𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡

YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE THE PROPHECY — but it keeps choosing 𝑦𝑜𝑢. mara's multi

[saintsplanet-old]

going to work on moving this blog soon!

[saintsplanet-old]

hi girlies.....you know i've been teasing a new blog/world etc etc and i'm proud to announce me and the group chat are finally ready to release our new project!!! we made a private formula one verse called aurelion racing, where i write the lead racer at @gridcrown !!! its a blog i've been working on behind the scenes for a little over a month now. gabi most generously is making another dual f1 oc blog found over at @raceoval and i would LOVE if everyone considered making f1 verses/blogs to join us!!!!!! below you'll find the rest of the team! esme and laurel are also joining us, so please consider giving them a follow soon <3

cassian drakov(demetrius) — team principal @ironlaps luca moretti(aisha) — rival driver @gridtempts selara sayegh(maryam) — lead aerodynamicist @aerooracle samira vale(fatimah) — former driver / legacy @gridmatriarch elias voss(stevens) — trackside operations @gridguardian soren virelli(aaron) — senior race engineer @gridlogic (tbd) naia zafiri(rani) — head of strategy @raceoracle (tbd)

[saintsplanet-old]

okay i'm doing great irl and in an awesome place and just having the best time so i'm not really hanging here that often. consider the semi-hiatus continuing, feel free to ask for my lowkey blog, brainrotting over hiccup and astrid with gabi and also traveling again with the love of my life doing my dream job <3

[saintsplanet-old]

if you'd like to follow my instagram please reach out!!! i'm curating art for a year and taking a break from medical school, as well as moving to europe for the next year since my fiancé is working for formula one <3 things have been really busy so tumblr is not on my mind at all lately

[eindridi]

he remembers what it was first like when he struck the cane and regained the memories of his godly past, the lifetime of one of the aesir rushing back to his mind. the mortal guise of donald blake evaporating, it led to him abandoning his time on midgard for a time and yet, he cannot deny her point. that is what drew him to midgard, to become a protector of mankind, in the first place, isn't it? the wonderful way that they find wonder in the mundane. " ...aye, you might be right. "

" to be able to see so much in the remains of the past, it is wondrous. " his mind flashes back to asgard, the prophecies that often dictate the life of the aesir & vanir, an obsession with what is to come and yet, midgardian's can often gain just as much from curating the past, researching it. it is a form of magic all on it's own, perhaps. he is broken from his reflections on asgardian culture at her light jab, it forces a loud, booming laughter out of him. " oh, i did not except such a deep cut from one as elegant as you. " his hand touches hers, for just a moment, " i might have a need to be taught, then, how to find wonder in something mundane. " yes, maybe he has spent too much time in asgard, as of late. he has forgotten the way mortals can surprise him. " i have not met a mortal such as you in a very long time. "

[saintsplanet-old]

raya lets the moment stretch, the way she does in galleries and ruins, when meaning hasn’t finished arranging itself yet. his laughter still echoes faintly between them, thunder softened into something almost shy, and she studies him with the same care she gives to broken marble and faded frescoes. ❝ you didn’t lose midgard when you remembered who you were, ❞ she says at last, voice low, reverent, as though speaking inside a nave. ❝ you just remembered how vast you are. ❞ her fingers remain beneath his, warm and deliberate, anchoring him in the now. ❝ mortals don’t have prophecies to lean on. we have remnants. fragments. the quiet proof that someone stood where we are standing and thought it mattered. ❞ a breath, thoughtful. ❝ that’s why the past feels alive to me. it’s not dead. it’s patient. it waits for us to listen. ❞ she smiles then, softer, more intimate, the kind of smile meant for shared silences rather than crowds. ❝ asgard looks forward because it believes fate is inevitable. midgard looks backward because we know how easily everything can be lost. ❞ her thumb traces a small, absent-minded circle against his hand, grounding him the way stone grounds a column. ❝ finding wonder in the mundane isn’t about shrinking yourself, thor. it’s about kneeling close enough to see the chisel marks. the fingerprints. the mistakes that make something human. ❞ her gaze lifts to his, steady and fond. ❝ if you’ve forgotten how mortals surprise you, i don’t mind reminding you. slowly. ❞ a pause, warm with intent. ❝ after all, gods may command storms—but it’s mortals who teach them how to stay. ❞

