#but i REALLY love the dynamic between these three

[buubonita]

This is too messy but no worries i will try to explain the connections and I ADDED the "its complicated" label because i can and relationships can be and are soooo pretty complicated sometimes and your perspective of that person can always change like the weather,, or in fact, they have a dynamic that is difficult for me to explain personally.

Lets start nyao! oh boy this is LONG.

Nightmare & Dream: its complicated. They have mixed feelings all the time, there are times when they genuinely can't stand each other, but their family love remains intact, only sometimes, living together is difficult. I dont think Nightmare hates Dream genuinely, just for moments, and i am speaking more from someone who haves a twin.

I'm not saying that the situation is the same because my brother and I are not at war, lol, I'm saying that disagreeing and fighting with the person with whom you have shared memories and time since the cradle is a constant.

Dream & Blue & Ink: Found Family & friends. I just like to think that they, rather than a poly like fans insist, function more like an imperfect but still functioning family.

Dream & Ink: Friends/It's complicated. Dream and Ink have mainly disenchanted ideals, but they can coexist without resentment. I think they care about each other.

Ink & Error: enemies/frenemies. Self-explanatory.

Error, Geno & Fresh: family found. I love to think that the three of them have an inexplicable connection, something rooted in their codes. I know that Fresh is an outcode, but the body they posses, I like to think that it is a variant of Aftertale Sans (not Geno, the other Sans) <3

Blue, Sans & Fell: I love the idea my besties proposed that there are TWO Underswap Sans in the multiverse (Blueberry belongs to the Stars and Swap makes up the Sans and Fell group). They are good friends and super hilarious together <33

Reaper & Geno: Secret 3rd thing. I wont explain it here tho.

Fatal Error & Error: they hate each other to death.

Fresh and Lust: Secret 3rd option! I like to think that they actually get along really well. They go to disco nights together on Saturday nights fr.

Horror, Dust & Fell: besties. They can be besties okay, i loveeee the idea of Horror and Fell getting along with Dust as their main bond, point in common. If Fell could help Dust, he maybe could help Horror <33

Killer & Color: besties and QRP. I dont have much to say that someone hasn't already said , they are cute! Super adorable as well :3

Killer, Dust and Horror: Frienemies, its complicated. Their relationship It is quite turbulent and there are moments of horrible tension between them, the atmosphere in which they meet is not very good and does not help either, but they are companions in misfortune who try to move forward. I like to think that I could improve with the help of Color (who I forgot to put in the circle but the board already looks terrible!!!) Anyways MTT + Color is defo my thing <33

Dust & Reaper: Acquaintances. Reaper has seen Dust a lot during his endless encounters with The Player. He keeps tempting him to shake his hand like a new friend, hehe <33

Nightmare & Killer: Its complicated, enemies & secret 3rd thing. I've said it before, Killer and Nightmare's relationship is so weird, at least from my perspective, it has so much potential, so many nuances to explore that it's hard to classify what the hell they are. They don't even know what they are or what they have, they think they know each other but there are always details that escape them. Do they hate each other? Maybe. Do they need each other? Who knows. It's weird. They're fucking weird. And I love it, because Nightmare and Killer don't have the same dynamic or personal history that Nightmare and Horror and Dust do. One of my faves.

Color & Nightmare: Enemies. Its complicated. Rahhhh i have been CRAVING more Nightmare and Color content focused, how troubled Nigtjmare actions can be for Color and how it goes against his morals. Id say Color hates him, not totally, but definitely Nightmare "makes it very difficult to be able to help him" and thats a common point he haves with Dream.

Nightmare & Ccino: its complicated, secret 3rd thing aaand enemies. Ccino hates Nightmare for so many reasons, but the main one is the most wrong and absurd: he abandoned him.

Eldritch entity and totally tired mortal quth mundane life have a connection incomprehensible to the established parameters of society or regulations. My favorite.

Ccino @ everyone: is on the image but i think Ccino would know everyone at least because his café is a multiversal meeting point.

Epic & Cross: besties & QRP. They are so lovey, so cute, so beautiful, i love what they have so much.

Cross & Dream: Secret 3rd thing <33 they are very good friends and... :3c

Epic & Nightmare: Enemies & Acquaintances. Epic only knows about Nightmare through word of mouth, but he doesn't like what little he knows. I think he's secretly very resentful towards people who hurt the ones he loves (Cross, Color).

Epic & Dream: Acquaintances. I like to think that Dream is the only one who has seen Epic lose/destroy his body to the point where only his cursed eye remains intact. Something about out-of-body experiences he has suffered since he is a being of light residing in a vessel.

But in general, Epic does not interact and stays away from the apple twins because of their empathic abilities (an apple a day keeps the doctor...).

And thats it. I have a lot of other ideas that I left out the chart but imma write here hheehehe.

Like the fact that Dust and Epic could be friends (and their relationship is a bit rocky because Epic seems to treat Dust like a patient kjj and how that brings problems, as if Epic wanted to fix something of his own by helping and supporting him in his vocation as a doctor, yadda yadda)

Oooor like, fucking Reaper and the twins. Reaper seeing some of the contempt and rejection he himself suffers in his own universe??? That ALMOST inspires some pity, but I'd say it's more towards poor passive/past Nightmare than anything else.

Reaper and Dream should and are friends. I like the idea that Dream is one of the few who laughs at Reaper's shitty jokes (besides Geno) and feels bad about it because of his dark humor.

Nightmare hates Reaper becaaause, what a redundancy, what he personifies and not what he is and that is what prevents Reaper from feeling sorry for Nightmare despite having gone through similar but not at all identical situations <33

Or maybe Color and The Stars (or Color and Dream specially, please, yes?)

Prolly i am forgetting things but whatever this is long enough, i hope the artist doesn't minds ;;0;;

Again this is, like everything i say, my opinion <3

Ship chart but it’s not a ship chart it’s a friendship/found family/QPR chart

[durgeapologist]

Omg your blog is such a relief. Every day I feel more and more like I want to distance myself from about 80% of the Solavellan community bc I am telling you it is ROUGH being into the egg and wanting to talk about him but being surrounded by people who think that everyone and their mother is out to get them. Meanwhile someone can come up with valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG and get swarmed with unsolicited opinions about solrook shippers and accusations of misogyny. I also see them running around in posts that are clearly marked as "Critical" And half the time when I CAN talk to them about Solas it's like they aren't even talking about the same character I am? They want him to be some helpless little abuse victim who isn't responsible for anything he does??? Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong? What would be the point? We love him because he's fucked up and a manipulative bastard but also complex???? Did we play the same game girlies???

i have been staring at this ask since it came in trying to find a normal way to respond to you anon i will be so fr rn so i am so sorry it's taken a few hours

i’ll start with this:

“Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong?”

full stop. this. so much. (i am in love with you anon) why is there a atonement/redemption ending if he did nothing wrong? (you’re literally so real) solas has done horrendous things. like genuinely abhorrent. (i crave to be your friend so bad anon) he is a genocidal, serial killing, manipulative lying cunt. to say the least. AND THAT IS WHY I LOVE HIM. he has such complex characteristics that make him so intriguing. he wants to be a good person. but he doesn’t really know how to be genuine. he is riddled with guilt and regret. he feels BAD about the things he has done. but he doesn’t want to face his mistakes. he knows he has done absolutely terrible things in the name of his people and their liberation, things most of them never asked him to do. some even asked him to NOT DO THOSE THINGS. did he listen? of course not! this is solas we are talking about. arrogant, prideful, calculating solas.

