#this is one of those things i just believe with such a deep personal conviction in my core

[um-vvhat]

i have re-watched so many times and my views on characters change/grow/evolve each time but one thing stays the same every time:

Team Rafael, always and forever

[widowromanova]

Sniper (part 1) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence (guns etc.)

word count: 1244

You've been trying to catch and stop Natasha for as long as you can remember; you finally see her again, after 3 years.

a/n: inspired by a prompt I saw on TT that suddenly gave me insane motivation to write

Your former work for SHIELD, coupled with the glowing recommendation Fury had written for you, had opened doors you never thought possible. High(er)-level intelligence agencies had practically lined up to recruit you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself entrenched in a new world of operations and classified missions. Your current boss, a calculating and ambitious higher-up with ties that ran deep, had recently assigned you to a high-priority duty. The mission was clear but personal - the kind that made your pulse race and your resolve waver. After three years of chasing her, she was finally within your grasp.

Natasha Romanoff had become chaos, her cunning mind orchestrating a series of events that threatened to destroy global stability. She manipulated world leaders, sowing distrust among allies and tearing apart her long-standing professional relationships. Whispers of a bio-weapon project capable of targeting populations only added to the growing unease among those who suspected her involvement. Yet, to the public, and even some former allies, she maintained an innocent facade, always frustratingly one step ahead. She had made her plan clear to you all those years ago:

Natasha had locked her piercing gaze onto yours. "You know how bad it's gotten, Y/N. The leaders are puppets, and the people-” she paused, “they don’t even realize they’re asleep.”

“You can’t seriously believe getting rid of all of it is the answer,” you’d argued, the weight of her words settling uneasily. Her lips had curved into a faint smile, not of humour, but of certainty.

“It’s not about belief. It’s about necessity. Only through destroying one thing can we rebuild something that works. Governments, alliances - they don't work. They need to be erased.”

“Erased? Do you even know what you sound like, Natasha? And replaced with what? You?”

She paused.

“If that’s what it takes.” Her voice had been calm, no sense of hesitation, her conviction chilling. “Survival of the fittest. No corruption. No weakness.”

At the time, you’d thought it was just frustration talking, the cynical musings of someone who’d been through too much. But now, you realised she’d meant every word. Natasha wasn’t just dismantling the world’s structure - she was forging it into her vision of perfection. And you had been too blind to stop her then.

From then, you knew every move she made was deliberate - you had known her to be an incredibly smart woman ever since you met her. And of course, your history with her proved to be of convenience to organisations, though you were frequently hesitant to speak her name.

The night air was cold, the city sprawled out beneath you in a labyrinth of lights. The sniper rifle before you felt like an extension of yourself; "That sounds ridiculous," you thought, but every inch of the weapon's polished surface was familiar to you. You leaned into the scope, propped up on your elbows. Silence, broken only by the occasional hum of traffic below. You knew, of course, that Natasha would never trust anyone else to do work for her, she was after all a self-proclaimed "lone wolf" (you had always made fun of her for that). You couldn't see her yet, but you knew she was coming.

Your superior had instructed you simply: to wait, and then take the shot when you saw her. Each minute that passed, the tension in your shoulders grew, your thoughts tightening into a knot of uncertainty.

You adjusted the focus on the scope, making sure every inch of the room was visible, your pulse steady. You felt your warm breath mix with the stinging cold of the air around you, manifesting into a puff of smoke.

There you saw it, her gleaming red streaks of hair.

For a moment, the city below seemed to disappear, the noise fading into a distant hum. All that remained was the image of her, framed perfectly in your sight. Your heart beat a little faster, not from the tension of the mission, but from something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. The memory of her, the way she used to make you feel. You held your breath, the moment heavier than anything else you had ever done.

And then, as if she could sense your gaze, she turned. Her head shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the window across the street. You froze as her eyes locked onto yours through the scope. The world blurred around her stare, and everything you had told yourself about this mission - about her - faded into the background.

She knew. The realisation hit you like a punch. She had always been sharper than anyone gave her credit for, but in this moment, it wasn’t just about strategy. It was a silent acknowledgment, that you were no longer just playing a game of cat and mouse. Her lips barely parted, as if she were about to speak - though the words never came.

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of it pressing in from all sides. You didn’t know if she would move, if she would even give you a chance to make the shot. The corner of her mouth was slowly tugged up her face, the faintest smirk forming as if she knew exactly what you were feeling: she could sense the panic radiating from your skin. Of course she knew, she always knew.

Your trigger finger twitched, the red spot on her forehead suddenly becoming painfully obvious. She slowly raised her empty hands up to the air as if to surrender, the smirk still prominent on her face. Her right hand began to form a gun shape, her fingers curling into a mock trigger, and with a playful yet mocking precision, she brought it to her temple. She paused, and then, with a small grin, mimicked pulling the trigger, the "pew" sound escaping her lips exaggeratedly. It was a cruel game of control. The image of her - carefree, taunting - causing your finger to tense on the trigger.

You watched as she lowered her hand slowly, the smirk still playing on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. "Come on, you still have it in you, don’t you?" she taunted through the wiring in the room feeding directly to your ear, her voice a low, amused whisper.

The mockery squeezed at every nerve in your body. Every instinct told you to act, to end this, but you faltered. She was still the woman you once knew, the one who had shared everything with you, and now she was daring you to pull the trigger.

"You know where to find me," she whispered again.

In an instant, the room’s lights flickered, a low hum filling the air. Before you could react, the lights completely blackened, plunging you into suffocating darkness. The only sound that filled the silence was your own breathing, shallow and sharp, as rage set in once again. The weight of the rifle in your hands seemed heavier now as you dropped onto your arms in sudden exhaustion.

The lights flickered back to life, but the room was empty. Your heart skipped a beat as you scanned the space, your eyes darting from corner to corner. Nothing. As if she had never been there at all.

You lowered the rifle slowly. She had just given you the slip again. You clambered up, kicking your equipment out of your way in your anger.

"Fuck."

a/n: part 2 coming soon ;)) (promises of SMUT SMUT SMUT)

[neptunes-sol-angel]

What is your healing era giving? Pick the pile(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for their corresponding message.

Paid Readings | Patreon | Tip Jar

Pile One

You’re shocking people with the ways that you are healing yourself. What they see as they witness your transformation, is the walking embodiment of a high priestess, the keeper of knowledge and a vessel of magnificent secrets. Who you are, in this healing era that you are in, is an enigma that won’t be locked away or censored. The way that you’re healing is spiritually ancestral. You possess the kind of wisdom that isn’t gained from age, it’s inherited. You’re a generational curse breaker, someone in your bloodline who finally recognizes a poisonous pattern in your family with the strength to be the one to not consume it. You’re observant, you’re emotionally intelligent, and you have a mind of your own even when growing up in an environment that was meant to control you, this era is making you embrace the thorns in your roses. You’re becoming the modern-day Joan of Arc by having more self-conviction even when being outnumbered by people trying to convince you out of what you know to be true. You’re healing the perception of purity and time in not just yourself but others too. If you grew up sheltered with a family relative that infantilized you with malicious intent to keep you dependent on them, your healing era is helping you break out of those barriers that kept you from making choices to improve your happiness, success, and progression. You’re no longer afraid of getting hurt or “tainted” in this world, you’re living for yourself and what makes you complete. Learning feels like freedom now because fear is no longer your teacher. Don’t feel down about being a late bloomer because it is better to be late than never, there may be people in this pile who approaching their 30s/40s and feel like they haven’t accomplished anything, but your healing era is reminding you that it is never too late. People forget that youth is ever flowing, you can’t flourish by remaining stagnant because of how you think you should be to achieve something. Don’t underestimate how massive things can change for you when you believe in how capable success is, as you already are. Your healing era is a correcting history, you won’t be burned at the stake this time, you’re going to be walking through fire by knowing that the secret power is to just keep moving.

