#ALSO THE WAY HE STARTED WITH “LIGHT”

[iluumey]

BRENNAN WITH MAKEUP AND ITS SO PRETTY???????? THE SPARKLES???? THE EYE SHADOW??? SLAY??????

[linoyes]

bonus worm time

[shotmrmiller]

i need simon to be the one neighbor with a generator when the light's been out for days and when you shakily ask him if he can let you at least charge your phone he just drags you into his home and tells you that you can stay if you pull your weight ie. feed him and wash his ripe work clothes.

sure. you don't know how to cook but he eats it like gordon ramsey made it, doesn't even leave crumbs on the table.

you mix colors with whites, dark with light, but luckily for you, all he wears is black. (not like it matters. if you stained a wife beater pink, he'd blame it on his girl mixing her red thready knickers in with his own clothes)

it works, you suppose, but then he tells you that yall are about to have company so make plenty of food. it's 3 others but they all eat like a family of four.

and this is where things take a turn. where he always left you alone before, his hands are on your shoulders. waist. hips. curling around your ankle, thumb digging into your foot beneath the table. the scottish one notices and tells you both to keep it PG. ye're in decent company, he grumbles.

he helps pick up the dishes once everyone's happy and full of whatever you threw in the oven. stands so close he's pining you against the sink, counter digging painfully into your skin.

"they like ya," he says. well yes, you rather noticed when they kept complimenting the science experiment you called dinner. you also noticed that they called you missus. or maybe you misheard. their accents are pretty thick.

after a nightcap, he sends them on their merry way. "the missus is tired. off with ya." so you hadn't misheard.

you aren't sure how one thing led to another. how you'd been aimlessly drying dishes with a rag to having his head between your thighs, tongue dragging between your folds, fingers pressed into you up to the knuckle.

what do you know is that where he bit your neck as you came still aches. he'd been talking filth that would have even a sailor apple cheeked as he used his spit slick thumb to rub your stiff pearl in tight little circles, feeling you felt your peak approaching at a speed that almost frightened you when he sunk his crooked teeth into the junction of your neck. hard.

enough to feel a bit of a stinging tearing of skin.

ouch. you'd ask if this is also a part of pulling your weight but he's doing it for you as he drags you toward his bedroom.

[ruporas]

hello there, angel

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. Vash is sitting facing the viewer and holds a rose between his clasped together hands, but he’s looking to the left, upwards, at Wolfwood, with an awed expression. Wolfwood hovers over him with wings sprouting from his back. He has a cigarette lit between his lips, his arms and legs are crossed, and he looks back at Vash with a neutral expression. The both of them are covered in a blue shadow, casted by Wolfwood and his hovering form, while warm light hits the back of his wings and over Vash’s legs. Small feathers sits next to Vash. End ID]

[youngpettyqueen]

I know the decision to have Julian's parents have him augmented was made on the fly but imo its pretty obvious from early on that Julian has Family Issues because he avoids talking about his family like the plague and I think they should've incorporated this into the Julian and Sisko dynamic right from early on because I think it would've made for some really compelling stories and moments and could've set up a REALLY interesting Julian and Jake dynamic which they kinda started to do but never fully went for

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

[autisticrosewilson]

So do you guys actually think that Jason's entire story, relationship to the others, and philosophy amounts to him being a rebellious teen who wants his dad's attention? Like are you 100% serious? I thought you were joking about that but too many of you are saying it with your whole chest.

And what the fuck is this "Bruce antagonizing Jason is fanon!" Shit I've been seeing? You guys are aware that a parent can love their kid and still be a shit parent right? I know you guys don't want to fathom the thought that maybe your blorbo might also occasionally have to face responsibility for consistently endangering children but let's not start being delusional now.

Bruce does love his kids, that doesn't mean that he hasn't hurt them. And I'd also argue that for the most part he feels in the right for it, and he's said multiple times that he believes it's for their own good, so you can't even argue that he's sorry about it. It's okay for you guys to admit that your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION of the character wouldn't do that but don't sit here and pretend that it's not a facet of the source.

[wyvernquill]

I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

[satsuha]

ageswap au made by @tenretsuzan on twitter! there's a brief explanation beneath the readmore

your name is hikari ku, age 30. you were banished from your home nation of ku at a young age and led a failed rebellion against your treacherous brother, laid low by a harsh betrayal.

"even if it means harnessing this darkness... i will see my country freed from war."

marred by scars left by your once erstwhile friends and plagued by a darkness that grows uncontrollable, you grasp onto the small hope that you may one day reclaim your nation once more...

