#anyways looking back i think this was funny

[p0orbaby]

Hello, can I request a blurb for barca teen reader who has two left feet when not on the field with the football, always walking into something or slipping on something and the team adore her anyway... Thank you

-

Your coordination on the football pitch is unparalleled. It’s almost poetic—fluid movements, pinpoint accuracy, a kind of natural grace that has commentators running out of superlatives. But take the ball away, and it’s like you’ve been cursed by the gods of gravity and basic motor skills.

Today, it starts in the team kitchen. You’re reaching for a mug when your sleeve catches on the handle of another one, sending it flying to the floor. It shatters spectacularly, shards skittering across the tiles.

“Déjà vu,” Alexia says dryly, watching from the table, where she’s slicing an apple with terrifying precision.

“That’s the third one this week,” Patri adds, not even looking up from her phone.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you insist, bending down to collect the pieces. “The cupboard’s too full”

Alexia raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Blame the cupboard”

By the time you’re on the training pitch, you’ve tripped over a loose paving stone, dropped your phone twice, and smacked your head on the changing room door whilst walking out. Ingrid actually winces when she sees the red mark blooming on your forehead.

“Do you need a helmet?” she asks, genuinely concerned.

“Funny,” you mutter, brushing past her.

On the field, though, you transform. The clumsiness vanishes. You’re unstoppable—turning defenders, threading impossible passes, pulling off a nutmeg that sends Patri into fits of laughter.

But the magic only lasts until you step off the pitch. In the locker room, you manage to trip over your own boot bag, narrowly avoiding face-planting into Mapi. She catches you by the arm, steadying you with a grin.

“Careful, niña,” she says. “You’re going to break something. Probably yourself”

“I’m fine,” you insist, straightening up. “Totally fine”

Ten minutes later, you spill an entire protein shake down the front of your training top. Claudia is the first to notice, and she bursts out laughing so hard she nearly falls off the bench.

By the time you’ve changed into a clean shirt, the entire team is involved. Aitana is making exaggerated slipping noises every time you walk past her, while Lucy insists on holding onto your elbow like you’re an elderly woman crossing a busy street.

“You lot are hilarious,” you say flatly, though the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself.

“Can’t take any chances,” Keira says, mock-serious. “You’re a liability”

Later, in the team meeting, you drop your pen. Twice. Pina wordlessly hands it back to you both times, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’re all so supportive,” you deadpan as the meeting wraps up, standing up too fast and nearly knocking over your chair.

“Always,” Alexia says, her tone perfectly even, but her eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Despite all the teasing, you know it comes from a place of affection. The team adores you, clumsiness and all. It’s part of the package, like your quick wit and uncanny ability to quote Friends episodes verbatim.

And when Alexia slings an arm around your shoulders after training, handing you a spare protein bar with a fond shake of her head, you’re reminded that no matter how many mugs you break or doors you walk into, these women have got your back.

Even if they think you should probably start wearing shin pads off the pitch.

[wonderjanga]

Funny idea a Fawcet entirely just being full of magical drugs and everybody just chilling I'm just imagining a spell here the Justice League get hit with a de-aging spelling Fawcet that are now just stuck in there convince know that he knows what he's doing tricks them to believe in that he has a form where he can turn into a kid and teaches them everything about Fawcet City like the police to get the best cereal with the most edible yummy drugs

And how to make soup and stuff from rainwater and a bag of magical drugs that he's like soup if you boil them right

The JL had gone to Fawcett as a surprise for Marvel. They all wanted to give him a special little gift. Though unfortunately, Cap had been caught up fighting an evil witch. So they stood to the side, in civvies, and waited. That was until a stray spell from the witch happened to hit them. Next thing they knew, all of them, excluding Marvel, were children.

Marvel: “It should wear off in about a day.”

Flash: “A day? We have places to be!”

Aquaman: “Are you sure you can’t do some magic and reverse us?”

Marvel: *little frown* “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

See, the thing is, Billy actually could. But he wanted to use it to his advantage. If he could get them to think that his Billy form is just a form he can take, then in the future if he ever gets detransformed, this could be a good excuse. Since all of them were children, he just let them back to his apartment and shazamed back to Billy. Here are a collection of wonderful instances of their time together:

Billy: “Here’s a favorite treat of mine.”*gets out some cereal and puts it in a bowl, with no milk mind you*

Flash: “No milk?”

Billy: “No?”

Flash: “You are a vile creature…”

Billy: “Am not! I just like eating it as chips!”

Flash: “Oh that’s less vile than I thought- Wait, but then what do you use tfor the milk when you want to actually eat it as cereal?”

Billy: “Water?”

Flash: “I take back my statement about you being less vile.”

Billy: “Shush. Go get a little plastic baggy of white powder from one of the cupboards.”

Flash: “Aye aye, Captain.” *salutes before zooming off and coming back with the little baggy* “This?”

Billy: “Yeah, thanks. This is my special ingredient. Just scatter a little bit over it-” *scatters it over like flour* “-mix it,-” *shakes the bowl so it mixes in* “-and voila!”

Flash: *leans over to look at it* “What is it? Powdered sugar?” *takes a piece of cereal and eats it*

Billy: “No, cocaine.”

Flash: *spits it out onto the floor* “Dude, what the fudge!”

Supes: *peaks his head into the room in concern*

Billy: “Aw cmon, Flash. What the buck, man?” *sounds disappointed and looking at the chewed up piece of cereal on his floor*

Flash: “What do you mean what the buck?! You just made me eat cocaine-laced cereal!”

Supes: “What?!”

Billy: “I didn’t make you eat it. You ate it before I could tell you what it was!”

Flash: “Only because literally no one would suspect that you lace your own cereal with a hardcore drug!”

or

Doctor: “Ah Billy! You have another sibling?” *looks at Bruce* “Golly, he looks just like Patrick Wayne’s boy.(Ref my posts mentioning how every Fawcitizen thinks Bruce is Thomas Wayne) And who are these other little friends of yours? Why’s that one green?”

Billy: “He’s a Martian. He can’t control his shape shifting stuff yet. Anyways, can I please get my usual dose doctor?”

Doctor: “Of course, let me just get that for you.” *leaves and comes back with a little baggy of meth*

Billy: “Is that methamphetamine?”

Doctor: “No, it’s magic methamphetamine! Blessed by some faeries.” *gives it to Billy*

Billy: “Thanks, Doc!” *sees him on the bag of meth* “You want some?”

Batman: “Mmm… Yes.”

MM: “Bruce?”

Batman: “I want to study it. What’s wrong with that?”

Then, Bruce, Billy, and J’onn got back to the apartment, Billy made them all some soup. Soup that was made with magical herbs. Herbs that had intense hallucinogenic properties to those who aren’t from Fawcett. So while Billy was feeling a mild euphoria due to the herbs, everyone else was flipping hallucinating.

Hawkgirl: *in a corner intently staring at her hands because she’s hallucinating hung waaaay to many fingers*

Flash: *running up and down walls chasing a hallucination*

WW: *hallucinating being a cowboy and running around with a piece of string trying to lasso GL

Billy: *sleeping peacefully in his bed*

They all passed out together in a kid sleep pile on top of Billy after all this.

