✃ ✃ ✃

𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳

[4gnt22]

𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦？ 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨， 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵． 𝘍𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺， 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴； 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘪𝘳． 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥．

𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘯， 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘴， 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯， 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶． 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨， 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵． 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯， 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴’ 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘴， 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘴， 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺－𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳， 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴．

𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 — 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶．

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘑𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴 ： ⁽ 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 ⁾

𝘏𝘪𝘵 ’𝘌𝘮 𝘜𝘱 𝘚𝘵𝘺𝘭𝘦：⁽ 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘴 ⁾

𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 ： ⁽ 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘰 ⁾

[ the main image in my promo was taken from the cover of Hasan Minhaj’s stand-up special — Homecoming King. ]

[4gnt22]

⌞ 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 ⌝

@etoilebleu [ sasha ]

[heirceleste]

let me be real fucking loud about something

if you’re going to save screen shots and provide proof of something, you better be aware that those accusations are serious.

i would hope that if someone is providing me proof of an incident, they have tried to address it themselves. if you are coming to me with a problem and accusations and have not spoken to that person directly, i don’t want to hear it.

and if you’re spreading personal information or pictures of people’s face around? please know that it will not stay on the internet. people will be impacted in their very real lives about it.

tldr; you better be able to back up what you say 110% or you need to keep your mouth shut.

[4gnt22]

Sounds like some pretty wise words, friends.

[4gnt13]

❝ while her gift for secret put distance between us, it also taught me the value of i n t e l l i g e n c e: i learned that a secret is POWER, that POWER in application is force, that force is strength && strength is advantage. ❞ — 𝑎 𝑚 𝑒 𝑟 𝑖 𝑐 𝑎 𝑛 𝑠 𝑝 𝑦

𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 & 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 • 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑒 • 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 • 21+ • 616 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑

[4gnt22]

⁽ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ⁾

“𝐉𝐀𝐙𝐙, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇. I’m not necessarily saying to lose your fire, I’m maybe just lightly suggesting you not have a rage stroke before going on the air.” Even the halcyon advice of his closest cohort, his thickest thief as precious to him as though they shared the same mother and blood, did vanishingly little to mollify the rankling ire perching at the back of his throat. Furiously unthreading and rethreading his tie through one unsatisfactory knot after the next Jasper clenched his jaw – for the long litany of reasons he had to stew in the heat of his mood, Sharon could have three guesses, but she’d only need one. Jasper was as aggravated having to share the knowledge of his very private and intimate thing of his, as much as he was floating in the relief of being able to share the weight of it. This intimate thing, this very precarious feeling constantly stood on the edge of his heart – this problem that was exactly Darcy Lewis shaped. Sidelonging a glance at Sharon in the greenroom’s overly large vanity mirror, Jasper looked back down at his tie, then up again to watch his friend flick her way through his iPod – maybe a casual thing amongst some friends, but he could feel the analysis Sharon was building in her head. Most are inclined to credit these behavioral eccentricities to their long tenured service as SHIELD intelligence agents. Long ago they determined something very significant about themselves and the unique structure of their friendship. They would come to understand what made them the agents of their pedigree and caliber was that even as teenagers their idle time was built on the social and emotional adventures in the abstracts of life. Whether in the unfettered, hormonal chaos of their youth or as the tempered and calculated adults they became, both have always innately been drawn to humanity and the condition of the self seen through the abstracts. Understanding how and why they pair so intrinsically with the soul. Plainly; they made good agents because art taught them to understand the threads of the soul, but most importantly – deepening in them such an understanding that, even when it would have been easy or justified, never once do they forget that every living being on their shared blue marble had a soul. And Sharon was assessing the state of his through several hastily made Spotify playlists. He might have cared if Sharon being a sidepassenger voyeur to some of his lowest points in life hadn’t become the coded norm for both of them for the last two decades. The urge not to ask couldn’t exactly be termed as an ‘urge’, because that feeling did not exist in Jasper in that moment or any moment in his entire life –  he always asked his question. And right now was about to be like almost every other moment in his whole life – a question that predicates some salacious, infuriating, nightmarish answer . . . “Is Trent coming?” He asked, though almost as though he were tempting the Universe. “He’s already here. I saddled him with Steve, because I need eyes on fucking Rogers who is sending me some pretty high maintenance texts about Tucker Carlson, right now,” and the reminder of that tenuous shitshow had her scooping up her own phone, and no sooner did the screen illuminate her face was she locked into an eyeroll so hard she threatened to tip backward

• ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʷᵒ & ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ

• ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳᵉ

• @suredid

“Is Trent coming?” He asked, though almost as though he were tempting the Universe.