-

your name is temenos mistral, age 21. you led a peaceful life in flamechurch until one day your brother disappears after leaving you with an ominous message about the church.

"roi... what could have led someone like you down a path like this?"

despite your father's protests, you follow after his footsteps in hopes of uncovering his whereabouts, as well as the church's secrets that forced his departure...

[thepersonperson]

Ngl your post summarises so well why i love sukugo and why im so insane about them

Like of fucking course those two would work together when Sukuna deeply does not care about any social rules to ever exist. Of course they do when Gojo is confronted with someone gay for him and not hiding behind anything. This is not survivable and i love them and care them. I even had written in the notes for my fic about Gojo being the person who generally prefers to keep things as they are but i couldnt actually formulate why i think that. You are so smart your analysis is so wonderful

This is also why I like Sukugo a lot. It's not just that Sukuna matches Gojo's freak, he enables it. Encourages it even. Makes it worse. Sukuna's existence is a twisted opposition to Jujutsu Society. It's very hedonistic, sadistic, and selfish but by golly it is rebellion.

The flattery is also appreciated, but please understand that I am very stupid and am capable of making mistakes. Alternate perspectives like yours are just as valuable. Which is why I'm shoehorning your tags on this post into this ask. (They are great tags and everyone should see them. Also I don't know how to respond to them otherwise.)

#yeah youre right # sorry i got time to think about it #and im kind of writing gojo rhe same but a vit more influenced by sukuna lmao #tbh as the person coming from a post soviet country #i honestly cant like #fully agree with everything due to just #like i understand that what people want from socialism isnt what was in soviet union #but its still very much hard to accept that anyone could want what we went through lol #when i tell you that socialism actually pitted everyone against each other isnt not a joke #but i understand what you lead into and yeah yeah true

#tbf to gojo he really tried even if his method ultimately failed #like he had genuinely tried to do better for the kids that came after him despite the desperate lack of empathy of understanding of others #and himself #like i can appreciate the desperate desire to make change for the better

#and yeah geto was so horribly jealous its insane #of anything really #i also kinda really think geto has the mentality that after toji gojo is different? #that the boy he knew died and this is someone else #and what he does it ultimately for the boy he loved and for the boy who survived through changing #it also may be a bit of a fucked up coping mechanism how to deal with it all and differentiate what gojo was to him and is

#but yeah i was thinkinf about it and talking a lot #they were so badly exploited as children #we know its better with gojo than it was before #but then also if gojo takes on the hardest missions for the students that means he’s not present to teach its a fucked up circle #he doesnt understand enough to be a full leader to make a rebellion but he is trying god damn #but yeah the only way he could articulate what he’s actually feeling is through battle which is sad

#i take the way he stopped looking for exciting battles growing up is him growing up #like sending yuuta for cursed tools. he made his peace that he cant just chase men while he needs to take care of the kids #idk its all deeplt fucked up and im very sad for them

That's a fair criticism and even better commentary. I understand the aversion to some of the words I'm using to describe this. It's just that I don't know how else to effectively communicate what I think is the main issue. I do appreciate you're willing to hear me out on this though! (You're applying Umineko's "Without love, it cannot be seen." which makes me very happy.)

I'm US based which is a hypercapitalist hellscape, so when I talk about socialism it doesn't mean "do exactly what the Soviet Union did" (that would be very bad) but instead some of the ideas behind workers rights are good and desperately needed to curb stomp the type of labor exploitation they're experiencing. (Like unions for better pay, hours, and working conditions.)

Theory is useful because it give you the words to describe exactly what's wrong and the ideas that can guide you towards productive solutions. I can say Jujutsu Society is bad because of labor exploitation from the higher ups and therefore unions would help mitigate their power because I learned about those things.

Gojo and Geto don't have those words or background so they see part of the problem but have no name for it. And because they don't understand why it's happening, their solutions are surface-level treatments that don't address the real source of their suffering.

Toji was a symptom of the problem. Geto saw Toji as the entire problem so he thinks eradicating anything like Toji is the solution. Gojo saw Toji as a symptom and a potential solution to the real problem—Jujutsu Society. He recognized that Toji being strong is what helped him escape this problem so he laser focused on it. If he and his students are strong, they can change things. What things exactly? Gojo doesn't have the knowledge or time to dwell deeper on it. To him strength=revolution. He neglects the need for mutual aid, addressing overwork, and limiting child labor because the words and framework to deal with that are missing.

