#he checks on me every so often

[rubarb69]

The way the summer air is begining to blow in seems to make everything worse; hot sticky air and too bright sunlight reflecting into my glasses doesnt make me feel the way it should, the joy is gone and replaced with a melancholy hole

[krikidilly]

I cant be, what you need, I am stuck, in a dream, I am stuck, in a dream.

[pixlatedvampire]

Been dreaming lately 🌜☁️🌈💤

[lesenbyan]

You know. I think I like G'raha for some of the same reasons people i know dislike him but likewise in the agreement on these facts is also why I dislike fandom G'raha. 'cause like. He isn't the same character as the Exarch. the G'raha we know and travel with in EW is not the same man as the Exarch, even with his memories, and I don't mean bc he's younger. like.

okay. I was raised on way too much sci-fi, okay? I got deep in it with paradoxes and time travel and alternate and parallel realities before i was 10. I had a lose grasp on certain quantum mechanics concepts at 13. you give me a time loop and I will immediately understand two things:

every loop is an alternate universe converging off of the same single point as there can be (are, depending) near infinite universes off of every single point in space (<- this is why AUs are called AUs after all) and thus

even if it's the same face, even if it's the same name. even if it's the exact same past up until now, even if everything is perceptibly the same, and this is crucial, they are not the same person.

(I promise, I'm getting there)

This holds true, even in a closed paradox bc you now have a chicken and the egg scenario. Like we all kind of understand the grandfather paradox, we understand that if we kill our grandfather before the respective parent is conceived we couldn't have been born and thus couldn't kill him, ad nauseum. but even if you close it. Even if, say, you're your own grandfather, every loop something's going to change, even if it's not noticeable, even if it's not in your life. something is gonna change. A fundamental fact of how i understand the theory to work (granted I'm no scholar) is every time you go back in time you're not actually going back on your linear time, you're creating an alternate universe which will then be the universe you also fast forward through when you go forward in time.

That being said, the G'raha Tia that becomes the Exarch is not the G'raha Tia that we know, this is proven the fact that the G'raha Tia we know cannot go on to become the Exarch bc the Exarch did not live these post 5.3 experiences. And from there that means the Exarch also didn't come from the G'raha we knew in Crystal Tower. CT and EW G'rahas are the same. the Exarch is from a parallel reality G'raha that yanked us bc the us from his reality died before he woke up and that is how that reality will always play out and we just so happen to be from the reality he reaches into/splinters to save a future. not his future. the people of his future are far beyond his reach and have been since he traveled to the First.

And I think all of that is incredibly fascinating. Especially bc if the G'raha we know was the base of the Exarch you'd think, now that the Exarch's memories are part of him he'd act more like him. but it still doesn't sit right on his shoulders. bc it's not him. This is someone else. this is a role he can play, a mask he can slip into, a dance he knows. but it's not who he is. it's not where he's comfortable, like he was comfortable for 100 years. You see it in Thavnair, you see him steel himself for it. he sees what's happening and he knows what needs doing bc he's got the memories of managing a panicked peoples before in the middle of tragedy. But it's not him. The Exarch is a different man. And I wonder, desperately, how G'raha feels about that man.

[dootznbootz]

I'm technically most likely demiromantic (definitely demisexual) which is technically on the aro spectrum but I'm sooooo romance favorable that it almost doesn't feel like it counts????

I'm a huge romantic sap but I'm kind of funky with crushes. I have them and I get them but I'm very particular and I almost have... control over them???

Like when I start to feel the feelings™, I then start looking at a possible relationship through "logic lens".

"Compatible here, there, there too. Okay, we're not with that though, and I will not move on that so therefore it will not work. Alright, cool! Best friend! Best friend! Best friend!"

I can just shut off the feelings™ once I get the feeling it's not gonna work, especially if it's on something I will not change. If I have a feeling there's potential, I let feelings "grow".

[lazlolullaby]

Starmora is still canon, stop sinking your own ship

I'm not sure why people are mad or sad about the way Gunn "ended" the Starmora relationship? It's not over, it just went through a natural resting point after all of the stuff that happened in the plot???

Because even if the characters don't share a screen anymore, that doesn't mean it's over. That doesn't mean that love can't happen twice. Gunn has laid the groundwork - you can see it if you're looking at the characters.

Gamora has always been subtle. but she commits. She puts her whole traumatized heart into something if she believes that it's the right thing. She was raised by Freaking Thanos - she was (kinda) fine with him killing half the population but when Ronan wanted All of Xandar killed she Bolted. Betrayed Ronan and by proxy Thanos and Nebula.

After Endgame, she knows how to reach the Guardians if she wanted to. Heck, she's been talking with Nebula who respects that enough to only bring her on a mission that could kill a Guardian and end their found family.