[4gnt22]

⁽ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʷᵒ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ⁾

“So – Steve said that Carlson asked him what he thought about ratifying the constitution, and I haven’t even opened this text but I feel like there’s a collegiate essay in here,” thumb scrolling over her phone, another flick, eyes back up to Jasper. “He’s literally quoting the fucking constitution at me. Are we about to discuss our issues with Trent always showing up before Darcy gets here? Because the first item on the docket I want to address is that she has to stop bringing her boyfriend, because this is how my husband keeps finding reasons to show up when we have to do the conservative pundit circuit. What people don’t realize is that while I understand Trent is a staffer for the Vice President, and yes I understand the severity of the fact we’re looking down the barrel to an incoming fascist administration with William Stryker at the helm and so yes we need him here to at least be a White House point person, but ALSO – I am running out of reasons why Trent can be here and fucking Captain America can’t, and Steve Rogers is starting to figure that out. What people also don’t realize is that while Cap is a symbol of being just or whatever, Steve fucking Rogers is ready to fight several Republican talking heads – one is a symbol of American Freedom and the other is an angry Irish immigrant and I’m so tired of this conversation.” She inhaled deeply and fell back onto the all-too stiff sofa. “Well damn, Slim, please tell us how you really feel,” if he was being honest there was no soup for the soul like a well-timed, non sequitur rant from Sharon Carter. Waving a dismissive hand at her phone, Sharon tossed it on the floor by her bag and looked at Jasper through the vanity mirror, “Sorry Jazz, I know, you’ve got a lot going on. You have True Love Waits Live in Oslo on every one of these playlists and on two, more than once. Also you’re going on air with Hannity. Darcy is late. Her boyfriend is pretending to handle my boyfriend. We’re in the epicenter of legacy media evil. What’s your play, Agent?” “Maybe I can just walk out of the window. Thirty stories seem like a really clean and tidy solution to everything you just said,” deadpan was the only humor he could ever rally before these interviews that felt more like some kind of public shaming. SHIELD, through a lot of variables, entirely botched the refugee extraction of four thousand Latverian refugees – the only thing he could think of were the onslaught of rapidly spat questions sourced in bigotry, stupidity, and wrapped in the trappings of social media ignorance and showboating. The other spare crevices he stashed Darcy in and several songs off of In Rainbows crammed in next to her. Still fucking with his tie. Still. “Yes, but then Fox News wins. Also Parker is out tonight – no one is falling or plummeting from anywhere in Midtown tonight, chief. I might want to play hypotheticals with you and wonder why he’s this far uptown, but I can’t because I’m playing hypotheticals about how we can spin it if Steve is arrested for assault tonight,” it was the last part that he could feel was added for the effect to lighten his mood. It wasn’t entirely a failure, because maybe if that happened they could pin it on Trent. Fucking Trent. A well groomed, DC elite, Politico’s Thirty Under Thirty, gooner who through luck and nepotism landed a staffer job with the Vice President and thought Portugal was an island. In South America. Trent was lucky Jasper cared what god fucking thought, because he could muster no other intention in telling Darcy than innate bitterness and ego. Always trying to be in accordance with Islam, he just kept it to himself wherein it proceeded to fester a hole through not just his soul, but the sharper edges of his sanity. 

• ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ & ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ

• ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳᵉ

• @suredid

[4gnt22]