Pile two

Immediately, I’m hearing “tuh...”. Yeah! This era in your healing journey has been long overdue, but at last bitch, it’s here. Speaking of bitch, you’re finally understanding that you’re THAT one, and you shouldn’t be humble about it anymore. Your enemies knew this before you did though, and of course, they had to attempt to knock you down a peg to make themselves feel better. This goes beyond people simply trying to make it seem like you’re not attractive when you are or people noticing your light but pretending not to see you until they get the validation from other people to do so. Your healing era is very much like this video I saw where people are like “it ain’t that deep” and this girl said, “okay puddle, I’m the ocean”, you’re realizing that yes, you cannot control the people that act crazy towards you because of their insecurities, but you can control and make it known about what you will not allow, and this is about your personal day-to-day interactions with people, like not keeping it in about the things that offend you and constantly giving grace to people who know that they’re exhibiting petty behavior to disrespect you. To stop trying to make “IDGAF” wars happen when you know that you actually do care about things, and it’s okay to do that regardless of what society thinks is cool nowadays. Your healing era consists of a makeover in love by no longer settling for shallow relationships or the utter thought of a situationship when you know that you want to be romanced and catered to like a deity. You’re bulldozing so much of who or what isn’t supportive for what you need as a person, and you aren’t afraid to do it because you now know your worth and that you have the tools to build everything over and this time in your image. Your social circle is improving, your experiences in loving others and being loved is improving, finances improving, and your skin might even be improving because this entire era of your healing is like one huge detox, you’re clearing out the toxicity out of your inner world. The words that debilitate your self-esteem, the people that say you can’t do something like starting your own business or going for that one opportunity that may get you to that amazing breakthrough, negative people and habits that make you believe the worst about yourself or that your life won’t get any better. Your healing era is about your life becoming the royal throne made to match the royal person such as yourself.

Pile Three

“You have a natural allegiance to losers and it’s unlike you”. Your healing era has a lot to do with removing yourself from situations that put you out of character. You’re moving towards more peaceful times and understanding how valuable your own energy is with an elevated fondness for spending time with yourself. You’re going to experience the kind of solitude that isn’t a punishment, but a strange feeling that may take some time to adjust to but at the same time, it’s familiar. Your healing era is about returning to normal and unlearning from the experiences that have left swords in your back. Maybe you grew up around “love”, your family and upbringing didn’t have to be perfect, but there was this innocence that you had before being out in the real world, this can look like experiencing emotionally unavailable people with communication issues and situations that have desensitized you. You could be questioning yourself about the people that are currently making you feel out of place right now, wondering what’s keeping you in these spaces that make you feel deprived of something or this paradox of still feeling empty and alone in a room filled with people. You’re healing from these effects of experiencing deficits, you don’t have to put up with certain things just to prove yourself to others or to make space for someone who doesn’t deserve to be in your life. How people perceive you in your healing era is someone who is genuinely unbothered and no longer giving your all to a situation that is unrequited. They see you full of life again instead of depleted from always putting yourself below others. They also see you essentially as someone that they can no longer exploit. You could be more private now, so it leaves others curious as to what you’re up to. You’re truly moving in silence because you’re noticing how beneficial it is to protect your intimate and professional life, people can act like they’re concerned about you or like they’re supportive until they see that you are doing better than them or up to something big. You’re focused on yourself, and it shows how much you’re manifesting your goals and even though looks aren’t everything, people are finding you to be majestically beautiful, your peace looks good on you. Keep protecting it.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

[alexanderwales]

I finished rewatching Death Note. I always forget how short anime is, with episodes that aren't much more than 20 minutes when you skip the intro/outro.

I hadn't remembered how much of a sniveling wreck LIght was at the end of the show. There's something about the ending that makes it feel like it was written and directed by a different person, not that Light wasn't always a little weird and pathetic, and not that the show didn't consistently go out of its way to let us know what a piece of shit he was (particularly his absolute lack of loyalty or empathy to anyone, even aside from the megalomania). But he takes the loss like a loser, snot dripping from his nose, voice cracking, begging, and it's so pathetic that I almost felt a little sorry for him.

I've always found the Death Note to be a very interesting prompt, one of those hooks that's so good I'd want to watch it even if it was bad. But in writing something like Death Note, the author has to make decisions about what to show and what not to show, and also make decisions about how they're going to portray the public at large.

There are two big things that stand out for me.

One is that we never get someone arguing against Kira. We get people who are actively trying to hunt him down, but they're mostly not stopping to say "this is why what he's doing is wrong" except a few lines about how he has a childish sense of justice, which is never expounded upon. Kira, on the other hand, we hear a lot from, not just the megalomaniac stuff, but the notion that criminals must be punished, that this is what people desire in their hearts. I get the strong sense that L does not actually care and just views this as an interesting puzzle for him to solve, but for everyone else it's largely left as an exercise to the viewer, and even then, there are moments when some of our task force members come dangerously close to endorsement.

To the extent the show has an answer, it's that (to quote Kanye West) no one man should have all that power, or that Kira has crossed a lot of lines, but no one argues in favor of rehabilitation or clemency or just fundamental humanity. Kira seems to largely be killing prisoners, who have already been sentenced, and are wards of the state, and he says "this is what people want deep down, they will give you the politically correct answer but they actually want the criminal class to be obliterate", which ... there's no character who actually voices any opposition to through the whole series. And I find that weird, because yes, the show has its own answers in terms of how it plays out, but in a show filled with people possessed of immense conviction, most of the people in opposition to Kira are just intellectuals who don't actually give a shit about the ideological question.

(The one big moment when it comes to a head, IMO, is when Soichiro Yagami refuses to write Mello's name entirely because of his principled objection to killing someone. I thought this was great, and I wish the show had more of it.)

The other big thing is that we don't really get a viewpoint of the criminals, with a few exceptions. One is the is Yotsuba group, who are killing people with the Death Note, and the second is the (somehow still functional) mafia that Mello hangs out with. There's also one other scene somewhere after L's death where we see a criminal begging with the police not to have his name written down, and that's about it.

The naive view here is that the show really does believe in Criminals as being a part The Other, a different sort of human being who walk among us. The criminal class are described as rotten and evil, they're shown as grotesque and with exaggerated features or bestial characteristics, and they're generally leering and impulsive. There is no consideration of their humanity.

There's a more nuanced take here, which is that we have a criminal as one of our main cast, Light Yagami, along with everyone else who takes on the Kira mantle. So what is the show saying about criminality through how it portrays them? And here ... I don't know. I kind of don't think that it views them as criminals in the same way? When we look at the ways that Light kills, I genuinely do think that the show thinks that this is different from the way that a capital-C Criminals kill. It's reactionary rather than criminal in and of itself, a response to the injustices of the world rather than being in the same class as those injustices. Light is narratively exempted, and Misa is to. Which isn't to say that I think the show thinks highly of Light, it clearly doesn't, especially in its ending, but I almost think that in the end it Others him too (and also has Teru Mikami drawn in particularly 'evil' style, like a creepy deviant gremlin).

So I enjoyed the rewatch, but there are things that sit a little oddly with me as far as the central themes go. There's probably some discourse I should read that's come out since I first watched it in ... 2010 or whenever, but I think I'll give that a skip.

[srbachchan]

DAY 6119

Jalsa, Mumbai Nov 19, 2024/Nov 20 Tue/Wed 3:12 pm

Birthdays exist .. birthdays be brought for the greetings .. but even though none today to mention, they all remain in our hearts and minds ..

Work continues and with the required reverence it has always deserved .. and may it ever be so .. work without the audience is a misnomer ..

They come they cheer they give recognition and we get motivated and inspired to give them more than what they give us and mean to us ..

And they do each KBC session .. my love and gratitude as ever ..

❤️

I present to them with tongue caught between the lips .. and feel embarrassed to have done that .. but it is an expression of joy and at times deep wonder ..

And then the embarrassed feel and look ..

... and as ever the encourage to the contestants to be in smile ..

yesyesyes .. YES .. smile and the World shall smile with you .. !!!

BUT i smile today and with pride and great emotion for the Son and my Abhishek for his work .. assiduous , tremendous joy and the appreciation of one of the very known and complemented film critics and journalists - Shri Subhash Jha ..

Amitji, I can't wait for you to see what Abhishek has done

The dedication, the sincerity

This is a new beginning for him

I do .. because I do .. I show because I show .. I admire because I admire .. I express because I express .. !!

क्या कर लोगे !!!??

AND THAT IS THE DIFFERENCE ..

TO BE DIFFERENT ..

for be it known .. at the helm of difference , it is they that have caused fresh new thoughts and inventions .. and are remembered to date ..

normal is normalcy .. it is also a norm and one that brings faith in the normal .. but the DIFFERENT have ever had a renowned and remembered place ..

