#your honor i'm inspired

[hollis-art]

sometimes dreams change. sometimes people change.

[lightcreators]

It wasn't something he usually confessed over strange persona of himself … since rarely his timeline selves would wondering about the kind of circumstances he actually experienced … Oh. Maybe his thoughts were a bit wrong about that. His timeline future selves were worried about the recollections hanging towards his incarnation, where the faint memory was associated to countlness black holes and fragmented sensations all around --- where, for example, all across his future incarnations in the future, the sound of rain would be something immensitly nostalgic and painful for them, without understanding where it was coming from. Sound he desired to share to the Master's mind --- for knowing one closed room, one magnificent closed room, in which the sound would be an eternal symphony that would keep his sanity in track, besides to experencing mentally, as a whole, what it mean to be Game Master … awareness about an island would explode, but without a name, without be able to define the location, it could be everywhere, and actual circumstances of the event would be spared … when, in all cases, in someday his Koschei managed to show up on Rokkenjima --- there was a high possibility Lady Bernkastel mentally destroy him for avoid the meeting of the terrible boy of the Witch of Illusions he would end up frontally met. He was still at fault concerning all that noise in middle of that chessboard … and he didn't wanted Alois Trancy catch up the name of Featherine … and realizing something … Peacefully refusing an interview with the God of the Underground aware of his actions in middle of chessboards was quite enough. If an puzzle would have to been offered, he wanted it to be kind, something they can solve.

Authentic happiness still resonated inside the blushing reaction he got to Koschei. He quite appreciated to showing his charm to that kind of face without harm --- and appreciated also something he didn't really have time to experiencing whatever the position in the timeline. It was rather impossible he would met his timeline Master. It would take a long while for an future incarnation of the Master having that face sharing an kind of enthusiasm to share with him --- he remained still an possibility of the future, he remained still something he allowed existence … and forced him to change his perspective for had no choice on the matter. He silently noticed how his presence really was loved in return. He could enjoy such moments ! Staying with his usual distance, he had no project altogether to wondering what kind of thoughts their mind might be --- he usually did that without a pyshic link, observing simply. There was an consciousness his comments was maybe a bit too much straightforward. On his defense, his associate was known for exposing irrefutable truths as arguments, and had to learn a particular line of defense to convince each other in case of disagreement.

❝ Oh, Koschei with an silent mind is something I can hardly imagine. ❞ He playfully mused. His Master was trapped inside an endless circle of thinking, and sadly, no, he didn't have an imposed solution about how stabilized his personal tenth incarnation inside his identity crisis … considering he solved one part of the problem to avoid an terrible mental leading physical death where his sensation to becoming the Doctor fell apart. Oh, himself survived that shattering apart of his personality, somewhere more gently, somewhere more brutally, as remembrances of his inability to convince Nyssa to NOT sacrifice herself for close that dimensional portal remained trapped in his throat … or the dreadul years he had to emotionally prepare himself towards that awareness about what happened for his future self in Rokkenjima, where he cannot alter the physical world, where he would have also to survive mentally the explosion … or even where he had remained countless years trapped inside his TARDIS for keep an apparent survival of an universe who was slowly broke apart, for had able to solve one fragmented logic, but created an logic that cannot be solved … where even currently, he was still think HOW to solve it from outside, regardless how impossible and regardless how the physical laws cannot be recreated once more … Not from outside. Whatever if he was the main culprit inside his good will to offer an son to an father, and an father to an son … and only managed to somewhere 'save' the father in consequence. ❝ I appreciate the compliment, especially from myself~ Besides, I really mean it. ❞ He smiled once more as he nodded in approval towards how he accepted his compliment. ❝ You wear both great faces. ❞