[jifloulette]

sometimes, he can't help it but fight for your attention even if it means he's doing it against your pet cat . . .

who ? . . nagi seishiro ! words ? . . 642 !

oi.. y/n, stop cuddling yer cat and keep playin' with my hair.

nagi said the second you let go of his snow-like hair in order to hold your cat for a bit. it was more funny than it was cute, you knew your boyfriend loved your attention but you didn't think he'd fight for it against your cat! i mean, the cat was basically his child at this point, the two of you had been dating for a while now. hell, nagi once tried making choki play with the cat! so in order for your affection hungry lover to focus on his game as he laid on your lap, you had one hand on him and the other on your pet. you thought this would've solved the cries of nagi — instead, he kept pleading for you to have both of your hands on him. it was selfish, selfishly cute. nagi's touch starved personality is one of the reasons you love him so much besides his good looks. he always wanted you to either cuddle him, piggyback ride him, or play with his hair. you didn't listen to the begs of the man laying on your lap. even after he tried to make his tone sound more stern and serious — it only made you giggle due to the fact that his voice cracked as he tried doing so.

y/nnn, pls play with m'hair. i want you to play with it.

nagi said as he got up from your lap to push your cat away from you. it was a sight to see, it's the most your boyfriend has done just to get your attention — plus it was all because of a cat! not even another human being! you cat was already trying to scratch nagi to make him put her back down, but he couldn't care less. all he wants is to have all your attention on him and only him. it's only when you pull the white-haired boy down in order for him to stop is when he let go of the poor animal. when you finally play with his hair again, he goes soft and lays back down on your lap — continuing to play whatever shooter game was on his phone. then all of a sudden, your cat jumps on top of nagi, knocking his phone to the ground! thanks to nagi's fast reaction time, he got his phone safe and sound. though you did notice him glaring at your cat but before you could really take the look on his face in, he was already back to laying on you, except this time he did it on your chest.

i can't let that pesty cat get on you so i guess i needa do this..

this time, nagi took initiative and picked up both of your hands to put on top of his hair. you didn't resist though, you fully stroked his hair on purpose. before you knew it, he was already asleep on you. it's only been just 3 minutes, hasn't it? you weren't going to complain, you loved seeing your boyfriend snuggled up close to you as he went to dreamland. he enjoyed having you caress his messy hair, you enjoyed playing it the same. it was always moments like these where nagi just wanted time to stop, to just have you tousle his hair for all eternity. it was a self-centered thing to think about but really, he didn't care. as much as he loves your cat (he won't admit it to you though.), he really just wants you to focus on him the same way he does when he's playing video games. he's a selfish lover, he doesn't mind that — plus you loved that aspect of his personality anyways so why would he change? you knew better as his lover that that's what's best, after all!

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

[lovelygirlwithablog]

୨ ⎯ headcanons . nicolas alexander chavez x f!reader

a/n: i started watching monsters and MAN, i get the HYPE. here is some cute and a little spicy headcanons for y'all!!!

━ spontaneous AF

Nic would totally be the guy to text you like, “Get ready, I’m picking you up in 20,” and then take you on some random adventure, like stargazing or getting ice cream at midnight. Literally boyfriend goals.

━ biggest hype man

He’s always like, “Babe, you’re AMAZING,” even when you’re just, like, doing homework or surviving Monday. He’d make you feel like a literal queen 24/7.

━ obsessed with your music taste

He’d always ask for song recs and then add them to a playlist called, like, Songs That Remind Me of Her (AND HE’D ACTUALLY LISTEN TO IT).

━ puppy love vibes

He’d 100% suggest adopting a dog together because “it’d be so cute, just like us,” and then post pics of you two with the dog, captioned, “My girls 🫶🏻.” Like, STOP.

━ always touchy

Nic would hold your hand everywhere. Like, even if you’re just walking around Target, he’d be holding it or wrapping an arm around you. People would literally gag at how cute you are.

━ so funny it hurts

He’d do dumb stuff like mimic your laugh or make up random nicknames for you, just to see you crack up. His goal in life is literally to make you laugh until you cry.

━ old school sweetheart

He’s SO that guy who shows up at your house with flowers “just because” or plans a cute dinner date with candles, even if it’s just takeout. ROMANCE IS ALIVE.

━ late night calls

He’d call you at like 11 PM and be like, “So what’s on your mind?” And then suddenly it’s 2 AM, and you’re talking about your childhood dreams or your favorite foods. LIKE WHO DOES THAT? Nic does.

━ intense eye contact

He’d have this thing where he just stares at you with those gorgeous eyes, like you’re the only person in the room. And you’d be like, “What?” and he’d smirk and go, “Nothing, you’re just distracting.” HELP.

━ that smirk game

He totally knows what he’s doing when he hits you with that crooked smile. Like, you’d be arguing over something dumb, and he’d smirk mid-sentence, making you forget what you were even mad about. It’s unfair, honestly.

━ hand placement expert

Whether it’s his hand on the small of your back when you’re walking, or casually brushing his fingers against yours before holding your hand, he’s SO smooth about it. Like, boy, do you know what you’re doing? (He does.)

━ jealous but chill

He’s not like, possessive, but if another guy’s flirting with you, he’ll slide up next to you, wrap an arm around your waist, and be like, “Hey babe, ready to go?” in this low, confident voice. Dead.

━ his hoodie

He’d totally give you his hoodie when you’re cold, but low-key, he thinks you look hotter in it than he does. And then he’d be like, “You’re keeping that, right? It looks better on you anyway.” STOP.

━ the way he kisses

Nic is a pull-you-in-by-the-waist-and-make-you-forget-your-name kind of kisser. Like, soft at first, but then when he gets serious? UGH. You’re blushing just thinking about it.

━ voice drop

He’d get all close to your ear to whisper something—like a joke, or even just “You’re so pretty”—and his voice would drop like 10 octaves. You’d be SHIVERING.

━ protective but subtle

He’d walk on the side of the street closest to traffic without saying a word or instinctively pull you closer in a crowded room. He wouldn’t make a big deal about it, but inside you’d be like, “I’m marrying this man.”

━ that lowkey dominance

He’d be the guy to put his arm around your chair at dinner or rest his hand on your thigh while driving. It’s not showy, just this quiet confidence that makes you melt.

━ post workout look

When he shows up all sweaty from the gym with his hair messed up and his shirt clinging to him just right? You’re DONE. And he knows it, too, because he’ll smirk and say, “What? See something you like?”

[aurumacadicus]

I just had a funny idea omg:

"Hey, so, do you have like. Any mutant powers or anything?" Steve asked carefully.

Sam did not turn from the water fountain. "No."

Bucky looked like it took all of his self control not to vibrate into orbit. "So this little friend that's been following us around the park--"

"It's a bird," Sam barked, finally turning around to glare at him. "We're being stalked by a pigeon, Barnes. This isn't funny. It could be controlled by a villain."

"You are being stalked by a pigeon," Bucky corrected gleefully.

"Stop fighting," Steve sighed, watching as the pigeon desperately flapped its wings at the spout to fill a dog bowl. He stepped on the button, and the pigeon greedily flapped under the stream of water. "I don't think it's being controlled by a villain. A villain would make it forget it was thirsty."

Sam and Bucky considered this, watching as the bird gulped a beakful of water one time out of five, as if it was not used to having a beak. "Well now I feel bad," Sam said. It has been following him since he left the VA last night.

Bucky groaned. "This means we have to ask Tony for help, doesn't it?"

Steve shot him a glare. "Why is that bad?"

"He's gonna hyper focus and make a means of communication for Lucky, Alpine, and Liho, I just know it," Bucky sighed miserably.

Sam took off his shirt and knelt down, carefully wrapping it around the panting, soaked pigeon. "Come on, buddy," he said as Steve and Bucky began bickering behind him. "Let's get you some help." Maybe, if he asked Tony without the bickering soldiers, Tony would be more concerned about their new pigeon friend.

--

Remarkably, Tony already had a nice bird setup. "Jarvis used to keep quail," he'd explained with a shrug as he showed them through the old Stark mansion.

The pigeon seemed to appreciate the heaters and bowls of bird seed, although it never seemed to quite get a knack for the water bowls.

Tony let Sam help when it came to putting the communication device together, which he appreciated, because the more he watched the pigeon, the less like a bird it seemed. Or at least, the less like a New York street pigeon, anyway. It didn't gorge itself while it had the chance, and it mostly hobbled around on the ground instead of trying to fly up to one of the perches. That could have been because it was still recovering from exhaustion, but Sam doubted it.

