#(sometimes I still think about this fic

[keferon]

…..I should be working rn but one of the songs in my playlist hit harder than usual so

[arttsuka]

I LOVE Teen Stan and Ford, it’s sad they don’t get drawn enough, so thank you so much!

Does Ford ever help Stan when he gets overstimulated? Or maybe when he has a rage response and suddenly starts crying and calls himself stupid?

Here's the other post with Ford

[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.

[radioroxx]

hey guys 🤲 spare nille thoughts? s’il vous plaît???

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[italyveneziano]

Obsessed with what America and England have going on in HetaOni. America's like "I keep having to watch my dad die from overusing his magic in past timelines and not knowing how to stop it is killing me inside but I'm not going to talk to him about it" and England's like "I can't seem to hold a conversation with my son without insulting him but I won't hesitate to use my dying breath to ensure I can protect him from beyond the grave"

[alistair-blackwood]

kb/ms is truly transcendental yaoi, spectacular, amazing, 10/10, no notes ... from the perspective of a mithrun enjoyer

as a kabru enjoyer, however...

I'll start off by saying that of course Kabru doesn't want or need a romantic relationship to be fulfilled, especially not with a white man, none of them do, it's all non-canon, Dungeon Meshi isn't about romance or shipping, yes yes yes, but none of us are here for that right now!! We're here to fruitlessly argue why my blorbos kissing makes more sense than your blorbos kissing!! You know it, I know it, none of us are free of cringe!! Clown on clown violence!!

That being said ... 🤡

I just don't see what Kabru gets out of kb/ms. With Mithrun, it makes sense; Kabru has a huge impact on him and ultimately helps him reaffirm his will to live. That's very exquisite drama and excellent character writing. But with Kabru, I just don't feel that Mithrun's character interacts with his personal flaws and would instigate his growth anywhere close to the same degree. I have to imagine most fics involving them focus more on Mithrun's baggage and how Kabru helps him heal from that ... because that's mostly all that happens between them in the main story, lol!

And like, that makes sense, because ultimately chapters 61-62 aren't about Kabru and Mithrun; they're about Kabru working through his conflicted feelings in helping Laios conquer the dungeon. I think it's ironic seeing people complain about kb/ms having Kabru be Mithrun's accessory when, if anything, Mithrun's main narrative purpose, outside of illustrating the danger of the Winged Lion, is to serve as Kabru's obstacle. I'd even argue Mithrun represents Kabru's personal bad ending; Mithrun wants him to kill Laios and surrender the dungeon to the canaries, preventing the short-lived races from ever understanding how dungeons function and returning to the status quo that had gotten Utaya destroyed. It's only when Laios practically forces Kabru, straight up puts his thumbs to the screws, to work past his reticence and be emotionally vulnerable that Kabru finally puts himself on the right path to achieve his goals (it's, uh, still a bit of a bumpy ride, but they get there in the end, lol!). If he'd been this way with Laios from the beginning, he might have understood Laios' intentions from the start and saved himself a lot of pain, but it's only because of Laios' influence that Kabru is able to grow as a character and get his happy ending.

(And even if one were a Mithrun enjoyer, ultimately the main source of Mithrun's life affirmation comes from the canaries. In that final scene, Kabru gets the ball rolling because he's outside of the canary hierarchy, but the scene ends with Mithrun being embraced by the canaries and as far as I'm aware the two don't interact with or reference each other post canon at all. Hell, it's Senshi who really drives the point home. Not that it matters when we're all wearing shipping goggles here, but it felt remiss not to mention it.)