❝ I think you will need several teas, some confessions might bring temporary shock. ❞ He gently informed in advance, as there was an lightness concerning their future conversation. He decided respectefully to follow them, still admiring his parallel self TARDIS without particular comment to express. It was the price to be that much accoustumed. The audience he represented towards their common affections remained quiet, still admiring in silent how the poor parallel Theta hadn't finished experienced surprises … Koschei would appreciated his luck, sort of way. ❝ I'm a big supporter. ❞ He admitted with playfulness. More than they could imagine. Sometimes in an strange way, who was shadowed, but present, inside darkness corners … Having his hands behind his back, he had been mostly witnessed the scene, realizing Theta had a slight changed with his little conversation with Koschei, where for the moment, he didn't mind. Jealousy he might experencing with his good looking face will maybe dissolving realizing the kind of universe he was living in … Far away of peacefulness he was experencing naturally. ❝ My timeline Koschei ? I saw him die. ❞ He left him die would be most accurate term, but it was part of the script. ❝ A fire burned him, nevertheless, it's Koschei, he will come out of it. Still the Master. He is kinda proud to be the Master and attempt to show off the best he can. ❞ He expressed with emotional distance as he was quite accoustumed to it. The Master try to be the Master in front of him was quite an amusing show --- ❝ Hence my fond affections for him naturally expressed themselves in front of you, since it's had been quite a while. ❞ He confessed once more. There was a slow smile. ❝ Still the Doctor. ❞ Sometimes. ❝ Nevertheless, I have another name I mostly use, who fit that incarnation better. Most of my travels had been sprinkled with failure, with loss … So many companions had been lost. So many tragedies had been survived. So many regrets weight my shoulders. I wanted to make a difference. An larger difference. Inside my universe, the dance between the Doctor and the Master is still present, where he try to kill me, where I am trying to save him of his inner demons … and in some manner, I found an solution. An opening door to allow the Master to become Koschei again … meanwhile I will handle responsabilities. ❞

Periods of silence weren’t uncommon in the console room right now, it seemed. Both Theta and Koschei were decidedly more at ease now. It was all strange, like both the couple and him were trying to put together a puzzle without any idea of where to start. The edges were there, but that was it— purely foundational, no photograph to go off of, no notes, just blindly sticking together pieces until something started to fit. But then he said that about him, and he even got Koschei to blush some. Something about everything was incredibly disarming to him— the fact that they were in an unusual situation that felt oddly safe, maybe the fact that he could still have a good flirt with his own Theta despite the audience, and— and Five had said it outright. Koschei knew from experience, remembered exactly how each face looked. The current would always be his favorite, but this one was also a top contender. And he was going to answer, but Theta got there before him— “I know it is. You should hear his brain right now, it’s all… Mostly just static at the moment, really. Unusual to get him quiet. I should congratulate you…” Theta says, and he clears his throat to look back at the other, currently still making eyes at his younger self. And Koschei comes back to them, and coughed before running a hand over his head to muss with his hair. “Well… It is a very good face.” He says, and the two Time Lords listen to him. It was true for them— a universe without the other Time Lord there didn’t bear thinking about. Neither of them liked it, and so Theta clapped his hands, prying away from his other half to lead off towards the halls. “Right! Tea and catch-up, then. Maybe several teas. Who’s to say? Right this way, no use standing around here if we aren’t going anywhere.” Out of pure curiosity, is that jealousy I sense from you? Koschei prodded mentally as he walked just behind Theta with a little grin. And Theta’s eyes rolled. I don’t get jealous. Why would I be jealous because some other me fell into the Universe and immediately started making eyes at you? Who can blame you. Because you give it away so easily when you are jealous. Who can blame you. Koschei sent back to him with a little smirk, hands in his pockets as the three walked down the corridor. “I take it your Universe isn’t as lucky. But I do appreciate the support.” Theta says, trying to be mindful of the exact way he spoke to him now too, after Koschei pointed out how he seemed to give it away. This wasn’t anything proper, no, it was a bit selfish and petty, and made him want to claim stake in Koschei whenever they moved, even if Five wasn’t a threat at all. (He knew he wasn’t, but still- he had to be cautious, didn’t he?) They turn to the kitchen, and Koschei goes to put the kettle on. Theta, in turn, leaned on the counter, finally allowing himself eye contact with the other Doctor again. “Well, if things aren’t even remotely the same in your world, I have to know— where is your Koschei, there? Or is he still the Master? Or something else entirely?” He asks, and knits his brow. “… What name are you going by, anyways?”

[leon-on-the-froggy-chair]

RAAAHHHHH powering through a massive artblock rn and started on a ClaireAda sketch/WIP because I love them and dont see them enough

I also produced a bonus doodle of Luis in Ada's dress bc the brainrot never ends JdjJDKEKSK

[neroushalvaus]

And why did we meet in the middle of a war? What a silly thing for anyone to do.

