#my brain is a garbage fire today lmao

[fatyote]

Burying all my anxiety and fear and dread about today in gainer brain

No thoughts :) Just belly :)

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT next: love in withdrawal

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

[loptrcoptr]

God I wish I could draw super well and super quickly because my brain yelled about street racer au blue eye samurai garbage on my way home today and I just wish I could draw carssss

I mean come on though. Please picture douchebag street racer Taigen and his fuckboi electric green suped up Ferrari or some fuckery having to race Mizu in her custom 1979 navy blue impala with white racing stripes that she rebuilt from the ground up herself (and all the grease monkeys are jealous as hell) and Taigen brings his hot gf Akemi along to wave the checkered flag while every car bro, garage gremlin and hotrod babe with 100 miles turns out for this very illegal 3 am drag race with bets flying every which way, and the stakes for Mizu and Taigen are idk, winner gets the loser’s car. And eternal bragging rights and street cred, obv. And Akemi maybe eggs Taigen on way too much in this rivalry shitshow and thinks it’s so much fun (in a rebellious princess-escaped-the-tower kind of way) that after Mizu epically hoses Taigen in this race in front of god, everyone, several state troopers, and every road rat in the area, Akemi adds further fuel to Taigen’s manpain-fire by paying Mizu to work on her car, which Akemi wants to race, but no one will race her because it’s a 1963 Aston goddamn Martin or something and no one could afford to so much as fix a scratch on that thing if they got into a fender bender with her…

Anyway I just need Mizu in a sports bra and a mechanic’s jumpsuit with the sleeves tied up at her waist, and Taigen in the bougiest black ripped jeans too tight tshirt undercut with man bun getup you’ve ever seen, and Akemi in low rise jeans and a 2005 red bandana-print tube top, sitting on the hood of a convertible.

A convertible which I am fundamentally unable to draw. I find this tragic lmao. If I take a break from my main fic to write anything else, I’m worried I’ll lose momentum… but maybe I can write a little tiny oneshot AU on the side for myself. As a treat.

[musiciatee]

ANNIE EMERY + aesthetics

“I seriously debated whether I should get bicon tattooed on me then I thought that was probably way too subtle.”

[dyketectivecomics]

ok so ive been reading wonder woman '87 (and loving it) and i was wondering(ha), do you prefer a wonder woman who refuses to kill, or who only kills when its necessary, or whatever the hell nu52 diana was

(for the record, im perfectly fine with a Lot of characters who kill, usually it just depends on how theyre doing it, who theyre killing, and how often they do it)

I haven’t read n52 Diana just yet (i’ll see just how much of it was a garbage fire for myself one day, but for now i’ll stick to blissful ignorance lmao) but i will say, as a tl;dr - considering Diana was raised in a culture that honors and venerates its warriors, and with a philosophy of use of deescalation before ‘necessary’ force, I’m perfectly fine with Diana killing*! 

Hell if anything i have more fictional bloodlust than she does lmao (anyone who’s watched movies/shows with me knows that im one of the first ppl to start yelling “KILL THEM” when a character has that Opportunity fjdksla) but i respect the hell out of writers who play with the nuance in her character and in the background she has.

Maybe its because I was raised in an environment where killing both for war and for self-defense were talked a bit more openly and honestly (again, military brat here). From a young age my parents made it very clear that if someone was hurting me, I had every right to act in kind. And if my life was in danger, well, they’d certainly rather see me return home safely than returned in a bodybag.

But telling your eight-year-old to Go For The Eyes And Brain is a tad different than giving an immortal (sometimes demigoddess, sometimes full goddess apparently?) Warrior Princess a pass for murder.

(This is where my * comes in)

With anything, it should be a case-by-case basis. Is she killing to protect others? Is she killing because the threat is simply too big for less forceful responses? Has she exhausted all the other options and consulted anyone else who might be held as accomplice to this decision? (that last one is esp important if she’s bringing fellow Leaguers/Amazons into the mix. JLers would typically be a lot more hesitant to help her kill than her fellow amazons would be)

And then with all of THOSE questions in mind, how is the narrative handling the fallout of this killing? If is was considered a “Righteous” kill, it might not be touched on at all. If it was something with more ambiguity, is Diana being held culpable for it and is it being actively discussed by the narrative?

I’m aware, at least, that Diana killing Maxwell Lord is something that fans in the past and fans of today have contention over. I haven’t read anything of significance from the time period pertaining to the incident, much less the story itself yet. But i do think the idea (of Diana killing a significant public figure because its a decision she feels is right bc of the circumstances) is an interesting one. It’s all about how the narrative unfolds and how the aftermath of the decision changes or reaffirms her character!

