#reference to canon character death

[ghostlynimbus]

Billy Hargrove's Wikipedia Page

[shyjusticewarrior]

Broke: Jason has an autopsy scar

Woke: Jason has a scar on his throat from Bruce's batarang

Bespoke: Jason has a scar on his head from when he gave Bruce a DNA sample to prove he was really Jason Todd

[starsandtulips]

welt with "the kids" headcanons. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

characters⟡ welt yang, stelle, march 7th, dan heng, (slight) himeko, (slight) pom pom, (mentioned) seele, (mentioned) luka

relationships⟡ none

cw⟡ reference to canonical character death in hi3

~ all three of them look up to welt in different ways

~ stelle appreciates his knowledge of the universe, especially when she woke up she understood almost nothing and it's nice to have someone to rely on to know things

~ dan heng admires his resilience and passion for adventure

~ march loves his stories and often takes little bits of her favorites to turn into backstories for herself

~ welt can be pretty quiet when not answering (mostly stelle's) questions, often staring into space

~ the only time the trailblaze trio see his eyes light up when talking is when he's discussing the shows he's worked on in his time as an animator

~ he has shown them all of the episodes of arahato that he can remember off of the top of his head (using his mimicry)

~ they are all big fans of arahato (even if dan heng doesn't show it)

~ welt has somehow been roped into promising to get/make them arahato merchandise to wear

~ stelle attempted to bring back a small piece of the engine of creation as a gift for welt but was told it had to stay on jarilo-vi

~ the trio has several running betting pools (that dan heng had to be coaxed into participating in) about welt

~ the betting pools that are currently ongoing include:

is arahato real? (stelle and march believe arahato is a real robot while dan heng thinks the show is fully fictional)

who can eat more spicy puffy mushrooms: mr. yang or stelle? (they're waiting to head back to belobog for this one to convince welt to do it and because members of wildfire, seele and luka, are also involved in the betting pool)

does mr. yang actually need his glasses? ("because he loses them so much on the Express!" march says, stelle and dan heng are confused on why someone would wear glasses without needing them)

~~some angst below!!!!~~

~ the only thing that is off limits to bet on is why he sometimes looks at himeko like he's looking at a ghost

~ i already wrote something on this but: when welt begins to drift off and become lost in his memories, the trailblaze trio + pom pom team up to cheer him up!!!

~ they've made a pact to not let himeko know or welt catch on to what they're doing on those days

~ so far they have been mostly successful in cheering him up

[aliusfrater]

everything ************* posts pisses me off istg

[sholiofic]

Susan / Delenn after the show ends. You might have to wait to finish the whole thing for full context. Anything. They just deserve to be happy.

I struggled with this one a bit, and it's really more gen than ship. But they do deserve to be happy, it is so true!

--

It was strange seeing Susan in the long, swirling brown robes of the Anla'Shok Na. Somehow there was a part of Delenn that seemed to respond to her, out of the corner of her eye, as if Susan was ... someone else, someone who should not be here. And then she would check herself, see Susan as she really was.

But then, Tuzanor was, these days, a city of ghosts. David had left, and Delenn wondered if he might not have the right of it. Memories clouded close and thick for her here. Perhaps she would be happier out in space somewhere, seeking something new and different, not here where the sweet-sad echoes of the beloved dead --all of them, not just John -- nearly smothered her.

She wondered if it might be the opposite for Susan, who had stayed, for now, on Minbar, leaving behind the ships and Earthforce offices of her past life. In the Anla'Shok training halls and the corridors of the city complex, Susan moved like both a ghost and a force of nature, silent and contained, wearing an invisible cloak made up of the power and authority that she had, over the years, learned to wield quietly. She was greatly changed from the forceful young woman who Delenn remembered so well from those early years when they were both young.

The years had honed them all. Honed them into what, she was still deciding.

