#all I do is think about them and suffer

[carlyraejepsans]

* And then, when we got to the village…

* They were the one that wanted to…

[selenealwayscries]

ok so . my thought process for these is just "what if The Entity is a sessho-seki" -> "that's a thing that's associated with tamamo no mae (a nine tailed fox)" -> "grian is a nine tailed fox"

more doodles below lol

i say doodles but really they're more like 1 doodle and 2 hands I drew as reference before I actually out them on him

[welcometogrouchland]

Also on a more fucked up note, in 128 Basira says Melanie said "she can cry again" after getting the bullet removed I. WAS THERE JUST A MONTHS LONG PERIOD WHERE MELANIE WAS INCAPABLE OF CRYING??? of expressing her emotions in anyway besides anger?????? It's phrased like Melanie physically couldn't cry even if she wanted to like. It's such a short line but it's so fucked up!!!! Melanie may have been benefiting from the bullet, feeling powerful, like it was her against the world, like a victim...but it was also so clearly ruining her. God

(sidenote: if you interpret this line as Melanie physically not being able to cry due to the slaughters influence then that means BOTH her and Georgie have had one or more emotions/emotional responses taken away from them by the entities either permanently or for a long period of time. Yknow. Just couple things)

[vargaslovinghours]

Have some self-control

Bonus:

[mintydraws]

screaming. crying.

[agentravensong]

I like to imagine the Employee 432 - Stanley dynamic as being the Kaycee Hobbes - Luke Carder dynamic, except you take the one encounter Kaycee and Luke had at that card game convention and expand it out to 8.8 years of working almost next door to each other

The only way I can explain it is with these tags of mine from when I first learned of the new “Kaycee and Luke met before she died” lore:

[image description in alt text]

[chuplayswithfire]

the thing about love, and this goes beyond just fandom and beyond just ofmd, though of course, ofmd is where my brain lives a lot of the time these days and is thus where the thought percolated, is that love is never deserved.

there is nothing in this world that we get because we deserve it. can you imagine how lonely and terrible the world would be, if everything awful that happened was visited upon us because we truly deserved it? can you imagine the grief and the shame of it, to think that we truly and honestly did deserve all the nightmares and the stress and the pain and the grief?

we don't get what we deserve, not the pain, not the loss, not the love, not the riches or the rags. we just get.

and love, love, it is not determined by who deserves it, by what we've done, by what we've been, love is not something that comes to us because we earned it through our bent knees praying and our gasping breaths sobbing and our voices raised in laughter, love is something we receive because we reach for it. love comes to anyone who reaches for it, who surrenders to it, who offers and receives, who gives and takes, who accepts that they are and that others are and that together we can become something new. not even something better, but something new.

if we must think of love in terms of deserves, if we must nickle and dime our way to understanding, if we must think about but who deserves this love and this chance and this newness, who deserves it and by what metric do we decide this, if you must consider that, then the answer is also simple:

who deserves love: anyone will reach for it, anyone who will return it, anyone who will try.

its not about deserving because none of us gets what we deserve, its about being willing to reach out and receive the love offered and offer the love needed.

if you close yourself off to love, you will not receive it. if you open your heart to love, it will find you, and you will find it, and it will make you brighter and happier than you could have ever imagined.

and this goes for all love - not just romantic love, not just passionate, hearts in your eyes, butterflies in your stomach love, this is all love, the love of family and friends and pets and comrades and allies, if a person is willing to reach for the love offered to them, if they are willing to offer love themselves, then they will receive it.

in the act of reaching for love you become deserving of it. there is no suffering required. there is no prerequisite.

[sysig]

*VUX popping up out of nowhere noises*

[adammilligan]

i do like to think that after lucifer was freed from the cage and it was just adam and michael down there michael would make illusions to make adam smile a little. like michael opening one of his hands and auroras fall out of it to dance colorfully around the inside of the cage or he makes miniscule versions of stars and solar systems and galaxies and to slowly spin around them both. or he takes them within their shared mind to show adam his memory of them in all their size and glory. because yes they would still be suffering in hell but the reminder that there is a universe out there and it’s beautiful and even if they can’t touch it themselves they can at least hold on to the memory of it. and they can hold on to each other when the memory becomes too much for them to handle. because they know that after lucifer was freed that no one would ever come for them. they only have each other.