About 75% of Gamora's lines are her denying that she's the same person. She's clearly pissed as hell that Peter is trying to "bring her back" when it's clear to her that she's fine without the Guardians.

At the end of the movie, if she wanted to be on the same team as Peter, she would have stayed on Knowhere. If she never wanted to see Peter again, she wouldn't have said anything.

By saying "I bet we were fun" its a signal to both Peter AND the audience that she is fine to stay in contact. That she acknowledges that her love with Peter could happen again.

As for Peter...

Peter loves HARD. He's never been subtle about it. He's never been subtle about feelings; happy, sad, angry, romantic - he boosts them up and uses them as a distraction, makes others think he's not sharp as an arrow.

He values Gamora's choices. We see him flirting at Knowhere, she pulls a knife on him and he doesn't directly flirt again for a while. You see that in Vol 2 when he's patient about her having feelings. He SHOT HER in Infinity War because she told him to. She's dead but she knows - she knows that's love.

We know he respects her choices in all situations...except in Vol 3. He's more childish and clingy especially compared to the other Guardians - they don't try as hard as Peter does to get her back. I feel like this is justified; he's already heavily traumatized from Infinity War and as acknowledged in the movie(!) Peter is dependent on Gamora in a way that the other Guardians aren't.

And with Vol 3, he's lost that part of him. He just wants "his Gamora" back. And it's cringy and sad and messed up.

You can parallel it to Thanos, who just saw "his little one", a daughter he trained to be a weapon and didn't acknowledge as a person. You can parallel it to the High Evolutionary, who wants his creations "perfect" and only sees Rocket as a failure that needs to be utterly destroyed.

(yeah it's a theme, its kickass writing, it's *chefs kiss* thank you mr. Gunn for tying this all up with a big fancy bow)

Peter is stronger than both of them. Able to move past what he thinks he needs and see Gamora as she is now instead of as he wants her to be.

"Like you wouldn't believe." He finally has something in his past that is complicated but at the end of the day, he can smile about it. An ending he can be at peace with.

Both of them know that they are not the same people that met on Xandar outside the pawn broker's shop. Fighting over their ticket out from under Yondu and Thanos.

But they know they could be good to each other again. It's just going to take some time apart.

[lyssafreyguy]

God . . . imagine thinking Laios is a bad person who doesn't care about people. actual insanity.

[skitskatdacat63]

I never see Sebs posts until like hours later when I come on here and eventually see it and it's just like OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SEB!!!!!!!!!!! YOU CANT KEEP DOING THIS TO ME!!!!!!!!!! SEB ON HIS SHOULDERS ����🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 SUCH AN UNDERRATED MOMENT AND THEN HE JUST CASUALLY POSTS IT ON HIS INSTA OUT OF ALL OTHER PICS HE COULD'VE CHOSEN!!!!!!!! AND HE TAGGED MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM LOSING IT AAAAAHHHHH

[freebooter4ever]

Sending love from one depressive spiral to another.

One thing that's helped me, as I'm coming out of this one, was getting my friends to pick prompts for me (to write in my case) which I then committed to filling BADLY. Because sometimes intending to create stuff that is just dumb and shit, means it doesn't mind that my brain tells me that it's dumb and shit because I'm like "yes brain, I know, that was the brief" and then before you know it you're back in the creating zone again

Tldr: commit to being shit. 🤷‍♀️

Hello, thank you! Depression is a little shithead because it takes different forms for everybody and sometimes warps depending on the circumstances so even when i think i have a handle on it and can prepare for gaps in my exercise routine that keeps me functional....something will happen and throw me for a loop and im back to struggling. For me, when im like this, that constant voice in my head drowning out everything else - and i mean everything - saying 'you're worthless, this is pointless' over and over and over and over is almost paralyzing. Try writing a cover letter when your brain is telling you that you are probably the most useless person ever and you cant see anything even remotely good about yourself. Its why i have friends proofread if i make any major changes to my generic letter content. Especially this one friend who has the same problem - he cant sell himself, i literally can hear him talk himself in circles into thinking he's old and washed up and not valuable on the market anymore - and i cant sell myself. But i think he's the most amazing talented person ever, and he's never said it but im pretty sure he thinks similar of me, so we check each others work pitches to make sure they sound suitably enthusiastic and glowing. Ive had other people also read my letters but if they dont understand how depression can sit on the brain and make it impossible to write this shit, they dont quite know how to help me. While my one friend who gets it knows that he needs to tell me 'hey, you left out this very important vital contribution to that one project, dumbass' (only nicer lol). So i have one very happy sounding, very aggrandizing letter that i tailor to wherever im sending it. But thats all stuff i need to do. Its vital, its a requirement, i can force myself to sit down and do it.