“They want him to be some helpless little abusive victim who isn’t responsible for anything he does.”

yes. yep. THIS SO BAD. (genuinely let me be your friend pls i am on my knees begging) the dynamic between solythal gets convoluted by most solasmancers because of three things: misogyny, jealousy, and ignorance. was there abuse? yeah. not denying that. was there only abuse? no. mythal was a victim of abuse herself. the way she learned to love, she passed down to solas. BOTH were victims of abuse who did terrible, no good, awful things. BOTH were also extremely powerful, omnipotent, and power-hungry individuals. mythal's hunger for power showcased differently than solas' and was amplified (IMO) by elgar'nan whispering in her ear. solas had felassan to keep him in check.

i am of the UPMOST certainty that had solas not taken down the evanuris the way he did and went to sleep after creating the veil, he would have become another tyrant ruling over the elven people. (THE MASKED EMPIRE ANYONE? HELLO? HELLOOOOO?) also anyone who says she was his MOTHER or SISTER?? god please drown me. put me in a tub and hold my head under water. that was his PARTNER AND HIS LOVER. i cannot with the takes that she raised his ass COME ON. i have sooooo much more to say about this dynamic and the themes of abuse AND how solasmancers twist it to make her this most evil, vile, horrible woman; but i would like to keep some of my followers tbh (anon i am frothing at the mouth if you want to discuss this further i beg you to dm me) so we shall move on.

"...valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG..."

yeah full stop i will never forgive them for making her one personality type. sorry, i just won't. my lavellan egg-mancer was a strong-willed and angry proud dalish woman who told solas off every chance she could! i am genuinely so happy people who wanted the dynamic we got in VG got that, because that is how their lavellan is/was, but what about the lavs who punched him? who told him to stop being an asshole about elves, and just farmed approval for the romance by asking questions? i chose to hunt his ass down BECAUSE I WANTED TO HUNT HIS ASS DOWN! my lavellan would not be so understanding or forgiving, she just wouldn't, so it feels like my girl's personality was ripped away from her fr. now, i DO NOT agree with some of the takes on how she was presented because those criticisms are in fact riddled with misogyny and most are just downright vile. but i do agree with the criticisms that not all lavellans would have been so kind to that bald man.

so anon, TRUST me when i say i feel you so bad. i was in lots of solavellan spaces before i started shipping dreadrook, and even then i was looked at SO funny for my takes on the romance and called plenty of terrible things simply because i didn't hold solas up on this pedestal and make my lav worship the ground he walked on. even as a dreadrooker, the same exact takes that i couldn't get behind in solav spaces are very prevalent in dreadrook spaces. solasmancers have a tendency to simply agree with solas on everything and refuse to acknowledge how bad of a person he really can be.

i am a proud solasmancer AND a proud solas hater. #1 solas hater, in fact. i rarely have positive things to say about his actions and behaviors outside of a joke setting, and even in a joke setting the things people will say to defend him RUB ME SO BADLY THE WRONG WAY. also heavy on the perusing the "critical" tags and getting offended when my takes are, in fact, critical LMFAO. anon i am literally a beggar sitting on the side of the street waving a metal cup at you asking for coins of your affection rn. i have maybe one other friend who feels like this and have hardly anyone to rant about these things with. holding my hands out towards you and begging you to dm me fr. PLEASE. we can be critical together <3

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower III

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, violence, mentions of blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: The senate calls and Caracalla drags his new pet along. It all seem so harmless, but not in the eyes of his brother.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Seriously thank you guys for all the support. I love answering asks and comments and hearing you guys' opinions. So really, thank you. I am afraid that I cannot stress it enough. Thank. You.

Dictionary for this chapter:

Pithekos = Ancient greek for "monkey" (Pithekon is the accusative form) Operae = Latin - plural form of "opera" which can translate to "business" Kaos = It is what the greek believed happens when the world is out of order (if you were to - for example - act like a god, breaking the 'holy laws' and therefor committing 'hybris') Paidion = Ancient greek for "little child." (but sadly enough also ancient greek for "young slave") Hellas = The ancient greek name for Greece

He says those words with such delight. It’s like a drug to him, intoxicating him time and time again. Rocking from one foot to the other he chirps and sings: “meus flos, meus flos, meus flos!”

It’s been like this ever since he woke up from his slumber. His mood had changed from erratic to ecstatic. But still, he is but a child dressed in the skin of a man. There is both so much and so little to him. It sort of pains me to watch him like this. An unfamiliar woe in my seas of troubles. I try to drown it.

He arranged so I would have some bedding on the floor, not far from his bed. Some thrown straws packed neatly into a rectangle, covered by a sheet and some fur.

When we entered his chambers at night, there wasn’t much to see. The sun had gone down and the moon was out of sight. I was left to wonder and fear in the shadows; no sleep came to me. I was afraid of what he might do to me, if I did fall asleep. Yet his touch didn’t feel like filth when he caressed me with such ease. I try to forget.

This is not the emperor, I am watching, that I am sure of. The only thing hinting of such horrifying picture is the room here, shinning in the sunlight. There’s a twinkle of torment.

The bed big enough to fit three people with silk on silk. Marble on the floor, on the ceiling, the walls and the magnificent pillars - taller than any man can reach. There’s a table with papers not only on top but all around like they’ve been disowned and thrown with a violent temper. There are curtains of brown, gold, and white – vases decorating between every supposed opening, guarding the windows like soldiers.

And then there’s him.

Not the child-emperor but a statue of a man, greater of him. The instance I let my eyes ponder in the light, he stood out like a sore thumb.

It’s a man with a big and bushy beard and beautiful, almost black locks falling on top of his marble toga, colored in a golden brown. He holds a staff with two teeth, a bident, proudly but also somewhat stiffened. His muscular arms tense and alert.

