#i think it could be done. and i would kill to do it. and people would SCRAMBLE to buy it

[wonderjanga]

Adam Jr.

Adam had wanted to kill the Champion’s child. He knew it’d weaken the man. Just like his own child’s death weakened himself. But… Watching the child in ratty clothes walk out of a decrepit building, (Billy’s apartment complex) he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

So, he decided to steal the man’s child instead. He’d held the child captive for hours, yet the Champion never showed.

Billy: *bound to a chair*

Black Adam: *standing across from him* “Your father hasn’t come yet, boy.”

Billy: “Of course not.” *thinks Adam is talking about C.C. and also thinks he knows Billy is Marvel*

Black Adam: “You don’t seem surprised.”

Billy: *confused* “Why would I be?”

Adam didn’t know what to say to that. Did the Champion neglect his own child? Children were sacred, how could he do that? It was then he made the decision to awkwardly (forcibly) adopt the boy. He’d dragged him along for all the things a father normally does with their child. Such as hunting faeries, and going to the UN for Khandaq’s diplomatic relations, and even eating the iced cream favored by most people nowadays.

And if Billy was frowning the entire time because he didn’t wanna be around one of his worst enemies, Adam didn’t see.

This eventually caught the concern of the JL who were wondering why Marvel hadn’t done anything to stop this a little kid from hanging out with Black Adam. (It was because Billy couldn’t sneak away to transform in the first place) So, when he felt his comm start ringing in his pocket dimension he just decided to use the ultimate tactic: The Bathroom.

Billy: “I gotta go whizz, be back in a sec.” *walks off quickly*

Black Adam: “Wha— what do you mean by whizz?”

In the Bathroom…

Billy: *crawls out of a bathroom window and transforms before flying off*

He flew for about 15 minutes before he picked up the comm.

Marvel: “Y’ello.”

Batman: “Where are you?”

Marvel: “Huh?”

Batman: “Where. Are. You.”

Marvel: “Uh… over the ocean?”

Batman: “Why?”

Marvel: “I was… doing something?”

Billy didn’t exactly want to tell them he’d been kidnapped.

Batman: “…doing something?”

Marvel: “Yup.”

Batman: “We’re going to unpack that later. For now, have you heard of Adam’s newest sidekick?”

Marvel: “Pardon?”

Batman: “Yes, that’s what I thought. As of recently Black Adam has acquired a child through unknown means—”

Ah. Shoot.

Batman: “—and has been taking it with him wherever he goes. We believe that the child is either an heir or a sidekick.”

*silence*

Batman: “Captain?”

Marvel: “…Can you describe this child?”

Batman: “Black haired, brown eyed, normally seen in red.”

Marvel: “I see. I see.”

*more silence*

Batman: “Captain?”

Marvel: “Listen, there’s no need to worry. I just took care of that issue.”

Batman: “Excuse m—”

Marvel: “Yeah, the kid’s away from Adam. Trust me.”

Batman: “When did yo—”

Marvel: “Don’t even worry about it.”

Meanwhile…

Black Adam: “Billy?” *looking around*

Cleaning Lady: *sweeping*

Black Adam: “You. Have you seen a boy about yay high?” *puts his hand out at about Billy’s height*

Cleaning Lady: *shakes head*

Black Adam: “Dangnabit.” *stomps off*

Adam ended up looking for Billy for hours.

[ds-angel1]

can you do a hitman! rafe x reader fic where reader hires hitman! rafe to kill her cheating husband— and she finds out that rafe doesn’t seem too bad himself ;)

a/n: um so... I didn´t read the request well enough and didn´t see the cheating... so so sorry!! I´m gonna keep it the way I have it, cause it´s not that integral to the plot. I hope this isn´t too far off from what you wanted and sorry that it´s taken me so long, such a cool request!!!!

cw: murder/hiring a hitman, brief mention of abuse, mention of shooting and drowning, unprotected sex

wc: ~ 1.5k

The parking lot was a wasteland of cracked asphalt and flickering streetlights, each drip of water from a leaky gutter slicing through the silence like a metronome of dread.

Your footsteps echoed, uncertain and slow, each one louder than you'd like. Fingers twitched at your sides, restless and cold, while your mind spiraled, thoughts crashing into each other with no room to breathe, let alone think clearly.

Time stretched. Minutes passed like hours, every second a drumbeat in your chest. Then finally, movement. A figure emerged from the shadows.

A man. Jeans, hoodie, buzzcut, and a scowl etched so deep it looked permanent. His eyes swept the lot in quick, practiced scans before settling on you. He stopped just out of reach.

“Um… are you… the guy?” you asked, the words fumbling out, awkward and thin. You didn’t know his name, only what he was supposed to do.

“Yeah. You Mrs. Walton?”

The name stung, triggering something deep in your skull. You clenched your jaw. Not for much longer, you reminded yourself. Soon, it would be gone, scrubbed from your life like blood from tile.

“Yes,” you murmured.

He studied you, eyes dark and unreadable. “You got anything on you I should know about?”

You shook your head. “What… like a recorder? No.”

“Good.” His tone was flat, but the warning behind it landed hard. “If this gets out, there’s people who’ll handle it. Even if I’m inside.”

You nodded, stiff.

“You’re gonna buy a new phone. Cheap, burner. Text me when and where. Got it?” He held out a slip of paper, a scrawl of numbers barely legible in the dim light. “Half the money now, half when it’s done. I’ll text you the location for the other half the day before.”

Your fingers closed around the paper, knuckles pertruding with tension. Your brain burned the details into your memory, this wasn’t a mistake you could afford.

This was murder. You were paying to have your husband killed.

It sounded monstrous when you thought of it like that. But you’d run the math a hundred times. A divorce meant ruin, he’d bury you in court, leave you penniless, maybe even dead. You knew the connections he had. You’d seen the bruises. Felt them. This wasn’t just escape. It was survival.

You looked him in the eyes, steadied your breath, and nodded. “Okay.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, he turned and disappeared into the night, swallowed by the same darkness he came from.

And you stood there, hand tight around the number, knowing there was no turning back now.

Just a few days later, the call came.

“Mrs. Walton? I’m terribly sorry to inform you—your husband was shot while driving to work this morning. The impact caused him to lose control of the vehicle… he drove off a bridge. Rescue teams are still recovering the car from the river, but… we’re confident he didn’t survive. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

It took them nearly two days to drag his overpriced luxury car out of the water, along with what was left of him. His bloated hands, that smug face already softening with rot. The bullet, once perfectly placed over his heart, had nearly dissolved in the water, just like the man himself, dissolving into memory, into myth, into nothing.

Then came the wave: condolences, hushed voices, solemn faces, the funeral. You cried on cue. Hugged on cue. Played the grieving widow like you’d been born for it. You should’ve won something for that performance, an Oscar, at least.

Six days after the hit, the text finally arrived.

A location. Coordinates in the kind of place GPS signals go to die—the edge of the worst part of town, where the streetlights didn’t bother working and the air smelled like rust and regret.

You showed up on time. Summer, yet the sun dipped early, casting the trailer in long shadows. It looked like it had been pieced together from scraps and curses. Through the grimy window, you spotted him, same buzzcut, same scowl, hand lazily resting on his chin as he watched you approach.

By the time you reached the door, he was already there, holding it open with that same unreadable expression. Wordless. You stepped inside.

“You got my money?” His voice was gravel in the cold, stale air.

“Yeah.” You reached into your purse, pulling out a plastic bag stuffed with bills—his money, technically. Now yours.

He took it without ceremony, fingers rummaging through it, counting. “You stay while I go through this,” he muttered.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The silence was sharp. Tension hung like a fog as he flipped through stacks, licking his finger, counting aloud under his breath.

“Did… did you plan that?” you finally asked, breaking the quiet. “The river, I mean. To like... get rid of evidence?”

A low hum escaped him. A yes, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.

You let another beat pass before speaking again, quieter now. “Is this... your place?”

“Friend’s,” he answered, clipped and uninterested.

You frowned, letting out a small huff and turning your gaze to the peeling walls. His eyes flicked up at the sound.

��Something wrong?”

“No,” you said, folding your arms. “Just think you could be a little less rude. You know, considering.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely incredulous. “Yeah? I kill people for a living. You expect rainbows and compliments?”

You met his stare. “Wouldn’t kill you to be a little more polite to your clientele.”

Your words were met by a roll of his eyes before he stood slowly, nearing you threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Ya want me to be nice to you, darlin´?”

You don’t know how it happened, the moments between those few words and now, were a blur.

You were sat on the cluttered counter of the trailer sink, arching your back off of the wallpaper-ridden walls as the man holding your thighs to your chest was pumping in and out of you unapologetically rough and hard.

His eyes, illuminated only by a tiny lamp in the corner, were strictly focused on the sight of his length being engulfed by your soppy cunt.

You let out whine after whimper and moan after exclaim, muttering about his size and how damn good it felt over the lude squelching sounds and the rattling of the trailer. The tip of his mind-screwing cock hit a spot inside you your dead husband could never reach, making you come like you never have as he emptied his seed inside your warm, inviting womb.

Silence settled in, thick and charged, as the two of you caught your breath. His thumbs traced slow, almost tender circles on your bare hips, an unspoken lullaby after the storm. Then, with a quiet groan, he pulled out. A soft, slick sound followed, and a warm rush of your mingled release slipped from you, trailing down your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, low and almost reverent as if the word alone could ground him.

He crouched down, redressing you with surprising care, slipping your panties back up, smoothing your skirt into place. His hands lingered at your waist as he guided you upright, placing you gently on trembling legs.

“You don’t tell anyone about this,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath. His gaze lingered on your face, drinking in the wreckage of your expression, flushed cheeks, mascara streaked in messy rivers, eyes wide with something between shock and surrender. The dim light tried to swallow it all, but it couldn’t. He saw everything.

He reached up, his fingers rough but delicate as they wiped away the smudges beneath your eyes.

“Okay…” you whispered, the word ghosting past your lips. Your mind hadn’t caught up yet, still lost somewhere between shame and euphoria, disbelief and craving.

He nodded once, sharp and unreadable, before turning to the bag. Without finsishing counting, he began gathering the stacks of money, trusting it was all there. Somehow, that trust felt heavier than anything he’d said aloud.

You watched him in silence, your heart thudding like it was trying to break out of your chest.

“Can I… will I see you again?” you asked, your voice barely steady enough to make it out of your dry throat.

He didn’t look up. Not until his bag was zipped shut with all the money you paid him for killing your husband buried deep inside. Just like his cum was buried deep inside you.

“Keep the phone,” he said, tone flat, but something in it twisted, subtle and raw.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat.

He walked to the door, hand gripping the bag so tightly that his tanned knuckles turned pale. You stepped forward, words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Wait… what´s... what’s your name?”

