#he needs to fix himself first

[kennyomegasweave]

Boston cutting the legs out from under Sand and Ray might actually be what ends up giving them a fighting chance to develop something real in the future (which is a little funny cause it 100% wasn't his intent, his feelings were just hurt and he wanted to make everyone else hurt too). His little temper tantrum, and Ray's response to damn near start chugging from the bottle, may have finally opened Sand's eyes to the fact that Ray isn't in a good place and it actually does have nothing to do with him. Ray just isn't currently capable of giving Sand what he wants. I think he can be, I think he'll even want to be at some point, but right now he isn't and doesn't even want to be.

Ray has to realize it's not about choosing Mew or Sand or anyone else. He has to choose himself. It'll probably take awhile for him to understand that because of his addictions and mental issues, but if he does, and if he puts in real work to better himself for him, that's when Sand and Ray can come together and start to form something real. Because anything they tried to form now, whether Boston acts an ass or not, was never going to last.

[scumvillainess]

time travel au where a post-pidw yue qingyuan somehow travels back in time after death (either through death, through the magic that still remained in his sword, someone intervening, etc.) to right before he was reunited with shen qingqiu at the iac.

but for some reason along with being given the chance to live his life once more, yue qingyuan now has the ability to tell when somebody is lying to him no matter what.

at first, yue qingyuan doesn’t see much value in this gift because there aren’t many people who would dare lie straight to his face, but that all changes the moment he’s reunited with shen jiu again and he realizes that nothing that shen jiu says is ever the complete truth.

[elvisqueso]

"Marry Kocoum? But he's so...serious."

Pocahontas (1995)

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[screechingfromthevoid]

Have the crown keepers gone back to sleeping in a pile since Dorian came back?

What have they been doing since Ashton commandeered Fearne?

Is Orym sleeping at Dorian's feet? Feet to feet like before? Or since Fearne's not there he's using Dorian as a pillow?

Or has Orym been avoiding Dorian at night? Has Dorian been avoiding Orym? Do they instinctively choose cots at the opposite ends of the room? Dorian faces the wall so no one sees his eyes are still open? Orym knows his heart would thrum too quickly and give him away?

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo.

Star has a point, idk what the four were ticked off about, there is like 99% chance everyone willingly participated in the trolley problem, based on what we've seen of his behavior thus far it's not like Starlo to be that big of a jerk/drag them by force/yell at them to do it. Ed's words:

he does it because Star asks NICELY

clearly jealous

It genuinely seemed like a fun time/fun roleplay, especially since every day is the same. Like, the five are supposed to be a rowdy and adventures bunch, what exactly did Starlo do wrong, I'm genuinely confused and curious. Except taking a big liking in Clover (his posse should know that this is a big moment for him, according to Blackjack they've known each other since high school and had the same liking for westerns. So they were basically a nerd gang.) Starlo was kind, patient and considerate towards Clover the whole time, even warned Mooch about them not being bandits, taught Clover gun safety, wanted to bring his posse along for a fun time, thanked Ace for telling him about getting Clover a new hat...

Sure, at first he only liked Clover for being a human, but as Ceroba says, that changed and he grew to genuinely care about them, plus I can't help but think Star saw himself in Clover and that's part of the reason he was so proud of them all the time even when they messed up (I'll talk more about this at some point)

What exactly made Ace want to leave the gang? He even said how he doesn't mind "getting run over by the fake train"

he's so nice. says sorry for forgetting the safety goggles even when he was scatterbrained due to his excitement. I love him so much

The only real "faults" (I'll call them temporary faults) I saw in Star during the Wild East section was that he was even more enthusiastic and more proud than usual. But how couldn't he be when he met a member of the species that he has admired for so long because they have real cowboys and sheriffs on the surface (who are seen as brave heroes who deliver justice, while Star canonically feels like a nobody farmer). His posse should have realized Clover wouldn't be there forever and just let their boss enjoy himself with his "deputy who'd have to leave sooner or later anyway"(or be more patient with him/ask him why he feels this strongly towards Clover/if there's a deeper reason for that). His friends including Ceroba just turn their back on him so quickly instead. The moment he's gotten the chance to feel valued for once and put himself first and not have to take care of this whole town and everyone in it and live his dream of meeting a real human, suddenly "his personality is damaged?"