Being different is often viewed as a double-edged sword, but it carries undeniable appeal, earning respect and even popularity in many situations. In a world driven by conformity, standing out demonstrates courage and authenticity—traits that resonate deeply with others. Whether it’s through personality, talents, or ideas, being different can make one a trailblazer in their field.

Take Steve Jobs, for example. His unconventional approach to technology and design didn’t align with industry norms, yet it revolutionized how we interact with devices today. His difference wasn’t just appealing; it earned him global respect and admiration.

Being different often involves taking risks, but it garners respect when it comes from a place of genuine conviction. Society values those who are authentic and offer fresh perspectives. This uniqueness also drives popularity, as people are drawn to the new and the extraordinary.

Ultimately, being different appeals because it challenges the status quo, fosters innovation, and creates connections. It’s not just about standing out but about making an impactful difference in the world.

YOU SHALL BE .. ABHISHEK .. BECAUSE OF WHO YOU ARE AND WHO YOU HAVE BEEN .. a creative mind that has ever done attempted and succeeded in what you created and believed in your work ..

"The only way to do something in depth is to work hard. And the only way to work hard is to find something you're passionate about. And the only way to find something you're passionate about is to try a lot of different things." - Steve Jobs

"Don't be afraid of being different. Be afraid of being the same as everyone else." -

"Different is beautiful. Don't be afraid to be yourself." -

"The most beautiful thing you can be is yourself." -

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." -

"Being different isn't a bad thing. It means you're brave enough to be yourself." -

Love to you Abhishek .. WAGTFTW !!! ❤️

Pa

[bandsofmarv]

Hi! Could I request a comfort Bucky X reader where reader was cheated on and Bucky finds out?

Of course! I think I’ll do a part 2 continuation with more smut.

Always by your side.

Bucky your shoulder to cry on helps you navigate through a breakup after being cheated on.

You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt him before you saw him. The faint creak of the door, the quiet sound of boots padding across the floor, and then the familiar warmth of Bucky Barnes settling beside you on the couch.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. You stayed curled up in your blanket, staring at the rain streaking the window. “What are you doing here?” Your voice came out hoarse, brittle.

“Steve told me,” he said, and just those three words had you crumbling.

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tears threatening to spill over. “You didn’t have to come,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, I did.”

You felt the couch shift as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been there for me through some pretty dark stuff. I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

The dam broke. A sob tore through you, and suddenly the blanket wasn’t enough to hold you together. Before you could stop him, Bucky was pulling you into his arms, his embrace strong and unyielding.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, his voice steady and low, the kind of tone you’d expect from someone who knew how to anchor a storm. “Let it out. I’m right here.”

You clung to him, your fists gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt as the tears flowed freely. He didn’t rush you, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. He just held you, his flesh hand stroking your back while the cool metal one rested protectively on your arm.

“He cheated on me,” you choked out after a while, the words cutting like glass. “He said he loved me, and he—he just threw it all away.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears staining your cheeks. His eyes, those deep blue eyes, were filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache all over again.

“He’s a fool,” Bucky said firmly. “He didn’t deserve you, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve your love.”

You shook your head, guilt gnawing at you. “But what if I wasn’t enough? What if I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice soft but commanding. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for his mistakes. You’re enough. You’re more than enough. And if he couldn’t see that, then he’s not worth another second of your tears.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. The conviction in his voice, the way he looked at you—it was like he was willing you to believe it, to see yourself the way he did.

“I don’t know how to move on from this,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, pulling you close again. “One step at a time,” he said. “And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, okay? As long as it takes. You’re not getting rid of me.”

His words wrapped around you like a second blanket, warm and steady. For the first time since it happened, you felt a flicker of something that almost resembled hope.

“Why are you so good to me?” you whispered.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Because you’re you. And because… I care about you. Probably more than I should, if I’m being honest.”

You looked up at him, surprised, but he just smiled—a small, tentative thing, like he wasn’t sure how you’d take it.

“I mean it,” he said. “You deserve someone who sees how incredible you are. Someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting you. And if I get my way, one day you’ll see that person could be me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, but Bucky didn’t seem to expect an answer.

“For now, though,” he continued, pulling you back into his arms, “just let me take care of you. Let me remind you how loved you are.”

————————————————————————

You stayed in Bucky’s arms for what felt like hours, the weight of your pain slowly lightening with each passing minute. He didn’t rush you, didn’t pressure you to feel better, he just was there—steadfast and steady, the anchor you needed in the storm of your emotions.

At some point, the tears stopped coming, and all that was left was the quiet sound of your breathing mingling with his. His hand was still tracing slow, comforting circles on your back, his presence both soothing and grounding.

“You’re not alone in this, you know,” Bucky said, his voice low, as if he was afraid of breaking the fragile moment.

You nodded against his chest, your fingers still twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding on like you never wanted to let go. The warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest—it felt like everything was finally starting to make sense again.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for being here.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes locking onto yours with such intensity that it made your heart flutter. He didn’t say anything right away, just kept you close, the distance between you minimal, but it felt charged with something more.

After a beat, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to be okay. And when you are, I want to be here—right beside you. In whatever way you need me.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. You couldn’t be sure what this was—this closeness, this bond—but you knew you didn’t want to let go of it. Not now. Not ever.

Slowly, your hand found its way to his cheek, your fingers brushing over the smooth skin there. Bucky’s breath hitched at the touch, his eyes flickering closed, his face softening beneath your fingertips.

“You mean a lot to me, Bucky,” you whispered, your heart racing.

His eyes opened again, and the sincerity in them made your chest tighten. “You mean the world to me,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

The words were raw, honest, and as much as you wanted to stay in the comfort of the silence, the moment felt too charged. You felt his presence closing in on you, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over the skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, just barely, his lips hovering a breath away from yours. You could feel the heat of his breath on your face, the tension building between you, so tangible, it almost hurt.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and tentative, like he was asking permission.

You didn’t need to think about it. You could feel the pull between you, the shared desire, the quiet longing that had always been there, only now it was unspoken but undeniable.

You nodded, barely able to breathe, before you closed the gap.

Bucky’s lips were soft and warm against yours, tender at first, like he was waiting for you to respond, to meet him halfway. When you did, it was like everything snapped into place. The kiss deepened slowly, a promise and an apology wrapped into one. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, and you allowed yourself to melt into him, your heart beating faster than it had in days.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his, both of you sharing the same unsteady, yet contented, breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours once more. “Always.”

And for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to believe it.

[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

I'm not sorry, but anyone who proclaims themselves to be a so-called Leftist or "ActiviSTS" and claims to care about minorities but have no issues with racist-ass convicted rapist Trump taking presidential power again is nothing more than a piece of horrid shit to me.

No, seriously, I'm sick of rat-fuckers' self-righteous fake performative Losers that wanna act like they are on the same levels of actual hard-working Civil rights leaders that actually put in the real work of getting things done when these assholes can't even be bothered to get off there asses and Vote to stop America from becoming a possible nightmare theocratic dictatorship nation.

Yet they're still hoping for their imaginary Revolution to come through and fix everything,

If real deep shit were to go down, ya'll definitely wouldn't last and likely be the first ones to die and wouldn't know what the hell to do. But still want to cosplay as Revolutionaries and act like they give a Fuck about marginalized people,

I'm sick of performative ally nonsense.

Anybody who is willingly voting third-party or refusing to vote against Trump but still wanna act like they are being " GOOD allies " for minorities are fake-ass people who are performative activists. They are just Fascist supporting scumbags who are pretending to be Progressive.

I refuse to tolerate useful morons who seem to be alright with letting a unhinged mentality declining by the minute bigot who have said multiple times that he wants to be a dictator when he takes Office and will use his power to do the most heinous horrific shit imagble to those he sees as "The Enemies within ".

Anybody who is willingly OK to let this White-supremacists loving bastard take power again and refuses to do anything to stop him from doing so but still wanna believe they are a " inherently GoOd Morally Pure person " isn't as good of a person as they think they are.

[everythingseasoning]

Hey, people are saying that Gojo (live action) said "Koishiteru ne, ryoukai" to Geto, which literally means "I love you" in English. Gojo's English voice actor did mention that his last words were a three-word sentence that was too embarrassing to be used in public. Do you have any idea if this is true or not?

in japanese culture,Koishiteru is used as to express deepest form of love and considered embarrassing and too intimate to be used in public domain.