Jak Malone as Hester Leggatt in Operation Mincemeat

Footage by @lasagnatrades

[hippolotamus]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Kicking things off early because it's officially Sunday where I am and I'm still awake. So, why not?

A Buckley Siblings moment from come close (let me be home) Prev snippets here

“I’m glad to hear it. You deserve a great love story if that’s what you want. Nothing less.” “Thank you,” Maddie says, before hesitantly adding, “You know, you do, too, Evan. There’s nothing wrong with seeking a partner for yourself while we’re here.” A fleeting thought crosses his mind about handsome strangers with dark hair and eyes, a secret he’s keeping to himself for the time being. He drops his hand and pulls away from her touch, glancing away so he doesn’t have to see the maternal fondness that rolls off of her in waves. “I appreciate that, but we aren’t here for me. My first priority is you.” “Evan,” she sighs with a hint of exasperation. “You are always looking out for me. For others. When will you let it be your turn?” “When you are happily married and living your fairytale ending.” He kisses her on the cheek, plasters on the most sincere smile he can muster, and begins to retreat from the great glass structure before she can argue. “Come. We should prepare for tonight.” Evan doesn’t listen for his sister’s footsteps to hear if she’s following. Instead, he focuses on hurrying his pace without making it overly obvious that he wants the extra distance. Needs it, really. He never has done well with lying to Maddie.

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @stereopticons @callmenewbie @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @monsterrae1 @buddierights @eddiebabygirldiaz @apothecarose @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @vanillahigh00 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @thekristen999 @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @jesuisici33 @malewifediaz @shortsighted-owl @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @the-likesofus @911onabc @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @pirrusstuff @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @statueinthestone @heartshapedvows @indestructibleheart @evaneds @lemonzestywrites @maygrantgf and anyone else who has something to share 💖

[nikatyler]

Celebrating Women CAS 2024 ✨ 08/31 ✨ An Inspiration

Cam Nguyen didn't have it easy growing up, from bullying to body image issues to losing her hearing. Now she's living her best life and is helping other women find their inner power as well.

[divine-knight-hand]

Continuation from this, just because I don't want to flood OP's reblogs with (delicious) filth:

OHHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDD!!!

@roguecorvidlover You could never be too pushy! Please feel free to tag me in these! I love themmm!

Excuse me for taking notes, but this might be my favorite of your ideas so far (and I might end up writing this out, I just need writer's block to stop kicking my ass).

I could both see and hear this, though! Especially the carriage ride back to the castle~

The carriage rocking and creaking, the prince's moans and whimpers from inside, and all the while, the knight is growling by his ear, unrelenting in her pace.

"You really are trouble, putting yourself in danger like that."

"Thought you could get away with being a little brat, huh?"

"You actually had me worried for a minute there."

"Now that I have you back, I'm not gonna let you go until I can work off all this pent-up stress."

"See what you do to me?"

"Ah-ah-ah! You're not getting away that easy. I'm not done with you yet..."

[palaceoftears]

Minor Ladies Month - Beyhan Sultan × Quote

My mourning is over, sure, time has swept it away. But the heart can't forget some things, the heart can't forget even if you want to. I still do not have a husband, my children still don't have a father. Sometimes, they ask me "Why did our father die? Who killed him?". I become speechless, your majesty, I can not say a word. I can not say that my brother killed him.

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

Last line tag game!

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

Tagged by @auniverseforgotten and @thatlittledandere

I'm back on my Ichiryuu bullshit (as if I ever really left)~ uwu <3

The sound of his classmate’s voice earnestly calling out stopped Ichiban from running and he pivoted just enough to see that Zaou’s hand had reflexively reached out – reaching for him – but froze partway. “I was just… surprised,” Zaou explained carefully like he was thinking about each word before he said it. “I am pretty busy, so I wouldn’t have time every day and sometimes certain things come up last minute, but I guess I could use the help.” Ichiban tried to swallow his nerves, but his heart was in the way. “I understand. When would be a good time for you?” Zaou hummed absentmindedly as he searched for an answer, then suddenly his eyes lit up. “Ah! Give me your phone.” Ichiban obediently fished it out of his pocket and placed it in Zaou’s expectant hand. It wouldn’t occur to him until after the shock had worn off that perhaps he should have asked why first, but the fact that Zaou’s fingers were masterfully navigating his phone screen was doing unexpected things to his brain chemistry that he was sure would accidentally translate into a mortifying collection of words the instant he opened his mouth. This was a bad idea. Possibly the worst idea. Why did he ever think he could— “Here,” Zaou mercifully interrupted his spiraling train of thought and held the phone out to him again. “I’ll have to check my schedule first, so I’ll text you when I work something out.”