Star's literally built this whole town, organised everything, he worries about everyone, Ceroba (plus was the one to give her emotional strength before and after Clover's sacrifice), Kanako, the monsters, his family, struggles with feelings of worthlessness yet never wipes that smile off his face, always does his best to be hopeful and optimistic and make others laugh, gave his posse a nap time so they don't become exhausted, gave Ceroba a free home, didn't act upon his feelings towards her and was a 110% supportive, caring friend instead. THAT'S who he is. He's the papa bear of this friend group, the glue holding everyone together.

He was just *really* excited. Y'all know he's insecure and just wishes to escape who he is and yet y'all blame him for liking Clover so much. Yeah, the four are very clearly jealous. But why won't the four of you control your feelings for a while? As mentioned, Clover WILL HAVE TO LEAVE EVENTUALLY. They won't be Star's "deputy" forever (the kid who's just as into westerns as he is, who values justice just as much, who also values doing the right thing. Someone he clearly felt understood in the presence of, whom he loved; just look at the way he talks about Clove during Showdown). Star seems genuinely confused of what he did wrong poor guy just wanted to live his fantasy for once and feel important:

Even at the beginning Moray's like "oh no Martlet is upset" Mooch replies "don't be a buzzkill nothing exciting ever happens around here" and Ray's like "Yeah you've got a point"

If you all agreed to have a little fun with a human who will very soon leave forever why is Starlo's enthusiasm such a big problem? If the posse weren't into this after all (unless they were simply too jealous which could have been solved with a honest talk and a little patience) why are you doing this "rowdy" job with Star in the first place? Do you want your boring routine day to day life so much back? Or just for Clover to leave (which they will soon enough)? You, western enthusiasts, literally met a real human, A HUMAN FROM WESTERNS YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE PASSIONATELY INTO (clearly not as passionate as Star but passionate ENOUGH to understand where he's coming from).

... okay.

[buttercupbuck]

you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves  -- ‘wild geese’ by mary oliver

[image description: 4 large gifs of evan buckley from 9-1-1.

gif 1: from season 6 episode 11. in his dream, buck talks to bobby (offscreen) about his in-between situation, wondering “i-is it like a punishment, or a time-out...do I have to do some type of penance before i’m allowed to move on?” the gif is colored in black and white.

gif 2: from season 4 episode 5. fire blazes around buck and the sprinklers pour on him as he sinks to the ground in the middle of the factory, futilely attempting to pull the rope to save saleh. the gif is colored in black and white.

gif 3: from season 6 episode 11. in his dream, buck walks around the hospital with bobby and says, “just need to figure out...what to fix to get out.” the gif is colored in black and white.

gif 4: from season 6 episode 11. in his dream, buck tells his dream self (offscreen), “i’m not going back for them. i’m going back for me.”

/end ID]

[calamitoustide]

a fic set in a universe parallel to canon up to the point of james going on an auror mission and getting hit with a spell that gives him amnesia, he thinks he’s sixteen again and he’s so out of it the only person he can call for is regulus. no matter what anyone else does they can not settle him down… they need reg

[howcouldtheyletmebeanadult]

So...

holy shit this conversation, i have. so many thoughts.

i'm like, 80% sonic is gonna face some kind of betrayal from either dread or nine

[bloos-bloo]

Sorry for going quiet, been busy- here’s some art I did today

[wikiangela]

.

[everyryuujisuguro]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

me: i have no interest in making a WH au at present

brain: ok but what if when the show stopped, everyone but Wally & Home were disassembled and Wally himself was locked up in the dark studio - permanently. and for years its just him awake in the dark with only unrotting corpses & Home's creaks for company.

me: ....keep talking

[elvhendis]

I think my new pet peeve are Astarion fix it fics

[paimonial-rage]

hi! i'm the anon who requested for tighnari and "would they fix you". i like your answer, and it made me wonder... would tighnari let us fix him?

[Character Analysis Ask Meme]

Will Tighnari let you fix him?

Though many would argue with his way of going about things, let it be said that Tighnari is nothing if not purposeful. Even when he yells at the idiotic tourists gallivanting around foolishly in the Avidya Forest, indulging in his temper is not due to a loss of control. No, it is always a calculated decision. Sad to say, some people need a brutal shock to get things through their thick skulls, and if that's what it takes to save lives, so be it. Why mention this first? This is because all of Tighnari's actions are made with thought. To insinuate he needs to fix something about himself ignores the reasons why he chose to go that route in the first place.

So would Tighnari let you fix him? Not without a lot of grumbling on his part. If he cares about you enough, he will attempt to make the changes. But please expect much sarcasm muttered under his breath as he "fixes" his mistakes.

[randomwriteronline]

"I can't do anything for the eyelid."

