#sofia's nonsense

[princessamericachavez]

okay it’s so funny because rewatching s1 (I blame 6x11) I realized Buck really is the reason Bobby finally opened up to the 118 but it’s not about the plane crash... it’s after.

After Bobby falls off the wagon (and Buck is the one who says “maybe ask for help once in a while” and Bobby looks straight at him when he says “help”) later things are tense between the group. Chim’s at the hospital and without him to play buffer with his emotional intelligence things are tense between Bobby, who refuses to be vulnerable with the 118 and let them really know him, and Hen, who is tired of the invisible wall Bobby’s putting up. They have some rather cold shouldered and tense moments, all while Buck looks from one to the other in the background looking like a child of divorce. 

And then...? 

And then they hear him laughing. And Buck does the thing that he inadvertently does best... he brings his child-like wonder and joy into the firehouse. 

And despite their best efforts... they melt to that warmth. 

It’s after that call that Hen and Bobby have a proper conversation about him keeping walls up and he says “let’s go back to the firehouse, I’ll cook you a delicious dinner and introduce you to someone” “who?” “Me.”

So yeah, no shit that Chim and Hen never quite got to know Cap without Buck around. 

[birdiedoesdc]

parallels between jason todd and sofia gigante

september 1, 1939, w.h. auden/batman: urban legends #2/the penguin, episode 4 (2024)/i am angry because of my father, halsey/batman: under the red hood (2010)/the penguin, episode 4 (2024)/burn me alive, the last dinner party/red hood: the lost days #2/the penguin, episode 1 (2024)/the story of isaac, leonard cohen/batman/catwoman: the gotham war: the red hood #2/the penguin, episode 2 (2024)/bells in santa fe, halsey/lost days #6/the penguin, episode 5 (2024)/please, please, please, let me get what i want, the smiths/batman #650/the lathe of heaven, ursula k. leguin/batman #650/the penguin, episode 8 (2024)

[lostsyren]

-‘๑’- Find me on TikTok: @syr3nedits

S1 rafe who thought he’d never be loved. S2 rafe who desperately clung to his father’s conditional love. S3 rafe who tried to wean himself off of love. S4 rafe who finally found someone who loved him unconditionally, and he inhaled her like a drug….

[pooki333]

Im like the onceler if he was a silly teenage girl written by sofia coppala

[majoresca]

I was thinking about doing a little analysis,about what Cedric should have considered before trying to take the throne. There are some sarcastic comments, and it's more comical, would you like that or not?

[narcolini]

nightmares

amado x gn!reader, 2080 words, hurt/comfort

contains canon typical gun violence 

using the day 2 whumpril prompts: Stress & “Get some rest.”

a/n: i hope this scratches the amado itch, dear anon!! (me vs taking months to write requests lmaooo) <3<3

tagging (my narco taglist): @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @purplesong1028 @ashlingiswriting @thesandbeneathmytoes @hausofmamadas @empireroyals @marissa53115 @iridescent-sol​ 

It started as a normal night for you. A car parked outside your window, a large palm over your knee once you were seated in the back of it. Amado purring words to your right, hip to hip, about his plans for the evening. Where he was taking you to eat, where you’d go afterwards, how long he intended to keep you for—if you liked. You could dance until the sun came up if you wanted to.

‘Y entonces?’ you’d asked him. ‘Will my bed miss me again tonight?’

He’d smiled, shrugged and ticked his head to the side like he was indifferent about it. ‘Sí, if you like, amor.’

You can’t say he doesn’t spoil you.

You’d ended up at a club, as promised, to dance into the sunrise and it wasn’t long until you had him moving too. Only took a few drinks, a hand to the side of his neck, an invite to put his own as low as he liked on you. He can move, when he cares to. His thigh went between yours, his skin close enough to swallow his cologne in gulps. Expensive, of course, and patted into the base of his throat, exposed by the undoing of a few top buttons.

‘Any more,’ he said, into the shell of your ear, ‘and I’ll be too indecent to stay.’

You twisted the third button between your finger and thumb, let him sway you from the anchor of his thigh. ‘Maybe that’s the plan,’ you teased.

‘You’re bored already, mi cielo?’

‘Bored, no.’ Hands down his chest, nails to the cotton, then back up and around his neck. ‘I’m distracted.’