At most, I can see how taking care of Mithrun would force Kabru to reexamine how poorly he takes care of his own body and that could make for some good drama. But even then, that change is ultimately instigated by Laios' influence on him, an extension of how Kabru wants to understand how Laios can see the value in monsters in an attempt to better understand his own trauma. If a person were to get into Dungeon Meshi specifically for Kabru and wanted to ship him with someone in a way that's most interesting for him, I'd be hard-pressed to argue there's a better choice than Laios (although who'd be cringe enough to do something like that haha right guys ... [sweating])

(Side note, though, I really don't vibe with the argument that kb/ms "reduces Kabru to a caretaker role" and that's why it's bad. There's plenty of instances where Kabru shoulders his friends' burdens (helps Kuro learn common tongue, listens to Daya's fiance about his relationship troubles, etc) and, more importantly, is seemingly happy to do so. I think Kabru genuinely enjoys looking after his friends and in the story seems to find plenty of personal satisfaction getting Mithrun to eat. I understand it has the potential to be more troubling considering Kabru is a brown man and Mithrun is a white man, but idk, it just feels on the same level as people trying to discount labru by saying Laios wouldn't take enough of an interest in people to want to start a romantic relationship, when his whole thing is that he does want to connect with people and just feels like he can't. It's not a bone I feel like picking, haha)

I honesty don't mind characters being "mischaracterized" in fandom or fic even to a large degree, I know it bugs a lot of people but I respect that ultimately fandom is little more than picking up the vague outline of a doll and playing with it and mashing their faces together. Besides, if I'm really worked up about it I can just write a fic and set the record straight myself, haha. This post is merely inspired by the supremely annoying subsection of twitter that acts like labru is the ship where it's just two dudes sitting in a room together. I'm just saying, Kabru ends the series whispering into the ear of another man as his day job and it's not Mithrun lmao

[mamawasatesttube]

ooooo timkon w “Can you just hold me?” or “You look like you need a hug." for the ficlet thing :3

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be, with a whole hair care shower routine, silken pillowcases, and an array of curl creams and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for it now and then, but he knows it's because Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. Kon got too used to being picked apart on camera for that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in from the balcony is... concerning.

Even more concerning is the way he barely even looks at Tim before he throws himself at the bed, flopping face-down with an oof. The balcony door closes itself behind him like an afterthought, and he heaves a huge, melancholy sigh.

"Kon?" Tim pushes away from his desk, trotting over to the bedside. Kon's legs are sticking off, and Tim shakes his head fondly as he reaches down to tug Kon's boots off. "Long day, huh?"

The first boot comes off in his hands; the second follows almost instantaneously. Kon lifts his head from the duvet to give him a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, apologetic, before he drops his face back down with a thump.

"I'm tired," he mumbles. And he sounds like it. There isn't even a hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim crawls onto the bed next to him, rests his hand comfortingly at the small of his back. "What happened?"

Kon hisses out another sigh into the duvet. "Someone tried to—and don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm fine—but someone tried to dissect me today. Again."

Alarm jolts through Tim's whole body; his hands immediately start roaming Kon's torso, probing for wounds. "What?! Are you hurt—"

"I just said, I'm fine, Rob." Kon sounds a little wry as he rolls onto his back. "Jeez. What happened to your listening skills?"

He catches one of Tim's wrists and holds it to his chest, over his heart; Tim can see the sliver of an incision, cut right into the center of the S-shield emblazoned on his chest. He can't tell if it cut the skin beneath or not, but at least he doesn't see any blood.

The tiny smile on Kon's face fades, and Tim softens, studying him. Now that he can look properly, he can see the telltale signs that Kon cried, earlier; his cheeks are a little blotchy, his eyes slightly reddened. An eyelash is stuck to the delicate skin just below his eye.

"Some... ugh. They were some, like, Cadmus-wannabes. Total bozos, though. They had a red sun lamp, but no metagene suppressant, so." Kon shrugs, discontented. "They didn't even use the energy restraints like that time with Amanda Spence, like—c'mon, at least do your basic research if you're gonna try to vivisect a guy, right?" He snorts humorlessly. "I got out fine, took it down, called the S.C.U., it's whatever. I'm just... I'm so tired, Tim," and his voice cracks on Tim's name.