Krakua listened in polite and total silence as Jaller (slightly creaky, emphasis on velar consonants) insisted: "Nothing at all?"

"It's fused into the mask," Zaria (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) replied curtly: "I can't separate the different protodermis masses anymore, and even if I could the lid wouldn't be able to move on its own after the damage it sustained. The only viable options are to either close it completely, leave it like this, or remove the whole thing."

"A permanently open eye sounds like a nightmare..."

"And there's no saying an operation like that doesn't run the risk of fracturing the brain, either."

"That's a possibility?"

"With how brittle he is, I wouldn't be surprised." the voice shifted, sound waves changing trajectory with a sneer: "How did you even wreck yourself like that, huh? Forgot how to finish a Nova blast?"

Krakua remained perfectly still, breaths quiet, shallow.

After a long pause, Jaller spoke up: "Can the mask be removed?

"Surgically, yes. I could probably shave off a bit of the excess protodermis to make the mass a little more manageable, too. He'll need to be operated on his joints either way."

"What's your sentence on those?"

"Left knee will have to be bolted down so it doesn't risk dislocating abruptly, but it'll survive; I'll leave what to do with the right one up to him in the end, though personally I'd completely re-do it since it's not much better than the calf and ankle - those are too damaged and will need prosthetic replacements. His foot seems fine enough, I'll see if I can salvage it."

"And his other ankle? Hewkii said it was broken."

"It is, and it'll need a thorough welding job. His hip and spine too, on a smaller scale. His chest is only a bit warped, thankfully, so there shouldn't be too many problems."

"About his arm--"

"The problem's organic. Elder Racans promised they'll check on it."

"Thank you. If there's anything we can do..."

"See if you can remedy him some more braces like the one he already had until the prosthetics feel natural and at least one crutch to get around, maybe a small vehicle. He'll need as little weight on his lower half as possible for the adjustment period, and it surely won't be too bad to let him have some support later on, either."

"That's the opposite of an issue. Nuparu will love to keep himself busy for about a day designing and making all that."

A deeper hum closed the conversation with a nod, and the Toa of Iron stalked away to the other side of the room to rummage with a pile of something delicate, of carefully tempered metal and thick crystalline glass, looking for the correct tool.

Their soft tinkering painted unclear shapes in the eye of Krakua's mind as their careful sounds melted into the white noise tracing patterns on the ceiling.

"You've been awfully quiet," a creaky voice whispered at his side.

"Thinking," he replied hoarsely, peacefully.

Jaller smiled: "About what?"

"If my mask can be fixed."

"That's a question for the mask makers," Zaria interjected.

"They'll surely have the schematics for a Suletu," the Toa of Fire reassured his friend: "If not, they can easily get someone to send a print for it over."

But the De-Toa tilted his head slightly: "I want my mask fixed," he insisted: "I don't need a new one. Mine's fine. I just want it fixed."

"It will have to be melted down."

"That's fine. I just want it fixed."

"I think that can be done. It will probably have some added protodermis, though, to stabilize it."

"But most of it will still be the same?"

"Of course."

"That's fine, then."

Liquid lightly crashing against the inside of some kind of vial distracted him briefly: the Toa of Iron laid the object down before he could catch a good glimpse of it and went back to rummaging for yet some other medical utensil.

Raising his volume so he could be heard above the rockus, he did not turn as he asked: "Did you listen to what I said earlier?"

"Yes," Krakua croaked as nicely as his ghastly voice could.

"What do you want for your eye, then?"

"Like this is fine."

"Your knee?"

"I trust you."

"So I have permission to make it a prosthesis?"

"Yes, please."

Zaria turned to him briefly like he'd just spoken in an alien language: "Aren't you polite," he muttered at last, sounding flabbergasted.

Krakua coughed out a little laugh.

Jaller remained in the room as long as he could, keeping a careful eye on the few pieces of equipment slowly piling up on a small tray beside the cot - metal ingots, a sealed glass vial of some nebulous liquid, some kind of half-mask, a chisel, a pair of small scissors, a miniature blowtorch, a scalpel of sorts. He recognized most of them from his time getting a shoulder fixed up in the claustrophobic infirmary in Ta-Koro, his example being used to teach as many Matoran as possible how to treat more dire injuries.

His thoughts soured the longer his gaze lingered on the utensils. A vague sense of calm nudged them to the side: glancing downward, he found the De-Toa staring at him, buzzing faintly yet reassuringly where he laid with a sort of pleasant grimace and a quiet mischievoys request to distract him.