Hi! I’m both flattered and flustered to receive this ask ahah. I did not watch the live action (I won’t lie, I didn’t even know there was one…), but I’ll try to answer your ask to the best of my abilities.

First of all, I think anything that wasn’t directly stated by Gege, or people Gege worked directly with, can’t be 100% verified as canon. Anything you heard from a second source might just be an interpretation.

As for the “koishiteru” (恋してる) thing, I’m not a native Japanese person, but I am half Japanese. From what I know, “koishiteru” is usually said when you’re falling in love with somebody, and you have those strong romantic/excited feelings towards them. So… I don’t think that’s what they said, because Gojo hadn’t seen Geto in many years (besides when Geto invaded Jujutsu Tech), and their ideals and paths had diverged significantly since the last time they’d interacted. In fact, Gojo was angry at Geto for endangering his students, the youth, as we see when Gojo says, “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t hurt the youth.” It’s clear that Gojo’s ideals and beliefs are clashing with Geto’s actions, during that reconnection scene. People usually don’t fall for somebody who isn’t somebody they deeply admire (whose convictions and beliefs you can resonate with). So prior to Geto’s death, I think that Gojo expressed that he still felt affection for Geto, and I will explain below.

Despite Geto’s defection all those years ago, and despite his actions before his death, Gojo still had feelings alike affection and concern for Geto. The two understood one another in a way nobody else did: they were high school best friends who were the strongest, two teenagers who had given up their life in order to protect and serve others. Gojo never knew a life outside of being a weapon. And Geto understood the world that Gojo grew up in, lived in, fought in, fought for— and the two laughed together, too. They were comrades. Geto was Gojo’s first and only deep connection, for a long, long time. Geto was the closest to an equal that Gojo would ever have. There’s no doubt that Gojo still considered Geto his best friend (Gojo said so, himself), but going so far as saying “koishiteru” is… not making sense to me.

The two were undoubtedly still important to one another before Gojo ended Geto, but their own different missions were more important to them than one another (that’s why they had split). That doesn’t mean the two still didn’t hold a special place in their hearts for the bond they shared with one another, but it does make me believe that Gojo and Geto couldn’t have been lovers in that they never got the chance to be romantically involved. Gojo called Geto his “best friend” rather than his lover, as well. It’s possible that Gojo could have developed romantic feelings for Geto over time, if they’d spent more time together. But they didn’t have the time and space to grow closer to one another. It would’ve had to have been in another life.

TLDR: what Gojo and Geto had was real, it was best friendship, it was connection (hit all the boxes that allowed Gojo, the isolated king, to actually connect to somebody else). Geto was possibly Gojo’s only deep connection that he’d ever experienced— but their ideals pushed them apart. They still hold a special affection for the bond they shared, a special affection for one another, but they’re not puppy love obsessed with one another, nor are they bound together anymore by convictions. Whether or not that means they’re just tragic best friends, or lovers, who can say for sure? No one, except Gege.

Philosophy take away: You might love somebody with all your heart, but there can still be a world of distance between the two of you, if your convictions and beliefs diverge. It’s… something.

[sturniozo]

Savage Love part Nine

Matt Sturniolo x reader Mafia AU

Masterlist

Kyler looks up at me in disbelief. He leans back in his chair. “You what?” He asks with a laugh.

“I want to quit the piece.” I repeat.

“The Matt Sturniolo piece? The piece that would be our biggest set as a paper, you’re quitting it?”

“Yes.” My heart begins to race as Kyler realizes I’m not joking and his face begins to become angrier.

“You’ve put out the least amount of articles out of everyone in this paper, you’re pieces are shit that no one wants to read, and the one good thing you could bring to this paper you’re quitting?”

I begin to feel smaller and I nod slowly, a lump forming in my throat preventing me from speaking.

“Get out. I’ll give the piece to someone else, you’re done. You contribute nothing to this paper. You’re fired.”

I flinch at his words. I didn’t think I’d get fired for this. “Fired?” I ask again.

“Without that Sturniolo piece you contribute nothing of interest to the paper! Either do the piece or pack your things.” Kyler stares at me waiting for my answer.

“I’m not finding anything on Matt because there’s nothing that needs to be found.” I say calmly. “My desk will be cleared within an hour.”

I turnaround and take a deep breath, holding back tears. I loved this job. I loved working as a journalist alongside my best friend. I loved working so close to home.

I get to my desk and start gathering all my things. Emma looks at me confused.

“What are you doing?” She asks as she gets up from her seat.

“I didn’t want to do the Sturniolo piece. Kyler fired me.” I say trying to stay calm as I pack up my things.

“Why don’t you want the piece, it’s amazing, it’s a game changer, a life changer. You have the chance to see the life of a Mafia boss and tell the story to hundreds of people. Why don’t you want that?” She asks.

I just stare at her for a moment and the realization dawns on her.

“Oh. Oh. Oh my god. No, tell me you’re not-“

“He’s not as bad as everyone made him out to be. I’ve never seen him do or imply anything about actually being in the Mafia, as far as I know he’s the head of some company that transports goods and-“

“Listen to yourself! He’s definitely the head of the mafia, y/n! Head of a company? Transports goods? He’s a drug trafficker and a suspect in at least a dozen murders-“

“He isn’t a suspect-“

“Because he has dirt on everyone! No one will prosecute against him because they’re scared of him.”

“Or because he didn’t do it!”

“Y/n listen to yourself!”

“You don’t know him, Emma!” I snap at her. “He’s not the kind of guy who could do those things. He’s kind and gentle and he’s never hurt me or anyone that-“

“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say!”

“Emma he’s not a bad person.”

“What about all the things you had told me about? How he took you to his house because he thinks someone could be watching you? That someone might hurt you to get to him?”

“I’m sure it’s more business than physically hurting me-“

“Y/n! What is going on with you? You told me everything-“

“But you don’t know the context to it, I don’t even know the context to most of the conversations I heard.”

“Y/n, listen to me! That man has been a suspect in over a dozen murders, he’s a suspect in a drug trafficking ring, as well as illegal cargo from other countries.”

“How do you know he’s an actual suspect?” I ask her.

“I sleep with the chief of police regularly, and he’s got lots of shit against Matt Sturniolo, but that man has the police I er his thumb, I’m telling you. That’s why they can’t convict.”

“Emma-“

“Y/n, you can’t believe the shit you’re saying.”

I look down and sigh. “I know.” I say softly.

“Y/n, dont tell me you actually…”

“It’s not like that, I swear, I just… I don’t want to write something against him. He keeps his occupation secret for a reason.”

“You really care about him?” Emma asks and I just nod. “You know, we should have guessed you’d not be able to do this without catching feeling for him. Hooking up just isn’t who you are.”

I laugh softly. “I know. Can you help me get my shit out of here before Kyler freaks out about me still being here?”

“Yeah, I’ll help you.”

Emma helps me pack my things into a few boxes.

“Want help bringing them to your car?” She asks.

“Shit, no, I didn’t drive here.”

“What?”

“Matt drove me, fuck I forgot…”

“I’d drive you home but if Kyler saw me gone-“

“No, I know, I’ll just… I’ll figure something out.”

I sit in my chair and rub my head. As close as I live to work, I don’t feel like I could carry three boxes all the way home or make multiple trips before the paper closes for the night.

“I’ll just call Matt.” I mumble.

“Matt?!” Emma’s head shoots up in surprise.

“Yeah he’ll come get me.” I press call on Matt’s contact and put the phone to my ear.

Matt almost immediately picks up. “Hey, baby, is something wrong?” He asks. “I just dropped you off a few hours ago, I thought you worked until 5?”

“Matt… can you come get me?” I ask.

“I’m kinda busy right now babydoll, but I’ll send a driver to you. What’s this about, what happened?”

“I’ll explain it all when I see you.”

“Was it bad? What happened baby?”

“I’ll explain it later, Matt.”

“Okay, well I’m sending a driver to take you back to my place.”

“But I need to stop at my apartment.”

“I can’t have you there, my guy hasn’t done a full sweep to see if someone’s watching you or not.”

“How come I can go to work but I can’t go home? If they watched me at all they’d know where I work.”

“I keep a guy staked out at your paper too, dollface, just in case.”

I pause for a moment. “What.”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“Matt-“

“The driver will be there in a few minutes, hold tight, dollface.”