"Kon," he murmurs, leaning down. He presses their foreheads together, his chest aching. He'll have to check the news, find out from reports who exactly was behind this, because... it shouldn't matter, since it's already taken care of, but something inside him burns at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could put such a bone-deep sorrow into Kon's eyes.

"I'm so tired of people acting like I'm—like I'm not a person just 'cuz I hatched outta some stupid tube in a lab." Kon's eyes are too bright. He squeezes them shut and takes a shaky breath. "Like—what do I gotta do, y'know? How do you just—how do you even get through to people who're so convinced clones aren't people? I'm a person, too! I just... I..."

Tim very briefly debates the ethics of breaking into Stryker's just so he can hit someone with his staff. Or his car.

"I'm... really sorry you had to deal with that," he says instead, lamely. It's cold comfort, and awkward, and—

And it makes Kon laugh, watery but real. He blinks his teary-bright eyes up at Tim, brushes a gloved hand to his cheek. "You're mad as hell right now, aren't you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and presses his lips to Kon's jaw. "You caught me." Another kiss, to the corner of Kon's mouth. "I just—I hate that I can't do anything to fix this kinda thing for you. You don't deserve it."

"Mm." Kon takes a second to collect himself, swallows hard, and breathes out slowly. "You do more than you realize, I think. Can you just—can you just hold me? For a little while?"

Tim flops down on top of him immediately, wraps his arms around his head and neck, and smushes his face into Kon's hair. It would probably be more comfortable if they were side-by-side and facing each other, but the advantage of this position is that—

Kon laughs again, soft and fond. His voice is still a little thick, but he's smiling now. "Is that comfy for you...?"

"Kinda." Tim kisses his temple, too. "You smell like smoke."

"Mmf, sorry." Kon sighs again. "And I got it all over the bed now, too, huh..."

"S'okay. We can just grab a different blanket later." Tim scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair until they hit a tangle. "...Want me to wash your hair for you?"

Kon's arms tighten around him, and suddenly he seems like he needs a moment before he can respond. Tim doesn't rush him.

"Yeah," Kon croaks out after a moment, his voice suspiciously wet. "Yeah, Robbie. I'd like that a lot."

[muirmarie]

Me: I joke about writing the same McCoy centric story over and over again in different ways

Me: and like. I love doing it and imma keep doing it because it makes me happy.

Me: but also. I do sometimes wonder if it's like. A little Much.

Me: like maybe I should branch out or something

Me: [reads another fundamental and extremely insulting misread of McCoy's character by someone who is clearly making a Choice to cast McCoy as the villain, because they have to get him out of the way of spirk, because they're too???? idk immature??? to realize that even when you're in a relationship with one person, other ppl can and SHOULD still be important to you]

Me: lmao I hope I AM too much actually!!!! I hope it is 100% obnoxious how much I love that doctor!!!!! Time to write more versions of the same story of McCoy being forced to realize that he is loved and cared for!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW MY NICHE AND IMMA DIE IN THAT NICHE, THANKS

[lesbians4armand]

much to be said i think about how in iwtv the tragedy often boils down to either “this character died too soon” or”this character should have died a long time ago but didn’t”

literally “let us die young or let us live forever” but both are tragedy

[fenori]

cannot overstate the influence these 2 had on me..... i miss them LOL

[crybaby-bkg]

wanna bug Toji soooo bad while he’s on the phone. his ass doesn’t have a job so it’s not like he’s discussing important business, but he likes to make it look that way. phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he uses one hand to rub circles on your exposed thigh, the other flipping through the tv channels. he’s speaking in a low tone, his eyebrows mused together in agitation as he calls the guy on the other line a barrage of insulting names.

and you’re just a simple person—the man looks hot as fuck like that and you just have to bother him. so you do, despite the side eye he gives you when you swing your leg over, foot in the air, right in his face. he swats you away gently before going back to his phone call, bites at your toes when you still try to wiggle them in his face.