At night, the burdened spoke of his name, but not of one of those I know of. He whispered it so quietly: “Serapis.” Not a roman name, but still, he must’ve been either foolish or brave when saying this God’s name.

The God of the underworld.

No mortal man who seeks life should speak of his name. But what respect does the burdened have? I wonder, and I know I probably should not. But the Gods know that I can’t help it.

I am still seated on the bedding and feeling a bit of disarray. A part of me longs for the mystery liquid. I yearn for silence within. I grow sadder of watching the burdened dance before me. I wonder, how long will it take before I become like him?

He grabs at his hair and at his clothes. His feet deciding to take a break as he pats over to a mirror. It looks as if he has a sudden realization that he must tend his body – but only to the extent that he has servants to help. Privileged.

He calls upon aid which shocks my core. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice me. He is too distressed with himself. I’ve never seen a man so lost before.

Women and men come running and I get to watch as he gets pulled apart and put back together. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I grab at my knees and close my eyes. To myself, I mumble a prayer to the Gods above. I will not let go of the hope that they someday will hear me.  It’s oh so fragile, but I know that all it takes is a prayer for a miracle.

In my mother tongue I pray to pull these riches off him. That the gods shall rob him of what he himself has robbed. I pray that the injustice gets undone, and that Apollo guides me to resolve this myself. I will no longer be of bad health, I pray. I will not become mad like him.

“Apollo, you, the god of healing diseases, if there is no guidance to be given then ready your bow to pierce my heart. Show me the true nature.” I hold onto fear as I mumble. I must not feel betrayed just yet.

Lies, trailing down my cheek as tears.

A wind rushes the curtains and the door to the room opens abruptly, followed by hurried steps. The sight I meet when I once more open my eyes is no miracle. It’s the other one.

“Caracalla, you’re missing the meeting with the senate. It’s disrespectful of you to be absent.”

This one bears a crown and is less fattened in his cheeks. His face is less glassy and more rigid with a deep line between his brows. They have the same hair, but two so distinctive faces. His eyes are tinted black and brown with all seriousness. He bears garments of royal colors. The color of the sea and the color of the sun.

He bears a crown like Apollo.  

“Brother!” Caracalla cheers and smiles widely, revealing a golden tooth that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. He opens his arms, supposedly greeting his brother by showing off. He is wearing the proper clothes but no crown. The color of blood.

Something clicks inside of the other, because he barely opens his mouth before he forces it close and clenches his fist tightly, knuckles white. He forces his eyes closed before sighing heavily. This is no brother, but a caretaker, stressed as revealed by the many wrinkles on his face. No white paint can cover the burden, he must bear. The burden of the dead and the burden, taking form of his brother. Or so he is signaling.

I remain quiet to try and stay invisible.

“Let’s go.” The other, who’s name I’ve forgotten, sighs.

I don’t need to know his name, I know what he has done.

“Can I bring my new pet? I call her flos.” Caracalla refers to me. The other now knows of me. But my name is taken and replaced.

“I do not care what animal you drag along with you.”

“She is NOT an animal!” The burdened snaps, his mask dropped completely. He has stepped closer to his brother, pointing at his chest.

“I DO NOT CARE!” The other yells back, spitting in Caracalla’s face. The veins in his neck almost popping. His fists now whiter than the makeup on his face. He bares his teeth like a lion while drawing a quick breath. “Get yourself inside the hall. NOW.” He pokes Caracalla’s chest before storming out.

The burdened is left to stand there shocked. A tear in his eye that he is quick cover as he removes the spit from his face. “I hate him.” He claims.

Caracalla spots me once again and he sighs, almost shallowly. “Do not listen to such a man, meus flos. He is no good.” Then he says something, I do not understand. “Come. Stand.”

I refuse to show that I do understand. The last thing I want is to be his pet.

“Come on.” The impatience shows on his restless fingers. Something in me calls me to hold them. I am once again conflicted. What is happening to me? I stand up slowly.

He examines me before calling over others to help me. With standing. With my clothes. My looks. They decorate me. Touch me. A panic grows. But they are quick to be gone again.

“Better.” He grabs my wrist and drags me with.

As I walk, I hear jewelry jingle. Not his. But mine. I’m wearing their blood. The pain. It feels as if the gold burns into my skin. They are chains of slavery. Bondage to suppress me and yet they complement my skin so beautifully. It’s a beautiful irony. I yearn for freedom, for death. I see my brother and I see his blood. Maybe he is in this gold or maybe it’s the Gods.

They killed him. Right now, I don’t know if it’s the Gods or the twins. Right now, I fear both. But right now, one is more righteous than the other. I do not know which one.

My blood is boiling beneath Caracalla’s touch. I pull my hand, and he lets go. He’s caught up in his head or maybe he is not. He cares, does he not?  I see my brother in the reflection of his earrings. The lifeless limbs. I do not see the romans; I only see the roman who’s showing my brother. All the symbols are melting into one another.

We walk into a big hall, filled with old men, with filth, and with a stench of death and intensity. It’s those who they call the senate. The dead dream, the Romans call the Republic.

They stare.

“My emperor.” One of them bows and Caracalla lifts his chin proudly, giggling as if he didn’t just shed a tear, one hand over the other. “Accompanied by…?”

“My new pet.”

I hate how proud he looks, flashing his golden tooth. All grief gone from his face. I hate how that comforts me. His smile is holding me upright, hollow is my heart.

I spot the other as he spots me. His eyes widening and yet he looks as if understands. I do not know what. An anger rages in the dark orbs that is his eyes.

“Does she speak?”

Caracalla steps aside and looks at me. He doesn’t seem to know either. Maybe he wonders the same. They do not even know my name.

“She does not.” The other speaks. “She’s mute. You know, how women and pets are supposed to be.”

It’s the first time that I am grateful for him. And hopefully, the last time. The words do not hit as hard as they probably should.

Caracalla clears his throat and nods, agreeing. “Yes. Geta is correct. Flos is mute.”

Of course, his name is Geta.

“What a pretty name. Flos. Like the flores!” The senator tries to encourage this behavior. He acknowledges me and goes back to his seat.

Caracalla shows me to a seat, a bench far away from the assembly, seated next to a dressed pithekos. Like a pet, with a pet.

“Flos, this is Dondus. Now. Behave while I take care of operae.” And so, he leaves me in the company of this tiny animal, eating away. I feel a slight embarrassment.

Following Caracalla with my eyes, I see Geta. He is staring me down with such fury, but he also seems amused by this sight. In him I see the Roman responsible for the death of my brother. The abuse of my land. But he is disguised as a god - Apollo.