"Et voilá," Tony said as they finished it. "If it's a bird, it'll tell us about fries."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him even as he followed Tony to the bird pen. "You know what birds talk about?"

"I have had enough bags of fries stolen to know," Tony told him primly as he turned the communicator on. "Speak, pigeon."

"Sam my brother accidentally turned me into a bird after we left your office yesterday," the pigeon wailed. "He got scared and ran away and I couldn't keep up with him or open the door to go back into your office I AM A PIGEON WITH PTSD NOW SAM!!!!!"

"Oh my God Jessica," Sam gasped, and Tony clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, shoulders shaking with the effort not to laugh. "We'll figure this out FUCKING STOP LAUGHING TONY."

"It is kind of funny," Jessica said reluctantly.

"It fucking isn't you're a BIRD, JESSICA!" Sam bellowed.

"Yeah, but it's also the first time I slept through the night without waking up screaming, so," Jessica continued.

"Animal therapy," Tony choked, and then screamed when Sam chased him out of the enclosure.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Can we talk about how fcked up Charles can be sometimes? Can we talk about how Charles can sometimes be actually scary as a person? Like he can legit be nefarious sometimes, but those moments are not as talked about as Erik's warcrimes (aside from the holocaust visions from TAS)

girlfriend i promise we're all very aware about how wack charles xavier can be and i assure you his nefarious moments are talked plenty from what i run into. like outside of this inbox most times you breathe charles' name to someone they'll be prepared to start swinging

[cherryrikis]

LAST LOVERS ON THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN - 003 ! lipstick marks and coffee stains

PAIRING : producer riki x baker fem reader

SYNOPSIS: if it weren't for the two being on that last midnight train together, you would've never met. but when one person is wearing a white shirt while the other is holding a coffee cup without a lid, an accident is bound to happen. another 142 accidents later, and maybe riki would consider being your last love.

authors note - i keep inserting baseball into my works sorry

previous | masterlist | next

“just leave your shoes at the door.” you instructed riki, before allowing him to enter your apartment.

“cool, cool.” he replied with a nod.

you watched as he examined your home, glancing over every last picture frame and decorative throw pillow.

“it’s nice.” riki assured, as if he knew what you’re thinking. “very cozy. small, but cozy nonetheless. this definitely feels like a home.”

“do you.. do you not have a home?” you asked him hesitantly as he took a seat on the couch. “it sounds silly, i know. but the way you said it just had me thinking.”

riki smiled, letting out a soft laugh as he watched you struggle to find an excuse. “sorry, i know i kinda made it seem that way. its not that i don’t have a home, im just never home. most of the time i end up crashing at a friends place, or falling asleep in the studio.”

“this could be your home. i know it’s probably a little far, and even though we just met, you’re welcome anytime.” you comforted him with a small pat on the back. “now let me get that stain out.”

riki was sat on your bed, facing you with his legs crossed as you scrubbed at the stain.

“why are you scrubbing it before you wash it?” he asked curiously.

“pre-treating it. sometimes the washer doesn’t do a good enough job because it can set the stain in more.” you answered, briefly looking up.

you didn’t see it, but you felt and heard his presence slightly drift as riki got up to walk around your room.

he scanned the walls, and noticed a white shirt hanging by the bed. on one side, it had now faint lipstick marks in a small heart.

“what’s this?” riki questioned, pointing to it.

“oh that? it’s, uh.. old valentines gift for an ex. i was never able to give it to him, but it was too cute for me to throw away. so now its mine.” you explained with a shrug. not much too it.

“y/n?” “yeah?”

“can i spend the night? just ‘cause, you know. it’s late, and i’m sure we’re both tired. for the sake of convenience.”

you stared at him with your lips slightly apart, before they curled into a grin.

“what? what’s so funny?” riki pouted.

“of course you can spend the night you dummy. you probably won’t be getting this sweater back until tomorrow by the earliest anyway.” you rolled your eyes.

“i wouldn’t mind if you kept it.” he joked, before walking back to his original seat in front of you. riki watched as you continued scrubbing at the deep brown stain, until it eventually faded to a lighter shade.

“throw this into the washer for me, and you can sleep in my bed. i’ll take the couch.” you pointed your head in the direction of the laundry appliances.

“wait-” he paused. “why would you take the couch? it’s your house. you take the bed.”

“you’re my guest. unless you wanna share the bed?” you raised a brow teasingly, but he knew you were kidding.

“oh shut up, you’re just dying to make me look bad. how ‘bout i just sleep on the floor next to you?” riki pointed to the floor beneath you two.

“okay. but don’t complain if your back is hurting by the morning.” you joked as riki let out an annoyed sigh.

taglist ! @pshbites @r1kification @tasnemluvs @stvrriki @sirens-dreams @heartheejake @t0asterexe @ilovbeshotaro @prettiestgirlontheplanet @yourmyst4r @jiiyen @vixialuvs @ariluvssssss100 @mmurazz @sol3chu @who-tf-soddhi @domfikeluva @blvengene @tinyteezer @anqelkoz @theothernads @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @lanaonlydaughter

[gay-dorito-dust]

In a part of Gotham, there stands the glorious Wayne Manor. So marvelous, so fantastic, so peaceful-

Isekai Reader: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! GET YO DEMON SPAWN BITCH!

Bruce, drinking coffee while reading the newspaper: He doesn't mean any harm

Isekai Reader: YES HE DO! GET YO FUCKIN CHILD *currently clinging onto the chandelier*

Damian: Get down you foul wretched being, I'll show you what it means to take away the precious servant of BaBa

Isekai Reader: Its not my fault Alfred is fond of me!

Damian: Why you insolent!

Isekai Reader: AAAAAAHHHHHH!

....

Isekai Reader: Any of you notice the feral cat speaks like a victorian child?

Dick, looks at Damian who is talking with his Supe: Well now that you mention it

Jason: He does speak like one

Duke: why'd you call him a feral-*realizes* nevermind he truly acts like one

Later

Alfred: I take as you all enjoy it

Isekai Reader: Why yes, thank you Alfred I no longer feel famished

Jason: As do I, everything you cook taste exquisite

(Been at it for a while)

Damian, annoyed at the two: Stop this nonsense!

Dick to Duke: Why do I get the feeling those two are doing it on purpose

Cassandra: they are

Isekai! Reader/you: *mocking* doth mother know you weareth her drapes.

Damian: what are you on about buffoon?

Isekai! Reader/you: Shakespeare in the park? Anyways has talking like a kid your age ever crossed your mind or are you above that too?

Damian: *unsheathed sword*

Isekai! Reader/you: you know what I think I hear Alfred call for me. IM COMING ALFRED! *runs away*

…

Isekai! Reader/you: is the place haunted?

Duke: haunted? No I don’t think so.

Dick: I think we’d all would’ve known if that were the case…

Jason: why? What makes you think that?

Isekai reader/ you: I thought I saw something in my room, it was looking right at me. It was short, almost like a little kid- *realises* it was Damian wasn’t it?

Jason: yes

Dick: yes

Duke: unfortunately yes.

Damian: *appearing out of nowhere* it was me, took you long enough to figure it out and here I thought adults your age should have a fully developed brain by now.

Isekai! Reader/ you: *lunges for the fucking kid* COME HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!

Dick, Jason and Duke: *holding isekai! Reader/ you back before things get ugly*

…

Damian: *shrugs* father and Alfred should’ve left you out on the street where you belonged.

Isekai! Reader/ you: -*smug* but they didn’t!

…

Bruce: play nice with Damian

Isekai! Reader/ you: I want you to listen to yourself as you say that again. There’s no way in fucking hell am I playing nice with that gremlin.

…

Bruce: *to you and Damian* try not to kill each other while I’m gone.

You: oh please we’re not children *side eyes Damian* at least not some of us.

