#And armored barrels too I guess!

[thesixthchaosgod]

Painted some barrels!

Some said painting yellow is hard but for whatever reason the grey ones gave me much more trouble to look good. Primed them in Wraithbone then i used 2 coats of Averland Sunset and a extra tinned coat of Reikland Fleshshade and the yellow looked fine! The grey too 4 coats of Eshin Grey before i said you're gonna be Skavenblight Dinge instead and that did cover properly. Paints are weird mkay :)

Also an oil wash to grime them up like the containers had

the radioactive leakage is done with Moot Green with any white paint and then a layer or 2 of Vallejo green fluorescent paint.

[radiance1]

There was a boy walking towards the invading army.

There was a civilian child walking towards the invading army from the infinite realms lead by their tyrannical ruler. The Justice League tried to stop force their way through, save the boy.

Instead of that, however, they were blocked by multiple ghosts, all hellbent on not leaving them alone. Superman tried to get close to the kid? Piles upon piles of ghosts knocked him back. Wonder Woman? The same thing happened.

The thing was, that wasn't even the ground army who did it. But the ones in the sky.

So the kid was walking towards an entire army by himself. One hellbent on taking over Earth and have no qualms about ending the short life of a human boy.

Instead of watching a child die, a life they failed to save. Something else happened.

The army parted for him.

Just as Moses parted the Red Sea, the same happened with the ghosts. They made a clear-cut line for him to walk straight towards their king with no obstacle, even clearing the way of anything that could pose as one.

Again, the Justice League tried to go down to drag the boy away, only to again be denied by the ghosts flying through the sky. Only to stop chasing as soon as they retreated a certain distance.

The ghosts stood still, and only moved as they got close, unlike their previous acts of causing havoc and mayhem. So, the Justice League, as much as they didn't want too, stood still and watched.

The boy stood at a stop before the king, painfully tiny in comparison to the massive ghostly tyrant standing before him with his arms crossed.

"Yo, dad." The boy said, and the Justice League froze in shock.

===

"Yo, dad." Danny lifted a hand up in greeting, before dropping that hand to rub at his neck. "Funny seeing you here, I guess."

"Phantom..." Pariah Dark's voice was soft yet booming and seemed to echo throughout the battlefield. "We meet once again on the field of battle, come to challenge me again, little one? Without your armor, no less?" Pariah tilted his head to the side slightly, questioning.

"Oh that? Yea that got destroyed ages ago," Danny shrugged, as if not having it didn't bother him at all. "Parents couldn't exactly, you know, finish it. Plus, they had other things to work on, so they just decided to scrap the thing altogether." He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged again. "So, yea..."

Pariah looked the boy over, his eyes hardening and he clicked his tongue at what he saw.

"You come here, not with armor," Pariah began, strength in his voice and a fire (literally) in his eyes. "Nor a weapon, or a shield, and no allies of any kind-"

"Well those guys are there" Danny pointed behind him, straight at the Justice League.

"-Walk up to a hostile force with no gauge of their strength." But Pariah just barreled on as if the Justice League were an afterthought. "And face their leader and do not expect to come to harm!?" The Ghost King scowled, and the Justice League tensed.

But just tilted his head slightly. "Well, are you going to harm me?" He asked.

Pariah Dark blinked, then whispered. "I could, child. I could kill you." He put a strong emphasis on the word kill.

"You could," Danny nodded. "But are you going to hurt me?"

The Ghost King remained silent, but his gaze intensified.

Danny shrugged, this time with a smile. "See? You wouldn't hurt me so it's fine. Ya big softie."

Pariah's scowl intensified. "I am not soft, child."

"Oh really?" Danny leaned forward and his smile took on a more playful edge. "Then what's you're reason for visiting Earth, hmmmm?"

"To wage war and fight against this world's mightiest heroes." The Ghost King answered quickly.

"Annnnnnnd?"

The king remained silent for a moment and Danny stepped forwards before he face planted onto concrete. "C'mon, dad. Tell me the other reason you came here." Danny crossed his arms, mimicking the Ghost King's pose.

They stared each other in the eyes for a moment, before Pariah looked off the side with green dusting his cheeks. "You have not visited in 50 years, son..." He whispered, but everyone heard it.

"Hah! Knew you missed me!" Danny said shamelessly with a satisfied and smug smile.