Trying to pretend that this is a "last line" game instead of just a "last thing I wrote" game is a fool's errand for me at this point. I truly cannot shut up about the things I love and this is my most wordy contribution to the feedback loop yet. //bricked

Tagging: @auniverseforgotten , @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth , @koolkitty9 , @floweryuu , @lanliingwang

As always, there’s no pressure to share and if I missed someone who wants to be included feel free to consider yourself also tagged~ <3

[gravitywonagain]

Okay, I’ve never seen The Blacklist but the Netflix summary and preview clip looked super interesting so here we go. 

~~

Wei Wuxian finds himself surprisingly calm as he pushes open the plate-glass door beneath the massive Cultivation Bureau of China insignia. Low-level security cultivators watch him as he passes, but no more intently than they watch anyone else. The one closest to the doors even nods to him. Wei Wuxian wonders at how stupid that man is about to feel, and then decides he doesn't care. 

The interior of the building is warm enough to fog up his sunglasses once he’s far enough into the grand, granite foyer. The doors fall shut behind him; the sun shines down through the tall wall of glass like even it wants to watch what happens next. It should feel like the closing of a trap. But there’s a brightness in his chest, a kind of buoyancy that wards off any anxiety that might want to cling to his heartbeats. 

He pushes the fogged sunglasses up his forehead into his hair as he makes his way to the front desk. The woman there — a second-rank cultivator by her uniform, barely a step up from the mall cops guarding the doors — looks at him without a hint of recognition. No fear in her eyes, no tightness in her jaw. 

“Welcome,” she says with the kind of resigned false cheer that all customer service professionals seem to learn as a part of their job training, “to the CBC. How can I assist you today?” Her name tape says Zhang. 

“I’m here to see Director Lan Qiren,” Wei Wuxian replies, similarly cheerful. 

He finds that he is cheerful. He’s been planning this for several weeks now. It’s always nice to finally have a project underway. 

“Yes, sir,” says Cultivator Zhang. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not.” 

She nods. Types something into the computer. Looks back at him. 

“Name and identification?”

He braces himself. So it begins. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he says with a smile, and he slides his passport to her over the counter. 

Still no recognition. Which is fair. She’s still in the rote part of doing her job. Plugging names and numbers into the computer. 

But something will ping soon. Her own memory or the system. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait for her to return his passport — it will be confiscated soon, anyway. He doesn’t wait for her to dismiss him — the alarm will likely sound before she’s finished entering the appointment request. 

He steps backward, away from the desk and toward the center of the foyer. Slowly, he sets down his black, canvas backpack. Just as slowly, he removes his worn, leather jacket, draping it gently over the backpack. Then, he uses the red scrunchie around his wrist to tie his shoulder length hair up into a quick ponytail, before interlocking his fingers behind his head. 

People have turned to watch him. The first-rank security guards, but also the other people in the foyer -- office workers, civilians. He doesn't look back at them. 

As the alarm sounds, he is already halfway to his knees. And by the time the first-ranks get their swords out of their scabbards, Wei Wuxian — aka Yiling Laozu, the most wanted man in cultivation — has already crossed his ankles with his eyes aimed down at the floor, grinning wildly. 

—

“What the fuck is this?”

A folder, thick with loose papers, slams down onto the metal table in front of Wei Wuxian. Some of the papers begin to slope out of the open side, unsecured as they are. 

“I thought ‘no cursing’ was one of your Bureau rules,” says Wei Wuxian, delightedly amused already. Do they really think a bit of anger is what will break him? He grew up with Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu for fuck's sake. 