Still, she would not even say that she and Susan were ... friends, exactly. So she was surprised when Susan appeared like a quiet brown ghost in her Anla'Shok robes on one morning when Delenn was, as always, watching the sun rise alone. The bench lay empty beside her, holding a place for a partner who was not there.

Everyone who knew Delenn, by now, knew this habit of hers. But no one ever came to see her then. She had not expected it.

Susan did not speak. She came over quietly, and rather than attempt to take the side of the bench that Delenn always left empty, she sat down quietly on the floor beside Delenn's side of the bench.

Susan understood -- better than anyone else, Delenn suspected. Those others who had been close to John (Michael and Stephen, and others, through the years) had gone off to live their own lives, with their own families, elsewhere. It was Susan who was still here, having nowhere else to go. Susan had always been as wedded to duty as John was, in his way, or perhaps even more so.

Before Susan had appeared, and settled in her quiet way at Delenn's left side, Delenn would have said she would rather be alone here, sitting with the ghosts of the past. Now she found that was not true. And so she put a hand on Susan's shoulder, and she felt Susan cover her own hand with a palm that was ridged with the calluses of Anla'Shok battle training.

Together, they watched the sun rise.

[ligmaballsbaby]

(normal interaction with Angel and Derek)

Matt:"I think we better split up guys, Angel and I will-"

Derek:"oh hell nah!, you're just trying to fuck your slut again!"

Matt:"no I'm not!, Derek shut your flumpy ass up!"

Derek:"okay if we split up I'm going with her then!"

Angel:"No your musky ass is not!"

Derek:"oh, you can't throw anyone else on the team no puss!?, see that's that bullshit!"

Angel:"Bitch ain't nobody bout to throw you no puss while you are smelling like an NBA locker room during overtime in the six game!, you've been wearing that headband since you crawled out your mama's cooch!"

Derek:"Fuck you Angel!"

Angel:"You fucking wish!, you musky mushroom goblin Bitch!"

*Matt and Emily are just standing side by side by them watching them argue*

(I guess Angel has another thing in common with Matt)

[justamesswasnotavailable]

The 911 fandom trying to make sense of the quotes Oliver keeps uploading on his insta story:

[namelessprince]

hm. ashe being the Girl could go one of two ways. either i stick closer to pd or i get a little silly with it.

[livelaughlobotomyxx]

just watched the ahsoka finale. oh my god. OH MY GOD.

[musical-chick-13]

Always funny to me when people say, "Why was the Doctor ever interested in River in any way when she's Not A Good Person," as if a) their oldest and closest friend in the universe isn't The Master, someone very much not known for being a particularly good person, and b) there wasn't literally a line that went, "And unlike me, [River] really doesn't mind shooting people. I shouldn't like that; kind of do a bit."

[rafent]

◜  ₊  —  𝓡  ˚  ₊   𝐍𝐈𝐋

When he wasn’t scared, when he wasn't crying, Nil was the dreamer. 

‘You and me and Nel. One day we could run away together—somewhere we can never be found; wouldn't that be nice?'

That’s stupid, Rafal would say only. So very stupid, he thought and longed to say further. No pair of twins ever survived to adulthood together, much less two twins and an extra who Nel- fullest and fittest of their brood- never knew even existed. But he allowed those stories and hopes and wishes to weave before his eyes. Not that he liked the sound of them but that he liked Nil’s voice. Because when Nil was dreaming there was no room left for crying.

‘Well, what about you then?’

Rafal made sure to tell him that he dreamed too. Just not in the same way. 'I don’t want to run. I want to kill our brothers and sisters. To be Father’s true heir.'

He saw it in his eyes, like it spooked Nil how much Rafal was willing. How normal he was. They were both failures, stains on the midnight honor of Father’s true form who couldn’t reflect him, stuck in chrysalis bodies that never metamorphosed further, but Nil was the abnormal one. He never aspired to become stronger or to become more than what he was. He never wanted to play the truest game of their blood or even that game in miniature; sparring or wrestling with his siblings to hone their strengths, flicking dark magic at each other in the emulation of some deeper, deadlier breath. 

