Wagner Moura as Armando Solimões/Marcelo Alves/Fernando Solimões in O Agente Secreto (part four)
Yet another movie I cannot stop thinking about for many, many reasons... Who am I kidding? There's only one reason.

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@thefoxintheclover
Wagner Moura as Armando Solimões/Marcelo Alves/Fernando Solimões in O Agente Secreto (part four)
Yet another movie I cannot stop thinking about for many, many reasons... Who am I kidding? There's only one reason.

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Same voice in German dub
I knew the Maya and the Three fandom would find its way back to me eventually.
Yeah, I started the Tudors today and in the span of two episodes, planned an entire life with a fictional depiction of a historical figure. Just a typical Thursday afternoon for me.
Omgggg I'm loving the caleb x readers!!
Could you do one where the reader is a member of the cobalt soul who was sent to keep an eye on beau after she ran off and they eventually also join the mighty nein? And like it could be when the group has made their way to the cobalt location the reader was from and they help show Caleb around the library and its secret reading nooks. Just fluffy library vibes dhdhdhdh
Got a little carried away with this one. Hope you enjoy! It's been fun writing for our wizard again. 😘
Another player enters the field and leaves the human squad suspicious. Many days, and nights Beauregard has spent talking Caleb’s ear off because how dare the Soul send someone to breathe down her neck? The poor wizard dreads every watch or meal time where she goes into yet another rant about you, your superior officers, your attitude, and nitpicking every single detail about you, every move you make or thing you say. That is not to say Caleb does not have his own reasons for mistrust. You’re part of a system too. And you’ve proven connected. Those are the kinds of people he remains wary of simply because any thread connected to the Empire leads back to his former master one way or another. He must remain on guard and lucky for him, he has no problems keeping people at arms length. He’ll just have to drown out Beau’s constant annoyances. Nothing a good book can’t fix.
"i asked chatgpt" "i asked grok" well i asked the alethiometer and it said ☼☼☼, 🍎 🍎, 𝚨𝛀 𝚨𝛀, 🕯🕯🕯, ⚗️⚗️⚗️, 🐜, 🍎, 𓆈𓆈

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I've been playing The Witcher III for a few months now and needless to say Ciri is my favourite character in the entire game besides Geralt. She carries a sword, is the right amount of sassy and sweet just like her dad, she looks incredible in white, and I need some x reader fanfics of her. Wait, what am I talking about? I'm a writer, too!
Ciri x Reader - First Encounter
Summary: You, Yennefer of Vengerberg’s apprentice, have taken an interest in Ciri upon her arrival at Kaer Morhen. On the eve of the battle against the Wild Hunt, you find yourselves alone together for a brief period of time.
“This is just stupid,” whines Lambert, throwing his hand of Gwent cards onto the wooden table after losing against you for a third time. You had been royally beating Lambert under the amused watch of Eskel for the past half hour, anxiously waiting the return of the witcher Geralt and his “Child Surprise.” Lady Yennefer, to whom you have vowed your service as an apprentice sorcerer, has told you to stay sharp until the anticipated party arrives, expecting you to play host to her ward-by-choice until further notice. Despite your best attempts at prevention, Lambert’s cards scatter themselves across your once strategically organized onslaught. “Hey, watch it, witcher!” you cry out in annoyance. “I don’t want any of your shite cards getting mixed up with my collectibles. You have no idea how long it’s taken me to–”
Suddenly, a piercing squeal manages to make its way to the castle via the lower courtyard.
“CIRI!” cried your Lady Yennefer, and in an instant you imagine a slender flash of black and white cross your line of vision in the direction you could only guess was that of Cirilla and the Butcher of Blaviken. “I suppose that’s my summoning,” you say, quickly sorting through the pile of cards in front of you to collect your own. You make your way out of the castle and down the hill towards the entrance of the stronghold where you see Yennefer quite uncharacteristically hugging a figure just out of your vision. You look to the witchers Geralt and Vesemir observing the scene, whose goofy smiles indicate an underestimation on your part regarding the influence this Ciri has had on the lives of those associated with the School of the Wolf.
As Yennefer peels herself away from the young woman you have yet to meet, your breath catches as you get a full view of her for the first time. Of course, you should have expected that a common Nilfgaardian scout would never have sketched a justified image of a lady descended from Lara Dorren herself, but you admit to yourself that you hadn’t expected her to be so… beautiful. With hair more white than the ashen you had been told to expect framing her shoulders in a messily tied bun at the base of her neck, Ciri’s ebony-lined green eyes glistened with tears of joy as she looked to those gathered for her benefit (including the sorceress Triss, who has arrived to greet the Princess as well). A white shirt, cinched by a jewelled belt and other various accessories, was tucked into brown leather pants, accentuating her figure in such a way that reminded you of the grace and elegance found amongst the fancily clad women of the North’s upper classes.
