#They don't have to suffer the fate the rest of the world did and no one can touch them

[iimexpensiive]

Mount Huaguo (better know as Flower Fruit Mountain) is actually still safe and flourishing. This is due to Wukong having erecting a barrier and sealing the mountain as well as it's people inside their own little pocket dimension where neither Heaven nor the Mortal realm can touch them. It's also the reason his staff is 'lost' as he used it to seal and maintain the barrier around it. He hasn't been home in eons now and doesn't have any plans to really return, feeling like a disgrace to his people and thinking they're better off without him. At the very least he knows they are safe and flourishing even without him, having made sure before he left and assuring that no one would be able to pass through the barrier either. To anyone on the outside, it just looks like a stretch of desert and even if they get closer they won't pass through the 'entrance'. The staff also just looks like a simple wooden stick in the ground or such, only those who are 'allowed' to enter can see it as Ruyi Jingu Bang or even enter the barrier surrounding the mountains. Which isn't many.

[batshit-auspol]

I just spent some time scrolling through this blog and am suffering from sever laughter. Thanks so much for collating the countries craziest moments. One of my favourites is when Scott Morrison was in Hawaii while the bushfires where burning.

December 2019: As Australia's east coast is engulfed in the worst bushfires in living memory, rumours begin to circulate that Australia's Prime Minister Scott Morrison may have secretly fucked off for a holiday in Hawaii.

Keep in mind, this is what is going down in Australia at the time:

The Hawaii rumour is initially written off as a fringe conspiracy, because surely nobody could be that fuckin tonedeaf, and it was quickly forgotten about... until an Australian man visiting Hawaii UPLOADED A SELFIE ON THE BEACH WITH THE PM THROWING A SHAKA.

At which point all hell broke loose.

Overnight the formerly popular "Scomo" became the most despised man in all of Australia. Think "firefighters shouting out of their windows to news cameras" level of despised.

After about two days of radio silence and pretending like he was still at home running the country, the Prime Minister's handlers finally dragged him onto call with an Australian radio station, where he pinky promised to return to Australia as fast as he could in an attempt to calm things down.

Unfortunately Scott's empathy consultant (a real job) then had to watch Scott pour more gasoline on the dumpster fire by uttering the now famous phrase "Look I don't hold a hose mate" when asked by the radio interviewer why the fucking fuck the fuckhead wasn't fucking in Australia doing his fucking job during a massive fucking crisis.

Testing just how much worse things could get, Scomo then proceeded to NOT rush back to Australia as promised, instead attempting to complete the rest of his holiday, a fact that was exposed when a passerby snapped a picture of him still lounging on the beach two days later.

Eventually, holiday complete, Morrison did reluctantly slink back to Australia, and in an attempt to calm things down, he decided to pay a visit to a small town that had been destroyed by the fires.

Which was a big mistake.

Scomo still had not registered how absolutely and totally he had screwed the poodle with his Hawaiian beach vacation, and he walks into what is now taught in PR classes as one of the greatest examples of "what not do do in a crisis" in all of history.

Scotty from Marketing, as he is now dubbed by the nation, spends a painfully cringe-inducing hour wandering around a burned down town with TV news cameras in tow, having to FORCE PEOPLE TO SHAKE HIS HAND in what is some of the most awkward footage you will ever see.

At this point it's probably also worth mentioning that, before becoming Prime Minister, Scott Morrison's biggest claim to fame in politics was being the guy that was so far up the coal lobby's arse that he literally brought coal into parliament and waved it around, claiming it doesn't hurt people.

So when a protest was organised it turned out to be one big national fuck you to the Prime Minister, the likes of which the world has never seen before or since.

Needless to say, at this point Scomo's career was dead in the water, but thanks to the rules brought in to stop Australian political parties from knifing their leader every two weeks (a popular Aussie passtime) Morrison basically couldn't get fired until after the next election.

And so, when the election rolled around in 2022, we decided that was an opportune time to travel over to Hawaii to erect this bad boy tribute to the Prime Minister, on the very beach where Scomo had sat and drank margaritas that one fateful week in December as Australia burned (thanks to @chaser for funding the ticket)

[twisted-broth]

Scarlet End

Mr Scarletta x Reader

(Anything in bold is in the other world language)

How did you end up here? In those apartments? In this other world? Could it really all have been fate?

No. It was all his fault. Ever since you spilt blood on his property, you were in the palm of his hand. He toyed with your reality like it was all just a game to him. You supposed that likely wasn't far from the truth.

How many days had you been running? Every corner you turned brought you face to face with a new monster, difficult to distinguish between friend or foe. Although you suppose you probably didn't look much better at this point. Blood slipped through the cracks of your raincoat, staining the white dress underneath as you fell to your knees. You were so tired. Even if you could keep running, where would you go? All you could see for miles was an ocean of red. And your hunter didn't suffer the same exhaustion you did.

Shade falls over you. Although now that you think about it, was there ever a light source to begin with? Either way, you don't have to raise your head to know that a red umbrella was covering you. Not to mention the telltale static that always managed to make your teeth throb.

He says something incomprehensible.

No, you know this one. It's the same thing he asks for every time he sees you.

"Give name?"

You finally raise your head to look at him. His red hair covered most of his face, but you could still catch a glimpse of his haunting eyes staring at you, unblinking.

You clumsily utter out what you think is the equivalent of "Why?"

"Me like you. You give name, me ??? you."

What was that word again? It was one Mr Crawling used often. Something like... protect.

"Protect you."

Could he really protect you? Judging by the reactions of everyone else here, you were under the impression that he was the one you needed protection from. The voice on the telephone seemed adamant that you not tell anyone your name. But could you really trust that voice? They hadn't led you astray yet.

They also said you would have to make a choice.

All things considered, this is Mr Scarletta's world. Either you refuse and keep running for the rest of your life, or you join Scarletta in his reign of terror. Your crowbar digs into your shoulder, reminding you of your past. When you stop to think about it, you're not so different from Scarletta. Maybe you're even worse.

"Name... Y/n."

His eerie smile grew more than you thought was possible.

"Y/n." He repeats.

His hand is cold and rubbery, not unlike a corpse, as he takes your own. The fact that he was incorporeal when you swung your crowbar at him a few minutes ago nags at the bag of your mind. Your brow creases in annoyance, but if Scarletta notices he doesn't say anything. It really was true that this world was stacked against you.

Scarletta rises to his full height, pulling you up with him. It takes a great deal of effort to force your aching muscles to stretch once more, and your knees nearly buckle again. Amidst your struggle to right yourself, he hands you his umbrella, much to your confusion. Before you can ask why, he scoops you into his arms bridal style. You supposed this was his way of showing that he cared.

Under the cover of the red umbrella, you feel isolated from the rest of the world. Even if that world was only a wasteland of red for right now. Fear grips your throat as you meet his awful eyes. They were even worse up close. Even now, having gotten what he wanted, his expression seemed the same as always. Being so close, the static was almost deafening as it continued to assault your ears. Perhaps these were all traits that you would grow used to in time.

"Let's go."

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React to You Pining for Them

Summary: POV Lads men wake up in your body, feeling your emotions. And the get to suffer MWAHAHAHAHHA

Pairing: Lads boys x gn reader

Genre: angst (only Zayne gets a pass)

AN: hmm I don't think I did the concept justice but I will return to it

(I do not own these characters + spoilers ahead)

Rafayel:

He has felt it every time. Every single time he brings up his pain, his years spent waiting for you, your abandonment of him, he sees the same pain flicker in your eyes.

Even when you remain unaware of the past, he sees it.

But for the first time, he feels it.

He does not know what timeline this is. Only that he watches himself lying on a bed, next to you.

Your hand, intertwined with his.

"Things will get difficult, and you may want to give up on me, Rafayel," your fingers ghost over his cheek. "Forgive me for bringing you into this trouble. For dragging you into my fate."

Words are not spoken aloud, yet he hears them ring in your mind.

"Forgive me," you whisper into the night. "What this love will cost us… might break your heart."

He watches as you lean over and press a kiss to his forehead.

And then, with a shaking breath, you utter the last of your fading words:

"Should the burden come to weigh on you… let go of this bond and return home."

Rafayel wakes to a thundering sky and rising tides, as if the world itself had shared the same dream.

Xavier:

He watches you stare into the sky.

"Return home, my liege," you whisper, fingers clutched tightly. "Your kingdom, your throne awaits you."

You fold your hands and pray to the stars. And Xavier feels it, the thrum of your power resonating through his heart.

Then, your hand tightens around your sword.

"You should not have bothered, my prince." Your voice is steady, but beneath it lies something fragile. "It was my fate to become the fuel for this world. You should have let fate play its part."

Somehow, you already know the secret he has desperately hidden from you.

"They say the only way to make this right is by giving away what always belonged to the world." Your hand rests over your heart. "Would it bring you back?"

