#preambles

[atimefordragons]

I think they should've kissed. Listen, I love Solavellan, I do, but my canon inquisitor is Trevelyan, and these two match freaks. Bitch to bitch communication, I love that insane shit.

[cali]

👩‍🚒👩‍🏭🏛️

building an antifire triplewitch

[lesbianslugreaction]

Once again I am thinking about how Javert should absolutely be included in the musical's finale. I know some smaller productions have done this, but the bigger ones need to step their game up. I mean, if goddamn Britain's Got Talent can get Javert singing in the finale, so should every other show, too!

Not having him there just goes so against the theme of redemption. Oh, Javert doesn't go heaven? I guess people can't change, after all. Oh, suicide is a sin that people go to hell for? Don't even get me started on that catholic garbage. By that logic, Valjean probably shouldn't be there, either...

It doesn't even have to be a big thing, just let my cringe blorbo sing the song in the background like the rest of the characters. He and Valjean could share a nod, a handshake, a hug, you name it!

Though actually, they should kiss. Who said that

[iguanodont]

My other long-term ttrpg character, known to most as Snuffy. He’s a sickly, foul mouthed halfling with a penchant for abusing alcohol as readily as magic. I’ve cameoed him in a previous post, showing the moment he made a pact with a corrupted mountain god; a desperate bid to save his skin after failing to out-crime the local mob. That moment was eight years before present, and though he did get the ability to cast out of the deal, his declining health and steep tributes to his patron has been ebbing his will to live ever since. He’s also the comic relief of the party, and still has enough of a knack for moneymaking schemes to keep up with the material tributes demanded by the cow from hell.

And here’s his old family portrait. He hasn’t seen any of them in a long time.

[flintmirandas]

love how much of the beginning of dracula is just jonathan harker's food blog

[aroaceleovaldez]

doodle thinkin about chthonic demigods going off the shits <3 they should get to be spookier. happy halloween. inspired by me making a jasicobaster playlist lmao

[supernormalblogname]

the venomful biter.. theyre putting them both in gay people jail for this. and also theyre putting me in there as well

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

Fenris and Anders dynamic is best when it's not taken too seriously. It wasn't thought through well at all (something the devs have admitted to) and so building it into an all defining characterization for either of them engenders mischaracterizations. In my headcanon Fenris and Anders use each other as a whipping post to lance their wounds and it's something they'll eventually grow past. I personally like how honest they are with each other sometimes, neither feel like they need to sand down their edges with the other and it can lead to these hauntingly sincere moments.

A romantic relationship between them during DA2's timeline, though, has only two extremes from my interpretation. I could see them sleeping together with no forethought, a release of tension (as Fenris does do with a rival mage Hawke), and then that spiralling into a very tumultuous romance. If I'm remembering right these are characters who say things like 'there's no place you could go where I wouldn't follow' and 'I'll drown the world in blood to keep you safe'. All that intensity turned on each other... They're two sides of the same coin and both sides are blinkered and passionate. At their best they'd join forces and work through their issues to become this badass force of nature with a singular purpose— tearing down systems of oppression together. At their worst they could destroy Thedas and each other. I can appreciate how epic that potential story would be but I can also understand wanting both characters to find more peace than they're likely to find in each other.

No, my DA2 enemies-to-lovers ship is Aveline and Isabela. It wouldn't work and it's not epic but it is hot.

[existwound]

to breathe in this mirage 

M | 52k | Completed | Keith/Lance

Chapter 4 Summary:

The warm glow of the red morning suns on Xrixa frames them in its light, glinting on their armor and their smiles, and Keith has his hair in a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and Lance is slowly bleeding out right where he stands. It feels terrifyingly, viscerally real. He didn’t even know that this type of pain existed. He’s been shot before, he knows what that feels like, knows how it feels to have flesh and muscle and bone give way to an unyielding bullet, to a flash of light. And he might actually bleed out here, with his eyes glued to Keith. And all it took for him to experience this kind of pain was to feel all-encompassing, brazen love, and to have just that ripped away from him, have him plunge into a fall that he doesn’t know he’ll ever get up from if he manages to hit the ground at some point. All his life, Lance has loved too fiercely, fallen too hard and too deeply. And now, loving Keith is no exception.

or: the one where Lance unwillingly takes one for the team and wakes up ten years in the future. 

[silhouetteofacedar]

Halves

One of many little moments on a long journey.

