#just a little bit of

[oneday-yourside]

Made both of these on my phone with my finger

[an-au-blog]

I came up with a bad idea...

cw: kidnapping, abuse, suicidal ideations

After Rodger gets killed people find out that Shanks and Buggy were on the crew and decide: since they're kids, they'll be easy catch. They couldn't catch Shanks because... well... he's Shanks but they somehow manage to capture Buggy. It wasn't easy and it involved sea stones but they managed. The problem was this happened after the crew fell apart and after they had their fight with Shanks. So no one was going to look for him.

For years they try to get information on the one piece from him. And for years he's endured torture and abuse. He keeps telling them he got sick and couldn't go, but I started sounding like a stupid excuse even to Buggy, so he stopped talking all together.

He had spent his entire adult life in a small (what he supposed is an) underground cell with no food and running water and with the sea stone cuffs on him at all times.

One day the door busts down. His captors have never been so aggressive. He balled up in the corner, trying to be as quiet as possible but the clanking of his cuffs from how much he was shivering wasn't helping. There was a heavy atmosphere that lifted as he heard the boots that walked in.

These weren't the boots of his captors.

"Buggy?"

That wasn't the voice of his captor either.

Someone else from the back shouted happily "He's here!"

Just as Buggy though he was taken by another greedy bunch, the man behind him scooped him up enthusiastically into a hug.

Buggy did his best not to show his pain from the sudden movements or the brushing across his wounds. But then he felt something wet land on his shoulder where the man's head was nuzzled.

"I've been looking for you. Oh, I'm so happy I found you, Buggy!"

He pulled away to look at his face, the red hair looked so familiar but he didn't recognize him. He learned to block out anything from his past as a trauma response. But there was water streaming down this smiling man's face. Buggy had been left without water for three days as a punishment for his silence. So it was almost on instinct that he tried to collect or drink it.

Seeing Buggy like this broke Shanks. But after he was fed and watered, Buggy seemed a bit better. He was malnourished and the place where his cuffs were left a huge dent in his skin. It made him wonder how he didn't lose his hands from lack of circulation. Every piece of food was devoured and treated like it would have been taken away at any moment. It hurt. It hurt seeing this. It hurt thinking Buggy was avoiding him and finding out from some drunk a month ago that he wasn't and that he was kept all these years. How horrible could he be that it didn't cross his mind that this could happen. That he had to search for his friend.

After being fed and taken to the ship, Buggy kept staring at the ocean with awe.

Shanks wanted to leave him be. He couldn't blame him after all what is a sailor without the sea. But just as he turned around he heard a splash. He had fallen in. Shanks jumped to save him. After coughing up the water, Buggy stood up and jumped into the sea again. Shanks fished him out once more.

"Stop that! What is wrong with you, you'll die!"

But Buggy just laid there on the deck with a slight smile and teary eyes.

In the next few months, whenever Buggy wasn't sleeping there had to be at least one person watching him. Just in case.

[gralto]

[daigina-3]

Max and Eddie are just across the way from each other, just like Before.

Max waves at Eddie in the misty mornings, getting a lazy finger waggle in return and rolls her eyes, just like Before.

Eddie intrudes into her space, saddling up under the pretense of wanting something when really all he wants is someone to fill the silence. Just like Before.

Except now, in the After, nothing else is like Before.

Max sits on her perch, cold and solid- she assumes. She can’t really tell, its more like a phantom sensation than anything. Etched into the rock, the still shiny granite inscription reads:

MAXINE TAYLOR MAYFIELD

ALWAYS WITH US

1972-1986

Eddie’s stone matches her own in style, the light grey speckled granite simple but tasteful- both commissioned and paid for by Hopper or Joyce or maybe all the parents, she doesn’t know.

EDWARD JACOB MUNSON

LOVING SON, NEPHEW, FRIEND

1965-1986

“Why’s mine lamer than yours,” Eddie asks early on, after the fog clears and they settle into the After. He cocks his head, pursing his lips at Max’s stone.