“Y/N? Can you hear me, Y/N? What are you staring at?” says Yennefer, and you snap your attention back to reality. “Ciri, this is Y/N, my apprentice.” You nod in her direction, attempting to hold your hand out in confident greeting. “It-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ciri. Yennefer has told me much about you.” She extends her hand in a friendly manner, grasping yours with the strength of the girl you expected her to be. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Surely there must be something special about you if Yennefer has decided to take you under her wing.” You blush, looking down at your feet, then back up to Yennefer, who smirks.
“Well, Y/N,” Geralt interrupts. “You know where Ciri’s sleeping, maybe it’s time you show her up?” The Lady Yennefer cocks her brow and looks at the witcher. “I think that I’ll be the one to direct my own apprentice, thank you very much.” She places her hands on her hips, looking from you to Ciri, before crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Well, Y/N, I suppose you heard the man. Show the girl where she can take a rest, the gods know she needs it.”
“They had the room prepared especially for you,” you say to Ciri as you step off the landing from the spiral staircase and into the bedroom. Though sparse, the room provided a spacious bed, an open hearth, and a dresser that might have been fit for a more proper guest with more belongings than a pair of worn calf-height boots and a steel sword. Though of course reducing Ciri to a mere guest would be foolish, you scold yourself, she is a pleasant memory, returning home for what might be the final time.
“Thank you, Y/N.” You stand awkwardly at the door as the Princess Cirilla tenderly strides through the room, tracing what little pieces of furniture she passes by with the tips of her fingers. You internally congratulate yourself on having dusted them beforehand. “Though I assume by ‘had the room prepared,’ you mean to say Yennefer told you to do it yourself?” You pause, unsure of how to respond. If you agree, would you be incriminating your mistress? If you disagree, would you be insulting the girl you’ve found yourself having more than just a friendly interest in?
At your lack of response, Ciri snorts in your direction. “I see Yennefer’s got your tongue, then? That’s alright. I suppose I was just as reluctant to speak against her when she was my tutor. Even thinking too loudly about her would get me into trouble.” She smiles, and you can’t help but begin to bring yourself out of your unease as she falls back-first onto the bed. “Yennefer’s n-never been particularly m-matronly, I guess. The room was no trouble, of course. Now, if you need anything at all, p-please don’t hesitate to–”
Ciri groans, and the hint of irony you sense prevents you from taking your leave. “Please don’t tell me you’re always so… rigid, Y/N. Age clearly can’t be a factor in having lost any sort of free-will, since I’m sure you aren’t much older than me.”
You take special care to regain the evenness in your tone of voice. “No… you’re right, I’m not much older than you. Though I have of course heard stories of your youth… Ugly One.”
“‘Ugly One?’ Don’t tell me she’s on with that name again? Goodness… Well, it’s clear you’re going to have to stay here for a good long while and tell me all that she’s told you so you can hear my side of it.”
“As much as I would like to stay, Cirilla–”
“Ciri.”
“Ciri, as much as I would like to stay, there’s important preparations to be made regarding the Hunt’s arrival that I should be attending to.”
“Y/N, I’ve spent the a good majority of my life revolved around the Hunt’s ambitions. Would you mind allowing me this brief period of nostalgia?”
Of course, you can’t find a way to say no to Ciri’s requests. As you prepare a fire in the hearth for you both, you begin to recount all of the anecdotes involving the Child Surprise that Yennefer has relayed to you over your years of service. From their first encounter to her final lesson, you begin to unwind as Cirilla’s infectious laugh elates your mood. You notice how beautiful of a smile she has, particularly when naturally induced. During a lull in the conversation, you find yourself comfortable enough to trail off.
“She really does love you, you know. I’m sure you’re aware she’s always wanted a child.”
Ciri sighs, her jowls hardening into a poised smirk and her shoulders falling forward. “Yes, I’m aware. I know you said that she’s never been one for maternity, but I can’t help but feel that most of my time spent with her has reminded me of the time I used to spend with my grandmother. The same feeling of an underlying duty to care for one another, almost unconditionally. The same goes for Geralt, of course.” You nod, looking into the flames of the fire that had been going strong for quite a while now. “It seems that familial love has been the only sort of love to do me any kind of good thus far.”