Xavier reels at your thoughts.

"No!" he screams, the sound swallowed by the void. "You must not! There has to be another way!"

But you do not hear him.

You gaze into the mirror, addressing no one and yet, somehow, addressing him.

"If this is a farewell, then it is a poor one, my liege."

Then, finally, your voice softens.

"I hope this brings you back, my prince." You speak to him directly now. "Wherever you are, I hope this end grants me the wish to have you return to Philos."

Zayne:

"He never eats on time!"

The thought rings out loud, startling Zayne.

He watches you march toward him, and takes a moment to process where he is.

Pale. Tired. Are those acne? Has he really been living off vending machine junk?

A rapid-fire string of thoughts follows.

He hears your frustration, your worry, and then he sees it.

The other Zayne, a version of himself, is yanked away from his desk by you.

Were you always this perceptive? How had he never noticed the concern in your eyes?

"Treat me to a second breakfast."

The command is uncompromising. He watches as you march toward his car, not even waiting for a response.

And he sees himself follow.

Or rather, being dragged.

Then, in the rumbling car, he watches as you drive.

And just as you turn to check on him, he sees himself, fast asleep.

With a maneuver that seems life-threatening, you somehow manage to pull a blanket over him, while still driving.

"Foreseer my ass," you scoff.

Your words leave him scrambling before he can even realize them, jolting him awake.

He blinks, now fully alert, staring straight at you. Back in his body.

Sylus:

Despair. Guilt. Unrelenting heartache.

He sees himself fallen at your feet.

And then, he sees your fall.

On your knees, you pull him close, holding him tight, and for the first time, he feels the weight of your helplessness.

"There is no forgiveness," you whisper.

And he realizes—you are alone.

That back then, in that abyss of loss, you were always alone. Unlike him, you never had the hope of return.

Bearing the burden of right and wrong, you were alone in your doom.

He buckles under the weight of it. This grief, he knows it well. He has felt a fragment of it.

But even then, he had known you would return.

But you?

For you, there was nothing.

Nothing but the void of loss.

"It will be alright," he whispers, but his voice is frail, failing to comfort you.

"I will return to you. I am not cross with you. I still love you." He repeats until all but the echo of his voice remains.

Caleb:

He wakes to fire.

The burning home.

The one that became both nightmare and reality.

Flames devour everything, the heat suffocating, the smoke curling into the sky.

Then, he sees you.

You scrape against the concrete, pulling yourself forward when your body refuses to move.

Your fingers tighten around his locket, and he feels the stab of pain pierce your heart.

"Caleb!" you call weakly, voice cracking, gathering what little strength you have left to scream louder.

You drag yourself forward, until your arms give out.

He sees your skin peeling against the jagged ground. Your blistered nail beds. The blood seeping from fingers that have already lost their nails beneath the heat and debris.

Yet, you keep moving.

"Stop!" he wants to scream. He wills himself to close his eyes, to escape this vision, but it grips him, holds him hostage.

And in this moment of agony, he wants to stop you, wants to pull you away from the fire, but he fails.

He is nothing more than a spectator to your desperate cries.

To your pleas for him and Grandma.

"I am sorry," he begs.

He had let you suffer alone in hopeless grief, had left you to rot in sorrow.

And perhaps this vision, this endless, searing nightmare, was his penance.

[valeriele3]

Rewind Venti x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Meeting a young bard may have sealed your fate to a never-ending journey through Teyvat. Forever wandering and rewinding time. Fluff/Angst(?) Words: 700

"Hey, how many times have we looped time now?"

"Hmm... This is the 10,039th loop…"

"That much, huh…?"

"Yes."

"How much more do you think we'll need?"

"Possibly a few thousand more, but hopefully this is the last."

"No, this has to be the last."

"Barbatos, if this attempt fails yet again, please take care of things for me."

"Alright. You can rest now. I'll take care of things."

"Ah! Y/N! We meet again"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Ah—I—I mean, it's fair if you don't"

"After all, the last time we met was way back when we were kids, remember?" He sheepishly says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, I see…Oh! Could you perhaps be...Lar...Larka...? Yeah, Larka.." you pretended to remember. If you were being honest, you couldn't remember this man or anyone from your past.

All your memories from when you were aged 12 and below were eerily blank.

You wondered if you'd suffer from a head injury, but apparently you hadn't. It felt weird at first.

Like you just woke up from a long slumber. But...ah, how rude.

You've accidentally been staring at the lad while lost in your thoughts.

You look away, embarrassed. "S-Sorry…"

"It's alright, you can stare longer if you want." He playfully winks, making your already red face turn redder.

'Geez, we just met, and I already embarrassed myself.'

'But...strangely, I don't mind it much.'

That was how you "first" met the young lad named "Venti."

He had beautiful turquoise eyes that seemed to hold the winds within, beautiful double-braided hair positioned on each side of his head, a voice that sounded as if it could grasp your heart warmly, and a touch that brought a sense of warmth, comfort, and familiarity.

He was an anomaly to you.

Suddenly appearing in your otherwise bleak life, brightening your world, and filling it with the brightest and most pleasant colors.

Time seemed to pass by slowly, like a glacier. Seemingly frozen in time but moving.

And like glaciers, your life changes, albeit sometimes imperceptibly.

You don't know when it began, but you now often find yourself recollecting memories and experiences that you' swear you've never experienced before.

You felt like you were delusional. Crazy even.

But, if there was one thing you've noticed with these new memories resurfacing, it's that they always seem to predict the future. Like a prophetic dream.

So you've labeled it as that. A power to predict the future. A Prophecy.

Things had been going well. So well, even. And maybe that's why you're in a terrible situation right now. As a payment for all your fortune.

You were trapped in a cave with monsters pouring out endlessly from a hidden domain inside the cave.

How long have you been fighting?

You couldn't count the hours anymore. It felt like hundreds of years had passed already.

Picking up your sword once more, you ready yourself, clinging onto a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe someone would come to your rescue soon.

You just need to hold out for a bit more.

Seeing a mitachurl begin to swing its giant axe at you, you try to dodge, but alas, your tired body had reached its limit.

You couldn't move anymore. Even just holding your sword was draining the last of the energy you had.

'I guess this is it for me…' Closing your eyes, you await the feeling of an axe coming down to slice you in half, but it never comes.

Instead, you felt a calm, gentle breeze.

Opening your eyes, you see what seemed to be the gentle breeze brutally slicing the monsters to pieces. Like a gale.

'Someone..Someone found me..'

'I did it…I survived…' The thought of being saved after long, brutal hours of nonstop fighting hit your body with a wave of exhaustion. Unable to keep yourself up any longer, you collapse on the ground

'Where am I...? '

"Barbatos…! Catch it, it's escaping!"

'Huh? Barbatos...? The Anemo Archon? '

Just then a headache struck you. Like a needle pushing itself further inside you.

'Agh…My head…It hurts…'

"Flowers? For me? Aww, thank you!"

"Barbatos, look! Look! I made you a flower crown and...a matching flower ring just for the two of us."

"Barbatos, what is that?"

"What did you do?!"

"｢⟄ v���⟔⟔⋖"

"I'm sorry... Please... Let me turn back the time once more."

"I'll do better the next time!"

"Ah...Ah...No...Not again…I don't want this ending."

Whirr

Click-click

Zzzziiip

"This time, I will save this world from destruction."

"B̷̌̈a̸̓̄ŕ̴̅b̸̑̕a̵̦͛t̷̿̾ó̵̀s̵̎̂will you join me in my perpetual journey?"

Whirr

"Hey, how many times have we looped time now?"

"Hmm... This is the 10,0....."

[rockscanfly]

Random Charles Smith Headcanon's

Has probably contemplated suicide at more than one point (see “I’m here just to hurt and suffer myself. In this land I feel stuck.”)

Maybe a little vain. He cares for his clothing well, embellishes himself. 

Has auditory sensitivity. He gets very irritable with loud people.

Has never felt like he belonged, always feels cut off

Is comfortable with violence only against folk he sees as on his own level/like himself. Has little empathy for himself so has little empathy for them (hence smoking while Arthur beats a man for information, the efficient and quick kills of the bounty hunter, the poachers)

Has a STRONG sense of justice--that includes responsibility and culpability. People make choices and Charles holds them accountable for them. Sadie is a killer, so he treats her like any other ally. That German family didn’t make that choice, neither did the Wapiti. But he doesn’t have any pity for the gang.

Animals don't choose violence, hence the protectiveness over them and their dignity. 

Comes off as cold because he isn’t loud/not good at chat. He’s really just been alone most of his life. 

Okay with drinking, does NOT like drunkenness. Back to culpability. This can make him unforgiving and harsh at times.

Both he and Arthur are so used to people passing in and out of their lives that they’re afraid to hold on too tight. Then Arthur gets captured by Colm. Hosea talks to him, about Bessie and about Arthur’s dead family. 