That pleased him, sent a smirk onto his lips and lost half an inch of space between you, not that it was possible to be any closer than you already were. ‘One more drink,’ he bartered, ‘and then we’ll go home, bien?’

It was a fair deal, a fun one that snaked into your chest and blurred the senses. Filled you to the brim with lust, happiness, smoky indulgence that you’d never stop craving. You peeled apart from him and followed the feeling to the bar. Another of the same, you told the guy behind it, smiling as you said it, room spinning, pulsing. Overhead lights going in so many colours that the man looked like he was made of water, reflecting everything back at you, moving despite being stationary. He poured and you watched. Handed you the drinks and expected no payment in return, because it went on the tab, as always. He knew Amado near enough as well as you do.

When you arrived back to your spot, Amado was turned away from you, watching a man split the crowd in the opposite direction. You tapped his bicep with the drink you’d brought him.

‘Who was that?’ you asked, following the question with a sip of your own. The cocktails were long past tasting of alcohol, it was just juice and fizz and sugar by then.

‘Ah, no-one.’ He took his own and nodded a thank-you. ‘Just some guy jealous of my date.’  

‘Pfft, be quiet.’ If you weren’t both holding drinks, you’d have batted his arm for being so ridiculous, and so smug about it too. Instead, his dumb smile infected you, curling your lips though you tried to fight it. ‘You can’t flirt your way out of every secret, guapo.’

‘I can try.’ 

His arm went around your waist, forearm hot against the already warm skin between your shirt and your pants. Heat to heat. He put his lips to yours. You let him pull you into the kiss willingly, tongue chasing tongue. The edge of alcohol was there in his mouth, where it wasn’t in your glass, and you drank readily. Eagerly.

And then the gun went off; one shot to start with, so loud and unexpected that you sprung away from everything: Amado, your drink, the foot of space you’d been occupying. Your body acted before you’d even recognised it as a gunshot. Heart pounding through your chest, eyes running the course of the room.

‘Oye, pendejo,’ is all Amado said, at first. He put it under his breath, far too casual for the situation, like it was just a mild inconvenience to him. A fly in his beer. His palm found your back, at the base of your spine, fingers stretching to pull you to him again. I’m here, it said, nothing to worry about yet. ‘Let’s go, yeah? That way.’

‘Amado, what…?’

You know how you must’ve looked, wide eyed, frozen and deer-like. With the people fleeing around you and the flashing of the lights, you couldn’t even see who it was on the assault. Just heard the pop, the bang, the burst of screaming patrons that followed it.

Another rang out then, closer this time, and you know it was pointed at the ceiling now, because it crumbled overhead. Dust and glass and plastic. It littered your hair before Amado had chance to shield you from it. You aren’t ashamed to admit that a scream pierced out of you too, raw and unlike any noise you’ve made before, but still, Amado barely flinched. His arm went up, a second too late, and over your head, his body purposely put between you and the shooter.

‘That way, amor,’ he said again, steady as anything. ‘We’ll take the door out the back, okay?’

A third gunshot went into the roof, followed by his name shouted above the racket of it all. Whoever it was, he was mad, ravenous.

You had no more questions left in you, just blind, terrified obedience. You let Amado turn you, hands to your biceps, away from the chaos and guide you through the scattering crowd. Past the bar, through the store rooms you were never supposed to see, and out of the weighted fire door with little other explanation. The transition happened so fast, a blur, a stumble, that you only realised how far you’d come once the wall of cold hit you on the other side.

You were out. The club sat behind you, braying with noise. You felt like your lungs had stayed there, where you had been, on the sticky floor of the club. You couldn’t do anything but gasp, your chest didn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. Just half-breath, after half-breath.

Amado shut the door, firmly, and the riot went with it, muffled behind the thick plating of the fire-exit. ‘You okay?’ he asked, but you couldn’t answer him yet. You were still working on the breathing part. ‘My love.’ He moved so that he could stand in front of you. ‘Easy, amor. One breath and hold it, hm? You can do that.’

You tried. Sucked in as much air as you could and held it, eyes on his, counting as he did in the cold night, until he gave you the nod to exhale again. It helped. You repeated it, one breath at a time together.