[elftwink]

i do think there’s lots of critiques to be made about which pieces of media get attention and to what degree but sometimes people on here are like “why is nobody on tumblr talking about xyz” and the reason is that the media in question is well-written, self contained, complete, and has very little loose ends, all of which combine together to actively resist fandomization. movies usually don’t have fandoms like shows do because in a tv show you get all this extra space to open plots and explore characters with a decent chance some stuff won’t get resolved for years or maybe ever, allowing fans to step in and speculate (and the same for any version of stand alone vs serial media). character driven stuff has more of a fandom because most types of fanwork are character focused. ongoing media has more of a fandom than stuff that’s finished because part of the appeal of fandom is speculating about future events; a huge chunk of fans leave after a finale even if the fandom persists. stuff that’s full of plot holes and bullshit that goes nowhere have HUGE fandoms not despite but because of that bullshit; it makes people want to explore the potential avenues that are dropped and imagine what the canon would be like if all this stuff actually mattered or if xyz happened instead of abc. fandom thrives on open-endedness, on unresolved tension, on unanswered questions, on ongoing stories. that’s not to say there aren’t exceptions (people will start a ‘fandom’ for anything under the sun) but in terms of popularity and longevity there’s a very clear pattern in what does and doesn’t get fandomized and it feels so obvious to me that it throws me off when someone seems to have not picked up on it. to the point where i assume they don’t personally frequent any fan spaces because that’s the only way you wouldn’t pick up on it!

and since fandom is the primary way people interact with media on tumblr dot com... kinda goes without saying no one is talking about it without a fandom. there’s tons of stuff i absolutely adore but have no interest in talking about on here because all i would say is “you should watch it” because there’s nothing else TO say after that. if something speaks for itself i’m not making my whole blog about it. i have to be able to add something for it to be worthwhile.

[closing note disclaimer that this is not about people who are rightfully pointing out that media with marginalized protagonists, esp protagonists of colour, often are ignored or sidelined by fandom with bullshit excuses. many of the media brought up in those discussions are very obviously also conducive to fandom in the way i’m talking about here, mostly commonly that they’re ongoing shows with interesting characters. also many of them do have fandoms, it’s just that the fandom is actively hostile to both the characters in the media and other marginalized fans, which is a huge issue but not what i’m talking about. this is more about when people bring up a decent stand alone movie and are shocked people stopped talking about it 2 weeks after its release. that’s like, a fundamental misunderstanding of the point of fandom rather than a valid and demonstrable critique of bias and bigotry in fan spaces. please do not leave this post with the takeaway fandom formation and fan behaviour never has anything to do with the bigotry and biases of fans (it does, often); i just like talking about the different factors that create fandoms.]

[sonyapaxtonapologist]

Benedick & Beatrice, Much Ado About Nothing | Gregory House & Lisa Cuddy, House M.D. | on the thin line between love and hate (part 4/4)

[mrfandomwars]

Commander Bacara does not hate Ki-Adi Mundi, send tweet.

[transpat]

pat and pran's story speaks so loud to us as an entire generation that's suffered parental abuse. we're not the only ones, we've heard all those stories of how our parents suffered, the kinds of demons our grandparents have been. and yet the same upbringing made us such different people. where our parents have become monsters, we've become better people. where they've become perpetrators, we've become survivors. where they inflicted their suffering upon us, perpetuated that cycle of hate and pain, we swore to become different, better, to break that cycle. how unfortunate of us, to become victims of trauma we haven't triggered. how lucky we are, to be educated, to be the ones to pluck the courage to end such a mindless, wicked, painful cycle, to choose love.

[shadeswift99]

To Wait

Characters: Scott Smajor

Words: 1640

*slaps the roof of Scott Smajor* This man’s session 8 can fit so much pain and Boogeyman curse headcanons in it -

Basically my take on what giving in to the Boogeyman curse would look like, rolled together with my headcanons for the physical effects of the curse. Mostly canon compliant, with the minor timeline tweak of him not coming back after he splits off from Ren and Pearl to find Cleo.

Read it on Ao3

Scott had been dead for 8 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes.

Or at least, as good as dead. He was dead the moment the Boogeyman was chosen, really. Yes, Cleo and Pearl had given him potions, and yes, he’d made vague plans to steal a kill from some red name if he got the chance, but as soon as he’d seen the holographic red text pop up in front of him a part of him knew he was doomed. He hadn’t given up then, exactly: he’d accepted the potions and stayed on the lookout for a good chance to use them, but after all this time and all this death...he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t let the curse turn him into another tool for destruction.

And so, for 8 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes, he had lived as a dead man walking.