“Matt-“

Matt hangs up and I’m left staring at my phone.

“What was all that about?” Emma asks and I sigh.

“He’s just… worried about me and he’s protective.” I say and stand up, grabbing my boxes of belongings. “I’ll talk to you later, Emma.” I say as I carry the boxes to the elevator.

I go to the lobby and wait by the door. Soon enough a black car much like Matt’s pulls up. The driver steps out and I immediately know it’s someone that works for Matt, as the guy is in a full black suit with sunglasses and an earpiece like a spy of some sort. He walks over to me and takes the boxes from me. He open the truck of the car and sets the boxes inside and I get into the car.

The ride to Matt’s place is silent. The only sound is the sound of the car driving and the low music playing from the speakers in the car. I stare out the window not saying a word the whole time. Partly because I’m unsure what to say, and partly because there’s nothing to say.

Tags: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer @iloveneilperry

[valentine-cafe]

Could I get some churros ♥️ How would Alessio react to catching reader watching thirsty edits of him on stage 🥺

˖⁺. ﹙ rockstar enigma x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . heavy metal lover !! 🍒 :  rockstar ˖ enigma ˖ mercenary character﹙ verse 1311 alessio. ﹚

he catches you watching edits of him 

Yes, he’s a felon. Yes, he’s convicted of numerous crimes. Possibly war crimes for all you know.

But what he should be arrested for is how fucking fine he looks on that stage. Cupping the mic. Throwing his head back. Falling to his knees. Killing it on the guitar. Grinding up on the floor.

You’re just as bad as those comments popping in every other minute —

Until it’s blue.

Me, the stage:

Google, how do I become a guitar?

He can explode my -

And so many more. You resonated with every single one of them. As you sat there, leaned against the bar - yes - the bar where he performs at times. For the life of you, you could not believe that you have witnessed that man up close and personal.

The large hall should have been empty. Who went to a bar this time of the morning anyway? It’s why you dared to lock your eyes to the screen and consume this one - damn - edit on replay. Feeling your tummy twist with each beat drop and and scene switch.

With a sigh you couldn’t hide the dreaminess of, you are about to scroll on to the next video in your folder — until a cluster of ebony catches your peripheral vision.

“Can’t a guy get a drink around here?”

That voice —

Screw your phone. It hits the floor but it’s the least of your concerns when met with those abyssal eyes. The shine of magenta swimming in dark sclera. If your tummy was not twisting already - well - let’s say it is on the verge of snapping now.

“O-Oh my god -”

Two large hands hit the edge of the counter, their silver rings biting into the wood. Leather engulfs your senses; but a lazy grin amongst a slew of piercings steals your focal point.

There he is. Alessio Agresta Arias. Donned in his typical punk fashion, guitar case strung to his back. Fuck, that’s right. He has a show today

“Interesting lil’ hobby of yours. But. . .” The bastard leans in. As though the rapid beating of your heart is an addicting drum to him. A large hand cups your face, thumb daring to roll on your lower lip. You feel their callouses, you know they’re from his strings.

He cocks his head, curls catching on hair as his gaze darts from your eyes, to your lips, then back. And with a deep, crooning chuckle, he muses:

“Why fantasize the screen when you can have the real thing?”

[lauraryuguji]

"Just dance with me." You murmured as the sun tried to warm cold skins, as hopes were lost after fifty days in freezing hell.

Numa looked up, only to find her hand reaching for him. There was a sad smile on her face, one of those that are usually followed by a line that resonated sadly through the cold.

"You know I can't dance." He held up his hand, but didn't get up. Just enjoying how warm his hand was.

"Please, just dance with me." She repeated, more insistent than ever.

Numa didn't understand how, just after learning that the quests had stopped dancing, it would help. He knew, however, that this action wasn't just a dance, it could be the distraction he craved.

The boy shook his head before standing up and grabbing her back, they were both close, for the first time he was actually dancing with the girl. But this time, there was something less romantic than he had imagined. His eyes met hers, and vice versa. A deep look that now meant so much more.

"Take me back to the night we met." She says as a tear insists on sliding down her cheek."That's what I want most." Numa wipes her tear away, he secures her face and kisses her forehead.

She closes her eyes, swaying slightly, her body exhausted, and as much as she knew her end was near, she still had that hopeful look in her eyes. The snow falls on them, but the music resonates through her mind without question.

"Numa..." she smiles slightly. "I've been in love with you ever since I saw you."Numa knew, he was too. You were the main reason his friends convinced him to go on this trip, your name was mentioned at that bar table.

"Thanks for speaking first." He laughs. He laughs. "I love you."

When people are close to death, they often have the thought they should have every day. You knew that your body was shutting down for good, you knew that malnutrition, dehydration and the bruises from the fall were already at their limit. And it was only now that you had the stupid courage you'd been lacking all along.

Numa hugged you when the wind blew strongly, and you clung to him as if your life depended on it. A thought ran through your mind, a plea, you knew you wouldn't survive, but please, let him survive.

"Can I ask you something?" She murmured against his body. "Do you promise to stay alive until the end?"

He lifted her face and planted a longed-for kiss on her lips, it was the best thing that had happened here, it was like being in heaven.

"We will." His eyes showed the conviction he had.

It was with such certainty that if you didn't feel death ahead, you would have believed it. You wanted to believe, you swear you wanted to... you were young, you hadn't graduated yet, you hadn't said goodbye to life, you hadn't done so many things.

A smile crossed your face when you shook your head affirmatively at him, it was what he needed to see, not what was true.

That same night, before retiring for the night, you sought out the person responsible for cutting, and in a weak voice gave your release. You knew deep down that he wouldn't want your body, it would be too crazy for everyone. Death was too crazy, we've already lost so many.When you went to sleep, you wrote letters, you made sure to write one for everyone and you also wrote the names of everyone who had left, just to make sure they hadn't been forgotten. And then you lay down next to Numa's sleeping body, held his hand and cried weakly.After fifty days of surviving, his body shut down. 

He died during the night, sleeping with a smile on his face and clutching Numa's master, it seemed like a dream.

[broodwolf221]

happy friday! how about felassan x solas with "i never gave up on you." from the deep conversations list? feel free to make it poly with mythal, andruil and/or morrigan, whatever you're feeling!

@dadrunkwriting - significant da4 spoilers! thank you for this! honestly, it kinda went off the rails and i am :) in pain :) these two...... 1378 words cws: none

He had never been a child.

A spirit did not have a comparable period. Mortal beings were children who grew, matured, and became as the adults who had created them.

He had never been a child, but there was a time that, looking back, he felt young. Wisdom had observed for so long, long enough to believe it understood. It had not wanted to take form, but never in its protests did it consider matters of personal maturity.

Freshly rendered into a new, unfamiliar form, Wisdom had stumbled like a newborn. But it was no longer only Wisdom. The confidence in its agreement, the belief that it understood what it was consenting to, the conviction that no longer would anything take it off guard… Wisdom had always been Pride in its self-assurance. And it was Pride in its folly, in its agreement, in its willingness.

Solas was born that day. Not a child, no, but not mature, either.

There was so much he did not understand. And in those early days, he thought he could have it all—morality and impact; ethics and change; love and trust—and found each lesson otherwise a deep wound, coring through not just what he had become, but what it had originally been. Each moment that Wisdom was proven naive in the face of reality and action rather than observation was another hard lesson.

Mythal had ever been primary in his eyes. Benevolence and Wisdom had existed in harmonious tandem for so long, after all. But Mythal was not alone in his regard; over time, he came to appreciate many others.

Elgar'nan had been first to take form, Mythal following to try and quell his insatiable Command. But more came after Solas. Dirthamen and Falon'Din first, a single spirit that came into the world and tried to take form but cracked in the doing, a near tragedy. He could recall Mythal's despair and Elgar'nan's rare fear as clearly as his own horror. As horrified by what this additional emergence meant as he was by how it had gone wrong.

The spirit cracked and strained and, desperate, each grabbed for the power from the earth, and in the wake of one spirit came two bodies. A price doubly paid. Others had followed, drawn forth by Elgar'nan or Mythal or their own desires, and the toll on the earth became ever higher. He regretted taking flesh so many times, too often to possibly tally, but he knew that Mythal had been right. She was necessary to keep Elgar'nan in check, and if she believed she needed Solas' support to do so, then he would not spurn her. He just wished…

Well. He wished many things were different.