You peel your gaze from the flames to Ciri herself, who looks down from her seated position on the bed to where your focus had been only moments ago. You wonder what she is thinking about as her head cocks slightly to one side, resting her chin on her propped hand. You remember that there is much more to the Lion Cub of Cintra than her youth and her heritage, all that time unaccounted for by Yennefer, Geralt, and everyone else currently staying at Kaer Morhen. You fantasize of perhaps edging her to share these stories with you, to make them something only the two of you share, though you find it almost painful to think of the possible romantic encounters she might have had during this time. A pang of relief, stronger than you would have liked to admit, his you as you make the assumption that these endeavors were likely unsuccessful.
Look at you, jealous over fictitious memories you haven’t even had time to conjure.
Before you can stop yourself, you allow yourself to voice thoughts unprovoked. “There are other types of love that shall make themselves known to you eventually, I’m sure.”
Ciri detaches her line of sight from the hearth and looks to you, furrowing her brows. Tenderly, she moves from her position on the bed to the space against the side of the frame next to you. “Really?” she asks. You feel your face grow hot as she comes ever nearer. “Would you care to elaborate?” Her face is now uncomfortably close– no, uncomfortable is not the right word. This anxiety you feel, it’s almost… fitting. The distance is addictive, delicious, and you feel the sudden urge to close it.
And thus, you do. In a quick burst of movement, you take Ciri’s face in your hands and kiss her less than tenderly on the lips. The impulsive act of intimacy is over as quickly as it began, and you sweep your line of vision to the fire that thrives before you. You idiot! Your superego begins to scold you. What were you thinking?! In the corner of your eye, you think you see Ciri smile, though you do not dare face her in search of proof.
“I… I think it’s time we make our way downstairs.”
“I agree,” Ciri replies, and she stands up in a fluid motion, offering her hand to you. You pretend not to notice it as you stand on your own and spin on your heels in the opposite direction, attempting to make a beeline for the door before having to continue any awkward follow-up. However, your haste does you little good, as Ciri grabs your wrist before you can begin to make your escape.
“Y/N.”
You turn to face her and see that a light blush has flushed the very tips of her regal cheekbones. “Should we… Well, should we survive this, I wouldn’t mind if you demonstrated a more thorough form of elaboration.” A devilish smile creeps its way across her face, and oh, how you damn that smile, so naturally induced and so naturally perfect. You clear your throat and swipe your wrist back, knowing that had she truly wanted to prolong your torturous embarrassment and hold on to you, she would have.
“Yes, I believe that would be just. Should we survive.”
And all of the universes be damned if they thought you weren’t going to try your hardest.
This is my first ever fan fiction posted on Tumblr! Thank you so much for reading! (GIF courtesy of https://giphy.com/gifs/my-hunt-QzfaquDv2duVy.)
So did anyone else accidentally stumble upon the TikTok series, Say Yes to My Tomboy Roommate and end up watching the entire thing because one (or more) of the leads was too stunning to scroll away and then came out of it with a restored belief that true love and happy endings do indeed exist and conquers all? No? Just me? Okay!
Miyavi in The Wrecking Crew (2026)
Picture this: I'm feeling sick, tired, can barely keep my eyes open and then just as I'm about to actually fall asleep, BAM! I hear this voice and I'm suddenly wide awake. Huh.
Welcome to the Mighty Nein Bakery!
semi based on the fic "Labor of Love" by OMGItsgreen because I love that fic
I just KNOW the food here would be delicious!!!!

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I want to put all of them in the same room and see if I survive.
Warm • Solid • Familiar || Caleb Widogast ||
A/n: I love this man.
The tavern was loud in the way most of your nights with the Mighty Nein tended to be—Jester’s laughter ringing bright and chaotic, Nott the Brave already halfway through another drink she absolutely shouldn’t have, and Beauregard Lionett arguing with Fjord Stone over something that had long since lost its point.
Caleb sat slightly apart from the worst of it, as he often did, a book open in his lap, though his eyes flicked up more often than he’d admit, tracking you, always you, like a quiet orbit he couldn’t break.
You were tired.
That bone-deep, slow exhaustion that crept up on you after too many days on the road, too many late nights, too much noise and movement and people. Your limbs felt heavier, your thoughts softer around the edges.
A yawn escaping your lips, sleep pulling at you as you slowly looked around the room and saw that the only open space...
Was Caleb's lap and of course, you didn’t think about it.
You just… sat.
A soft plop, settling sideways across his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for you? It was.
Warm. Solid. Familiar.
You sighed, already melting into the contact, your body instinctively relaxing against him.
But for Caleb Widogast, the world stopped.
Completely.
His spine locked, every muscle going rigid as if someone had cast Hold Person on him.
You.
Were.
In.
His.
Lap.
His book slipped slightly in his hands, forgotten instantly. His breath caught sharp, quiet, like he didn’t dare draw too much attention to the fact that his entire existence had just derailed.