AO3

The views along Washington State’s Cascade Loop are breathtaking, according to the brochures from the stand in the lobby of their motel in Chelan. Just past the pseudo-Bavarian enclave that is Leavenworth, Highway 2 hugs the curves of the Wenatchee River through Tumwater Canyon. The scenic byway is tucked between the churning waters and dramatic, towering crags of quartz crested with pines. It’s early spring, and the mountains slowly shake off their winter coats to reveal fresh leaves on the aspens and the first blooms of trillium creeping along the ground. 

Dana Scully sees none of this.

It’s an unfortunate aspect of their work as federal agents; thousands of miles traversed across the continental United States, untold hours spent in anonymous rental vehicles with mysterious odors and pilling upholstery. She knew when she joined the Bureau three years ago that the travel involved would be less than glamorous, but there’s something particularly demoralizing about viewing America the Beautiful solely through a windshield splattered with insect carcasses. 

Scully always falls asleep on long car rides; lulled into slumber by the hum of the engine, the murmur of tires on asphalt, the fact that Mulder sometimes stops talking long enough for her to drop off. She wonders if it’s because his jaw gets tired; in the relatively short time they’ve worked together she’s never known him to run out of things to say.

Her sleep thins on the edges as Mulder wakes her with a soft brush of his knuckle on the tip of her nose. She hears him say they’re still a few hours away from the Seattle field office, but he’s hungry and his long grasshopper legs need a stretch. 

Scully hums in assent, eyelids still heavy as she rearranges herself into a more upright position in the passenger seat. They’ve arrived at one of those proverbial wide spots in the road that bears a “Welcome To” sign, as though that gives it a sense of place when it boasts little more than a gas pump and a convenience store. 

Apparently, this place is called Cole’s Corner, and a hand-painted banner next to a particularly stubborn melting snow berm says there are world-famous milkshakes up ahead. 

Mulder pulls into the gravel parking lot outside what looks like a small house with pink and teal trim. A neon sign advertising banana pancakes hangs in the window.

Scully is hungry and groggy from her nap in the car, her hips and legs stiff from sitting too long.

She gathers her coat around her and slips out of the sedan, the scent of wet pine and moss filling her nose. Droplets of mist bead the shoulders of her coat, clinging to the wool. She can feel her hair creeping into fuzzy curls at the nape of her neck, coaxed into a frizz by the damp Pacific Northwest air. It’s been about a year since they were first in this part of the country together, tearing through waist-high ferns in the dark cedar groves of Bellefleur, hands outstretched. That first case together felt like a rebirth, wherein she shed her old self like her red bathrobe in candlelight in front of her strange new partner. The rich scent of damp earth and rotting logs filled her lungs as she was baptized by the cold Oregon rain, forever changed.

Heavy droplets begin to fall, and she pulls her collar tighter as they ascend the steps to the diner’s front door.

The restaurant is small but warm, every inch of the walls covered in 1950s pop culture memorabilia. A jukebox plays Buddy Holly in the corner; an Elvis-shaped clock swings its pendulum legs in time. Something greasy and heavenly is sizzling in the kitchen, the aroma pulling her in. Scully smiles softly; leave it to Mulder to stumble upon the kitschiest restaurant in the entire state of Washington.

They settle into a small corner booth with sticky grey vinyl seats. They create an odd picture at the table in the midst of hikers in denim and windbreakers; two figures of dramatically different heights draped in layers of dark fabric, heads inclined towards each other with an intimacy that can’t be easily explained. They’ve composed this images together countless times in greasy spoons across the country, travel-weary and disoriented by differing time zones. Sometimes they talk; occasionally they argue. Often they get mistaken for a couple, which irks Scully primarily because she mistakes them for one too. It’s unconscious; Mulder’s warm, firm hand on the small of her back sends messages to her weary brain that her body frequently assigns to the Boyfriend category.

Mulder has that effect on her often. He bursts through barriers, occupying space that had previously only been inhabited by intimate partners. He crams himself into her psyche, poking through neatly filed expectations and burrowing into her soul, creating his own uniquely shaped spot in her being. 

She tries not to think about it; tries not to notice his full lower lip, the charming mole on his right cheek, the way he leans in too close when he talks to her. How he curves over her, his warm voice in her ear. At the office, she feels alert and well-armed against her physical reactions, can easily take her thoughts captive before they get away from her. But when she’s drowsy, far from home, hungry, those base feelings rise faster than she can tamp them back down. He makes her feel small in the best ways and she’s in danger of losing herself in the cover of his wingspan. 

She needs caffeine.

All the waitresses at this establishment have the same name tag; hot pink with the name “Flo” etched into the plastic. A cheery, bespectacled young Flo with blond braids takes their orders, pours cups of too-strong coffee. Scully chooses a BLT, light on the mayo. Mulder orders a grilled cheese sandwich with ham and tomatoes and a cup of chicken and rice soup. 