He paused in the doorway, half in shadow. Then, turning his head slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you.

“Rafe. My name is Rafe.”

[erme-maererme]

this addition is actually very important because it brings up the subject of necropolitics in thedas and how this mechanic of magic adds another layer to it. like the general population is more or less aware that bloodshed results in thinner veil, leaving corpses around attracts wisps that awaken the undead, hence everyone but the nevarrans and the dalish prefer cremation.

but if you need to kill a lot of mages, you can do it in the circle and who cares if it makes the place even less liveable for the next generation. or you can hold a civil war primarily on the territory where the dalish live (i'm talking about the exalted planes, the only people actually living there that you get to meet are the dalish + the dales hold great cultural and political importance for all of them, not just the ones directly impacted. i think it's dorian who points out that no wonder that the war theatre of the civil war was mainly contained to this region, and you can also just see it for yourself in all the areas inky visits.)

also even the location of kirkwall as the former site of blood magic experiments is notably quite removed from the capital of the tevinter imperium, so that the magisters could do whatever even if it could end in a disaster (which it obviously did + and kirkwall is still bearing the damage from what was done to the veil there).

so the damage is exported, and in the areas where even more death took place it's lasting, if not permanent (i don't remember here if the veil heals at all), because thedas has magic in addition to what we can recognize from our own reality.

this also applies to alienages btw, the veil must be thinner there as well, since it's a fixed place and purges are not uncommon (the suppressed uprising in denerim, celine setting fire to an alienage, the one from the knight errant comic). and both the circles and alienages have very defined borders, often guarded ones by the templars/city guard, so that only specific groups of the population would suffer the fallout. and it would not concern the people that "actually matter".

i'm not sure where i'm going with this, but to go back to the annulments, perhaps it's also that they didn't want to leave a "polluted" place behind, and the mages are cursed from the start anyway. perhaps the chantry saw it as keeping all danger in one area, so the templars would watch it all simulteneously. and i bet opening a new circle would be very expensive. why would the chantry pay for it, if they could just not.

so. when the circle gets annulled. do they like. tell other people about it? Do people outside the circle learn of what happened? I know most mages never see their families again, but like do they tell the families? some of these kids are children of nobles. do they just kill all the mages and no one, not even their families, knows about it? does the chantry even light a candle for them?

[magical-regical]

Night Blooming Flowers

A Leona Kingscholar x f!yuu fic

Word count: 1273

(ok I know I usually do gn!yuu but this one's for me especially, capiche?)

The incident at Styx didn't leave many people unscathed and even though the majority of those involved made a full recovery, a certain prefect wasn't so lucky.

She didn't realize it until it was over. She just saw Grim being flung off of Ortho's shoulder and Vil trying desperately to grab him while also holding on to Idia. Her body moved before her mind and she barely had time to shout at Rook to keep her afloat before her body was free-falling through the air, one arm outstretched to grab the direbeast's paw.

She remembered holding Grim against her chest and the sudden change in momentum knocking the wind out of her chest. She remembered solid ground beneath her feet, people talking, getting on to a plane, and the sound of someone wailing until they touched down in the NRC sports field. It wasn't until Deuce shouted,

"Yuu, your face!"

that got her body out of auto-pilot. She moved to lift her right arm to touch her face when she realized she'd lost all feeling in said arm.

There was nothing to be done. Lilia surmised that because she had absolutely zero magic in her there wasn't anything stopping the underworld from directly draining the life from her cells and no room for magic to restore it either.

Now she's lying there in her room for the n-th sleepless night, her entire right forearm replaced by a styx-made prosthetic. The amputation procedure was unbelievably quick and painless and the top-of-the-line prosthetic that responded to her brain's signals just as well as her real arm would made the rehabilitation period practically negligible. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was on her head, literally. The underworld had killed off some of the cells in her face and hair. The doctors were able to prevent the cells from going necrotic but you could still tell where they were from the white tips of hair and patches of skin on her face.

After tossing and turning for who knows how long she gave up and got out of bed. Not wanting to wake Grim who was snoring peacefully on his side of the bed, she left the room, closing the door as quietly as possible.

She walked with no particular destination until she reached the botanical gardens, which had been perfectly restored in record time thanks to the diligent efforts of the Shrouds. She was making her way through the temperate zone of the garden towards the subtropical zone where most of the night-blooming flowers grew when she stepped on a strange branch.

"I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose."

She jumped like a cat seeing a cucumber. Leona's tail retreated towards him as he sat up, letting out a yawn,

"What are you even doing here at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Leona growled, "I was sleeping, obviously. Until I was so rudely woken up."

"Well pardon me your highness." She said while rolling her eyes, "Please forgive this peasant's transgression and go back to your peaceful slumber."

She turned to walk away when Leona called out to them. When she turned around the lion was on his feet, his face a mixture of annoyance and something else she couldn't make out in the dark.

"You never answered my question."

"I couldn't sleep." she sighed, "and there are flowers in here that only bloom at night."

She tried not to stare as Leona approached her. Bathed in the moonlight like this, she was reminded that the lazy lion she has a crush on was actually a prince. A part of her wanted to run away but her feet stayed rooted in place, all she could do was try not to make eye contact until he was stood right in front of her.

She didn't see the way his eyes drifted to her forearm nor the pained expression that clouded his face for a split second.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No. It did the first few days but not anymore. It's like I never lost it really. These on the other hand..." Her hand reached up to touch one of the white patches on her skin.

"I mean they don't hurt but... they look kind of grisly don't they?" She said while letting out a dry chuckle.

A silence fell between the two of them. Neither one really knew what to do. Leona was the first to speak up,

"Ipomoea alba"

She looked up at him in confusion. Leona just kept going as he started to walk, leading her towards the subtropical zone.

"Agave amica, Zaluzianskya ovata, Gardenia jasminoides. You don't even know the names of the flowers you're going to see?" his tone was playful but not mocking.

He explained how most night-blooming flowers are white because they don't 'waste' resources to color their petals instead, their only goal is to reflect the light of the moon.

"Where are you going with this?" she asked.

They stopped in front of one of the blooming gardenia bushes. Leona let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face them again, "Do I have to spell it out for you? You're like those flowers. You didn't waste any of your resources and had one goal, to save that weasel. These marks—" his hand reached out, hovering just above her cheek, "—are just proof that you succeeded."

Every word he said was steeped in his unshakeable confidence. As if the patches on her cheeks couldn't possibly stand for anything else. Maybe it was that confidence that made her grab his hand and press it against her face.

"Thanks, Leona." she muttered, closing her eyes.

"Hey, look at me." He gently tapped a finger against her cheek, making her open her eyes again, "I want to kiss you. May I?"

He could feel her blush through his gloves. She gave him a shy nod but that wasn't enough to satisfy the lion prince,

"No. I need to hear you say it."

Of course he did. She was currently face to face with one of the princes of the Sunset Savannah and if she couldn't hold her ground, she would surely be devoured. So she swallowed her embarrassment and, for the first time that night, looked him straight in the eye,

"You may, Leona Kingscholar."

He smiled, "That's my girl."

Then he closed the gap between them. The kiss was filled with feelings that no longer needed to be spoken out loud. When they broke away Leona kept his forehead pressed against hers, one of his hands tangling itself in her hair.

"I love you." she said, her gaze once again filled with that spark that had the audacity to twist his arm into helping her with her plan lest she made a racket in front of his room for the rest of the year.

He couldn't help but laugh, a deep, warm laugh that echoed through the empty garden.

"Took you long enough." He said, pressing another kiss on to her cheek.

"Stay at Savanaclaw with me tonight?" he mumbled.

"I'd love to but I can't. Grim would freak out if I just disappeared like that."

"Damn weasel..." he growled, burying his head into the crook of her neck. "Fine."

But despite saying that, he didn't let go of her. Instead, he picked her up and took her back to his usual nap spot before getting comfortable on her chest.

"Leona, I said—"

"I heard what you said." He huffed, "You'll be back in Ramshackle before the sun rises, I promise. For now just, stay here with me. Okay?"

She sighed, using her left hand to stroke his ears while the other one rested on the small of his back, "Alright."

A/N

Surprise! You thought you were reading a normal fluffy fic but it is actually! Thinly veiled OC lore! Now you are forced to look at my yuusona!

Pre-book 6 (L) and post-book 6 (R)

Her name's Oyuki McGuffin. She's 18 y/o and would like a nap.

Current concern: Does a potion count as soup?

Ok that's all I wanted to say. Thank you have a nice day.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Discussion of the Invincible Wars, so series-typical violent topics. I don’t get detailed about it tho

Tags: Fluff, kinda slow burn tbh for being so short, went a bit of a different route with my interpretation of this variant – figured our boy could use a break from all that heavy stuff ❤️‍🩹

Word Count: 1,060

Synopsis: The world is ending, but for Mark, his life was only just beginning the moment he saw you.

Inspiration: ‘Thinkin Bout You’ by Frank Ocean

a/n: for my beautiful, perfect lovie @itsbuddhasbelly!! thank you for encouraging me with my dumb little works – it makes my very happy. :’)

One year ago

The world ended.

Or—something like it. Cities crumbled. Heroes fell. The sky turned black with smoke and fire. It was the Invincible Wars, they called it later. Like it was history. Like it could be measured and filed away and understood.

But when it happened, there wasn’t anything so clean about it.

You remembered standing on your front lawn, barefoot, clutching your phone with trembling fingers as the sky split open.

People ran. Screamed. Begged.

You just… stared.

And then he appeared.

Hovering in the air like something divine. Blood on his uniform, glowing eyes, an aura like gravity itself bent around him.

And then—he saw you.

It was like something paused inside him. The rage, the war, the mission—it all halted the second his eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t kill you. He didn’t even threaten you.

He walked toward you without a word, as if drawn by a force he didn’t understand. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Your body had forgotten how.

When he reached you, he took your hand, careful like you might shatter, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"You’re the most beautiful woman in the universe,” he said, voice quiet and reverent. “I’d know. I’ve seen it all.”

Your mouth parted, heart in your throat. But before you could speak, he released your hand and stepped back.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, simple but unquestioning. “I want to know you.”

Then he vanished.

And somehow, your town—unlike every other—was left untouched.

Present Day

He kept his promise.

You didn’t think he would, honestly. You thought it was some twisted fluke—some battle-weary god getting sentimental in the middle of a war.

But he came back.

Weeks later. Then months. Then more.

Sometimes he brought gifts. Rare things. Impossible things.

A blue flower that glowed softly in the dark and sang lullabies in a language you didn’t know.

A ring made of a mineral that couldn’t exist on Earth—it shifted colors based on your mood, and Mark refused to tell you how it worked.

A stone orb that projected constellations from planets light-years away—“This one’s my favorite,” he said. “I used to go there to think.”