However, there was one thing that he could not bring himself to wish had never come to pass. Spirits who took form were not the only beings in existence, after all; there were those who Elgar'nan sought to rule, the Elvhen. Powerful in magic, they were a race of beings who seemed to have an instinctual relationship with spirits, perhaps because their own lives were so long. Even those who passed did not die like mortal creatures did, but sank into a deep, endless slumber.

The Elvhen were something between the mortal creatures and the spirits themselves, and as such, it had seemed obvious for the altered spirits to take on a form that paid homage to this seeming intermediary. And the Elvhen themselves interested Solas.

It was rare that he left Mythal's side, but when he did, there was one Elvhen who always found him. Felassan.

It had taken Solas a long time to understand. Friendship was a familiar word but an unfamiliar feeling. Even as close as he was with Mythal, he would classify them as something else, something unique. They orbited each other eternally, equal parts bound and liberated by the presence of the other. But Felassan and Solas… this was a choice.

He chose.

They spoke of many things. Felassan asked questions, Solas answered, and Felassan teased him. It had confused Solas at first, this behavior; then for a time it had wounded him and he had withdrawn. But Felassan had found him tucked away and reached out with a big smile that only fell when Solas met his eyes. They had spoken, then. Solas had learned that not all words were meant. It was a strange concept, one he half believed to be a trick, and he asked for time.

In that time—time which Felassan granted him—he observed. It was his core nature, to observe, but this time he paid attention not just to what the Elvhen did, but to what they said. He heard this teasing among them.

So he found Felassan again. Found him preoccupied, bent over a book and frowning at it. Solas took his time, formulated the phrase, weighed it in his mind, before approaching softly. Felassan did not stir. "You seem to be struggling," he noted, smiling as Felassan jumped with a bit-off curse, "perhaps you need another pair of eyes?"

"What do you—" he turned to stare at Solas, then grinned and shoved at him. "You're terrible. How many eyes are you offering?"

"As many as are needed," he shot back dryly. He found that he enjoyed this repartee.

He found he enjoyed much about Felassan.

No longer was it Wisdom and Felassan. Nor was it Pride. It was specifically Solas, the being that he was becoming, with Felassan, the being who already knew himself. This was the closest Solas came to having a childhood, learning the ways of something that was not a spirit. And he learned much from Felassan.

He grew to trust him. He knew himself trusted in turn. And as years turned into decades, as the Evanuris gathered power, as those he had once known grew twisted with might and the seeking of more, he found himself relying on Felassan in ways he had never expected to. And always the man was there. He was Solas' friend.

He was so much more.

This, too, Solas was learning. Mythal called him love. He knew the word, knew its meaning, knew what followed when it was said. Knew the way flesh met flesh, knew the way hands were held, knew the way that people chose to twine their lives together. Some of this he could find with her, but not all, parts denied them both courtesy of their roles, for she was bound to Elgar'nan—not out of love, but out of necessity.

What he did not expect was to find the same with Felassan.

The first time he reached out and held the other man's hand, Felassan had been surprised. Then he had blushed and drawn closer, leaning his head on Solas' shoulder. As Solas' protests crystallized into an emergent rebellion, Felassan was always at his side. Solas grew to rely on him more and more.

Wisdom learned, though. Wisdom learned his lessons well. And when Wisdom learned that reliance could be a weakness, that what was right could be waylaid by what one felt about another, that choice could become compromise when it needed to stand on its own, he realized that what they had was unsustainable.

It was beautiful. It was impossible.

He withdrew once more, and this time, it was not because he was wounded. Instead, he was wounding. Felassan became his second in command rather than his everything. They had their roles to play.

Solas betrayed his best friend, his love, so as to not betray his rebellion. And in the end, he could never feel as though he had not betrayed them both.

The lyrium dagger, the Titans. Mythal's death—his fault—and his imprisonment of the Evanuris. His wounded slumber, impossible to deny but cruel beyond words, abandoning in full the one who had always stood at his side. And when he returned at last to waking, when he witnessed the world that his actions had forged, and when he eventually found his way back to the lighthouse that had served his rebellion for so long, he found in his den a scrap of paper.

He read it, and he wept.

I never gave up on you, Wolf.

— The Slow Arrow

[spotsandsocks]

So many choices!! They all sound amazing!! I think I'll have to go with...

🛌🛌🛌🛌🛌

🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠

😧😧😧😧😧

😈😈😈😈😈

Happy writing!! 🥰

Hi thanks for getting me typing! I’m having so many ideas!!!

🛏️

Buck had made it through that by being remarkably interested in the words on a page that he’d reread six times and still not taken in by the time Eddie’s head was on the pillow.

Pretending to be absorbed in his book didn’t stop him noticing that Eddie was facing him, had his eyes open and was looking at him. He didn’t mind, he just noticed. He’d glanced over once and smiled down, Eddie has smiled back, looking sleepy and beautiful and said “Good book?”

He’d lied and said ‘riveting’.

That had made Eddie laugh because he could see the title and knew it was a book about the roles women took up during World War 2, including working on the planes and machinery needed, ‘riveting’ being a key part of that.

Eddie laughed at his joke, he’s pretty sure no one else would have.

They talked a little longer until Eddie’s eyelids had started to flutter and then he was asleep breathing slow and deep. Buck took his turn at watching then, but only for 30 seconds, because it’s creepy watching someone sleeping, then he’d turned the light off and prayed he’d keep to his side of the bed.

Morning light creeping through the curtains had revealed his success in that area. He’d stayed mostly where he was, albeit a little closer to the center now. Eddie too was much where he’d been when the lights were turned out, except his arm is outstretched almost like it was reaching for something.

Still sleepy Buck considers the possibility that maybe it was?

Deciding he can blame sleep he wiggles a little closer still until Eddie’s hand is close enough for his fingertips to touch Buck’s arm. Those fingertips are a little too cold actually so the kind, responsible thing to do is make sure Eddie stays warm.

The rest under hear cos I write long sentences and apparently 60 sentences gives you a very long post!! 😆

🧠 this was a prompt for buddie with telepathic bond from @steadfastsaturnsrings I hadn’t done anything with it but now I have … this is all there is for now… I’ll keep thinking about it

You get three people. That’s it. Three and you cant choose them until you're 16.

After that it’s down to personal preference, compatibility and your own heart.

Not everybody chooses and hardly anyone chooses three. It’s a big decision even stupid teenagers know that.

Buck’s first choice was Maddie. She’d asked if he was sure. She hadn’t chosen anyone yet even if she was so much older than him. Doug wasn’t a believer in taking the bond so he’d said no when she’d asked. She’d said yes to her brother and then she’d left him.

He’d never understood why.

So he’d never asked anyone again. He bonded with Maddie and then she was gone. Seemed like an omen to him.

The second bond happened without him realising it, and neither of them kniw exactly when it happened but he must have wanted it and so must Eddie because you can’t bond without consent.

However the first time he heard Eddie’s voice in his mind was when he’d been buried by 40 feet of mud and Buck was insisting he was alive when he could see the fear in everyone else’s eyes that his best friend was already lost.

😧 amnesia fic

“Hey, no need to scowl at the juice, it’s not done anything wrong.”

That’s a matter of opinion but Josephine’s smile is gentle, she understands how frustrating it is to be stuck like this, not a damn clue who he is or where he belongs. And he does belong somewhere, he knows he does. The ache in his chest proves it, it burns constantly, a deep furious conviction that he has to be somewhere else, has to get back to something important.

The something remains a mystery but he thinks it has to be a family. He just feels like he has a family somewhere and he has to find them again. They probably think he’s dead and he’s not, he’s just lost. Lost everything it feels like.

He tries to remember but there’s just a dark void at the center of him; cold and empty. That’s wrong, he knows that, so wrong, there should be light and laughter and warmth there. He remembers the feeling even if he can’t remember what put it there. He rubs at the ache in his chest constantly, trying to soothe it away, and from there each time his fingers reach for something around his neck that's absent.

Each time his fingers seek and find nothing, he doesn’t know what’s missing, only that he misses it. It makes his eyes sting. He wants to remember what’s missing so badly.

😈 demon!Eddie

Eddie stands there, waiting patiently, allowing the witch who owns and runs this place to sense him and prepare herself. It’s only polite after all, no one likes an unexpected demon even if they’re technically an old friend.