“I’m not her,” Charles says. “Not either of them. I’m not asking you to leave your world behind, and I’m not going to wait for you in some house. We’re partners first. I’d lose the rest of it before I let you put me to the side.” 

He likes that Arthur is big enough to push him around, to hold him down and anchor him when he can feel himself getting lost. To toss him over a broad shoulder when they’re swimming around on a hunting trip and settle him down on soft pelts, to pin him and bite the lonely from his skin. 

Charles can kick Arthur’s ass and will do so on request

He’s kind and thoughtful. He’d be the one to make Arthur little presents and leave them around for him. Practical things, made special with the careful workmanship of beading/embroidery/etching. 

Can be impatient—autonomy is his norm so waiting on others both physically, mentally, and emotionally doesn’t come natural to him

Will cut slingload on people he feels don’t value him back—would not pine for Arthur or stick around if Arthur tries to protect himself by lashing out at Charles, even if he still has feelings. His father taught him that he has to protect himself because no one else will do it. Arthur. Well. Arthur’s the only person he’s trusted to have his back. Because Arthur proved it, several times over. There’s no one Charles would have used “do it for me” on other than Arthur Morgan. 

He fell into fighting again because he had begun opening his heart for the first time since he was a child, and then fate took Arthur too. Like Charles said—he was put on the earth to cause pain and to suffer himself. 

He tries to help folks, but he’s not good at talking and he can’t use his privilege to help like Arthur did. He’s everything the US government hates, even more than the Waipiti. They reach a point where his violence is no longer useful. And for a drowning, grieving, heart sick stretch of years violence is all Charles has left to him (hence going to Saint Denis, a city he hates, and fighting people for white folks' entertainment in a transparent suicide-by-cop bid for someone to end his suffering) And then Sadie gives him the option of closure and working beside John reminds him that he is a man, not a weapon, and Beecher’s Hope makes him believe he too can change. 

Charles has never tried to be anything but who he is. He and Arthur are similar in that way. What he realizes, what Arthur realized too late, is that he can change if he wants it. And that maybe he’s allowed his past pain and scars to run his life along a course he doesn’t actually have to follow. 

Brought to you by my on-going replay of RDR2 and my undying love and devotion to princess of my heart Charles Smith.

[dirtytransmasc]

"You are the light It's not on you, it's in you Don't you ever in your motherfucking life dim your light for nobody" — St. Chroma - Tyler, The Creator

thinking about this in relation to Spider.

thinking about this good kid had the worst assumed about him his whole life. his very light was denied no matter what he did, no matter how good, how sweet, how kind, how gentle, how helpful, how smart, how caring, how much he sacrificed, how accepting he was of his treatment. the worst was assumed.

he wasn't human enough. too human. he wasn't Na'vi enough. he was too wild. too feral. to unkempt. he was a demon, deep down in his blood, he was always a demon. nothing would take that away. one day he'd always become his blood. his father's sins. his father's son.

but he continued to bask in his own light, in the light of his siblings. he was good. he watched out for them. he fought for them. he was one with them. he fought for their people, his people, no matter how much they denied him. he kept them safe. he gave himself for them again and again.

and then he was taken, actively abandoned by Jake and Neytiri— not arguing on whether or not they were justified in that. I think an action can be justified and wrong. and regardless, they actively abandoned a child, their responsibility or not, to be left for dead, to whatever fate awaited him at the RDA's hands. justification will never change that. they actively turned away from him in his time of need. and this was not the first time Jake wanted to leave Spider behind —left in the hands of his father and the RDA.

he was tortured. he was left in a cell. he was toted around as a glorified prisoner. made to be a translator and an educator to soldiers planning to pillage his planet and hurt his people and kill the closest thing to have to family. he witnessed crimes and violence and suffering. was forced to "aid" in it. tried his best to soften the blow.

and somehow, in that time, that was the first time he had felt parental love. parental affection. actually mattering to an adult, even just a little. he's not stray to Quaritch, just a son. even if he wasn't a perfect, or even a good father. but he was a father.

and at the end of the day, even when he is faced with more death and punishment, he is still so bright, so so bright. light itself casts down upon him. he feels love. he fights for his people. has mercy. is willing to give him life for his figment of a family, for his sister.

and that light will continue to shine, even when he is exhausted, even if he wishes it would dim, so he can rest. even when it is more than he can handle. even when he doesn't always know exactly what to do with it. when it hurts him.

but Eywa will always remind him not to let that light die. to keep burning on, bringing golden light to her world.

[missarchive]

the world needs more elle greenaway so i have an idea! how about if reader like puts herself in harms way or gets hurt protecting elle from an unsub and elle’s reaction? can be either pre established or established relationship! thank youuuu

hi lovely! thank you so much for the request <3

cw; angst, mentions of death, typical criminal minds violence, reader is madly in love with elle, comfort

"Are you fucking crazy? You could've been killed," Elle's eyes narrowed as she took in your form. Hues of purple and blue washing over the side of your face like water colour.

"I'm fine, Elle. I did what I had to do," you brush her off, rolling your eyes in distaste. You both knew of the dangers this job presents, you basically sign your life away as soon as you enter the contract. It had been a brawl, three against one. You'd never admit this to Elle, but if you weren't armed, you're not sure you would've been so lucky to have experienced the same fate.

"Fine?" she frowns, eyeing you up and down, bringing up a careful hand to rest on the side of your face, just below the newly forming bruise. "Yeah," she scoffs, "you sure look fine to me."

Pushing past her to open the door to your shared bathroom, you shrug off your vest and shirt, ignoring the look from Elle as you begin filtering through the medicine cabinet for your first-aid kit. You wince as you twist your body to reach the clear zipper bag in the back. You hear her sigh from behind you, then feel her pat your waist. "Sit down, please."

Exhausted, and knowing better than to fight against her, you take a reluctant seat on the sink, jumping slightly to make the distance. You look down at your fingers, picking at the bloodied skin around your nails. "Look, I'm sorry, I-," you pull your lip through your teeth, biting down into the pillowy flesh. A sharp reminder that you're home, that you're safe. "I couldn't just stand there and do nothing, Elle, you have to understand that."

You look up at her with glossed over eyes, the adrenaline rush from the pain blowing out your pupils. Elle thinks that while she's never suffered a broken heart before, this may be the closest she's ever been to it. She can practically feel her chest constricting around the organ, forcing it to beat into overdrive. She swallows before speaking, "do you ever think... about what it would be like for everyone else if we had watched you die there... if you hadn't come home? You made me your emergency contact, y/n, but God, I pray I never have to know what it feels like to answer that call."

The truth is, you hadn't thought about it like that. The impending fate of your corpse, the aftermath of it all. The identification, the funeral, the eulogy... what would Elle say? Would she say you were brave? Stupid? Cocky? Misjudged? The thought now weighing on you, slightly too much to bear. Salty tears prick at your bloodshot eyes, stinging as they form a path down your skin.

"I'll be more careful, I-I'll-," she cuts you off with a soft kiss, taking the burden of your tears between her lips.

Soft arms take you into your embrace, curling around you as an angel would with their wings. You don't need a near death experience to know heaven is her. To know Elle is to know God, after all, they're one in the same in your mind. And, to be honest, if it had been her in there instead of you, you're sure you would've been inconsolable. Tearing at your skin like a caged dog. None of this makes sense without her, and you think, in this moment, that is exactly how she feels, too.

[sorcerous-caress]

Hello!! I love your writing 😍 Would it be okay if you wrote Karlach, Lae'zel and whomever you wish with a tiefling!Tav that loses both a horn and an eye during a battle and can't quite find balance in their fighting afterwards bc of it?

Reacting to Tav losing a horn/eye

[Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, nb!reader, Tiefling!reader]

[Karlach, Laezel, Wyll, Halsin]

Karlach

She swears she can still hear it, your agonised scream, the splatter of blood, the crunch of bone being torn apart.

As if the world slowed down for a moment, an eerie quietness surrounding the battlefield for the uncomfortable stretched out seconds. Your companions turning to look at you, clutching your eye with your back hunched.

Dread filled her stomach, one of your horns laid on the bloody floor next to your feet.

She doesn't remember the rest. Only when she stood atop the burnt rubble of what used to be the battlefield, did the all-consuming rage fade away from her mind.

Karlach is immediately at your side after, apologising for not being there sooner.

She's by your side as you heal, making sure to bring you anything you might need. As your struggles to adjust to combat again in the aftermath become more and more evadint, she is one of the first people to suggest fully leaving combat to her.

Yes, you are capable. Yes, she has seen how strong you are. But sometimes life just doesn't go the way we plan it. You can relay on her instead.

You don't have to go back to the cruel world. You can let her take care of it. Karlach really can't afford losing you. She'd claw her way up the heavens and steal you away if your fate took a turn to the worse.

