#tw; character death

[dick-meister]

The so-called "great" Adam—how far you have fallen from the pedestal you once occupied. It wasn't just the loss of your friends that marked your descent; it was their betrayal, the very ones you trusted, who turned their backs on you when you needed them most. They whispered lies behind closed doors, plotting your undoing while you remained blissfully unaware, believing in their loyalty. How utterly naive you were, thinking your charm could shield you from the treachery that lurked in the shadows of your life.

Each moment of betrayal cut deeper than a knife, revealing the truth of your loneliness. They laughed at your expense, relishing the thrill of your downfall, while you stood there, oblivious to the storm brewing within your circle. You had once thought yourself invincible, a shining beacon among mere mortals, but now you were reduced to a mere echo of who you used to be. The laughter that once surrounded you now turned to silence, leaving only the hollow sound of your own regrets ringing in your ears.

And in your darkest hours, you looked up, hoping for a sign, a flicker of divine intervention. But even God, it seemed, had turned His gaze away from you, leaving you stranded in the desolation of your own making. The heavens, once so promising, now felt like a mocking void. Your prayers were swallowed by the emptiness, a stark reminder that even the mightiest can fall. The very fabric of your being unraveled as you realized that your worth was now but a distant memory, a shadow of the greatness you once embodied.

In this moment of reckoning, as you grappled with the weight of your failures, it became clear: you were no longer worthy of the name you bore. The legacy of Adam had become a tragic tale of loss and betrayal, a cautionary story of hubris. You were left with nothing but the haunting whispers of your past, a reminder that greatness is fleeting, and sometimes, it takes the deepest wounds to expose the truth of who you truly are.

The First Man, the Little Gardener, God’s Son. There is indeed a pedestal that one is forced to stand upon with such titles. How is it that with such a destined life of greatness that the Gardener will only come to know shame, humiliation and rage? Eden, the perfect garden, all for him and his wife. Perfect grass, weather and happiness.

But that wasn’t enough was it? No, she needed more and Adam? He feared his father to disobey and soon, his first loss. His second comes in the form of his rib, remade into a woman. Perfection, beautiful, made for him… Yet he would be blamed for her existence time and time again, wouldn’t he? It didn’t matter the love they had, the trials they faced, what he had done for her up until the apple was bit.

His third loss, Eden itself. Banished to Earth, cast out much like his ex-wife and the Angel he once called his best friend. But he still had Eve, he always had Eve… His fourth loss, Abel. To the hands of his own first born, Cain. To which he had to fix, the responsibility resided on his shoulders, it always did. Time and time again he fails.

A Gardner, a Husband, a Father.

Domino’s continue to fall, becoming a leader of humanity for a short time. The loss of Eve weighs heavily on him and he does what he can to remain hopeful until the day he dies, alone in a home he had built with his first borns.

Heaven. A home promised to him, but this was not his home, this was not his paradise. He begs for them to send him back to Eden, that was his happiness. No, he is destined for duty here.

That pedestal cracks once more, breaking under failures and pressure that has become atlas levels of heavy. But he is forced to move on. Alone. His sons hate him, Eve is no where to be seen. The family he had come to know and love, that he leaned on after his home was ripped from him, was destroyed below that pedestal he stood upon.

Exterminations, so early on in his afterlife. Overpopulation was a concern and he proposed the worst. This was his responsibility. Failing to keep sin out of the Garden. Bringing in the first murderer to Earth. He grows cold, Uncaring and surrounds himself with yes men. How else was he to cope with so many who told him facts he already knew? Reminded each day of his failures over and over.

The mask is made, something for the sinners to be scared of, something for him to hide behind. No one could hurt him if he didn’t show himself. The mask makes the afterlife bearable, even if he has become something he isn’t. Adam allowed those failures to consume him, to control who he was until he was his worst self. He was drowning and everyone laughed as he sank to the bottom.

And the bottom is where he lives, for so long, if this was the destiny he was given then he would flip off the one who gave it to him. If he was damned to be alone then so be it, so what if he was a little selfish? Short tempered? He treated everyone how he himself had been treated. Except, they would all be spared the pain of not being him. Being granted new titles in ways to hurt him.

First divorced, First to fail god, First to watch his loved ones to leave him.

As much as he tried to play it off, he could never shake the failures nor the blame that soon became twisted in the favor of those who left him. It only served to allow him to drown that much more, being ever so secure behind that mask of his to the point where taking it off felt like a sin upon itself.

His face, not even to himself, would be seen by anyone for eons. That was till…

Pain. Brutal, unforgiving pain by the very creations that he had allowed to be made. It’s true, in his final moments, even god himself had turned a blind eye to his son. His little Gardener. The pedestal shatters and what lies in the debris is nothing but a man who would leave behind a name belonging to a villain. Someone who wasn’t willing to listen, someone who had learned humility too late, someone who had refused to learn, forgive, let go.

In the final moments of the First Man, there isn’t much that comes to his mind. What he hears isn’t the sound of his second in command screaming his name, but how the wind in this moment, brushed past his ears in a way that reminded him of that place once again. His one gift that he is given, is to be let go with the thoughts of his Paradise being the last thing he gets to think of and maybe… Wherever he is headed next, he would find himself among the brushes and ferns of perfection, working once again in peace and solitude.