As he waits Eddie lets the peace of this place soak into him. The light that manages to make it through the dusty windows is warm and casts soft shadows across the floor. The air is filled with the scent of old paper and leather, hints of herbs and spices lingering too. Against the walls various cabinets, bookcases and shelves are crammed full of a range of trinkets and treasures, some fake, some genuine, some just ordinary things because even the customers who come here need candles and matches as well as the more interesting things you can purchase here. Eddie’s not here for matches, nor the more esoteric items on sale. He just wants to talk. He has questions and he thinks that this is where he’ll find the answers.

Still and quiet he waits until she’s ready and before too long the curtain to the back room of the store moves and he’s not alone anymore.

She’s cautious because she’s old and she’s wise and she knows that even old friends like him require watching carefully if you want to stay being old.

“Your Highness” her eyes twinkle because she knows how much he hates that, “you honor my humble business with your presence.”

The lady steps forward glorious and beautiful, dark skin glowing, warm eyes teasing him and the curve of her mouth telling him she thinks she’s funny. Eddie narrows his eyes, she’d better not even think about bowing.

“Linda, you know I hate it when you do that.

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

18) Easy

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

series masterlist

“I’m kinda nervous.” Jack said as he and Maryse walked up the sidewalk towards Maryse’s childhood home. He was meeting her parents for the first time and he was nervous as hell.

Maryse squeezed his hand and looked up towards him. “You shouldn’t be, seriously!” Maryse knew that her parents were going to love him, everyone loved him. There’s not a person on this earth that Jack couldn’t charm.

When they walked in her mom gave both of them a huge hug. Her laughter filled the entry way as she pulled Jack into a tight embrace. “I’ve heard so much about you!” She said, her eyes twinkling with mischief just like Maryse’s would. “You must be the one who stole my daughter’s heart!”

Jack grinned in response, his charm winning over her mom in an instant. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Monet!”

“Oh honey, that makes me feel old! Call me Margot.”

As they settled in the living room, Jack immediately stood when her father walked in the room. This was the moment he had been dreading the most. As they shook hands Jack couldn’t help but feel a pang of nerves. His nerves became worse when Maryse's father asked him to step outside with him.

“Dad!”

“I’ll be nice, I promise.” Maryse’s father said with a wink

Once outside, the two men were silent for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in the air. Maryse’s dad's gaze towards Jack softened with a knowing look. “I can tell just by how you look at my daughter that you love her,” he said, his voice filled with understanding.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that his feelings for Maryse ran deep, but hearing her father acknowledge them so openly filled him with a sense of validation and reassurance.

Jack met the older gentleman’s eyes with sincerity, “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice steady with conviction. “I love her more than words can express. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever known, and I’m grateful every day to have her in my life.”

A small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Good,” he said gently but firmly. “Loving each other is easy. It’s the simplest thing in the world, really. But sometimes, we have a way of making it harder than it needs to be.”

Jack nodded listening intently, feeling the weight of his words.

“And my daughter,” her dad continued, his voice softening with affection, “She’s a special one. She’s got a heart of gold, but it’s also fragile, you know? So I’m asking you to be gentle with it. Love can feel like a stranger to her because of how she’s been hurt in the past,” he said, his words carrying the weight of understanding.

Jack’s heart began to ache when he thought back to everything Maryse dealt with, with Nate. He knew she carried some of those scars.

“I understand, sir. I’ll do everything I can to show M that love doesn’t have to hurt or be toxic. It can be gentle and kind.”

A smile of approval spread across her dads face. “I believe you, just remember to be patient with her. Treat her with care and she’ll love you back fiercely in return.”

Maryse was slightly shocked when they walked back in the room with a smile on their face. Her dad’s stern demeanor softened as he announced to the room. “I like this one.” Clapping Jack on his back with a smile. “You’re alright, kid.”

“Thanks sir.”

“You can call me Murphy.”

“You didn’t threaten him did you?” Maryse quipped, half joking.

He chucked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, you know me, sweetheart,” he replied with a grin. “I just gave him a friendly reminder of what’s at stake if he ever breaks your heart.”

Maryse rolled her eyes at her overbearing father, happy that he cared about her well being and happiness. Jack chuckled and made his way back over to the couch and enveloped Maryse in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” He whispered softly.

A sense of contentment washed over Maryse. She knew that she had found someone special. Jack has successfully won over the most important people in her life. She couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him.

Maryse slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to the side, and quickly became disappointed that Jack wasn’t next to her. That dream had left her heart heavy. She couldn’t shake the sadness that lingered after.

With a heavy sigh, she wiped away her tears and tried to push the memories of her dream aside, knowing that dwelling on the past would only bring more pain. Maryse longed for the days when they were happy together, when their love felt effortless. Emptiness consumed her as she continued to face the reality of the breakup.

As she laid in the dark staring up at the ceiling couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever find a way to move on from the pain of their breakup, it had only been a month and she felt like she would forever be haunted by the memories of what could have been.

***

BREAKING: Jack Harlow And Maryse Monet Break up!!

In a shocking turn of events, the much-adored celebrity couple, Maryse Monet and Jack Harlow have reportedly called it quits! Sources say they broke up about a month ago and have been trying to hide it from everyone. Including friends and family. The two have unfollowed each other on social media.

Reports suggest that Maryse has been struggling to deal with the breakup, with eyewitnesses claiming to have seen her in tears during her recent concert performances when singing songs she wrote about the rapper.

While neither Maryse nor Jack have officially addressed the breakup, the news has sent shockwaves through their fan base. Many have taken to social media to express their disbelief and sadness over the apparent end of their fairytale romance.

Stay tuned for further updates as this story develops.

Jack’s heart sank as he read the article announcing their breakup. He was shocked that it took this long for the press to find out. Jack had to stop Neelam from putting it out there immediately.

Navigating his crazy tour schedule, he found himself engulfed in a relentless cycle of performances, interviews, and appearances. The demands of his career left him with little time to process the breakup.

The shows each night were a temporary escape. But the quiet moments between performances, the weight of his grief constantly threatened to suffocate him. Alone in his hotel room at night, surrounded by the silence of his thoughts.

His chest tightened as he scrolled further and watched the video of Maryse crying on stage, pain evident on her face. A surge of guilt washed over him. He longed to reach out to her to offer her comfort and reassurance, but a nagging fear held him back.

Jack knew that Maryse needed space to heal, to confront her own demons and work through her issues. And as much as he wanted to be there for her, he also knew that she needed to reach out first – that she needed to take the first step towards reconciliation.

The thought of her suffering alone tore at his heart, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over him. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay, but he knew that it wasn’t his place – not yet, anyway.

He had heard from Urban the day prior that they finally announced she was playing Princess Belle. Jack had clenched his fists in frustration, cursing the timing of their breakup and the distance that now separated them. He hated the fact that he couldn’t be there to celebrate Maryse’s achievement in person, to share in her joy and shower her with the love and support she deserved.

The more Jack thought about her the more upset he got. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, he felt tears welling up in his eyes, the ache of missing Maryse was becoming unbearable. He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they continued to flow unchecked down his cheeks.

Jack had his head in his hands when Urban unexpectedly walked into the hotel room with a grin on his face but it quickly faded when caught sight of Jack sitting on the edge of the bed with trembling shoulders.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Urban asked, concern lacing his voice as he moved closer.

Jack quickly wiped his eyes and put on a fake smile. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, not even to Urban. “Yeah, man, I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice wavering slightly. “Just… you know, tour stuff.”

Urban raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by the deflection. But before he could press further Jack quickly hopped up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom, “I’ll be right down, I’m just going to use the restroom.” And closed the door behind him before Urban could even respond.

Jack leaned against the sink, his hands trembling slightly as he splashed cold water on his face. As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, the raw pain etched in his features, was a stark reminder of the heartbreak he had been trying so hard to bury.

He knew he couldn’t run away from the pain for much longer but he was going to stretch it for as long as he could.

***

CoCo stood in front of the doorway of the hotel room, her arms crossed and a look of determination on her face. “Alright, enough is enough,” she declared, her voice firm. “You’ve been moping around in bed for a month now when not performing, and it’s time to snap out of it.”

Maryse stayed curled up under the covers with tear stained cheeks, she groaned in protest. “I don’t feel like celebrating,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.