Damian: *mutters out the side of his mouth* funny coming from you.

*Bruce leaves*

You: eat shit and die

Damian: yes fuck you.

[xoxochb]

— glue song ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: swearing, kinda rushed ending pairing: luke castellan x daughter of hades a/n: first chapter… drop your opinions!

series m. list

the multiverse theory is the ideology that there are separate universes beyond this. many scientists have researched studies to retrieve a clear answer, yet nothing has been found. many people additionally like to make a belief that them and their most beloved would be different in this alternate universes. many think they might hate each other, love each other, or simply not know of each others existence.

you— the only daughter of hades at camp half-blood believe strongly in the fact that you and your best friend, head counselor of hermes cabin, would be best friends regardless of the opposite universe. luke castellan doesn’t think much into your science-y stuff, but if he ever finds you rambling he can’t help but listen because you’re you! disregarding his opinion on science theories if you love them that means he loves them, it’s a mutual thing, truly.

anyways, on days such as these, the slow ones where there aren’t much exciting events or camp duties, you find yourself cooped up in the coldness of cabin thirteen, a silent cabin all to yourself. this was only until your brother decided to move back in from cabin seven— then you would have to share it, unfortunately. you keep a book open in your lap, reading over the lines of endless words, entrancing yourself into the fictional world that is your book.

it was silent, and it was perfect and the fireplace crackling only added onto your cozy aura. you can’t help but let out a tiny squeal at this, then returning back to your seriousness of reading. but you were naive to think that you would get alone time for at least something as simple as an hour, soon enough the door to your cabin opens and you frown, refraining from looking up from your book and ignoring the person walking towards your bed. but by the prominent mop of dark curls you know who it is.

“not even gonna spare me a glance? you wound me, nerd, truly.”

“go away, luke, this is my silent reading time.”

he doesn’t listen. instead, luke ushers you to slide over as he takes a seat beside you on your bed.

“what’s the book of choice for today?”

“the shining.”

luke nods slowly. “I like the movie better.”

you remain silent and try to get yourself back into the book world as luke returns to silence. you’re disrupted again when his finger twirls around a strand of your hair delicately. you sigh and attempt to ignore it. until he tugs at it

“what the fuck are you doing! stop it!” you take your hair from his hold as he laughs at your dismay. “I’m not laughing, I don’t find you funny.”

“really? because I think I’m hilarious.”

your mouth remains shut.

“c’mon, nerd, talk to me. I’m dying here.”

“great. I’ll see you at the gates.”

luke opens his mouth to speak but ultimately decides not to say anything. you’d known luke since your first arrival at camp back when you were ten, you’d came straight from the underworld where you lived with your father. as a demigod, typically you’d stay with your mortal parent, however, your mother had apparent ‘complications’ said by your father and you were forced to live in his palace for the first years of your life until he deemed it unhealthy for you to be cooped up down there for so long. when you’d arrived at camp, luke had been one of the only campers that had spoken to you— most to all of the others wouldn’t dare look in your direction due to your godly heritage.

but luke didn’t care about that. he welcomed you happily and allowed you to befriend him, since this, you had been inseparable. when you were fifteen he discovered your passion for all things astronomy while catching you reading a planets book by the lake one afternoon. he had sat beside you and listened as you rambled until the moon rose and the sun set, nonsense he declared it, just a bunch of your nerdy stars and planets bullshit he’d never cared for before. but since meeting you he’d grown to become fond of them— they were always a quiet reminder of you. and welcome the nickname. ‘nerd’ he calls you. at first you hated it, after a year or two you got used to it and stopped complaining.

“I’ll get to see you?”

“that’s not—” you search for the right words. “stop.“

“you’ve gotta make a more convincing argument, nerd.”

“well I want you to stop, isn’t that enough?”

“alright, my mouth is zipped.” luke makes a zipper motion over his mouth. you turn back to your book and try to re-read the lines again. luke places his head atop yours, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. he frowns. “you smell different. like vanilla. you usually smell like berries.”

“you got an emotional attachment to the berry conditioner?”

he shrugs. “I did.”

“I’ll make sure to buy that one next time then since your feelings are so hurt.”

“really? you’re great, nerd, thanks.”

you shake your head slowly. the cabin returns back to silence, a comfortable silence. yet you secretly wish he would say something again, even if it’s utterly stupid. and unbeknownst to you, luke wishes only the same of you.

[ender1821]

gempearl has been so insane in the past two sessions like what the heck. the divorce arc is not even that angsty anymore this is like watching a romcom where the two leads so OBVIOUSLY still want each other but they are just so ?? dumb ??????

gem has way more confidence in pearl's skills to kill and survive than pearl herself ?? pearl calling gem beautiful and awesome ??? "you've got ants on your pants" "yeah, they are called pearl" ???? THEM BOTH COMING BACK WITH A CAMEL ?????

and there's way more crazy things. they are insane for each other. they are never leaving the sunflower field nor the murder camel. they need to kiss each other so bad

p.d; imagine etho and impulse looking at each other awkwardly while gem and pearl are arguing (fighting to not jump from their camels) thinking "why are we even here". this camel shit is too serious i love it

godddd theyre insufferable i want them both dead <3

they never left that sunflower field. it’s always been about the 2v1. its about how in Gem’s eyes Pearl betrayed her in such a dishonourable way but in Pearl’s eyes it’s just the logical choice. they’re actively clinging to the very thing that symbolised their connection in the past season, now with the knowledge of how it will end if they were to try again, Gem now knowing that Pearl won’t choose her— why? why can’t she just give her this one small mercy? if she’s going to kill her anyway why can’t she at least make it honourable? why can’t you do it yourself, Pearl?

but of course. in Pearl’s eyes she can’t just do that. why risk her life here? they’re just in the middle of the season, there’s no need to have an all-out duel, she’s on her yellow life and all that…

and so that just leads to. whatever this mess is!!! yeah no im just spitballing sorry anon i agree this whole arc is so dumb and funny because on one hand you’ve got an actual conflict but on the other you get “you’ve got ants in your pants” “yeah they’re called Pearl”

oh yeah on Pearl’s end it has been made so very obvious that Pearl got Impulse/Tango on the camel just because Gem doesn’t want to. and she’s trying to make her jealous or whatever. poor minecraft men being subjected to yuri divorce

[24hrsoda]

some time ago i was thinking about how funny it is that most of bruce’s kids look like him (black hair, blue eyes, fair skin) and then i started thinking about how clark also looks like bruce going off of those features

and then i managed to come up with an AU where Bruce more or less adopts a (younger) Superman in to his gaggle of kid/young vigilantes and family.

at first, he’s incredibly annoyed by this new super-whatever that popped up across the bay in Metropolis. Metropolis doesn’t even have high crime rates, they don’t need a “Superman” and he gets even more annoyed when this Superman guy attempts to come in to Gotham to “help”. he gives him is big scary “get lost. I’m Batman. grrr.” talk and Clark slinks back to Metropolis but Bruce keeps tabs on him and manages to narrow down his secret identity

and he’s SHOOK to discover that Superman is actually clumsy college student Clark Kent. he’s not that much older than Dick and he’s out here in this big city all alone and he’s juggling being Superman and an intern at the Daily Planet and a student, and he’s juggling it poorly because he’s failing like every single one of his courses.

it’s taking all of Bruce’s willpower not to smother this guy because he’s just a stupid kid. he calls in Nightwing for reinforcement to befriend Superman and also invite him over for dinner because Clark’s debit card statement show that he’s been surviving off of cheap pizza slices and coffee.

anyways, they trade identities, and then Bruce refuses to get out of this guys hair. and Clark is so relieved to be amongst people that he doesn’t have to hide his powers from, and he’s so grateful for Alfred always sending him off with a few to-go plates of nice home cooked food to eat later.

