#a bit of banter

[sunshineandlyrics]

Louis and the boys 💕

[thelifeinmyshadesofgrey]

WYLLVEMBER DAY 6 | Favorite friendship

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

[a2zillustration]

Croissant did NOT like that sub.

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[infinityoftwo]

Dragon Age Banter 2/???

Solas & Dorian

[alloftheblue]

every zoro and sanji arguing scene that happens is gonna translate into scenes that Really feel like flirting/banter and intense eyefucking in real life because like animanga zoro and sanji are always up in each others faces grabbing their collars and shit how do you do that irl without the scene being fuckin charged -> ends up being really gay either way

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Two

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: Y/n woke up in a strange foreign land surrounded by strangers that she couldn’t understand. Alone and desperate to get home.

Series Masterlist

-Part Two-

Y/n kept her dagger pointed at them. The two males and the small female didn’t seem to mind that fact, they seemed more concerned about the Wyrd mark on her brow.

“What is that,” the beautiful male with violet eyes asks, “how did it toss me out of your mind.”

She glares at him, “that was rude of you, trying to look into a ladies mind without her permission.”

She’d felt those talons at the edge of her mind, hitting that ice cold wall that had grabbed him and threw him out without hesitation. She’d felt his shock when that ancient power had flared, she’d felt his pain as it ripped into him just as viciously as he’d attacked her.

The corners of his lips tug, “my apologies, we’ve had bad experiences with random females falling into this world.”

She couldn’t hide the surprise. So she wasn’t the first they’d encountered. How many gates had been opened here? How many had been wrenched from their home worlds against their will. How did the gates get unlocked.

“I don’t take kindly to strangers messing with my head,” she says, memories of sitting in her mother’s office, learning of the valg queen who’d held her mother captive during the war, torturing and twisting her mind, the queen who had gone into her father’s head and convinced him another was his mate just to get her killed, “this mark is the mark of my blood, and protection against beings like you.”

Her mother had woven the protection into her skin the moment she was born, the mark upon her brow no longer just a warning of the price to be paid. The mark will continue to pass down through the bloodline, and it will protect them as it had protected her.

“Who are you?” She asks, “why did you bring me here?”

“My name is Rhysand,” the violet eyed male introduces, his casual stance not moving an inch, a preformance, she was well versed in those, “We didn’t bring you here, Azriel over here found you laying in the dirt.”

He gestures to the male with the dark bat like wings who’s scent had woken her. The scent was familiar, something she couldn’t quite place at first. She’d felt him draw close and that’s when she struck without hesitation. He fought well, countering each of her moves, not attacking, just blocking. When she’d pulled away and truly looked him over, saw those shadows that reminded her of her uncles’, she had recognized that he smelled like the libraries of Orynth. It’d shocked her enough to let the grip on the air go, and when he’d sighed in relief she’d unconsciously warned the air even more. It was strange, very very strange, that reaction to his pain. Her father would bite her head off for the slip.

“There was no one else with me?” She asked the male, Azriel.

He merely shook his head, “just you.”

The small female who’d yet to introduce herself steps forward, “who would’ve been with you?”

Y/n eyes the female warily, she looked like a normal fae, but something told her that this female was more than she seemed, “I was sparring with my father when the gate opened, a force I couldn’t see pulled me down, my head smacked the ground and then I was waking up here. Whatever it was seemed to have just wanted me.”

She could hear her fathers yell as she was pulled away, she remembers the flash of light as he shifted and then everything went black.

“The Wyrd gates have been sealed for 25 years,” Y/n continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible.”

Her mother had almost given her life to lock those gates, she’d given almost everything she was to do it.

“Wyrd gate?” Rhysand asks, shakily testing out the word, it existed in their language, given the way she was able to say it with ease, but obviously it hadn’t been used in a very very long time.

“A gate between worlds,” the small female answers, “gates opened with marks like that.”

