know - before we started rehearsing.’
Tarak peaked sideways from the pillow.
‘Nervous? Why?’
‘Why? Because I had to dance with you, Einstein. I even talked to Bunny about it before coming here - he gave me a good pep talk.’
‘Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Why him?’
‘I don’t know. It just felt silly bringing this up. Like I knew I must work twice as hard to match up with you. But I just hope I am able to pull it off.’
Tarak didn’t resort to any false assurances on how Charan was as good a dancer or anything. Charan would see right through it.
‘I saw you working extra hard. And it has paid off. We have both seen the shots - you are as good as me. It’s him who is the problem, not either of us.’
They both burst out laughing. Hard. All the exhaustion of the last two weeks had taken its toll, but they were glad to have each other on this journey. They also knew it was possibly the only time they would get to work together, and they relished every moment of it.
‘You know what? Enough with the gloom and doom. Enough with the rules. We only have to face him tomorrow morning. Let’s make tonight worthwhile. What say?’
Charan was beaming at Tarak now. While Tarak was intrigued yet perplexed by the sudden turn in his mood.
‘Ummm what do you have in mind, to make tonight worthwhile?’
Charan went to the mini-bar and pulled out a bottle of tequila. Tarak looked at it tentatively.
‘I don’t know, baby. We have to get up really early tomorrow and be ultra alert on set. Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘Yes, I am. And we are doing this. Look - we are anyway going to be yelled at. He is anyway not going to be happy with most of the takes. Let’s at least get something from it.’
Charan poured the shots and handed one to Tarak. They gulped together. And again. And one more time. In 3 minutes, they were five shots down. On an empty stomach since the food hadn’t come in yet. Tarak was singing a double-meaning song from a cheesy movie while Charan was dancing to it.
‘My dear Cherry - on a scale of 1 to 10, how angry would Jakanna be if he sees us like this a few hours before the shoot?’
‘My dear Tarakuuu, he will be angry 1000 crores. Anything less than that number is not his thing.’
They laughed like kids. They laughed like maniacs. They laughed like best friends.
They knew they should have crashed like 30 mins ago, but they kept chatting and dancing around the room for a good 2 hours more. Torture awaited them on the other side, and they were building up the strength to deal with it for a few more days. At least they would be together through it - being each other’s support, cheerleader, confidante, and agony aunt. Such was their relationship - which had only gotten stronger through the course of this movie. RRR had been a blessing for them in many ways. They just hoped the love translated to and resonated with the audiences. They just hoped that the audiences loved Ram and Bheem’s bond, which was, in so many ways, a representation of their own bond, that they had built and cherished over the last 10 years. A bond for life. A bromance for eternity. A love like no other.
I am sure all of us are busy with preparing for Christmas/Other holidays, the end of 2022, and the start of 2023. Before we close out the year though, we have one more event to go for this extraordinary fandom that has defined the back half of the year for me in ways I cannot sufficiently describe.
We have 20 wonderful creators participating in this Holiday Swap, which means 20 new works (at least!) for this fandom to celebrate with.
Moving on to how posting will work for this event.
For the sake of ease of archiving/retrieving/searching, we request all works to be posted with the following format:
Title
Creator:
Giftee (aka who is the person you are gifting this to?): @tumblr username or AO3 handle.
Prompt (optional):
Relationships:
Rating:
Warnings/Tags:
@celebrrration Holiday Swap 2022 (<-- Very important to include this line, this is how we will be able to reblog all the creations onto the CelebRRRation blog)
AO3 link (if applicable)
Great, now that we have that out of the way, when are we posting??
According to the poll I sent out, the majority voted for December 24th, so between 12:00 AM India Time on December 24th to 11:59 PM California Time. Kindly get your work uploaded here, and on AO3 between this window of time.
In case you are not able to post in this window, email me ahead of time so I can let your giftee know their gift will be slightly delayed, but please do try to finish and post this weekend.
It is important that we stick to this posting window, because as we are doing a swap where our giftees do not know who is receiving what from who, posting all together helps us not make anyone wait unreasonably.
Now, in addition to this, a few of you were also interested in what other prompts might have been in play for the event, so you could perhaps create additional works.
You can find the list at this link.
This is open to others who may not have been able to sign up for the event but would like to participate. These extra works are optional. If you decide to do one, kindly let me know which user’s prompt you are fulfilling, so I can let you know their handles.
Because I am only sharing this link today, we are giving the deadline for these works to be January 1st, 2023.
Now, this is my first time organizing an event such as this, so I thank you for being patient with me. If there is anything confusing or that you want more information on, feel free to message me.
