#i may or may not be writing a fic like this rn

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Broke: 'Watching the show' fics where companions only watch episodes that happened post-Time War

Woke: 'Watching the show' fics where the companions are subjected to a temporally complex shitshow from before, during, and after the Time War where they see some of the most depraved shit I can find in the EU

[zephyrchama]

Hey! Uhhh, my birthday is in two days and most my friends don’t want to celebrate with me. So could I get some comfort for an MC who is sad their human world friends don’t wanna celebrate but has the brothers by their side? I’ve been reading your fics and headcanons the whole night yesterday and they’re really good!

(Thank you!! Hope I made it in time, and I hope it's okay if I changed things up a bit to be an MC who wasn't expecting any sort of celebration. Please have a lovely day! Happy Birthday!) (Anyone who reads this, please be sure to wish seerachii a happy birthday!)

Your alarm was beeping. Just like every other day, you raised an arm and fumbled around in the sheets until your hand made contact with the alarm, turned off the noise, and sighed into the pillow. Waking up in a realm where the day-night cycle doesn’t exist was tough. Your body had a hard time keeping track of its natural rhythm.

It was a normal day. You had homework to do and errands to run. You decided ten more minutes in bed couldn’t hurt, as a treat, and felt around one more for your D.D.D.

New messages from all of the stores you frequented appeared in your inbox overnight. Fifty percent off today only! Buy 5000 grim worth of product and get a free present! Stop by in person and show this message to get a free sample! That last one vaguely intrigued you. Maybe you would stop by after the errands were complete. The kitchen was running low on trash bags, you needed a new notebook after spilling some caustic potion on your old one during class, and Satan asked you to pick up a pack of dental floss when the opportunity arose.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed and over to the wardrobe. You wondered if it would be weird to dress a little fancier than normal, or if anyone would even notice.

Now that you were closer to the door, an odd sound caught your attention. Some kind of scuffling and movement on the other side of your bedroom door. Muffled voices. Your heart froze. Were you supposed to be on breakfast duty? Some of your housemates liked to be up early, and some of them got real cranky when their breakfast wasn’t prepared on time.

You hurried to put on whatever outfit was front and center before opening your door, expecting to see one or two grumpy demons waiting for their food. You were met with everybody, dressed in suits, in the midst of another sibling squabble. Things seemed tense and as soon as you opened the door, all of their attention turned towards you.

“You’re awake?” Beelzebub asked. “Good morning.”

This was a rare sight. Maybe your alarm clock was set to the wrong time and you woke up far later than usual. You rubbed an eye and opened your mouth to apologize for oversleeping but got cut off.

“Hold it! What in the three realms are you wearin’? You wore that same thing last week,” Mammon exclaimed, holding an arm out in front of the others as though holding them back.

Asmodeus shoved a decorative box overflowing with tissue paper into your hands. “Put this on! Go, go!” He nudged your back into your room, and they shut the door behind you.

What?

The muffled squabbling started back up. You heard Belphegor in particular complain, "I didn't get to say good morning."

"We'll do it properly the next time," Lucifer said, right before your attention was directed elsewhere.

Inside the box was a a stunning outfit. Far fancier than anything you thought of wearing that morning and custom-tailored exactly to your size. You admired it in the mirror, conflicted. This definitely seemed like a gift, but was it really? The material felt expensive. You didn't want to get your hopes up. It could be a coincidence, some new idea that Diavolo cooked up or an event you forgot to write on the calendar. But even if that were true, what a nice coincidence it was.

A hush fell over the brothers as you gripped the door handle. This was definitely weird. You swung the door open again and asked, "What's going on?"

"Happy Birthday!" a chorus of voices rang out. Some of them followed it up with "good morning!" Someone temporarily blinded you with a confetti popper.

"Sorry we forgot to say it before," Leviathan said, clapping.

Satan and Lucifer came forward to pick confetti and glitter out of your hair, congratulating you while Asmodeus fussed over your new outfit. "As I thought, it suits you! Hehe."

A mix of emotions welled up. Mostly shock. "You remembered? Or rather... you guys knew? I don't think I told you..."

"'course we knew!" Mammon boasted.

"Who do you take us for?" Belphegor took one of your hands while Beelzebub grabbed the other. They went ahead and intertwined their fingers with yours before anyone else could object.

"We have a lot planned for today, but first, was there anything on your schedule?" Satan asked. "I hope you didn't make too many plans."

"Yeah," you said truthfully, "if there's time I was going to pick up that floss and maybe some new stationary."

Asmodeus laughed and slid an arm around your shoulder. "Oh, you're so funny!"

"You can do that another day," Lucifer chuckled. "We have better things in store for you."

"I especially can't wait for dinner." "Beel, that's a surprise," Leviathan chided, poking the glutton in his side. "Oh, right. You didn't hear that."

They had a whole day of activities planned, just for you? You teared up a little. It was impossible to cover up with your hands being held, so you looked at the floor to try and collect yourself. Just for a moment.

Of course they noticed. Leviathan was alarmed and rushed to ask, "What's wrong?"

Lucifer's confidence wavered ever so slightly, a rare happenstance. He stepped forward with a worried expression and a handkerchief if you needed it.

"Mammon, what did you do?" Belphegor eyed his brother suspiciously.

"Why me? Nothin'!" he stammered, kneeling to get a better look at your face. "What's wrong, huh?"

These guys belonged to a big family. They might fight, but they always had each others backs and supported one another when the time came. You belonged to their big family. They might be overwhelming and needy, but they always had your back and supported you when the time came. You were an inseparable part of them. It was an inscrutable realization.