He’d stayed with the others as long as he could. It was dangerous to go out alone, and he wanted to make sure they stayed safe. After all, it wasn’t like he had much to lose from protecting them, right? Might as well not let his yellow life go to waste. Over the week or so he’d spent roaming with Cleo and Pearl and joking around with the other green and yellow names, it had been easy enough to push the curse to the back of his mind. The adrenaline and heightened senses urged him to be a hunter, but he ignored the itch. This wasn’t his first time around this particular block, and besides, he’d already made his decision. And in return, the rules of the Boogeyman had decided his own fate.

He had been with Ren and Pearl when he knew his time was up. They’d just seen Cleo die in the water below Ren’s fortress, and they were saving her things for when she came back. Ren had cracked some joke about trapping the chest, and Pearl had swatted at him and quipped back that he’d probably set it off himself in the process. Scott was about to join in on the banter, but then...he felt the change.

His heart rate had been higher than usual ever since being picked as the Boogeyman, but suddenly his pulse jumped with a cramp that made him nearly double over in pain. He’d bitten back a gasp and masked the flinch by bending to collect Cleo’s chestplate. Ren and Pearl kept gathering dripping gear out of the water. He didn’t think they’d noticed.

The server had finally given up hope of him actually doing his job, and now it was turning the curse inward against him. He hadn’t known exactly how the world would kill him at the end of this road...but he’d heard his heartbeat loud like a ticking clock in his ears and known that this was it.

End of the line.

He’d made his excuses, thanked Ren for his hospitality, and left. He didn’t know exactly how long he had left, but he knew he didn’t want the others to have to watch him die. He thought he saw Pearl looking at him oddly as he turned to go, but he didn’t look back. He’d been lucky to have that much time with her, honestly. If there was anything worlds like this had taught him, it was that companionship never lasts.

He had come back here, to the ruins of his and Pearl’s old home, because it wasn’t a place anyone else would go. Their house had been blown to smithereens, their bunker had been looted a dozen times over by any and every Red who fancied some new kit, and even his tower had been doused in lava. There was nothing left for anyone to take or trap. He would be left alone here.

Okay, maybe he was here for a little more than privacy. If he was honest with himself, he was really appreciating the comforts of a warm familiar place right now, no matter how ransacked it was.

If he was really honest with himself, he was terrified.

He curled his fingers into the blankets, gripping the edge of the bed where he sat. Where he’d been sitting for the last - he forgot how long. Maybe I should try to get up again. Get some water. He was terribly thirsty. But then again, he was also dizzy and unsteady, and he didn’t want to fall on the way back from his and Pearl’s little storage room. Even though none of this was good by a long shot, a bed was still a better place to die than a cold wooden floor.

But then he’d have to keep sitting here. Waiting.

“Fine,” he mumbled into the silence. “I’ll go and get some water.”

He heaved himself to his feet, leaning a shoulder against the stripped oak pillar at the corner before shuffling on through the storage room. Charred and gutted as it was, he could still see all the little homely things the red names hadn’t bothered to destroy: their bulletin board where he and Pearl had shared tasks, the wilting sporeblossom he’d suggested to add a bit more life to the underground space, the helpful “Do Not Break” note on the block above the skeleton farm. Pearl’s old bed stood bare in the corner - he had already taken her blankets into custody as his own. He cracked a grim smile. If she wanted to complain about it, she could take it up with him after he went red.

Scott glanced up at the crooked mirror above their water source as he knelt to refill his bottle. Smudgy, sunken eyes looked back at him from a flushed and fevered face. He’d told himself it didn’t matter. He’d told himself, time and time again, that there was no use. He had already been dead for 8 days, 23 hours, and 21 minutes: he’d had plenty of time to accept it, hadn’t he?

But dead men didn’t drink water. And dead men didn’t feel fear.

And dead men didn’t look around every corner as they stumbled back to bed, hoping against their own wishes that someone had followed them back to be with them in the end.

He sipped listlessly at the water. He didn’t think he wanted it anymore. Mostly, he just felt ill.

Think of a better time. Wasn’t that what Pearl said, when they were repairing the burned cottage for the umpteenth time all those weeks ago? Think of somewhere you liked to be, so by the time you realize that you’re not there anymore the job will already be done. He set the water on a chest and lowered himself down, groaning as the change in position sent blood rushing to his already-aching head. He closed his eyes and reached for a memory, something with singing and idle jokes tossed back and forth to pass the time.

That was why he was here, really, after all.

He was here because he just couldn’t end that.

Every time he could have, every time his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the turned back in front of him was that of a friend. He just couldn’t put that kind of pain on them. Yes, he would live, but they wouldn’t want to be allies anymore, and even if they did, he wasn’t sure he could stay with them after something like that. That was why he’d been so calm that week, when Pearl and Cleo spent their nights drawing him diagrams and brainstorming ideas for how he could still get a kill. He was calm because he knew that the death the curse demanded had already been caused.

