#fic + art

[rhysiana]

A summer vacation moment for Nozue and Togawa that I originally started as a Yuletide treat, but it was both too short and too overwhelmingly summer-y, so I saved it for now. Posting this specifically on August 7, the day Tanabata is celebrated in Sendai. (Please also imagine a future where Togawa tries out sketching as a new hobby for the accompanying art.)

Technically, this trip had been Togawa’s idea. He had been the one to spot the shinkansen fare deal after Nozue commented casually about a travel segment on the morning news; he had been the one to book the ryokan instead of one of the hotels they always used on business trips so it would feel like a real vacation. But now that they were here, he was really starting to question the wisdom of traveling to Sendai in August. Here in the covered shopping street in the middle of the city, the humid air was barely moving. He could feel sweat trickling down the middle of his back and spared a very brief but longing thought for the air-conditioned office he’d been so eager to escape.

Fortunately, looking at Nozue was serving as a pretty good distraction from his own discomfort. Not that Nozue was probably any less hot than Togawa was, but he was handling it with more style, dressed in a short-sleeved linen shirt he’d ironed before Togawa had woken up that morning and somehow kept unwrinkled the whole day. He’d also managed to procure a cheap fan from somewhere and was using it to lazily stir the air in front of his face, but Togawa could see sweat beading on his neck and had been running an idle fantasy in his mind of kissing it off the hollow of his throat for the past fifteen minutes.

He wiped an annoying (and undoubtedly less attractive) trickle off his own forehead. “Do you think they celebrate Tanabata here a month later than everywhere just to maximize how hot it will be?”

“I think it’s supposed to be something about staying more in line with the historical calendar,” Nozue said almost absently, and then smiled over his shoulder at him. “Look at that one!”

Togawa forced himself to blink away from Nozue’s smile, which as far as he was concerned was the entire point of the trip, and look at the huge paper decoration he was pointing at.

“Very pretty,” he agreed, and held up his phone to take a picture, Nozue in the foreground as the more important subject. If Nozue wanted photos of just the decorations, he could take them himself.

Nozue noticed and looked away, fanning himself a little harder. If he hadn’t already been so flushed from the heat, Togawa suspected he would have been blushing. Togawa hadn’t decided whether he hoped would someday get used to it, or if he’d respond so cutely forever.

“Oh, look,” Nozue said, still a master of deflection when flustered. “There’s going to be fireworks tonight. Do you think we’ll be able to see them from the ryokan, or should we go to,” he squinted at the flyer, glasses left behind in his suitcase as always, “um, this bridge up near the castle ruins?”

Togawa decided not to tease him about clearly figuring that out from the larger symbols on the map rather than the words and considered the question seriously. “There’s aircon back in the room, but if we go to the festival area, there will be yakisoba. And dango.” He glanced at the map again. “And probably reflections off the river.”

“Hmmm, yes, let’s do that.” Nozue leaned a little closer to Togawa in a way he often did now, like he was responding to a personal gravity. (Togawa thrilled at it every time even though he wasn’t sure Nozue really realized he was doing it.) “Why does yakisoba from a festival stall always taste the best?”

Fitting his hand into the small of Nozue’s back, Togawa steered him back into the flow of pedestrians. “I don’t know, but I’m sure the answer is very unhealthy.”

Nozue’s fan was directed at them both now. “I’m sure that’s true. Let’s not find out.”

[Now also in my Petit Fours collection of Old Fashion Cupcake post-canon slice-of-life moments.)

[oris-arts]

Whumptober day 15- Childhood Trauma [Feyrin, Hallow. No overt things to warn about here, but still proceed with caution.]

> The Vessel had been having a terrible day. Week. Month. However long it had been since the public were made aware of it.

> The commoners were polite, at least, speaking in hushed whispers and not to its face about how strange it was, how odd and scary. The aristocrats, on the other hand, were another story.

> They treated it as another one of Father's machines. They knew, better than it did, that it was not supposed to feel. Therefore, they could afford to be as cruel as they deemed they could get away with.

> The Vessel watched, nearly daily, as the upper class of the City ridiculed it, treated it as some metaphorical punching bag for their *petty* frustrations.

> And what was it to say they were wrong? It was pure. It was ambivalent to this, as it always was and would be.

> And yet... It could feel the ever-present pressure, the eyes on it and hands approaching and it was surrounded and the world kept threatening to collapse and it felt something grab onto it--

----------

> ... Hallow shuddered awake, whole body still aching. Phantom pain wracking along their arm.

> ... Acuraed orange tears spilled from their remaining eye. This... It was their fault.

> They should have done something.

> ... Their door opened, and their old familiar friend stepped forward. Feyrin.

> *"... Hallow? I... I heard you from the hall. Are you ok?"*

> ... No. They weren't.

> *"... Right. Do you want me to stay with you for now? Like old times?"*

> They nodded. Feyrin sat down on the bed next to them, looking over at them. Cupping their face in one hand.

> Hallow couldn't help but flinch, before leaning into it. Tears spilling.

> *"It'll be ok, alright? I promise. I..."* Feyrin seemed to tear up themselves, before steadying themselves with a breath.

> *"I'm here for you. Always."*

> ... And that was all they needed. Both of them.

