#[ when the tragedy real

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bare skin, bare feelings.

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[leafuxxtea]

'Oh God, they're beside me again, aren't they.'

LMFAOOO WHAT DID THIS GUY DO TO DESERVE THIS. imagine just sitting there, eating your lunch peacefully while one of your comrades (he's not even eating food, wtf is he doing there) goes and harass the other one once again with his weird homosexual activities (wiping the other's blood and licking it???). I'd lose it, personally.

[strawberri-draws]

shuichi posting

[dykedvonte]

I think the reason Benny designs are so varied and hard to pin is because some people remember the line that says he’s pretty and lean into it hard and others completely disregard it, do a 180 and make him like a Sopranos character.

It’s like he’s either someone’s uncles that laughs too hard at his own jokes while slapping you or random twink number 6. God bless those who have figured out how to merge the two.

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[thecedarchronicle]

i think i remember a post made about this ages ago but i don't remember enough to find it, but one thing that i really love about star stable's story, and wish the writers leaned into, is that there's no winning for the soul riders.

the dark riders just want garnok to be freed. once he is, that's it. game over. jorvik is gone. maybe a future group can come together, maybe later down the line he can be contained again, but for all intents and purposes; jorvik's immediate destruction is basically guaranteed.

the most the soul riders can do is contain him. and hope that the next round of soul riders will be able to do it again, and again, and again. it feels so much like real life in a way that's both really sad and really uplifting. we can't kill the bad guy, and we never will. and people that want us gone forever can be held off, but that kind of insidiousness won't go away. it can't be killed. it's not like stories where you defeat the big evil wizard and now everyone is happy for ever. all you can do is try your best to hold it off this time, and hope that the people who come after you will do it again, and again, and again.

[skelecentral]

what if Y/N could see Dust San's Papyrus & like ghosts & spirit's in general

They’re gossip buddies 🥰

When Papyrus finds out that you can see him, he’s elated to finally have someone new to talk to - don’t get him wrong, he loves his brother! But his interactions with Dust have been his only interactions for years at this point, so having someone new to dialogue with is like finding water in a desert. A very sock-filled, dusty desert. He wants to talk about anything and everything, desperate for any form of contact, and as a result he’ll probably come off as a bit intense at first; he evens out a little as time goes on and he settles into the new norm, though. He’s glad he can talk to you about what he’s experienced and all of the batshit things he’s seen as a spectator - gossip buddies!

He also likes to give you advice, especially related to his brother. He thinks you’re good for him, and knows he likes you, but he worries about what Dust will be like as a partner. He understands completely how unstable Dust is and doesn’t want you getting caught in a bad situation or some sort of crossfire, both because he’s desperate for company and because of his integrity and value system.

In the end, he decides that the best course of action is to help his brother become an Acceptable Datemate and to be there for you if you need any help or advice or encouragement relating to his brother (or anything else, really - he prides himself on being the best friend anyone could ask for, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help you in your time of need even if it didn’t have to do with his plans? It’s all he’s good for at this point, anyways - it’s not like he could make any other sort of difference…but nevermind that! Moping won’t help anyone!)

I’d say that in the end, most Y/Ns would end up being pretty good friends with Papyrus - especially if they were living in Nightmare’s castle for any reason, but also just in general. Dust is silently happy Papyrus is happy, and finds a lot of joy in that you two get along - despite their damaged relationship, the brothers still care for each other deeply, and that comes out in a lot of their actions. I could see Y/N being really good for their relationship as well and perhaps even acting as a catalyst for healing it :)

[sirenspells]

Mari jumpscare

More experimenting with characters' hair. Also gave her a beauty mark for fun :3 (her headspace counterpart not having one is intentional)

[corviiids]

hi!!! all the fic updates/uploads recently have me bouncing off the walls i am so appreciative of all of them!!!! i just hope the procrastination doesn’t have terrible consequences, for your sake

I have this for you!

your dialogue is always so so entertaining i had to do something with it at least once!!! look i know it says slightly manic in the fic but i couldn’t help myself. idk maybe it is only slightly manic. he’s normal. a secret third thing. i’ll leave that judgement in your hands! :D

DUDE. dude. you genuinely have no idea what this did for me. this is exactly precisely the morale boost i needed because i in fact right now at this moment am trying to teach myself all of family law in one night. it's going bad. those are the terrible consequences you referred to

in all sincerity thank you so so much, for this fucking hilarious and incredible drawing (holy shit) but ALSO for your extremely kind words and i am so happy if you've been having fun with my fic :D but ALSO. for this drawing. im in tears. this is the perfect comic. ren startling in the background. goro's manic face. this is the correct level of mania. im feeling it right now. i will never be able to express my gratitude to you

(context this is a scene from my akeshu australian law school au yes you read that correctly)

[riant-draws]

had a rough day but inking is like getting free therapy

don't look too hard at the arm haha yeah it's way too long, that's what I get for not sketching first lol

anyway this was way more fun to make than I anticipated even if it turned out kinda janky :D the crosshatching on the bottom of his robe and the details in his head are probably my fav parts

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

It’s the fact that Price probably has so much guilt for letting Soap die when Soap would never place blame on his Captain for even a moment

[lgbtlunaverse]

I find myself growing a bit tired of the take that 'we need female mangakas because they won't oversexualize women/they can write female characters well/etc" firstly, it reduces women's art to the exclusively wholesome, which is just factually incorrect, but more importantly: we need female mangakas because women make great fucking art and shouldn't be pushed out of the industry because of misogyny. It's that easy. We don't need a specific thing that ~only women can do well~ for it to be wrong that the industry is so sexist. If every single male mangaka started writing female characters like they've been studying feminist literature for 20 years we'd still need female mangakas.

[pomegranate]

MOVIE TONIGHT!!! EP OF ALL TIME

[rooolt]

guy who thinks about lark and sparrow for two single seconds and falls to the floor sobbing screaming crying

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[tarnussy]

Bird baths & heatwave

Considering there's probably the longest heatwave in the history of Central and Eastern Europe now, please put out water for birds to drink! Regardless where you live, it's very important.

A plastic plate that goes under planters works great if you don't have anything else. Make sure you put it in an elevated place so cats can't reach it! You can drill holes in it and hang them as well. Ideally put it in a place where there are no bushes around it, so once again cats can't hide and hunt there. If you didn't know, cats and dogs are the top 2 animals that hunt out of boredom and for fun!

Even if you have a small balcony to your office in Big Corporate Building (TM), you can put one with water on the balcony for birds. I don't have to explain how awful urban environments are for birds, especially during heatwaves.

These cost nothing but will help critters more than you'd think!