She gestures to the mark still faintly glowing on Y/n’s brow.

“Nameless,” the female slowly reads, “you’ve got quite a long name to have nameless stamped on you, girl.”

“Amren play nice,” Rhysand chides halfheartedly.

“Wyrd marks are used for many things,” Y/n says, “it’s the language of worlds, like I said, this one is the mark of my bloodline, passed on from my mother.”

Ever the silent figure, Azriel simply watches, his eyes not missing any details. It’s almost enough to make her squirm, but instead she holds his gaze, refusing to back down even an inch. He’s unfairly beautiful, dark hair curling slightly at the ends, his face unreadable, his eyes the shade of whisky in fire light. Several inches taller than her, she’d have to crane her head back to look him in the eye standing next to him. A warrior, built with lethal muscles that she could see beneath his black shirt, large yet he moved with speed, like one of those wisps of shadows at his shoulders. And those wings, large and foreboding, wicked talons at the beak and on the ends, if he stretched them open they’d be twice, maybe even triple the size of him. The shadows around him dance, more sentient than her uncles, more wild too, they swirl around and whisper in his ears, she wonders what they have to say about her.

“Should we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?” Rhysand asks, a glimmer in his eye as he breaks the stare down between them.

He takes a step towards Y/n and that dagger is back up in an instant, “I’m perfectly happy to talk here in the open, rather than whatever cell you have in mind.”

Rhysand quirks a brow, “who said anything about a cell.”

Her answering laugh is as cold as ice, “you would invite me into your home? I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“We’ve been down this road before,” Rhysand says, “our last guest was keen on escaping anyway she could, I’m sure you would be as well. I’d like to be able to keep a closer eye on you. Azriel here would be more than happy to fly you up to the house of wind.”

Azriel sends him an inquisitive look, “I would?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Y/n says quickly, examining those bat like wings, “where is this house of wind.”

Rhysand grins as he points across the garden to the looming cliffs hanging above the city beyond, “up there. I promise flying will be much better than the ten thousand steps up to the door. Azriel won’t bite.”

She grins, showing off those sharpened canines, “who says I won’t.”

Azriel subtly examines those teeth, she could easily rip out his throat with them if she wished. Based on the way he shifts back on his feet, she’s sure he’s come to the same conclusion

“I’ll get there myself,” she continues, “just need a guide.”

With a flash of blinding white light, she shifts, taking the form of a large hawk. Surprise lights in the three fae’s eyes, Azriel’s wings flaring in shock. He takes in her form, her red tinged wings, those same cold eyes staring out at him.

“Well isn’t that something.” Rhysand’s head angles, “follow Azriel, he’ll show you to your room. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”

They glance at each other, a silent conversation passing between them, before Azriel spreads his wings and launches into the sky. She bows her head towards the two remaining before she’s shooting into the sky behind him.

She’s fast, faster than him in that nimble form. Azriel flies quickly to the house, yet she surpasses him and circles around to keep pace. He can’t help but feel like she’s stalking him, like he’s a field mouse that she’s picked out for dinner, waiting for the moment she decides to strike. Whatever sort of fae she was set him on edge, her power felt older and wilder like she was closer to the beasts the fae used to be, the ones with raw magic that drew directly from the earth beneath them. That wind could pull the air from beneath his wings, pull it straight from his lungs, that fire could burn him to ash from the inside out. It was the most unsettling feeling.

They land on the balcony, a bright flare of light and she is back to that fae form, cold eyes assessing every inch of the house around her. It fells like a mistake to turn his back towards her to walk inside, a mistake that could end with that red hot dagger in between his shoulder blades, maybe even one of those small throwing knives sheathed by her ribs. He can’t help but glance at the leather vest, it was tight to her skin, laced in the back to fit her form. The evidence of the way she’d been ripped from her world shown in the rips in her clothes, in the blood around her collar from the healing wound on her head. It’d started stitching itself together quickly considering how much she’d been bleeding when he found her.