[jamjoob]

great heavens i haven't posted in a while

[yeehawpim]

a comic about fix-it fanfics

[king-nyx]

Say it with me now

You are never late to a fandom. Your fic is never "invalid" for being "late". Your fic doesn't need a high word limit. Your fic does not need a high standard. Your fic does not need to be highly popular. Your fic isn't less valid than a popular author's fic. Your fic isn't inheritly bad. Your fic is amazing. Your fic is valid. The only thing that matters is that you're having fun. Fandom is not consumption and consumerism. Fandom is fun, free and for the people. Fandom is not a popularity contest. We're all nerds at the end of the day.

[spectra-bear]

Sometimes something simple could be really special, after all.

[ashrayus]

absolutely lost it over this fic by @neuro-psyche so. have this comic o(- (

go read it rn if u also love some Good identity reveal fic!!!!

[cronchy-baguette]

shadowzel nation rise up!!!

[arrja]

Sukuna finds a strange creature in the forest and decides to bring it home

Fanart inspired by- The Child With Marks on AO3 (Make sure to check it out!)

[mountainshroom]

i like the log and the pool

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Gravity Falls was strange, and the townsfolk even stranger, it seemed.

The twins had been unceremoniously dropped off on the side of the dusty road, the roar of the bus engine fading away as the driver wordlessly drove off without fanfare. The poor man had almost seemed close to tears ever since they had entered the thresholds of this seemingly innocuous town, all too eager to speed off and away while leaving the two children coughing and wheezing in its dust.

It had not even been a full minute since their lackluster drop-off before they became well acquainted with the oddly sociable and irritatingly chatty inhabitants of Gravity Falls. A single conversation with a pair of boisterous policemen already told them all they needed to know about the history of the town, as well as the whereabouts of their Great Uncle Ford.

"The Mystery Shack," the townsfolk had called it. It seemed as though their distant uncle had earned himself somewhat of a reputation amongst the locals. He was the town cryptid; the ever elusive mad scientist that lived in the outskirts of town in this so called "Mystery Shack". No one really knew who he really was; but everyone knew exactly who he was.

So, when the twins found themselves stood hand in hand in front of the rickety old shack, they hadn't really known what to expect when door had swung open with a deafening slam.

He was a strange man, their Great Uncle Ford. He seemed nothing like the cackling looney lab-coated madman they had imagined from what meager hushed information the townsfolk had offered them. It seemed as though the tales of a scientist gone mad that experimented on stray children that wandered into his spooky "Mystery Shack" was but a cruel rumor.

He mostly just seemed unhealthy, to be honest. His sickly, pale frame utterly drowned in the thick red woolen sweater that practically seemed to hang off of his lanky body like a second flap of skin. It made him look almost child-like, like a kid trying on their parents clothes; which somewhat diluted the intimidating effects of his looming height.

Although, the townsfolk's apparent fear of their Great Uncle Ford seemed to have some merit.

For one, Grunkle Ford really didn't seem all too human. He wasn't inhumane, per se; just, not entirely himself, if that made any sense. Looking at him was like looking at an incomplete puzzle; or looking at someone who you remember all your life wearing a hat, suddenly coming to work one day without one, and it takes a little too long for you to remember what is missing.

It was like Grunkle Ford had lost pieces of himself. Somewhere, to someone. His eyes seemed... almost empty. They were a little too dull and a little too opaque, lacking the lively shine of life everyone else seemed to have.

Another thing was that Grunkle Ford wasn't entirely alone. There was... someone else. The twins couldn't exactly pinpoint where, but they could feel its stare, whatever or whoever it was. They could almost feel its stare, a non-existent eye trailing a weird prickling sensation across their skin. The twins recalled the words of one of the townsfolk, a tall bestacled man with haunted blind eyes; although unseeing they could have sworn his gaze never seemed to leave them, as all he said was:

"Don't catch IT staring at you"

The twins had an odd feeling that IT was looking at them right now.

They didn't even notice when the pale bony hand of Grunkle Ford suddenly reached into their personal space, barely registering his words at all, much less the extra fingers that adorned each of his rough, worn palms.

They didn't take the hand.

If the twins had thought the outside of the shack looked decrepit, the inside seemed somehow even worse.

Every inch of exposed wall, ceiling or floor were utterly covered by sprawling symbols, summoning circles, and indecipherable words that seemed to be in an entirely different language than any the twins knew. They overlapped and tangled into one another into big, messy, red splotches of clustered nothings.

There were notes, diagrams on ripped pieces of aged looking paper scattered everywhere, with hardly any room for post-it notes squeezed wherever there was room. Lit and unlit candles were placed absolutely everywhere; either hidden in the dark corners or openly stood in the middle of the floor; sometimes in a circle, sometimes not. The melted fallen wax had coagulated into a hard white mess onto the floor; the smell of cheap vanilla scented candles intermingling with the smell of halloween fake blood (and Dipper was convince there had to be some real blood there, too) to create a sour concoction that stung their noses unpleasantly.

The shack was sparsely furnished with rarely any furniture at all. Not even a couch, the tables and chairs simply pushed to the walls to make more space for the endlessly swirling symbols and pentagrams. The twins were hesitant of stepping on any of the summoning circles, carefully sidestepping the candles and walking over the line of the pentagrams.

The attic, where they would be residing, was not much better.

Maybe they did end up in a mad scientist's house, after all.

[poorlydrawnmcyt]

Xisuma is forced to play hit video game That’s Not My Hermit by Evil Xisuma every day

Part 2

[evadingreallife]

(By trope-specific i mean for example all the slash fics hosting websites, or the nsfw-only ones, etc)

[arunneronthird]

did u know 9 year old damian was canonly exactly like this

[seagiri]

very sleep deprived doodles of whatever’s going on inside my brain