[cheshiresense]

Oh my God, you mentioned wanting to write a thing about when Starrk finally let's his reiatsu out, and honestly, I've been thinking about that so much!!! Like here is Starrk, who has been keeping his reiatsu down to around average, who sleeps all the time, so doesn't stand out, who stands beside Ichigo, Ichigo who crazy stands out, also Starrk who joins the 4th, the 4th who everyone else considers to be weaklings!! You imagine the look on everyone's face the first time he let's lose!?! Maybe some bullying goes too far, and Starrk, who nobody thinks much of, just smacks them down hard!!! And everyone is like WTF lol 😆

sorry, I just love the idea of when people realize that Starrk is actually strong like Ichigo!! So 😁 funny!! Anyway, thanks for sharing your thoughts about this. I love reading them.

Lol yes it's one of those scenes that you see happen in so many different ways and all of them would be fun. I'm undecided on how I want to do it Officially so I'm putting it off (or maybe I'll just write several of them lmao).

I imagine it would have to be very serious bullying for Starrk to take that much action, cuz like he really isn't the sort to step in for every little thing. If it happens to someone he considers one of his, he might note it down and then quietly go and prevent it from happening again from behind the scenes, but in real time, he'd rather diffuse the situation or leave it to the "victim" to handle it and only step in if it looks like they really can't, and even stepping in would just be a sharp word or two to run the bully off. He's not a straightforward bleeding heart the way Ichigo is, cuz the hit-the-problem-so-it's-no-longer-a-problem method is def Ichigo's go-to strategy, he would absolutely smack the shit out of someone bullying Asuka or Rangiku in front of him and be done with it right then and there, prob flaring his reiatsu without even meaning to cuz his control's a lot better these days but it's also kind of 0 to 50, well-hidden or flashing neon sign, no in-between unless he really concentrates 😂 It's another reason Starrk would have little reason of his own to act, cuz like Ichigo would absolutely beat him to it.

For me, I could prob imagine him unleashing his reiatsu/revealing his strength if someone's about to die and the threat is big enough that he actually has to flex. He's just not someone who'd easily show what he can do, and hiding it from the likes of Aizen and the Quincy wouldn't even be his top reason. It's more like lingering PTSD--his strength doesn't bother him anymore now that he's had years of proven control under his belt, and he's even needed every last bit of his power over the past decade of war, but subconsciously, he's still not 100% comfortable with just letting anyone feel it, even tho he has enough control now that it wouldn't hurt them unless he wants it to because what if? So like, his first instinct will always be to keep it locked down, and for minor stuff (altho minor is relative for him I guess lolol), pulling out that much power is def a last resort.

Again, it contrasts what Ichigo would do. Ichigo's just used to overkill. Like even before he got his powers, he learned that an overwhelming show of strength would solve most of his gangster-related problems very easily, plus he lived in a household where Isshin only backed off from kicking him into a wall or something by kicking first or kicking back. And then after he got his powers, it's not even really his fault that he internalized a "might is right" kind of mindset /points at the entire fucking SS invasion arc and honestly every arc after that/. And also he spent his first years of Shinigami-ing running around with an unsealed Zanpakutou and zero reiatsu control, being in a constant state of Shikai is natural for him, and (moving into this AU's headcanon territory) it took him several months into the Quincy War before he finally learned to seal it away and actually have other ways of fighting that isn't just flinging Getsuga Tenshous around. He uses Bankai the way other people use hand-to-hand combat or Kidou spells, so even now, his first instinct is to just hit the problem hard enough so that it won't get back up to do more harm, and for him, that applies to everything from schoolyard bullying to fighting monster-gods. And on top of all that, his actions are largely driven by emotion. More than anything else, his first reflex is to protect, and that often leads to him throwing way more power at a threat than he actually needs to. He knows how to be more subtle these days, but it's not his preferred method and def not a reflex either the way it is with Starrk.

Of course, Starrk also understands "might is right" just by dint of being a Hollow, but he's basically spent a thousand years as someone too strong for anyone to fuck with just by existing, so he doesn't have the same kind of exposure to physical conflict that Ichigo grew up with that would make violence his first instinct.

Aanndd omg this ran away from me lmao sorry, you get a speedrun analysis on Starrk and Ichigo instead 😅

TLDR I'm still not sure of any exact scenarios that would force Starrk to show his hand, I don't want to wait until a Sternritter shows up or a final showdown vs. Aizen happens because that would take forever before we get there (I mean I could just jump right in there since this isn't a whole fic, but in-universe-timeline-wise, I'd prefer it happening earlier), but it's difficult for me to imagine that something in everyday life or even just a Hollow extermination mission would be enough to make him reveal even a bit of what he can really do.

Case in point, if you remember that mission in SP canon where Shunsui brings Ichigo and Rangiku along on a mission into the Rukongai to gain experience, and Ichigo sees a Hollow about to attack Shinji who hadn't spotted it yet, but he also didn't want to leave Rangiku unprotected, he went straight for unsealing his Zanpakutou and basically hand-delivering a shopping list of unusual or downright unique abilities to Aizen via Gin. In this AU, if Starrk goes along, he would never do such a thing, and in fact, he'd stop Ichigo and just fire a damn Byakurai or something across the clearing and kill it that way. Even if Ichigo doesn't have the finesse to pull off a low-numbered Kidou spell on the fly, he could've chosen a higher-numbered one and that would've still revealed far less to Aizen than unsealing his Zanpakutou would. But again, subtlety isn't his strong suit. He now at least has the presence of mind to think about the consequence of leaping into the fray without thought, it would leave Rangiku wide open, but his first instinct is still to use overwhelming strength to protect the people he cares about.

In contrast, Starrk may be a soft touch compared to basically every other Hollow and quite a few Shinigami, but he has the maturity and just the general personality to go for the strategic option. He has a far more tactical mind, implied even in canon to rival Shunsui in that department, so rushing in just isn't in his nature.

The only other way imo is if someone just... asks. Reikaku (reiatsu-sensing) is a thing Shinigami learn. In canon people can sense exactly who's coming just by their reiatsu (if they know them), not just if they're a Shinigami or a Hollow or even a Human, but it doesn't really expand on how. So I imagine you have to have a good feel for the person's reiatsu, it's the same as my age headcanon for reiatsu, not only can someone halfway decent at sensing reiatsu be able to get an idea of the other person's age, they would also be able to recognize and associate that reiatsu signature with that person since everybody's is different, but obviously they would have to be exposed to it a few times to learn it. Starrk's reiatsu is very unique so once or twice would be enough, and I can see a situation where the kids might ask to feel it for that reason, or a mission might require the team leader to ask, etc. etc. So yeah, that's all I got.

[laswells-ashtray]

ALRIGHT LAST REQUEST BUT.. more young Price bull shittery(I was the one who made the first YP shenanigans). I find it hilarious how MacMillan handles him as if he were some feral cat.

How do you think he’d react to his superiors or another team’s captain disciplining John? The sergeant is gonna sass off to them either way, but what if someone oversteps to the point where his captain has to step in?

Also, I wanna see how you think he came across Nikolai. What does Mac think of the criminal pilot? lol

Sergeant John Price is an arsehole of the biblical variety. MacMillan is aware of it, anyone with ears who has ever made the mistake of interacting with John is aware of it. Despite it all, MacMillan is fond of him. In the same way one is fond of a stray cat. It's scruffy, grubby and smelly but you scratch behind it's ears anyway.

He knows John has a blatant disrespect for authority, he's been on the end of it so many times that it's starting to get funny. And he's fully aware of it extending to other captains or lieutenants, sometimes rightfully so, sometimes he's just being pissy. But John is his sergeant, what's most important is that the disrespectful little fucker is his disrespectful little fucker.

So, the day John kicks off at a lieutenant in a team they're working with, he isn't surprised. Hell, John's defending him.