I once heard that the Romans truly believed that they, the emperors, were a vessel of the gods. I didn’t believe it at first, because it felt as if it was a nothing but a joke. How would they be the voice of gods, when they do not even seem to experience the agony that they crown the people with? It’s what makes us humans. For there is an order to follow or else kaos will reign – but it just seems that the Romans, the filthy, fit the Gods to their needs. Not the other way around. It’s revolting and distasteful. Disrespectful towards what they claim to be the divine.

They certainly act as if they were Gods. They serve up blood for dinner and expect respect. They bear their crowns and decorate their houses with their furniture. They claim the things that they want and expect people to deliver.

Perhaps they remind me too much of the Gods. However, they are present, my Gods… seem not to be. No, I must not think of such foolishness.

I mutter another prayer. This time for just a sign for them to be present. The pithekos nibs at me but I do not pay it any attention. I pray for a clear sign – for light to disappear, so I can hide in the shadows, and they can light a little candle for me. “Help me, hear me, Apollo, bring darkness over this house, so I can see your light once again.” Yet I’ve never seen it before, but I do not stop my praying. I am desperate, truly desperate. Thoughts about the misplaced empathy towards the burdened slightly disturbing me, so I pray them to take it away. I hope.

And after a while, it darkens. My eyes are closed, and no light seems to shine through my eyelid. A spark ignites inside my heart, turning to a flame. I pray a little more intensely. I feel a presence other than the pithekon. My chest burns.

“What darkness do you seek?” It’s spoken in my mother tongue but broken. It’s a stern voice as I would imagine but so furious.

I quiver. “Darkness over Rome.”

There is a dark and deep laughter. I feel my hands being grabbed and my body thrown towards the floor. My hip slammed towards the cold and hard floor beneath. I hear the pithekos shriek. The jewelry as well. I catch my head before it hits the floor. My fire distinguished. I open my eyes, full of fright, and look up to see the other, Geta. His eyes filled with hatred and dusk. His jaw sharp, but not as sharp as the blade he looks to be pulling from his belt.

“NO!” The burdened Caracalla yells. He jumps to my defense and pushes Geta. He saves me.

It visibly shakes Geta to his core. Something, he hadn’t expected. At the sight of his brother, he removes the blade out of sight, showing that there’s still a part of him that cares. A part of him that is human.

It is there I shall strike, when I get the chance.

“She’s practicing idolatry, brother.” He speaks Latin once more and steps up to his brother, clearly the one with the overhand. They bicker and spit.

First, I wonder how he knows of my mother tongue, then of how dare he, the filthy, use it against me and the gods. And then I fright of the chance of the assembly’s judgement, and what this judgement would lead to. Torture? Death? Or worse.

“You lie, you said, she was mute.” Caracalla corrects Geta. Does he not remember the night? “You are attacking MY pet, MY property – for NO reason!”

“Caracalla-“ Geta furrows his brows so that the line in between becomes darker. “I only said that-“

“You lie! Now leave her alone! Flos has done nothing wrong. She cannot talk.” Caracalla seems to believe his own words so much that he also seems to forget that they weren’t his. He seems so possessive of me. What horrid thing is happening in his head?

Geta seems on the other hand to give up on his brother but not on his anger. He looks at me with such burning fire. It’s like he heard my prayer, like he was tormented by my words. He whispers something to Caracalla that I cannot hear. An order of sorts. And Caracalla looks as if he understands. As if he agrees. I fear.

He turns to me and nods a servant over, who helps me up on my feet against my will. “You are to be escorted back to my room. My brother says you are distracting us.” I hate what that might indicate. What that must mean. My clothes, my body, now infiltrated by filth.

“Apologies, senators.” I hear Geta say. I see him whisper something to a guard.

One of the guards dressed in purple come over and grabs my arm, harshly. “Careful.” Caracalla corrects him. And the guard just nods, his grip not changing any bit.

He escorts me out, but not towards the room from which we come from before. He leads me towards a dark part of the palace. A part which not yet has seen the light of day, where all the dirt is kicked under.

Marble slowly turns to stone. The air thickens. I am led to a room filled with other slaves, but not one dressed like me. I am now the one sticking out like a sore thumb.

The guard leaves me without a word. Confusion strikes as well as discomfort. The others look at me like I am one of them, the romans, and I can not defend myself. My throat is dry like the desert that I seem to be surrounded by. No hope.

But beneath the sand, I hear a familiar voice.

“Thank the Gods, they let you live.”

Mother tongue. It’s the old woman. The woman, which I now believe was sent by Hera. My heart flutters. The world flashes with stars. I cry. And she grabs me. And holds me. It’s like I hear the Gods’ song. The lyre plays with joy. Internal victory.

“I am here now. I have you, paidion.” Her touch is like a mother. I let myself melt into her touch and sob into her shoulder. And I stay like this for a while. For however long she lets me stay there. “There… there…” She pets and undo my hair. Freeing the weight from off my shoulder.

I pull back to look at her face and see how she slightly has livened up. Her cheeks now rosy as her eyes, which are fighting every urge to cry. The dark hides any other imperfection the light before bestowed her. In here she is perfect in every way. She is a mother. A mother of the land, Hellas. I’ve longed for this comfort. I’m home in the shadows.

Next chapter: 18th February

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[strawberryj0y]

the parallels between team white during second selection and the U20 match is one of my fave things

what i love about it especially is just how much isagi and nagi absolutely adore barou, like he really is their king and it's so cute !!! they saw barou at his lowest moment as a player, witnessed him rise above it and then soar to impossible heights by scoring an incredible goal on a world-class stage, u can just tell how genuinely happy they were for him :')

to go from fighting (the blue lock system and each other) through a gruelling selection round together to sharing a world-class stage together as part of the same team, where all three of them end up scoring, too! their growth is so beautiful

like look at how in both cases, isagi immediately runs to barou to praise him relentlessly and then nagi joins in by jumping on his shoulders (with such excitement and force that they all end up on the ground from the impact during the 2nd selection match LMAO) and continues the praise chain

both nagi and isagi's eyes are glowing as they look at barou, they're so genuinely happy and geeking out over the king's abilities, to the point of urging him to explain his thought process and give them a play-by-play on both occassions; as isagi says, they want him to tell them more about himself

and barou being barou, is ofc more than happy to oblige and goes on to do what he loves: let people know why he's the king, after all! and he's just so cool and has such brilliant game knowledge and football iq, no wonder they both think he's so cool :')

this is also why they're both obsessed with the maid barou thing sjhfjshgfjsh they love poking fun at him but they also genuinely enjoy being around him - and yes, nagi included!! they're at eo's throats a lot but we've seen how in the midst of that, they do get along w each other in their own way LMAO and barou's also got his own special way of getting along w isagi - listen, this is just how barou navigates his relationships ok?? even if he likes you, he can't let you know!!

along with their collective dyanmic as a trio, i also enjoy their individual dynamics with each other; between isagi & barou, barou & nagi, nagi & isagi

in conclusion, this is why this trio is so dear to me c:

[avonne-writes]

Finally finishing this bingo of mine for the @mota-collab Mota 1st Birthday event! It took me longer than expected due to personal issues, but I'm so glad I was able to finish it and share my appreciation for fanwork that I love.

east side of sorrow (young vets au) by @bcolfanfic - a heartbreaking and difficult topic explored with so much care and empathy in this fic. John's pain, as well as Gale's steadfast love for him, always bring tears to my eyes.

major john egan, at your service. by @johnbottoms - NSFW Buck x Bucky x Marge art (my OT3 😍). One of the hottest Mota drawings I've seen, oh my God. The pose, their bodies and expressions, everything about it is hot and perfectly fitting for the characters. I would love to see more art of these three!