What was there to say? Thank you? That sounded far too simple to express the complex emotion pooling in your gut. You squeezed the hands that had reached out to you first. They squeezed back. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish on your birthday in the Devildom.

A wavering smile spread across your face. "I can't wait. What are we going to do?"

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

--

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

[anisohtropy]

since Alhaitham knows over 20 languages fluently (which itself is very autismcore), he probably dreams in different languages once he’s actually able to dream. It’s disorienting at first because it swaps between them wildly because dream logic but eventually it settles into single language dreams and he’ll wake up thinking in that language without noticing until he says something to Kaveh, who’s like I don’t actually know as many languages as you and Alhaitham says some shit like that’s not my fault, just learn

Relatedly, Alhaitham’s been writing love letters over the years in various languages both living and dead and when Kaveh finds them it’s a whole thing 

[nonsense-is-everywhere]

Being silly.

SIKE! THIS WAS AN AD FOR MY NEW FIC THE WHOLE TIME. Boy I had you fooled. Anywho, here’s the summary along with the tags.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: SMG3 & SMG4 (SuperMarioGlitchy4)

Characters: SMG4 (SuperMarioGlitchy4), SMG3 (SuperMarioGlitchy4), Mr. Puzzles (SuperMarioGlitchy4), Bob Bobowski (SMG4), Fishy Boopkins (SMG4), Meggy Spletzer (SuperMarioGlitchy4), Tari (SuperMarioGlitchy4), Luigi (Nintendo)

Additional Tags: Little Mr. Puzzles is very important to me, Cannon typical shenanigans, SMG34 if you squint, Relationships aren't the focus tho, Takes place in the middle of the Puzzlevision movie, Little Puzzles is like 11 to me and will be written as such, May have projected my adhd onto him a tad, No beta we die like Axol did, Angst, Relatively new to the fandom, Anon is on because I'm a nervous person, The SMGs and Mini Puzzles are the main focus

Summary:

SMG4 and 3 escape one channel, just to be hit completely off track and fall into a seemingly endless void.

After meeting the floor, they find themselves in a room with a shadow like memory of a child, who is ecstatic to have finally made some friends.

If you’ve been wanting to see more Mini Puzzles centered fics like me, then consider reading.

And as much as I like thinking of interactions between Mini Puzzles and Mr. Puzzles, they won’t be seeing each other in the fic for a while 😔

[izzyzalezbian]

Levi's the kind of guy to get back from a 12-hour shift from the local restaurant, and almost immediately hop on Cool Math Games to play Papa's Pizzeria

[tennessoui]

exploiting the body politic au -

“Oh,” Aayla says, and Anakin looks up from his phone. Aayla’s looking at her own phone, collapsed on her back on the couch. “Why’d you try glasses when you could have just passed these around to the bored suburban moms?”

“What?” Anakin says and leans over. He gets a deft kick to the ribs for his troubles, but then Aayla passes over her phone and—and all she’s been doing is scrolling through some male model’s recent press or something because all the pictures are of the same guy in various outfits, looking various levels of handsome while doing normal people things like picking up groceries or getting out of his car or leaving a coffee shop. “Probably cause these have nothing to do with Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “Are you trying to say you think I should grow a beard? Cause I’ve been thinking mayb—”

“Stop,” Aayla interrupts, holding up a hand. “First of all, I would never tell you to grow a beard. No one is ever going to tell you that. Second of all, that is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“No it’s not,” Anakin says automatically. “Kenobi is like, old.”

Well, he’s thirty-five, Anakin knows that. And thirty-five isn’t old, but it’s also certainly not devastatingly attractive. 

“Give me that back,” he demands, extending his hand and grabbing at Aayla’s phone. He clicks on one of the photos on the screen at random, a shot of the bearded man carrying a paperbag full of groceries. It’s at least a few months old, because there’s a bouquet of spring flowers in the picture, balanced on top of the bag. The man’s hair looks reddish brown in the sun; his beard’s all neat and orderly and he’s wearing a light jacket over a loose shirt and slacks. Anakin was right the first time around—he’s very attractive in a way that screams look at me. 

He supposes that’s something politicians could probably have in common with models, but the man in the photo is looking far too windswept and…and casual to be a politician.

But then he looks past the photo, down at its title and it says City Councilman Kenobi on Cars, Community, and Cooking in Coruscant.

It must have been a slow news day.

“Huh,” Anakin says, swiping across the phone’s screen to pull up the next picture. It’s part of the same article from the Coruscant Star, except this time, Kenobi is looking at the camera with one eyebrow raised, expression carefully crafted to look both infinitely patient and two seconds away from snapping. It must have been taken on a different day altogether because the man is dressed in a reasonably nice looking outfit, though his tie is all loose around his neck. He’s standing in his office, maybe, or a prop office more likely, leaning a bit over a very heavy and fancy looking desk, balanced on one of his forearms which is all freckly and exposed because he’s rolled up his sleeves.

“Is this what the city council is using our tax dollars for?” Anakin asks, scandalized. “Soft-core porn shoots?”

“What?” Aayla says, demonstrating a freakish level of flexibility by leaning over to look at her phone screen without removing her feet from his lap. “It’s just a photo.”

Anakin splutters. “I may have pledged my undying loyalty to my hot TA, but even I cannot admit that that is not just a photo.”

“Whatever,” Aayla says, flopping back onto her back. “Don’t screenshot it and send it to yourself to beat off to later, that’s gross.”

“You’re gross,” Anakin replies, but he tosses her phone back at her. He wasn’t going to screenshot anything. “That’s our city councilman.”