[saintsave]

meredith has spent her whole building walls around her and reinforcing them, making sure absolutely nothing manages to penetrate through them.  she likes her walls.  even loves them in a way. they’re load-bearing; they keep the heavy, chaotic roof of her life from caving in on top of her.  and yet, here stands lexie: a persistent, trembling leak in the masonry.  drip, drip, drip.  she had memorized meredith’s charts?  great, just wonderful.  exactly what she needs  —  a new and growing fan club with a president who has access to her entire HR file.  it should be annoying, and it is annoying.  sometimes, it’s like a fly buzzing against the windowpane, unable to escape through the transparent glass.  or like the itch you can’t reach to scratch.  but then her sister  [half-sister] drops the other shoe: the socks, the sugar with her coffee, and the admission that she’s terrified.  meredith’s always viewed honesty as a dangerous form of currency  —  people tend to hoard it until they’re bleeding out on a hospital table.  she’s seen it more often than not.  but lexie spends it like she’s got a hole in her pocket, and that’s pretty rare.  [just as rare as coming across someone like lexie in this whole universe.]

extraordinary.  that’s a word that sticks like a burr.  meredith’s been called a lot of things before   —  dark, twisty, sad, talented, ellis grey’s daughter, and even a potential prodigy.  but extraordinary is a weight she’s not sure how to carry upon her shoulders, especially not coming from the girl who got the picture-perfect life.  [the dad who stayed, the family who cared, everything meredith could’ve/would’ve/should’ve had if life was any different.]  she watches lexie try to steady the wobble in her smile; survival is a reflex, drowning is a choice, and her sister looks like she’s trying to teach a stone how to swim.  it’s painful.  meredith shifts her weight, fighting off the instinct kicking itself at the back of her knees.  turn around, run away, find the nearest supply closet and hyperventilate in peace for five seconds.  but lexie continues to stand there, completely defenseless, offering her weird habits like they’re some type of peace treaty amongst them.  maybe they are an olive branch offering in a weird way. if meredith walks away now, she’s not only the dark, twisty, and mysterious half-sister  —  she’s the villain in the story.  she’s ellis grey.  

and she really, really, doesn’t want to be like her mother. 

‘you talk a lot.’      it comes out blunt and dry; in classic meredith fashion, stripping the varnish off the moment before it has a chance to completely dry.  she sighs, looking at her sister  /  the stranger of her life, before bringing her own coffee cup up and taking a sip.  black, bitter, and no sugar. ‘socks in the summer is weird, lexie.’      she doesn’t offer a smile, but the tension held within her shoulders drop an inch.  a concession in her own way.  she isn’t inviting the enemy inside her home for dinner, but she isn’t pouring scathing oil over them either.  baby steps.      ‘and if you memorized my residency record, you know i almost killed a guy my first week because i hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours.’      it’s only a fact; there’s nothing to hide within the statement, only the history to prove she had never allowed another such situation to take place under her watch again.       ‘so, lower the bar on extraordinary, alright?  we’re both here to save lives and learn.’

[saintsplanet-old]

lexie takes the hit the way she takes most things — straight to the chest, wide-eyed, a little breathless, but still standing. she nods at first, too fast, like she’s afraid if she doesn’t agree immediately the moment will close back up again. ❝ i do, ❞ she says, sheepish, almost relieved to be called out for something small and survivable. ❝ talk a lot. i know. i’m working on it. kind of. ❞ a pause. ❝ not really. ❞ the socks comment gets her, though. her mouth curves before she can stop it, embarrassed and fond all at once. ❝ it’s the air-conditioning, ❞ lexie offers, helpless. ❝ and the tiles are cold. and— okay, yeah, it’s weird. ❞ she shrugs, fingers tightening around her own coffee cup like it might anchor her. she doesn’t miss the way meredith’s shoulders lower, just slightly. lexie notices everything. she always has. when meredith says extraordinary, says it like a weight instead of a compliment, something in lexie’s expression shifts. the awe doesn’t disappear, it softens. steadies. ❝ i didn’t mean… ❞ she starts, then stops, rethinks it. ❝ actually, no. i did mean it. ❞ her voice is quieter now, less frantic, but no less certain. ❝ extraordinary doesn’t mean perfect. it just means…you keep showing up. even when you’re exhausted and scared and convinced you’re one mistake away from becoming someone you don’t want to be. ❞ she swallows, the honesty sticking in her throat. ❝ that matters. ❞

lexie listens when meredith talks about the patient, about the mistake. she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t back away. ❝ i know, ❞ she says gently. ❝ i read it. and i also read everything that came after. ❞ a beat. ❝ you learned. you adjusted. you didn’t let it happen again. ❞ her eyes lift, earnest and unguarded. ❝ that’s not lowering the bar. that’s how this works. ❞ she shifts her weight, suddenly aware of how exposed she is, how easily this could all fall apart if she pushes too hard. ❝ i’m not trying to replace anything, ❞ lexie adds, careful now. ❝ or anyone. i’m not here to… make you feel like you owe me something. ❞ a small, crooked smile. ❝ i just thought maybe we could start with coffee. and facts. and weird habits. ❞ she hesitates, then offers it — not as a demand, not even as a hope. just an opening. ❝ baby steps are fine, ❞ lexie says softly. ❝ i’m really good at those. ❞