Ultimately, Diana is a being who possesses more power than the average person. But as a hero, she’s not meant to uphold or enforce the law. She’s a protector, she’s an active participant in stopping crime for the benefit of helping others. Hell, she’s meant to be the embodiment of Feminism. 

So why not also use her a vehicle to talk about other nuanced topics, like the use of deescalation techniques vs when to use necessary force?

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 05.09.18 lb

... so zero resolution to that conversation yesterday??? 

i suppose there was nothing more to be said. 

but man, i’m kinda bitter at anika’s accusations. all mohit was doing was fussing over nancy. shivaay jumped out of a building and walked into one that’s on fire, and then electrocuted himself for this chick here, and she has the gallll to be like oh nancy is so lucky just because mohit is fucking toweling her hair or some shit????? 

anyway...

ouff bed and sofa issues again. itnaaaa bada bed toh hai. just both of you sleep on it and stick to your sides. 

or do you not trust yourself to do that, shivaay? 

lmaooooo shivaay, so she literally gets the WORST part of having a husband? “obeying” one? fuck off, that’s not what she wants. 

OMG OMG OMG OMG THEY’RE PLAYING OLD O JAANA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ASDKJFKJSDH I AM ACTUALLY EMOTIONAL!!!!!!!!! I LOVE OLD O JAANA SO MUCHHHHHHHH

WHY IS SHE SUCH A CREEPY STARER?????????? STOP IT ANIKA. IT’S WEIRD.

there’s someone actually monitoring the cctvs of the house???? 

the images on the screens make no sense though. there’s multiple shots and angles of the living room, some where the lights are on, some where they’re off, so fucking random. 

also, as we’ve long suspected, there ARE cameras in shivaay’s room. but it’s currently showing it as lit up and empty. which is not the case. 

yeah i’d get these cameras looked into if i was you guys.

guess khanna’s not the only nikkamma security staff. they’re all idiots.

oh hello shady person aka mohit. 

lmaoooooooooooooooooo whut? also, what does this accomplish? only the display is damaged. the cameras are still doing their things. 

EEEEEEEE TIME FOR #RIKU OF THE DAY. 

lmao “taj ki titli paani mein kya giri, humare toh poore plan pe paani phir gaya.”

gauri’s hair is so big today. (because it’s full of secrets.) 

caught by di!!!!!!!! 

lol their faces. 

priyanka very valiantly taking the fall for her lady love. 

lol how cute, their excitement that di liked it. 

“par dobara aisa mat karna.”

lolololol at gauri’s “hein???” 

ohhhhhhhhh boy, even these two are getting the bullshit kismat waala lecture. 

lmao she’s giving it to the wrong ppl though, coz these two are kismat writers. they’re not gonna stop meddling. 

JIJU AAYE NAHI, GAURI NE TURANTTTTT PALTI MAARI. INSTANTLY PLAYING IN HIS TEAM AND THROWING HER OWN SISTER UNDER THE BUS. 

i don’t even give a fuck about what’s happening in this scene coz again, they’re playing old o jaana and aaaaaaaaaaah. love ittttttttt. 

ok no lemme rewind and focus. 

“buraai kar rahi thi meri?”

“kyun, itna bhi haq nahi hai mera?’ 

LMAOOOOOOOOOO PRINKU’S FACE AND THE WAY THAT CHESHIRE CAT GRIN JUST GREW. 

gauri can play on team jiju all she wants, but prinku is most definitely on team bhaabi with the rest of her siblings.

“khanna tum jab bhi aate ho, koi na koi problem lekar aate ho, aaj kaunsi nayi baat hai...” 

lmaooooooo wtf. it’s not HIS fault you live in a house of horrors and every single person in the world wants to murder you???? 

oh so you dgaf about your family and their safety, just the guests’ safety????? 

lo aa gaya apna jaadugar saiyaan. 

aur uski corpse bride. 

the newspaper’s name is BREAKING NEWS OF INDIA. snort. 

titli’s face isn’t changing one bit from that placid smile even as her husband talks about how she was harassed. lord. 

when you surprise SHIVAAY with your stories of phenking things... that’s rare. you win, for the day. 

tag yourself. i relate to prinku the most here. 

lmao wow titli’s face changed. from bland smile at sexual harrassment, to this stone face of appreciation. 

ugh can they stop with this “taj ki titli” garbage. it sounds ridiculous. 

every time mandana talks, my brain just starts playing elevator music. 

anika needs to get over this weird idealized crush she has on them as a couple. 

yes, please leave, mohit; you’re very annoying. 

god anika, please also get over this obsession you have with his magic. 

ugh why is he so extraaaaaaaa and weirddddddd?????? 

is shivaay jealoussssssssss of anika’s winning smileeee at paraaya mard? 

lol nope, just suspicious of iske dimaag mein kya chal raha hai.

godddddddd one jaadugar was not enough ki ab anika bhi ussi mein lag gayi hai. 

they’re really bringing back alllll the OU music and i’m so happy. 