“He’s your city councilman,” Aayla corrects lazily. “I’ve decided I was going to vote for his opponent.”

All politics is, Anakin decides, is one betrayal after another. 

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

[tequiilasunriise]

Okay but the emphasis on Ada being axed in the abdomen specifically?

My current headcanon fer her death is that Ada was a maid who had an affair with a rich man she worked fer and fell horrendously in love with this man who likely just saw her as a pretty toy to enjoy on the side. At one point, Richboy tries to break if off with her, and Ada persists because she so wholly believes what they have is real and special meanwhile Richboy is just tryna get rid of her before this scandal gets out to the public.

tw: woah this angst got a little dark and lowkey spiraled into a minific

Ada follows her ‘lover’ into the woods where he she knows he likes to chop wood to destress, and when she finds him she starts begging him to take her back because they’re oh so in love you can’t you see? He tries to push her away, but Ada screams out, “You, you can’t leave me!”

“Ada, for the last time, leave me alone-“

“I’M WITH CHILD! IT’S YOURS!”

A stray wind rustles fallen foliage in the distance, the silence that has befallen the pair so heavy that the man could faintly count each individual leaf. Even as he stands stunned and speechless outwardly, from within a thunderous hammering of his heart begins to stir.

“… what?”

“I am going to bear your child! Please, can’t you see? You can’t leave me now!”

Shaking his head, the drumbeat man’s heart continues to bang against his eardrums louder and louder. It’s as if the bloodied thing was trying to break out of his ribcage and run away shrieking.

“No, n-no it can not be.”

“It can, it can,” wide green eyes stare up at him with a frenzied gleam, the maid’s broad smile stretching across her features like a slash, “It’s yours, you know I would never touch another.”

Ada steps forward, clinging onto the arm of her one and only. The man tries to take a step back and dodge her hands, but it’s already too late, the maid’s fingers frantically dig deep into the flesh of his arm and pull him close.

“Ada- Ada st-stop, stop touching me-“

“This is fate!” She crows desperately, completely ignoring his plea, her grip tightening on the man who gave her light.

“A-Ada! Let go!”

“No, I can’t! This child is a sign of our lov- AAAARRGHHHHH!”

Her backside slams onto the forest floor beneath her, but the bruises that shall surely form on her back holds not even a candlelight to the wretched, searing pain races from her stomach. Ada’s shaky hands reach up and-

Oh.

Oh, she’s bleeding.

Above her, the love of her life breathes unevenly, the axe clutched in his fist stained with a cruel, cruel crimson.

The immense pain rushing from her stomach is nearly enough to rob her of words completely, yet even this physical anguish can not hold back the aching in her betrayed soul.

“B-but,” she barely chokes out, hot tears streaming from her eyes, “But why?”

“Because you gave me no choice.”

Pov Ada is crumpled on the forest floor bleeding out and STILL girly doesn’t even try to get up and call for help.

The man above her runs his free hand through his hair, disbelief and desperation laced in his every movement. His voice, once so strong and sure, now tremors as the realization of what he has done settles deep into the marrow of his bones.

“Do you understand now, you worthless fool? Do you understand?”

Ada can only shake her head. Even now, even here where she is very nearly nothing but a corpse to feed the maggots that reside in the dirt beneath her, Ada refuses to believe that this man she has devoted her whole being truly doesn’t feel the same.

“You, you didn’t mean to,” the man bellows in frustration, but Ada continues to push on with a watery smile, “It was just a mistake, I-I made you mad, and you acted out. It’s- it’s alright, I forgive you. I, I still love y-“

“NO!”

Pov when Richboy realizes that nothing he’ll do or say can make Ada stay away from him he ends up chopping her to pieces and hiding her body in the swamp where other animals have long since become carcasses, her shrieks of agony a quick yet haunting melody that echoes against the silent trees forced to witness such a brutal end to life.

Andddd THAT’S how I headcanon why Ada’s spectre form is a screaming banshee with cut up limbs stained in dirt and decorated in forest animal skeletons :DD

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 1

Part 2

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness.]

...

Danny was used to seeing the dead. He was one of them, actually. People have been dying for thousands of years and will continue to die for thousands more. Hearing the whispers of people who should have passed on was nothing unusual, even if it gave him an uncomfortable sense of wrongness.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t like Gotham City.

Don’t get him wrong! Gotham was a lovely place to live; if you were psychotic. But the gothic architecture that never seemed to crumble, the visible smog that settled over the skies like a thick blanket, and the acidic aftertaste the water had were just enough to make Danny uncomfortable as he trekked through the streets. It had just rained, and the random sounds of water dripping off buildings made him flinch. Puddles kept reflecting the surroundings unusually. The smell of wet asphalt was heavy in the air, nothing like the freshness of Amity’s rain.

He felt itchy and weird in his skin, like something was trying to burn it off. It was just past three am, and Danny had just gotten off his split shift at some high-end nightclub. The Iceberg Lounge, or something like that. He’d gotten a job as a busboy since he was too young to work as a bouncer or bartender. Honestly, he was lucky they let him have a job at all. He took every shift he could, sometimes going over the legal limit of what a minor was allowed to work.

His boss allowed it, however. On a few conditions.

Listen in on the customers and report anything interesting to management. Danny was tiny, way too small for his age of sixteen. But he was great at making himself unnoticeable, which allowed him to keep his ears open for exciting deals and whatnot that were going around. He didn’t feel good about the work, but it kept food on the table. So far, the worst he’s reported was a plan to move against Red Hood and his gang. It wasn't ideal, but Danny could put up with the prying eyes and greedy hands so long as he got paid on time.