[saintsplanet-old]

when it's just the two of them, the tower has a heightened silence. less noise, more intention. tara markov sits cross-legged on the floor near the computer banks, palms resting flat against the cool metal as if she needs the reminder that something here is solid, predictable. screens glow in soft blues and greens, reflections breaking across her face like shallow water. she likes this room. information doesn’t lie the way people do. it only waits to be asked the right way. she glances over at barbara, fingers curling once before she speaks. ❝ you make it look easy, ❞ tara says lightly, almost teasing, though there’s something earnest tucked beneath it. ❝ knowing where everyone is, what they need. you even know what’s coming next. ❞ a beat. ❝ when i’m around you, i don’t feel like i have to guess so much. ❞ her smile is small, careful, the kind that doesn’t ask for too much. ❝ it’s nice. having someone who sees everything and still lets you stay. ❞

@ioracle

[saintsplanet-old]

the tower feels too high tonight. too far from anything solid. tara markov stands near the training floor, boots planted hard against the mat as if she’s afraid the ground might forget her, as if gravity is a promise that can be broken. her power stirs anyway, low, restless, answering old instincts she didn’t choose and voices she didn’t invite. slade’s presence lingers in her head like a bruise you don’t touch but always feel, shaping her thoughts before they finish forming. control disguised as guidance. care disguised as command. she hates how quiet it can be. how normal it can look from the outside. she doesn’t turn when dick comes up beside her. she pretends she’s watching the city, pretending is something she’s very good at now. ❝ you don’t look at me like you’re waiting for me to mess up, ❞ tara says after a moment, light and careful, like it’s nothing important. ❝ most people do. ❞ her shoulders lift in a small shrug that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ❝ you trust me like it’s normal. like i’ve earned it already. ❞ a pause—too long, just shy of noticeable. ❝ i’m not used to that. ❞ she glances at him then, quick and fleeting, a smile already in place. ❝ don’t worry, ❞ she adds, easy, rehearsed. ❝ i won’t give you a reason to regret it. ❞

@bludbird

[saintsplanet-old]

the tower never quite sleeps. it breathes instead, steel and circuitry humming low beneath the salt-sweet air, a constant reminder that even safe places stay alert. tara markov feels it through the soles of her boots as she stands near the windows, fingers flexing unconsciously, as if the earth might answer even here, even suspended above the sea. she has learned to listen for it everywhere. the weight beneath floors, the tension in walls, the way stone remembers being broken. tonight, her power feels restless, coiled tight, responding to thoughts she refuses to finish. slade’s voice still echoes where it doesn’t belong, precise and cruel, threading itself through her instincts like barbed wire. control disguised as instruction. protection disguised as debt. she hears donna before she turns. donna always moves like she trusts the space she occupies, grounded, unafraid, carrying strength the way others carry breath. tara envies it in a quiet, aching way. when she looks back, there is a small, careful smile already waiting on her mouth, practiced but not false. ❝ you ever notice, ❞ she says softly, nodding toward the endless dark beyond the glass, ❝ how the ocean looks calm until you remember what it can do? ❞ her gaze flicks to donna’s face, searching, trusting despite herself. ❝ i like it here, with you, with them. ❞ a pause, fragile but honest. ❝ it makes it easier to forget… other voices. ❞ her fingers curl once more, then still. ❝ i'm being helpful, right? ❞

@wondertroy

[saintsplanet-old]

i feel like i need to do some (gentle) explaining again. i've been writing on this website for nearly five years, and the way i use it now looks a little different than it once did. tumblr, for me, has always been about intimacy, about writing with people i trust, people i’ve built dynamics and ships with over years, not weeks. i have favorite writing partners, and i’m very honest about that, not because i’m closed-off or uninterested in new connections, but because my creative energy is finite and deeply rooted in relationships that already exist. these days, that energy is far more often spent on small, emotional snippets and moments with those partners rather than long, complex threads, especially since most of my heavier plotting and extended writing lives on discord. outside of this site, my life is very full, i travel often, i work in medicine, and i’m currently in the middle of applying for a surgical residency while also planning a wedding. writing here is something i do for joy, not obligation. if i’m quiet, selective, or slow, it isn’t disinterest, it’s simply me choosing to protect the spaces, people, and stories that have meant the most to me for a long time. thank you for understanding, and for meeting me where i am.

