I got a tattoo of the word Shine based off the album title of Anna Nalick’s Shine EP.

The song “Shine” speaks deeply especially one line…“And I think you need to stop following misery’s lead” because for so long I was ok with being miserable and letting my mental illness win and not doing anything to change that.

I got the tattoo to remind myself that I do shine and despite all the crap I’ve been through and deep down inside is this great light that’s already there.

I had gotten to tattoo on my left wrist because that was my favorite place to self harm and I knew I would never deface the title to a song that has helped me so much. My tattoo has kept me safe from seriously hurting myself. (I did self harm other places… But… It served as a constant reminder to myself that there is this good light and I just need to let it shine though… And I am currently at 7 months and 1 week without cutting!!)

Chapter 4 (Here's Hoping We Collide) (Junkrat x Symmetra fanfic)

~~Satya’s arrival at Watchpoint: Gibraltar~~ In all her twenty years of being inside of Vishkar’s pristine, hard light-crafted walls and surrounded by the calm and respectable company of her fellow colleagues, Satya never felt so out of place. Far out of her own safe zone.   As she carried her personal cargo around the hallways of the tight compound, while also listening intently to Winston’s tour of the history of the building and of its recent attack from Talon, Satya found herself scanning every corner for something–anything–that could remind herself of Vishkar.  To her sad revelation, she couldn’t. The texture of the walls were not close to the ones at Vishkar that she grew familiar and fond of. Even though she could tell that the facility was installed with the lastest state of the art technology, she couldn’t help but think arrogantly that Vishkar’s technology was superior. She wrinkled her nose lightly at the sloppy and poor structure of everything that she passed. She was inside foreign land, alone, and without anything Vishkar-related to comfort her. She did, however, have her prosthetic arm, visor, and uniform, which made her somewhat feel ungrateful for complaining in the first place. She scolded herself as she looked forward, still following Winston.  Even the people she had met so far seemed strange. A doctor that cared on a personal level? A short man that wouldn’t let his height define who he was? A giant man shielded in armor that had a kind heart, even showing her kindness? It still alluded her on how a gorilla was even able to communicate with her using an advanced array of vocabulary. Perhaps she was overthinking things. Certainly Overwatch couldn’t be different from Vishkar. They both wanted to help humanity. Even if Vishkar didn’t seem to care for what the people felt, it was their duty–her duty–to build for their future. There was no time or space to keep anything that was different from Vishkar’s standards. But in a way, Overwatch and Vishkar was different. In one fatal way, Overwatch was different. So far as she could see, she could tell that years ago the members of the original Overwatch team were very close. Years ago, they were a family, accepting each other despite their differences. Vishkar never tolerated such close bonds in their workplace. Their reason for that was due to the sole purpose of not forming irrational feelings that could distract their precious architects from their duties. Come to think of it, Satya also knew that Vishkar would never accept a person that didn’t fit their standards. She was different in Hyderabad, always asked on where she stood on the spectrum, but she was the same as everyone else that worked under Vishkar. In Sanjay’s words, she was ‘slightly unique’. Later in life, she had found out that the reason for her recruitment years ago in Hyderabad was the fact that she fit the requirements of being a successful architect. Even in her living situation, she thanked the gods frequently that Vishkar had spared her. She was perfect. Vishkar saw it in her. They embraced perfection; not a single flaw. She shook her head lightly. Perhaps she needed to distract herself from her new surroundings that she must adapt to since Winston’s tour didn’t seem to help. An idea popped into her mind, but it was a risky one. Nonetheless, it always calmed her down. She bit her bottom lip as she slowly began to make a few improved, quiet dance steps, glancing forward occasionally to make sure that her tour guide wouldn’t turn around to see her.  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, fearing the people that brought her into Vishkar would have second thoughts on her and envision her as the poor girl from the slums, a small part of her childhood had followed her into Vishkar.  Dancing. Even after she had dedicated herself fully to learning in the Academy, there were times when she found herself dancing silently in her assigned bedroom; staying up past her sleep schedule to embrace something that she tried very hard to forget. She soon accepted it as a part of who she was.  And to her relief, many of her peers had approved of her traditional dancing being implemented into the art of creating hard light. While Sanjay had commented that traditions were best kept away from the progress of her rising career, she had proved him wrong when she bravely stepped up and demonstrated her abilities that she learned from them, faster and more efficient, by simply displaying her skills of something that she too learned from her childhood. Though she didn’t fully implement dancing into her steps of conjuring objects from hard light, she did use it as a way to distract herself from situations that grew too much for her or as a way to pass the time when no one watched her. Her fellow colleagues never commented on her dancing or even bothered to watch her movements. Even when she demonstrated her way of creating hard light, she had noticed that their hard, attentive eyes were only focused on the formation of the turret being created. She would admit it silently, however, she was thankful that a small part of home came with her. “Wicked moves, love!”, a bubbly voice pierced her ears suddenly.  She immediately snapped out of her deep trance, standing very stiffly, as she came face to face with a new person. Sporting a big, cheerful smile, the stranger gave Satya a quick nod before disappearing quickly out of Satya’s field of vision, leaving her to widen her eyes slightly. Satya quickly looked at an amused Winston, who had turned around at some point, in confusion, before hearing the stranger’s light giggle on her left. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” Satya glanced at the shorter woman, observing her carefully. Her hair was a messy array of dark brown hair with a few bangs covering her eyes. The woman huffed out a breath of air to see better, allowing Satya to see her big, brown eyes. Her hair had bothered Satya, but she gave the woman a small smile. The woman flashed her a big smile back before extending her hand out in front of Satya. “Name’s Lena. Lena Oxton! You can just call me Tracer! Pleased to meet you.”, Tracer said, without ever skipping a beat. Satya slowly reached for Tracer’s hand and shook it with a firm but friendly grip. “I am Satya Viswani, but I am known by my alias, Symmetra.” Tracer nodded as Satya’s focus was on the bright blue disc on her chest. Satya arched an eyebrow at the technology, a small bit of curiosity came over her. Tracer noticed her stare and giggled lightly before disappearing, only to reappear again next to Winston. “You’re probably wondering how I can zip and zap from here to…” Satya should have expected it, but she jumped lightly when Tracer appeared next to her again, still sporting a big smile. “Here!” Satya cleared her throat as she looked at her. What a strange woman. “How?” This time it was Winston’s turn to finally speak. “Lena had disappeared while test piloting Overwatch’s new teleporting fighter: The Slipstream. She reappeared again, but only for a limited time before disappearing again and again.” “Chronal dissociation.”, Satya spoke up. Tracer nodded at her. “Right you are, love. Doctors gave up on me,” Tracer then blinked out of Satya’s sight, appearing next to Winston, patting his shoulder with gratitude. “But Winston never did. He worked day and night to make sure that I wouldn’t disappear forever.” Satya watched as Tracer’s gloved finger tapped on the disk lightly. “He made this to help me: the chronal accelerator! Keeps me anchored to the present. Best part, I can go back and forth through the time of my choice.” Satya was now impressed as she gave her a firm nod. Vishkar would be interested in an alternate way to speed up the process of hard light. “Impressive, nearly at perfection.”, Satya softly commented as Tracer giggled lightly. “Thanks, love, but none us are truly perfect, right?” You are wrong, for Vishkar’s own, including myself are perfection, Satya thought immediately, somewhat offended. “Right.”, Satya replied, a bit on the dangerous edge of coldness. Tracer and Winston didn’t notice, much to Satya’s relief as she realized the tone that she had used. “Well, see ya. Welcome to Overwatch, Satya!” With that, Tracer blinked away quickly, leaving Satya and Winston in the plain hallway. Indeed, a very strange woman. ~~Junkrat may appear in the next chapter. Read on archiveofourown or Wattpad! ♡Bye♡~~

