#down unimaginably

[maybebitterxox]

Reminder that simping was invented by James T. Kirk

[monkesupreme]

Maybe i SHOULD draft out my ‘Clark is a SuperPlant’ propaganda post

[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.

[meerphanim]

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And the day we became one.

[melljam]

oh gitae is so devilishly handsome

but i wouldn’t dare go near him … just look at the wolfish grin on his face while eating a raw steak … absolute feral beast of a man!.!!

[carefulfears]

one thing that stands out to me about the IVF arc is the way that, for as much as i make fun of her for asking her coworker if she can have his babies, scully asking mulder to be involved in the biggest process of her life (and the most important thing in the rest of her life) is such a healing and reverent experience. like he says “i’m absolutely flattered,” but it’s so much more than that. it’s like…spending your whole life feeling like you should’ve died at age twelve and then being told someone just wants more of you, more and more and more, in everything.

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

when the long night inevitably ends and the previous social structure has crumbled and both westeros and essos are in chaos, do you want characters who genuinely care about creating meaningful change to be in power, or do you want them to die/not be in power because “feudalism is bad” and therefore these characters who derive some of their authority from the class they belong to cannot hold any power after the long night bc that somehow contradicts one of asoiafs most prominent messages. (despite the fact that many of our main characters suffer due to the current social systems in place)

personally, i’d prefer it if the characters who are able to see the good in the undesirables of society (and protect/empower these undesirables) are able to live on in order to restructure society in a way that protects all people.

to be frank, i don’t think it’d even be possible for the world of asoiaf to return to feudalism after something like the long night occurs.

but the thing is, society needs structure and humanity will naturally restructure itself whether people like it or not. so when spring comes, i want the characters who wish for a better tomorrow for all people to be in power in order to create a better world.

so to everyone who thinks that certain characters being in power only perpetuates the cycle of class violence and oppression, i’d like to ask you what you think is a better alternative way for asoiaf to end.

[little-big-boo-and-a-rat]

I'm going to need several lifetimes to heal from whatever no paths are bound is what the fuck has this fic done to me

[pangolin-404]

thinking about how buddy is inherently more durable than its crew. they are humans (presumably), soft and killable. but buddy is not its body, but a mask, which is very hard to break. it can get burned, shot, dismembered, poisoned, and blown up six ways from sunday, and its mask will be fine. thinking about how the crew settles into that mindset that buddy is innately more expendable whether they want to or not

it can travel in front. if there is a bracken, it will follow last. it is first to cross the gap to determine if the jump is worth the risk. it loves to do this because it keeps its crew, significantly more vulnerable than itself, safe. it serves as bait for a spider and laughs when it is numbed with venom and collapses, laughs knowing it just had to get the thing to turn around, to leave itself open to be killed by someone else. fifteen teleports it for the seventh time and grows numb to seeing what a thumper does to a body, watching the host stop moving in the ship. it shoves five out of a nutcracker's line of sight and gets shot and still twitches and laughs as it bleeds its energy out, to keep its attention on it rather than anyone else. how readily it will split from the others and serve itself on a silver platter to anything and everything, just to keep them alive.

its crew don't like it, how it has formed some odd complex about it. it never gets downright reckless with itself, because getting a body is a pain kept to a minimum, but that doesn't stop that looming knowledge of how it can be used. a useful ability to have, leaving it and its team assured that there is a fail-safe. that it's okay for someone to lag behind or march into danger, because they can always get it another body. it is the perfect sacrificial lamb.

it gets a little scared when the baboon hawks rip it apart, seeking for things to swallow whole, and wrap their maws around its skull. turretfire or a nutcracker could hit its mask. a pack of dogs fighting over it could (and eventually do) crack its mask. but it does it anyways, no matter how it disturbs itself or its team, because that is the role it has embraced; it is happy to die for them. it can afford to get eaten alive, so why wouldn't it place itself between a dog and its beloved crew? it is simultaneously ready to die and terrified of death

[emmafaeru]

this is absolutely one hundred percent an otherside picnic blog now btw

[followerofmercy]

Hey who wants to play Poverty Simulator from my roommate's social work classes

It's great. It's miserable. It's a little unrealistic because grocery prices have skyrocketed.

[sluckythewizard]

OOOH MORE WIPS UPON YYEEE i amm gonna crawl outa this artblock even if it KILLS ME! and speaking of killsing. whats with THIS dead guy huh??? its chip jrwi baby yeaaah its undead chip baby yeaaaahh its chip n hes fucken dead and rotting and gross and OOHHH IM SO PROUD OF HIm(for being dead)

[mugentakeda]

i just saw a pic of live action zuko and im kinda frothing at the mouth because zukos scar in the original show is so big the shell of his ear is almost gone. His skin is melted and folding around the eye socket. the eyeball itself looks dead. the burn is in the shape of a grown mans big ass hand. its horrible looking because the nature of it is horrible and grotesque and tragic and thats the whole POINT because zuko was and is a kid and netflix is making it look like a slightly nasty black eye for aesthetic purposes or to make zukos appearance "easier to digest" for viewers or some other stupid shit im so so mad im SO mad dude

[rez-urrection]

tired of people saying that evil morty is just a morty who snapped, and he doesn't have some good villian origin story. like !! yes he does !! he's implied to be a product of and is canonly a witness of the morty industry.

tw for human trafficking mentions under the more

which, because people in this fandom kind of sugarcoat that or don't see it for what it is, is human trafficking. evil morty isn't just some morty who got tired of a rick, hes a human trafficking victim who was likely passed between more ricks than he can remember. he's witnessed so many deaths and so much systemic morty torture that he's desensitized. the way he scanned all of those rick's brains mimicked the fucking dead morty disposal line.

so, no, evil morty isn't just "some morty who got sick of a rick," he literally apologizes for being such a high maintenence morty to make his rick shut up. that isn't something a regular grandson says that's something a grandson who has been trafficked and used by vile versions of his grandpa in such amounts that his life is unrecognizable without it.

for the love of fuck, r&m fans, please understand complex characters with complex trauma

[ratatatastic]

a man contemplating how to feasibly knick a 35 pound tincan from his captain without getting the shit beat out of him by said captain

and hes about 10 seconds away from reenacting raccoon stealing catfood shenanigans

absolutely hysterical hes giving the cup that look after he stole it from sasha and had to give it back beforehand

LIKE GIRL BE A LITTLE MORE SUBTLE

[bonetrousledbones]

so what i've gathered is that this drawing will not be suited to a papyrus at all. i think any papyrus that i would draw with normal proportions and a basic ass pose with muted colors would have to be a kind that i can have no love for whatsoever. he would have to have been raised by a newspaper