The man who yelled and threw the folder stands to the side of the table, closest to the door, and glowers down at Wei Wuxian. He’s a strong enough cultivator to press the room with his spiritual power, lending weight to the air in a way he probably hopes will make Wei Wuxian feel claustrophobic. Unfortunately for him, Wei Wuxian has spent time with far more power than this man can spin out of his golden core. 

The cultivator wears the standard CBC field uniform of durable blue wool trousers, a white linen shirt, and charcoal-grey combat boots. His jacket is of the same cloth and tailoring, but it is clean of any rank or unit insignia. He has no name tape, either. The only identity marker on him is a sect affiliation patch with a silver beast’s head embroidered over a green background. Nie Sect cultivators, because of their unique blend of spiritual and bestial energies, are required to self-identify when inside the building. Wei Wuxian remembers that from his time in Bureau training, too. 

“Answer the question.”

Wei Wuxian lounges as much as he can in the simple plastic and metal chair. His hands are still bound behind him with a thick zip tie, but at least they’re not attached to anything but each other. There's no suppression in the bindings, or in the room, which is curious. A sign of trust, maybe? Or, more likely, they're not entirely sure how to deal with him. Which is kind of why he's here in the first place. 

He looks down at the way the stack of paper still seems to be oozing from between the tabbed manila jacket sides of the folder. None of the individual notes are entirely flat, giving the whole sheaf a disheveled texture. It is decidedly not the lightly-battered red-canvas portfolio he brought in with him, though he does recognize the papers within. 

“Looks like a folder,” he says, a casual smirk curling up one side of his mouth. “I feel like even you field types should be able to figure that one out for yourselves.”

Across the room from where Wei Wuxian is sitting, the wall appears to be a mirror, though nobody in this room would think that’s what it is. Behind that mirror, Wei Wuxian would bet his entire stash of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that Lan Qiren is rolling his eyes. 

Inside the room, the Nie cultivator pinches the bridge of his nose in a frustrated gesture that looks adorably familiar. “What are your notes supposed to be getting at, Wei Wuxian?” he asks. 

“Oh! These are my notes!” says Wei Wuxian with, he’ll admit, exaggerated surprise and innocence. “Giving you a bit of trouble, are they?”

The Nie cultivator huffs through his nose. 

Because of course they are. Wei Wuxian is not stupid enough to show up to CBC headquarters with decipherable notes. Who the fuck do they think he is that they were even willing to devote the three hours, or however long he's been sitting here, to try. 

“What do you want? Huh?" The cultivator looks like he personally has been attempting to read through Wei Wuxian's notes, which is certainly a choice the Bureau made. A couple of choices. First to have this rando attempt what many of Wei Wuxian's own teachers were never quite able to do, and second to send him and his ratcheted irritation in here to deal with Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian blinks owlishly at him and he can almost see his blood pumping harder across his temple. 

"What’s your purpose here, Yiling Laozu?” the cultivator tries again. 

It's tempting to continue to stonewall him, but Wei Wuxian is actually here for a purpose. “I told that nice cultivator at the front desk," he says, reminding everyone listening that he has, actually, been very cooperative. "I am here to meet with Director Lan Qiren.”

The Nie cultivator shakes his head, almost apologetically. “Director Lan is busy, so you’re stuck with me for now.” He says it like he's just as upset about it as Wei Wuxian is. Like they're somehow in this together and if they can just overcome their differences, they can sing and dance their way to the high school prom. 

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, a curious grin spreading on his lips. It could be fun to indulge this. To play along just enough to see how high he can raise this guy's pulse. His eyes flick over the cultivator. The man isn't unattractive, thick muscles and hair just long enough to pull. He looks easily riled, already primed for it, but not a man who would resist the attention if he thought it was actually getting him somewhere with the notes. 

"Just work with me here," he says, proving Wei Wuxian correct and pressing what he clearly thinks is an advantage. "I'm all you've got right now." 

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian doesn't actually want to send a Nie sect cultivator into qi deviation for this, entertaining as it might be. 

So Wei Wuxian grins lazily back at him and says, “Oh, I highly doubt that." He directs his attention to the window that isn't a mirror. "What do you say, Old Man Lan?" In his periphery he can see the Nie cultivator splutter at Wei Wuxian's impertinence. And wow, did they just not prepare this guy at all? "Wanna come in here so we can get this party started? Or would you rather I frustrate your subordinate to death first. You know I can do it.” 