Sometimes he just sat. Both of you on the porch, your legs swinging off the steps. He'd look at you like he was memorizing your profile. You’d pretend not to notice.

He always gave you space. Always let you speak first. And when you didn’t, he never pushed.

This particular night was quiet.

The stars hang heavy overhead, bright and unknowable.

He lands soundlessly beside you, a familiar presence now. You’ve long since stopped jumping when he arrives. He doesn't make grand entrances anymore—just shows up like he’s always belonged there.

He holds something in his hand. Another gift, probably. But he doesn’t offer it yet.

Instead, he speaks.

“Do you not think so far ahead?”

You blink. “What?” He’s quiet for a second. Then—

“I’ve been thinking about forever.”

The words hit you like gravity.

You should be afraid. Should remind yourself of what he’s done. Of the war. Of the blood.

But then you look at him—this godlike being sitting on your porch like it’s holy ground because you stood on it once. And all you can do is whisper, “Forever’s a long time.”

He smiles. Not a smirk. Not smug. Just… hopeful.

“I have it to give,” he says.

You watch him, heart thudding like it’s caught between stars and soil.

He holds something out. A small, smooth crystal, glowing faintly. When you take it, it's warm—alive, almost. Inside, a swirl of constellations shifts and dances.

He watches you with that same intensity he always has—like you’re something sacred. Like this moment matters more than anything else in the galaxy.

“It’s a Viltrumite bonding token,” he says. “We don’t really do ceremonies. But this… it means something.”

You look up at him, and your heart squeezes.

He’s so sure. So ready. So Viltrumite.

But you’re not. Not because you don’t care—but because you’re you. Human. Flesh and fear and caution wrapped in something just as fierce.

Your gaze softens, and you give him the faintest, sweetest smile. “This isn’t Viltrum, Mark.”

His brows draw together, ever so slightly. Confused. Almost… angry? Hurt?

“Here on Earth,” you continue gently, stepping closer, “we take things a little slower.”

For a second, his face falters. Just a flicker. Barely there—but you see it. That moment where centuries of instinct and expectation collide with something fragile. Something new.

You reach out, closing the distance between you—not just physically, but emotionally. You step into his space like you’ve always belonged there, like gravity’s been leading you both to this point all along.

Your hand brushes his chest, over his heart.

And then—gently, deliberately—you rise onto your toes.

The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not some desperate, fiery collision.

It’s slow.

Intentional.

A quiet promise wrapped in warmth and breath and closeness. His lips part slightly against yours, like he’s surprised—like he’s never been kissed before.

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t push. Just sinks into it.

One of his hands lifts—hesitant at first—then cups your jaw with reverent care, like you’re made of stardust and the whole universe is watching.

You pull back, only just, your forehead resting against his. Your hand still anchored over the steady beat in his chest.

“How about we start with this?” you whisper.

He exhales, the sound shaky—almost stunned. Like he’s still reeling, like you tilted his axis and he’s trying to find true north again.

His eyes meet yours. There's no smugness there. No grand speeches. Just awe.

“Then we’ll start here. But just so you know… I’ve seen the future. It always leads back to you.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. You blink, stunned, as if you’re not quite sure whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him again.

Instead, you just shake your head, a breath of a smile curling at your lips.

“You really are something, Markus.”

He leans in again, his hand still cradling your jaw like he’s afraid to let go.

And somewhere above you, the stars keep burning. Quiet. Eternal.

But down here—on this porch, in this moment—forever has already begun.

[joejhang]

wake up babe it's thinking about jeanneil hours. thinking about them being "misplaced forever partners". thinking about neil being jean's "broken promise". thinking about those miserable two weeks in evermore and jean dragging neil back to his feet every time he fell. thinking about jean having to hold neil down and witness neil go through the same traumas he had all these years. thinking about jean losing control which was maybe why riko didn't actually kill neil that night. thinking about jean working dye into a half-conscious neil's hair. thinking about jean telling neil "you shouldn't have come here". thinking about what jean suffered after neil got inked with his rightful number. thinking about the "unexpected rush of anger" neil felt when he saw what riko had done to jean. thinking about "of course it'd be you, you tedious malcontent" and "good morning to you too". thinking about jean watching riko take a swing for neil on tv and just thinking, run. thinking about neil and jean being the same "property" in riko's eyes. thinking about "pop and he was gone. how easily these monsters die in the end". thinking about jean reaching blindly and catching hold of the hem of neil's jeans. thinking about "neil. it was a good game" and the smile that jean could hear when neil replied, "yes. it was, wasn't it?". thinking about the narration change from nathaniel to neil. thinking about jean noticing andreil immediately but never mentioning it because "nathaniel was his broken promise; neil's life was none of his business". thinking about neil connecting the dots about grayson. thinking about neil parking the car and saying with urgency, "jean. i'm sorry." when jean finds out his family is going to take the heat. thinking about neil ordering a hit on grayson and telling jean, "lock your door tonight if it will help, but grayson will never bother you again". thinking about neil taking the phone from jean and saying, "i've got him, coach". thinking about neil asking jean what he needs and planning an escape route so he can grieve in private. thinking about them murmuring to each other in french in the back of the police car. thinking about "chances of them understanding french?" "none. they're american." "hey." "you barely count. don't waste your time feigning offence". thinking about "jean's french. he brings out the violence in people every time he opens his mouth". thinking about neil encouraging jean to exercise his freedom and live his own life. thinking about "so was elodie". thinking about jean echoing neil's words after grayson's death. thinking about "you do not have to trust him. i do." and then ten seconds later, "that ill-bred child is not my friend". thinking about jean trying to snatch the cigarettes out of andrew's hand and saying, "you were barely fast enough to save him last time. the next time someone takes a swing at him, you and your brisket lungs will have to watch him die. i wouldn’t have GIVEN HIM TO YOU if i’d known you would just throw him away so carelessly." thinking about jean calling neil and neil actually picking up. thinking about neil saying bringing up jean's broken ribs in an interview and jean calling him a "rancid menace". thinking about jean watching neil take a hit and holding his own ribs because he remembers how it felt. thinking about jean with his hands to the tv screen as he watched neil on the floor. thinking about neil's voice in jean's head at the end of the book, "the rules have changed".

[monicfever]

you were the villain all along 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher cast hcs

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

at first he doesn’t believe it.

he hears the proof. feels the evidence stacking against you. foggy tells him. karen warns him. but he defends you. “you don’t know them like I do.”

because he knows your heartbeat. the way you say his name. he knows the way your lips quiver when you say I love you. you couldn’t be lying. right?

then you confess.

maybe you didn’t mean to. maybe it was an accident. or maybe you knew you were cornered, and all that venom finally spilled out. you say, “I never wanted to hurt you.” and matt goes still. quiet. like the breath’s been ripped from his lungs. the heartbreak doesn’t hit him all at once. It sinks. like poison in holy water.

he tries to breathe through it, tries to make sense of it. but your voice — your voice, the voice he clung to like salvation — is suddenly untrustworthy. and it breaks him in places he didn’t know could shatter.

he stops sleeping. doesn’t answer calls. doesn't go to work. he spends entire nights on rooftops listening for you. hoping for something. anything.

if he hears your voice again — if he catches the rhythm of your heartbeat — maybe he’ll understand. maybe he’ll finally know why.

when he does see you again, his mask is off. he wants you to see what you did. his hands are clenched. his jaw is locked. he doesn’t yell — he’s past yelling. he just asks, “was any of it real?”

the silence that follows destroys him more than any blade ever could.

he can’t stop loving you. that’s the worst part. even knowing what you did. even knowing you used him. lied to him. worked against him. there’s a piece of him — small and stupid and so human — that still hopes there’s a version of this story where you come back.

his catholic guilt becomes unbearable. how could he not have known? he’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen — but he couldn’t even sense the devil in his own bed.

he questions every instinct. every choice. every whisper of god’s will he thought he understood.

he tells himself he would stop you if he had to. that if it came down to it, if you were hurting people — he’d do what had to be done. but the truth? it it were you and the world on opposite ends of a scale, he’d hesitate.

he’d hesitate long enough to burn.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

he knew something was off. he didn’t say it. didn’t push. but he saw the cracks — the quiet you couldn’t cover, the things you didn’t say. and still, he trusted you.

after everything, after all of it, you were the one person he thought was safe to believe in.

when he finds out, he doesn’t react at first. no yelling. no rage. just a quiet sort of stillness that’s so much worse. his eyes go flat. his hands stop moving.

and you know, immediately, that something in him just broke. he walks away. that’s how you know it’s bad.

frank castle doesn’t walk away from a fight. but you? you weren’t a fight. you were home. and now he doesn’t even know what he’s walking away from. or who.

later, when he's alone, that’s when it hits. not with anger. with grief. he sits in the dark, gun on the table, your name echoing in his head like a ghost that won’t shut up. “how much of it was real?” he won’t say it out loud, but he’s thinking it. over and over. like a prayer gone rotten.

he looks for reasons. for excuses. goes back over every word you ever said. every moment you touched him. every time you swore you loved him.

he wants to find something that makes it make sense. but he doesn’t. you lied.

when he sees you again, it’s not violence. it’s heartbreak dressed like indifference. he won’t shoot. he won’t shout. he just looks at you like you already killed him. maybe you did.

he says, “you shoulda just told me.” low. rough. final. because that’s the thing about frank — he can survive anything except being lied to by someone he gave his heart to.

he could’ve forgiven you. if you’d just told him. but you didn’t.

he won’t come after you. not unless you give him a reason. but you’ll never be able to get close again. he’ll know. he’ll see it coming.

and that version of him — the soft one, the trusting one, the one that kissed you like you were all that was left of the good in this world? he’s gone.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

he doesn’t get angry at first. not really. just confused. you? you did this? no. no way. not you. not the person who laughed at his dumb jokes and ate his takeout leftovers and kissed him like you meant it.

but then the evidence is there. undeniable. and he starts putting the pieces together. you were late that night. you lied about that meeting. you asked a lot of questions about that case, didn’t you?

and every single memory turns into a weapon. every moment of love — sharpened into something that cuts.

he confronts you. he has to. that’s who he is — still trying to believe the best, even when he shouldn’t.

and you don’t deny it. you don’t even flinch. you just say something like, “yeah, and?” and that destroys him more than anything else.

he doesn’t cry in front of you. he holds it together. he just stares at you like he’s seeing someone else. like he’s trying to find the version of you he loved under all the lies, and they’re just... gone.

he whispers, “was it all fake?” and when you shrug? it’s like you spat on everything he ever gave you.

foggy’s heartbreak is the quiet kind. he won’t get revenge. won’t lose control. he just hurts, and tries not to show it.

goes to work. smiles for karen. checks in on matt. but his spark? the thing that made him foggy? it’s dimmer now. a little less bright. he spends a long time wondering what the hell he missed. was he too trusting? too soft? did he make it too easy to be used?