"And your father forced me out of the realms because I upset him." Small embers started igniting themselves on the tips of the king's hair.

Silence echoed over the battlefield, before Danny burst out laughing. Pariah Dark's hair fully exploded into green fire as he reached a hand to cover his face. "Of course, alongside the shameless and cheekiness, you get Clockwork's sense of humor as well..."

The Ghost King, at least this very moment, seemed more and more like a tired dad than some fearsome, tyrannical Ghost King.

[miss-musings]

In the same way that Hunter’s right shoulder is “reserved” for Omega, I like to think Crosshair’s left shoulder is hers now too:

She touches him on his left shoulder when she first talks to him in 1.01 “Aftermath.”

Several times in S1 and S3, we see Omega between Hunter and Crosshair. She’s frequently on Hunter’s right and Crosshair’s left.

The left side is closer to/traditionally associated with the heart. Plus, Crosshair used his left hand/arm to save her from Hemlock.

Now that Omega is safe, he will no longer have to wear his armor, which has a little barrel-stabilizing accessory on his left shoulder. In the same way Hunter removed his right pauldron for Omega, Crosshair can remove his left pauldron and sniper accessory for her. Doing so would solidify that he — like his brothers — is no longer a sniper/soldier. They are a family, always and forever.

(I also wrote a post-finale fic where Omega falls asleep on Crosshair’s left shoulder, and he’s like “Well, guess I can’t use either of my hands now. What do I do?” lol)

[howlingday]

Its dragonslayer week.

So

Dragon barbarian( yang time travel too) grabs jaune " this is my knight who has layed the dragon."

Jaune smirks " oh why yes I am, my trusted steed" yang blushes.

Ruby putting that together "......yucky they dirty pun flortinh

Blake " mixed feelingd

Weiss " yay

"No, but in all seriousness, he does ride me." Yang clarified. "Like a horse. Or a jackalope, I guess, in this world."

"A what?" Ruby asked.

"One sec." Jaune then gave a whistle. After a few seconds, Blake's ears twitched and she turned to the distance. On the horizon, a dot began to take form as a large creature barreled towards the friends reunited. "There she is~!" Jaune cooed.

The large beast, as big as a horse, yet sporting antlers like a deer and looking like a rabbit, stopped to a trot at the blond couple, lowering its head to them. On one side, Yang caressed with warm, scaly claws while Jaune's rusted armored gauntlet stroked the chin of the magnificent beast.

"What... What is that?" Weiss asked in bewilderment.

"This is Juniper." Jaune smiled. "I found her shortly after... Well, it's kind of a long story."

"Believe me, I was just as confused as you all were." Yang chuckled.

"So, uh, how did this all happen?" Blake asked. "I mean, if you guys have time..."

"For you, Blake, I have all the time in the world." Yang said with a smile. Blake returned one to her partner, albeit a sad one.

Jaune hopped onto Juniper, helping Yang to his rear.

"Well, I guess it all started after we fell..."

[bump1nthen1ght]

All the better to eat you with (Werewolf x M!Reader)

Pairing: Male!Werewolf x Male!Reader

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Explicit Content ahead (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 2004 words

Summary: You're walking the familiar path to grandma's house, when a friendly stranger offers you some protection. Unbeknownst to you, everything comes with a price.

Request: Can i request for a werewolf x male reader with knotting and breeding kink please? And can you like maybe make it base of the little red riding hood? Thank so much in advance bye!

“Y’know, red is a really good color on you.”

The stranger remarks, holding up the bottom of your red riding cloak. His voice is almost a purr, that lascivious smile on his face only a little bit off-putting.

“T-thanks, this is one of my favorites.” You brush off some imaginary dust from the cloak, feeling bashful under his undivided attention. “I have a blue one as well, but this used to be my older brother’s so…it’s kind of sentimental.”

The stranger smiles again, that genuine and unnerving kind.

“Well, I love it. I think red might be your signature color.”

The stranger throws a large arm over you shoulder, pulling you to his side as you walk. You nearly yelp st the sheer force, noticing just how tall he is; When standing right next to each other, you barely each his shoulder.

“Yeah, m-me too.”