Crosby art by @eternallytired17 - I think this is a really lovely portrait! It takes a special skill to draw realistic portraits, even just a few lines off and the person would look completely unrecognizable, but eternallytired17 pulled this off super well. I loved the eyes here in particular. 🩷

Only You Can Cool My Desire by @johnslittlespoon - super hot smut fic that can be appreciated as a standalone, but it's also a part of a long AU, the Tough And Sweet verse. I really enjoyed reading the dynamic between John and Gale, the temperature play and the description of the heatwave. I could feel the touch of summer! 🌞

before you say 'cut', wait five more seconds by @irregularcollapse - a beautiful comfort fic. (I already recced the podfic by @angelfruittree associated with it here) John and Gale as actors was a really entertaining premise. The characters were well-written and interesting, and Gale’s POV was a joy to read. I loved the way the UST built between John and Gale, and then how natural it felt when they finally got together. Their first kiss was my favourite part.

Bucky meets Gale by @onyxsboxes - Ame's sweet, lovely kitty Gale verse. 🥹 I love cats, so the premise of this one got me hooked from the get-go. This is the first part of the series, and it's very sweet and comforting. John's feeling down but his new feline friend comforts him. A nice read on a rainy or cold day.

John and Gale gifset by @bennydemarco - this is so beautiful and heartbreaking and healing and poetic at the same time! 😭 The text font looks great, the scenes were perfectly chosen for the quote, and of course the most brilliant part is how the colours fade, then come back, reflecting the pain of parting and the joy of reunion.

penny drop by @drylite - this made me feral! Thick Bucky is so hot in this fic, and the way Gale yearns for him and desires him makes the flames of this fic burn all the brighter. The tender ending was the cherry on top for me, there was so much feeling in it. An instant favourite of mine.

Curt art by @kylaym - when I saw the angel meme, I thought of Curt immediately 💖😇 This is such a sweet portrait of him, I really like it. The artist has a unique and nostalgic style, I recommend all their art. I love that they have so many drawings of side characters as well.

Thank you to all the creators who share their talent with us in our small fandom!

[ducktoonsfanart]

Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck play basketball and Unca Donald is their coach - Slam Duck - My redraw, my version and my style - Slam Dunk - Quack Pack AU - Duckverse - Basketball - Sports

A new surprise, this time I drew something related to basketball, one of my favorite sports. Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to draw my favorite characters playing various sports during the Olympic Games last year, but that doesn't mean I can't do it now. I drew it on the occasion of reading a comic series called "Slam Duck". I really like that comic, which consists of four parts, and it's about Scrooge's basketball player Bounce misbehaving in a game and getting banned, so Scrooge's nephew Donald replaces him, and the players are from Duckburg School who play on the team, and mostly Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck are there with their friends. After numerous basketball games and numerous problems they had, in the end they won the finals, and Bounce returned to his position as coach. It's an Italian four-part comic, written by Francesco Artibani and drawn by Claudio Sciarrone and it's from 2016.

I decided to redraw the famous cover from those Slam Duck episodes, but to draw Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck as teenage boys, more precisely from the Quack Pack version. Donald's nephews in Slam Duck are kind of the beginning of their Area 15 version and that's one of my favorite versions of Donald's nephews, but somehow it seems to me that this type of series needs a slightly older version, so I decided to draw them in the Quack Pack style, in my own way. I love Quack Pack and it's a shame that there wasn't an episode dedicated to Huey, Dewey and Louie playing basketball, with their uncle Donald as their coach. It would have been interesting to see something like that as they clash with their school rivals. Admittedly, the name itself is more reminiscent of a manga called Slam Dunk, where Hanamichi Sakuragi joins the basketball team at Shōhoku High School in Japan, and that comic series ran from 1990 to 1996 and was created by Takehiko Inoue. In my opinion, it's a good read, and the manga was later made into a movie called The First Slam Dunk in 2022. Not to mention the movie Space Jam, which was released the same year as Quack Pack, and is also about basketball. Anyway, I have some ideas for this one where Donald's nephews' friends and family would join in, but more on that another time. Of course, although it deviates a bit from the original, I drew it so that Louie, as an excellent basketball player, wears a number one jersey, Huey wears a number two jersey, and Dewey wears a number three jersey. Huey and Dewey are not as good at sports as their brother Louie, but they certainly don't stray far from their beloved brother. And then there's Donald, who will teach them how to play and avoid the many obstacles. Parental attention is also very important, and I also love the dynamic relationships between Uncle Donald and his nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie in Quack Pack. Yes, Donald wears a sailor cap, but also a coach's uniform with a whistle. And I've slightly recreated the background in my own way to resemble that cover.

I hope you like this drawing, this redraw, this version and this idea and feel free to like and reblog this, just please, don't copy my versions and my ideas without mentioning me. Thanks!

Also, to thank my dear @uncaaj, who translated the comic Slam Duck and inspired me to draw this. Thank you very much, even though I know it's not Duck Avenger, but a different series. But this inspired me to draw on the covers in my own way. Also, to everyone who celebrates, I wish you a happy Valentine's Day!

[jessicas-pi]

So I absolutely NEED to hear all your thoughts on Downton Abbey so far: Favorite characters, dynamics, ships, general thoughts? (I'm rewatching it right now, so my obsession is showing itself😂)

YAYYYY FELLOW OBSESSION BUDDY!!!

Okay, so, disclaimer: I'm only two episodes into season two so I'm certain there will be development with many characters in the future that will make me like them lots more! However, at the current moment, here's my Thoughts:

Violet The Snarkmaster is an absolute riot and one of the highlights of the entire show. I can't decide if I like her most when she's fighting with Isobel or when she and Isobel are ganging up on someone else.