⁽ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ⁾

“They’re going to come hard at me about Nick,” a new contender arose from the core of his bothered feelings. Sharon wasn’t alien to the very sacrosanct place Jasper held Nick, sometimes the particulars of that relationship were even obfuscated from her, but a line she always adhered, because it didn’t require the extensive training and education of an intelligence agent to know that Nick Fury filled the empty places in her friend’s heart where a father would have been. Swallowing hastily around the dry, stinging swell of emotion that ached in his throat, he turned carefully to Sharon, leaning against the counter with hands stuffed into his pockets so he could clench his fists in private, “ — I don’t know if I can keep my cool out there, Slim. I’m just, so. . .raw with everything lately. It’s like having sunburn on your soul and everything that brushes up against it makes me want to scream so loud I split time and space while alternately really creating some problems for that Magician over on Bleecker Street.” Unfortunately, Dear Readers, the various rants and bullet points of safety and concern that Faizan Syed a.k.a. Jasper Sitwell a.k.a. Agent 22 a.k.a. Guy Who Thinks Humans Should Stop Fucking With Magic Dot Com – is a saga for another day. Her snort is so abrupt and genuine, it’s contagious, and he laughs with her. Momentarily the tension breaks and he takes his first nourishing breath of the last three hours. But peace is always short lived, and this particular moment of serenity started to lose steam as the gnawing and unrelenting question came scurrying to the back of his grey matter: Where was she? The thought was freeze-framed as the abrupt intake of air from Sharon heralded a new unfolding chaos as she looked over several text messages, “I gotta’ go down there, because this is starting to escalate from comedic side hyperbole to me actually having to talk someone out of pressing charges against Steve,” nose still in her phone as she started blindly gathering up her things. “Is it Carlson or did someone call him an immigrant?” As a man who has spent over half his life having the status of his citizenship questioned for any and all reasons because of his skin color, having full license to call Captain America a ‘fucking immigrant’ (albeit in good humor) was a never going to depreciate in comedic value; in point of fact, it only grows in value with age. “I truly wish it was that, but they’re going at him about Bucky and since Trent has never brought me the right coffee, I’ll assume he does not have the dog in him to handle my husband at ‘Triggered’, though entire armies have tried.” “I remember. We had to work on that history project together.” “We did!” “And remember when you and Jimmy McWilliams got high before the final and for like half of your written essay you called Bucky – ‘Bucket Burns’?” Sharon was laughing so hard there was no longer sound coming out of her mouth, because she was slowly suffocating over ‘Bucket Burns’, “ – listen,” desperately throwing a hand in the air to gesture she has thoughts incoming while she gathered enough oxygen in her lungs to speak them, “. . .for a week let's only call him Bucket Burns, but not explain why. We don’t tell Steve either. It’ll be my early Eid gift to you.” Genuinely moved, he positioned a hand over his heart, “ – and this is why we’re ride or die, Slim.” He looks at his watch, “ – ok, go handle Cap before someone calls the police, you know; so they can show up and just guilt Steve into letting them cuff him or whatever.” “Yeah, yeah,” agreeing and in one frenetic sweep of the greenroom had her things and made a fast exit to the door, but not without throwing a little assurance his way, “ – she’ll be here, Jazz. She will; she’s never not been.” And with a confident, quick exchange of nods, Sharon was out the door. Turning to face the vanity mirror again, he went back to the nervous and tedious work of his tie, muttering at the knot while he stared it down in the mirror, “ – she might be here, I just don’t know why he has to be."

• ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ & ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʷᵒ

• ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳᵉ

• @suredid

[4gnt22]

𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘨 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥， 𝘺’𝘢𝘭𝘭

[omneco]

[4gnt22]

⁽ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᶠᵘᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰʸᵈʳᵃ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ⁾

d e d i c a t i o n

{ 𝐝𝐞𝐝 • 𝐢 • 𝐤𝐚𝐲 • 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐡𝐧 } 𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛.

𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 / 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗’ / 𝚒’𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗’ , 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗’ / 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗’

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘， 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺； 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆 𝘰𝘧 ｈａｒｄｋｎｏｃｋｓ． 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝔸𝕃𝕌𝕄ℕ𝕀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴， 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝙍𝙐𝙉． 𝘢 🅻🅾︎🆅🅴 🄻🄴🅃🅃🄴🅁 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 last breaths 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺． 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑． 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 [ 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑊𝑂𝑁’𝑇. ]

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sʜɪᴘ • 21 + • 616 ʙᴀsᴇᴅ & ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ʟᴏʀᴇ • EXTREMELY PRⵊVATE ( ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀʟ, ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ sᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ - ɪꜰ ɪ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏʀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ⵊ REALLY WANT TO WRⵊTE ) • ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ʀᴘ, ɪɢ? • sʜᴇ / ʜᴇʀ 30 + •

[4gnt22]