He looked un-phased, slightly damp at the forehead, black hair pressed to his temples, but that was there from the dancing anyway. You could’ve been stepping out for a smoke, from the looks of him. Tucking behind the commercial sized dumpsters for the sake of privacy. It was only the shake of your hands that dispelled the possibility.

‘Who was that, Amado?’

‘I told you. Some güey, celoso de mí.’

You shoved him; it wasn’t like you, but it sprung out anyway, clumsy palms to his chest, new, hot anger behind your ears. ‘Don’t bullshit me, Amado. Someone fucking shot at us.’

And that was new. That was something your friends had told you would happen, but had never touched you before then.

Your anger rolled off him, bounced from the black shirt to the black night around you both. He couldn’t blame you for it. You could see in his face that he understood. ‘He was only trying to scare me,’ he reasoned, ‘scare you. Asshole’s too reckless for his own good.’

‘Who?’ you insist. ‘Who the fuck?’

And then the door swung open, breaking your solitude, handle hitting the bricks hard enough to spit dust into the air. 

Rafa, possessed and lurching forward, with the gun in his hand still. 

You can’t get in the way fast enough, the barrel is to Amado’s head in an instant. He inches to the trigger—

And that’s where you wake up, where reality twists into the surreal and you’re able to jump yourself free. That didn’t happen, there were shots, yes, an escape through the back, but Rafa never followed the two of you out. You never saw him, never saw the flash of metal to Amado’s head, that’s just the bullshit that’s come since. The dream that comes back every night; a memory you’ve tried to forget, with some sick twist plastered onto the end of it, just to grind salt into the wound. Just to make it all worse.

‘Amado?’ You find yourself dry-throated and unable to call any louder. He isn’t beside you, but the sheets are pulled back from where he’s been and left. The bedside lamp is on still. You force a swallow and try again, ‘Amado?’

In a moment he’s there, in the doorway of his bedroom, robe open and chest bare. He looks more worried now than he did a week ago, under the crumbling ceiling, in the face of danger. He looks at you like Rafa’s bullet had found somewhere worthwhile to land. ‘Sorry,’ he says, pulling forward without needing an explanation. ‘I was making a call.’

You dismiss the apology. It’s fine, you don’t want him to feel like he can’t leave your side, no matter how recurring the nightmare is. ‘That fucking dream again,’ you mutter, feeling the tightness lift as he sits by your legs. The mattress goes down, your chest goes out, one deep breath after the other. ‘Every night, I’m there again.’

His hand goes to your face, fingertips brushing the shortest parts of your hair behind your ear. ‘It’ll get better.’

‘Will it?’

‘Easier,’ he corrects. ‘With time.’

You resist the urge to throw yourself back onto the pillows in frustration. You shouldn’t need time, you shouldn’t be robbing him and yourself of sleep each night. ‘Nothing even happened, Amado. No-one was hurt.’ Your voice thins. ‘I never even saw him.’

Amado had. Tall enough to see over the ducked heads and fleeing bodies, but he’d kept it to himself until you were home, back at his place and away from danger. Where you’re safe, he’d told you, and why does it matter who it was? Rafa is no-one to you. To us.

‘Why sit and torture yourself any more than your dreams do?’ he asks, letting his hands settle on the bed either side of your thighs. ‘It’s normal to be afraid. Pendejo was shooting up a club.’

‘But you aren’t—’

He cuts you off, voice calm and even, ‘And who am I, then? A normal guy?’ He’s used to it, he means, he shouldn’t be, but he is. Guns and chaos. They follow him like fire and smoke.

‘I just hate,’ you try, unable to meet his gaze suddenly. ‘I hate expecting this of you. We’re supposed to be having fun, not, not this.’ You gesture to yourself, to the bed that feels more palliative care than honeymoon right now. Things aren’t how they used to be between the two of you, no matter how hard you try to fix it.  

When you look up again, he’s smiling faintly, face warm in the sunset of the bedside lamp. ‘Amor,’ he says, ‘I would never sleep again if that’s what it took.’

You scoff.

‘I’m serious.’ He shrugs. ‘I have books I’ve been meaning to read, I can stay up and keep the dreams away, if you need me to.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you tell him, but you’re smiling, just about. The nightmare feels worlds away when he talks like that, put quiet behind the fire-exit again.