It's unclear if it was the familiar title aimed at the Director, or the casual insult to the Nie cultivator's own control, but when Wei Wuxian looks back to him, the man's face is almost purple. 

“Who the fuck do you think y—“

The door swings open, cutting him off, as Lan Qiren, in all his CBC Director glory, walks into the room.

“Language,” he says to the Nie cultivator, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t say anything about it, for which he feels he deserves a medal of some sort. Or at least a pretty color ribbon. 

The Nie cultivator gawps for a moment before he seems to collect himself again. 

"Director Lan," he says with a bow. 

Lan Qiren nods back to him, disappointment radiating, and flicks his hand back toward the open door. 

Dismissed, the Nie cultivator bows to the Director once more and then leaves the room with significantly more control than he had a moment ago, so kudos to him for that. 

Beside Lan Qiren are two other cultivators. Both are as unadorned as the Nie, though these don't even show their sect affiliation. At least not explicitly. The one to Lan Qiren’s left is of a medium build, hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She looks tall for a woman, with the broad shoulders and muscular arms of every Lan sect cultivator. Wei Wuxian imagines he can see the sect necklace sitting beneath her tightly done up band collar. 

The one to Lan Qiren’s right— Well. Wei Wuxian would recognize the director’s youngest nephew with his eyes closed on a moonless night. Lan Wangji, of course, doesn’t even deign to look at Wei Wuxian, those beautiful honey-brown eyes focused somewhere on the wall beyond his shoulder. And fuck if that doesn’t get Wei Wuxian’s blood pumping. 

“Ah, Old Man Lan!" greets Wei Wuxian brightly. "How nice of you to take time out of your busy—“

Lan Qiren cuts him off. “I’m here, Wei Wuxian." He doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing, his exasperation with his former student quickly returning to its home in the deep set of his eyebrows. "Explain to me what you are doing here.”

The Lan cultivator on Lan Qiren's left is watching Wei Wuxian with an intense, assessing kind of gaze. He can almost feel her cataloging the degree to which his shoulders are sloped and the exact shade of his eyes. 

Lan Wangji still isn't looking at him. 

“Well, I found out you’ve been looking for me—“

But Lan Qiren cuts him off again. He looks tired. “Enough with the games, please. Are you here to help us, or are you here to waste our time?”

They know why he’s here, is the thing. They’d have to be very dumb not to have put it together by now. And the CBC is many things — stuffy, uptight, moralistic, understaffed, underpaid — but they aren’t actually incompetent. With murders stacking up left and right, resentful energy found gathering in places and quantities it shouldn't naturally gather in, and Wei Wuxian’s very solid alibi of being not in the country at the time, there can be only one reason he’d so willingly turn himself in like this. And Lan Qiren, in particular, is not stupid. Which means that he wants Wei Wuxian to say it. Which is… a little bit humiliating and a lotta but like eating dirt. 

But, hey. He’s here to get shit done, not to be cowed by an old teacher in an argument that Wei Wuxian has still technically won! Resentful energy can be used just like spiritual energy is! But, sure, it can be… pretty fucked up, too. In the wrong hands. 

Wei Wuxian inhales deeply. It's still not a comfortable thing to admit. 

“Alright, fine," he says, meeting Lan Qiren's narrowed gaze across the table. "You have a demonic cultivator problem. I have a problem with my work being misused for a string of murders. It seems to me we may be able to help each other out on this front.”

CBC Director Lan Qiren would never do anything so crass as openly gloat, but there's a sparkle in the dark brown of his eyes that does it for him. 

"Good," he says, sitting down in the chair that Wei Wuxian is only now noticing exists. Lan Qiren picks up the folder, resettling the loose papers inside, and folds his hands over the top of it. Because, again, he's not an idiot, he doesn't jump right into the good stuff. He simply asks, "What are your conditions, Mr. Wei?"

Wei Wuxian's shoulders are tight after several hours of having his wrists bound behind his back. He squirms around in the chair to relieve the pressure on one, stretching his neck out in the process. 

"Amnesty, obviously," he says. Because it is obvious. Wei Wuxian is not just going to let the CBC throw him in jail after this. And if they try, they'll find it to be a much more difficult task than they're prepared for. 