LMAO @ ANIKA TRYING TO DO MAGIC WITH A BELAN. 

kaash hermione yahaan hoti to correct her pronunciation. ( “it’s not jhingalalahoo, it’s jhinGAA-LAAlahoo.”)

wow, jhingalalahoo is the spell to summon a husband! who knew?????

“kya kar rahi thi tum?”

“jadoo.”

“woh toh tum waise bhi karti ho.” 

OUFF. WHAT A LINE. WHAT A FUCKING LINE. AND THIS MAN THINKS HE’S NOT IN LOVE WITH HER???????? WHAT A DUMBASS. 

... so a google search was all it took to dispel her impression of magic. 

MAN THIS GROWNASS 35 YEAR OLD MOTHERFUCKER THINKS MAGIC, ESPECIALLY THE AMATEUR BS THAT MOHIT’S BEEN DOING, IS A CHAMATKAAR? 

hey remember when just like 2 months ago, OU shivaay busted siddhi maaiii? i miss him and his rational mind now. 

ughhhhhhhhhhh pyaar ka jadoo. literally fuck offffffffff anika. 

ohohoho, he’s one of those “love is a neurochemical con” kinda ppl. like me. BUT DON’T BE LIKE ME, SHIVAAY. LOOK WHAT A PRETTY WIFE YOU HAVE. I WOULD BELIEVE IN LOVE IF I WAS MARRIED TO SOMEONE THIS PRETTY.

“aap maane ya na maane, lekin jadoo ek din sar charh ke bolega.” 

another one of anika’s challenges. 

and he’s scared. coz so far, he’s lost all of them. every single one. 

MOHIT MOHIT MOHITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. OUFFFFFFFF. GO FORCE-MARRY HIMMMMMMMM IN THE MANDIR THEN. 

lol aw, him mirroring her hand pat with his belan. too cute!

great, she’s started snooping around mohit’s room. 

GOD SHE’S SOOOOOOOOO NOSY. JUST RANDOMLY OPENING UP ANYONE’S SHIT. 

great, nancy hasn’t learnt her lesson and is fucking around with her magic shit next to the pool again. 

god the setups to lead shivaay into temptation with this zinda laash. soooooooo contrived. 

we already know what’s gonna happen. compromising situation, but anika and her andha vishwaas on his nirdoshta and maasoomiyat will not believe and all this will be pointless. 

SHIVAAY YOU’RE SUCH A DUMBASS. "SOUNDS GOOD LET’S DO IT.” HONESTLY. 

anika you are ruuuuuuuuuuuuude as fuck. who just goes through someone else’s stuff like this??????

lmao the shivika fangirls are nottttttttttttttttttttt going to be happy with this track. i don’t think shivaay’s ever cavorted like this with anyyyyyyyy other “temptation” in the show ever. 

ouffffffff ainvayi ka red herring. i reallllllllllllly don’t care about this bs. 

lmao this poor dumb son of a bitch and his denial. may the lord give him the strength to work through it quickly. 

ISHQ HAI AANSOON ISHQ HAI NAGHMA ISHQ SUKOON HAI RAAHAT HAI. 

NO YOU KNOW WHAT A SUKOON AND RAAHAT IS???? THIS SONG. PLEASE GOD NEVER STOP PLAYING IT I BEG OF YOU. 

god she’s literally soooooooooooooo cute. 

OMFG NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT WHY IS GAURI PULLING A POOJA FROM HAHK AND FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THIS ADSLKJFLSDKJFLSDKJF

SAME SHIVAAY, SAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

oh thankkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk god she’s okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

WHY DON’T YOU FUCKERS BELIEVE IN THE CONCEPT OF TAKING PEOPLE TO A HOSPITAL??? 

oh greatttttt the servants are in for it. 

mohit ko raat ki chai yeh kyun de????? ghar mein itne naukar toh hai. tujhe itna shauk hai toh tu jaake de. 

“aapko chehra bhi padhna aata hai?”

“sabka nahi. kissi kissi ka.” 

GOD SHIVAAY. JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER. 

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE RUINED IT WITH THAT DOST SHIT AGAIN. 

iske baad zindagi mein anika kissi se bhi “dosti” nahi karegi. she’ll have grown sick and tired of the concept itself. 

oufffffffff anika, just accept his nice gesture and the sentiment behind it. stop lecturing him on shaadi. fucking hell man, i try so hard to be on your team and you just... 

he should watch his khud ka cctv ka footage. then maybe he’ll see what a lovesick fool he is for his “dost”. 

yup, nancy is full on chance pe dance maarofying on shivaay tomorrow. 

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh boy it’s looking like a veryyyyyyy rapey situation the way he’s struggling. WHY IS THIS FUCKING SHOW LIKE THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS????? 