he hates that he’s still thinking about you. hates that part of him wants to know why. he doesn’t hate you. that’s the worst part. he should.

but every time he sees your name on paper, or hears about what you’re doing now — he just feels this hollow ache. like something was stolen and never returned. and the thief smiled while doing it.

he’ll never let anyone get that close again. not like you did. you were the person he thought was safe. and now he trusts no one with that part of himself.

if he ever sees you again, it’ll be quiet. no anger. no yelling. he’ll just look at you and say, “i hope it was worth it.” then walk away.

because forgiving you? not possible.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

she wants to believe it’s a mistake. at first, she does. she knows people are messy. she’s made mistakes too. but this? this isn’t a mistake. this is intentional.

and the second she realizes you’re not sorry — that you meant it — her chest goes hollow.

she doesn’t confront you right away. she waits. watches. gathers everything she can. she wants the truth — the full picture; but with every detail she uncovers, it gets harder to breathe.

you were always ten steps ahead. you had her wrapped around your finger. and she never saw it. when she finally does face you, her voice is low. when you give her that cold, indifferent shrug like you never cared at all — her heart cracks so clean it doesn’t even bleed.

she doesn’t cry in front of you. she won’t give you that. but she almost does. her throat burns. her fists clench. she loved you. and you looked her dead in the eye while you ruined everything.

for a while, she tries to make sense of it. sits alone with a bottle and her notes and the pieces of your story scattered on the floor.

she writes it all down. reads it back like it’s someone else’s tragedy. because that’s the only way it makes sense — as fiction. the version where she’s just another name in your file.

karen is so good at carrying pain without showing it. but this left something jagged in her. she starts questioning her instincts. doubting herself. how could she not have seen you coming?

she doesn’t want revenge. she wants distance. she wants to rebuild her walls. wants to make sure no one ever gets that close again — especially not someone with your smile.

but here’s the thing: karen doesn’t forget. you might be done. you might feel nothing. but she’ll always remember. the nights you stayed up late talking. the way you held her face when you kissed her. the way you made her feel safe when you were the danger the whole time. and that memory will rot in her like poison.

if she ever sees you again? she won’t flinch. she’ll look at you with steel in her spine and ice in her voice.

“i hope whatever you got out of it was worth losing me.” then she’ll walk away. because she might be broken, but she’ll be damned if she lets you see it.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

she laughs when she finds out.

not because it’s funny. because it’s insane. you? the betrayal she didn’t see coming? she’s betrayed kings and slit throats without blinking — but you? you played her like she was just another fool.

she doesn’t spiral. she sharpens. everything gets colder. quieter. more precise. no more lingering looks. no more slow smiles. she goes dead behind the eyes.

because if she lets herself feel it, she’ll burn down the whole world with you in the center.

she confronts you with a grin and a dagger in her boot. leans in close like it’s still a game. like she’s still deciding whether to kiss you or kill you. “you played me. congratulations.”

but there’s something dark in her voice — something final. she may be chaos, but you crossed a line even she won’t come back from.

she doesn’t ask why. she doesn’t need to. villains don’t need reasons — and now that’s what you are to her. just another mask.

but later, when she’s alone, the cracks show. she’s not crying — she doesn’t do that. but her hands tremble when she takes off her gloves. she let you in. she let her guard down.

and you turned out to be the very thing she spent her life surviving.

she’s furious. but it’s not just at you — at herself. for falling for it. for falling for you. you didn’t even lie well. you didn’t need to. she wanted to believe you.

she starts dreaming about you. violent dreams. sweet dreams. sometimes you’re holding her. sometimes you’re bleeding out in her arms. she always wakes up angry. her mind still wants you — even if her heart’s gone numb.

if she ever sees you again, she won’t flinch. she’ll smirk. tilt her head. maybe even say, “miss me?” but underneath it? that’s a woman who almost loved you. and now she has to live with that. and so do you.

and god help you if you try to come back. elektra doesn't do second chances. not for liars. not for traitors. and never for someone who looked her in the eye while twisting the knife.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

he finds out slowly, because he didn’t want to believe it.

he made excuses. ignored the signs. you were the one thing that made him feel normal. now you’re the one who lit the match.

when it clicks — really, fully clicks — he doesn’t react. not on the outside. inside everything in him goes dead quiet. no thoughts. no breath. just a long, stretching silence like the second before a sniper fires.

he stares at the wall for hours. gun in his hand. your name in his mouth like a prayer he can’t finish. he whispers it over and over. like he’s trying to summon the version of you that didn’t do this. but you don’t show.

when he sees you again, he’s smiling. way too calm. it’s the smile he uses right before something goes very bad. leans in close, voice low, soft, surgical: “you made me love you. was that the plan?”

and when you just smirk, when you don’t even flinch — he feels something inside him snap.

he doesn’t kill you. not because he forgives you — but because death would be too easy. he wants you to know what you did. wants you to feel the weight of it every time you look at him and realize: you took something pure and sickened it.

he spirals in silence. stops sleeping. starts stalking. he watches you — just to understand. to figure out how the person who kissed his scars turned out to be the one who made them deeper.

he talks to you like you’re still there. alone in his apartment, pacing, whispering things like, “you said you needed me. was that a lie too?” / “i would’ve done anything for you.” his voice breaks around the edges, but he keeps going.

pretending you loved him is easier than accepting the truth.

you broke ben poindexter. not with violence. not with cruelty. with apathy. with calm. with the way you walked away like his heart meant nothing.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

when he finds out, it’s not explosive. it’s silent.

like the breath right before impact. the sky before a storm.

he sits there, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable, and says: “wow.” then nothing. he’s calculating. already rewriting the story in his head. already deciding what to do with you.

he does not take betrayal lightly.

he built himself to survive it. but this is different. this is you. the one person he chose to keep. and you turned out to be just another knife in his back — one he let in willingly.

after that, trust? gone. with everyone. you made him worse. paranoid. vicious. now every glance is a threat. every favour is a setup. he double-checks everything. even people he’s known for years feel like liabilities now, because if you could get that close, anyone can.

and yeah, he gets manipulative. he doesn’t come for you with fists — not right away. he plays it smarter.

talks to people around you. twists the narrative. makes you look unstable. lets the world turn on you before he ever does.

when he finally does see you again, it’s… chilling. you expect rage. what you get is worse. a calm, cruel smile. a slow, measured voice. “i should’ve known. you were always too good at pretending.” and if you shrug — if you say something cold or clever — his eyes go flat.

and in that moment, he decides: he’s not going to forget. he’s not going to heal. he’s going to outlive this. he’s going to make sure you never forget what you lost.

he won’t hurt you directly. he wants you to unravel. wants you looking over your shoulder. wants you unsure of what he’s going to do. that’s how he keeps power. and billy russo? he doesn’t lose. especially not to someone he loved.

but deep down — under all that anger, all that pride — there’s still a part of him that misses you. and that’s what he hates the most. because you don’t miss him. you walked away without flinching and that kills him.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

her initial reaction to discovering your betrayal isn’t one of immediate rage. there’s an unsettling stillness. her mind immediately begins to work, organizing everything she knows, processing it in the coldest, most efficient way possible. she goes silent, almost unrecognizable, as she quietly assembles her plans.

the first words she says to you are cold: “I never thought it would be you.” It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

her first instinct is to understand exactly how you betrayed her, why you did it, and what your end goal was. she examines her relationship with you, retracing every word, every gesture, to find the subtle cracks she missed.

she doesn’t rush into confrontation. she’s far too sharp for that. instead, she waits—watching you, watching others, trying to gauge who might be involved and what her next move should be. she’s an investigator at heart, and she’ll use every tool at her disposal to make sure she knows everything before she acts.

she immediately cuts herself off emotionally. she might physically distance herself from the people involved in the betrayal, or retreat into work. she’s someone who operates best when she’s in control, and she knows that feeling emotions right now will only make her vulnerable. she closes off to everyone, becoming all business, no personal connection. her vulnerability is gone; she’ll never allow herself to feel that way again, not after this.

rather than directly confronting you, she takes a more indirect approach. reaching out to mutual acquaintances or anyone who might know something useful. she subtly steers conversations to extract information about you, seeing if anyone else is part of the betrayal or if they have noticed anything strange. this approach ensures that by the time she does confront you, she has a full understanding of what’s at stake, who is involved, and how to turn things in her favor.

when she finally decides to confront you, it’s not a shouting match. dinah stands still, her face neutral, eyes piercing. her tone is cool, detached, like she’s discussing an uncomfortable subject, but not one that stirs her emotionally. “you should’ve known better,” she’ll say, as though the betrayal is an inconvenience more than anything personal. dinah doesn’t need to shout to make you understand: she’s in control now.

betrayal, for madani, isn’t just about pain—it’s about losing control. the moment you betray her, it’s a sign that things have slipped out of her grasp. she works meticulously to take back that control, but in her own quiet way. she may turn public opinion against you, let others see you as unstable, or slowly isolate you from people you trust.

if you hurt her professionally, she’ll hit you where it hurts, making sure your career, reputation, or standing with others suffers.

every word, every action is now questioned. she’s not just distant from you; she’s distant from everyone. she’ll let people get close, but only so close. there’s a wall between her and the rest of the world now, one that’s even harder to break down than before.

madani doesn’t forgive betrayal. she doesn’t forget it, either. once you cross her, it’s done. the door is closed, and there’s no going back. in her eyes, you chose to betray her — and that decision carries consequences. she’s not the type to let people get away with things like that.

over time, she might appear to let things go, but the truth is she’ll carry this with her for the rest of her life. it gnaws at her, a reminder that she can never fully trust again.

you broke her trust, and she’ll make sure that the consequences of that are felt long after she’s walked away from you.

started 4.20.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[fenharel-babe]

Tagging: @zombiefishgirl , @amoaliquis @museinthemiddle @fenharels-chewtoy bc yall said you were excited so here you go hehe :)))💙.

Okay here goes my rant of Solas and how he is such a good lover. His romance has been broken down to hell and back but I DONT CARE! I’m adding my thoughts and just stirring the pot of Solavellan on tumblr. A community I love with all my heart.

Okay, so. The reason I believe Solas is such a good lover is because of how he respects Lavellan and likes to know more about her. That man was definitely wanting to kiss her when he was in that Haven dream, but he let her do it. He said she changed everything, but still didn’t take initiative and let Lavellan do it. Once she did and he knew she felt somewhat the same, THEN he went all in and used tongue. He was so down bad already. SO DOWN BAD!!!