I Have Beef With Thomas And O'Brien Is On Thin Ice

The dynamic between Sybil and Branson has me gnawing on chair legs like a feral ferret.

*cries in the corner*

I have SUCH mixed feelings about the whole Matthew/Mary thing. Like, on the one hand, they make a really cute ship and I definitely get the vibe that they're the endgame pairing, but on the other hand, I REALLY LIKE LAVINIA TOO OK SHES SUCH A SWEETHEART

(Look I KNOW she's gonna either be secretly evil or get killed off because she's gotta get removed from the equation. I STILL LIKE HER THOUGH 😭)

unrelated, but "mother, daughter, and maid team up to haul dead body of turkish diplomat through mansion in dead of night" is a subplot i never in a million, million years would have expected to appear in the show at all, much less in episode THREE. Like they really did not hesitate. Full on dramatic and slightly insane right off the bat. 10/10, no notes.

*brief intermission to continue gnawing on chair legs because of Sybil and Branson*

I Kinda Have Beef With Edith Too (honey I get that you feel purposeless and neglected at the moment but kissing married men is NOT HOW YOU DEAL WITH THESE FEELINGS)

Cora and Robert INTRIGUE me and I need to know more about them.

Have I mentioned how much I love Mr. Bates? No? Yeah so I really love Mr. Bates. He's such a genuinely GOOD PERSON. Like the best person in the show honestly. I really love him. *gnaws on more chair legs*

Also like??? The relationship between Carson and Mary is just so sweet?? i can't even. I just can't.

alas i am out of chair legs. time to much on some drywall i guess!

[oldestfriend-invisibly]

Little Agatha "Can you help me?"

Early on (in the first decade-ish after meeting Rio) Agatha has only ever regressed involuntarily, but part of her wants to be able to enjoy feeling small the way Rio does.

This idea came to me last night and it was all I could think about so I needed to write it. It is extremely extremely self-indulgent, came out twice as long as intended, and is largely unedited... enjoy!!

2.2K words.

Warnings- Agatha is very uncomfortable with her regression at first and so thinks about it very negatively. There are also a couple of brief references to Agatha's childhood but nothing in detail.

The evening summer sunlight painted streaks across the floor of the cabin. Agatha was drying the dishes from that night’s dinner whilst keeping an eye on Rio. The green witch was currently playing in the garden in front of the cabin, and tonight she was acting younger in the way she sometimes did. 

In the way both of them did- if Agatha was being honest. 

In the few years the two had been living together in the cabin, they had settled into a comfortingly familiar dynamic. Whilst some of the time they were both as they were the day they met- as lovers, at other times their relationship was more similar to what Agatha had observed between the kind women in Salem and their daughters. 

Sometimes, her fascinating enigma of a wife liked to let herself feel younger, and Agatha felt herself naturally falling into the role of Rio’s caregiver. She wasn’t even sure if Rio had ever actually been a child, but she said it made her feel secure, and loved, it calmed her when she was overwhelmed, and soothed her during the cold winter mornings when the two would curl up by the fire for warmth. 

This was familiar to Agatha, and caring for her little girl made her feel important in a way her mother had once convinced her she would never be.

 Not all of Rio’s regression was smooth-sailing and happy, however. Agatha reminisced, wincing at the memories of the cosmic witch crumbling under the weight of her duties, arriving home already in her younger headspace and weeping openly for her Mama. She watched her girl now, Rio’s hands windmilling as the fireflies- beginning to emerge in the fading light of dusk- flickered around her, Agatha’s smile softened. 

Though her girl may not always be as happy as she was right now, Agatha, as Rio’s Mama, would always be there to comfort her and remind her how loved she was. Because that’s what Mamas are there for. And because Agatha knows how it feels- how it feels to be small and so so scared. 

It was an unspoken rule that they never discuss it after the fact, but occasionally, after a particularly bad nightmare, or an unexpected reminder of the abuse Evanora inflicted on her, Agatha felt her grip on her adult headspace slipping away. And in these instances, all Agatha could seem to comprehend is how badly she wanted her Mami. She’ll babble ‘Mami’ over and over through her tears when all other words fail her, she’ll reach for her with trembling hands, only begin to calm down when she felt calloused fingers card through her hair, and heard soft Spanish reassurances break through the fuzziness in her head.

Agatha absolutely hated that this happened to her. She hated not being in control, how quickly she went from being the powerful and feared witch-killer to being three years old and terrified again. For Agatha, regressing to a younger headspace was humiliating, and she’d never considered trying to do so voluntarily. 

Despite her own hesitance, she could never judge Rio for seeking such comfort. Rio was only just experiencing humanity for the first time, and Agatha was more than happy to help her explore anything and everything being a human had to offer. 

Gazing back outside at her girl, however, Agatha felt a pang of something unfamiliar. Rio really did seem so happy and unrestrained when she let herself be little like this. She wondered if she could feel like that. Unexpectedly, she found herself yearning to be held, to be read to and gently rocked, and tucked into bed all cozy. If only she were able to choose to hand control over to her Mami.

Shocked with how her thoughts had strayed, Agatha shook her head to clear her mind. Her conflicting thoughts confused her and she decided to quickly stop this train of thought. 

After all, it had gotten dark now, and she had a very excitable toddler to try and coax into bed.

…

Agatha didn’t think about the possibility of choosing to be small again until nearly a week later. She and Rio lay side by side in a grassy forest clearing, mostly in silence they had just been enjoying each other’s company. Rio’s hand in hers drew tentative swirls over Agatha’s palm, and the simple comfort of the action brought Agatha right back to her train of thought from the other night.

She was nervous to bring this up with Rio. Their dynamic had already been established, how would Agatha be a good Mama for Rio if she herself needed such care? Would Rio even want to provide it for her? 

But Agatha thought back, through hazy memories, to the last time she slipped, after a horrible nightmare. Thought about the way her Mami had pressed soft kisses into her hairline and gently wiped the sticky tears from her cheeks. How she changed Agatha out of her sweaty nightdress and pried Agatha’s thumb from her mouth and replaced it with something smooth and chewy. Agatha sucked in a sharp breath, once again overwhelmed by the thought of wanting her Mami whilst hating her regression.

“What is bothering you, Querida?” Rio turned on her side to face Agatha, and reached to brush away the hair that had fallen over Agatha’s face. 

Agatha’s voice came out quiet, tension radiating from her body. “How does it feel when you’re young, Rio? When you choose to be so.”

The question wasn’t new to Rio, Agatha had asked it many times before whenever she wanted to better understand her and how to care for her. Though now, the purple witch's, nervous tone made her wonder if the question was now coming from somewhere more personal.