Instead Nil was Nil. He plucked flowers to press and age so their beauty would last longer. He covered his ears whenever the Corrupted wolves howled. When he spoke of his sister he called her the prettiest and the kindest, not the strongest. Nil was Nil, so after he said his truth Rafal smiled. Not you, he assured when he smelled the fear on his brother. Never you. Even though words were weaker than paper.

'I trust you, Rafal. You would never hurt me.' That shy trust was an acceptance that hung steady on the faintest, thinnest line of Rafal’s promise. Surrounded by a sea of Fell Children who would swallow one another in one gulp given the chance and forget their promises on a turned back, on a closed eye. So easily shattered by each and every indomitable will to survive, burning stronger than the last.

Abnormal? Anomaly? Nil wasn’t the only one. Words mysteriously meant more to Rafal. He kept his promises no matter what they were. From the moment they’d found each other alone, they should have seen to it that only one had left alive, yet they forged a bond instead; linking fingers and hearts, trading secrets not blows, and not death. Strange was something they did, together.

…and that was that. Or what it could have been. Should have been. 

His feet squelched into Nil's footprints as he tracked them, tracing and tracing, then finding. A scene of mudsoaked blood and bloodsoaked mud all around with something small, something dirtied to grey- nearly black- in the middle like it had once been white and pink. He looked down at it with a strange twist of his arms around each other even though he wasn’t cold. Heart a knotted mass like his hair when he slept on the wrong side.

Looking into his half-brother’s face, even then he saw himself before Nil willed it to be. Like a piece of him that would never return, left right here. With him.

“Nil, I’m here,” Rafal crouched onto his knees beside him, but the darkest hour of Nil's thoughts wasn't for Rafal to own, his fizzling breath wasn't for his name. That person was. That person was—

“Nel,” the dying boy said, his wilting voice wedged in the space between a whisper and his silence forever. “She’s waiting for her dragonstone to come back, but she’s waiting for her twin more. I don't want to hurt her. Please, Rafal—”

Rafal understood. Rafal loved him so he understood. Nil loved him back so he trusted. Like this they were whole. He made his promise to him on a juddering breath. Later his fingertips brushed against his ribs as he disrobed him, wearing his skin though it were only a shirt, swapping their identities though it were only a name. By the time they were changed, transformed, his brother wasn't there anymore. His eyes no longer red, no longer shining, but two haunts of pink glass fogged to the color of bloody finger smears or rotting peachskin.

With a gentle hand Rafal closed them—no, "Nil" did.

When he wasn’t scared, when he wasn't crying, the true Nil was a dreamer.

And now he was forever dreaming.

[very-gay-poet]

when ur looking at fandom content and then there's something cannon compliment there and you remember that they arent all these happy gay wizards who love each other like family and had a lovely life together but in fact a horror show and all died before 40 and alone; >:(

[serenagrey]

Wow I was preemptively hating and so prepared to bitch about them killing off some of my favorite characters but basically no one died and the few characters who died, died off camera. Honestly idk now I’m reverse hating

[justamesswasnotavailable]

The 911 fandom trying to make sense of the quotes Oliver keeps uploading on his insta story:

[mapsareforbraindeads]

thinking abt him (canon thai near)

[remusisyphus]

afterthoughts

1.

it's a twilight in March.

the cold in the air is not strong enough to justify the red spreading on your cheeks whenever he says your name.

"Sa-to-ru?" he calls, right next to your ear, and it feels like a flower being taken by the wind, like the end of a nightingale's song. he always says it like that, detaching the syllables like one would pick the petals of a daisy for a "love me, love me not" game. you rise your head in a daze, eyes almost blurry. "Sa-to-ru," he says again, playfully, like he always does, and you catch glimpses of the pink of his tongue. "you're with me?"

"of course," you answer because you are. you're always with him.