"Obviously," replies Lan Qiren with a nod. 

"Not," Wei Wuxian clarifies, "that I've actually broken any legal laws. Just your bullshit cultivation laws."

Lan Qiren's eyebrow twitches and Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if he'll actually see a full face reaction during this interview. If not, there will be plenty of time as they work the case. Lan Qiren did always hate the way Wei Wuxian briefed a room. 

Now, however, Lan Qiren sounds only mildly annoyed when he says, "Those are, as you put it, 'legal laws.'" 

"Yeah," says Wei Wuxian, slouching further into the uncomfortable chair, "but you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean." Which is to say that Wei Wuxian is not nearly as much of a reprobate as Lan Qiren wishes he was. Resentful energy corrupts the body and mind and all that turned out to be true... but only if you don't account for it. To date, thirteen years since he started cultivating with resentful energy, Wei Wuxian still has yet to spiral out into degeneracy and moral decay. Much to Lan Qiren's apparent chagrin. 

Lan Qiren huffs shortly through his nose. "Indeed. Anything else?"

"Lan Zhan."

Even at the sound of his own name, Lan Wangji continues to look past Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian can no longer pretend Lan Wangji isn't the immediate focus of any room he happens to be in. 

"What about Special Agent Lan Wangji?" asks Lan Qiren, something perturbed in his voice. 

Wei Wuxian isn't looking at him. He's staring intently at Lan Wangji as he says, "I'll only work with him."

Still nothing. Lan Wangji continues to hold his unnaturally still posture. His eyes boring a hole into the wall behind Wei Wuxian, so focused and so deep that Wei Wuxian imagines the man can see all the way out of the building through it. 

Lan Qiren clears his throat as if trying to get Wei Wuxian's attention back on himself. When it doesn't work, he simply presses on and asks, "And why is it you want to work with my nephew?"

The question sounds surprisingly disingenuous. Like Lan Qiren already knows the answer. Which, maybe he does. 

"Maybe," says Wei Wuxian casually, "I just want something pretty to look at."

A muscle jumps in Lan Wangji's jaw and it takes real, actual effort for Wei Wuxian to not shout his victory. 

"No, Wei Wuxian," says Lan Qiren. "If we’re going to do this, you have to say it."

That does succeed in getting Wei Wuxian's attention back. Lan Qiren's eyes are narrowed, more angry than he's been the entire time he's been in here with Wei Wuxian. He was always protective of his nephews, but the fury in his gaze speaks to something more, something specific. And personal. 

Wei Wuxian meets that anger with a stubbornness that has subdued a mass grave of resentful dead. 

They stare each other down, neither willing to look away. Fire and ice, eating away at each other. 

It surprises Wei Wuxian to find that his ice is what wears down first. But, he realizes quickly, it isn’t all that surprising at all. He supposes that saying out loud why Wei Wuxian wants Lan Wangji around is less painful for him than it is for Lan Qiren to have his nephew insulted in front of him. Not that it was an insult, really; Lan Wangji really is that pretty. But Lan Qiren's ire is fair. Wei Wuxian's stubbornness is... not. 

"Fine," he says, and actually drops his eyes in concession. 

He's not above admitting that that was a weird moment for him, but he takes a few seconds to stretch his shoulders back before continuing. 

"I want Lan Zhan there," he says finally, "because he’s the only one of you fuckers who’s ever been able to keep up with me." Which is both true and gratifying to say. 

He glances up at Lan Wangji, but still cannot seem to read anything on that beautiful, stoic face. Lan Wangji’s breath is steady; the even thrum of his golden core can be felt across stadiums if he so chooses, but now it remains quiet and spinning; his posture could be written about in textbooks, and possibly has been. 

Nothing. 

Wei Wuxian tries not to bristle about it. He’ll have time. 

When he looks back to Lan Qiren, he meets the man’s steely gaze and says, "There. Happy?"

Strangely, Lan Qiren does look pleased. Almost… amused? He has the beginnings of a smile threatening his perpetually dour expression — a softening around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. He strokes his long beard. 

"It’ll do. For now."

[the-whispers-of-death]

"fanfiction? What fanfiction? Oh you mean the only this keeping my sanity intact?"