—

Your mother had told you that there were dangerous things in the woods, but the stranger didn’t seem to be one of them. Even with his wide, wild eyes and his far-too big grin, he had offered to accompany you on the long journey to your grandmothers house. You had politely declined at first, you were a grown man and walked this path plenty of times before, but he had insisted. Not in a creepy way more like a…naive gentlemanly way.

You had given the stranger your name, to which he nodded and said you had a great name. He didn’t give you his, you didn’t press it.

He was enthusiastically touchy, talking your ear off with questions about your life and the food you had brought with you. He was an apt listener, his big yellow eyes never straying from your face as you talked. It was kind of nice, if only a little disconcerting.

So here you are, still by his side and only a mile left to your grandmother’s house. The sun was in the beginning stages of setting, but you would likely get to her home before dark. Even if not, the strong stranger gave you some comfort. He was built like an ox, with strong shoulders and a barrel chest. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t caught yourself staring at his figure a couple times. But hey, when he’s only wearing a tight undershirt, how could you not stare?

“We’re around 20 minutes away. Thanks again for walking me all the way here. I normally don’t mind walking alone but..this was quite nice.” You blush, trying to not let it show.

“Oh, it’s no problem! It wouldn’t be right if I had left a cute thing like yourself to fend by yourself.” He winks. “There are dangerous things in these woods, y’know. Things that would snatch you up in an instant.” He leans in close as he says that, his voice low and flirtatious.

You feel the hot blush across your face heat up even more. The stranger had been quite familiar this whole time, but never this direct. Maybe your stares weren’t so one-sided after all.

“Well, I guess I’m very lucky to have bumped into you, my knight in shining armor.” You chuckle, trying to match his coy way of flirting. It makes him laugh, but his wide eyes still stare you down, feasting on your entire body. “I’m sure my grandma would appreciate it too. Would you like to join us for dinner? She always has the best tea and biscuits.”

There's that cackling laugh again, all wheezes and smirks. His eyes crinkle up at the thought and you’re afraid he’s rejecting you, before he pats you on the shoulder. “I’ve never been invited in before! How sweet of you, little one, to offer someone like me inside.” He stops walking, the hand on your shoulder pulling you right alongside him. He turns you so you face directly towards him. His eyes are still lit up with that friendliness, his smile even wider, but there's something underneath it all. It’s something desperate, something knowing, something starved.

The stranger squeezes your shoulders together, making you wince a bit. His teeth seem whiter in the setting sun, larger, sharper. “Maybe next time, little red. But I think tonight I’m hungry for something else.” His voice purrs, his head cocking as he winks.

Before you can even suggest your grandmother make something else for dinner, he has you shoved up against the tree, your bodies moving faster than you thought possible. Your yelp is suffocated by his kiss, overwhelming and passionate. His large hands stop pinning your shoulders and instead wrap around your jaw, his large body now pressed against you and weighing you down. The moan you let out is downright pitiful and the stranger gobbles it up like a three-course meal. One of his hands moves down to caress your side, wandering down until he reaches your butt and squeezes. You yelp again, the stranger snickering into your mouth.

The stranger pulls away, saliva dripping from his lips as he forgets your head to the side so he can suck at your neck. Your hands claw up his back for purchase, too shell shocked to even speak. The stranger likes the feeling, like the feign of resistance, and growls into your neck.

“So perfect for me. So fucking perfect.” He laps and sucks at your jugular, nipping the skin around your jaw with desperation. You try to form words, but the breathe is knocked out of your when the sizable bulge in his trouser rubs against yours. He growls again, his hand squeezing your ass as he grinds into your crotch. You cant your hips upward, meeting the pleasure. The stranger chuckles. “Such a submissive little mate, so sweet for me.”

He hikes up one of your legs over his hip, grinding more fervently as he laps your skin. His warm drool drips down your neck, making your skin tingle. You moan again, digging your nails deeper into his back. The pain seems to make him more voracious, cackling as you scratch lines into his back.

The stranger finally moves back up to your mouth, trapping you in another hungry kiss.

“Say my name.” He orders, that crazed look still in his eyes.

“Oh..uh-” He barely lets you get out the question, forcing you into another kiss. When you get the chance to breathe, you mutter “I don’t-”

“It’s Mac.”

You nod your head, closing your eyes when he grinds against you. Biting your lip, you whisper, “M-Mac. That feels good.”

He finally pulls away from your mouth with a deranged smile, licking his chops.

“Perfect.”