Rio knew all too well the struggle her lover had talking about the times when she too found herself small, and she understood why. Agatha took great pride in her strength and independence as she’d had to tirelessly forge it for herself after leaving Salem. However, Rio had always worried about how unhealthy it probably was for Agatha to avoid all conversation on the matter. 

Her response was measured, she closely observed Agatha, watching for any adverse reactions. She didn’t want Agatha to shut down, sensing the conversation was leading somewhere important.

“Once I’ve decided I want to be small, or realised I need to be, I don’t usually have any trouble allowing myself to fall into it.” Agatha said nothing in response, clearly deep in thought. Rio resumed tracing swirls over Agatha’s hand and continued. 

“My head starts to feel a little fuzzy. Not unpleasantly so, not like the nasty buzzing when my senses become overwhelmed, more like the mist settling over the grass on a winter’s morning, or the sound of the running brook washing over pebbles. My thoughts all become simpler, like nothing else in the universe matters outside of you and I. It just feels peaceful, Agatha, really really peaceful.” 

Swirls changed to tracing the lines of Agatha’s palm as Rio waited for a response. She could practically hear the moving parts of Agatha’s brain, and refrained from pressing a kiss to her temple so as not to startle her. 

“But,” Agatha paused, clearly struggling, “how do you- how did you know you wanted to do it?” 

“Agatha?” Rio paused until the other woman turned her head and met her gaze. “Do you want to be small? To be able to choose to be?” 

Agatha tensed up again, her internal defenses clearly slammed back up. “No, that’s ridiculous! I’m not- I don’t- that’s not-” her words trailed off and she turned back away from Rio, staring up at the canopy of leaves above, she willed her anxious tears to disappear. Rio remained silent, never ceasing the movement of her fingers across Agatha’s palm. Agatha’s denial of her feelings was one of her favoured defense mechanisms, so Rio wanted to give her time to make sense of what she was feeling.

Eventually, the Purple Witch swallowed heavily, nodded almost imperceptibly, and whispered, “Yes.” then after a moment, “Can you help me?”

…

It was the following afternoon. After arriving home yesterday, they had eaten and gone straight to bed. Both women were exhausted, and decided they wanted to be rested before Rio helped Agatha regress. 

They sat together on the living room floor, cross-legged and facing each other. Rio could tell Agatha was still wary and on-edge about it. But after Rio’s repeated assurance that they would go at whatever pace Agatha was comfortable with, and that she was more than happy to be Agatha’s Mami more often, the Purple Witch no longer viewed regression solely as something to be feared.

The reminder that Rio loved every part of her made the thought of giving up control much less scary, after all, she trusted Rio completely.

Rio had to admit that she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about this, but she’d secretly longed to be able to care for Agatha like this for a while now. She had started to run her fingers through Agatha’s long hair, both grounding herself and hopefully providing comfort for the other. This appeared successful as Agatha leaned into Rio’s touch, swivelling round to be able to rest against Rio’s side. 

“Is this ok, Love?” Rio asked, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. Agatha nodded.

“It is. Could you carry on?” 

“Of course, Cariño.” Over the next few minutes, Agatha relaxed further, melting against Rio until she was virtually sprawled across her. Slowly, as not to startle her out of this sense of calmness, Rio pulled Agatha into a more comfortable position in her lap. In doing so, Agatha’s head, now supported by Rio’s hand, came to rest against the Green Witch’s chest, and she let out a contented little sigh. 

“I’ve got you right here, Bunny, you’re doing just wonderfully.” 

“I’m doing good?” Agatha asked, staring up, searching Rio’s eyes for any hint of a lie- finding none. 

“So good, Agatha, my Little Love. You’re being so brave.” 

Agatha broke the eye contact by returning to her prior position- laying back against Rio’s chest. After another minute of Rio silently stroking her hair, she spoke again.

“Think I can feel the fuzzy. Is like the waves from the beach.” 

Rio considered it- the small beach on the near-side of the large lake they often visited. How the water lapped over the sand in a constant soothing rhythm. How peaceful it was there. How it felt to stand and gaze across the vast expanse of water and feel so small in comparison.

“That is right, Bunny, just like the beach. We could go back there soon, if you would like to. Would you like Mami to tell you all about it?” 

Agatha’s breath got caught in her throat for a moment, and she nodded. “Please?” she added in a tiny voice that made Rio’s heart melt.

“You and Mami will take a quiet walk together through the woods. I will hold onto your hand to make sure you don’t get lost, and I might even carry you for a while if your little legs get tired. Once we arrive, we will eat our lunches. We will have the cheese from the goats, and slices of apple with a little honey, and some of the vegetables and berries from Mami’s garden. After that, you can play all afternoon. You could try and find all the prettiest flowers for Mami to braid into your hair, or you could visit your bunny friends, maybe you could even feed some of our leftover lunch bread to the duckies! Or if my baby gets really tired, maybe I could just hold her, and rock her gently like the leaves floating on the surface of the lake. We would sit so quietly and let the sound of the waves wash away all of our other thoughts, and your Mami would kiss your little head and remind you how much she loves you. Does that sound nice, Cariño?” 

Given the lack of audible response, Rio thought for a moment that her baby might have fallen asleep, or that she’d upset the girl, or even that she’d scared Agatha right out of the headspace she’d been teetering on the edge of. The response came eventually though and immediately dispelled her worry. 

“Is nice, Mami. Go soon?” 

Rio’s smile grew impossibly wider, and she shifted her baby in her arms so she could see her face. Agatha’s smile, by comparison, was shyer, yet was full of joy at the thought of getting to spend such a perfect day with her Mami. 

“Yes, Little Bunny, we can definitely go soon.” 

“Thank you, Mami! Thank you, thank you!” Agatha promptly flung her arms around Rio, burying her face into her neck. 

Rio knew that Agatha’s voluntary regression going forward likely wouldn’t always be this easy. If little Agatha was anywhere near as stubborn as her lover, Rio was in for a tough journey. But for now, all Rio could do was bask in the pure joy of finally holding her baby in her arms.

“You’re so welcome, Baby Bunny, Mami loves you so so much.”

“Love you too, Mami. So so much.”

[akuma-tenshi]

i think my favourite thing about aom is that you can tell everyone (except maybe alice) fucking hates each other but they're also trying to be so calm and polite about it. the breakfast scene where orpheus infodumps about mary is the best example of it. his pointed comments so clearly digging into sore spots for both melly and frederick, melly's seething tone of voice when orpheus addresses her about loyalty before immediately throwing the heat onto frederick, frederick just setting down his drink, dismissing the whole thing, and then immediately fucking off but not without one last pointed glance at orpheus, it's so good. like i am just waiting for these people to rip each other apart. alice is on her own quest and getting dragged into these people's beef by virtue of just existing near them and being way too nosy for her own good, it's the fucking best

[lotus-pear]

free will is drawing ur two favorite characters together and making them gay

[crazymecjc]

but can you imagine Jace from Act3 end up seeing Viktor from season 1 and BECOMING absolutely crazy, careful, obsessed with staying with him all the time/making sure he doesn't get evil/corrupted by the Hexcore and still with the knowledge that this man saved him countless times from death, that he chose him in all dimensions and possibilities and that Old jace from the past DIDN'T realize it.