Originally posted by miova


“Sometimes life is hard. Things go wrong—in life, and in love, and in business, and in friendship, and in health, and in all the other ways in which life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do: Make good art.”

—Author Neil Gaiman addressing The University of the Arts class of 2012. This is a long, inspiring video worth watching… and re-watching.


“There will be moments when the drought of joy seems unending, instances spent pretending that everything is alright when it clearly is not; check your blind spot. See that love is still there, be patient. Every nightmare has a beginning, but every bad day has an end. Ignore what others have called you; I am calling you friend.” 

– “Instructions for a Bad Day,” by spoken word poet Shane Koyczan


Over the course of a year, artist Guilherme Kramer covered a wall with faces he saw in the crowd. His ideas emerge while walking around San Paulo, Brazil, where Kramer says he “gets hoarse from seeing so much.” His work speaks of the beauty and intricacy to be found, in each human and in humanity as a whole.

I am probably your average, broken New Yorker. Not only is it weird to make physical contact with other people, but it scares me too. I don’t like making myself vulnerable enough to get close to strangers.

But of course, Jon asks the crowd to put an arm around the person to either side, to be connected. And although I was hesitant to, I did and it was okay. Because I knew we were all there for the same purpose and we all shared one thing - we were all broken. But a lot of broken people coming together like a family make a whole.

I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true. That’s what it felt like. I wasn’t just a scared New Yorker. I was the whole crowd, singing along…

“Our love is a puzzle that can’t be solved.”