[kimgothic]

.

[katzirra]

Anymore it’s not really [A] themselves that gets to me or gets under my skin, we talked things out and left on okayish terms. They apologized for a lot of shit they did and we just kind of... I don’t know. It doesn’t UNDO what they did to me, I wish it were that easy? Maybe I’d be easier to deal with honestly.

But it helps me mentally to know they don’t hold ill will toward me, that they acknowledge shitty things they did and made efforts to stop doing some of them and move forward? Like at least there’s that? Doesn’t do anything for me, but it gives me a little positive focus?

I can thank [A] for introducing me to a lot of things I still enjoy... to a degree? I can thank them fro getting me to be more serious about art. For getting me to believe I had skill at all in it. While I owe them a lot of my insecurity in my art [topics like nsfw shit and a few other things mm] - they were most always supportive... The worst thing was just constantly firing my jealousy off? Like making me dependent on them and their approval and then rubbing good art in my face. I think all I did back then was art for them.

It’s weird. I wasn’t unhappy, because I loved their comic and I hope some day to hear they finished their comic, and to actually be mentally okay enough to read it again. I helped write and form the damn thing... I would love to be able to read it and see how the children I helped rewrite and form grew up and changed and ended up... mm.

Flits my wrist.

This post is about music and stuff though. I... can’t listen to a few bands [A] introduced me to without hitting pockets of mood drops or wanting to break down crying? Like my mind is so immune to giving a shit about some things but it’s like bumping a dark bruise and yo can’t resist hissing at the feeling.

Almost all my ‘triggers’ are just deep bruises by now because I’ve had to force myself to not react to them the way I would like to. Because honestly the only way my brain reacts to half of them is to want to talk about them to know I’m valid in how I feel? and to make jokes about them to trivialize them because the way my brain is, is like.. I feel like I was told not to dwell on things.

I remember being told at a young age, it takes twice as long as you were with someone or dealt with something to get over it. Which is totally something you’d read in a Cosmopolitan magazine. But there were YEARS after [A] I wasn’t over things. There were years after [K] I was still upset I lost a friend, until I saw how thy treated their ‘important’ friends. It just soured me.

[A]... did a lot of fucked up things. Introduced me to music. Taught me ways to formulate comic layouts and write them too. Taught me a lot about art - to dos and to nots.

But any anger anymore is just that I’m not over those things. That I’m not over the inadewuate feelings. That I still care about being told “You don’t make me happy anymore” that I still care about how I was dumped and abandoned. That I developed really deep abandonment issues because of all those things.

It’s stuff I yell at myself over a lot and it’s irritating that it permeates me life still, but also just that I’m not over it yet. It’s irritating to me and I mean... it’s... something. I get upset that I have certain things I can barely tolerate seeing because of her, that I have a ship in a stupid anime I refuse to stomach because I just feel my body clench at every unspoken word and comment. I hate that I still don’t talk about characters I like, or hobbies I have or things I enjoy still without that... feeling in my gut like someone will treat me JUST like they did because they didn’t like it.

It would be nice to not CARE, you know?

Mm. This post was literally supposed to be making jokes at self-triggering habits like what Caroline was asking about. She was like god is there a WORD for triggering yourself - like I laughed because so many SONGS and bands are a borderline shut down for me but I WILL LITERALLY NOT CARE AND SUFFER THROUGH IT??

Garbage is the biggest one. I was introduced to them really early in our relationship and I feel in love with their stuff? I really loved her voice and the sound of it? And like it was the first band I had suggested to me by someone. Within a year I think of us watching Naruto so it’s funny how like I still tie a few of the songs to the series?

They’re also like some of my hilariously huge favorites? Like I love As Heaven is Wide, Cup of Coffee, Home and Nobody Loves You SO MUCH and I remember shitty AMVs to them still lmao!! I remember the really COOL one [A] did for As Heaven is Wide and it’s not a BAD memory. It’s just...

Like that’s the thing with music is it’s not all bad memories? Sometimes it’s just a memory that hurts me because I know I’m the only one who remembers it? I’m the only one who is stuck with it? Good or bad? Because little tiny things stick so much harder than anything.

It’s like [K] taking me to that Akira art exhibit at the con. It was such a fucking HUGE DEAL to me to see those animation cels up close. To see the Akira jacket of Kaneda’s up close. To just see that shit. But it’s the company and relation that makes me unhappy. That’s a happy memory for me. But it drags everything else with it and it just makes me sigh.

Like telling Mar about being in SF with [N] and seeing the Seuss exhibit and how great that was, but the teasing at me about it and like... being so disassociated and detached that whole trip... mm. Soft shrugs.

I keep drifting off.

Garbage.