Just like that he throws you to the ground, laying himself across you as he fiddles with your belt buckle. This has all been so overwhelming, so sudden, but you can’t say you hate it. Mac has got your blood searing, your cock raging hard.

Mac’s breath is heaving, was he always that hairy? On the ground, he almost seems bigger, impossibly so. He pants, a long tongue hanging out with his mouth. My…what big teeth he has.

You hear a shing, as if a blade was being unsheathed, then your pants are ripped open. Mac is pawing and tearing the fabric, sharp black claws cutting through like scissors. His eyes glow in the setting sun. What’s that on top of his head?

“I’m going to make you mine.” He mutters, sucking on two of his long fingers.

“What-” but you can’t even finish the sentence, Mac easing two of his fingers right into your asshole. Your cock jerks and your hips instinctually shove backward at the intrusion, but Mac keeps a firm grip to keep you in place. He sets a brutal pace, stretching you open with a fervor. You can’t even catch your breath, can’t even speak. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as he looks at you, a heavy blush darkening his cheeks as he admires you.

“Have to prepare you…so small, so fragile. So good for me.”

Another gasp as you feel his fingers grow larger inside you. How is that even possible? You throw your head back, covering your eyes to hide from the pleasure. All you can hear is Mac panting, the schlick of his slobbery fingers as they fuck you. But then there's more fabric tearing, no, bursting at the seams. You force your delirious eyes upward, your heart stopping.

Above you is Mac, but he isn’t human anymore. The long tongue now hangs out a muzzle full of sharp canines. His undershirt lays ruined to the side, not able to contain the extra muscle and fur of the beast above you. No, the wolf above you.

“That's good enough.”

Before you can get a word in, Mac is yanking his fingers out and folding your legs backwards toward your face. You can’t feel the burn amidst all the sensation, only noticing a jingle as Mac undoes his belt buckle, pulling out his large cock.

All you can do is moan, bend to his will. Mac smiles, that same wicked smile.

“I’m gonna breed you, mate.”

And without another word, he shoves his cock deep inside you, stealing the air right out of your chest. Your nails caked in dirt as you dig them into the ground, biting your lip until blood is drawn.

It’s too much, too much-it’s too good.

Mac pants, his mad eyes burning deep into your skin. A clawed paw reaches down and grabs your jaw, yanking you to look at him. Drool drips from his jaw and onto your chest, his tail wagging desperately behind him.

“Look at me, look at me.” He keels and whines, swiveling his hips against yours. The crack of shock that rubs up your spine makes you moan, which Mac laps up like its the sweetest treat. “Ugh, you’re gonna take my knot so well. I know it, I know it.”

All you can do is nod your head, your dirt-caked fingers finding purchase in his fur. He lets you yank him closer, the warmth of his chest a contrast to the wet dirt beneath you.

When Mac thrusts in earnest, you swear you lose feeling in your legs. But even so your ankles hook around his shoulders, pulling him in for more and more. Your cock weeps precum, burning and begging to be touched. But Mac is a wolf on a mission, chasing his own high with delighted barks. He keeps that firm grip around your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek with a shocking sweetness. Mac never closes his eyes, content to watch you come undone under him, watch the way he wrecks you.

The slap of skin-on-skin and your heavy pants rings in your ears. You pray your grandma hadn’t wondered if you got lost and came to find you, because the sight of you was surely filthy. But with your cock twitching and a ferociously handsome wolf on top of you, it’s becoming harder and harder to care.

You can feel Mac’s dick throb inside you, a distinct whine coming from his chest. He claws his grip into the ground, his ears twitching as he looks down at you.

“Yes, here it comes. Take it, take it.”

You’re not sure what it is, but there is no way you’re not taking it. Your hips jerk as the rubber band reaches its most taut, your orgasm so, so close.

“F-fuck, fuck!” You moan, yanking and tugging on Mac’s chest fur as you explode into climax, cum spurting all across your stomach. With a final thrust, Mac shoves his hips into you and throws his head back into a howl, a warmth expanding inside you.

This must be it.

You ponder, letting out an ‘oof’ as Mac collapses on top of you. Still inside you, he nuzzles his muzzle into your neck, his hands gently rubbing your sore hips and thighs.

“So good for me.” He pants, licking up your throat with half-kisses. “My sweet little red.”