[saintsplanet-old]

zoyaaaaaaaaaaaa make a wag oc right now or i'll die

hello pookie lucien !!!!!!!!!!!!

[saintsplanet-old]

+ jackie taylor (yellowjackets), lumine (genshin impact)

[saintsplanet-old]

space does not let go of them all at once. it lingers in a quiet, insistent, settling beneath the skin like a second pulse. susan storm feels it humming through her as the ship seals, as alarms dim, as gravity remembers their names. the lab smells scorched and wrong, ozone threaded with metal, as if the stars followed them home. she lifts her hands without meaning to, watches the air hesitate around her, bending in a way that feels less like magic and more like recognition. for a breath, she understands how constellations keep their distance, how pressure can be gentler than force. power, she realizes, is not noise. it is control. it is knowing when to hold.

she doesn’t notice johnny watching until he speaks. ❝ you just got this look on your face. ❞ @m4tchstick

susan turns slowly, careful now, as though the world might bruise if she moves too fast. there is wonder in her eyes, bright and cosmic, but underneath it something steadier is forming—responsibility, sharp and unavoidable. ❝ i know, ❞ she says, her voice soft but certain, already learning how to anchor herself. ❝ it feels like i can see the edges of things, where they end, where they can be kept safe.❞ she exhales, and the air seems to listen. ❝ don’t freak out,❞ she adds, a small, reassuring smile meant just for him. ❝ i’m still here. ❞ a pause, thoughtful, luminous. ❝ i’m just figuring out how to stay.❞ the invisible woman has not always been invisible. once, she was simply a scientist’s daughter, a sister with scraped knees and impossible patience; once, a woman who believed problems could be solved if you stared at them long enough. now the lab hums around her like a held breath, consoles flickering, instruments recalibrating themselves after something they were never meant to measure. the walls are scorched where cosmic radiation kissed steel, the air still faintly luminous, as though space has left fingerprints behind.

[mcflymemes]

CHALLENGERS (2024) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary.

who says i want somebody to be in love with me?

i don't want to fuck you to prove a point.

fuck me because you want to.

are you gonna do it or not?

tastes even better than it looks.

i just told you i missed you.

i really want to kiss you right now, but i'm worried that if i try, you'll think i'm the worst friend in the world.

you know, it hurts me sometimes how little you believe in yourself.

decimate that little bitch.

let's be honest, you gotta feel bad for the kid.

you're not a spring chicken anymore.

dude. he's a pancake. you're gonna flatten him.

how's this feeling?

we're ready for you.

so obviously this isn't the result you wanted today.

you choked.

i don't want you to embarrass yourself.

i'm just a little rusty. it's a confidence thing.

get your fucking confidence back. i can't do it for you.

i'm so sick of you using this as an excuse to have a fucking meltdown.

you said we could watch a movie.

you're evil.

i'm gonna quiz you on it tomorrow.

sir, i don't know who you are.

i don't think we have much more to talk about.

i haven't spoken to you in five years.

i was just taking a little nap.

move, or i'm calling the cops.

you were really something back then, huh?

we always talked about how amazing it would be to win this together.

i'm a crazy person.

any predictions about how that's going to go?

can you do me a favor? can you not, like... demolish me tomorrow?

shut the fuck up.

if it matters to you so much, i can just give it to you.

i need it to look like i really beat you.

don't guilt me with your dying grandmother.

she's the hottest woman i've ever seen.

you were... fucking incredible.

baby, we've got to get going.

i'm not going to that party.

are you that threatened by me?

we can't both just go in there, dicks swinging.

i'd let her fuck me with a racket.

hey, do you smoke?

of course they will remember you.

see, that's your problem. you think you're like an artist or something.

you just want to win because you love it when people tell you how talented you are.

are you on facebook?

i told you tennis was boring.

you just got this crazy look on your face.

are you on a date?

i don't kiss and tell.

why did you want to have dinner with me?

i think you might be the worst friend in the world.

i didn't know you were so concerned about my feelings.

of course you still have a thing for her.

we just had what i'm assuming is the best sex of our lives.

i fucked your brains out?

what do you think you need? a cheerleader? a fuck buddy? a girlfriend?

you're talented, you're charming, and you've got a big dick.

excuse me for inconveniencing you.

don't expect to sleep here tonight.

stop going easy on me.

i'll be whatever you need me to be. i'll fuck off if you want me to.

i need you here, actually.

you're referring to when i declared my love for you.

you're not in love with me anymore?

i've been dreaming about this for five years.

i'm gonna propose something to you, and it's gonna make you angry. it's gonna make you very angry. but you have to hear me out, okay?

i'm finally ready to listen to you.

how dare you fucking ask me that.

do you think it's cute what you're doing? do you think it's funny?

that's the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.

i've always wanted you.

you didn't do anything to me. i did it all to myself.

i think i've reached the limit of my willingness to have this conversation with you.

do you understand how embarrassing it is that you're here?

you've never beaten me.

tell me it doesn't matter.

will you just hold me?

i'm not here to fuck you.

i miss watching you play. you were so beautiful.