As much as they bring up bad memories and such in ways, It’s become a goal to mine to literally force myself to push those sort of things off music I love. I can’t stand that I skip songs I love when I get to them on albums or on shuffle.

Bleed Like Me came out in 2005. I was and I loved the tone shift of the album - but that’s a shitty year for me when all these problems I deal with started to develop? I bought the album for $5 the other day. I’ve blasted and yelled to it in my car four drives home since. I’ve remembered very lyric. Every word.

I had every flooding memory of 2006 hit me and I just couldn’t care because how hard I’m fighting o break strings to memories. I am so tired of remembering 2006 for what it was. I’m so tired of dwelling on 2011. I’m so tired of ghosts of 2014 being around me.

I want to detach like everyone else did involved. I’m so tired of feeling like a burden by how scared I always am of things. Like I’m always feeling like a bother and like I’m irritating when I hint that I need to hear I’m not a bother.

I’m... mm.

Honestly I have to cut myself off there before I go off into a rant about things actually bothering me because I don’t need to kill my drive to work on art today. I have the whole day to work and I want to work. If I start deviling into [K] and [C] territory it’s just gonna make me tired.

But both are highly playing into my fear of Mar visiting so that’s kind of hilarious. And it’s not a fear of her visiting. It’s that whole bundle of -motions- I can’t word. It’s not superstitions but kind of. I know things will be fine but I worry about other people? Like I know I’m going to be fine. But there’s a whole... slew of things there that other people jacked me up about.

But that’s all me. That’s me problems. Nothing her fault or even thought to be an issue with her. It’s issues of mine and just my personality and how I am and stuff. I already feel irritating so there’s just things -motions- it’s me things. Things.

But yeah.

Desensitizing myself to music. I want to draw a lot of things to a lot of these songs, but it’s just ironic the music and series I want to do are tied together the way they area? Thankfully I’m mostly over tht period of my life just... still kinda buzzes now and then and it’s like an itch I cant’ scratch?

Maybe by 2017′s middle I can have most things dealt with...?

Given that [A] and I have no qualms and it’s all on me now to just sort through things... I cut [K] out permanently and am okay with this actually more than I feel I am sometimes... [C] is missed sometimes because our friendship but then I literally just think about the fact they let me fly out there knowing they already knew they didn’t feel the way they acted. Thereby doubling my self issues... :)) I just get angry. So maybe I can aim to get through that anger and write them off entirely as a negative thing. Everything with [N] still kinda bothers me just because... it was my fault? It wasn’t a relationship per say but I hurt them because I couldn’t return those feelings? It really bothers me a lot when I see their art on my blog honestly. But I love everything they did for me and all the smiles and laughs we shared.

-chin hands and rubs face- I just want to be able to be healthier. I want to be able to let things go. I want to stop being on edge. I want my girlfriend to talk to me abotu things when they happen so I can stop havign the shut downs the way I do and deal with them in real time. That’s my only major major goal in my relationship even. Otherwise I just want to take things at a pace we like and figure it out as we go.

I want to get over things because I deserve to? I deserve to not be stuck in this hell of an emotional pit for NO REASON.... and to just enjoy my fucking life? I don’t deserve fucking all the fighting I do emotionally and mentally to tell myself I’m okay and I’m over thinking, and ruining myself and everything around me because of it.

I’m constantly still thinking she can do better than me, who meshes and fits better and I just kinda hum to myself. I don’t know.

I want to stop being complacent with my mental state and start aggressively tackling it. I started in June and I’m determined to get back to a better standing ground for myself and because I want to stop letting myself ruin things with my paranoias and bad fucking drops. It involves talking more is all. And just feeling safe. Being reminded everything is okay when I start getting too apologetic for BEING.

I’m just a mess and I always feel bad people deal with me and put up with me... I’d say people choose to and dont’ feel obligated to but I’m also just stares at some people around me who stay around people who are obviously hazardous to their mental health. mm. It’s whatever.

I want to stop caring about things that don’t matter anymore? I want to start letting go of things better because holding onto all these things just... hurts. It’s all on me. Mm.

I’m scared of a lot of stupid things. I’m always worried abotu screwing up because people don’t tell me when I do and when they do it’s just yelling at me and not accepting when I say sorry even lmao which is probably the weirdest part is when someone yells at me about something and I apologize and it’s like it’s not okay, but still acknowledge that I’m acknowledging damage and trying to figure out how to prevent or fix damage in the future?

Communication with people is so... important but difficult. Like how do people know something is wrong if you don’t say, you know? You can’t hold things against people when they don’t know - and honestly that was an issue I dealt with more than anything... which was why with [C] I made a point to talk more and more and... mm. I mean I know the problems now but I asked halfway through my trip if I should go home, if me beign there was too much. I acknowledged body language and attitude and the potential problem [part of it] and was given complacent reactions and me slowly mentally declining for a month :))

Communication is important. I don’t just say it because it’s a fact - I say it because for me it is the difference between one depressive bad day, and years of fucking back peddling issue fixing over things, you know?