“…I—”
He didn’t finish.
Couldn’t.
Because you shifted.
Just a little.
Settling more comfortably, your weight fully resting against him, your head tipping toward his shoulder.
And then you exhaled. Long. Slow.Your body going soft.
Caleb’s hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go if anywhere at all.
“Caleb—”
Jester Lavorre’s voice cut through the noise like a knife wrapped in sugar.
“Oh my god...adorable”
He didn’t look at her.
He couldn’t.
Because if he moved if he did anything at all then you might realize what you’d done and pull away.
And he could not bear that, he did not want that, you deserve the rest.
“…Do not,” he murmured, low and strained, eyes fixed firmly on the page he was no longer reading.
Jester was already grinning. “Oh no, I am absolutely going to.”
Across the table, Yasha Nydoorin glanced over, quiet but observant, while Beau leaned back in her chair, arms crossing with slow, dawning amusement.
“…You’re not moving,” Beau noted.
“I—cannot.”
That got a snort out of Nott, who leaned over the table, squinting at him. “Why not? Wizard boy forget how legs work?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
Because you were still there.
Still warm.
Still soft.
Still sleeping.
At some point he wasn’t even sure when you had fully drifted off. Your breathing evened out, your body completely relaxed against him, your cheek now resting against his shoulder like it belonged there.
It was like you belonged there.
And Caleb, Caleb did something dangerous.He let himself feel it.Slowly, carefully, his hands lowered.
One rested lightly at your side.The other after a long, hesitant moment settled at your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just…holding.
A protective, grounding touch.
“…She is asleep,” he said quietly, as if that explained everything.
“It explains why you’re not breathing, yeah,” Beau shot back.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re barely blinking.”
Nott cackled, kicking her feet against the chair.“Oh, this is so good. Look at him! He’s gonna combust!”
Jester leaned in closer, eyes sparkling.“Caleb, you know you’re allowed to enjoy things, right?”
His ears went red, he parted his lips and turned his head away. “I am not....this is not—”
His words faltered as you shifted again.A small, sleepy movement. Your hand warm and soft came to rest against his chest.
And of course, that is what did it. Caleb’s entire body went impossibly still. Because now, now you were touching him.
Not accidentally brushing.
Not passing contact.
Resting.
His breath left him in a quiet, shaky exhale.“…Bitte,” he muttered under his breath, not even sure what he was asking for anymore.
“Did he just pray?” Nott whispered loudly.
“I think he did,” Beau replied, equally loud.
Jester clasped her hands together dramatically as she tilted her head to the side. "Oh, this is so romantic! She’s asleep in his lap, he’s having a crisis, it’s perfect!”
Fjord grins leaning in. "I am never letting you live this down."
Caleb closed his eyes briefly.Trying to regain control, to ground himself, to remember how to function like a normal person.
It did not work, of course it didn't because you sighed softly in your sleep and leaned closer.
Fully settling into him.
And something in his chest broke open.It was warm, it felt...good.
“…Please,” he said, this time a little louder, though still soft, still careful not to wake you. “You will be quiet.”
Beau raised a brow. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer immediately.Just looked down at you.At the way you trusted him.At the way you had chosen him without even thinking. "I do not think you want to find out."
The teasing stopped....well, mostly.
Beau rolled her eyes but leaned back, muttering something under her breath. Nott snickered but quieted. Even Jester softened, watching the two of you with a gentler kind of mischief as Fjord groaned rolling his eyes muttering how boring Caleb was being.
Caleb exhaled slowly.His thumb moved.Just slightly.A small, absent stroke against your side as your body relaxed more.
And so he let himself relax, finally. Book forgotten, conversation ignored, the entire world narrowing down to the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your body against his, and the quiet, fragile realization that for once,just once he was allowed to have something good.
And he would sit there all night if it meant you didn’t wake up and take it away.
After eons of scouring the sacred tomes and ancient texts for more Caleb x Reader fics, I have at last found another one! Thank you for this, it's adorable!
That's something that's very scary to me, to see people living in different mental states, consuming different kind of information. (...) It's like we are living in different, parallel universes.
WAGNER MOURA, Oscars Pre-Luncheon Luncheon with Amelia Dimoldenberg.
Liam O'brien Nightcrawler, my beloved
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeelllll. Looks like I've got a new show to watch. Only a matter of time before I become overly attached and then start scrolling through looking for some wholesome x reader fics.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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You know you're down the Critical Role rabbit hole when you start making OCs for each of the campaigns on D&D Beyond and then making cute little sheets for them on Docs and then as you're listening to them, roll the dice alongside the other players.
I've finished watching season one... Guess I have to start listening to the campaign. ✨
Crying over them again. 😭