Laezel

She completely disagrees with Karlach. This is nothing but a minor setback if anything. Laezel completely has faith in you to relearn how to find your balance, and she'll teach you if she has to.

As long as you can still stand on your feet and carry a sword, then you can fight in her eyes. She will give her sincere apologies for letting you down in battle and not doing something before enemeis got the chance to best you, but besides it, you'll get no pity from her.

Why is everyone acting as if you died? You're clearly still the same strong and capable person she knows. If anything, each scar is evidence of how your enemies' failure to put you down, you should show your broken horn with pride.

She has enough self awareness not to impose her views on you, no matter how much she thinks her companions are being dramatic and oversensitive, is she noticed you being fully uncomfortable with her approach she will take her leave from your bedside.

But you got fed up with people infantlising you, then she will be the first to 6pull you back into an intense daily training routine until you regain your footing.

Wyll

While Karlach and Laezel were too busy arguing about your own fate, Wyll was there for you throughout every stage of healing. He knows what it's it like losing an eye. He can relate to the horror and dissociation that happens whenever you look at the mirror to see a piece of yourself missing.

He still hasn't gotten used to his own horns himself, and losing one of yours must have been painful to bear. He will stay by your side until you feel better, no pressure to discuss the future or your fighting abilities or anything.

Wyll will make sure you don't feel alone, that the dark thoughts don't consume you too much. Share you worries with him, let him help carry your burdens, please. It kills him seeing someone so dear to him suffer when he can't do anything or help.

Halsin

His heart breaks, seeing you coming back to camp limbing and bloodied that day. He prays to Silvanus to ease your pain as he takes shift with Shadowheart to nurse you back to health with healing spells.

Nature can be so unforgiving sometimes, to some animals, losing an eye or horn can be a death sentence.

But he has seen even the most withered of plants suddenly flourish and regain their strength, he has personally stayed up countless nights to care for the weak kittens that their mother refused to even acknowledge.

He has seen them grow, nurtured them into a strong healthy state.

Don't surrendered to the darkness, when the abyss starts whispering about how this is your end and how your potential was wasted you yell at the abyss, bite, claw and fight your way out of this rut.

True strength lies in the heart, give yourself time to rest, and don't rush your healing. Eventually, you'll be back on your own two feet with a new view on the world before you can realise it.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [2/…]

- OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"Do-mi-ti, why not me? Why not me?"

— Mitski, "Washing Machine Heart"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstance.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Slight Canon Divergence, Buggy is an asshole, The reader used to go by "Cross-Hairs" in the past, hot tension, resentment and love, flashbacks, Reader is strong AF

A/N: Buggy's behavior in this chapter kinda gives off Yandere-vibes, but he's not. He's just really desperate, and a general asshole, (and lonely).

He's dead.

Gol D. Roger, captain of the Roger pirates, your captain, is dead. Pierced through the back by the Marines like a pig for slaughter, a death unworthy for someone of his rank. He deserved to live a long life, drunk on rum, surrounded by his friends and crewmates, before being finally laid to rest in a casket and shipped off with the waves as per tradition.

As chaos ensues and all hell breaks loose, his corpse remains on the same stand where he met his end, left to roast in the warm sun. At the very least, he did not leave this world without flipping one last bird at the Marines.

His final words leave such a domino effect upon the witnesses, one that will last for years to come. Sailors, pirates, men, women, and children all head toward the vast oceans in a hurry, ships pushing off the docks at record speed as they prepare to hunt for his legacy. To claim his title for their own. A title he earned and subsequently put up for auction.

The Marines were hoping that his death would mean the end of Piracy, but as though fate itself had something else to say about it, it had the exact opposite effect.

You're not moving with the swarm of people. The race goes on, but you do not. 

You're still standing in the same spot as you were when you watched the officers drive their spears through your captain's back, having ceased to function as you saw the man who practically raised you, succumb to the same fate that claims all in the end.

Even as people are pushing their way past you, shoving you in God-knows how many directions on their way to the oceans, you can't find it in you to move on your own accord. 

The world has gone deafly quiet now, everyone else is gone, and you're its sole occupant now. Despite the unrest going around, and the wind that brushes against your neck, Roger's last words echo in your ears like the whispers of a ghost.

"Wealth. Fame. Power. I found everything this world has to offer. Free yourselves! Take to the seas! My treasure is yours to find!"

Someone - whether accidentally or not - thrusts against your stomach, and you take a tumble to the ground. The world finally perforates your consciousness, yet it leaves you exposed to its chaos. You attempt to stand up, but the ongoing movements from all around halt your efforts. 

You raise your arms to shield your face from further damage, suffering several pairs of feet and a handful of scratches from the crowd. Nothing too bad, but you don't dare to try and get up just yet. Your initial plan is to just stay put until the storm is over.

That is, until you hear a voice calling your name from somewhere in the crowd, muffled by the ruckus, but still audible for you to make out among the many others.

"COME ON! HURRY!"

You're hastily pulled up to your feet and collide face-first into a chest. Looking up, you only manage to register Buggy's hand tightly clenched around yours in a near-painful hold as he pushes you both through the ongoing crowd. 

While trying to navigate through the masses, you raise your head to gaze at his face.

Not unlike your own, his eyes are stained with tears.

------

Nothing is in its correct shape when you blink your eyes open. For starters, the room is spinning at an incredible speed, and for seconds, there is twice of everything. Two coats are hanging on the rack just on the edge of your vision, the same color and length and everything. You discover you have two pairs of hands and feet as you sit up, and at least over a dozen iron bars are separating you from the rest of the room.

In a minute or two, your sight establishes yourself. The world has become one again, but to your chagrin, you discover that the number of bars caging you remains the same. 

Shaking off the dizziness and nausea that accompanies your waking, you get up to your knees and discover that, once again, you're fucking trapped. This time, it's in a metal cage hanging off the floor by a hook and chain, swinging you lightly back and forth with each fraction of movement you commit yourself to. 

Exhausted from simply waking up, you clash your forehead against the bars. "Shit."

"Well, good to know that your colorful vocabulary remains the same."

You snap your eyes up to see Buggy striding into the room, and your gaze immediately narrows.

"And your eyes." His right hand dislodges itself from his wrist and hovers over to you with an outstretched finger, where it lands right in the space between your eyes. "Sharp as ever, if not even sharper. Careful, you could kill someone with those."

"Wishful thinking," you murmur indignantly and raise your hand to wave off the offending appendage. Like a fly will with sugar, it merely withdraws for a few inches before returning to the same spot. 

You elect to ignore it as best as you can.

He feigns a horrified gasp at your words and clutches his chest with his remaining hand. "Such harsh words! I thought we were friends, you and I. I mean, what kind of friend would threaten the other with their life so cruelly?"

Friends? That's rich coming from him. You haven't considered him as such since the day he left. You won't even dignify that with a response, and so you merely turn your head to the side and rest your cheek against the bars.

His voice lowers a few octaves, enough for you to differentiate between the real him and the act he puts on for a performance. "Then again, what kind of 'friend' leaves the other behind?" His footsteps come closer, each one weighing heavier than the last. "What kind of 'friend' abandons the other?" 

Your eye twitches, but you still refuse to look at him, much less speak to him.

"What?" the Showman farce has by now ended and been buried as he takes one last step forward. "Nothing to say? I'd thought that after twenty years, you'd be happy to see this handsome face."

As much as you want to admit that, yes, the years have done wonders on his face and he most definitely would've been categorized as 'handsome' in your dictionary, you don't. 

"What do you want me to say?" You tilt your head marginally to the side so that merely one eye is aimed at him. "That it's good to see you? That I've missed you?" Even though both of those statements are true to some extent, he doesn’t need to know that.

"Well, I could go for all of the above if you insist on being cordial, but for starters, an apology might suffice enough on its own." If you weren't already looking at him, you'd think that he’s joking. He isn't. He’s as serious as a heart attack, and he’s not smiling this time. All you can think at the moment is that it's strange not to see a clown smile.

"An apology?" You withdraw the impulse to scoff. "What, exactly, do I have to apologize for?"

He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, he doesn’t do or say anything at all. You can't even hear him breathing, and it’s twice as eerie as his general demeanor. It's a foreboding omen that signifies he's on the edge of his temper like a bomb sizzling just before it goes off. 

"What do you have to apologize for?" he echoes.

That's all the warnings you get before the cage rattles with enough force to knock you back against the other side of the cage. Buggy's hand curls around the iron bars with such vehemence that it almost looks like he's about to break them right off the hinges.

He leans forward until his nose barely brushes against the cold steel placed between you, his bright-blue eyes near-bloodshot with the way they glower. Even now, with the few feet between you, you find yourself almost drowning in those blue irises of his. 