“After you,” he says gesturing towards the hall.

Her eyes wisely slip towards truth teller at his side, but no complaint rises to her lips. She holds her head high as she walks past him, close enough that he could easily grab her and put his blade to her throat, close enough that he caught the scent of pine and snow and embers. She wasn’t scared of him, and with the way she fought, she had every right not to be.

He drifts behind her, giving her single word directions down the familiar halls until they were standing before the door he’d chosen as her room.

“The house will give you whatever you need,” he says, “simply ask and it will appear. If you need anything else, I’m right across the hall.”

If the sentient house was a surprise it didn’t show on her face, instead she asks with a small smirk on her lips, “are you my host or my keeper?”

The teasing tone takes him by surprise, “I’m here to keep a close eye on you. Our last guest had a tendency for surprises.”

She eyes him in that predator like manor, gaze drifting over his shoulder to a wisp of shadow, “keep any wandering eyes to your side of the hall.”

That shadow moves on its own accord, drifting towards her like she’s a magnet. She bares her sharp teeth at the little wisp, scaring it back to Azriel’s side. It hides like a scolded child and he finds himself holding back a chuckle.

“You’ve seen shadows like this before?”

She shakes her head, “not quite. Two of my uncles can control shadows like yours, but they’re not sentient creatures.”

He wasn’t surprised that there weren’t more like him in her world, he’d spent a long time looking for other shadowsingers to help him master his power, in the end it was just him and his shadows who’d figured it out. Even Quinlann’s brother wasn’t like him, not completely.

“They whisper to you,” she states, not a question.

“How’d you know that?”

A breeze drifts past him and she says, “I can feel them in the wind. Can’t quite understand what they’re saying, but I can feel their whispering in your ears.”

“It’s called shadowsinging,” he supplies, he’s not quite sure why but he tells her, “if you spend enough time in the shadows you learn their language.”

She hums, stepping towards her door, “keep the little busybodies close by, I don’t take kindly to little spies in my rooms.”

“As you wish, your highness,” he’s not sure where the title comes from, or the taunting tone.

She throws a look over her shoulder, those eyes blazing instead of cold, “Goodnight, shadowsinger”

The door slams shut behind her and Azriel simply watches. Watches as her shadow fades from the crack beneath, as a cold wind blows through his hair, as his shadows dance with that wind. He stands there for several moments until an amused chuckle sounds in his head.

Don’t let a pretty face distract you brother.

Shut up, Azriel scowls, closing the doors to his minds and turning to his bedroom. The breeze follows him and it gives him the strangest feeling of being watched.

Y/n found that Azriel wasn’t lying when he said the house would give her whatever she asked for. She’d barely thought about a bath before she’d heard running water in the adjacent room.

The bedroom was huge, to her right a large bed centered on the wall that looked like it could comfortably accommodate several people. A seating area to her left with plush couches and low backed chairs, made for winged males like her keeper across the hall she presumed. The red stone walls warm and adorned with a lit fireplace and giant windows overlooking the city far below. She’d admired the view on the flight to the house, but standing there looking at the twinkling lights below, the bright stars above, she could really appreciate the beauty in it. Yet, it didn’t hold a candle to the lights of Orynth in her eyes.

And just like that, the homesickness hit her. She could picture her family, her mother and father raging through the castle, looking for any clues as to where she’d been taken. She could see her uncles barking orders at warriors to search the castle and city surrounding from top to bottom. She could see her distraught aunt shifting into the snow leopard that would tear apart whatever person or thing that would dare harm her niece. What time was it back home, would they work until dawn, would they rest and come back in the morning, would her father hold together the pieces as her mother finally broke?

Y/n stared and stared and stared at that glowing city, wishing she was home, reading a book by the fire in her mother’s sitting room as she listened to her parents bicker back and forth. She’d been reading a romance her uncle had brought her from the castle library in Adarlan. It would still be sitting on the table, the scrap paper bookmark halfway through the well worn pages.