Oh, but the dead? They were so much worse.

The dead always noticed him. And they always talked to him. He could barely think straight with all the ghouls, specters, shades, and other souls that always clamored for his attention. Gotham’s dark atmosphere bred hundreds of angry souls who refused to move on until their business was finished. But without a steady source of ectoplasm or a natural portal, most of them stayed as shadows of their former selves. They stuck to the city's underbelly, brewing in anger and making the town sicker than it already was. Some of them, the stronger ones with a real bone to pick, chose to haunt the living, clinging to a person’s back and leeching off their life energy. Those were the ones Danny had to deal with the most in Gotham.

It was horrible. Everything was just so sad and angry! The city had a lot of fucked-up people living here, and the worst of them had so many shades sticking to them. They all wanted something. It made Danny feel like he was always having an allergy attack. The city just messed his senses up in the worst way possible. Danny would gladly be living anywhere else if it wasn’t for his need to hide and survive.

Kill them. Danny shivered as he turned a corner, and a shadow reached out to stick to his shoulder, whispering filthy words into his ear. Kill them for me. He brushed the spirit off, ignoring their hiss. His back ached, and his head throbbed. Danny just wanted to climb into the shit hole he called home and fall asleep on the thin futon he’d shoved into a corner.

So he did.

Danny climbed the rickety fire escape up to his apartment as quietly as possible (the main staircase was out of order) and shimmied himself through the broken window that never opened all the way. His backpack was stored under his futon, in the floorboards, and he collapsed without changing his clothes.

Maybe tomorrow’s shift will be better. He thought, closing his eyes.

…

It was not better. His next shift was as shitty as all the others.

“Take this to the east balcony on the second floor.” Danny’s supervisor for the night, Tamia, shoved a heavy tray laden with beer bottles and fancy cocktails into his hands, pointing vaguely to the staircase he’d have to use. It was only thanks to Danny’s ghost strength that he didn’t collapse under the weight.

“Isn’t that where the boss is?” He asked, squinting past the bright lights, barely making out the short outline of Oswald Cobblepot as he talked up some rough-looking characters.

Tamia nodded, distracted. She was already back to whipping up complicated drinks and barking orders at the other servers. “Yeah, so don’t fuck this up. In and out, ya hear?”

“Got it, Tam.”

She waved him off, and he began the rough journey to the second floor, skirting around the edges of the packed tables, avoiding the odd penguin, and taking careful steps up the staircase, floating just barely above the floor to make sure he didn’t slip. Guests and other workers ignored him, but their shades reached out, caressing him in a way that made him want to squirm. He couldn’t shake them off, not while he was carrying the tray.

She killed me, one whispered as a lady dressed in diamonds passed.

I was drugged, said another when a burly older man walked by.

Danny pressed close to the walls as a group meandered on by. My teddy bear! A little girl’s voice cried out, and he couldn’t tell which of the group it was coming from. He took my teddy bear! I want it back!

I can’t help you, he thought viciously, trying to charge the air around him with hostility. It was difficult. The humans would pick up on it if he harshed the vibes too much. Too little, and the shades would ignore it. A nearby penguin squawked in alarm, but the spirits backed off, so he counted it as a win.

Finally, he reached the east balcony. The thick curtains were closed, but his sharp hearing still caught a few words through the club's noise. Something about the gang war Red Hood had prevented (the one Danny had reported on.)

But it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He wasn’t a hero anymore. Instead, Danny politely knocked on a pillar holding the curtains up, waiting to be let in.

The conversation quieted. “Who is it?” asked his boss.

“Drinks, sir,” Danny replied simply. The curtain was let open, and by the Ancients, Danny wished he’d never taken this job.

The balcony was brimming with the dead. It reeked with the heavy stench of death.

He suppressed a cough, clamping his mouth shut as he passed out drinks. His hostile aura was drowned out by the sheer amount of spirits clamoring at each other, practically at each other’s ghostly throats. Some of them had real definition to their features, telling Danny that this was not a group to be messed with. One of the spirits was on the verge of gaining its own consciousness, dripping a familiar green Danny had come to associate with his rouges. The spirit's burning eyes turned to him, and Danny was overwhelmed with the scent of rot rolling off it. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

He started to pass out drinks, suppressing the urge to shiver as hands gripped at his face, his clothes, his arms, his everything. The shades had noticed him. They clamored around him, filling his head with white noise. It was horrible.

Mr. Cobblepot eyed the boy, noticing how his newest employee had tensed up and gone noticeably paler in the presence of his guests.

The kid had practically folded in on himself as another aide swept aside the curtains. His hands trembled just barely, and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes straight on, instead looking past their ear or at their foreheads. He also noticed how Red Hood, sitting directly to his right, had gone stiff when the kid entered the room. The crime lord wasn’t showing his face, but he could still see how Hood tracked Danny’s movements like a hawk, tensed like he was about to leap out of his chair and assault the kid. Danny, for his part, had clamped his mouth shut and did his duties diligently and quickly, seemingly not noticing Red Hood’s attention on him.

Everyone began murmuring again, continuing their conversations now that they had booze to loosen their tongues. Mr. Cobblepot took a tentative sip of his fancy cocktail, non-alcoholic, of course. He couldn’t have his thoughts inhibited while in the middle of a business deal.

The kid was in and out like a ghost, barely making a sound as he slipped past the curtains once more, tray clutched to his chest.

“Who was that?” Red Hood finally tore his attention away from the kid’s retreating back and turned to the host of the evening.