"You left me. You betrayed me!" he shouts loud enough for his voice to reverberate throughout the room, all thoughts of maintaining his composure thrown out the window the moment you inadvertently admitted your own cluelessness. "Just like all the others! Shanks, now I could've predicted that, but you?"

His hand dislodges yet again to point an accusatory finger at you, but it maintains a safe distance this time. Probably afraid of what you'll try to do with it if you get your hands on it. 

You have to give yourself some credit. You've not lost your temper once since you ended up here. In your adolescence, you would've torn him a new one fo the trouble, but you can't be bothered this time around. You’d have thought two decades of separation would’ve led to some pent-up fury like it has done to him, but all you feel is … well, nothing.

Nothing yet, anyhow.

"What you did to me, now that was cruel. That was something I did not expect, but you did it, and for what?" The cage continues to shake as his fingers dig into the rods. This time, you observe, he’s keeping his head slightly tilted downwards, rendering you unable to detect his eyes. "For Red-Haired fucking SHANKS!"

With all the movement going on in your limited space, you’re jolted forth again like a ball and cling to the front bars with your hand positioned right above his. Even with the gloves and the short distance keeping you separated, you can feel the scorching heat emitting from him.

How long has it been since you were last this close to him? It was underneath the stars, you unexpectedly recall. You were clinging to him, crying your heart out as the death of your captain had finally been processed. He was holding you close, whispering something you could not make out at the time.

It was during a time when it was just you, him, and Shanks. The three of you, against the rest of the world, ready to live up to Gol's legacy and become the Pirates of the New Age. With  Shanks’ leadership, your strength, and Buggy’s general unpredictability, nothing could stop you.

But now you're here, a captive. No longer a friend, no longer a... 

It never went that far, anyhow. No use bringing it up now when it’s hardly relevant. 

When Buggy’s raspy breaths slow down and his hold on the iron rods lessens, you decide to finally speak. 

"You're the one who left, Buggy," you say, your words laced with such apparent apathy that no one would’ve guessed what you’re feeling. In reality, you want to scream until his ears literally pop. 

Your chest constricts just to say it out loud, but you won't even stop and address the tremble that threatens to claim your voice the more you go into it. "I went with Shanks, because who else was I supposed to go with? The Roger Pirates were spread to the fucking corners of the earth, Gol D. Roger was dead, and you left. I had no one except for him. You closed that door, not me." 

Silence reigns loudly upon you as you're left there, nearly breathless after your little rant despite having kept your voice even throughout it. You feel pathetic, childlike, small. People say that admitting something is the first step towards overcoming it, but you feel neither achieved or relieved of any burdens.

You just feel ... small. As small as you were the day he disappeared from your life.

Buggy doesn't say anything, his countenance empty of any tell-tale signs regarding what he might be feeling. It's almost ironic. The man who used to wear his emotions on his sleeves, the same expressive man who used to spend hours bragging about his capacities and capabilities on the Oro Jackson, has now been rendered mute like a mime instead of a jester.

His eyes find yours again after an unknown amount of time, only now, it's not just bitterness and resentment you have to salvage from them. For a second, just a brief flash of the moment, there's something else. Something vulnerable. 

It goes as quickly as it came. 

He shoves himself from the cage, his indecipherable gaze – now laced with both anger and regret – lingering on you before he starts pacing around the room, having calmed down from his outburst but being no less agitated by the turn of events. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands, sounding a tad more curious now than accusatory. "You were already going to leave with Shanks before I booked it, I just beat you to it."

This time, it's your turn to point an accusatory finger toward him, lowering your voice just enough for him to hear you recount the most painful memory you have, save for Gol D.'s death. The memory you had spent almost two decades trying to bury deep down inside you. 

"The last thing you told me was that you wished that you'd never even met me, and then you fucking left me behind to go do who the fuck knows what. Which, apparently,— " You gesture to your surroundings with a dismissive wave of your hand. "— Includes enslaving people and keeping them in cages."

"Hey, people are allowed to have side-gigs!" he retorts, almost boyishly as if you didn't just have a serious argument moments ago. "Don't judge me! You used to steal shit when we were kids, but you didn't hear me bitching about it!"

You roll your eyes. Some things don't change, that being the childish bickering, not the enslaving and caging bit. Your lip inclines upwards for just a second, and it declines just as quickly. You lean back against the other wall of your cage and heave a breath, tired of it all

"Speaking of kids," he rests his arms atop a crate to his left. "What's up with you and Rubber-Boy over there? Luffy, was it?"

Your lip drops to a scowl. Looks like the kid's Devil Fruit powers have come to light, one fruit eater to another. "What about him?"

Buggy smirks and pulls out a knife from inside his coat. He turns it playfully in his hand, balancing the sharp edge at the tip of his finger as though in deep thought. "He yours or something? 'Cause, I gotta admit, I never took you as the white-picket-fence type."

He’s joking, right? 

Right?

"He's not mine.”

The look that befalls his face almost seems like … relief? He’s quick to mask it though with a half-assed smirk.

"No?" He tips his head to each side and lets the knife lie on the crate. "You sure as hell seem protective over him, and I know for a fact that not just anyone earns the favor of the legendary Cross-Hairs.” He puts a hand under his chin, feigning a motion of deep thinking. “What'd he do? Save your life? You found him in the trash? Or did you shag up with his daddy or something?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I made a promise."

At the mention of this, he promptly ceases with his ridiculous guesses and his words turn sharp. "To whom?"

"None of your fucking business." You're pretty sure that if he learns that you made that promise to none other than Shanks, he'd unleash a different kind of hell not even the death of Roger could hope to spark. 

Rather than pushing the matter, he shrugs with an air of indifference. "I just find it funny, that's all." He chuckles, but his tone lacks any visible sense of comicalness. "You, one of the most notorious pirates to ever cross the East-Blue, disappeared for a decade to do what, exactly? Look after a simple-minded brat who talks shit about becoming King of the Pirates." 

He snaps his attention back to you and moves closer to the cage again, crouching on his knees to gaze up at you instead. "Sorry not sorry to burst that little bubble, but that title will belong to me. Once I get the map your stretchy little runt has hidden, I will find the One Piece. I will become King. I will be known, and I will be loved."

("You were loved,") a part of you wants to tell him. The part that still lingers in your shared past. ("You were always loved.")

But you keep your mouth shut.

He perceives your silence as a sign to continue. "You know, despite everything that happened, I'm opening my heart to forgiveness, for old times’ sake."

"Forgiveness?"

He smiles, but this one, you discover, is genuine. At least, in comparison to all the other ones he's flashed you beforehand. It's a lukewarm feeling, but familiar. You're almost tempted to reach through the bars and feel his cheeks, trace the edges of his lips, and smudge away the red make-up just to know if it is real or just a figment of your imagination. 

"If you convince Rubber-Boy to hand over that map of the Grand Line, I might consider opening a special spot in my crew, just for you. I know better than anyone what you're capable of. Hell, it'll be just like old times, like nothing ever changed. You and me, against the rest of the world."

Slowly, he reaches his hand up and towards you through the bars, palm open for you to take.

"Don't you miss it?" he whispers, wistfully. "I do. Save for the One Piece, it's been the one thing I've wanted more than anything else."

You blink, and a feeling settles over your chest. Not uncomfortable per se, but not kind either. Like being enveloped by a warm yet tight blanket, staving you off the cold but suffocating you all the same. 

Your dream. You remember your dream. The one you thought gone forever, now seemingly resurfacing from the depths in your heart where it initially drowned. To travel and explore the seas, the three of you by each other’s sides until the very end. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Now, Buggy is opening up the possibility of that dream coming back to life again. 

You're tempted to take his hand, feel the warmth that once held you so openly when you were younger.

You raise your hand to him ever so slightly.

"Fuck, Rubber Boy can come too for all I care.” He proceeds to add. “He's a special case, and there's nothing I appreciate more than special ones." 

Your hand stops and promptly withdraws.

Buggy raises his eyebrows in shock, his fingers curling as they were about to grasp at yours only to find empty air. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" 

Luffy.

You shake your head. "He won't give up. He won't give up on his dream." 

"What, Rubber-Boy?" he scowls like the name itself tastes like bitter venom on his tongue. "He's just a stupid kid, he'll grow out of it. Once he sees that there's no way he would last in the Grand Line on his own, he'll get in line."

You take a deep breath, preparing for the confrontation that's about to come with your next words. "He won't, and no power or authority on this earth is ever going to be able to change that."

A flash of hurt crosses his facial features, only for a second, yet it feels like longer. Then, it stops, and all that's left is the same bitterness he showed that very day.

Snarling, Buggy pulls his hand back and gets back up on his feet. “I should’ve expected this. You never choose me!" he flares and pulls both his hands to his chest, gesturing to himself. "It's always someone els- Always someone fucking else. First Shanks, then this damn brat! Why?" He briefly pauses, as if weighing his next words. "What did they ever do that was so special that you decided to stick around for them that I didn't do?"