𝙍𝘼𝙂𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝙎𝙊𝙇𝙑𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙍𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙀𝙁 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙉 he heard the tinkling of keys at the door, but it was fleeting. The reality quickly set – Jasper would have never sat marinating in his vitriol had Sasha never set the precedent of leaving him like a thief in the night, his baby always gone with her. Rage roiled back, casting the soft dark brown of his eyes, to a cold black. Unmoving, he sat in the dark listening, noting the rustle of shopping bags, her busy footfalls punctuated by the sharp sound of her heels, and the soft mumbling of Nashira; something that stayed, for the moment, the budding tempest kicking and screaming in his chest, waiting to claw it’s way out. Eyes unmoving when the lights came on, fixed to where she stood, and the sight of his baby pulled him to his feet. Intentionally he sidestepped her question and extended his fingers out to Nashira who kicked her legs and flailed her little arms to see him; nothing had ever been as affirming in his life as the light that radiated from his baby’s face whenever she saw him. Tentatively, Jasper slides her from Sasha’s arms to his own. Small limbs wrap around him as far as they can stretch; and for a moment the storm in his lungs weakened into a breeze. Tired, Nashira rubs her face into his vest, grabbing at his tie. Jasper whispers against the top of her head “ – are you very tired, beta?” And then there it is, when his eyes flash over Nashira’s head, to Sasha. It was a very flimsy reason to latch his anger onto, but it presented as just enough blood to set his eyes wild, black as pitch. “I guess you would be at nine forty-seven at night,” the words came gently as they passed over his daughter’s head, but the cold knife hidden at the center wouldn’t be lost on her mother. Not waiting for her to react, Jasper makes a sharp turn for the hallway. It would take anywhere between a stout twenty-three to thirty-eight minutes to settle Nashira down for bed, an additional eleven minutes if he caves to reading ‘Brown Bear, Brown Bear’ the requisite three times, tacking on another three minutes for the full effect of each individual set of voices and personalities that he’s assigned to each in animal. Ultimately bedtime tallied at thirty-three minutes, because his little galub jamun was unable to hang through that second read through. It was still thirty-three minutes to compose a scathing list of things he wanted to say and various insults to recraft and weaponize. Thirty-three minutes to isolate her from his sight so he didn’t escalate to a fucking nuclear place. The sacred routines they held with their child also served as a place of neutrality from the other. The door to the nursery closes with a soft click; the baby is asleep. Equal parts ice and fire, Jasper stands at the entrance way to the kitchen where Sasha stands opposite. “You don’t have a fucking phone?” Long strides close the space between them by half. "You just leave with my daughter, until almost ten o’clock at night and didn’t feel at all obligated to let me know? Oh wait, that’s right, because that’s just the shit you do, I can just go fuck myself, right?” A slender finger violently gestures into the air, punctuating each sentence. “No, how about fuck you, Sash? Fuck. You.” Anger projected on the back of buried hurt and betrayal, compacted by years, filled his moderately sized apartment.

Dear Readers – they were indeed going to fight.

@etoilebleu

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

[weltenwellen]

Joanna Klink, from "Wonder of Birds“, Raptus

[hcrctic-moved]

             𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱, 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊.

#𝖍𝖈𝖗𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖈, 𝑎𝑛  𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡  𝑎𝑛𝑑  𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒  𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔  𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔  𝑓𝑜𝑟  𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖆  𝖒𝖆𝖝𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖋𝖋,   𝖙𝖍𝖊  𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖙  𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍,  𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑  𝑏𝑦  𝑚𝑦  𝑜𝑤𝑛  𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒  𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒  &  𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛,  𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑  𝑜𝑛  𝑡ℎ𝑒  𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑙  𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑐𝑠  𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟.  𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟  𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡  𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔  +21  𝑡𝑜  𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡; 𝑒𝑠𝑡  2015  &  𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑  𝑖𝑛  2025;  𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖉  𝖇𝖞  𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖊.        𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑.

[suredid]

                 "no trespassing" "restricted area" "private property"

        bro im literally curious by nature

[4gnt22]

𝘉 𝘈 𝘚 𝘐 𝘊 𝘚

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙁𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚：𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘯 𝘚𝘺𝘦𝘥

[ Jasper Sitwell ] was the name he chose to put a data separation between himself and someone being able to identify his family members, given the innate danger of who and what he deals with on his job. A favor allotted to him by Nick Fury, who saw to it Jasper’s birth name was scrubbed from as many public records as possible. While Jasper Sitwell really was the author of a series of pulp detective novels written in the late seventies and early eighties; ‘𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠’. His mother was able to give birth to him while in the United States, but had to go back to India and wait for her visa to clear. She comes back when he’s three, but per the exhausting immigration process in the US, she has to go back to India again. This takes years while she is alternately seeking out schooling for her PhD. Jasper is 9 before his mother finally comes to permanently live with them — but he pined hard for her. They didn’t have cable, just five channels, no kids his age lived close, and one day his father buys this box of detective novels for a couple dollars at a yard sale. Jasper reads his father the books every night after dinner, and not only helps his father exponentially with his casual conversation English, but creates a treasured span of time he spent with his father.

𝘿.𝙊.𝘽：𝘚𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳，10𝘵𝘩

𝘼𝙜𝙚：30－37 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦／𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙨：𝘩𝘦／𝘩𝘪𝘮

𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣：𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭

𝙍𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙤𝙣：𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘮

𝙊𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣：𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵／𝘖𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘌𝘓𝘋 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 ＆ 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮

𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚：𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭’𝘴 𝘒𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘕𝘠 ＆ 𝘔𝘵. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘋𝘊

𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢：𝘏𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘫

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce built Gotham's subway system not out of philanthropy or whatever but because Killer Croc slightly inconvenienced one of his kids and Bruce is a petty PTA parent

[4gnt22]

@viqilantis

[oldwinesoul]

[blackcawfee]

Or maybe you’d prefer a coffee? Whatever you need really.

[4gnt22]