"Captain, I think you'll find that my team is more capable for this situation so I should lead the entry." It's a daft lieutenant who has been getting on his tits all day, thinks he's Billy big bollocks because he has a few poxy bits of metal stapled to his perky little A cups. He's wrong, his team isn't more competent and they all know it but clearly, his captain is all but tonguing his hole if he has that level of overconfidence.

He doesn't get a chance to respond to him and he wasn't stupid enough to think he would.

John openly laughs at the man, rolling his eyes as he glances between the lieutenant and back to MacMillan. "Your team wouldn't know their bloody cocks from their coccyx if you asked them about it. Only way anyone would let your team lead is if they wanted shrapnel lodged in their sac."

He can see the man clenching his fists when he looks over at John, the typical reaction for that level of disrespect especially in front of a group but the sergeant is right. Letting the lieutenant lead would end in avoidable injury for almost everyone involved.

What he doesn't anticipate is the other team's captain stepping forward and clasping a firm hand on John's shoulder with a grip that is undoubtedly painful and deliberate. Captain Penfold, new to the position and smug about the rank as if it was anything but more work. MacMillan had interacted with him once years ago when he was a barefaced wee dickhead and had spent the rest of the night drinking to forget having to have interacted with him.

"Sergeant Price, I'd recommend you watch how you talk to my men before I have you written up for insubordination. Talking to a higher-ranking officer like that would've earned you a black eye where I was trained, I wouldn't be surprised if one of my soldiers offered you the same and I wouldn't feel inclined to stop them."

MacMillan is aware of two things, he inherited his mother's temper and his father's lack of tolerance for smarmy Englishmen, especially the ones who think talking with that fancy fucking accent makes them the most intelligent in the room.

Grabbing the man's collar and all but yanking him off of John doesn't take much thought, and it takes even less effort. He pulls the bastard close to him, staring down at his fuck ugly face and into those big beady eyes, highlighting the height difference that the other captain had been oh so testy about.

"David, if you so desire than I can assure you, I'll let you take that warehouse all on your own. Prove your talents that you're so eager to brag about. But if you put a hand on my sergeant again or if any one of your soldiers do then I can assure you that you won't be left with a black eye, you'll be left with a tight wee hole for your lieutenant to ram his prick in as he so eagerly desires and your own measly cock stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet. Now, I want to hear that diplomatic apology that the fancy rich-boy school you went to taught you to hand out or you can promptly kiss my fucking arse and handle this mission yourself. You twisted wee knob gobblin' shitebag."

God bless the captain because he tries to defend himself, he does. But MacMillan isn't in the mood to fucking listen.

"I'll leave you standing there, dicks in the wind. If I need to discipline my sergeant or any of my soldiers, I'll do so as I see fit but until that cunt at your side learns his fucking place then I see no issue letting my men point out the flaws in his poxy fucking plan. Do I make myself fuckin' clear, Captain?"

John tries to pull him back and it should be enough of a sign that he's pushed it far enough but he stands firmly in place, grip tightening on the prick's collar.

"I work with you not for you and until you can make a plan that doesn't needlessly put my men at risk then we are done here. You can come and find me when you're ready to apologise and listen, until then neither you nor your lieutenant have a word to say to any of my men. And if you want tae play it up wae the brass then I'll let evdy ken exactly why your Da ended up in Barlinnie."

Only then does he let the other man go, taking a brief moment to enjoy the look of fear that passes over his face as he stumbles backwards. He doesn't bother listening to the dribble from the captain or the lieutenant as he drags John out of the room by the crook of his elbow.

They walk in silence as MacMillan leads them outside so he can smoke that fag he's been desperately craving since he stepped into the room with them all. He's surprised it takes John so long to ask when the young sergeants looks at him curiously.

"You've mentioned Barlinnie before, I thought it was a prison."

"It is."

"Oh. Oh."

Now, for MacMillan and his opinion's of Nik.

At first, the Scot thinks nothing of the Russian man. He's useful and he doesn't get on MacMillan's tits. Win-win. Then he catches John watching the Russian one day when he thinks no-one's looking.

They've never had the talk but John's never mentioned a bird at home and he's seen him slip off with another bloke "for a smoke" when they were at a bar, the lad came back with his fly down. He knows, he thinks John knows he knows but they never talk about it.

"Stare at his arse any harder and you might burn a hole through his jeans, John boy." He takes great joy in the way the younger man jumps at the sound of his voice.

"I wasn't- Don't blood call me that, I'm a grown man." A grown man who struggles to tie his own tie, aye right.

"Talk to him, lad." He wants John to be happy, wants him to succeed so that one day he has a sergeant that is as much of a pain in the arse for him as John is now but more importantly he wants John to have someone. The younger man might be a fanny on the best of days but he's one of the most efficient men that he has and he needs something other than the job before it gets him killed.

That line of thinking lasts approximately two weeks. Then the incident happens.

"John, are you- Jesus, Mary, mother of fuck. Put it away. In my fucking office? You clatty bastard."

"Mac, you were supposed to be away-"

"Take the Russian and get your bare arse off ma fuckin' desk. You little deviant."

"Yes, sir."

[yingandzhan]

Hello yingandzhan 😊👋! Hope you're having a good day! I wanted to confirm something with you. I have seen people saying that Lan Wangji wore mourning robes before, but is this true according to the novel? I kind of thought it was just his clan uniform. I'm not really sure, but the only thing I could find in the book concerning this was that Wei Wuxian "thought" the Lan clan uniform looked like funeral clothes. I'm not really sure about it, so I thought about asking you 🤔.

Hello dephoraowo 😊

Looks like Tumblr has decided to start alerting me whenever I receive an ask now!

I am having a wonderful day, thank you. I hope you are as well.

Well, white is of course a traditional colour associated with funerals and mourning in China, so anyone wearing this colour would naturally conjure up such images. But the whole Lan Clan wear these robes, not just LWJ.

And as you said, WWX admittedly associates this with the clan's robes as well. Which is funny because we also see him thinking more poetically about LWJ in those very same robes as well...

In fact, WWX himself picks white robes to wear to JLs Man Yue (满月 - full moon) celebrations! This is most likely because the colour white is also associated with purity and innocence. He wanted to give off a good impression when seeing his beloved shijie and her new baby son! Hoping to show everyone he's not the evil overlord the rumours falsely accuse him of being! Which is heartbreaking, considering what happens while he's merrily making his way there in these very robes.

Anyway, I digress!

I think this has probably derived from the CQL and theories concerning the way they had LWJ dressed in some episodes. I couldn't really comment on that though as it has been quite a few years since I watched the live action and the costumes, as beautiful as they are, aren't particularly historically, or indeed canonically, accurate either way to be honest.

So no, LWJ didn't change his attire because WWX died. Unlike what many in the fandom claim, he mourned his loss; got drunk, branded himself with the same Wen emblem and then picked himself back up to live on. Yes, he was obviously heartbroken, but he threw himself into raising the boy WWX had died to save and continued to honour his memory by telling LSZ silly stories about the real WWX and instilling the next generation with their shared morals.

What a man!

[elspethdekarios]

Atonement

Hello fellow Solavellan sufferers!!! I've written a little fic about what I imagine goes down between Solas and Lavellan once the game is over. I'll have you know I listened to the Lost Elf Theme on repeat while writing it, if that tells you anything. Anyway, read below the cut or on AO3 here!

SFW, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2,821

! HUGE VEILGUARD SPOILERS !

When she stepped into the Fade, hand in hand with her love, Sulah had no preconceived notion of what to expect on the other side, nor did she spend a moment speculating about what it could possibly be. She was with Solas, after all, and there was no use in trying to predict his actions. It was funny, really—how she found him predictable and surprising all in the same. No, there was little use trying to guess where in the Fade he would lead them. Nonetheless, she wasn't sure she would have ever expected this.