“Are you blind,” Max mirrors his tilted head, trying to see what he sees. “‘Always with us’? It’s a little too ironic from where I’m standing. At least yours talks about your family and friends. Mine just screams ‘STUCK HERE FOREVER’ as if we don’t already know.”

“Its better than having to remember what a shitty nephew and friend I was the whole time. And now they want to put that carved in stone where its permanently shoved in my face? Nah, Red.”

They agree to disagree.

Time passes weirdly and sometimes not at all.

Sometimes they’re together, passing the time by playing eye-spy or talking through what-ifs. What if a zombie apocalypse happened, what if you were stranded in an island. What ifs are funny to think about, now that they’re kinda past all the “if”s they can be past.

Sometimes they’re together, but sometimes they’re not. Its easy to slip away, usually without realizing. Sometimes by choice. Neither of them can really put a finger on where they go- after the first three or four times they put their heads together and figure its like blacking out or sleeping, the kind where you don’t remember falling asleep and wake up forgetting where you are.

The idea of nowhere, black out, disappearing is scary. Every once in a while Eddie will look up and realize Max is gone, whipping his head around and searching for her carrot top weaving between graves in the distance. But of course, she’s not there. She’s slipped away. He waits for her to return, the tension in his bones afraid this will be the time she doesn’t.

Max doesn’t admit to doing the same when Eddie slips away; feeling the silence close in around her when he’s not there for who knows how long- minutes or days, not even knowing when day becomes night or night becomes day and so painfully aware of the not knowing when she’s on her own.

They look for others. Max finds Billy’s headstone- terrified at the idea of seeing him looming over her from behind the carved rock. But if he was ever there at all, he never shows his face.

Eddie looks for Chrissy’s grave. Its a rosy kind of stone and Eddie thinks of her pink backpack when she bought weed off of him. The script on the headstone is in cursive- he imagines thats what her handwriting would have looked like.

Eddie spends a long time there, he thinks. Sitting and reading the curved letters over and over, feeling sorry for himself and sorry for Chrissy and sorry sorry sorry- until Max finds him, worried he’d slipped away.

Eddie takes the hand she offers to help him stand, their touch the strongest among all the phantom sensations, and slings an arm over her shoulder as they walk back to their little homes across from each other.

They get visitors, of course. Those are some of the clearest moments- when Max finds Lucas curled up on top of where she is- where she is six feet under- flowers clenched so tight in his hands and tears slipping down his cheeks falling on that grass that separates the two of them and Max just stands there. She stands there and thinks, stupidly, that maybe she could feel the tears hitting the grass if she tried hard enough. Or feel Lucas’s hands, his shuddering breath as he cries and sobs and shakes because he thinks no one’s there to see.

But Max is there to see. She just can’t feel it and it makes her so, so mad that before she even knows what she’s doing, she’s pulling back her arm and swinging. She bends down and punches Lucas right in the middle of his back, where he’s sprawled out. Her fist goes right through him. She doesn’t stop, feels the anger rushing up into her face, feels for the first time in forever her face grow hot and she punches and punches until Lucas stops crying and just lays there. Silent.

She punches her fist through him again. “Idiot,” she collapses next to him, so close but never further. “You probably would have stolen all the popcorn anyway.”

She grabs onto Eddie later and lets him rub her back, just a little. “Stupid,” she says, her voice thick with tears that can’t fall. “He’s so stupid.”

Eddie’s usually- conveniently- gone when Dustin visits. Alone, most times, although once with his uncle. Eddie hadn’t been slipped away for that, but he hid behind a tree for most of it. When Max pointed out that they couldn’t see whether or not Eddie was there watching them, he’d snapped at her to mind her own business.

As in life, so in death; once a coward always a coward.