Personal art isnt exactly a requirement. So instead of making myself sit down and do it, i can just lie on the floor feeling numb and wish i dont exist anymore 🙃

[one-winged-dreams]

Heeeere comes another parental holiday

truama dump in tags

[autopsytableromance]

I know it’s bad bc he got a haircut and still want his stupidass :/

[skoulsons]

[radicallicious]

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[burger-goblin]

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[kakusu-shipping]

Where were you the day Mondatta died?

a self insert fic about loss, grief, and the stages we go through.

Ramattra was in a Talon meeting, under an agreement he’d regretted making. He was mad, he was rash, and now he’d face the consequences of his actions

Akande Ogundimu, more commonly know as Doomfist, stood proud, a live feed from Talon’s best assassin playing on a holo projection before him. Next to Ramattra was Maximillien, the highest ranked Omnic in Talon, just there for the ravager’s personal comfort.

They’d both assured him of this assassin’s efficiency, how she always hits her mark. One shot, one kill, they’d all said. When he’d had a moment, Ramattra couldn’t help but question her on this reputation.

“Everyone misses” she had answered, and now here Ramattra stood in a room of people he despised watching the brother he loved through the eyes of a killer he himself requested.

Ramattra’s grip on his staff would be enough to crush the woman’s spine three times over, as he stared unwavering at the screen, and prayed for the first time in a long time for a miracle

In an hour, the deal would be set. Mondatta would be dead, and Ramattra, his troops, his Omnics, his skills, would belong to Talon.

He would have no time to mourn in the long hours following his brother’s death. He would have no time to reflect on those back at the Shambali, the family he’d abandoned, and how they may be dealing with the loss. He would have no time to allow the pain of his choices to sink in.

And in the quiet hours, the few of them he had, he would return to the day he’d met Mondatta. Caked in blood and oil, alone on a battle field somewhere in New York city, he’d point his gun to the Monk, trembling. Mondatta would approach him and gently lay the gun to rest. He’d embrace the ravager, staining his beautiful white and gold robes in blood and oil, and Ramattra would cling to him, whimpering like a child, unable to face what he’d been made to do.

Could he face it now? Could he stand on battle fields of his own making and face his past again, knowing for sure this time his brother would not come to embrace him as he once had, sharing in the stains of his past

He had no time to ponder such things. What’s done is done. He had no time for regret, he had no time for doubt. It was time to push forward, to take what he’d been given and what he’d asked for and use it to better his people’s lives. 

The time for action is now.

---------------

Genji and Zayne, Shimadas healed in the Shambali temples, were on tour. A journey of helping, of time off, of moments spent together free as they’d ever been.

They’d stopped in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, a small city with a little silly bit of history they both enjoyed looking into.

In moments they’d overhear someone watching the news a little too loudly in public about the loss of Mondatta. Their carefree moment of exploration around a funny man moth driven town ruined. They’d be left crushed, huddled together in a back alley attempting in vein to calm each other down

Moments from now they’d both experience grief worse than they’d felt sense Genji first died, grief over a man who loved them, who welcomed them into his home and brought them to a family that would stand by them as they healed and grew.

They would find a hotel, and grieve over night. They next day they’d pack up, and return to the Shambali to find the village quiet, in mourning, monks locked away in their homes in meditation, grieving as Zayne and Genji had.

Emile would force a smile to welcome them, and apologize for the quiet. They wouldn’t see Zenyatta.

A week would pass, sitting in silence by a crackling fire, Genji would face his little brother.

“I want to find Hanzo.” The older couldn’t bare to loose any more family, and his brother was out there, lost, thinking himself alone in a sea of his own thoughts, thinking Genji dead and gone from this world. “I want him to know I’m still here. That I still.. love him.”

It would be hard on them, the older and younger so close, and yet still so distant. A love just rekindled, splitting.

They would continue to travel, separated by entire oceans. Would they keep in contact? Could they keep in contact? A family split, miles and miles of land and sea separating them.

That would be their future. For now, in this moment, they sit together in an alley in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, crying together for the loss of someone they’d known their entire new lives.

-----------------

Emile was in a bar, packed full with his family, other students of the Shambali, Omnics big and small.

The bar tender had turned on the live broadcast of Mondatta’s speech. They didn’t have a television in the Monastery, and this bar was the only place open late enough to catch most of Mondatta’s touring live.

The room was hot with tightly packed monks, machines whirring and scraping together as they chatted amongst themselves, always a buzz to leave the temple.

Emile sat at the bar, a cup of orange juice in hand as he once again thanked the bar tender of letting them all take control of his television. He never minded, liked seeing the monks, he’d say, they always seemed so chipper.