The pocket of the Fade they walked into was dull and gray as stone. In fact, most of it was stone. Fragments of buildings and debris floated slowly through the foggy sky above. Tendrils of winding roots grew up through cracks in the stone. There were staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere, and twisted, barren trees clinging to broken columns and walls. The air was so still it felt stifling in Sulah’s lungs. And Solas, downtrodden and bruised, looked like he belonged there. Like he was part of the backdrop. As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke.

“It is a reflection of what I am. What I don't want to be.” He paused, dropping his head. “What I don't want to face.”

“This is how you atone?”

“I told you it would be terrible.”

“And I told you forever.” Sulah turned to him, heart aching for the bloodied mess of his face. “I meant it.”

Solas lifted his head enough to look at her through glassy, violet eyes. “I don’t deserve you, vhenan.”

“I think that’s up to me,” she said, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. “Let’s talk, my love. Before you start making your amends.”

They sat with their backs against a nearby stone wall. Solas’s eyes alternated between being heavy with sleep and haunting despair. He looked so much older than she remembered him—not physically, really, but in the way he seemed to be held down with millennia of burden. On the other hand, he had the heartbreaking demeanor of a child unable to emotionally grasp the multitude of his feelings.

“I don’t know… where to start,” he breathed. With one look at her, a hint of hope glimmered amongst the sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you. Desperately so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Sulah’s voice cracked as she spoke, a stream of tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away and smiled sadly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

His kiss tasted of salt and metal. She didn’t care about the wounds on his face or the small gash on his lip still swelling with blood. It had been a decade since she tasted him, touched him, spoke to him. Even though she knew he visited in her dreams, he never made contact—only watched, a dark figure in the distance. How she longed to reach out for him every time, to pull him close and find solace in his arms like she used to. Sulah crawled in front of him, her knees aching as they pressed into the cold stone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a brief hesitation, Solas rested his hands on her waist, his touch timid at first, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. But his touch grew more confident by the second, and soon his arms were wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. It felt as if a missing piece of her heart had been restored, held in place by molten gold.

“I don’t know that I can possibly tell you all of it. Perhaps I could… show you, instead.” With a single thought, Solas willed into the Fade a blue crystal statuette of a wolf, not unlike the one Sulah found when his ritual failed. He held it, concentrated on it, and its core radiated bright blue magic. He held the figure out to her. As Sulah took it from him, their destitute surroundings swirled and dissolved, leaving her in front of a young Solas. His face was not quite so worn with pain and exhaustion like the one she knew. Long, auburn hair cascaded down the center of his head, falling over his shoulder as he turned to face the other elf in front of him.

“Solas, how could you?” the other elf asked. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, and his face was marked with Mythal’s branching vallaslin. The same branches that Sulah had tattooed underneath her eyes.

“I do not expect you to understand, Felassan,” Solas said, standing tall and proud as ever. “It was necessary for the enemy to believe we were committed. A heavy sacrifice, but one that gave us a real chance to end the war.”

“You knowingly sent those spirits to their deaths!” Felassan shouted. “We’re supposed to be better than this.”

Felassan spoke to Solas with the intimacy and confidence of a close friend, unafraid to confront his wrongdoings. Sulah could make out a hint of remorse in Solas’s eyes before his face hardened into a scowl.

“I did what had to be done.”

The scene dissipated. Ruins were replaced with the glorious landscape of ancient Arlathan, sprawling greenery among grand, floating palaces. Solas argued with an elven woman who Sulah now recognized as Mythal. She was identical to the spirit fragment she had seen before stepping into the Fade with Solas, only solid and real. The words they spoke were jumbled, as if Solas couldn’t remember the exact things said when he transferred the memory to the statue, but Sulah knew what they were discussing all the same: the Blight. Solas protested, pleaded with Mythal, before finally giving in to her demands.

“I will follow you always,” he said. Sulah had never heard him sound so defeated. A distinct and overwhelming sense of shame settled over her as the scene faded.

The memories continued like this, one after the other, each one brief but enough to show her the actions that haunted him. And enough to leave her with thousands of questions. She saw his regrets from centuries ago—memories of Mythal, Elgern’an, Ghilan’nain, the other Evanuris. She saw him destroy the legacy of the titans, and the corruption that introduced the Blight to the world. She saw his sorrow at the creation of the Veil, the loss of the world he knew, the unbreakable tether he had to Mythal, similar to a commandeering mother and a child eager to please her, desperate for her approval. She saw his plans to give Corypheus the orb go awry, the conflict raging inside of him as he fell in love with Sulah, the way he almost told her the truth that night in Crestwood. She felt the guilt he carried afterwards—that he still carried. She saw him devise his devious plan to mold Rook into someone the prison would take in his place. His betrayal and desperation.

She saw the despair in his eyes when he killed Varric.

Sulah stood on the raised platform where Solas orchestrated his ritual, watching as Varric climbed the stairs in an attempt to stop his friend. Even in a memory, the air was charged with powerful magic, culminating in a swirling wind that blew her hair into her face, obscuring her view. She could only make out fragments of the argument.

“You need to listen—”

“You have come a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric—”

“—able to give me a straight answer—”

“—rather than admit this is mine to solve—”

“—who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

Varric’s last statement stung like a knife. His words echoed as time slowed. Sulah felt the heavy burden of self doubt imbued in Solas’s memory as the two men locked eyes, their argument hanging in the air between them. In a chaotic flash, several things happened: Solas turned to continue the ritual, Varric attempted to pry the lyrium dagger from Solas’s hands, and the monuments of the Evanuris surrounding the ritual site began to fall. Somewhere in the chaos, while wrenching the dagger back from Varric’s grasp, the blade pierced through his chest. The sound of ripping flesh. The gasp from Varric’s mouth.

“NO!” Sulah shouted. Time had slowed, and she rushed to catch him as he stumbled, forgetting that it was no use. Her arms moved through him like a ghost.

Solas watched his friend fall to the bottom of the stairs, regret bubbling up inside of him at what he’d done. And still, the sense of doubt from Varric’s words lingered, sullying Solas’s certainty as innocent blood seeped through the fabric of his gloves.

He steeled himself with cold resolve and turned away.

The gray of the Fade prison came back into view. Sulah felt like she had been in Solas’s memories for hours, but neither her body nor his had moved from the ground against the wall. He watched her with bated breath, his jaw clenched, eyes glossy with fresh tears. Moments ago, she watched him command a rebellion, steadfast and resolute and proud. A powerful god among mortals. But the Solas in front of her now held little of the immense ancient spirit she’d seen. He was only a man, broken from the weight of his regrets.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, vhenan. Not even your understanding.” His voice broke, his next words spoken through a sob. “I am so sorry that I let you fall in love with a monster.”

Solas hugged his knees to his chest. His hands shook and his body trembled as he cried. It was pure, raw, searing emotion—and it was the first time she had ever seen him lose control of himself. Sulah had been lonely for years, yearning for the man who felt like home while sleeping cold in an empty bed, but she’d never felt as alone as she felt now, sitting in the vast emptiness of the Fade with a god shedding centuries’ worth of repressed agony that she could never possibly comprehend. He was the one who always seemed to know what to do, who had a plan for everything. He was the one more familiar with the Fade than the waking world. But he was also the one who had to face his regrets. His pain. And he had already proven that he couldn’t do that on his own.

“Solas,” she said, quiet and sad. “You killed Varric.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked through tears.

“I… I knew he was gone, but no one…” she trailed off, thinking back to the letter she received from Morrigan shortly after she met Rook and the others. Varric was gravely injured in an altercation. He did not make it. I am sorry you have to find out this way. “No one told me it was by your hand.”

“They were protecting you,” he said. “From the truth of what I am. Perhaps they shouldn’t have done so.”

Sulah sat in silence, trying to piece it all together in her mind.