Mr. Cobblepot waved him off. “A new hire. Don’t worry. All the paperwork is in order; he’s not here illegally.” Lies slipped off his tongue like honey, and luckily, Red Hood was too distracted to notice. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?”

Danny practically ran down the stairs and back into the kitchens. He barely had time to shove his empty tray into Tamia’s hands before he slammed the back doors open and heaved the contents of his stomach out next to a dumpster.

Ancients, that was horrific. Danny knelt there for a few moments, dry heaving some more until his stomach was well and truly empty. Acid burned the back of his throat.

“Holy shit Danny! What happened?” Thin hands clamped down on his shoulders, making him flinch. The touch softened, and they started rubbing circles on his back instead. It was Tamia, no doubt having run after him when she saw his pale face.

Danny shuddered and shook his head. “Sorry.” He gasped. “I think-I think I’m allergic to something they were wearing.”

“Fuck.” Tamia cursed softly. “If I get you a drink, will that settle your stomach?”

“Probably, yeah.”

His (totally awesome, reminded him of Jazz) supervisor stood up decisively. “Then I’m getting you some water.” She told him. Two wispy shades curled around her neck, chittering at him with anxiety. “Sit out here and take some deep breaths. We’re short-staffed tonight, so I’ll send Mia to the balconies instead. We can’t afford to send you home.”

“And I can’t afford to miss a shift.” He joked. His heart wasn't in it.

Tamia turned and opened the back door. “Well, if you’re already cracking jokes, you’ll be back to waiting tables in no time~” She cackled over her shoulder.

Danny smiled at her retreating back. Tamia was a nice person, and he didn’t meet many of those these days. She was tall, with dark skin and a wit to match Nightwing’s. He’s sure she was only looking out for him because he reminded her of her two younger siblings, dead from a house fire a few years ago. (If he had to hazard a guess, the two shades that clung to her with such desperation were what was left of those very siblings.) It was fine. He’d take any pity he could get.

Coughing slightly, Danny leaned back on his heels and looked up, trying to see past Gotham’s cloud cover. Instead of stars, he saw two white eyes narrow at him from the top of the building. A dark mass writhed above the eyes, making the figure they belonged to blend in with the background. Danny yelped in surprise and fell on his butt. When he looked up again, the eyes were gone.

Well, shit.

Danny scrambled to his feet and tore open the back door, almost running into Tamia, who had a bottle of water in her hands. “Tam!” He blurted. “Get the boss! The Bat is here!”

...

[Pretty short cause I gotta skedaddle off to work. This is a planned fic that will be pretty short, and I'll link the next part below at a later date. Hope you enjoyed it!]

[necrotic-nephilim]

https://www.tumblr.com/necrotic-nephilim/761747687384252416/i-dont-care-how-much-you-hate-me-you-need-to?source=share

so i'm imagining that tim gets free

(maybe it's steph who's on the outs with tim and doesn't believe him about bruce but sure as fuck doesn't approve of whatever the hell this is or maybe it's damian who's jealous that tim is getting any so much of dick's attention despite the fact that he's the heir and robin)

regardless tim gets the fuck out of gotham and goes on his international art theft adventure to find bruce

unfortunately for everyone dick processes to lose his shit and now damian (and steph to a lesser extent) is doing for dick what tim did for bruce

also a lot of heroes are drawing parallels between this and b reaction after jason died

anyway tim gets his proof (and get saved by jason bc jason's looking at dick all "this is really creepy actually and i don't want you anywhere near tim despite how bad our relationship is")

tim then goes to green arrow with his proof because he knows that man would call dick out no matter what costume he's wearing and he actually does an ok job with all the kids he picks up

there's a jla meeting and dick sees tim and is just as unstable as tim guessed he would be and it's pinging everyone's radar as A Problem now

but obviously they get bruce back and no this is his problem bc literally everyone in the league is like "pls keep dick away from tim, his behavior has passed weird and gone into extremely unsettling"

i can't see what happens next bc i can't imagine bruce actually being help but i can see him being a disaster when he tries and that would be funny

this is SO good anon i love all of these things based on that fic so much aaaa

personally when i was writing it, i imagined Jason being the one to break Tim free. not out of wanting to save Tim or anything, but more so seeing it as a chance to make Tim owe him, and just to fuck with Dick. Jason will cause problems because He Can, and while i don't think he would particularly care for the moral implications of Dick holding Tim hostage (Jason was morally all over the place during Dick's Batman era i fear) he's just morbidly curious. that said the idea of Steph being the one to do so is also fun, because for her it *would* be the moral issue as well as caring about Tim. i think the most fun option is somewhere in the middle, where Jason and Steph are forced to team up, each with different end goals and not trusting each other whatsoever. so when they succeed and get Tim safely out of Dick's hold, there's a deep disagreement and slight scuffle over what to do now, Jason trying to manipulate Tim further against Dick and onto his side, whereas Steph is just prioritizing Tim's safety. i think it's fun if Tim is slightly mentally broken, just from how long he was held captive and the realization of Dick's feelings at the end fo the fic. so he's distrusting of anyone he's once trusted, even Steph, that he just slips away to focus on getting Bruce back, leaving both Jason and Steph trying to chase Tim. and course, Dick.