You’ve just about had enough of his self-pitying attitude. 

"I never 'chose' Shanks!" you hiss back at him. "It was never a choice. Why was I supposed to 'choose' anyone for that matter? What made you reach the conclusion that there had to be a choice at all?!"

He parts his jaws to answer with what you can only expect to be yet another sneer when the curtains behind him parts, and a member of the troupe enters. A dark-skinned man with a Mohawk of sorts, with filed teeth resembling a shark more than a man.

"Boss, the kid ain't saying nothin' about the map." The man ("Sharptooth", you decide to call him for now) says with a deep twinge of aggravation. "We're already at nearly thirty-damn-feet, and all the little shit does is fuckin' laugh at us."

Buggy does not even turn to address the man, his attention solely at you, but you can tell he's irritated by this interruption.

"Sharptooth" turns to you, having just realized you’re here. A sinister grin spreads along his cheeks, and he licks his upper teeth lecherously. "What do we do 'bout her? Is she up on the menu yet? I'm starvin'."

You crouch down, one hand positioned between your knees like a predator ready to lunge at the slightest movement. Truth be told, despite your reputation, killing someone has never been one of life's greatest joys for you, and it's been a while since you last committed a murder. However, the years have done little to weaken you, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty if the situation demands it.

You'll be sure to let him know first-hand that if he dares to try anything.

"No," Buggy replies, voice void of any tangible emotions. "She'll snap your neck like a twig before you can get within a foot of her." He turns to face the disappointed performer, and before the latter knows it, a severed hand clamps around his throat and dangles him above the ground with what you can only expect to be a bruising grip. "I am, on the other hand, not limited by such proximity."

The man's face begins to pale as the blood flow to his brain is cut short, but the grip does not lessen at all.

Buggy speaks like he’s having a normal conversation. "She stays here, and no one, and I mean no one, is going to touch her. Understood?" His soft say leaves no room for opposition.

You watch as "Sharptooth" struggles to form a coherent sentence as he desperately clings to the hand keeping him afloat. "Y-Yes si— Yes, Captain. W-We won't!"

With a bored swish, the hand shoves the performer back a good two feet, where he crashes to the ground and clutches his neck in search of air.

"Splendid!" Buggy attaches his wrist back and claps his hands together, his Show Man act replenished. "Now, be sure to tell the others of that little fact, and while you're at it,—" he draws his palms away from one another in a straight motion. "Add another five feet."

The crew member wastes no time shuffling from the ground and all but books it out of there.

Buggy heaves a deep and dramatic sigh, exaggeratedly slumping his shoulders, and swings back to you again.

"Supporting casts, am I right?"

You don't bother with a reply.

He takes this with a lackadaisical shrug. "Now, as much as I'd like to continue this intriguing, little tête-à-tête, I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. The show must go on, but I’ll come back before you know it."

It doesn't matter when he'll be back. You don't plan on waiting for him. You've already waited twenty long years, and as your temper simmers evenly under your skin, you intend to get one thing across.

"Just remember this, Buggy," 

You lean against the bars, pressed so tightly that it feels like your body is about to push through the narrow gaps. "If you do anything to the kid, anything at all, and you can consider our past six feet under. I'll come after you, and when I'm finished,—"

Fist clenched; you deliver a solid strike to the bar that rattles throughout the room to the point where it feels like even the ground is quacking from the force. Buggy jumps a few steps back in retreat, and when he looks up again, his breath halts. 

Where there was once a straight bar keeping you contained, there's now a prominent curve pointing out towards him. Not nearly large enough for you to squeeze through, but it's there, nonetheless.

When you lower your fist, knuckles red but intact, you finish your warning. "— Not even your Devil-Fruit powers will manage to keep you intact."

His eyes flicker between you and the now-deformed iron bar. Unexpectedly, he only stares, neither returning a threat nor even a joke to ease the tension. He doesn’t say anything at all, and the absence of words leaves nothing up to interpretation.

Buggy knows better than anyone that you don't make half-assed threats. Never you. Once you’ve set your eyes on a target, you don’t rest. He recalls the look of pure bloodlust in your eyes from back when you were young. It was neither cruel nor sadistic, but it felt cold to witness. Ice incarnate. 

A predator just following its prime instincts.

Whenever someone posed a problem to either you or your crew mates, you would counter it with a threat. It didn't matter how bold-faced it sounded, you always made sure to see it through. 

As a teenager, he begrudgingly thought that it was hot as hell. You were. Watching the way your eyes would almost glower as you made good on your promises, it did things to him.

Now, even when he's on the receiving end of it, it still does.

He can't deny that the feeling hasn't diminished. For what it’s worth, it means that you’ll keep your focus on him. He’ll have your eyes, all for his own now. Those very eyes, always so sleek and ready to cut and by God, he realizes at that moment just how fucking much he’s missed them.

How much he’s missed you.

“Well,” he says as he makes his way to the exit. “I guess I’ll see you in the front row.”

[spiritseeeker]

This singular frame was all it took to undo my very extreme hatred of Adam, Vivienne Medrano how dare you make me feel sympathy for this man-

Like, Adam before this scene? A blatant misogynist and a hypocrite who unabashedly revels in sinners' suffering. A guy who has no regard for anyone else, and who pisses pretty much every viewer off with patronizing jabs like "sorry sweetie" and "try to chillax, babe." Ugh, disgusting.

As the first man, it seems like he got an easy pass into Heaven. Maybe the angels were just saving face, given that their core pair of humans both took the fruit of knowledge of good and evil willingly, ordaining Adam on the technicality that "Eve did it first." But I think we can all agree that it was not on the merit of Adam's virtue.

And then Charlie draws blood during their fight in Episode 8, and, for the first time, Adam genuinely realizes he can be hurt. Like, for the first time in the duration of the show, in his entire fucking existence, someone shows him that he is not, in fact, an all-powerful symbol of power and superiority. He's just a guy with privilege who is just as vulnerable, just as flawed, just as human as the rest of them.

But once the mask is shattered, revealing the rather unexceptional man underneath, does Adam back down? Of course not—he doubles down. There's nothing worse than a narcissist who is virtually incapable of seeing the error of their ways, even when they're clearly backed into a corner. Bruised and bloody, he bellows that he's THE man; everybody should worship him.

For me, that pretty much hit the nail in the coffin. There was no redeeming a character like Adam (ironic, since he's one of the few characters in the show not in need of redemption).

So isn't it fitting, then, that his death didn't happen in some grand display requiring all of Lucifer or Charlie's might? Isn't it fitting that Adam falls to Niffty—not Lucifer, not an overlord, but a common sinner, who sees him as nothing more than a foot soldier that needs to be eliminated, a pest as easily squashed as a roach? For someone as self-aggrandizing as Adam, this has to be one of the most humiliating ways to die. The perfect end for an insufferable antagonist.

But nooo, Vivziepop didn't end it there.

Because INSTEAD, we hear Lute's heart-wrenching screams as she realizes that Adam has just been defeated; we see the look on her tear-streaked face when it registers just how badly he's been injured. The fear in her eyes at the prospect of living in a world without the angel she idolizes, the man she serves.

She's not concerned that she's just lost her arm, or that Vaggie is standing right there. In that moment, the only person in Hell is Adam, and all she wants is for him to stay with her.

Adam could have easily dismissed her feelings entirely. He could have spent his last breath hurling one last insult at Lucifer, getting the satisfaction of having the last word before his death. He could have thrown himself a pity party and cursed his fate.

Instead, this greedy, selfish, murderous fiend has the audacity to see Lute in his field of vision and flash her one last, tender smile.

We don't know for sure what Adam was thinking in this shot, but personally, I think it was something along the lines of I lost. Proud of you, Lute. I'll miss you. Goodbye.

Whatever his final thoughts are, we can surmise from his expression alone that he's accepted his fate, and that he's grateful his last seconds alive are locking eyes with someone who's important to him. Someone he cares about.

And THAT—that was enough to crack through that thick shell of hatred I'd developed for Adam and shatter it like the mask he wore for seven and a half episodes of the show. THAT 8-second moment was enough to make me reconsider my stance on Adam as an irredeemable villain.

(CURSE YOU, VIVIENNE!!!)

Does this scene cancel out all the heinous things Adam does throughout Season 1? All the lives he destroys, all the pain he causes to thousands upon thousands of souls? Absolutely not. But it does change my perception of Adam from "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness" to "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness that is a product of the flawed system he perpetuates."

And, I gotta wonder, what would Adam have been like if Heaven had been different?

[aetherghouls]

I personally believe that Simon's gods awful father would use religious guilt and religion in general against young Simon.

The same man that doesn't care for any god, that breaks all the commandments and laughs at Simon for even believing; he'd absolutely weaponize the very religion Simon's mother, Tommy and himself use as an escape.