A tray appears on the table next to her, full of meats and cheeses and fruits. She could feel the curious presence around her, the house it seemed was a busybody.

She eyes the plate, “I’m not hungry.”

The tray stays put, and she huffs, pushing away from the windows towards the attached bathing chamber. That presence seems to sigh, clearly frustrated with her but she paid it no mind.

Her body ached, the adrenaline wearing off enough that she could feel each cut and bruise from the vicious way she’d been dragged through that gate and thrown to the garden floor in this strange world. Her head ached, pulsing with pain each step she took, everything ached, her head, her body, her heart.

A giant bath was drawn, steaming water with frothing bubbles that smelled of lavender. There were plush towels on the small stool by the bath, and clean clothes on the counter beneath the mirror. Soft light illuminated the space, she didn’t care to think where it came from, how it all worked. All she cared about was stripping off her tattered and bloodied clothes and submerging herself into that water. She felt each cut burn as she went down, felt the wound on her head scream in pain as she drifted down beneath the surface.

She burned, and kept burning, and burning and burning, and burning.

[satelitis]

guys we need six more outsiders books but one from each of the greasers povs

[mishy-mashy]

Bruce is actually really attractive, and I have enough reasoning to make a list

He's:

Tall (. Tall enough to hit his head on the vault doorframe)

Long-legged

Has a straight nose bridge

Has high cheekbones (more noticeable in 2nd pic below)

Has a strong jawline

Sharp eyes, but they aren't small (plus eyebags if you're into that)

Overall, he has strong, attractive facial features

Has broad, refined shoulders. You can tell he works out (or he did, when he was alive)

Even has a thick, muscly neck

He has MUSCLE. Is SCULPTED. NOICE. VERY NOICE. (nice arms. Nice shoulders. Nice neck. Nice legs. Nice butt-)

(There are actually panels where you can see some of his muscles. Other than those already shown here, he's got bricky thighs-

-and in the panels where we first get his name dropped, he's got those shoulder blades too-)

The one time we see him smile, and he actually has a scary one

Has small, kinda sharp pupils, and his eyes remind me of a cat. We only ever saw him tense or defensive, so his resting/listening face is really cute

Other than the physical appearance stuff, he also:

Takes shit without batting an eye (patience, knowing it's just how Kudo is, etc)

Kudo being all "Cut the crap Bruce and give it to me straight", after Bruce tests his blood and is rightfully Concerned because they just faced AFO

Put up with Kudo's experimenting and testing over Yoichi's transferable Factor

Did ya'll see the look on Kudo's face when he realized he had Yoichi's Factor/will? Kudo was going to start in nonsense and Bruce just dealt with that.

Also something I noticed when looking back at the images here; Bruce has bandages on his arms in the void. But not when he faced AFO in the sewers.

Were he and Kudo cutting their arms open in their experimenting over Yoichi's theory? Is this why Kudo has two gauntlets instead of his one? Why we never see his bare arms in the void? That he always keeps his arms down so there's no slip?

Is smart enough to run blood tests, plus has enough common sense to pick Shinomori as his successor

He picked a guy who avoids society, has an Ability to detect danger so he can always stay away from AFO, is also a coward so he's never going to go throw himself into danger, even without knowing instinctively he stands no chance, etc.

Meanwhile, Kudo chose Bruce, who he played Hot Potato Yoichi with; but he did also trust Bruce, and put the only pure combative Ability in OFA through Bruce.

These two made their choices based on what they valued and saw the Factor needed.

Is logical, analytical, and calm.

He tried advising Midoriya on their Abilities in One For All, especially his own.

Midoriya then tried ignoring him about using Fa Jin for the first time, but found he was right, thinking: "Dammit!! I had [Lady Nagant] right where I wanted her, but... ugh! The Third was right. My parallel Quirk processes are all screwed up!" (ch. 314).