And then he ends up asking for time and not wanting to lead her on. He’s open about his feelings though that’s definitely terrifying. Yes, he’s not telling the full truth about his past BUT he is talking about his feelings in the present and telling her the truth about that at least. I feel like he would understand if she wanted to end it and move on, and he sets boundaries and it makes sense. This man was a spirit of Wisdom that suddenly took a form and was used and abused his whole life until Inquisition, so he barely had time to understand FEELINGS and especially LOVE. He had little to no time to understand that, so he sets a boundary, lets her know he needs time. He needs to think before he does anything else. I see that as very sweet and considerate since he doesn’t want to lead either of them on and basically be a terrible lover because he isn’t sure he DOES love her. He isn’t sure and needs time, and it’s respectful and good to be HONEST about that, and he was.

Then talking about how he wants to know her more, I think about the talk on the balcony when he asks her if the mark has changed her. In my opinion this is when his view on the world has begun to change. He sees people as people and actually alive. Lavellan (at least my Lavellan) has helped refugees with blankets and food, helped a man’s dying wife get a potion she needed from her son, helped a random woman get justice and her wedding ring back from Templars when they killed her husband, and had done so much to help people. And she has to go out of her way to do this!! She was busy as hell yet still took the time to help them. She did all of this and he wondered if the anchor somehow changed her. In my head, he possibly was scared or worried of falling for someone that was changed, but then he learns she has always been this way, and it makes him cement in his feelings. He loves her and he cannot hold it back anymore, though he tries. He tries one last time to pull back, but her telling him to stay made him see how she also loved him and wanted him badly, so he gave in. He kissed her and told her that he loved her, speaking in his language to show how serious he was. We know if he speaks in elven, it’s gotta be serious and it was.

I believe Solas didn’t love freely and possibly never did romantically to anyone in ancient Arlathan. Not just for the trope of her being his first love, but because of how he had to do war and did such horrible things (due to Mythal and others) and definitely didn’t have time to get close to people, but this time he did. He got to know a woman that was a ‘shadow’ of his people, but she was really a light. Like Cole described her at the end of DAI, when he looked at her she shined bright and it was like looking at birds as they flew past the sun and how it hurt to look for too long. Feel like Solas looked at her and she was so bright and a unique spirit to see now due to how corrupted spirits could become and how the world was full of corruption and pain. Yet she still survived and was a beacon of light and hope. Hope to him especially.

Then, I think of how he left her. Leaving her was definitely a Choice™️ and feels dumb….but when I look at it in Solas POV I do understand a little bit. He is full of guilt and remorse and he knows he cannot love Lavellan to his full potential as long as he feels that way. He will focus on that guilt and regret and he can’t do that to her. She loves him, but she doesn’t know the Full sides of him, and it hurts. He loves her so much that he can’t lead her on. So he tries to tell her, but he can’t. He’s overwhelmed with fear and she doesn’t know about his past until he literally CANT hide it from her anymore. I think breaking up was sad and painful but it was considerate when you look at it from Solas. He wanted to protect her, and he believed leaving was the best option, and maybe it was. It’s sad it happened, but he at least thought of her in the moment, in my head anyways.

And then the FLYCAM SCENE OF HIM LEAVING DAI AND HOW HE TURNED AROUND ONE! LAST! TIME! TO LOOK AT LAVELLAN!!! Crazy guy. This asshole (affectionate).

And then Trespasser comes. It is an asshole move that he let Lavellan suffer the anchor for his plans, but if I’m right; he could’ve just let her die. But he saved her (and friend and rival inky but you get what I mean) and actually admits the past. The small “thank you” when Lavellan says she didn’t think he was capable of that is PAINFUL! STABBING ME IN THE HEART!!!! MURDERING ME!!!! Regardless, he told her the truth finally, saved her from Qunari spies and a whole war plot, and saved her life from the anchor. Plus, I think about how they first meeting Trespasser and how this MAN. THIS MAN THAT HAS THE POWER OF A GOD!

Takes a step back and hangs his head whenever she steps forward and yells at him.

HE STEPS BACK?!?!! Tell me you’re ashamed of how you left your GF and still love her and are terrified of her anger without telling me.

Her touch would destroy him!! A MAN WITH GOD POWERS!!! A MAN THAT DID A MIND BLAST THE SIZE OF A BOMB. And then the quiet “my love”!!!! And “I wish it could, Vhenan,” AND “I will never forget you,” AAAAAH. THIS MAN LIVES FOREVER!!! BUT HE WILL NEVER FORGET HER AND WILL LOVE HER FOREVER!!!! And then he still wants to be wrong. Well, he doesn’t but he does. He would treasure the chance to be wrong once again. IM CRAZY ABOUT HIM!!!

Anyways, now we’re talking about The Dreams. I’ve read fanfics/posts on tumblrs saying that they believe Solas, the first time at least, entering Lavellan’s dreams was an accident. I can totally see that…..however I see it as on purpose. This man was so in love that I cannot see him truly cutting her off all the way. He needs to at least see her, even if it’s in dreams. They used to be in the Fade together so many times until he ended it, so it’s so…natural to see her in dreams. He can’t sleep without seeing her and knowing she’s okay.

And from my understanding this most likely means Solas timed his sleep/meditating time with Lavellan’s sleep schedule. I could be wrong but when entering the Fade, you gotta be asleep or doing something with your mind and how could Solas do that simply awake? He couldn’t. He had to know when she was asleep!!! He knew her schedule and prayed it hadn’t changed AND IT DIDN’T! He remembered her schedule and met her in dreams…..but would leave when she tried to touch him because if she did it would just hurt more. I’m going fucking crazy.

This man is FULL of LONGING and LOVE and PAIN and OVERWHELMING EMOTIONS BECAUSE HE WAS A SPIRIT!!! AND NOW HE’S A PERSON!! AAAAAAH!!!!!

Anyways: now onto DATV. I find it funny when Rook mentions Lavellan and Solas is just “uh…she is a good woman,” and then smiles when Rook asks if he regrets loving her and he’s basically like “absolutely NOT”. He has countless regrets, yet he has come to cherish her more than his victories. His battles he won? They couldn’t compare to the love he got from her. To the love they shared. It couldn’t compare……

And god….the reunion at the end. I think we can all agree that the sound and music people went HARD on this scene. The CHOIR SWELLING WHEN LAVELLAN SHOWS UP??? Now that’s dramatic and totally what I was craving. But anyways the way Solas literally lowers the dagger and looks at Lavellan, and even turns his body completely to her! His eyebrows tilt up, his mouth is slightly open with shock, and his dagger is lowered as he whispers, “Vhenan…”. It almost feels like he couldn’t say it louder. And tbf he probably couldn’t given he just got the shit beat and BIT out of him LMAO.

But anyways he’s vulnerable in this moment. I believe if they wanted to kill him, this would’ve been the moment to do so. Lavellan was the perfect distraction, even if she wasn’t used that way. She still was. He gives her his attention in an INSTANT, and he can’t believe she’s there. And the “I forgive you!” line has to have hit him DEEP. Most likely no one has said that to him, so it’s just a lot when she says it out of everyone. And then finally being set free from Mythal (fuck that bitch) and having LAVELLAN lean down and whisper her love to him—one that never died or dwindled—and he sobs. It’s a breaking point.

And then the kiss and hand holding. I’ve seen the flycam of Solas holding onto her hand with BOTH of his hands. He missed his wife….and doesn’t want to let her go. But the BIGGEST act of love (well maybe 2nd biggest) is the final moment of leaving. He doesn’t turn to look at her or beckon her after she said she’d join him. He tells Rook thanks and then walks ahead….without looking at Lavellan. He doesn’t want to guilt her into following him down this path. It is her choice and she follows willingly.

He even WARNS HER!!!! He is Wisdom and wants her to know the truth of this path, to know it will be hard and terrible, BUT IT WONT BE AS LONG AS THEY’RE TOGETHER!!! He doesn’t look at her because he didn’t want to give orders. But she goes anyways. She places a hand on his shoulder, most likely very gently given his state, and then they disappear forever. They go into the Fade together, both changed yet still in love.

To me, Solas telling Lavellan she doesn’t have to go and warning her is a big sign of his love once again. He wants the best for her and KNOWS she’s suffered through these years—partly his fault—and doesn’t want her to any longer. He wants her to live happily, but she can’t without him. Still, he warns her, doesn’t ask or command her to follow him. He didn’t want to give orders. It’s like the saying of if you really love someone you’ll let them go or something and it fits Solas. He was willing to let her go if she wanted and would go into eternity alone. BUT SHE WOULDN’T LET HIM!! AND NOW THEY CAN LIVE FOREVER!!!!!

And now….Papae Solas…..Solas would be SUCH a good dad. He’s definitely freaking out and panicking and all that, but he would love his children so fucking hard. He’s holding such a small being, one that relies on him for love and care, and WISDOM!’ THEY NEED TO LEARN!!! There’s no way he ain’t there teaching them fucking math or how to answer the questions of life when they can only babble back and he takes it so serious. He’s like “yeah why didn’t I think about that?” WHEN ITS JUST BABBLES!!!!

That motherfucker will DRAW them!!! Draw a family portrait, draw Lavellan holding the baby, draw HIMM HOLDING THE BABY!! Everytime they change—like height or stage of life—he paints them. He’s such a good dad. He would never abandon this small creature that needs his guidance. He would definitely SOB when his kid calls him “Papae” OKAY? DEFINITELY. He cries when he sees Lavellan sing and rock them to sleep, and is just emotional!!!! He helps Lavellan when she’s sleep deprived and is so Tired and he’s like “baby let me get the baby it’s okay. You sleep💙” and she trusts him so much and it’s OKAYYYT!! THEYRE A TEAM IN THIS!!! They’re both learning from each other in this. Solas holds the babe the first time and needs instructions and Lavellan guides him with a gentle voice.

If that baby cries in his arms he will definitely cry as well LMAO. But he’ll eventually learn it’s just what babies do. They cry a lot. He’ll learn to be a parent, how to raise something so small into an adult, and genuinely give them allllll of his love. That man would not be an absent father. He would be the most PRESENT father! He would be the dad that steps up for everything.

All in all……

Solas in a nutshell when it comes to Lavellan:

His agents most definitely made fun of him whenever he went to meditate and they caught a glimpse of the Inquisition throne. Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)))). I love Solas sm. Can forever and ever talk about him.

[domesticatedstew]

I finished the fic from the wonderful ideas of @hostuuagain and @brainzezz !!! Basically it's Mel and Breadhead bonding while sharing myths and stories that they heard from Ken and Mud!

It was finally a day off, a scarcity when working at the Whale Belly Butcher shop. Even though a break from time to time was pleasant, Mel absolutely hated being bored. And having time off equals BOREDOM.

Ken and Mud were off doing a "restock" for the resturant which was just code for kidnapping random fly people, picking up actual supplies for the resturant, and taking care of a few... pests along the way. Jack was home with his mother for his day off, which bummed out Mel a bit but she couldn't blame him for wanting time away from his work family.