It's not like Simon has ever been very religious in the first place, but their local church was a respite from his father and it was something. His mother had been taking him and Tommy there every week, sometimes more often, because it was the only real place where they could be a family without him.

Don't get me wrong though, Simon as a child? He absolutely did believe, he prayed every damn day, begging God to save them, so they wouldn't have to suffer by his father's hand any longer, because they all did. Their life was a living hell and gods, did they suffer.

The older Simon gets, though? The longer his father uses his own religion against him and his family? The longer he says things along the lines of "what would your god say, kid? Disobeying your father? You listen to me and do as I say, isn't that what your God would want from you? Isn't that what they preach in this church of yours?"

It's either threatening the rest of the family because Simon is the oldest child and he feels protective over the rest of them or using the church against him. Two ways to get him to obey and don't say a fucking word, because Simon wants to be a good son for his mother, he doesn't want to be like his father and he needs to protect them.

Because other than fear, this man had nothing to hold Simon by. He is Simon's father by blood, but nothing else and Simon Riley had known that since he was old enough to comprehend what was going on around him.

So the older Simon gets, the more he just cannot stand anything about the religion because why is it constructed in a way that allows abusers to use it against their victims? And why doesn't God hear them out? He has been praying every single day, begging for it to get better, for a life that isn't just a constant suffering, yet it never comes.

Why does a god who's supposed to love His creations just leaves them to suffer this fate?

By the time he joins the army, he is not a believer anymore.

He prays one more time in his life though, the day when he tries to get back to his home before them, to make sure his family is safe. He hadn't prayed even once when he was in Mexico, when Roba had him, never did pray for his own salvation after he stopped praying for his father to be gone. But them? His brother, sister in law, nephew and mother? He prays for them to be fine, because that's the only and last thing he cares about in this world, even his own life doesn't hold any meaning anymore. He's here to make sure they are safe.

And God fails him one last time that day, for Simon Riley never has a real reason to turn to Him ever again.

Because he doesn't trust that God could keep Johnny safe, because all God did so far was disappoint him, fail him and those he loved.

And to be fair, he's afraid. That if he even thinks about praying ever again, he will lose Johnny too, the same way he lost his family; because the catholic God is cruel.

Also catholic guilt this catholic guilt that, Simon never feels guilty for killing, not in the way catholic guilt eats away at someone; God doesn't care about any suffering, so He cannot care if people kill one another, that's not where the catholic guilt comes in

It's Johnny. It's always Johnny.

Because for the first days, weeks, months, it feels wrong.

It had with any other man ever before that, but it's always passed with them. A temptation that didn't last for too long, the priest's and his father's words ringing in his ears whenever he even considered anything like that. But John MacTavish? It doesn't pass. It's always present, God, it gets stronger every fucking day he has to work with Johnny, so when they are in Las Almas and Graves betrays them, while he doesn't know where and how Johnny is? Before they meet up again? Simon has enough time waiting to realise that it's not just an infatuation that can pass as soon as it comes, because he's in love and he doesn't know what to do, because the wave of guilt that overcomes him, guilt caused by the very God who took away everything from him, it's nauseating, makes him feel small in a way nothing has since he got out from his father's claws. He has to take a moment to just breathe and pull himself back together, otherwise he would fail; fail the mission, himself, Price, Los Vaqueros, but most importantly, he'd fail Johnny.

And that, he cannot allow himself to do.

hello hello I am heavily projecting my own religious trauma onto Simon Riley in this one 🫶

as if bro didn't have enough trauma of his own lmao. Please don't eat me it came to me in a dream last night (not really in a dream) and after I made my friends suffer I came to a conclusion that I need to make more people suffer 🫡 bye

also I may or may not be cooking the other side of this for Soap haha (aka how I personally think Johnny sees religion)

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

the reason i cannot excuse the darkling’s crimes is because he has no loyalty to his people. sure, everything he did was to create a better, safer world for grisha, and he did a lot of good things for them, but how many grisha did he kill because they didn’t agree with his methods? how many innocent children did he sacrifice because they were pawns in his plan? how many otkazat’sya that also wanted a better world for grisha did he kill or try to kill because, at the end of the day, his goals were not to make the world safer for grisha, it was to make a world where grisha were the rulers of society and everyone else was left to suffer

I see I cannot be granted rest even on Easter.

The Darkling had no loyalty to his people? The Darkling who fought Ravka's wars for 400+ years, never gave up on the wretched country that called him a soulless demon and ran around all year to protect its borders? The Darkling who saved Grisha children and built them a school, integrated otkazatsya into Grishas' lives, made otkazatsya his personal guard and slept in the room next to them?

Nowhere does it say that Darkling wanted Grisha to become rulers and oppress otkazatsya. He just wanted his kind to have basic human rights after centuries of segregation, genocide and injustice. Grisha served otkazatsya for centuries, centuries of diplomacy and for what? They were still not accepted in Ravka and everywhere else they were sold as slaves, experimented on or killed. They were serfs, they were considered King's property and had basically no rights. The Darkling was only a general, he wasn't allowed to handle Ravka's economy and whatnot, or else Ravka wouldn't be bankrupt. When Shadow and Bone book is set, revolution was needed to overthrow serfdom and the corrupt absolute monarchy. That's what happened in the real world btw, and it was far more bloody than what Darkling had planned. He actually planned revolution with minimal bloodshed, poisoning the King instead of declaring war on him and only destroying the area near the docks in Novokribirsk to scare off other countries from attacking Ravka.

Also, not only he wanted to make a safer world for Grisha, he wanted to save Ravka from collapsing. Hence the nuclear threat in the form of Fold (which was also effective in the real world), because Ravka didn't have anything else to fight with and both Fjerda and Shu Han would attack.

Majority of the second army was on his side. He killed like ten Grisha that were on Alina's side. And what otkazat’sya did he kill? Do you mean the soldiers Nikolai used to fight the darkling because for some reason he decided he was the best fit for the throne even though legally he had no right to it? Well neither did the darkling, why couldn't he be the King? Y'know, someone who actually had done things to make Ravka better? Or do you mean the brainwashed actual twelve year olds in Alina's cult she decided to use to fight the darkling? They declared war on him and he still told her to stop and avoid bloodshed.

Others and I have already discussed this and further claims against Darkling in more detail in various posts, please see bellow:

[4e7her]

october writing prompt #26 - "choose me.”

-

character: leona kingscholar, twst

contains: yandere themes, gn reader, reader is yuu

It wasn't uncommon for Leona to be someone's second choice.

He was used to it, really. He didn't mind it.

How could he, after so long of the same thing? He could only feel so much disappointment before it became the natural state of things, not being good enough. If this was his life, the fate that he was meant to suffer, he would get used to it. It was clear that none of his efforts would pull him out of second place by now.

But something about you had reignited the fire and the shame of losing.

All he wanted, all he needed, was to be your first choice. No one else's opinion mattered, if it was you. If he just heard it from you, if he could just see you choose him above all others - he would be able to live happily. Nothing would ever bring him down from that, he knew. He could feel it within the very fiber of his being.

You were the only one he needed approval from.

"...Why do you still hang around them?" Leona scoffed, the thrashing of his tail behind him betraying his upset. What need did you have for anyone else besides him? "Just find me if you need something. Don't bother with all those herbivores."

"I didn't want to bother you."

Sure, it was a reasonable response. One that might be expected, given who you were talking to - the second prince of the Afterglow Savannah, known for his distaste of extra work. Especially coming from someone in a position such as yourself, magicless and with no connections in this world.

"Tch, as if you could."

The lion roughly rested his hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, practically into his side. His tail wrapped around your waist on instinct alone as he examined you, like those that you had been around would've harmed you in some way.

"Stop messing with me. You need something, tell me. I'm all you need, so ignore those idiots and choose me."

[horse-girl-anthy]

the recurring scenes which depict young Shoma and Kanba in boxes are perhaps the most abstract in Penguindrum. since my first watch, I thought that they were difficult to place in the timeline, somehow occuring both within the story and outside it. after my latest rewatch, I think I can finally articulate what's going on with them.

the first time we see one of the boxes is in episode 22. it's introduced via the flashback indicator, informing the audience that this scene takes place 10 years in the past. Shoma is first depicted alone, wondering how he ended up in a box. it's not too hard to connect this to Sanetoshi's speeches about the box of the self. human beings are born into alienation, fundamentally separated from one another. then on top of that, we placed in boxes by society, alienated from ourselves and others. these two forms of alienation are represented by the way the boxes appear in the show: first blank, then with the Pingroup logo on them. young Shoma is coming into awareness of his family curse, the way that he will be defined by the world around him, which makes the bars of his cage all the stronger.

the next box scene is found at the end of episode 23. while these scenes are surely metaphorical, I think it's safe to say that this one depicts his first meeting with Kanba. Shoma becomes aware that there's another box across from him, someone else in the same situation that he is. this is an encounter with the Other, but not a total one, as they are still kept from one another by their boxes.

the rest of the box scenes are interspersed throughout episode 24. this implies to me a passing of time--Kanba and Shoma remain stuck in boxes throughout their childhoods--and that these scenes are in some way taking place concurrently with the events of the episode. notably, only the first scene has on-screen text establishing that the flashback is taking place 10 years ago. the others only have the short flashback indicator that usually plays before the text describing the scene to come.

from this point on, the timeline is fuzzy. rather than representing discrete moments, I believe these flashbacks are pointing to something larger about the relationship between the two boys, as well as Penguindrum's existential themes.