"Sa-to-ru," he says for the third time. it's like a squeeze on the shoulder. it's funny how he doesn't even need to touch you to reach you. it's like a "please focus". it's like a "please stay."

you sigh.

seriously, why does he always separate the syllables of your name like that? like he's picking you apart? why does he taste your name so well?

he's the only person who takes the time to embrace it like that. to map your soul like that. what's in a name? probably nothing, most of the time. and yet. when he says it, it suddenly sounds like something more. like a treasure.

he's the only person who calls you by your first name, maybe that's why.

he's the one and only.

2.

it's a twilight in August.

sweat drops are travelling on your skin from the top of your back to the tip of your toes - you wonder if the heat will crush you or if it will wait until you're almost dead on your bed, hoping for sleep.

you're sweating and there's not even a single tear in your eyes. blood is flowing away from him but you're the only one losing your breath.

"Sa-to-ru", he chuckles, "don't be silly, Sa-to-ru." he's even more playful than usual, even softer than usual - how dare he?

he's melting in your arms, like he always does, but it's wrong. it's so wrong.

"Sa-to-ru," he calls and suddenly you're freezing despite the heat. it's like a hug. it's funny how he still doesn't need to touch you to reach you, even after all this damn time. it's like a "don't mourn me." it's like a "you're the strongest, aren't you?"

you hate it. for the first time ever, you hate your name on his lips. it feels like you're his curse. you're cursing him and you don't know how to stop.

is drawing blood for the face you think about whenever you open your eyes in the morning and the face you dream about a proof of strength?

for the first time ever, you feel weak, truly weak. like a tall child with endless limbs and an endless sorrow. being overpowered by someone hadn't felt like that. hell, seeing him leave hadn't felt like that. because there was still something between them to chase. to nurture.

"oh, Sa-to-ru," he whispers. it's like a "i love you."

and as you bite your tongue not to scream, you taste sweat, and tears, on your lips.

"Suguru," you say, "my name can't be my name if you’re not here to say it. it won't ever be my name again. I will wait forever for you to give it back to me."

he laughs, breathlessly, looking somehow bewildered. "damn, silly, at least curse me in the end?"

he closes his eyes. you don't say goodbye and you don't cry and you don't beg him to come back because language has lost most of its substance.

3.

it's a twilight in October.

you're scanning all these faces in the crowd, all these weak bodies and equally weak minds, when he appears out of nowhere. he creeps on you like your nightmares do.

and oxygen leaves your lungs, your heart, your veins because he is not supposed to be here. he is not supposed to look at you and to stand and to wave in your face as if - as if - as if spring hadn't - as if - God - why -

"yo, Sa/to/ru," he says cheerfully, "long time no see." technically it's the same intonation, the same smile, the same everything. but it's also not.

words are music. if you play the same song on two violins that are technically the same model, it still won't sound the same. because you won't be able to reproduce the exact same tune, because one of your fingers will bend in a slightly different way the second time, in a way not big enough to be noticeable but here enough to matter.

so instead of a touch, it's like a bark and a knife in the stomach at the same time. it sounds like an abomination.

you get caught, like the fool you are, too busy drowning in all the times your name sounded right to defend yourself. being imprisoned weirdly anchors you.

"who are you?" you ask, having regained a bit of control. "my six eyes tell me you're Geto Suguru but my soul tells me otherwise."

the sight of his brain being possessed and exposed should terrify you - and it does. but it only brings some sort of relief.

the treasure, no matter how often it might be replicated, is still safe.

4.

it's a dawn in December.

"oi, Sa-to-ru... what are you doing here, loser?" he says playfully. it's like a "i didn't expect to see you today." it's like a "i missed you." it's like a "come here. no one will leave this time. not ever again, for better and for worse." it's the bittersweet embrace none of you knows how to give.

you're not stupid. you know what it means. but you can't bring yourself to feel sad or disappointed. not when it means this. him, at last.

"Sa-to-ru," he repeats. he's hesitant.

"Suguru", you say. you hold his hand and he smiles tentatively.

what's in a name? a bit of this and that.