At least Breadhead was still here. He had opted out of going with the other smiling dead crew to instead practice his piano playing. Mel had always liked listening to Breadhead's playing, he was pretty skilled for having no training other than the basics that Ken showed him. It reminded Mel of when she was still little, watching her older brother play the piano while her dad held her closely. Simpler times.

But reminiscing on the past wasn't gonna cure her boredom.

"Sooooo..." Mel slid over beside her large bread brother, watching him gracefully play despite how much larger his fingers were compared to the keys. "I'm bored aaand you're the only one here, you wanna mess some shit up?"

She was ready to keep her mischievous streak strong and steady, any risk was worth killing her boredom. Breadhead turned his massive loaf to look at her, pausing his playing to think. "Nah, I dont really wanna go anywhere today. 'm not in the mood." He said before returning to the song without skipping a beat.

Mel scoffed "Well then what do you want to do? Cuz either we do something together or I do something alone." Breadhead didn't like the idea of his sister causing mayhem by herself. Yeah she could hold her own but despite all the years they've grown together, he still hadn't seen her die or revive. Part of him was terrified that maybe something was wrong with her and she wasn't immortal like everyone else.

He wasnt about to find out now. "Hmmm... What if we told ghost stories and urban legends like when we were little?" Now Mel looked intrigued, which calmed his nerves thankfully. "Ghost stories? Alright bread boy, but you better still not get scared of them like you did when we were little," She teased, giving him an affectionate punch to his arm.

Breadhead wasn't about to admit that the stories of an angel storm devouring anything and everything in their path still gave him the chills.

They were now sat across from each other, Breadhead sitting in two chairs so he'd be comfortable. It still amazed Mel how her brother was such a massive dude, that didn't stop her from teasing him to the ends of the earth. It was even better when they were both teasing Mud or Ken.

"Alright!! Lemme try to remember a story," Mel thought long and hard for done spooky story her dad had told her when she was little.

"I GOT IT!!! Do you remember the story dad told us about the rotling that's been here since the beginning of the gaslight district?" Breadhead shook his head no, and Mel felt a little bit disappointed in him that he didn't remember such an awesome part of rotling history. "Ok well you don't need to remember cuz I'm gonna tell you anyway.

Long ago, before the world became just one island, there was a rotling who told stories of the world before rotlings. A world full of greenery and animals, one where humans ruled the world." Mel whispered when she mentioned humans, feeling slightly hurt when her brother recoiled at the mere mention of a human. She couldn't blame him though, humans are their own urban legend that Mel didn't want to bring up too much.

"They say he would talk about how the skies used to be blue, and there was this green stuff that'd grow from the ground called grass, and that the sun would light up the whole planet without needing any gas lamps. It was a world full of life, and according to the guy if you died that'd be it. No coming back."

"Do you know what they did to him Mel?" Breadhead looked genuinely curious, not his usual 'I've got some joke planned and you don't know' look.

"Supposedly, he was the first ever rotling to be cemeted," She mischievously whispered, leaning in to add a dramatic effect. It seemed to do the trick since Breadhead leaned in too like they were worried about being listened in on, "Woahhh, and you said dad told you that?"

"Yup," She popped the P, "He only told me the cementing part when I was a bit older though. SO, you got any stories you wanna tell?"

Breadhead didn't think nearly as long or hard about the story he wanted to tell, "What about the Gas Man? You've gotta remember Mud telling us that one before bed," He let out a deep chuckle. "How could I forget it? It was Mud's favorite thing to tell us to get us to go to bed," Mel remembered all the times Mud threatened them with the idea of the Gas Man and let out a laugh at the memory.

"I think it went somethin like like this," Breadhead straighted up and got into his story telling position, knees up to his chest with his arms out like he was trying to read a crystal ball to get your fortune. "You ever wonder how so many of our lamps stay lit? You can thank the Gas Man, he goes around the island lighting any lamp he sees out. Some people say they've seen 'im, but they're fibbin'. Cuz if you've ever met the Gas Man, you don't come back. Mud said if the Gas Man catches you, he turns your fluids into oil and uses your flesh to light the lamps. He takes anyone that's out too late, no one's safe from the Gas Man."

Mel cringed at the idea of being turned into fuel for the lamps of the district. Even when she was little she never liked thinking about it for too long, she guessed that childhood fears aren't really stuck in childhood.

Breadhead caught on immediately and started giggling at his little sister's discomfort. Mel shot a glare at the loaf and that shut him up.

"Ok ok ok, you wanna hear about how cementing started?" Breadhead nodded vigorously, unsurprising to Mel considering how much joy he takes from crushing and eating rotlings and fly people.

"So, it all obviously started with that one guy who wouldn't shut up about... you know whats. And the others were pretty sick of his ramblings of the world before ours, and since they couldn't kill him they thought 'why don't we just try to lock him up?' It worked but only for a few centuries when people forgot about him and he escaped, he started talking about more weird and gross creatures once he was free. Everyone was sick and tired of the guy. So one brave rotling decided to try and drown him, they gathered as much rocks and bricks as they could, tied it to the insane guy, and threw him off the island into the depths." Mel acted out the motions of throwing someone off into the ocean, something she had hoped she could actually do one of these days (if Ken would let her.)

"It worked even better than just locking him up, and people forgot about him for even longer. It was nice without some insane man's ramblings on the island. But like usual, he came back. He was one crafty son of a bitch and made it everyone's problem. This time though, he was talking about their buildings, specifically this material that could withstand the test of time. He even insisted that there was still some of it underwater from eons ago.

So with one last ditch effort, that same brave rotling as before dove under the island and collected as much ancient rubble as he could (all while only drowning a couple of times.)" She whispered that last part to Breadhead, who seemed rather impressed by the notion.

"He listened to the mad man's rants, figuring out the best way to turn this trash into something that'd finally rid everyone from this annoyance. From those ramblings and rants, the rotling learned how to make cement. And it was perfect. The first ever cement block wasn't the best looking, but when that insane guy went plummeting into the cold depths below, he never came back up. Other people realized how useful this could be and started making their own cement! And then it became the best way to get rid of any annoying preacher or local mad man. Or in our case anyone with too much money," Mel chuckled at her own joke, thankfully Breadhead thought it was funny too.

"Wow Mel, and dad told you all this? He's never told me stories like that," The loaf seemed sad at that fact, and Mel realized that Ken never really did tell stories to Breadhead like he did with his daughter. "Well it's ok Breadhead! Dad takes you on missions and to go out and do hits, he doesn't do that with me!" While she hoped that'd change soon, she didn't want to ruin the moment for her brother.

"Thank you Mel," Breadhead said while giving her the biggest smile ever. "You wanna steal some of Mud's stash and get wasted?"

Mel's smile grew as wide as her brothers, "You read my mind bread boy!"

[weaselle]

duuude, i just made the most bomb summer pasta. The recipe sort of wrote itself into my head while i was driving a couple weeks ago and i finally cooked it tonight. It's just some classic flavors put together, i didn't reinvent the wheel or anything but if you're curious here's how to do it

PASTA cook some pasta in salted water (egg noodles will work just fine) You're gonna serve it at room temp, so get this going first. When your pasta is done, drain it well and then add either a tiny bit of olive oil or a small pat of butter and mix that in real good. This will prevent your pasta concealing into a bug stuck-together lump. Set the pasta aside in the pot you cooked it in whenever it's done.

SALMON at the same time, cook some salmon in olive oil. Like, for each person eating cook a small lunch sized portion of salmon, all at once in a pan together. Use a decent amount of olive oil, like most of a tablespoon per salmon portion, it's going to be part of the sauce later. Set the cooked salmon aside.

time for SAUCE

GARLIC and DRIED HERBS/DILL now in the pan you cooked the salmon in, with all the oil and stuff from cooking it still in the pan, add a bunch of minced garlic. How much garlic? as always, the maximum amount you dare to use -- when it's sizzling good but not browning yet add some dried herbs, i used some "italian mix" (which i could probably have left out, but put anything you think would go good here) and then i added a bunch of dried dill, which is probably also optional if you want, but if you don't use any of these then you could probably throw some minced onions in with your garlic or something just to add some complexity to your flavor profile. But maybe you really want the main character flavors to shine, skip everything but the garlic if you want

WINE When whatever you used is starting to brown a bit, stop it from getting any darker by adding a big ol splash of white wine. Uh. Like maybe a 1/3 of a cup per portion, so, make sure it's the cheap stuff.

VINEGAR after that bubbles away for five minutes or so, add some vinegar (i used a pretty small splash each of three different kinds for funsies, but a medium big splash of almost any kind except white vinegar should do you fine).

SWEET to balance out the vinegar you want some sugar. I used a big ol spoon full of onion garlic jam for this, because i happen to have a jar of it that i've been struggling to find uses for. But since you probably don't have that and/or don't want to spend money on that, i would say one or two spoons of honey, actual sugar, or, if you happen to specifically have blackberry jam that could work good for this sauce.

SALT add salt. Taste now. The sauce should be as salty as a potato chip, and have pretty strong flavors, because it's going to get diluted.

BUTTER kill the fire under the pan, drop in a big pat of butter, stir it around slowly until the butter disappears into the sauce. This changes the texture and flavor of the sauce in a way that simply cooking the butter into the sauce doesn't do, the butter has to melt into a sauce that has begun the act of cooling down.

MIX PASTA AND SALMON now your salmon should be cool enough to break into smallish chunks and stir into the pasta. It's going to break apart more as you stir, and you're going to be stirring quite a bit, so don't worry too much about making the salmon chunks small.

PEAS Steam some peas. Fresh if you got 'em of course, or frozen will do. Get good quality frozen if you can tho, those big bright green smooth freshies flash frozen and tasting green. Steam and set your peas aside.

FRESH LEMON JUICE now that the sauce has cooled a bit. Squeeze in the juice from one large lemon per people eating. You don't want to add the juice while the sauce is cooking or even still too hot, because heating the juice too much changes it, and you want that fresh lemon flavor to pop. (this is why blackberry jam might work good as a sugar balance for this dish, because lemon and blackberry are a classic combination - usually for deserts and stuff, but i bet it would go great in this too)

SAUCE THE PASTA now stir the sauce into the pasta. Stir it up real good. If everything in the pot isn't getting close to room temperature yet, let it sit to cool more, stirring occasionally

FRESH DILL and SOUR CREAM at room temp add about two tablespoons of sour cream per portion, but before you do this, taste for salt. If you taste the sauce and pasta together and it isn't just a tiny bit too salty , you'll need more salt, and this is where to add it, on top of the sour cream before you mix. If the pasta in sauce pre-sour-cream has the perfect amount of salt, the sour cream is going to tank the salt profile, so you'll need a little bit here to prevent that happening. If the pasta and sauce together are already just a little on the salty side, then don't add any to the sour cream here) Before you mix in the sour cream, add a bunch of fresh chopped dill - about a cupped palm full per portion. Now mix it real good

SERVE. It is good cold or at room temp (and pretty decent warm too) with a small, cold sour cream dollop and fresh dill garnish, and maybe a light sprinkle of fresh lemon juice as part of the garnish too.