[stripedstarsblueflags]

let me be clear: this blog is NOT a safe space for lando haters. i’m sorry if that rubs you the wrong way, you’re free to block/unfollow.

“he bottles his starts” “he’s not as good as max” “he’s only good cause he’s got a rocketship of a car” “piastri has more potential” “he throws away opportunities” “he should’ve won and he fucked himself over” YOU DON’T THINK HE KNOWS THAT? even with all the PR training he has no poker face in interviews. he has moments, more and more frequently, where he radiates self-hatred. he isn’t out here protesting all the criticism, he’s taking it personally– way too personally– and people keep heaping it on harder and harder as if that makes a difference??

jesus christ people are coming after him like he’s making mistakes on purpose to spite them. i get it if you don’t like the fans– i don’t like them either. i’m talking about the hordes of mainly girls, often underage, who treat him like the next harry styles and drop really creepy/inappropriate comments in his posts and overall contribute to the “overhype” image. but then your beef is with the fans.

scraping the bottom of the barrel for every single excuse to put him down, to deny his performances, to nullify any single good result he comes up with is not going to change the numbers. he’s second in the championship. he’s won two races. he’s one of three drivers out of twenty he’s won more than one race, and lewis’s second win was after the disqualification and max is max. “he got a free pit stop in miami” “he just has a better car than max” okay, take it up with the FIA if you’re so upset.

i don’t really share my opinions on socials. i mostly just share other people’s memes and drop charlos-themed comments on instagram, and i’m new to tumblr but i try to stay in my own stupid little rpf lane. but now i just need to vent. if that makes you mad then like don’t read this far i guess??

my voice doesn’t matter. like, at all. i don’t have the full picture and i never will, and i physically can’t have any more of an objective opinion than anybody else who’s experiencing this all from the other side of a television screen. but i don’t like bullies. i personally don’t like it when people take it upon themselves to find the chinks in someone’s armor and sharpen their teeth. confidence, self-assurance, faith, the ability to silence everyone else’s voice is just as vital to an athlete as their strength and endurance. max verstappen has shown the power in mental/emotional invulnerability. lando doesn’t have that, and if anything it’s getting worse.

f1 isn’t structured to be fair. it is what it is. if you don’t like who’s winning, watch a different sport.

[queenofbaws]

Hii, can you write a story about my theory for the bathroom couches

"...ty-one!"

There was a series of frowns at that, the gang momentarily lifting their heads from what they'd been doing to shoot each other suspicious glances. Clearly it hadn't been any of them who'd done the talking - the voice was strangely distant and, somehow even more strangely, excited - but still, the sentiment remained.

"I-I'm sorry?" Hannah said after a moment, glancing up towards the ceiling as if it'd been some higher power to shout at them.

And then, making all the noise of a suit of armor come to life, Mike came barrelling down the lodge's staircase, sock-sliding across the great room's hardwood until he bumped against the sectional. "Thirty-ooone," he repeated, bracing himself against the back of the couch. "That's how many fucking couches you guys got in this place, you know that? What gives?"

Hannah's head was instantly in her hands. "Oh God."

"Yeah, y'know...I've been wondering about that too," Sam said slowly, setting down her big book of crossword puzzles to glance around the lodge instead, the tally in her head almost visible as she counted couch after couch. "I mean. I guess I figured it was because, uh...ski lodge. Company. That kind of thing. But...you guys do have a lot."

"And the one in the bathroom?!" Emily cut in. "The one in the bathroom is pretty heinous."

Instead of bothering to deal with their chatter individually, Beth heaved a sigh and raised her voice, speaking up over them as if she didn't care. She also continued smashing buttons on her controller as if she didn't care. And her eyes? On the tv, baby. Like she didn't care. (Spoiler: She didn't). "Once upon a time," she began, "there was this wormy little kid named Josh."

"Wormy, huh?" he asked, offhandedly at best, hunched over with his elbows on his knees as he pulled off another sick combo on-screen. "That's a new one."

"The thing about Josh," Beth continued, paying him literally no attention as she wrung his health bar dry, "was he never slept."

"Still don't! It's one of my fun little quirks. Gives me personality."

"And it took Mom and Dad forever to figure out, but - " she paused long enough to wrench her body to the side as if it would help her character dodge, and, miraculously, it did, " - eventually they noticed he'd conk out on a couch even if he wouldn't fall asleep in bed."