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 16+17.08.18 lb

16.08.18 

LMAO, TU HAI KAUN AISI GUARANTEE DENE KO??????? ANIKA GAADI HAI KYA AUR TU USKA DEALER? 

yup, he was gonna say “main shaadi ALREADY kar chuka hoon” but caught himself in time in order to not complicate matters for her wrt marrying nikhil. 

BUT ARE NIKHIL AND HIS MOTHER BLIND? CAN’T THEY SEE SHE’S WEARING SINDOOR???????? SHE’S OBVIOUSLY MARRIED TO SOMEONE. you gotta be reaaaalllll dumb to not figure this shit out, you two. 

lmfao ok i think i might be a fan of nikhil’s mummy for that parting shot of doosron ko gyaan dena bada asaan hai. 

ohhhhhhhh man. these three are gonna be hellllllllla mad when they find out. 

“kya kaha tuney???” 

anika ke maan-sammaan-khushiyon ka rakshak is onnnnn the case! 

pfffffffffffft. iski shakl se hi pata nahi chalta ki kya kiya isne? 

you three were dumbasses to think that. they need SUPERVISED MEDIATION. aise akele chodoge toh aisa hi hoga. 

UGH SHIVAAY YOU ARE LITERALLY THE WORST. HAR SHAADI TUM KO ZABARDASTI HI KARWAANI HAI, MAJAAAAAL HAI JO TUM DULHAN SE POOCHO KI USSE KYA CHAHIYE. 

srsly, i am nikhil’s mom, who’s like why the fuckkkkk are you so involved in anika and nikhil’s shaadi. tu apna dekh na. 

great, he’s ready to fund it also. ek kaam kar, anika ka kanyaadaan bhi tu hi kar. itnaaaaaaa shauk jo chadha hai. 

yeah i have had it up to here with stupid singh oberoi. ugh. 

^^^^^ that’s the point i stopped watching at on the 16th. i literally rolled my eyes so damn hard that i decided it was better for my health if i gave up. 

okay! let’s try again! 

this nikhil ki ma is such a meesni. die bitch. 

ohhohohoho, anika is MOST definitely going to find about this eventually aur tab beta, tumhari khair nahi. i hope OU anika ki atma gets into her and she fucken beats you to death with her broken chameli. 

is anika ko job milkar kya faida? iske personal life ke chonchlon se isko time hi kahaan milta hai job par jaane ke liye? 

ugh why are you even picking up this idiot’s call??? you’re 0.0% interested in him. 

lmao gauri’s face. 

and gauri’s expression being paralleled here on shivaay’s face. 

DAMN GIRL THE EXCITEMENT. WHO IN THIS DAY AND AGE IS EVER THIS EXCITED TO GET AN ACTUAL PHONE CALL? 

lmaoooooooooooooooooooooooooo oh man nikhil, samajh jao apni aukaat aur haisiyat. 

... what’s with the weird split-screening? that too, not perfectly in the middle and gauri’s awkwardly to the side and half cut off? matlab...??????? 

adorable munchkin. too cute, too pure. 

lol that "whooooooo boy” expression shivaay gave after nikhil left. 

holllllllly shit what’s with the hella bad green screen behind him???? that’s soooooooooo not the view outside anika’s house??? 

anika honestly girl, calm the fuck down. 

or don’t and tell him the truth; that you’re majorly into him.

 OH SHIT. OH NO SHE’S GONNA THINK HE MEANS HIS AND HER SHAADI WHILE THIS FUCKING IDIOT MAN IS TALKING ABOUT NIKHIL OH GOD AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I CAN’T WATCH THIS I CAN’TTTTTTTTTT

JFC FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YOU SHIVAAAY THIS IS FUCKING ENTRAPMENT. HONESTLY FUCK YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL MAN. IDGAF ABOUT YOUR GOOD INTENTIONS. THIS IS BULLSHIT.

oh noooooooooo my poor girl she’s so happy oh god nooooooooooo.

