#Most of them being tragic

[artist-rat]

I feel your breath upon my neck / a soft caress as cold as death

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the absolute best things about the bros is that they just. Play. They play around like the teens they are, playing ball, or video games, or anything else. They just play and have fun together, genuinely enjoying each other’s company. I dunno, I just appreciate how easy it is for them to mess around and be kids.

[mangotelevision]

old ivylyn wip I don't think I'll ever finish

[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.

[bbygirl-aemond]

HotD casting is literally INSANE like you can't tell me this isn't exactly what olivia cooke's son would look like

[rawliverandgoronspice]

anyway to end the series on ganondorf tp's writing, my take (which isn't canon but arguable as a valid "death of the author" read imo) is that he is at his most iredeemable AND that's because he has zero things left to lose and no community left and his goal doesn't even make sense anymore he is parasitic and a ghost and pathologically obsessed by his own godlike legitimacy because that is the only thing he still has and it has prolonged his life in a horrible diminished state in a nightmare dimension so SURELY it must mean something right right RIGHT

[lavenderjewels]

Despite jjk already being tragic for multiple characters, it’ll be beautiful if Yuuji manages to save Megumi from Sukuna. One of the best aspects of their relationship from the start (although possibly not the healthiest) has been their unconditional desire to save and be with each other. Megumi telling Yuuji to “start by saving me” was such a significant moment in helping Yuuji continue moving forward and not isolate himself away from Megumi and the others. And, while killing Sukuna is considered to be the priority of the characters Yuuji has consistently been planning ways to save Megumi too, and arguably one of the only characters to push those plans too. The same can apply to Megumi too, with his soul drowning after possession, suppressed after seeing his sister and mentor die. At his lowest, I would love to see Yuuji and the others be there for him too. It wouldn’t fix anything that’s already happened, but it would be a start towards healing

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[yesterdayiwrote]

So... quick update on the Eurovision situation

The EBU decided that Israel can compete despite their country being under an active Genocide investigation by the ICJ. Their delegation have gone on to antagonise other contestants by filming them for their social media without permission and refusing to remove it when asked, harass journalists who have questioned if their inclusion is appropriate, and their commentators have made horrendous comments about the Irish contestant... all without sanction.

Meanwhile the Dutch contestant got into an undisclosed 'incident' with a female member of the production crew and they've referred it to the police and flat out disqualified him from the contest with less than 12 hours notice...

Which seems like a tremendous act of double standards at an event that is already marred by serious controversy. Obviously the second is not acceptable, but very difficult to understand how the first somehow... is?

[transmasccofee]

thinking yet again about Saiki‘s’s final choice in the series being “I’d rather live with my powers than die without them” bc that is seriously the single best ending of a disability narrative I’ve seen. Fuck.

[byemambo]

KIM NU RIM AS DOHOE

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (2024) | 1.01

Ready to get my heart crushed by another Hwang Da Seul production </3

[valgeristik]

Переплелись мои корни в тесной братской могиле Скажу им: "Закончились войны", Cкажу им: "Вы победили"

I've found a new song (шиповник - 'dog rose') and, naturally, it made me think. a lot.

The whole song is something that fits botw Link specifically so well, but this piece in particular was inspired by the following bit of lyrics:

My roots are intertwined in a cramped mass grave 

I will tell them: "The wars are over", 

I will tell them: "You have won" 

(in the original text, 'mass grave' is more accurately translated as 'brotherly grave')

When it's all over, what does it mean to be part of a legend? What did it mean for those who came before you?

Link barely knows them, his time is so far removed from theirs, but his roots are intertwined in that brotherly grave regardless.

They are the closest of strangers, and no one's brought flowers to their graves for a while. Might as well.

(additional bits + closeup + song link under the cut)

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i have a book i got ages ago about flower meanings. I know it's all relative n they change from culture to culture etc but. One of the meanings for a dog rose is "prematurity"...as in, something happening too early. before its time

There is also a custom here that if you bring flowers to a grave, it has to be an even number, because an uneven number is for the living.

there are four in the bouquet, and three in Link's hair. I did put four flowers in that bouquet on purpose, but the uneven number in his hair was a beautiful beautiful accident

partial translation of the song (if u want a full one feel free to send an ask or something):

[...]

In underground bunkers 

Among the wreckage of weapons 

Soldiers of perished armies 

Wander with a bullet through the chest 

My roots are intertwined in a cramped mass grave 

I will tell them: "The wars are over", 

I will tell them: "You have won" 

My prickly skin is a sad memory 

I know more about death than you can imagine 

In reinforced concrete crypts, slugs live on mossy walls 

But I want to see the sky, I wake up to life

and also this. i massively ran out of steam so obvs its not the whole chain but yeah 👍

[batsplat]

following on from this. not to always bring marc into everything (sorry marc) but if assen 2015 had happened against jorge, valentino would have very likely pulled something similar again imo. rather than what he actually did, which is approach marc almost immediately for a nice normal friendly handshake and backing off during the podium celebrations. should be noted that during laguna seca '08, valentino was very much committed to yapping at casey on the podium with the world's biggest smuggest grin on his face

partly that disparity is because jorge not marc was the direct title rival, partly it's because valentino was treating marc with kid gloves right until the second that he wasn't, which marc was seemingly entirely oblivious to. if anyone other than marc had said what he said in that presser, had then continued on with similar rhetoric during sachsenring, valentino would quite likely have gone nuclear. he's done it over less than that. his fondness for marc made him continue to exhibit uncharacteristic restraint... except that fondness unfortunately is what left valentino feeling so very betrayed when (to his eyes) marc could not leave well enough alone

[waitineedaname]

I think I need to make a giant venn diagram between homestuck, hlvrai, svsss, and orv

[perenlop]

havent seen this take in a while thankfully but it popped up in my head and i wanna post this anyways. i think everyone who talks about how siffrin “got off too easy” at the end of isat and his friends should have abandoned him should go read warrior cats if they want an example of a character using their trauma as their god-given jailbreak card to treat their family and peers (a good amount of whom who were completely innocent) like dogshit, and who faces zero consequences from the narrative for it (and in fact bends over to blame their peers). like read all the shit jayfeather does while the narrative sobs over how tragic but awesome and quirky he is and then look me in the eye and tell me siffrin’s ending was poorly written.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Madk's mangaka is one of the few people who truly understands the old adage

Love and hate are two sides of the same coin