because Dick would of course try to get Tim back, again and again. Damian is trying to reel Dick back, just because he wants Dick's attention and he does sort of believe they should focus on Gotham. and then Steph is also trying to distract Dick to protect Tim. so everyone's tail spinning in the most complicated game of cat and mouse. Steph and Damian are forced on the same side, trying to get Dick to focus on Gotham instead of Tim, just for now. Steph is promising to keep an eye on Tim, Damian is insisting Gotham needs Dick's attention and combined, they're able to at least keep his immediate focus away from Tim, giving Tim time to find his proof. Jason having to save him is just *fun*, because it reinforces how sort of helpless Tim is. he's not up on his training and his become soft and with Dick's need to catch up to him eventually, it puts him in a vulnerable spot he would *hate.* he'd despise needing to be saved by Jason of all people. it'd fuck him up so bad, because all the bad things Jason is saying about Dick are technically true and somehow, the world is so flipped upside down that Jason is the reasonable one. i think it'd make Tim isolate more and more, distancing himself from the Batfamily, even the ones he should trust like Steph. sure, he's on the outs with her (likely still upset from the Search For A Hero arc) but she's looking out for him. and maybe he knows it, deep down, but Tim is just terrified of trusting anyone associated with the Bat name.

and since he can't go to the Batfam with his proof, him going to Oliver is *so* fun. i adore any concept where Oliver is the one to notice something is very wrong in the Batfam i swear anon it's like you're connected to my BRAIN. because sure Oliver doesn't *like* Bruce, but even Oliver knows this is fucked up. the story Tim tells him is a horrifying one. Oliver has always done right by his kids, or at least tried his best to. so to know what Dick pulled is horrifying. there's this implicit trust the entire hero community has in Nightwing that would get badly shaken up and i think that's fun. the Justice League meetings about it would be a shitshow. someone like Clark who's as close to Dick as he is would want to at least hear Dick out, try to understand his point of view. maybe Dick was in the wrong, but he had to have been doing this out of a place of concern and Tim's just twisted up about Dick's intentions. at the very least, trust in Dick is shattered but no one can agree on what to do, if they can do anything at all. it's agreed to keep TIm safe and away from Dick and long talks are had with Dick, but Dick is disturbingly good at being charming and manipulative, convincing them all he's sorry and he knows he took it too far, it's just the stress of the mantle that got to him.

and Bruce coming back would further complicate things in such fun ways. because Bruce will *always* protect and side with Dick. yes, he's worried about Tim, but he refuses to let any negative blowback hit Dick for this. because sure, Bruce would've never done that, but also, Bruce has done equally shitty things so, he's also not going to fully question it. Dick made a judgment call in the heat of the moment, and now, Bruce is going to defend his right to do so. it sends the League even more out of control, because they didn't expect Bruce to be so deeply on Dick's side. the phase "what would Bruce think?" got thrown at Dick a lot by all of them and now, well. they look a bit like fools for it because Bruce has made it clear what he thinks is that Dick had the right to make the call he thought was best as Batman. so while Dick is socially exiled, he doesn't face any *real* consequences. he's still in hero society and is respected as Nightwing and allowed to exist on the League. Dick just patiently waits for it all to blow over because eventually, there's always something more important to focus on that will make people forget about this outside of just a weird bad mistake Dick made.

and the longterm for TIm is fun. because I think he'd keep his distance from Gotham and Bludhaven, mostly keeping around Oliver, given Oliver is one of the few League members still refusing to let it all go, and it gives Tim some kind of safety net. but i think Dick would still try to pursue Tim. Dick would convince himself he just went about it the wrong way, he came on a little too strongly and he can still fix it. he keeps harassing Tim and trying to get Tim to like him back, making it clear he has no real regret for his actions. i think it's fun if Tim is forced to fake a relationship with someone else to get Dick to leave him alone. maybe Jason, maybe Steph. (honestly, this being JayTimSteph could be fun) and that fake relationship ends up developing into something more real, which would make Dick *insanely* jealous. i'm torn between Dick actually taking it too far (possibly forcing himself on Tim) or keeping his distance because both are fun. i'm partial to him forcing himself on Tim, just for the fucked up non-con that Tim has to cope with, knowing nothing he does will get Dick to leave him alone. he learns the best ways to stay safe, but it essentially kills his ability to have a vigilante career bc it puts him too out in the open. he takes a more Oracle-esque role (Tim working with the Birds of Prey could be a lot of fun) and always lives in some kind of fear of Dick catching up to him. it's so fun and fucked up that even when Tim escapes, he doesn't really and he knows it.

[piningpercussionist]

transfem scott getting lots of support from ramona and kim in the early 2000's when shit's very taboo but they all 3 have a fire forged bond and lord if they aren't going to make sure they're all as happy as they can be because they've come this far and I dunno it just makes me happy all three of them

YES YES YES

It makes me very happy as well,,

Like I've said before. General Trans Scott enthusiast here- I love the idea of their little support network *violent coughing* I (we?) mean polycule *violent coughing* so fucking much.

Ramona I think has a bit of a more gentle hand with reassuring Scott with gender issues, but sometimes she just can't help herself from some pointed banter or teasing- how could you with someone so dense? (Said w affection)

And then Kim I think is more blunt. But like, in a good way mostly, you know? The kinda blunt that makes you snap to attention and go "Oh. Yeah that was silly of me." And if Ramona's started some sort of banter? Kim is SO piling on. Maybe sometimes she's a bit TOO blunt with it- but it's only because she's so firm in her support. She wants Scott to Get It Together- and be happier for it. So if some ribbing now and again is in order, then goddamnit she will do so! Anything to crack that shell.

And ohhh can you imagine how they would react to some transphobic bullshit?? Unholy terror would be driven into the offender before they walk off with an absurd amount of coins between them. I can feel it in my bones. Scott doesn't even have to lift a finger (if the transphobe is even noticed/processed at all, bc I honestly can see Scott just. Not realizing someone's being transphobic.) Kim giving someone a lashing with her tongue as distraction and then Ramona coming in with the hammer- BAM! Free Money! Paying literally with your life for your transphobia. A Better And Just World.