HI ANON. IM IMAGINING ‼️‼️‼️‼️

(I’m taking jayvik drawing requests! send me an ask!!)

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok Voice: You are her official right hand while I have been making detailed psychological observations about her for the past four years - we are not the same.

[Patreon | Ko-fi]

[askblueandviolet]

Macaca and the Mayor, what's it like to be parents?

Bai Hae, how does it feel to have two more dads?

Do your parents even know that one of your babysitters is the mayor?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜

Previous 💙💜(🧡)

Next 💜

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

humbly asking for your ocs 🖐️✊🖐️✊🖐️✊

I will ALWAYS talk about my silly little Feds i love them so much

Left to right is Anton Pavoz, Necoda "Neko" Micce and Ivia Soares

I'm stickin my info dump below the cut for dash reasons, but their group tag on my blog is "#rvb oc: the clovers" for more of them!!

Officially they're marked down as a fireteam called Clovers, despite not actually being part of a specific squad. The bureaucratic reasoning is that because they're all specialists to some degree, its easier to move them to where they need to be if they don't have to wait for the rest of their squad. The unofficial reason is that no officer wants to pick up the three of them for their squad because supposedly they're bad luck for any squad they officially join, but you can't put superstition on your paperwork. Being a small, 'free floating' fireteam also means they're super easy to grab to work smaller jobs like recon and escort missions, or just to beef up a preexisting squad, so they end up bouncing around between bases a lot, going where they're needed.

Pavoz is a weapons and vehicles specialist, and he gets his heavy artillery qualifications after the Reds are 'killed by the rebels'. He had the training for a while but hadn't taken the actual final test to get the red trimmed armor with everything else going on- thinking Sarge was dead was the final kick in the pants he needed to get it finalized. Both of his parents were in the Federal Army before him, and he used his mom's maiden name when he registered to allow for some distance between them and him. He did get his dad's dogtags after his dad died, despite that distance, so now Anton wears both his own tags and his dad's. He's a pretty quiet guy for the most part, and he likes to draw! As a teenager, he used to sit in the center throughway of the base his father was stationed at on the weekends and just people watch and sketch everyone he could.

Neko is a translation specialist, although he never actually gives the same answer if you ask him exactly how many languages he knows. Sometimes he gives a reasonable, if impressive number, like 5 or 7. Sometimes he just says 'yes' or 'how ever many I want' because he's a little shit like that. He's also a lying liar who lies, which you can imagine isn't be ideal for someone who is supposed to be translating for you, but he mostly keeps his bullshitting limited to answering personal questions, like where he's from, how old is he, why is he such an asshole, etc. You know, for the bit! Neko is always up for a good joke or a prank, although he definitely prefers the kind that are best delivered with a well timed comment and then watching the chaos unfold around him. He's also a regular feature in the gym at whatever base they're currently at- gymnastics, cardio and sparring are his go to workouts, and he's surprisingly flexible to boot!

Ivia is a medic! She was starting in her second semester of college for a degree in zoology and xenobiology when the protests against the Chorusan government escalated and the first whispers of civil war started cropping up in certain circles and she joined the Federal army after her father was killed in what was reported as a rebellion bombing. Her dad's UNSC hoodie that he gave her when she first moved to Armonia for her classes is her most beloved possession now, even if it is way too big for her- it reminds her of when he would take her camping, just the two of them, and she treasures both the memories and the skills she learned on those trips. She tends to be separated the most from the other two Clovers- medical personal are in high demand everywhere on Chorus, and there's a pretty limited supply. She tends to worry a lot about the boys when they're apart, but that high medic demand does keep her distracted at least. When they're together, Ivia keeps the other two from driving each other crazy- just as they keep her grounded with her tendency to get caught up thinking about the bigger picture of cause and effect, and usually overthinking about it in the process.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i always see so much of Nico ships where either Nico is the one pining or the focus is almost completely on Nico pining and i feel like we’re missing a lot of opportunity here. Where’s the inverse? Where’s the POVs from [other character(s) of ship] of them falling hard for Nico and just absolutely losing their mind pining over him because he’s so impossible to read that they can’t tell at all if he likes them back or not. Them doing some complicated social dance cause they cannot for the LIFE of them figure out Nico but they’re trying so hard until they finally just tell him outright and find out Nico has liked them back this entire time and they lose their mind just a little bit more. WHERE IS IT.

[eternallovers65]

GOD I LOVE ROMAN/SETH STORYLINE!!!

I genuinely don’t think I’ll ever get tired of listening to people say Seth is at fault for breaking up The Shield, because at the end of the day, when you see it from his point of view, it makes so much sense.

He broke them up, knowing it would change the game, but also understanding that it would benefit him first before anyone else. He knew the impact it would have, but he saw an opportunity to push himself to the top. But look at what Roman and Dean/Mox also achieved!!! They’re all Grand Slam Champions, and most of that happened because of what Seth did

It’s completely understandable that he would continue to view everything this way because not only does it absolve him of some guilt, but it also shows that, in the end, Mr. Architect’s plan worked. They ruled that place.

But in counterpoint, you see that Seth’s betrayal caused irreparable damage to their bond, his relationship with Roman in particular. While all three went on to achieve greatness, Roman and Seth were the ones that stayed in WWE, meaning they were forced to coexist in the same environment, constantly reminded of that fateful decision. Seth’s betrayal was a pivotal moment for Roman, not just as a competitor but as a person. Roman had to rebuild himself. We see this former Shield brother to the resilient Tribal Chief.

In this new dynamic, Roman views Seth as someone who always needed to prove himself at the expense of others, someone willing to burn every bridge to succeed. Meanwhile, Seth sees Roman as someone who rose to dominance partly because Seth’s betrayal forced Roman to evolve, but that doesn’t erase the bitterness of being overshadowed by Roman’s legacy as the Head of the Table.

So, while Seth has openly embraced his role as the visionary and architect of success, he also refuses to fully bow to Roman’s dominance. Their rivalry isn’t just about titles. It’s deeply personal, rooted in unresolved issues from their Shield days. Roman hasn't forgiven and forgot, and Seth uses every opportunity he has to remind Roman of his vulnerabilities when talking about their relationship/history.