Scully gazes out the fogging window, slowly warming and wakening in the cozy bustle of the diner. Johnny Cash sings of a ring of fire. Plates clatter in the kitchen, a spoon clinks in a chipped coffee mug. Raindrops fall.

Silence feels more friendly these days, a comfortable pause filling what little space remains between her and Mulder. Words have become only one of the many ways in which they communicate. Their hands carry on their own conversation as the waitress brings their plates; understanding and collaboration in the simple passing of a napkin or nudging the salt across the table.

Mulder picks up a half of his sandwich, toasted a golden brown and cut neatly at a diagonal. “You want a bite?” he asks, holding it out across the speckled formica tabletop, and Scully realizes that it’s the first thing he’s said aloud directly to her since they got out of the car. She hesitates, then leans forward and takes a small, crisp bite out of the corner. Their knees brush momentarily, and she sits back in the booth and considers the flavors of butter and melted cheddar on her tongue.

“Good, huh?” Mulder asks, taking a bite himself. “My dad made them this way, but not on a griddle. Open-faced in the broiler so the tomatoes could get browned.”

Scully nods, stirring her coffee and blowing on it gently. “I haven’t had a grilled cheese in years,” she muses. “It’s the perfect rainy day food.”

“We can trade halves, if you want,” he suggests.

A small smile creeps across Scully’s mouth. Her Mulder has a delightful boyish streak that she pretends not to find appealing. “Race you to the playground afterward?” she jokes. Regardless, she picks up a half of her BLT and places it on his plate, taking the remaining half of his grilled cheese. 

He flashes her a brief, dazzling smile before taking another bite of his sandwich. Scully feels her cheeks warming slightly and turns her attention to her lunch. A full Mulder smile, with bright eyes and teeth, is almost too much for her to bear. A dart of sunlight spearing through a sky blanketed with soft gray clouds. 

Maybe someday she’ll tell him how he makes her feel, how sometimes her heart tumbles in her chest at the sight of him. How his most annoying moments are simultaneously the most endearing, how she’s beginning to love him just a little in spite of herself.

Maybe he already knows.

But for now they’ll just trade portions of their lunches, pass the ketchup, pool the crumpled bills in their wallets when the check comes. Travel in silence as they drive over Steven’s Pass, the view ahead blotted by low-hanging clouds.

[funforahermit]

TOO DAMN ADORABLE I CAN'T STAND IT

[patreon]

[atimefordragons]

everyone is obsessing over the honda odyssey scene and the trouple, and like, I get it, but I'm obsessed with Logan and Laura. Like, this is not her Logan, and as far we know, he doesn't personally know the Laura of his world (let alone if she even existed by the time deadpool pulls him into earth-10005), and he did get most of his aggression out by the time they met, but I'm obsessed with how quickly he fell into family mode with her. His behaviour is immediately very different with her compared to everyone else, he does push her away when she sits down to have a chat, but only dismisses her once, and rather politely at that, especially compared to how he keeps swearing at everyone else and telling them they're fucked. And he then shuts up and listens when she tells him to. Plus it's her who motivated him to get in the damn car and do some hero shit. And the way he used his whole ass trauma against Cassandra, as much as I love poolverine, bestie did not give Logan the juice to use THAT as a tactic. she even showed up in his motivation, save the world montage sequence, and he spent at most a few hours with her! This guy saw his mini-me and immediately went, I'm a dad now I guess, fuck.

[cock-guillotine]

[unpretty]

[see-arcane]

So you're implying you're gonna show what Jonathan was doing while Dracula was sailing all July?

Yup. Harker will be a full novel of nothing but Jonathan Harker's side of the Dracula story. Not first person POV, but a semi-limited third person from start to finish (with flints of background in-between). Which includes just what kind of survival/supernatural horrors he got up to after Spider-Manning his ass out of the castle.

As an aside, I am currently at...

...and we still haven't met the Weird Sisters yet.

I am here to put some goddang meat on my good friend Jonathan Harker's narrative bones after 126+ years of being sidelined and bastardized by every writer and filmmaker to ever bullshit a spinoff out of the book HE opened and closed. If that means giving him a cinderblock's worth of Horrors to chip through (while becoming the Horrors) so be it.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Gotham Academy was no stranger to odd teachers, mostly due to the turnover rate in Gotham not sparing them in the least.

Still, this new out-of-towner school nurse from Absolutely Nowhere Amity Park was by far the weirdest.