Awesome warm weather dish, great for spring/summer

[flamtatiousstaffos]

I made another fanfic for you guys:)

Too close

"ANy OnE wHo WAnTS tO FACe THe BeST FIGHtERS In ThE MULTIvERsE COMe Up OnTO tHE PoDiUm NOW" Eloise skreached.

About 20% of the upper years stepped up onto the podium and all of the maverick class, some looking more confident than others. once the Eloise and Evangeline's speeches had ended then the rest of the students began to dispurse to they're respective classes, the volunteers stayed on the podium. once it was just them they began to be sorted by class and age with mavericks being a separate category, Eloise walked over to them probably intending to insult them Jake glanced at Zenith out of the corner of his eye, he was standing very close to Kiko glancing from her to Eloise nervously as Eloise got closer Jake took a few steps between Zenith and Eloise and at first he thought it worked but after Eloise had told them all the rules and called them weak a few times she stepped around Jake and put her hand on Zenith's shoulder who was stearing at her with wide terrified eyes Kiko was too intimidated to do anything and the rest of the class were in shock from her boldness but Eloise wasn't done, she pulled Zenith in closer till they're faces were inches apart and Zenith was shaking violently when Eloise spoke "your all so weak" then in a hushed tone that the entire class could hear "like you were to not let Clarissa kill you"

Zenith's knees buckled and he collapsed, hyperventilating and sobbing. And Jake snapped, he lunged for Eloise shoving her away from his friend and causing her to tumble to the ground as he punched her face over and over. Meanwhile the wrest of the class erupted into chaos with several of Eloise's students attacking the mavericks and some of Eloise's actually started fighting others of her own students Kiko dragged Zenith away from the Frey to calm him down as teachers rushed to break up the fight.

After the fight had been broken up and Zenith had been taken to the medical centre for his panic attack, wich could scar Zenith for life and make his trauma worse, then the class got lectured on violence not being the answer and told to apologise to Eloise "I'm not apologising to her for defending Zenith" Jake said stubbornly he was backed up by the wrest of the class Kiko chimed in "she new Zenith was scared and triggered him on purpose" "yeah" Emilia said "he shouldn't have to face his abuser" Ana nodded "if Jake hadn't stepped in who knows how much worse it would have been for Zenith" "Heck, she probably did iriversable damage to the guy already" added Darwin Surprisingly strone then backed them up too "I've seen how Eloise treats kids in her care. I wouldn't put it past her to have attacked Zenith when he was down" he then said looking directly at Evangeline "we don't teach them what to think we teach them how to think, and they thought the best way to protect there friend was to fight. They did nothing wrong" With so many people defending them they were let off without having to apologise to Eloise, who was pissed at them for it but could do nothing. Once they were let go Jake went straight to Zenith who was unconscious in medical. Jake sat with him until he came too "hey Zen, you ok buddy" Zenith looked up at him seemingly disoriented but eventually processed and nodded "thanks, you know you didn't have to get in trouble for me" "hey it was worth it" Jake protested “still-“ “I got to fight ludum as well” Jake grinned mischievously “oh you little phycopath” zenith murmured as he wrapped his arms round Jake’s neck. Jake responded by hugging him back, rubbing a hand along his spine. They continued to hug for a while before going back to the rest of the class.

[bright-hope-spot-19]

@evilkitten3 I know, right. I know she's barely in the work at all, but I still get angry every time I remember Karura doesn't mention her other two kids at all before dying. Temari and Kankuro had to be 3 and 2 years old when Gaara was born. If I'm not wrong, when their mom died, Kank was probably still in diapers, and Temari was probably just starting to learn her abcs. Which, completely unrelated, also baffles me when people say Temari's the only one with memories of her mother. No? She was only 3. If Kankuro remembers nothing, then she sure af doesn't either. Who the heck even has memories from when they were 3, came on. Back to the topic: Would it have killed Kishimoto to give Karura just one line! One single line of dialogue! Begging her husband to take care of their other two babies? I'm pretty sure that would've made her a lot more memorable imo.

The Rasa fight in the war was terrible cause: 1- Why would Gaara ever forgive his dad after everything the guy did to him? I loathe this trope in anime where victims have to forgive their abusers cause the abuser "feels sowy" or whatever. It's also been done in bnha with Endeavor and Todoroki Shoto. And it is still utter trash that Endy was given any kind of redemption, but at least Hori tried giving his abusive dad character an arc. With Rasa, all he gets is this one fight, and he's instantly forgiven. It just speaks to how bland Gaara got that he's not allowed to express any negative emotions cause that's not what Nart would do (makes sense too, with how Nart keeps also forgiving most villains. He literally called Obito a cool guy if memory doesn't fail me). 2- All 3 of the sand sibs should've been there, fought their dad, and sealed him together. It would've been so cool and such a defining moment for all three. They could've used the one cool combo they have in one of the video games, where Gaara encases their opponent in a giant sand sphere, Kankuro sets it on fire with Sasori's flamethrower, and Temari fans Kankuro's flames to make them even stronger, before Gaara makes the whole thing go boom. Absolutely badass. 3- Rasa fucking acknowledging how far all 3 of his kids have gotten. Gaara is Kazekage, true. But Temari is their ambassador and best wind style user in the world (not counting the unjust main character). Kankuro was made heir of both Sasori's and Chiyo's legacies and is a very excellent puppet master himself. He's only 18 in the war arc, I think, and could already control 5? Or 6 puppets at a time. The maximum amount possible for a human puppet user is 10, one per finger, obviously. So, he's already quickly approaching Chiyo's level. At 18. 4- Gaara admitting to his dad that he could've never, ever in a million years, gotten to where he is now, without their help and unending, undying support. Give him at least two or maybe even three or four! Lines gushing about how great his siblings are, and he appreciates them. 5- They share a sibling hug after their dad is defeated and sealed. Very important, by the way.

Also true, on Temari being sidelined part. She was going to fight the Raikage, but Nart stole the spotlight for no reason at all. Also, his "No, I'm the best wind style user!" Line? Completely unnecessary. Why put Temari down like that, man. She really didn't deserve that. The fact she was supposedly on a squad with Gaara, going against the revived Kage and isn't allowed to help, but for some reason, Gaara gets help from both Nart and fucking Oonoki of all people. Is that mysoginy I smell? Highly likely. I'll admit I never read the manga. Not available where I'm from. But I've seen some manga panels here and there, and Temari has scenes where she appears injured, holding her arm, and her tessen is nowhere to be seen. She was also only there in dialogue scenes when the characters were talking, but when it came time to fight, only Nart and the old fart stood by Gaara's side. The poor girl was done dirty.

All in all, And Ik this is already long enough as is, I still think the sand sibs had massive wells of untapped potential. It's just never realized, cause at some point or the other, Kishimoto just stopped caring. Either because of artist burnout, losing love for his story, doing it only for money, or executive meddling, we'll never know. I just wish they'd had at least one extra arc centered around them, even if only filler. Sighs.

Gaara was so boring in Pt 2. He should have stayed a murderous little psychopath. Instead of becoming emotionally stable he should have screeched at people whenever they tried to touch him and killed Deidara for fun

[mystycalypso]

do u ever pray u lived in an au where the show wasnt cancelled.... i wish theyd made season 3 according to their original plans then just went on hiatus until that company merger or w/e was done n they had money for s4 </3

Okay so, I was going to draw some- very fruity Laserblast art ngl, but this ask hit me enough I sat down, and opened my laptop to write a real response. I've also got the series on in the background. I started episode 1 when I began typing, and we'll see how far I am in the series before I finish typing it.

First of all, I love using au to refer to real life, honestly better than various timelines. And secondly

Absolutely. Every day of my life. Every time I draw one of the characters, or see fanart, or hear the VAs or- anything. Because- I'm insanely hyperfixated on this show. A disgusting amount, unhealthily. It's not normal lol.

And I do constantly think about what could have been, I mean, after all once again my favorite character is Laserblast of all things. Not Venomous, Laserblast. The version of that man that has like five minutes of screen time and no canon first name. So much so that when on the Saberspark Q&A when he came up in a question for quote "Me and the three other Laserblast fans" I cheered out loud, alone, in my apartment. I would have killed to not have to pull at removing his mask myself and Ian's one tweet calling him a himbo to show people characterization.

And honestly the wiki makes it all worse, in a loving way. What do you mean we were going to get multiple sitcom comfy style episodes where K.O. spends the weekend with his dad? I could've had more proof that Venomous isn't an abusive dad, just an unskilled and undisciplined one? I COULD'VE HAD AN EASIER TIME SEPERATING HIM AND SHADOWY TO OTHERS?!

And sure, I constantly wish that somehow someway I'll wake up and Ian will have announced the movie, the Hue Troop spin off, post finale storylines, the works.

But, on the other hand, here's why I'm grateful for what we did end up getting (this will probably be the longer section, sorrey)

tldwr (Too long don't wanna read): Cartoon Network is dead and pathetic and I don't wish that suffering upon this wonderful show.

So, something you guys can also notice from Ian's posts and the wiki, and just from what the cartoon industry is like in general, that getting what you want out of your series, storyline and representation wise and all that is actually pulling teeth.

For an example of later episodes, things like a seemingly Radmond episode getting changed to rad and mikayla. Or Voxman having to be pretty heavily censored (although I'm proud of the subtext they managed so heavily) which is partially because, and this isn't to take away from wlw rep and how hard it is to get on air, but is more difficult to get outright mlm representation simply because- it's harder to censor.

After all, it's much easier to pull a "they're just close friends!" Thing for two fem presenting characters, than it is for two masc ones. It sucks and they shouldn't have to be censored across different countries at all, but it's just- how it is.

Which is why, realistically, as cool as the movie centering around a voxman wedding would be incredible, I don't think it would've made it past S&P. Not to mention, even if it somehow did, It'd either suffer the fate of being a TV movie, getting limited as hell views, OR best worst case scenario, a box office release which would get hate bombed by people for it's- everything. Because people suck. I mean, even not counting homophobic people there's a disturbingly high chunk of this fandom that hates Voxman- because... *checks wiki* Oh yeah, "Evil people not being perfect good guys = bad representation"

Also, cartoon network was- already starting to die by now, with less funding each year in the first place. Meaning we don't know if it getting that funding was even an option as time went on. And the idea of getting a longer season three, with the reveal being drawn out another season like they wanted, and then potentially never getting closure on- any of it? That's horrible even to think about.