Eddie doesn’t hide all the time. NancyandRobin visit (always with their arms locked, fingers intertwined, together). Sometimes they visit Max first, then turn to Eddie. Sometimes the other way around. Steve stands by the car, if he drove them their. But he always visits himself when he’s alone.

And when Max is off somewhere and Steve visits, Eddie sits cross legged on his tombstone and listens to him. He listens to Steve mumble to himself- or maybe to Max and Eddie- seeing a Steve that maybe no ones ever seen. A Steve who thinks that no one is watching.

To Max he Kees it simple. He talks about memories and Eddie hears all about how Max sped a busted Steve in a stolen car across town, about how Max and Lucas would gang up on unsuspecting members of the group and laugh at them, about her and El stealing ice cream from the little ice cream place at Starcourt.

To Eddie, Steve talks like an old friend. The tone in his voice keeps Eddie on the edge of- what, he doesn’t know. Some emotion he cant quite place but it feels like a little twist in his gut. Steve talks about his day, about his parents that Eddie never met and good thing too cause he would hate them.

“You know,” Steve says one day as Eddie is swinging his feet from where he’s perched on his grave. “This fucking sucks. We didn’t even know each other- and maybe that’s a little on me. I didn’t spare Robin a second thought in school and look how dumb that was of me. And maybe.. i think we could have been friends. We could- we could have-“

They could have, Eddie thinks, his sneakers not really thudding against the cold rock he’s sitting on. Could have. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

He hates thinking about could have.

“You were. So loud. And obnoxious. And.. incredible,” Steve says and Eddie goes still.

Steve bows his head, the two of then silent for a long time. “Bye, Eddie,” he says to the dead air and heads off to his car.

But even when Steve leaves Eddie remains. Max comes back, appearing somewhere and slowly pulling herself from the fog of having slipped.

And they’re together. Across from one another.

“Hey, Freak,” Max calls with no malice in her tone. Eddie hops off the headstone, stretches his muscles that aren’t sore at all.

“Heya, Red. If you had to pick a team of 5 celebrities to fight with you in a zombie apocalypse, who would you pick?”

And they spend a long time like that. Eternity, maybe, but probably more like a few hours, talking what-ifs and making up silly stories for the names from the stones around them.

Eddie laughs loud, Max smirks and rolls her eyes. It’s not perfect, but its where they are now. Across from each other.

[inkthemandrake]

Silly Roblox meme redraw

Original : x

[bornetoblood]

hiii 18, 20, 21 laurence for the bb hcs? also melia if u feel like it! :0

Link to the questions!

18.How do you think they were as a kid? (Like, were they shy, noisy, wild, etc) For Amelia, I can see her being very very quiet prior to Laurence pseudo-adopting her- her life prior to the orphanage wasn't great and her life in it prooobably wasn't that better. After she becomes next in line for the Yharnam thrown though she gains a lot of her confidence back. Since she was still pretty young at the time she comes across to a lot of people as kinda bratty. "Don't you dare insult me, do you know who I am!" kinda deal. It's hiding the fact shes really out of her depth.

20.A weird headcanon Weird Ames headcannon is that shes just as power hungry as her fucked up dad, she just didn't live long enough to fully realise that... truely devistating....

BONUS ROUND!!!! Another weird Lozza one is that he has offered, and given, several organs to Micolash and Rom on their college benders. For research, obviously.

21.When do you think they were at their happiest? Amelia was at her happiest pretty soon after she got taken into a better environment but before she was saddled with all the pressure of her upcoming position. She was still a kid and was allowed, if only for a couple years, to just live as one.

Laurence was most happy in the period between leaving Byrgenwerth but before the Healing Church fully became a thing. He and Gehrman lived out of that tiny study under Oedon Chapel for a couple years trying to peddal the blood to upperclassmen to get funding- just figuring things out. He thinks about that time a lot, I think; he's almost angry at how simple it was.