JFC SHIVAAY YOU FUCKING IDIOT ARE YOU SO CLUELESS THAT YOU DON’T REALISE THAT THIS WOMAN IS HUGGING YOU IN AN ENTIRELY NON “DOST“ WAY RN????????????????///

oh suddenly he realises that perhaps he shouldn’t be hugging another man’s woman in this way.

notice neither of them are moving to untangle themselves though. still remaining all pressed up against each other. and you dumb fucks still say you don’t know “kya hai humaare beech”. 

sure. extreeeeeemely appropriate behaviour and manner of looking at a woman whose wedding you’re organizing to another man. A+. keep it up. 

all i can do at this point is hope gauri’s secretly taking pics and will make a presentation of her own at the next wedding attempt to nikhil. 

aaaaaaaaaaaaaand he ruined it. 

sidenote: this is a nakuul smile, not a shivaay smile. 

cute smile aside, i really wanna slapppppp shivaay for how giddily happy he’s being at his own stupidity. matlab self-awareness naam ki cheez is bande ke aas-paas bhi nahi bhatki hai. 

anika, now would be a good time to take off your chameli. and channel all that khidkitodness you claim to possess. 

we already knew nikhil and his whole fam were shadyass fuckers. ainvayi ka dramatic reveal they’re showing, as if any of this is a completeeeee surprise to any of us. 

ANIKA WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? YEH TOH CHUTIYA HAI HI, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST STRAIGHT UP TELL HIM THAT YOU DON’T GIVE A SINGLE FUCK ABOUT NIKHIL?????? YOU DIDN’T EVEN THE FIRST TIME AROUND, LET ALONE NOW. 

... after happily leaping into his arms thinking he was proposing marriage, she’s saying “mujhe nahi pata meri khushi kis mein hai”??????????? godddddddddd she’s an even bigger fucking idiot than he is. 

OMFG IS MANDHBUDDHI KI BAKCHODI KHATAM NAHI HUI HE’S NOW GETTING DOWN ON HIS KNEES TO PROPOSE.... FOR NIKHIL. 

“mujhse shaadi karogi, anika?” 

aaaaaahaaa. freudian slip.

lmaoooooooo “bohut khush rakhunga main... nikhil... NIKHIL!” sure boo. ek baar hua, woh galti thi. baar baar jo hota hai... chalo chodo. tumse bolke bhi kya faayda. 

TFW you really can’t tell who the bigger idiot is in your relationship. 

... great. just great. yeh log bhi aa gaye. AUR CHACHI BHI. UGH. 

yup. i am that literal full body shudder that anika does every single time nikhil touches her. ICK. GET YO GRUBBY HANDS OFF MY GIRL. 

caaaaaaaasual smiley threat from shivaay about how he’ll literally destroy nikhil if he fucks up. best. 

they are me and i am them. not amused by any of this garbage. 

has this chachi really sudharofied? dare i hope? in any case, her toning down her overall personality is very much welcome. 

SHIVAAY I... YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU DID WHAT YOU HAVE TO, NOW PLEASE, JUST LITERALLY GTFO HERE. UGH. 

jali. billu ki jali. itni der tak idk where his fucking brain was, but it’s finally hit him. 

haan jaa beta, maarofy your hasty exit. go rub your literally aching chest somewhere else.

god you poor dumbass. i don’t even... ugh shivaaaaaaay, what are we even going to do with youuuuuu?????????? 

also sorry for untimely tharak but this blue suit is realllllllllllly working on him. especially in this lighting. brings out his eyes nicely.

also, somehow the makeup or whatever is better in this scene? his eyebags aren’t so prominent.

oh boy. khuddar waali anika jaag gayi hai. she’s come to question. 

“kyunki sab kuch aap decide karte hain na? na aapne mujhe tab poocha tha jab aapne mujhse zabardasti shaadi ki, na tab poocha jab aapne shaadi ko maanne se inkaar kiya, na aapne mujhse tab poocha jab divorce papers thamaa diye, na ab jab aapne nikhil aur uske maa se meri shaadi ki baat ki.” 

YAS CALL HIM THE FUCK OUT. 

“kyunki tum meri.... DOST ho.”

LMAO. APPROPRIATE RESPONSE. 

“meri shaadi ko dus din nahi hue... aur mera DOST meri doosri shaadi karwaana chahta hai. aapko lagta hai yeh sahi hai??”

GIRL YES FUCKING MURDER HIM. 

ah fuck. he’s losing it and almost in tears. fuck i’m kinda melting. he’s trying so hard. he’s objectively wrong, but he’s TRYING SO HARD. 

NO. DO NOT LEAVE IT ON FUCKING KISMAT, USE YOUR FUCKING BIG GIRL WORDS AND TELL HIM YOU DON’T WANNA MARRY FUCKING NIKHIL. JFC ANIKA. 

ugh you two idiotssssssssssssss. 

lord this tu jaane na makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a rusty fork. the music of this whole redux truly sucks ass. 