Plus, when Midoriya fixed his processing mistakes, Bruce was analyzing the way he reached his new conclusion. Pure facts, no bias, very calm, just saying it as it was.

We never see him panic. When he's caught by surprise in the sewers by AFO, Kudo, and Yoichi's little bubble event, he immediately reacts. He doesn't falter, he just knows he has to do something right now.

Was more willing to listen than Kudo to Yoichi's beckon, and probably was just following Kudo's rejection of Midoriya

While we don't see Kudo's face, we see Bruce's eyes when Yoichi calls on his heroes. Bruce was more open and receptive, or at least more impacted.

Bruce was also the one to start talking, while Kudo just kept quiet.

He actually communicates a lot

When Yoichi called them to support Midoriya, Bruce started talking to paint a picture of why they thought the way they did, so Yoichi understood where they were coming from.

(Though he seems to beat about the bush sometimes, since Kudo spoke up to be direct on how they couldn't just put their trust in some starry-eyed teenager. Plus, when Kudo tells him to just tell him what's wrong [double Factors])

When Midoriya first used Fa Jin against Nagant, Bruce came out just to tell him he knew what he was trying, but that Midoriya wasn't ready; and Midoriya found he was right. Midoriya just didn't want to listen to him then.

He asks Kudo for clarification after finding Kudo had two Factors in him after the sewer incident ("Just to be sure, All For One didn't touch you, right?") Kudo knew him well enough to go "stop beating around the bush and tell me", so Bruce was probably gonna start with questions, theories, and trying to understand everything in general, before saying "yeah you have two Factors. Don't know why".

Is strong-willed and loyal.

He followed Kudo, even to death, carrying on the cause he started until it ended with him.

Plus, when talking about how AFO needs a strong will to override OFA's own, we first see Bruce, Kudo, and Yoichi.

AFO couldn't steal OFA because the will was too strong for him, and that was back during Banjo's time. Since Shinomori never actually tried opposing AFO and just hid, we can assume the first Three (Yoichi, Kudo, Bruce) already had an accumulation of strong willpower that made OFA un-stealable. Those three are a strong enough foundation, and the main wills, that the other users just become bonuses.

Kudo, also saying that Midoriya needs allies with the same will and drive as him... hey Kudo, you're talking about yourself and your old allies, aren't you? That's why you look at Yoichi and Bruce when you say this.

Not only is Bruce attractive, but he's got good character. THE END.

[telling-tragedy]

henry and richard’s back and forth throughout this scene is absolutely addicting. richard isn’t having it

[cobaltfluff]

so i started playing persona 4

where are the QoL features

[plugnuts]

Idiots (affectionate)

[s-aint-elmo]

thinking about book cerise/raven again and the way it converted me completely in the span of like 300 pages. listen. listen. it's about cerise trusting raven with her biggest secret. it's about raven coming to cerise for help about her now uncertain destiny. it's about cerise letting raven in and becoming her friend despite her need for secrecy and solitude. it's about raven inspiring cerise to be proud of who she is, simply by showing her that they all have a choice. it's about cerise outing herself to save raven. it's about raven fighting smarter than all the hoods and wolfs combined to help cerise win the right to choose her fate. it's about cerise coming out of her shell and welcoming friendship and camaraderie because of raven's efforts. it's about raven being afraid and unsure in a dangerous place doing dangerous things, and wishing she were wrapped up in cerise's cloak instead, to ward all the bad things away. it's about

[moodyjazzyblues]

alright so i was watching the new brandon farris video and when i heard thhis i immediately had to make this animatic shitpost type deal.

link to original under cut

[asphodelles]

lann and daeran should kiss

[mccleans]

i'll never understand the sentiment behind not wanting footballers to laugh or celebrate or be happy while they play. isn't this meant to be the beautiful game? isn't it the dream of millions to be where they are? isn't life for smiling?