[jamesisasimp]

I did it

"Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo," Barty gesticulates wildly, "we can... go off together."

It took a while for him to get those last three words out, and it took Regulus just as long to fully understand them. "Go off together?" he repeats, like it was stupid. It was stupid. "Are you even hearing yourself?"

"We've been friends for over six thousand years-"

"Friends?" Obviously Barty can't hear a word he's saying because he's standing there acting like the most ridiculous thing in the world is a perfectly normal assertion to make. "We aren't friends."

"Well then what are we then?" Barty insists, throwing out his arms. "Huh? What? Lovers? Boyfriends?"

This is ridiculous.

It's all so fucking ridiculous.

"We are an angel and a demon," Regulus reminds him, since apparently he's forgotten. "We're on opposite sides of a war that's only hours away." In case he's forgotten that too.

But no, Barty hasn't. He wouldn't be here pleading with him like this, like such a complete, ignorant idiot, if he didn't think- no, know it was all about to end.

"Sides? We don't belong to them, Angel, we're on our own side-"

"There is no our side!" Regulus explodes. Then, softer, "There never was."

"Well now you're just lying to yourself," Barty, the expert on lies of the two of them, being who he is, sniffs him out in an instant.

"We're done Barty, it's over," he tries again anyway.

Even with those stupid glasses on, Regulus knows he doesn't believe him. He knows and it's making him desperate because he can't just abandon Armageddon all together. Not because he particularly fancies being at war, but because of the opposite. He's not the coward Barty seems to think he is - he's not the one trying to run away from this. He's the one trying to fucking stop it from happening entirely, if not for his own sake then for all those innocent humans that aren't ready to be judged yet. That never asked for this. That are caught in the crossfire just so good and evil, whatever the fuck those even mean anymore, can figure out who's best.

And he can't tell him, of course he can't, because... because Barty is still a demon. A demon who cares about him but a demon all the same, and he'll tell Regulus he's stupid for having hope, for trying to fuck with fate. And maybe he's right.

But Regulus has to try. If Sirius taught him anything it's that hope is worth the plunge, no matter what's waiting on the other side.

But that's not enough for Barty, of course it's not. To him, he's still just a stubborn coward that still believes in God's Plan. To Barty, he's given up on them, and he can't tell him that he'd never do that, not in another six thousand years, not in eternity if they ever even make it there.

He can't tell him.

And it breaks his heart, if he's even got one, because Barty looks just as desperate as he feels.

Then his jaw locks and his face hardens, he rips off his glasses and stands up a little straighter.

"And suppose," he grins, wicked, unkind, "when the war comes, that your side forgives every un-angelic thing you've ever done and mine forgives me, and you meet me on the battle field," he proposes, radiating cruelty because he knows. He fucking knows. "What then?"

And what can Regulus say?

That if he'd ever been put in front of Barty and asked to bring him to extinction he'd sooner find a way to throw himself into hell fire than do it?

"Then I will kill you," is what he says, because he can't say that. Not now, likely not ever.

"Can't kill a demon," Barty replies, yellow slitted eyes more fierce that he's ever seen them. A man, a demon, an... entity that's about to lose his best friend, his lover, his... something. Maybe his everything.

He's fighting with everything he's got, and Regulus can't let him win.

"What do you want me to say. That I'll pour holy water on you and watch you fucking melt?" he asks. "Is that what it'll take to make you fuck off?"

"No! Because you wouldn't mean it," Barty replies without missing a beat.

He's winning.

Regulus can't let him.

"Well I mean this," he says, or starts to say.

He regrets the words before they even get past his lips. But he has to say them. He has to hit where it hurts. He has to get Barty off his arse so he can do this- so he can fucking save them.

"You were never anything but a warm mouth to me, Barty, and you want to know why? Because you are fallen. You are damned. You are nothing." And the final blow. "Did you really think an angel could ever love a wretched from Hell like yourself?"