And it's just you and your OCs

-🥀

🥺

That's so sweet of you to say.

[pastafossa]

Hi! I was just wondering if you got my other ask about a TRT au that I want to write. I want to get the ok from you before I start anything.

I went digging for your asks and found them!

First off I feel like Deadpool when he's talking about fourth walls. A fanfic about a fanfic??? that's like... DOUBLE FANFICS

Second off I'm absolutely DELIGHTED by the idea and also really honored that someone would want to do TRT fanfic??? Just got me like

I am 100% ok with it! Anything that puts more fanfic into the world makes me happy tbh, AND it feels like a lovely continuation of the cycle that got *me* writing fic plus if i eventually take parts of trt and make it a real book as planned i would love if people ficced that IT'S THE CIIIIIIIIRCLE OF LIFE

There are only only two things I'd ask (applies to anyone else who may want to do TRT fanfic, which I'm fine with).

Proper credit back to TRT. If the fic's on AO3, then the 'This work is a remix, a translation, a podfic, or was inspired by another work' option when posting is what to use, and that'll let it pop up at the bottom of TRT under the 'works inspired by this one'. If it'll be posted on Wattpad or Tumblr, a link to TRT on AO3 and an acknowledgment is all I'd ask!

This one isn't specific to your idea (which I looked over and am totally fine with!). This is more for anyone else: please do not try to finish TRT, in the sense of trying to write the next chapters. AUs are fine, Blip fics are fine (I admittedly have a Blip side fic planned but it'll be outside of the main TRT story), various adventures, Foggy musings on canon, shenanigans, NSFW or SFW scenes, whatever, are all fine! I only draw the line at 'Pasta hasn't updated in a bit so I'm going to write the next chapters and post it'.

Other than that, you are free to move about the cabin with my blessing! I'm super excited to see what you come up with!

[circusclowne]

i absolutely adore your art so much it’s not even funny 😭 you got me interested in black hole and flower, and inspired my flower design!!

AAAAAAA WHATT TY!!!

idk how to respond but this means so much to me!!! thank you so much!!

[trashartgalleries]

the hashtags i came up with for these characters... ...

The website i use to "plan" stories on is called Hiveword! It's really good, and has a lot of cool features!

[upwards-descent]

I think it's cool having a lot of OCs from all sorts of ethnic and cultural backgrounds. I control the diversity in this house and it's set to a solid 9 🔥

[merge-conflict]

wip wednesday

tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo ty :3

I've mostly been recovering from various ailments the past week and distracting myself rather than getting much writing done but also I've been doggedly tearing my heart out with this piece, wherein Goro is captured by the Gang when failing to retrieve Valentine and everybody is feeling great about it and not at all like shit.

this tidbit taking place after a fruitless interrogation and Valentine picking a fight with everyone except Alt:

She turns her back to him, gravitating to an ornately carved side table, where a surprisingly extensive collection of alcohol huddles together, leaving barely enough room for a pair of smudged glasses and an empty container for ice. Watching the tense, angry line of her shoulders makes him feel ill. The bed she’s placed him on his large enough for two, the bedding in utter disarray. He wonders if it is hers or if she shares it with Silverhand. Now that he knows what he is looking for, he sees the signs all about the room: the guitar leaning against one of the nightstands, the piles of dark clothing, the ashtrays, the pair of heavy boots. “What will you do with me?” he asks, flinching at the sound of shattering glass. V sets down what remains of her drink, casually shaking the shards from her chrome hand, wiping off her fingers on her pants. She rasps calmly, “You’ll sleep here. The door is locked from the inside, but Alt won’t let you leave, obviously. Johnny has the key but I’ve asked her not to let him in.” No guarantees, her tone says. “Sorry about the mess. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up.” The bitterness of her joke robs Goro of the ability to respond. He watches dumbly as she pours another bourbon. “You think he will try to kill me?” She turns, frowning, eyes caught on what remains of his knee. “Hurt you,” she corrects.

really struggling getting the prose to flow on this one, but trying to concentrate on the important beats and how I want this chapter to end, and then worry about making it polished afterwards. really underestimated the amount of work this chapter needed after I decided I wanted to publish this storyline. how could writing my story out of order leave me with a lot of background and context to establish?? the things I do for self-indulgent works.