“I never meant to hurt Varric,” Solas whispered. “I have harmed so many people, innocent people, and Varric… Varric….”

He stopped speaking and rested his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall on his armor.

“My love—”

“How can you possibly still love me, Sulah?” he snapped, a wolf showing his fangs. “I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me here. You do not.”

“Solas—”

“Would you truly—”

“Let me speak,” she said, stern and commanding. Her Inquisitor voice, the other members liked to call it. It worked. Solas nodded for her to continue. “To heal from your past, you have to confront it. It will be painful, but you must. Tell me about Varric.”

Solas sighed and let his head fall back to the wall, the apex of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Varric was a good man. He was my friend.” He closed his eyes and Sulah watched as a single tear ran down his bloodied face. She tried to hold back her own tears, but they streamed warm down her cheeks nonetheless.

“What would you say to him if he were here?”

“That it is one of my greatest regrets, one that I desperately wish I could take back. That I enjoyed his company on our journey years ago, and that I have missed him in the years since. And that I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Like a prayer, the final words escaped Solas’s mouth in a despondent whisper. In the distance, a structure resembling the skyline of Kirkwall crumbled. Sulah recognized it from her visit several years ago. She had only made it to Kirkwall once in the time that Varric was viscount, a position he reluctantly accepted, but one that she always suspected he secretly enjoyed. He took her to the cliffs of Sundermount, where Dalish sometimes set up camp. It looked remarkably like the area of the Free Marches her clan frequented before she left.

“I thought it might remind you of home”, he had said.

“I came here to see* your *home, Varric.”

“We’re doing that too.” he pointed across the water to the silhouetted, square buildings.

She smiled at the memory and let herself cry as the Kirkwall replica became an avalanche of stone plummeting into the abyss. When its final, broken pieces fell, Solas turned back to her and took a long breath. She looked at him, attempting to reconcile the Solas she knew and loved, the Solas in front of her now, with the Solas she saw in his memories. There was a cruel pride deep inside of him, one he tried to keep from her for so long. She could see it now, and it was fractured.

How could she possibly come to terms with all he had done? He had taken Varric away from this world, a man who, despite his faults, brought hope and friendship and humor into the world around him. She could feel the empty, aching shells of all the hearts who missed him—including her own. There were more adventures to be had, more books to be written, and Solas took it away. Away from Varric, away from the world. Sulah couldn’t bring herself to consider the even larger things he had done. The man she loved was responsible for the Blight. He tranquilized the Titans. He murdered his friends—sometimes on accident, sometimes for what he considered betrayal.

Sulah steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing in and out of her lungs. She let the world fall away until she could feel nothing but the essence of her soul spreading into her limbs, making her weightless. If Solas was a spirit of wisdom, what was she, deep down? A word stirred somewhere in the depths of her heart: patience.

“This is going to take a long time, vhenan.” Solas’s words roused her from contemplation.

“Yes,” she said. “For both of us, I think.”

For the first time since reuniting, he touched her of his own accord, studying her prosthetic arm with gentle fingers before resting his hand on her thigh beside it.

“It’s a good thing time doesn’t exist in the Fade, then.” Sulah placed her remaining hand on top of his. “To answer your earlier question, I choose to still love you despite your mistakes, Solas. I love you because I tried to move on, to meet other people, but none of them could touch whatever piece of my soul that you do. Every person I tried to give my heart to was a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. And I had to reconcile with myself that I love someone who would tear the world apart for his own stubborn pride. I know your heart, Solas. You are more than your mistakes.”

Sulah felt as if a small part of the rift between them had stitched itself back together; a fragile scar translucent and deep, but healing nonetheless. For a moment, the insurmountable hurdles she would have to help him overcome fell away. It was just the two of them, together in the Fade like all those years ago. She knew how the world would see them: the lovestruck Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. The cautionary tale of a Dalish girl who fell right into the jaws of Fen’Harel himself.

“Sulah,” Solas reached for her face with both hands, holding her like he had to be sure she wasn’t a mere reflection of his desire. “As long as you will have me, I swear to you: I will never abandon you again. You will have me, always.”

His kiss was soft, but charged with intention. Devotion. As they broke apart, he pulled Sulah into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“Ar lath ma vhenan. Bellanaris.”

[max--phillips]

Okay here goes

First, the spoiler free stuff:

Ridley Scott knows how to make a fucking film.

If I don’t see fics of Acacius x reader x Lucilla I will begin biting

If you are going in it for Pedro, I will warn you his character is very important but kind of… idk, shallow is too strong of a word, but not very fleshed out. I don’t think that’s an issue in the greater scheme of the movie though, it makes sense in the plot and doesn’t feel out of place or bad in the universe.

If you are going in it for Paul Mescal, you will not be disappointed.

Please watch the first movie first. The story will not make any fucking sense if you don’t.

Just the right amount of flashbacks and footage from the first movie . Chefs kiss

Ridley Scott really said “all emperors and tyrants are nasty little freaks with terrible vibes”

Oh also if you’re squeamish about gore and stuff like. It’s a movie about gladiators so set your expectations accordingly. There is an instance of a disembodied head used as a prop. So y’know

Okay, spoilery stuff below the cut

Arishat was hot :( rip

Monkeys at the beginning? Terrible. 0/10 did not enjoy that. Also did not enjoy seeing and hearing Mr. Mescal BITING ONE

I love Ravi I would watch a whole movie just about him tending to gladiators’ wounds quite frankly. Give me that story

We love to see bisexuality on screen (even though that wasn’t a social identity at the time but we’re not here to talk about that) what with the concubines and drunk as fuck Macrinus

Speaking of drunk as fuck Macrinus: that whole scene was so fucking funny. They’re like that meme about people getting high. You know the one

Speaking of Macrinus—Denzel Washington stole the show. When TIME magazine pushed a story to me today headlined “Gladiator II Belongs to Denzel Washington,” I was like, pshhhh, nah. But it really does. It’s not about him? But it’s his fucking show.

The politics . THE POLITICS

It feels a little heavy handed right now but that wasn’t probably how it was intended, given it was made before. Y’know. The election. But the whole dream of Rome being a place where everyone is equal and cared for but you can only whisper it or it’ll shatter? Yeah.

Oh, right, Acacius: that dude is so tired he does NOT want to be there. Let him go home to his hot wife. Alas, his hot wife is the way she is and like… no good deed goes unpunished.

And I fucking called it with my text post a few months ago. Two (2) movies now where Denzel Washington (either directly or indirectly) kills Pedro Pascal. Brilliant

Admittedly selfishly I would’ve liked to see more of him. But it felt like the correct thing in the context of the story. If he didn’t die then, if he wasn’t the inciting event for the uprising of the people of Rome, it wouldn’t have made sense and it would’ve just been fan service and “look, we got Pedro Pascal!” at that point.

I would’ve liked to see a more in-depth exploration of the change in relationship between Lucius and Lucilla—it seems like they went from Lucius screaming at her to get out to them hugging it out without any real development between the two of them specifically. Obviously a lot had happened in the world of the movie at that point but nonetheless

Macrinus shooting Lucilla was his Icarus moment. There was no coming back from that. “But what about Geta” “but what about Caracalla” no. It was Lucilla. If she’d gotten got by the praetorian guards or something else, it would’ve been fine. But because it was Macrinus there was nowhere he could go from there other than [checks notes] getting his hand chopped off and then gutted in a dirty irrigation ditch.

Remember kids, the people in power who are causing all of the things going wrong in the world have names and addresses and are mortal <3

Also another takeaway from the movie: imperialism, religious extremism, ableism, and authoritarianism will be the end of us all <3

Anyway. Good movie. Can’t wait to watch it again in my own home with subtitles so I can actually like… process everything everyone was saying LMAO and take better reaction notes.

I’m still sitting in the theater parking lot it’s been like 30 minutes LMAO okay thanks for coming to my tedtalk or whatever