In just a few seconds the atmosphere would change. All would go dead silent as Mondatta fell limp on the television.

No one would speak, no one would move. The humans in the rooms would hold their breath and wait.

Waiting for anything other than what they’d just witnessed to be true.

They’d all wait for hours in that little bar. They’d barrow phones from passers by. They’d knock on near by doors. The entire town would be up, awaiting an update, news on Mondatta’s situation.

Within two hours it would be officially announced that Mondatta has died.

There was only one who could shed tears in that bar that night, despite the near hundred people packed in together. He would cry enough for all of them.

In the coming days the Shambali Monastery would grow silent. Monks holed up in their homes, deep in meditation and prayer. The village would become a ghost town, spare one little human.

Emile just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sleep in that home, knowing Mondatta would never return. He couldn’t wear those robes, knowing Mondatta would never straighten them for him again. He couldn’t sit to meditate, knowing Mondatta could never sit by his side once more.

So he cleaned, in his sweater and jeans that no longer fit quiet as nicely as they once had. He swept snow off the stairs and dusted the sanctum and washed laundry that had already been cleaned thrice over.

He would not eat, he would sleep, for a near 4 days the human kept himself busy, and never once would he step foot in Mondatta’s home.

He’d smile when Zayne and Genji would come back. He’d tell the townsfolk the village was doing just fine when he’d go to get supplies. He’d keep himself busy as the monks around him mourned.

And in 5 days time, he would collapse in the snow, dressed in few too little clothes, just as he had the day he’d arrived at the Shambali. And like that day he will be saved by a monk he’d come to know better than all the rest.

---------------

On that day, the day they’d lost Mondatta, Zenyatta was at home, in meditation. He loved his brother dearly, but watching his speeches at protests was starting to get rather same-y. The monk needed new lessions, Zenyatta had thought to himself.

He’d be unaware of the loss for another 2 hours, until the chimes of the temple rang out, and he would join his siblings at the sanctum, and hear the news from the group that had gone into town.

Like everyone else, Zenyatta would lock himself away in his home. Sat against a wall he would stare blankly, perusing the web in his own head for any and all sources he could find on Mondatta’s death.

He’d loose track of days, reading article after article, watching video after video, scanning for anything new he could find.

Why, he would ask himself, why would anyone take out Mondatta? What could he have done, who could he have hurt just trying to spread love?

Zenyatta would spend time wishing death on whoever would do something so awful, just to retract the thought moments later. His brother would not want such a thing for even the person who would take his life.

On the third day of mourning Zenyatta would stumble into something he would wish he hadn’t. An image of the assassin.

A face to put to his desire of vengeance.

A woman with blue skin and long dark hair, an awfully tight purple suit and a large sniper rifle.

For the next few days Zenyatta would spend all his time staring at the blurry photo of this woman, wishing the worst upon her. May she loose those closest to her and may it be her own fault. May she feel the worst pains imaginable and survive. May she live the rest of her life with these regrets and no way to return. May she find a path to recovery just to have the door slammed in her face.

On the fifth day, these thought plaguing Zenyatta’s head would finally drive him mad. He would storm from his home with a bag of few things, vengeance his only thought as he crushed snow beneath his feet.

His plan to leave the village, to find the woman who did this, to put her in the ground himself, would be interrupted as a white haired man with puffy red eyes would collapse in front of him.

Thoughts of her would leave the monk alone after so long of obsession as he found himself in the company Emile, the human had taken the loss of Mondatta just about as well as Zenyatta.

That night, they would stop avoiding the truth. They’d lost Mondatta, their brother, their master, their family, and it hurt. Together they would face this, over hot tea and by a dying fire, they’d relive stories of their life in that Monastery.

Stories of sneaking out of meditations, of snow ball fights, of counting stars atop the mountain, of learning, and laughing, and being home and happy.

The night would pass and they would still be sat there, at Zenyatta’s low tea table Mondatta had gotten him for his birthday two years ago, sitting back to back in a comfortable silence.

“I want to find Ramattra,” Zenyatta will say, his hand laid gently on top of Emile’s. “He is lost, wherever he is, I am sure he is as lost as we were” He thinks back to the day Ramattra left, the fight he and Mondatta had, the last words he’d said to their brother... He knew Ramattra regretted that, now more than ever.

“We’ll find him.” Emile will smile over his shoulder, “Together.”

And in that moment, a moment of calm between storms, Zenyatta will look back and realize quietly to himself

He is in love. He has been in love for years. This. This was what love was for him.

[theophagie]

What they say about italian psychologists and suicidal thoughts really do be true the guy brought up meds the second I told him about them we wiiiiin 🔥🔥🔥🔥