#go play with your friend

[red-garden]

After his seclusion ended, Lan Wangji took A-Yuan to Lotus Pier. Of course he doesn’t like Jiang Wanyin, but for this, for *him*, he makes an exception. When Jiang Cheng is summoned out to deal with the Pier’s sudden guest, toting a now three years old Jin Ling in one arm and a strong tea in the other, he sees the face of a boy he’d assumed dead, a boy his brother once called son. “You have three days. I don’t want to see you so stay out of my business.” Is all he says before setting Jin Ling down and prompting him towards A-Yuan. Lan Wangji nods at him, crouching down to (his nephew?) A-Ling. “I was a friend of your uncle’s. This is my son, Lan Yuan.” The toddler looks up at his uncle who nods. “Be a good host, show them around.” Before promptly leaving. The toddler sticks out his hand to the other timidly. “I’m Jin Ling.”

[joyfuladorable]

Baby Junior's First Steps (based on a scene from Bluey)

Prompt from my buddy @vadfannypack! Everyone thank them Right NoW!!

[rocketbirdie]

i think a little kitty sticker would fix him

[mipmoth]

I think about the fact that while the starter you picked evolves and goes through a journey the other two stays with the professor and never change. I wish you could take out pokemon indoors simply so they could see their friends :]

[vaguely-concerned]

purple hawke who, at malcolm's death, lost not only a father, a mentor, the single most stable and safe point in their world up until this moment. but also the only person in their life who would consistently, gleefully 'yes, and — ' them. the loss, in one fell swoop, of both a beloved parent and your sole willing — no, not only willing, enthusiastic — improv partner. truly, the most unkindest cut of all that the maker could have seen fit to deal. (there's always so much less laughter in the house, after malcolm's gone.)

and then after all the horrors of the blight and trying to make a new life in the shithole turned shithome of kirkwall....... they meet varric. and something that's been slumbering deep within their soul dries a tear of relief and joy and whispers 'oh we are so back'. and they are so right

[marlynnofmany]

So the Chocolate Guy, who makes god-tier desserts 24/7 ... guess what he made for Halloween, The Day Of All The Candy. Guess.

[spoiler video description:]

[video of Amaury Guichon making a giant-sized toothbrush and tube of toothpaste out of chocolate]

[vapidsoup]

living in hinamizawa must be so fucking funny. its june 1983, youre hanging out with your friends in some fuckass village with zero (0) formal education institutions and being like yeah man im so hyped to go to the watanagashi festival and play the ring toss. hopefully nobody dies from the blood curse for the fifth consecutive year :/ anyways do these cicadas ever shut the fuck up or

[puppyeared]

READ IT AND WEEP

@chipper-smol @payasita @crowiin

[morganbritton132]

Steve refers to Eddie as his ‘boy friend’ once as a way of differentiating him from Robin and explains that she wasn’t hanging out with them that night because they’re doing ‘guy stuff.’

So anyways, Nancy thinks that they’ve been dating for three weeks now.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i just gotta stop drawing after this im never drawing an erik this nice ever again

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[bigboysteveharrington]

Steve walking around with a hair tie on his wrist all the time. He has no use for it and Robin doesn’t either since she cut her hair, but he’s picked up on the fact that 99% of the time Eddie doesn’t have one so he knows sooner or later, he’ll end up handing it over and replacing it with a new one on his wrist the next time he leaves his house

Eddie has the neurodivergent thing where one minute he’s fine with his hair down but then when he gets stressed and overstimulated suddenly all it’s going to take to push him over the edge into a sensory overload meltdown is one more piece of hair touching his neck at the wrong moment. But he also forgets to bring hair ties and even when he remembers, he can’t find where he left them and even when he can, he hates the feel of them squeezing his wrist all day so they don’t last that long there

It takes a while before Eddie even realizes that Steve’s specifically stocking them for him. At first, Steve just holds them out when Eddie gets overwhelmed to the point of holding his hair off his neck with both hands because he once again doesn’t have anything to tie it up with. And at first Eddie just figures Steve has them lying around from the girls he hooks up with or something, but he doesn’t really think about it much. It isn’t until Eddie’s stressed instinct is to turn to Steve and find him already holding a hair tie out like he can somehow sense that he’s going to need it that Eddie starts to question why he always has one, no matter how many Eddie takes and wears once before losing them to the void in his van or locker or bedroom never to be seen again

[group-dynamic]

Very Minor Spoiler for Episode 7 (S2) of Rings of Power

Thinking casually about Galadriel's declaration earlier this season that caring for that which is most fragile and most dear is the duty entrusted to all elves and how Celebrimbor's gentle care in noticing and greeting that little mouse is what allowed him to see past Sauron's deception. :)

[seafleece]

farcille ft. a special move from the heart: the city beneath class cleaver, which is about as chimera falin as you’ll find anywhere

[liaragaming]

The problem with Solas' view of Mythal

Listen, this has been bugging me for a while, and I finally found a way to articulate it...

In Trespasser, Solas sounds completely devoted to her. And he's so bitter discussing her murder. It's almost like he didn't rebel to free the slaves but to avenge her. (He says he wrote that story "in desperation," so I'm not sure.)

In the Inquisition post credits, he takes Mythal's power, and in his mural he paints it as a betrayal. But it also seems like she gave him permission? She knows he needs her power, and there's no doubt in my mind she could stop him from taking it if she wanted. And we saw her put a soul through the eluvian. She's planned and prepared for this. And he's so wrapped up in his own grief that he doesn't see it.

And she tells him she's "sorry as well." And I don't think she's commiserating with him. It's almost like she's apologizing for something she's done that he doesn't realize? Solas thinks he's done something terrible, but I think he did exactly what she wanted him to do.

Like, I'm sure Solas believes Lavellan loves an idealized version of him that isn't true. But I'm thinking maybe he needs to look into a mirror about Mythal?

We've known Flemeth for three games. She always has a plan. She was waiting for you to come kill her in Origins. Just because she was curious about what you and Morrigan would do. You didn't just happen to be the only Grey Wardens she could save. She hand-picked you. Just like she did Hawke.

And Solas comes to this woman at the end of Inquisition thinking he stabbed her in the back??? Honey, sweetie, do you know this woman at all???

I have so many alarm bells going off in the back of my head.

[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.