[deardowntown]

#tellмє𝖺𝘣𝗼𝗎t𝘪ⲧ.ᐟ independent & mutually exclusive roleplaying blog for an original character inspired by romantic comedy leading ladies from the late 90s and early 2000s. written by chasen. 21+. est. 2026. please read rules prior to following.

                                          ✉⃕   𝐘OU'𝑉E G𝑂𝚃  𝘔A𝙸𝐿 .ᐟ

[saintsplanet-old]

hey zoya. how's your wedding planning going? i show you this.

[saintsplanet-old]

❝ i already read the report, ❞ maribel says gently, setting the folder aside without opening it again, a small, deliberate mercy. the room is familiar to them now: late hour, cold coffee, the quiet hum of machines bruce built to keep his hands busy when his thoughts won’t slow. she’s been in this space often enough that it no longer feels borrowed. ❝ i know what they think happened. ❞ her mouth curves, faintly. ❝ i’m not here as oversight tonight. i’m here because you stopped answering my texts, and that usually means you’re trying to carry something alone. ❞ she leans back against the table, close but not crowding, the way she always does, a presence he can choose or refuse without consequence. ❝ we’ve crossed the point where i pretend i’m objective about you, bruce, ❞ maribel continues, voice low, honest. ❝ friends don’t stay up until three rewriting evacuation protocols together, and whatever we are, we stopped being careful a while ago. ❞ a pause, softer now. ❝ so forget the conclusions. forget the guilt they’ll package and ship upstairs. tell me what you haven’t said yet. tell me what’s keeping you awake. ❞ @belowall

[saintsknight]

Rhaegar watches her the way one studies a prophecy in motion, somehow not with haste, not with heat, but with a precision that borders on reverence. Elia stands framed by silk and candlelight, all sun-warmed skin and quiet grace, and the court mistakes his stillness for detachment. It is not. It is containment. When he speaks, his voice is level, measured, carrying the calm authority of a man who has already decided the shape of the future. “You do not belong to this place yet,” he says softly, not accusation but observation, as if naming a truth already written. “They look at you and see Dorne. I look at you and see what the realm has not learned how to hold.” His gaze lingers, not possessive in the crude sense, but exacting, proprietary in a way that assumes inevitability. Elia is not an ornament to him; she is a convergence. A variable introduced into a lineage too long calcified by fire and blood. “They will underestimate you,” Rhaegar continues, stepping closer, the air between them tightening like a drawn string. “They always do, when strength does not announce itself with noise.” A pause, the faintest narrowing of his eyes as if aligning stars. “But understand this: whatever they attempt to take from you, your gentleness, your quiet, even your name, they will answer to me.” He lowers his voice then, intimate, deliberate, a vow disguised as analysis. “You are my wife,” he says, not tenderly, but with the certainty of a man claiming a truth older than affection. “And the world will learn, in time, that some things are not meant to be tested.” @saintsplanet

[saintsplanet-old]

❝ i know, ❞ elia’s voice comes softly, like a hand laid over embers so they do not flare. she does not step away from him, nor does she lean closer, she has never needed distance or spectacle to be heard. candlelight warms the curve of her cheek, the silk at her throat rising with a slow, steady breath. ❝ dorne teaches you early how to stand where others would rather you kneel. ❞ there is no challenge in her gaze when it lifts to his, only a quiet clarity. she has always understood what courts mistake for fragility, what men mistake for silence. her mouth curves, ever so slightly, not a smile meant to disarm, but one meant to reassure. ❝ let them look and see what comforts them. let them underestimate what does not shout. ❞ she reaches for him then, not to claim, but to steady, her fingers light at his sleeve, a touch that speaks of trust rather than possession. her gentleness is not offered as something to be defended, but something chosen. ❝ i do not need them to hold me, rhaegar. i have learned how to hold myself. ❞ the words are simple, deliberate. she does not refute his vow, nor does she rest inside it. elia has always lived between things, between sun and shadow, prophecy and breath. ❝ but if the world must learn, ❞ she adds, quieter now, ❝ let it learn slowly. some truths survive longer when they are not forced into fire. ❞