‘Pues, that’s love, no?’ He leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. ‘Making men ridiculous.’

‘Sí,’ you breathe, into the stubble across his chin, ‘I suppose so.’

‘Get some rest,’ he says, before offering a final taste. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’

It won’t make all the difference, but it’s enough to get you halfway.

[cadybear420]

Look, I completely understand that plenty of m!MC players (mlw route players included) prefer to play their MC with more masculine or masc-associated behaviors. Like, I'm about as "All MCs should have options in how you make them act/behave" as you can get, it's really that simple.

But there's a HUGE difference between "I like to play mlw routes and I personally prefer my MC to have the more masc roles, I'd like MCs to be written with those options" and "MC behaving effeminitely or having more fem roles even with a m!MC/mlw route makes no sense and is poor coding for m!MCs". If you want more options for how MCs behave then I 100% sympathize with that, but the moment you start crying about how "unrealistic" or "behaving like a woman" it is for m!MC to giggle or cry be saved by the LI or whatever the fuck, it's very difficult to take that seriously.

[kingxgarm]

Doodletober day 8 "heavenly made"

Ok so for context

I actually started this drawing a few months ago, but I didn't ever finish it, and I've improved since this, so I finished it

This is an oc, their name is Casster and if you find out they're an oc for Sofia the First DO NOT make fun of me, I'll cry

They use they/them exclusively, they're a unicorn/dragon hybrid and yes they're "heavenly" made, any more questions?

[ednacrabapple]

If I’m not mistaken, Sofia is the only person with a golden buzzer left. If she picks a singer I will kill myself

[tashiagalinda]

HELP THE EMAIL /$/$/$// then the playlist name change 😭😭 even when they’re off they’re still so cute i’m literally giggling at the two second crumb we got that i made up in my head was progress (us/her saying it was okay and giving the ring back). delulu is the selulu!!!

HEARTBREAK: LIVE | part twenty

MASTERLIST (SMAU) | Ex BF!Rafe x Radio Host!Female Reader

Summary — After a mysterious breakup with the university's golden couple, you went incognito. However, when your best friends drags you back into a spotlight, hosting a radio talk show, you find yourself opening up again. This time, with whole world listening (including Rafe).

Navigation — Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, to be added to this specific taglist, and remain tagged, you must interact with the posts.

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[liour]

cosplaying sofia ritchie but I look like you don't get the vision, okay?

[princessamericachavez]

Very intrigued by all the other “background firefighters” in the 118. Like, do they look at this little 5 people family and think “god I wish I was one of them” or maybe “god thank god I’m not one of them (because they seem to be chased by tragedy)” or do they have their own little personal families going within the firehouse, with their personal friendships and dramas and stories? God I would KILL for an ep focused around them and how the “118 firefam” drama looks from outside and whatever else they might have going on. 

[sofiafushiguro]

I hope I can post one of MY BIGGEST FANTASIES TONIGHT!!!!!

fyi this fic that I'll be posting is very self indulgent since I wanted this to happen to me irl 😵‍💫

[brennacedria]

Sofia glared at the letter in her hands, then glared just as hard at the messenger. "You realize if you touch me, if you try to carry me back, I will set fire to your fingernails." The Crow said nothing.

Turning back to the letter she read over each line again. "Liaison," she muttered. "He means a glorified messenger. Who does Viago think he is? This is not work for a de Riva."

Swearing under her breath, Sofia crumpled the letter and tossed it in a bin.

"I'll be ready in a moment," she snapped at the Crow still waiting to escort her back to the Diamond. Perhaps she'd set Viago's fingernails on fire for the insult of making her a messenger girl. Warmed by that thought, she gathered the few belongings she'd need to visit her brother and marched imperiously from the apartment, Viago's own messenger trailing behind her.

Could I get a letter from Viago to my (non-Rook, Viago's adopted elven little sister, takes herself way too seriously) Sofia de Riva about assigning her as the official Crow liaison to Rook specifically and the Lighthouse in general? It's an assignment she's NOT going to be happy with, but he needs someone he can trust to deliver his missives.