CoCo rolled her eyes, refusing to be swayed by her gloomy attitude. “Well, tough luck,” she retorted, marching over to the bed and yanking the covers off with a swift motion. “You’ve just been announced as the lead in a live action Beauty and the Beast and you’re going to act like it.”

Maryse let out a frustrated sigh as she reluctantly sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay,” she protested, her voice tinged with sadness.

CoCo softened her voice, kneeling down in front of her with a sympathetic expression. “I know it’s hard, Maryse”, she said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you can’t let this breakup consume you. You’re stronger than that, and you have a career to focus on.”

She nodded reluctantly, as she stared down at her trembling hands. “I just miss him so much,” Maryse admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know you miss him,” CoCo said softly, “but you’re never going to get him back if you don’t take care of yourself and heal from past trauma.”

Maryse knew deep down that she couldn’t continue to wallow in her pain and expect things to magically fall back into place with Jack. She needed to prioritize her own well-being and address the unresolved issues that had been weighing her down for far too long. “It’s like I’m scared of letting myself be happy.”

CoCo nodded in understanding, her expression filled with empathy. “You want a healthy relationship until one is sitting in front of you, then you don’t know what to do with it so you sabotage it,” she explained, her voice gentle yet firm.

It was true – she had spent so long yearning for real love after her breakup with Nate and when it finally presented itself to her, she had struggled to fully embrace it. Instead, she had allowed her insecurities and fears to drive a wedge between her and Jack sabotaging their relationship in the process.

Tears welled up in Maryse’s eyes, she had pushed away the one person who had truly cared for her, all because she didn’t know how to handle the intensity of her own emotions. “I don’t know why I do it,” she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Her manager reached out and gently squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Maryse,” she said softly. “We all have our demons to face. But you have to remember that you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to have love in your life.”

Maryse sighed heavily knowing she was right. “What should I do now?” she asked. “I feel helpless.”

“You’ve gotta pick yourself back up, Maryse,” she said gently. “Become a better version of yourself, and put all your emotions into your music. Let it be your therapy, and your outlet for healing.”

She nodded, she knew that she needed to channel her pain into something constructive.

“And as for your broken relationship,” CoCo continued, her tone filled with wisdom, “it’ll fix itself when it’s ready. Love has a funny way of finding its way back to us when we least expect it. But in the meantime, focus on yourself and your music. That’s where your strength lies.”

Maryse nodded knowing CoCo was right but that didn’t make the breakup hurt any less. The sting of heartbreak was still fresh and overwhelming, but she was going to do what CoCo said because she wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to handle the ache in her chest.

***

AN: I can’t handle this 🤧 tell your thoughts thank you for reading!!

Tag List:

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @snows-blog-of-fiction @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @toocriticalharlow @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @jaydaaasworld @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @w1ldthoughts @jackiehollanderr @katiaw2 @halfmoondaze @babybardi2 @vinniehackersbaee @daphnescorner

[elderwisp]

lore drop: the au

♡ so i tried to keep some core characteristics of each oc. for atlas, i decided to keep his curiosity and his struggles with feeling inadequate. for taryn, it's her patience but that manifests more into endurance, as well as her struggles with vulnerability. as for rowan, his need for support as well as his generally care-free attitude. really the biggest change was their environments!

♡ a lot of the issues in tessellate that atlas in regards to his state of being (lol) begins in his youth and the people surrounding it. atlas struggled in school in regards to focusing and a lot of the times would be met with unsupportive people so in a way escapism has always been a method of coping with that feeling of inadequacy. we'll dive into how that entire process shapes up HOWEVER ! in this au, atlas swaps with taryn in the sense that atlas has much more supportive parents who get him the help he needs rather than growing frustrated. he tries his best with schooling, even getting a degree in animation, but ! he still hasn't quite found a career in the thing he went to school for. here's a little blurb on that:

"I always hated this place. A constant reminder of everything I lacked. I shouldn’t be so crude towards the bookstore, my colleagues were wonderful and the managers never gave me any issues. The problem was me. The pings of jealousy deep in my gut whenever someone was promoted or a farewell party for coworkers moving onto bigger and better things. Yet here I was, five years later. A washed up artist and a part time bookstore clerk. My parents were kind enough to allow me to live at home but it’s all a bit embarrassing. Being twenty three and without a home or a career was definitely not how I envisioned the pinnacle of my adulthood."

♡ meanwhile, taryn's youth is much more turbulent. (i would say a tad bit worse than atlas's.) taryn's struggle with vulnerability stems from her surroundings. while in canon and the au, she went to catholic school, however one change was she fell for a girl who sets her up for humiliation. her parents, already having prior issues with taryn take this as the final straw and basically stonewall taryn into oblivion. kai, still being gay, also shuts taryn out out of the fear of what could happen to him and it's just really heartbreaking. ok so, backtracking a bit, rowan happens to be there at this very humiliating moment and is the only one to actually intervene. the two eventually become best friends, working really well with each other's personalities. rowan's thing that he needs from another person is full support, meanwhile taryn is incredibly accepting to those in her very small circle of... one person. LMAO! so the two really open up like a flower to one another

♡ their dynamic starts to shift when taryn is kicked out of her home on her eighteenth birthday, here's a wip of that:

He wiped the dirt and the blood off my face reminding me that I was more than the monsters that had made me. I couldn’t meet his eyes because I didn’t believe him. Was there something truly wrong with me?  “Look at me.” One firm tug at my chin to grab my attention but I was unmovable, “You are going to be better than them.” He said it with such conviction that I finally began to cry. After years of abuse by my peers, the blatant avoidance of my parents and brother, it had all come to the surface. I’ll admit, I was incredibly embarrassed crying in front of Rowan, that was something I never wanted anyone to see because vulnerability had been a weapon. There was a moment of fear once I had realized he’d seen me. What if he used it against me? Everyone else had. Instead he held me close and set me free of the pain I endured. That night, I couldn’t sleep. 

♡ the two eventually get an apartment in the city together. rowan being a nepo baby (lmao sorry bro) who sells his artwork while taryn is able to write freely and publish a lot of poetry and uh, erotica! pop off! rowan encouraged her to not work and put her focus into her books, he genuinely wants the best for her after the shitshow of a life she's had. ((in his mind though, he can't differentiate that he might actually adore this woman.)) that support did pay off though because taryn's work does really well. the whole place is mostly decorated by taryn but the kitchen is the one place that rowan really added his own little flair. you see, the boy loves to cook meals as a hobby and is quite good at it. it's one of those things where he also gets a bit of an ego boost but he's not gonna tell you that. when the two don't have company over... usually one will sneak into the other's room to sleep in it. the last time the two actually slept alone would probably be well over a year,, hmm

♡ so the final lore drop is how the freak does atlas fit into this? it's complicated in the beginning. taryn is quite fascinated with atlas and he is incredibly curious about her. her supportive demeanor makes him feel like he can do anything while atlas's ability to be in tune with his emotions, say how he feels, is refreshing to taryn. when rowan meets atlas, he believes that this dude might actually be capable of captivating taryn that she'd consider being with him and potentially leaving. that things always come to an end and this guy right here is his reckoning. on the other hand, atlas thinks rowan is just a scoundrel and uses his close friendship with taryn as a little flag to wave in atlas's face like surprise! u can't have her! how things get resolved? we'll find out in the far future. for now, have this little convo between taryn and rowan:

R: “He’s the one that called you a pawn. Embarrassed you like that and you just take it. Do you like him?” T: “That’s a stupid question.” R: “You’re the one that said we should ask them. The Taryn I know would never let any man walk all over her like that.” T: “I think you’re jealous.” R: “Because you look at him with such passion.” T: “He’s curious, questions everything and isn’t afraid of his emotions. He doesn’t run. Maybe… Maybe I need that.”

♡ silly taryn monologue because she's got a really entertaining perspective in this au:

I wasn’t going to cry. Not here in this taxi, not in my room, and certainly not in front of Atlas. In fact, Atlas can go rightfully fuck himself. Because, like, who the fuck does he think he is? I didn’t ask to be observed. I didn’t ask to have my life splayed out in 4K for the drunken bastards outside to see. Sure the couple to the left of us wouldn’t have remembered us arguing seeing as how they were preoccupied with one another but DAMN! Why did he have to complicate things?