Sure, the entirety of season 3 was rushed as hell. And I cry about all the missing stuff we'll probably never get, because well there's not even a cartoon network building to make this stuff in anymore, I'm glad that we have a finished storyline and understanding of where arcs would've gone to fill in things ourselves. I mean, getting to look into and imagine all the things we didn't get to see is much more fun than theorizing on an unfinished story.

So, yeah, I do wish that somehow, someway, we will get more someday. I'm at least glad we got a finished storyline and an ending that, while rushed, is still one of my favorites. I love let's fight to the end so much, I love how much I hate shadowy figure, and I love that I can be here making content for you guys!

Well look at that, it only took me seven episodes to write this whole thing, and I get to end this rant knowing Raymond was on screen. That's cool.

[hrrtshape]

okay. so. i'm scrapping the love island dr. fully. pulling the plug. folding the napkin into a tiny origami swan of defeat. like i actually thought i could handle it??? this chaos camp of teeth whitening strips and unresolved attachment issues?? but no. no, i cannot be filmed 24/7 while having an existential spiral about a man i've known for six days who smells like axe body spray and betrayal. genuinely who did i think i was. the human version of a red flag semaphore.

let me start from the top. i can't do cabin fever. i barely survived being stuck in a group project once. now imagine 15 people (give or take the intruders, the bombshells, the producers' playthings) locked in a villa that's been built like a psychological trap. bright lights, emotional landmines, microphones in the walls. everything being recorded. everything being broadcasted. i have bpd. i have depression. i don't have a poker face. i would unravel like a wool jumper in a room full of kittens.

and the original idea, coryo, obviously. the plan was: he gets coupled up with some other girl at first (rude) but then we connect mid-season over poolgate (google spanish love island underwater for reference). like ep 10 or something. slow burn. giggly girl and nonchalant guy to lovers. yada yada. but in reality (pun not intended)???? i'd already be emotionally obliterated by then. like. by the time he looks at me with those blue eyes of fascist yearning, he'll have snogged three girls and done a toe-sucking challenge and i will be in the beach hut sobbing like joan crawford after a press junket.

he's my husband. literally. like. canon. and watching him flirt with liv or something just because she walked in wearing a string bikini and an accent? no. no. i'd walk into the firepit like it's a sacrificial altar. villa amor would be the final nail (and i haven't even REACHED the episodes, so it's probably even worse than i think). if he stepped into that second villa and started chatting to girls with acrylics and motivational quotes in their insta bios, i would crumble like a catholic wafer. full spiritual collapse. would start crying mid-convo with leah about toothpaste. the producers would love it. they'd edit it with horror violins. i would, on the other hand, probably kill myself

it's too much. too bright. too performative. too many unspoken rules. too much touching. too much waiting. too much everything. i can't do it. i could script it to death but it would still feel like a psyop. like a mirror maze. like an fbi simulation made to test my emotional resilience and fail me on purpose.

so. new dr. different island. fewer men. fewer cameras. more friends. maybe a villa. maybe a dock. a summer where i'm not being gaslit by a tanned fake ass hoe named ROB. just peace. just coryo. just me. okay. gracies. we out. 🫡

[starlightweave]

The BG3 companions if they were in Middle-Earth:

@window-on-the-west highly valuing your input here!

EDIT: I FORGOT ASTARION how could I, my 2nd favorite romance and I completely forgot about him 😭: a Sindarin elf of Rivendell I think, fought in the Seige of Mordor during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and was badly scarred, physically and emotionally, by the war. Was taken prisoner for some time, tortured and enslaved ;_;

Wyll: a ranger of Ithilien who's lowkey in love with Captain Faramir (bc who ISN'T). Cries his eyes out at Aragorn's coronation

Lae'zel: ALSO a ranger of Ithilien, but originally a foreigner, a woman of Harad or Rhun, who was part of a very tiny minority of ppl who were against allying w/ Sauron (recall Sam's/Faramir's musings over the young dead Southron man, if he believed in the cause of Sauron, or if he only wished to be home, and was threatened/forced to fight). She escaped and made it to Gondor. The type of ranger who's like we should do a suicide mission into Mordor and end this once and for all I'LL tear down the foundations of Barad Dûr MYSELF

Gale: the approach I think most ppl would take is to make him a figure like Feanor, super talented but arrogant, flying too close to the sun and pissing off the gods lol. However 1) Feanor was a dick, not at ALL charming like our Gale 2) I think he needs to stay human (as I think the fact that he wants to accomplish SO MUCH in his life but has less than a century to do so cannot be discounted when we speak of his ambition). In which case he'd be like a Renaissance man of Gondor, like Faramir. Deeply learned in Gondor's lore, but also highly skilled in battle. Also thinks the Ring "is a gift," BIGLY. YUUUGELY in favor of using it against Sauron, CONVINCED his good intentions and knowledge of lore would allow him to master it for good (but also to grow his own power)

Shadowheart: a bit tricky since we don't have an abundance of cults kidnapping people, but what if she was a Dunedain girl, kidnapped at a young age by agents of The Enemy, and then sent back years later as a spy for Sauron

Karlach: another tricky one. Perhaps if she was a woman of Rohan, captured and badly wounded in an orc raid. Arwen's mother was so physically and emotionally scarred after she survived an orc attack that she left for Valinor; it's clearly a traumatic experience, so what about someone who couldn't run away to Valinor? Who has to live with what was taken from her in this attack, and then learn Wormtongue, one of her own people and the king's own advisor, whom they all trusted, was a spy for Saruman? And then learn that Saruman, who was supposed to be their friend and protector, sold them out to Saruon. Nobody gets betrayed like Rohan in LOTR so that's my argument for placing her there.

Minthara: one of the Noldor elves in the First Age who was captured by Melkor but survived and escaped Thangorodrim. I recall that these elves' old communities didn't always treat them well, finding them too traumatized and changed to accept them again :(. Fits w/ the taken hold of an evil cult and then made an exile. She'd start her OWN resistance against Melkor, with blackjack, and hookers!

Halsin: one of the Beornings. OBVIOUSLY. For those who don't know, in the Hobbit, Beorn, after whom the Beornings are named, is a giant mountain man who can shapechange INTO A BEAR. He lives with highly intelligent animals, can speak to beasts, has a giant garden with giant flowers and giant bees, and lives off honey cakes and cream. He also HATES goblins (ie orcs) and only offers his help to Bilbo & Co because they have fought and killed a whole bunch of goblins (also he knows who Gandalf is ffs don't trust his shitty adaptation in the movie 🙄 that scene is so much funnier and better done in the book)

Jaheira: a Silvan elf of Thranduil's realm. veteran fighter against orcs. Totally wanted in on the council of Elrond but she pissed off Thranduil with her lecturing about how did you let Gollum get loose lol

Minsc: also a Boerning. I know he's not a shapechanger but his animal companion, ability to speak to beasts, and the fact that he is GIANTIC and all muscle, pls, he fits right in with the mountain men. He'd also love living on honey cakes and cream, as would Boo lol. Being a Rider of Rohan also works for him imo - altho he looks way to big to fit on a horse lol, their culture surrounding war and martial prowess has parallels w/ Rasheman

The Emperor: a ringwraith 😂 THEE fucking ringwraith in fact, The Witch King of Angmar himself. No man can slay me 💅🏼 Thanks to @oryndoll for this one lol

[murdocksapostasy]

If you’re taking requests for Logan fics I would love one where he has to get an x-men reader back to the jet during a mission. She was maybe shot with a drugged dart making her loopy, almost drunk. Usually she is really shy around Logan but because of this she is fully calling him hot and pretty. Maybe the fic can go until she sobers up the next morning and is embarrassed to face Logan after practically confessing to him.

hey i’m so sorry it took me so long! but i really like this idea!!

logan howlett x f!reader

tags: flirting, no smut, mention of drugs/poison, kinda damsel reader, no established relationship, pet name use(darling), warning for possible second hand embarrassment umm yeah

you look around observing your surroundings, a snowy mountain and dull sky, just another middle of nowhere “trip” with the x-men, the mountain you landed on seems almost abandoned like not a soul in sight.

you and storm are cautiously exploring the area when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your neck. a small dart landing on your skin catches storms attention immediately. she pulls it out

“it’s probably laced with something, you should be careful”

“no i don’t feel anything.”

you protest against storms concerns, you don’t genuinely think it could be poisoned? logan comes up and takes the dart from storms hand before examining it.

“oh you will”

he says fully knowing what’s to come, you start looking a little more concerned for yourself. storm seems to notice and try’s to reassure you

“you’ll be okay, just maybe get back to the jet, can you take her logan?”

he nods with a slight eye roll and gestures for you to turn back with him, you just follow in silence, you and logan didn’t interact much except when you had to, he wasn’t really a people person and you were honestly a little intimidated by him, not that he’s scary i mean he is but you weren’t scared of him, no just a little shy.

you as you walk slowly your vision blurs and the landscape infront of you turns to a smear of snow and trees. and that’s it you’re gone. and he can tell, you’re starting to walk a little loopy. logan stops to check up on you’re condition.

“you alright?”

“..yeah?”

you answered in a very not convincing tone, logan mumbles something and steps loser to grab you by your upper arm and guid you inside the jet. you’re surprised by the sudden physical contact but don’t mind, you’re a little too drugged up to care so much about everything going on around you.

once you’re inside he sits you down beside him and occasionally observes you just making sure you’re feeling okay. you however are staring at him with no shame admiring him and his sharp jawline. he’s trying not to pay you much attention to your stare.

until you reach out to touch him, he looks at you confused as you almost drunkenly caress his jaw with your hand.

“you’re really hot you know that?”

he chuckles a little taken aback but also flattered. you’re definitely feeding his ego and his smirk says it all.

“you think so huh?”

“yeah you’re like a cute little kitty”

you speak quietly sliding your hand from his face to his hair, over the spikes that honestly do resemble cat ears.

“but still sexy you know?”

you’re giggling to yourself as you lay out all your thoughts in front of him, logan takes your hand and takes it out of his hair, he’s not trying to hide his smirk at all. you’re amusing him

“think you should take a nap darlin’”

you’re about to protest when he picks you up and lays you on one of the pilot chairs that’s extending all the way back like a bed.

“some sleep wouldn’t kill you”

“i’d sleep with you”

he chuckles sitting down beside you not entertaining your comments further in hopes you’d actually fall asleep.

and eventually you do, poison makes people tired, you woke up just before all the x-men were back in the jet done with their mission. at this point you felt better however the second you saw logan the embarrassment hit you like a tone of bricks. you didn’t speak to him at all on the way back to the mansion.

the second you landed you tired to flea the scene but oh no logan wouldn’t let you off that easy, you could feel him smirking at you even when you weren’t looking.

“so you remember anything you said earlier darlin?”