Just as he was created to be.

[multi-scrapbook]

@kingexplosionmurderbakugo liked for a Ghost Izuku Starter!

Izuku had been handling his new ghost form... pretty well, he thought. No-one at Aldera seemed to have noticed that he was dead, at least. Life went on as normal. Or un-life? He wasn't sure.

Thankfully he had avoided being touched until he got a handle on actually being a solid, physical being again. Having a fist slip through him would be a dead giveaway. Ha ha, good one Izuku, morbid humour will definitely keep you from having a breakdown over actually literally fucking dying.

The thing was, he hadn't exactly left his body in the most hidden area. So it was only three days of his new ghostly existence before news of his own body being discovered hit the papers. And the estimated time of death was pretty accurate, too, so it would be pretty clear that he had jumped the exact day that Katsuki had told him to.

Not that Izuku knew, since he hadn't read the paper that morning. So he headed to school as normal, ignoring the whispers and stares he got. Sure, it was more than usual, but he assumed someone had just spread a nasty rumour about him again.tw

[frownyalfred]

It actually makes a lot of sense that Bruce was one of the few people left standing in the crowd at Haly’s Circus when Dick’s parents died.

Watching two innocent people plummet to their deaths is gruesome. It’s shocking. It can be horribly traumatic, depending on the blunt force trauma of hitting the ground. They might not have died right away. They might have bled and made awful noises that were heard even above the sounds of the crowd.

But Bruce is Batman. Bruce saw his parents get murdered right in front of him. And he knows the sounds and sights of someone dying. He’s hardened himself to stay calm in a situation like that, both through trauma and practice.

I think the image of a young Dick Grayson making eye contact with the one unshaken person in the crowd is chilling. A man standing resolute when everyone else is screaming, sadness etched across his face. But not panic. Not confusion. Resignation, maybe.

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[novva]

Artist’s rendition of two girls I saw poking a squirrel last week

[firedragon1321]

[frosted-co0kies]

been really into tsp lately (for the third time). i think they would be friends

(also full unobscured narrator text is in alt)

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [PART 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Nobody Anymore Nobody Anymore

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction. This part concludes this comic, but this moment doesn't end here: Don't Let it Reach the Heart will be the title of the fic that will follow the end of Destruction!]

[kaysdenofchaos]

can you see them where you are now? they're pretty. i hope you're seeing them too

[numbuh424]

"What's the matter, Near?" 🖊️🧩

Inspired by the scene in Relight 2: L's Successors where Light has a majority of the SPK killed. Near calls him and sits in tense silence (and a pool of blood).

[dick-meister]

〞 sir . . . please . . . don’t let go of me .〝

They took her arm…

They took her arm…

They took her arm…

“Hey… Hey. It’s ok. I got you. Come on, you’ll be ok.” The First Human held onto Lute, angelic glistening gold of blood covered the two of them. If only he had been less reckless, if only he payed more attention to her… Fuck. Fuck! This was all going horribly wrong!

Lute was losing a lot of blood, Adams’s heart pounded hard against his chest in absolute worry and denial. It was only a miracle they had made it out of there alive. Unfortunately, Lute had taken more of the damage than he had, even after taken such a beating by Lucifer. Granted mercy. But it seemed Lute wasn’t spared the same fate, not at all.

“Come on, baby. Keep your eyes open, will get you better.” He turned his head and desperately yelled out to the gathering exorcists “Get a fucking medic or something! Now!”

Turning back, Lute would only get that soft smile from him, a thumb moving to her lips, wiping away glowing ichor. “Come on Lute. We gotta get boba tea or whatever the fuck you call it tomorrow. You like that shit right? As much of it as you want.”

No medic would come, who had ever heard of an Angel who needed to be saved like this? Adam knew that, he knew that… Lute…

“No, no, no… Lute Please…” He held the woman to his chest, tears flowing, dripping down to the top of her hair. “I need you… I love you… I’m so sorry…”

[waywardsunlight]

Sometimes I get sad and remember King’s pretty much immortal.

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[39raccoons]

i might’ve missed valentine’s day but it’s never too late for doomed yuri

[lovely-v]

Buffy season 6 is insane. It’s like what if someone you loved died a meaningful and accepting death but you couldn’t live without them so you brought them back. And against all odds, they didn’t come back wrong, but they didn’t WANT to come back at all, and now they have to learn to live in this world again while resenting their friends and family for taking the death they willingly chose away from them. And existence is hell compared to death because in life they never get a break and never get to rest because they’re constantly needed by everyone. And they can’t chose to die a second time because they know what it would do to their loved ones who still never got over the fact that they died the first time. And also there’s a musical episode.

[ghosts-and-glory]

Part 1

Hate it when your weird ass cat kills you.

Sorry I don’t make comics for my au in chronological order but it’s my house and I can do what I want. We live by my whims.

We’re in the further future, post Not-Narinder stuff and into Narinder being cagey and homicidal.

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