And of course (transfem Scott more specifically, here,) the way Scott would start to flourish under their support... cagey and maybe a little (perhaps a lot-) resistant to start- but Kim's blunt affirmations and no nonsense attitude for bullshit (which is what Scott insisting on "being cis" would be, c'mon now,) and Ramona's also low bullshit tolerance but less Stabby (bc I won't lie, that's probably how Kim's comments would feel,) assurances? Ough... My Heart... Be Still-

I would Kill for them, Your Honor-

(Ran out of tags so putting this in the body of the post- I am SO tired someone pls sound off if this isn't as coherent as I am hoping this is. I WAS trying to nap and get the extra sleep I desperately needed but the writing bug... it Bit Me.... only a little but enough to stop that process-)

[hydrangeyes]

Here's me rambling about my personal fanon Gojo, explicit wording at some point probably:

I have such a distinct feel on how Gojo would be like in a romantic relationship. Like a real one.

I like to think he'll always be hesitant and soft when initiating anything, then after pulling away for a minute, dives back in like he's starved. Like generally, he's touchy. He's just like that even towards friends, but when it's in a way of him wanting a different kind of affection, hesitates first. Idk if i have the braincells rn (I'm eepy) to explain why, he just is.

Like i won't lie, i eat up cockdrunk/pussy whipped gojo fics. And he's all weepy and kind of out of it as all his focus is on you, and it's a pleasureable overstimulation?

Yum yum yumyumyum🤌 good shit

But like nonsexual? Absolutely meeeeeeelts when making out, simple kisses, cuddles, AGH

Running a hand through his hair while he rest his head on you? Lap or shoulder? Uuugggghhhhhhhh

I still into giving him the nickname sapphire or bunny (i give that nickname to most male fictional interests, tho so.. well mmh not all).

Idk I'm tured and feeling sappy potential Gojo fic coming soon maybe

[sainz100]

upcoming Carlos x chess content soon ❤️♟️✨

[covenofthearticulate]

girl, being on west coast time and constantly working overtime and having a fuck ass commute and trying to be in a fandom really sucks :/

[becauseplot]

Touching Base

Just a little Roommates/Cellmates AU oneshot because they live in my head like how Cell lives in Felps' apartment: rent-free. (Also because I am procrastinating on bigger projects rn.) (What who said that.)

Takes place a couple years after the events of Miss Me? and Shared Living Space. Cell has officially started going by Cellbit, a relatively recent development. He still sleeps on the couch, but that's mainly because the second "bedroom" in the apartment is used for Felps' storage and both of them dread having to clear it out. He has a job and puts most of that money towards groceries, new clothes, and therapy. Felps---finally working at a station where his superiors don't hate his guts---covers pretty much everything else.

(TWs: discussions of killing/murder, light allusions to suicide in a joking manner (they're fine, someone's just being dramatic). they are having a conversation that is oh so very normal for two friends to have yesyes. tbh this was supposed to be way more light hearted but then the angst. the angst...)

Key ring dangling from his finger, Cellbit shoulders his way through the apartment door, juggling a box of redstone bulbs, a stack of spam mail, and the library book that doesn’t quite fit in his over-full messenger bag. “Felps?”

There's no verbal answer, but over the back of the couch, Cellbit sees a tired hand rise and wave. There’s a dull whump when it drops back down.

Cellbit, taking this and the fact that the TV isn't even on, raises an eyebrow. "Long day?" There's a muffled groan in response, and that's all Cellbit needs to hear to get the gist of it. He wiggles his keychain off his finger and into the dish before shutting the door behind him with his foot and heading to the table, where he dumps off his things. Hands free, he slips his bag off his shoulder and sits down to take off his work boots. Once he's got them off, he takes a moment to slump back in the chair, relief washing over his aching back and shoulder, before he picks himself up and heads over to see what the situation is.

The situation, it seems, is as follows: Felps is lying on his back on the couch, still wearing his uniform, with a pillow pressed into his face like he's trying very, very hard to smother himself with it.

Cellbit sits himself down on the floor with his side against the foot of the couch, right by Felps. He plants an elbow on the cushions and drops his chin into the heel of his hand. "So. Who do I need to kill?"

Felps groans again and shifts the pillow off his face just enough to free his mouth. "Me. Kill me, please. Kill me. Literally just kill me."

"Ehhh," Cellbit says. "You know, I did that once, and you didn't like me very much after that."

"Cellbit I am begging you. You'd be doing me a favor."

"Mm, no. I don't think so." He pokes one of the fingers Felps has dug into the cushion. "Now come on—a name, an address. Give me something to work with here, Felps."

Felps sighs and finally yanks the pillow off his face, flipping his hands around and throwing it into his lap. His hair is a complete, frazzled mess, though Cellbit supposes that's the least of his worries. "No one's getting killed. This isn't a problem you can fix by killing someone."

"Except for you?"

"Except for me."

"Okay. So what happened?"

Felps makes a pained noise and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. At least he's not suffocating this time. "Davi," he mumbles.

Cellbit blinks. Usually, he has a hard time keeping all of the names of Felps' coworkers, friends, and acquaintances straight in his head since there's so many of them, but this one registers immediately. He takes this in, looks at Felps agonizing on the couch, thinks back onto what Felps told him the other day, does some rapid mental math, and comes to the conclusion that maybe the situation actually could be fixed by killing someone. Potentially.