The words strike Barty hard, and the air around them freezes as they absorb into his skin.

Because, you see, the trouble with loving someone is that, in doing so, you give them a step my step guide on how to destroy you. Not with holy water or hell fire, but deep deep within. You don't even realize it, Barty certainly didn't, at least not until right now.

Barty hates, more than anything else, being a demon. He hates that he fell. Or rather, was pushed. He's ashamed of it, and Regulus was the only one who ever made him feel normal with those slitted yellow eyes.

Oh, it hurts. It hurts because there's no taking it back now, no coming back from this.

But there won't be anything to come back to anyway if he doesn't get this stupid war put off.

"You're lying," Barty tries, voice breaking, tight as a string and unnaturally still. He's not asking, but begging for it to be true.

He can't tell him that it is. So Regulus says, "Am I?" and then it all crumbles.

The softness that accompanied the desperation hardened once more, his eyes got sharp and his jaw tightened, the perfectly procured, emotionless demon mask sliding right back into place. Barty reached up and slid his sunglasses back on his face to cover up his eyes and took two steps back, wearing his betrayal and rage underneath it all without shame.

"Fuck you, Regulus."

He means it.

"Not anymore, you don't."

Regulus does too.

Barty doesn't look back but flashes a sarcastic wave over his shoulder as he stalks off. "Have a nice doomsday."

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[uncanny-tranny]

I think so many people are so deeply alienated from themselves that they have no clue how to exercise their free will and autonomy. For some, this alienation runs so deep that they are afraid of their own autonomy and humanity. It is completely understandable why one would have those feelings, but it can be worrisome.

I want to help others who feel this way, so here are small things I have done to exercise my free will:

Add "guilty pleasure" songs to playlists and actually listen to them (I have a ton of late 1990s-early 2000s music I listen to now proudly that I never listened to in the past out of shame)

Getting the décor item, bath set, bed spread, ect. in the patterns you like, even if it's "childish" (I got a dinosaur-themed wastebasket from the kids' décor section and I adore it)

Taking a new route to get to a place you go to often

Eat dessert first

Celebrate well, and often

Collect things that are "odd" or don't seem like an "acceptable" thing to collect (somebody on my "for you" page collects dandelion crayola crayons and it was so cool!!!!!!)

Incorporate one new piece in an outfit you wear frequently (e.g., a new chain, a necklace, ribbons, bracelets, ect.). Challenge yourself to add onto the outfits if you feel up for it.

Sing along to songs without worrying that you sound "good" or your intonation is completely accurate

Read a book from a genre you weren't allowed to read as a kid (comics, thrillers, mysteries, anything!)

Walk without having a specific destination or goal

Pick up a new craft without expecting yourself to master it or to ever be "good" enough. Get your hands messy.

I don't want to shame anybody for not feeling as though they have free will or that they are exempt from exercising it. However, I wanted to give ideas so that you might read this list and find your own ways to express your intrinsic autonomy and will. You deserve to be a person, to feel alive, not just living. That is what our lives are for.

[hinamie]

surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024

[civetcider]

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

[twilight-zoned-out]

Learning about the Doctor Who specials' expanded budget: oh no, what if they overuse CGI to look more 'professional' and high-budget?

The first scene of the Doctor Who Special:

[firbolgfriend]

Mlp infected aus that just erase Discord from existence is so funny, he would shut that shit down so fast. Not even all that for the sake of friendship or whatever he’d see it and be like erm… not really my cup of chaos, this is just gross (snap, fixed)

[crplpunkklavier]

hey after kristoph gavin planted atroquinine in a kid's favorite nailpolish, while he was spending seven long agonizing years waiting for the kid to actually poison herself, how badly do you think he pissed his dumb little blue pants when 6 years in his brother presumably out of nowhere published a song titled "atroquinine my love" and made the whole world sing it for a little while

[spoopdeedoop]

WYD WHEN MY GANG PULL UP !!!