17.08.18 

LMAO OM AS USUAL COMES THROUGH FOR ALL OF US, WITH THE FUCKING DISBELIEF AND RAGE AND WANTING TO THROTTLE BILLU. 

same here with gauri. god bless my sensible little chirraiyya. anika for fucks’ sake listen to her. honestly. 

lmao rikara’s faces at the whole “kismat” nonsense. tell me they take things into their own hands and become the “kismat” writers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

... itna toh yeh prinku ke shaadi ke liye bhi utaavla nahi tha jitna khud ki biwi ki shaadi karwaane ke liye ho raha hai. someone get this man some help. 

at least these two are having their fun! 

also tell me they have some kinda plan in place, and that’s why they’re so chill and happy. 

snort. 

oh boy. dramatic music says something’s gonna happen with the lights.

yup. isko jhatka lagne waala hai. in more ways than one; but right now mostly of the electric kind. 

oh ho nope! doosra jhatka first! 

sure. the way every wedding planner looks at the bride. like they wanna marry them themselves. 

god bless prinku and her sass 4ever. 

and these two and their beautiful faces! honestly, masha’Allah. 

“aapke bhaiyya satiyaa gayein hain. kya kar kya rahein hain????” lmaooooooooo

OMFG OMKI SHOMKI FINALLY MAKING SOME KINDA FUCKING MOVE. GODBLESS, HALLELUJAH! 

YES THEY’RE GONNA BE LIVING HEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE BUT RIKARA LIVING UNDER THE SAME ROOFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!! 

lmao anika’s also started daant chabaana at this man and his fuckery. 

no literally who the fuck are all these fucking guests?????? 

OH MY GOD MY GIRL LOOKS SOOOOOO GOOOOOD. 

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, of course!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

i am literally putting nazar ka teeka on my laptop screen coz god, how beautiful are they!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

“tum theek ho?” eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, lo, the 4 Lions “i love you” bhi ho gaya! 

lolololol she’s the cutest.

oh ho, this prinku is on “tu” basis with rudra. meaning they’re around the same age. 

also finally, a throwaway line explaining where rudra is! 

god he looks so hot today, i can’t. 

lolllllllllllllllll prinkuuuuuuuuuuu. you really do thrive off putting your brothers in the most uncomfortable situations ever, and that too with the most insouciant look on your face. I FUCKING LOVE IT.

HOW DARE YOU TWO BE THIS BEAUTIFUL?????????? I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU STRAIGHT, IT’S LIKE LOOKING AT THE SUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this girl also looking like fire today. the makeup is especially good. i love the glittery blue liner! 

of course. also situation is kinda sorta chaapofied from ipk. 

lmaoooooooooooooooo her face. 

yeah kismat is doing its thang. take the fucking hint. all three of you dumbasses.

meanwhile lol these two and their completely nonplussed faces.

great. nikhil ki mummy is starting her overacting. ouff. 

omkara: relax aunty, galti se hua hai. 

“kuch galtiyaan kitni khoobsurat hoti hai!” 

lmaooooooooooooooooooooooo she really is the best. 

AAAAAAAAAND THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL “KISMAT” BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

as much as i’m relishing her snark in pointing it out to him, i’m also mad as hell at her for going through with this garbage. ab kahaan gayi teri saari khuddaari bish???? you just gonna do whatever the fuck one man or the other keeps pushing you into???? 

ugh nikhil literally fuck off. can’t you see two beautiful people were having a moment here? no place here for uggos like you.

ugh this sad puppy. oh shivaay what even do we do with you?????? 

god i love omkara and his common sense and his not mincing his words. SO MUCH. words can’t even describe. #omkaraisbae 

(gosh i haven’t used that hashtag since like, the late 2016s???? i missed it!) 

oh suddenly NOW they notice the sindoor. she’s been wearing it for all these days with no maang tika or anything to cover it, tab kya aankhon mein button lage hue the sab ke????? 

... and the purpose of this is???????????????? 

LMAO HOW IS THIS ANY BETTER???? LIKE OK YOU STOPPED HER FROM TELLING THE SECRET BUT SHE LITERALLY RAN OVER TO YOU AND IS FUSSING OVER YOU NOT GIVING A SINGLE FUCK ABOUT NIKHIL AND HIS FAM.  

waise they should be used to it by now, na? pehli shaadi mein bhi toh isne yehi kiya tha. 

son honestly. what are you even doing. why are you fucking like this??? 

wow he gave up his own room for her to stay in? or are they staying together till the shaadi or...??? like scene kya hai boss??? 

billu this bs martyr complex of yours is getting reallllllly tiresome now. 

oh god noooooooooooooo not the fucking sindoor too. don’t you fucking dare!!!!!!!!

oh gooood. she called him out on it. literally doing whatever the fuck he wants with zero thoughts on what those symbols mean to her. fucking dumbass. 

“meri maang, mera sindoor, meri marzi main lagaoon ya na lagaoon...” GIRL IF YOU CAN BE SO ASSERTIVE RE: ALL THIS WHY THE FUCK CAN’T YOU JUST SHUT DOWN THIS WHOLE FARCE??????????? HONESTLY, MORE THAN SHIVAAY, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY LAST DAMN NERVE RN.