Acquiescing, a short sonar wave left the Arthron.

The Toa of Fire managed a little smile when his friend squirmed with a hissing giggle as the sound gently hit him.

He nodded whenZaria made a definitive gesture, telling him to get out and wait until called again - probably to fetch the safely removed Mask of Telepathy.

His hand squeezed gently the dark armored shoulder one last time: "Remember you'll need to adjust."

"Hm-hm."

"And I'll have your mask."

"Hm-hm."

"So don't disappear again. Got it?"

"Hm-hm."

A stern look: "Got it?"

The battered warrior cackled: "Got it."

Jaller patted him lightly; the next moment, he was gone.

The Fe-Toa's palm was heavier, more concrete: laid across Krakua's chestpiece it seemed to encompass it completely, carefully studying how the protodermis rose and fell beneath it.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed.

Krakua inhaled as much as he could.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Good. Keep going," he ordered as he went to fetch the vial.

The younger being watched him fix the half-mask on top of it, careful not to jostle the liquid too much yet: "I don't need it," he spoke calmly, very quietly. "I can handle the pain."

He watched the rusted fingers clench a little harder around the glass.

The words came out of Zaria in a hiss: "You can't."

No further arguments were had.

It took a couple of tries, but at last the muzzle fit perfectly over the Suletu's mouth.

The anesthetic smelled like something far too clean, scrubbed dry of any hint of life. Krakua shut the one eye that could still be properly shut and breathed the disgusting antiseptic scent in as long and as deep as he could, just like he was told to do, while a palm pressed down on his forehead.

Slowly, very slowly, the odor subsided.

He startled awake when he realized the weight spread on his face was gone as well. His throat rumbled and sputtered like an engine revved up one too many times, hurriedly calling out for Trinuma: no other part of his body understood his intentions, remaining limp and unresponsive inside his frozen body, and so all that came out of him was the low monotone wail of a calculator incurring into an impossible error.

An orange shape entered his field of vision: "Stay calm," (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) "Stay calm, we're done. Deep breaths."

"Done?" Krakua repeated - borrowing Zaria's voice when his own failed him again.

"Done. The operation's done. It went well. Now breathe."

His chest moved easier now. His back had lost the strange tingle he'd been feeling long enough to forget about, noticing it again only now that it had disappeared. His lower half felt like bits and pieces of a whole: entire body parts he knew had to be there left terrifyingly large gaps in his tactile reception.

His body felt more his with each breath, returning inhabitable little by little. It took a few long attempts, but his neck cleared, and opened, and words began to fill his mouth once more.

"How are you feeling?" the Fe-Toa inquired.

"Weird," he wheezed raucously, a little pained: "Drowsy."

"That's normal," his surgeon reassured him. "Your body is trying to recognize the prosthetics. Try to sleep it off, I'll wake you when Racans arrives to see what to do for your arm."

"My mask?"

Steps moving away: "Jaller's got it."

"Ah... Ah. Right."

He focused on the white noise - conversations out of the door, just far enough for the words to become indistinguishable, blooming into large pixelated patterns of static against the ceiling.

Another part of his body felt a little more familiar.

A whine left him.

Zaria turned back to him: "What now?"

"Wanted to ask," Krakua groaned through his tiredness. "More discreet... With a Suletu..."

He did not miss the scratching sound of tightening joints: "Questions about your operation?" the deep tinny voice hissed, warning him witho uttering any threat: "Or about Toa Zaria?"

The De-Toa craned his neck enough to look at the other.

His interlocutor showed him his back as he fancied himself busy putting his tools back in their rightful place.

"You thought of two things, when I said... I could handle it. The pain."

The creak of glass under pressure: "Be very quick."

"For the second - does it always feel, that bad?"

"Yes."

A soft hum.

Zaria's eye glowered from behind his shoulder: "And for the first?"

"Does it ever get better?"

Silence followed.

His head felt so terribly heavy. He didn't want to sleep.

It would have been so easy, if he'd had his mask. Maybe he should have left it forever stuck to his skull. It hurt horribly, and it didn't work as well as before, but he would have been able to use it now.

His body quivered. He was so tired. He didn't want to sleep.

The white noise on the ceiling curled around him comfortably, locking him in some sort of soothing hold.

Rusted hands rested on his knees.

"You'll need these checked every year," Zaria mumbled: "I'll be waiting for you. And hopefully, I'll... I'll have a good enough answer for you, one of these times."

His gaze met Krakua's.

He got back a comforted smile.