Shoma and Kanba aren't just cut off from the world--they're starving. certainly this can be taken as a metaphor for spiritual emptiness, but their suffering is, in the context of the narrative, very real. they are convinced that if they don't find a way out soon, they are going to die. they make a promise to one another: whoever gets out alive will send a message to the other's precious person.

right after they make this agreement, Kanba finds an apple in his box. this could mean that his connection to Himari is what saved him (after all, he did speak of Himari "giving" him something at their first meeting), or it could be totally random. whatever the case, Shoma is immediately ready to resign himself.

when I first watched the show, I thought that Kanba was chosen because he was picked to be the next cult leader. but if the apple is a form of spiritual fulfillment, this doesn't make much sense. now it seems to me that Kanba's almost frightened reaction to being told he's "chosen" is caused by a brush with cosmic unfairness. he's been chosen, but Shoma hasn't. what force decides such outcomes? random or planned, it's bewildering, arbitrary, and cruel.

but the story goes on, layering event on top of event, weaving the timelines together. Shoma realizes why he and Kanba met, that their beginning was their fate all along, and with Himari's help, he saves Kanba. only then do we see the conclusion to the flashback, where Kanba saved Shoma. next, we cut to Ringo, who echoes the words, "let's share the fruit of fate!"

the emphasis placed on the Kanba/Shoma relationship in these final epsidoes is crucial. at the end of episode 23, it looks like they're going to fight again, with Himari as the prize for the winner. but conflict was not what Penguindrum was really about. the box scenes reveal that the bond between the brothers was just as important as their bond with their sister. Kanba was willing to share his apple with Shoma, even if it made him half as likely to survive. and Shoma, so ready to give up and accept his fate, allowed himself to take Kanba's hand. all along, the siblings were giving to one another, and that is what allowed the spell to transfer fate to be cast.

if Penguindrum is about fate, then it posits that, no matter how cruel the world is, we do have free will. we can get out of our boxes. what was introduced via flashback is concluded in the new timeline; Shoma and Kanba deliver their message to Himari, having embraced death in favor of spiritual freedom.

[asklilmissrarity]

The Future of Lil Miss Rarity

Hello everyone, this is Jay Tonique (formerly known as Lil Miss Jay), the writer, artist, everything other than the music in the Lil Miss Rarity animation for the blog "Lil Miss Rarity."

As some of you know, Lil Miss Rarity was an ongoing outlet for my physical, verbal and emotional abuse I was suffering prior to and leading up to Lil Miss Rarity's release, October 11th 2011.

The blog took off so heavily that my entire artistic career became a viable future for me, allowing me to profit from my art, build a huge loving fanbase, and even allowing me to become something of a celebrity in the Brony community (even very much hated by a large portion of the community).

It's needless for me to say that Lil Miss Rarity not only changed but saved my life. I was on the verge of taking my own life around the time the blog was started, due to the abuse I was going through, and if it weren't for the success of the blog that fateful October week, I would certainly not be here, typing this right now. I owe my life to you all, and the support you've given me for this blog.

However, it's time for the news I know very few people want to hear. In fact, I'm sure just reading this line right here has people's hearts sinking, but please, don't be anxious, please read the full post.

I would like to say: Please read the full post, I am going to be very clear about the future.

Moving forward, Lil Miss Rarity will no longer be updated, and the blog is officially entirely over, as of this post.

I am still looking for a musician to commission a new song for the remake of the Lil Miss Rarity animation on YouTube, which will be my final major update involving the blog, and then I will be putting the blog entirely to rest. The animation will serve as a fond emotional farewell to Lil Miss Rarity.

However, that's not the end of the twisted grimdark storytelling. I have decided to make a spiritual successor, a new IP, entirely my own and not using My Little Pony as a crutch.

I won't get too into it, but I left the Brony fandom long ago. It was both the greatest thing to ever happen in my life, and the absolute worst thing to ever happen in my life. I met great friends, but also met unbelievably horrible sick people, many of which I literally got FBI involvement to deal with and many of which are literally in prison now.

Due to this, and many many more reasons I'm leaving out, I cannot and will not continue to be a part of the fandom. This is just a few reasons, as well, that continuing to have Lil Miss Rarity exist as a My Little Pony blog just doesn't make any sense to me.

So what am I doing moving forward?

A brand new IP called "Melodi." It's about a magic school student who is part of a wealthy family who goes on a magical twisted adventure in a horrifying grimdark world.

It will have characters either very slightly or very heavily inspired by the characters of Lil Miss Rarity, with Melodi of course being inspired by Rarity.

It will also be an ongoing web comic, similar to LMR, and will encourage fan feedback just as much as LMR did, but will not be an Ask Blog like LMR.

I plan to release character concepts for the cast of Melodi soon.

Now, there's probably a lot of questions moving forward, so I'll try to answer them now, as well as in asks on this blog, though I'd prefer you send the asks about Melodi to my main blog at http://www.jayisbutts.com/ask

Here's some questions I think will be asked, and I'll answer them here:

"Will this blog be on Tumblr?" - Yes, and on Patreon. Each update will be on Patreon first. When an update comes out on Patreon, the previous update will go public at the same time on Tumblr.

"Don't you think the LMR fanbase you've garnered for 12 years are gonna be upset about this?" - I'm 100% certain they will be, yes. However, I hope that most people who hear this news are excited to see Melodi in the future. I'm very proud of what I've created with LMR, and happy about how many lives I've changed and how many people have told me how much they love LMR. People with the heart-brand tattoo, people with LMR tattoos, people who cosplay as LMR, LMR fanart still being made regularly to this date, real-life Opal dolls, fan-dubs of the comic, fan animations, Anime Music Videos, etc etc etc. I love each and every one of you and I hope that I can one day garner the same amount of love for Melodi as I received for LMR. Thank you all so much for your support.

"What if someone else wants to carry on the LMR blog or use the characters to make their own?" - Please, do. LMR is officially Public Domain as of this post, and I strongly encourage LMR fan-fiction, fan-blogs, etc. I would love if someone could do LMR better than I did. I will very happily use this blog going forward to showcase new LMR blogs and fan-content that I like, and I will very gladly be a guest artist from time to time on an update or two to those blogs. You all have my blessing to take LMR and do with her whatever you want.

"Are you still remaking the LMR animation?" - Yes, I'm still actively seeking a musician to make an official LMR theme that will play in the background of it. It will be a glorious farewell to LMR.

"Is the heart-brand still a thing in Melodi?" - Absolutely, yes. The one incredibly major staple being carried over to Melodi is the heart brand. That symbol has become synonymous with LMR.

"What about the eye scars?" - Probably not. There will be facial scarring of some kind, yes, but considering the new story will not involve killing a cat (not yet anyway), she probably won't have the eye scars.

"Black eye with white pupil?" - We'll see! (It is a sign of Malice's corruption to have a black left eye, so almost certainly yes, but we'll see!)

"Ponies? Humans? Furries?" - I haven't fully decided. In my head, Melodi is a human, but I could also see her being a cat. I'm not sure what I wanna do just yet. However, she will not be a pony. She's gonna be far more human shaped. With boobies.

"Is this one gonna have porn?" - Nope! Not directly as part of the blog, no. Sexual encounters are going to happen in a very fade-to-black way, or a cropped-off-screen sort of way, yes. And there will be sexy characters, like monster girls or demon girls, and I'm sure people will find Melodi herself sexy, too. However, the blog is not going to contain actual porn. No full nudity. It will have what some would refer to as "fetish content," as with LMR, but it's not porn.

"Final question, so... LMR is just... dead? As of now?" - In terms of receiving updates from me, all that will be made is the LMR animation. But no, I certainly hope LMR is not dead. I would love to see the blog live on through other artists I've inspired. You all have my blessing to keep her alive forever.

Thank you all so much for your support.

More news involving Melodi and her twisted adventures coming soon.

I love you all, and I want you all to know how much your support of Lil Miss Rarity has changed my life.

I know it's cringe to type this, but, "I'm literally crying right now."

Mommy will always be pretty.

~Jay Tonique (Formerly Lil Miss Jay)