"If you think you can lowball me like that, then you're stupider than I thought." Toji grunts to the other man on the phone, distracted once more. a little peeved that his attention isn't on you much anymore, you do what any little conniving imp would do.

you sit on his lap. backwards, facing the TV, looking over your shoulder at him with such an evil little grin that it makes his eyes squint to you in warning. but you've never listened much, especially when you know you'll be rewarded so plentifully in the end.

so you rock your hips, just slightly the first few times. your legs sat on either side of him, hands resting in the space between his legs on the bed, leaning your weight back on his hips that you sit against. instantly, you can feel the swell of him beneath his sweats, feel the thickness that you love to fill you up start to twitch when you circle your hips, grinding them oh so slowly against his covered cock.

when you look over your shoulder again, Toji only stares, the slightest lilt of his lip turning up at the corners. he tries to act unbothered, one arm bent back to rest his head against, the other holding the phone to his ear. but you can see through him, and feel just how bothered he really is.

so you up the ante; start to lift and drop your hips slow, slow, slow at first before the pace begins to build. you lean forward on your elbows, pull your underwear up until the curve of your ass is exposed, gasping from the friction, from the feeling of his cock rubbing so sweetly at your slit through the thin cotton.

you look over your shoulder once more, grinning, biting at your lip as you grind against him, close to completion. he can see it all in your eyes.

"Gonna call you back later. Got some important shit to take care of right now." Toji hangs up without preamble, gaze distant as he focuses on the ever growing spot of your arousal that starts to leak onto his own sweats.

but you're a little minx, with the way you scramble from his grasp before he can catch you, laughing when he snags your ankle to drag you back down. he's suddenly kneeling over you, grin sharp and ferocious, the straining of his cock through his sweats hanging so intimidatingly low, that if you lift your hips just a little, his tip would kiss your clit in the sweetest kiss.

"And where do you think you're going, you little brat?" Toji growls, dropping down to nip at the base of your neck, licking over your pulse point.

"Not letting me off the hook that easy, huh?" you tease, hands splayed beside your head in surrender, just wanting a little bit of the chase before the devouring. and by the look in his eyes, you know you'll only be bones by morning.

"Not in a million years." he promises right before the inevitable pounce.

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[introspectivememories]

i love bucktommy but the only thing i cant get over is that i was reading a great bucktommy fic once, amazing even, except for the fact that tommy lived on the venice canals???? and it took me so out of the fic because i just couldn't get over the fact that he lived there. on the venice canals???? on firefighter's salary???? even if he bought it in the 08' recession, there is no way he could afford that. and like i guess my question is, does 911 take place in an alternate universe where the housing market is cheaper in la and if it does, how do i get to that universe?

[volivolition]

wiggles my fingers at you ouuuu… you want to tell me about solace so bad…

HKJGG wiggles my fingers back lovingly!!! i really do, i fuckin LOVE solace :3 hey did you know i really like making fake skill descriptions?

SOLACE

Follow the north star. Find light in even the darkest places. Cool for: Optimists, Recovering lost souls, Sweet summer children

Solace is the skill you tucked away long ago, at the bottom of Pandora's box. The little one that tells you: despite it all, there is still hope. It needs a lot of nurturing -- and it's far from being the most helpful for police work -- but taking care of it is basically self-care. It enables you to find the glow in yourself that you often ascribe to gold lungs or brilliant halos in others. It encourages you to wake up and watch the sunrise, to play board games with someone you love, to forgive yourself and let yourself be a gentler kind of animal. Constantly looking forward to a brighter future, it also helps shield your morale from damage.

At high levels, Solace gives you a heightened sense of childlike optimism - which isn't always the sense to lead with in this precariously harsh world. Always looking for the bright side will blindside you with naivety. At low levels, however, you may just extinguish whatever keeps your soul alight. You've already lost her once. You may not survive the desolation if you let her disappear again.