Ding Dong Antivan Postal Service - this time delivered by messenger for a non-Rook de Riva Sibling. (Which is a concept I love a lot, because my Cara de Riva has also a non-Rook sibling in Elia de Riva (who belongs to @wardenparker who kindly allows me to work with her.) But this is no shameless selfpromotion but a letter to Sofia de Riva who I find a super interesting character who I'd love to hear more about in the future. Hope you like it. Enjoy!

Transcript:

Sofia, This time, there is no way you can hide from your responsibilities. As you can see, I already found you, since you are reading this lines now. (Be it from free will or the kind coercion my messenger applied to you. I honestly don’t care.)

Thus, you will immediately follow my summon to accept the briefing for your new assignment. The messenger will make sure of that, and I kindly want to advise you to not make a fuss over this. Otherwise, half of Treviso will see you chemically knocked out and carried fisherman’s style back to the diamond.

Since I am a fair House leader, I grant you the privilege of already learning what that new assignment ought to be.

It is a contract assigned to you by me as your superior Crow and leader of your House:

I hereby install you as the official liaison between the Antivan Crows and the Lighthouse - for I need exactly a person like you - one that I naturally can trust - to see after everything that needs delivery between here and there.

Consider it a sign of trust that is not only naturally ingrained by the fact that you are my sister but also my strong believe, that you are worth this trust as you have shown more often than not, that you and your skills are an asset to House de Riva.

I will give you the details, once you have arrived here.

You start from now on until it will no longer be needed to have a trustworthy liaison. Don’t worry about compensation. As all contracts this one will be rewarded handsomely.

See you soon and hopefully walking on your own two feet. Viago de Riva 5th Talon of the Antivan Crows

[majoresca]

You know Queen Emmaline's advisor, Plankton?

The scar on his arm caught my attention.

What kind of weapon would have left a wound like that, especially on that particular part of the arm?

( I will confess that I do not understand much about weapons of battle, nor about injuries of that type. I am just making amateur speculations, if there is an expert please correct me, because I don't know anything about the subject.)

A cannonball would have blown his arm off, which is not the case.

A harpoon would pierce the arm, with an entry wound, which if passed through the arm, there would be an exit wound too. And even if the harpoon had grazed him, the wound would probably have been on the outside of his arm, not the inside.

A trident would leave marks with three or more punctures.

Sword strikes could be a possibility, however, these blows are usually aimed at disarming the opponent or causing fatal wounds. For disarming, the blows would generally be aimed at hitting the wrist or the hand that holds it. And fatal blows would seek out weak and exposed points, such as vital organs and joints.

If the attacker's goal was to specifically strike the arm to cut it off, this angle would not be favorable for the strike.

So what could have caused this scar?

Looking at the wound, we can see that it is of a large extent, which I think would not have been caused by rapid, multiple blows like the blade of a sword or something like that. And that it is a long and irregular line, extending from the arm to the forearm, as if it had been traced somehow.

I say, that perhaps this scar was caused by a short-range strike with the aim of grabbing and injuring the opponent, scratching the arm in order to disable the muscles and tendons of the arm. And the weapon in question would be a hand hook.

Without further ado, what is my hypothesis?

Perhaps the ship that attacked Merroway Cove, belonged to Captain Hook. It is possible that some sailors would not have survived the storm, but that the captain himself would have survived somehow. And since Captain Hook is known to be a cruel pirate, being hostile towards the mermaid people would not be out of character to him, especially if his goal there was to hunt them.

[throatgoat4u]

it’s always me talking

word count: 0.1k

a/n: small little drabble i made in five minutes. i lowkey hate this so much but it's okay. writing tips are definitely needed/appreciated! hope you guys like it!

matt abruptly stops playing the piano but you were too busy blabbering away about absolute nonsense to notice. when you finally do notice, you look behind you, seeing matt walking towards the door.

“hey wait! where are you going?” you demand with a huff. puffing out your cheeks in a pathetic attempt to look mad.

he looks at you, his face as blank as ever—rolling his eyes. but, when he turns around, facing away from you, he can’t stop the smile creeping up on his lips. he turns the door handle, opening the door, and with one last glance at you, he walks out.

“you shouldn’t treat your future wife like this.” you say from your spot at the piano but it was no use, matt had already left. there was no way he had heard you… or so you thought.

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toodles sluts :)