Gojo can't really do anything other than keep things the sameish because he doesn't know how the better world he's seeking works. (Similar to how you recognized this flaw of his, but couldn't put it into words since you didn't have them.) He both does things better for his students and screws them up in whole new different ways as a result of this. It's very tragic.

And everything wrong with Jujutsu Society is still just a microcosm of Japanese work culture that leads to this exploitation in the first place. Nanami is the only character that makes this connection and he has no idea what to do about it other than work where he feels less bad about it.

It's kind of like knowing a grease fire is dangerous but not knowing how to put it out.

>Gojo throws water on the grease fire trying to put it out and makes it worse before he starts suffocating it with his body instead of a blanket.

>Geto tries to eradicate grease from existence not knowing that other types of fire exist.

>Nanami realizes oxygen and fuel are the source of fires but he has none of the tools to put them out or prevent them.

>Sukuna understands that letting the fire burn everything to ash means there will never be fire again. ...While ignoring this also means there will be nothing left in the aftermath.

If any of these people were taught fire safety (labor theory), their methods of dealing with the fire (labor exploitation) and preventing it in the future would be so much better.

Japan has some of the lowest union memberships and the worst working conditions amongst rich countries. JJK has a lot to say on the topic so I'm being very annoying about it because I don't see others talking about it this way.

[lunarharp]

wanted to adapt the google search results a gay woman got in a japanese drama "tsukuritai onna to tabetai onna" which is good btw.

[moregraceful]

It feels like getting pulled underwater—the sharp sideways tug, the slight drag of resistance, then falling, falling, till the waves close over his head. But Logan can breathe when he rights himself again, even if the light has a watery filter to it and the voices have a distant echo. // Sometimes Logan gets a glimpse of guys who've been long gone from the teal, clustered at the far end of the bench or sitting in the box across the ice. He heard Jason's voice in the hallway loud and clear, that infectious laugh. And he could have sworn he saw Raffi fucking Torres getting out of a car in the players' lot. Something tells him not to look up the rosters.

Commissioned @impmakesart to make a painting based on the Sharks' Cali Fin hype reel + the flip side by frausorge. Imp was amazing to work with and I could not be more emotional about this piece and so, so pleased with how it turned out!! 🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️ Commission him here. Thank you Imp!

[satorisoup]

people will think im ordinary until they say one (1) thing about tmnt and all of a sudden im explaining the entire lore starting from the 1990’s movie & why donatello is the best turtle i fear… T^T

tag limit fights me… i must yap… please listen… SOB </3

[boinky-doinky]

He was going to kill him. That was the only thing clear in his mind: he was going to kill him. The only coherent and planned out thought in the ces pool of bullshit that hopped from one to another in a wild frenzy. He could not hold onto one if he wanted to-. All except one, he guessed. That Jack Bright was going to kill Draven- Kondraki. Not really his own but the carbon copy of a father he couldn’t respect.

He must have been doing everyone a favor, really. Cutting the bloodline short and making sure that they wouldn’t get a repeat. That they wouldn’t get a second chance with a man who had done so much harm. This was a good thing. Bright was doing a damn good thing. He must have been, right? He thought so. Even when he, for a moment, could vaguely remember the little boy that man had once been. All of the baseball, soccer, and lacrosse games he and Clef had gone to because his father wouldn’t. All of those nights that kid had slept in his office because his father hadn’t been home. All of those nights-, and days….

It was all already in motion, huh? He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t. He looked on at that tired kid, already having bit so much more than he could chew, and pulled the gun. The lights were already blaring, the alarms were already going off. They wouldn’t even know he was gone.

[thepoisonroom]

https://x.com/adatarg/status/1797691508600049720

sorry i had to find it i need him so bad

bro????? an american version of the "you would be regular about bodies if you saw your grandmother's tits in the sauna"???????

[myreia]

— v. raison d'être

It was never going to last. They knew it from the beginning, all of them. Their time in the First was temporary, fleeting. For some, that would have been enough to give pause, to keep distance. For them, it made these moments all the more precious—even when it was difficult, even when it was unfair. Ryne knows they are both proud of her. That will never change, even when they live in separate worlds. It is a bittersweet thing to say goodbye, to close one chapter and begin the next. But change is necessary, a fundamental aspect of life. There is no sense in clinging to the past when the future—with all its countless possibilities—lies ahead. There is no looking back. Only forwards.