But before that thought can properly start, Felps flicks him against the temple. "Hey, no plotting. I'm serious."

"Plotting?" Cellbit echoes, oh-so-perplexed. "I wasn't plotting. Who said anything about plotting?"

"Cellbit."

"Who said anything about plotting the murder of the hot guy at the train station who rejected your friend after he spent two weeks working up the courage to ask him out? I sure didn't."

"Cellbit," Felps says, insistent. Cellbit stops, but only because Felps wants him to, and only because he’s joking. Really. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I totally fucked it up. I got the timing all wrong, and—" Felps breaks off into another horrified sound, dragging his hands down his face. "God, it was so bad. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright. Anything I can do? That doesn't involve killing you?"

Felps pauses. He peeks at Cellbit from behind his hands. "...Grab the remote for me?"

Cellbit snorts. "Sure." He gets up (swallows a grunt; fuck, his shoulder's being funny) and grabs the remote off the TV stand. When he comes back, Felps has managed to get his-wallowing-self into an upright position so Cellbit can collapse back into the sofa beside him.

Cellbit clicks on the TV. "What're we feeling?"

"Pain."

"I mean what do you feel like watching, dumbass."

"Literally anything," Felps says with a wave of his hand.

"Right… So if I put on Blood on the Taiga—"

"Parkour tag."

"Okay, parkour tag it is."

They start to chat a little as Cellbit flicks through the minigame channels, looking for one that's broadcasting parkour tag: ("How was work at the station?" "Were the docks busy today?" "Did that warrant finally get processed?" "Is your shoulder still bothering you?" "You should probably change out of your uniform." "You should probably take a shower." "In a bit, my back has to unbreak itself first.")

It doesn't take him long to find a channel, so they end up talking through part of the first round, swapping the work updates they usually provide each other. After that, they settle in, feet up on the coffee table, shoulders pressed together. Cellbit watches the teams trade off "runners" and "hunters." Felps usually roots for the team in the blue and green jerseys, but it doesn't seem like they're playing today. Still, these teams aren't half-bad. The tall one on the red-orange team is a good hunter, Cellbit idly notes. She's light on her feet.

It's at the start of the third round that Felps speaks up again.

"So. Hypothetical question for you."

Cellbit watches the good-hunter spring off a piston-platform. "Alright."

"And this is completely hypothetical. One hundred percent, utterly hypothetical."

"Okay."

"I'd never genuinely ask this of you."

"Sure."

The good-hunter drops down a ladder, missing a tag on a runner by a hair's breadth. The squeak of her sneakers echoes through the arena.

"...If I told you I needed you to kill someone for me, would you actually do it?"

Cellbit tilts his head. The good-hunter whirls around a corner and swings herself up onto another platform. "Yeah."

He feels more than sees Felps startle beside him. "...R...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?"

"Well, like I said earlier, I'd need, like, a name. An address if you can get it. At least a general location—"

"No, no, I mean..."

Felps falters, and Cellbit takes his eyes away from the game to look up at him. Felps is staring right back, a furrow in his brow.

"...You wouldn't even question it? Or hesitate?"

Ohhh. Cellbit understands now. The morals. He was asking about the morals. "Well," starts Cellbit. He pauses. Then, he drags his feet over to the edge of the couch, legs curled up, in front of his chest. The position makes his back ache, but the rest of him feels better this way. He hangs his arms over his knees. He stares at the TV, but he's not really sure who's hunting and who's running anymore.

He sighs. "...The way I see it—you would never ask me to kill someone unless they actually deserved it. I think it would take a lot for you to decide someone needs to die, then a lot more to tell me to kill them because...you know me. I'll get it done. And I won't half-ass it either."

And if they hurt you, Cellbit thinks, with a sudden, rising fury, I'll kill them dead. I'll make it hurt. Carve their throat out with my teeth. They'll be begging for the Void long before I'm through with them.

But he lets that one go on an exhale, lets it pass wordlessly between his lips, before it can get too far. He flexes his hands, loosening them. "But..." he continues, scraping together the courage to say the rest. "You also know I'm trying not to— You know I'm better about that now. Past it. Moving past it. And you're—" He falters. His tongue darts over his lip. He bites it. "You're generally helpful in that regard, so..."

"...You don't think I'd ask you to do something that would ruin your progress unless it was serious," Felps finishes.

"Yeah." Cellbit tilts his head to either side, cracking his neck, and flexes his hands again. God, his therapist would be so fucking proud of him.

"Okay." Felps clears his throat. "Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I just—the thought wouldn't leave me alone, and..."

"No, no, it's—it's fine. It's a good question to ask. Making sure we're on the same page, and all that. Touching base. Getting caught up. Just like we always do."

"Right," Felps says. "Just like we always do."

A beat.

"But I wouldn't. Ask that of you, I mean. I'd never ask you to kill someone for me."

"I know," Cellbit replies easily. "I heard you the first time."

(And Cellbit trusts Felps to stick to his word. Honestly, he does. But the issue—or perhaps the best part, depending on how much he wants to disappoint his therapist—is that Felps wouldn't even have to ask. In no universe would Felps ever have to ask.)

"...Oh. Okay."

"Okay."

The conversation hangs in the air, gradually dissipating. Slowly, Cellbit manages to recenter his attention on the game of parkour tag. Round four. She's hunting again, though this is her last hunting round. After that, she'll be stuck as a runner for the rest of the tournament. Felps rests his head on Cellbit's shoulder as the alarm blares and the competitors are released from their chambers. Cellbit nestles his cheek in Felps' curls. The final hunt has begun.