And as tiring as those days had been, as much as he couldn’t deny his fear, he still knew he’d made the right call.

Scott opened his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to keep his thoughts on track. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the many distractions had long since yanked him back out of his happy place. His chest hurt. He huffed in frustration. Maybe I can try the water again.

He clumsily untangled himself from the mess of sweat-soaked sheets, but when he sat up, black spots swam in front of his eyes. The room weaved and dipped around him, and he fell back on his elbows. Suddenly it felt like he couldn’t get a breath - he could hear himself breathing, hyperventilating, but his lungs couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with his racing heart. The wooden walls blurred into a beige smear as he sank onto his back again.

No, wait, not yet, it’s too soon, I still have more time…! Right? I thought I still had time… The curse took 9 days to kill, didn’t it?! it had only been 8 days, 23 hours…23 hours and- and… He turned his pounding head to look at the clock, but it was nothing but a blurry dot of the same yellow he was about to lose.

It didn’t matter. It never mattered. He rolled back over to face the wall, barely having the strength left to curl in on himself as his chest sent shooting pains down his left arm and side. The backs of his eyes ached with pressure, and the rush of blood in his ears drowned out any other sound.

But at least there’s no blood on my hands. He’d known the choice he made. He knew what he was doing. And even now, alone in his agony, he knew he would do it again.

Was that a shadow, on the wall? Hazy and delirious with pain, he rolled and threw a shaking arm out beside him, blindly grasping for a hand he never found.

“Pearl…”

And with a whimper, his heart finally grew still.

[miharuhebinata]

imo it's extremely telling that the majority of people that id as &/or support bi lesbians are other white people. like the whole concept of using any label you want however the fuck you want regardless of whether it makes sense or harms other marginalized groups seems like a very white concept to me & i think we all, as white LGBT people, really need to start unpacking that.

bi lesbians & their supporters do not interact with this post. if you do i will not even bother responding, you'll simply be blocked.

[nintenderniere]

So I was listening to Hard Boy by Frawley the other day, and that eventually led me to that one scene in ROTS. You know, that one where Anakin swings Obi-Wan over his shoulders after the Dooku fight? Yeah well for a while I didn’t actually know the context of that scene so I just assumed it was a guy carrying his bro back home after he had too much to drink or something, and with the context and with Obi-Wan’s whole drinking issue that somebody should really do something about, it just...seemed like something that probably happened before.

I just can’t get the image of Padawan Anakin, age 16, angrily stomping into a bar at like 5 in the morning, and just- slinging his master over his shoulders and storming out again because Obi-Wan called him, a drunk blubbering mess, asking for Anakin to pick him up because he can trust Anakin to always be there to pick him up when he has a moment of weakness and breaks and he lets himself go, and even if Anakin threatens not too, threatens to leave him in a dumpster in a bar alleyway Obi-Wan knows he wouldn’t do that. Also Obi-Wan is Anakin’s master and if Anakin ever actually did leave Obi-Wan in a dumpster he probably wouldn’t ever be knighted in his life.

And Anakin tell’s Obi-Wan that this can’t keep happening, that one day Anakin won’t be there anymore to cover Obi-Wan’s ass and pick him up at at a moments notice, and Obi-Wan brushes him off because Anakin will always be there. Obi-Wan drunkenly slings an arm around Anakin’s neck and says where there is Kenobi there will always be Skywalker is such a loving way that only an incredibly drunk man can achieve. And for the most part he’s right. Anakin’s still slinging Obi-Wan over his shoulders during the clone wars, long after he’s been knighted and they shouldn’t be this close to each other, although Anakin definitely only does it just so that he can see Obi-Wan’s face turn green, just to laugh as his former master desperately tries not to puke in the ship.

And then I thought about Obi-Wan, post order 66, in the Tatooine cantina, 10 years later. Drinking because it’s easier then dealing with the pain. Getting so drunk he doesn’t think as he dials Anakin’s number. Simply listening to Anakin’s voicemail, knowing that his Padawan, the boy he raised, will never pick up the phone again. Obi-Wan, getting up and trekking through the sand, missing Anakin’s wild and terrible driving, for he would’ve taken it, would’ve thrown up a thousand times, just to have him again.

How come you're only calling at five in the morning

Just 'cause you're lonely out in New Orleans

Lucky I picked up, I wasn't busy

One day I will be