"Know where monsters like hiding, B? Under beds. Know what you never hear about? Monsters hiding under couches."

Tapping her pencil against her crossword book, Sam scrunched her mouth together. It was a good point. She didn't say that part out loud. A quick glance around the great room told her the others were thinking the same.

"So," Beth kept saying, "Mom, being the worry-wort she is, filled this place with couches just in case little Joshy needed a little nappy-nap. And Dad, ever-resourceful, used the ski lodge excuse every time so he could get a tax write-off or something, I don't know. It sort of snowballed. Our family isn't really known for, like, restraint."

"No," Emily pretended to gasp. "The family that bought a whole goddamn mountain? You don't say."

"...and the one in the bathroom?" Mike repeated, his emphasis clear. "Please...please don't tell me you were napping in the bathroom, dude. There...there have to be limits."

"Tub takes an awful long time to fill, my man. Anyone would get sleepy waiting for that shit."

On the other side of the sectional, having until-then been silent, Jess let out a huge, whooping sigh of relief. "Oh thank Gawwwwwd," she groaned, dramatically slumping across the cushions. "I was so sure it was gonna be some weird pervvy sex thing."

"It can be both," Beth and Josh said in unison, deadpan and only half-paying attention as they kept playing their game. Joke or not, it was too much for poor Hannah, who slid off the couch altogether, moaning and groaning and huddling onto a ball of mortification on the floor.

[oddberryshortcake]

I think I'm one of two people in total who talk about this character, but this has been on my mind for a bit so I thought I'd just throw it out there.

Henrik is most definitely based on King Henry from Maleficent 2014. With his name, his armor being similar to the armor the Silver Owl's wear, and right down to his character invading the moors/Briar Valley and attempting to kill Maleficent/Maleanor.

However! Many characters have other influences thrown in there and I've gotten a lot of Governor Ratcliffe vibes from him too.

The Silver Owls describe Henrik as lazy, arrogant, and makes everyone else do all the work (which is invading and excavating Briar Valley) while he lords over them.

There's an eerily similar scene in Pocahontas where a colonizer makes virtually the same comment about Ratcliffe.

In Ratcliffe's Villain song "mine, mine, mine" he not only displays his ego but also convinces the colonizers to dig up the land for him while he prances around and does nothing to help. Henrik does not fight his own fights nor does any work himself, he either makes the Silver Owls do it or Dawn Knight do it.

Also, Henrik and Ratcliffe have similar builds, 'stout as a barrel' as Lilia describes it and both are undeniably extremely racist towards the people whose home they're invading and stealing from. Also this is a minor detail but the different colored gems on Henrik's necklace reminded me of the sword Ratcliffe had.

IN SUMARRY, idk, I guess I kinda want Henrik to sing "mine, mine, mine" lol

[margindoodles2407]

Heyyy @seeking-elsewhither. You know how I'm giving you a HFSW Bad Batcher a day until you stop being sick. Well since I missed it yesterday,,, and you need your guys,,, well I went to draw Tech and things got. Out of hand

Closeups and notes under the cut

Goggles

You do not know how hard Tech's hair is to get right

So! His goggles I actually struggled over for months and months because, you know. They're hard to draw. And then I found these on Pinterest and all my problems were solved forever. (SERIOUSLY THOUGH I WANT THESE. I MEAN LOOKIT THEM THEY EVEN HAVE THE IMPERIAL INSIGNIA ON THE LENSES)

Now obviously my drawing skills mean I have to scale these down immensely but as you can see. These are not your everyday, run-of-the-mill goggles. Tech built them himself (actually most of his armor was either custom-built or modified) and so they've got some special features built in.

So Tech's an artificier, cause it's High Fantasy Star Wars, and they don't have computers but they sure as heck do have alchemy. One of his modifications is the addition of little lights mounted to the barrels of his lenses, for working at night/in low light, or with materials that need to be illuminated to function properly. The other main addition happens to be the extra magnification lenses mounted to his left lens barrel. He can adjust these as needed when working.

Upper Body Armor

Bro really went ☝ (you know i had to do it to him)

Okay so in the absence of his datapad he carries around his journal. That he is constantly writing in. It also has a panel on the front cover in which he can store some of his vials, because I think that's cool and it's my AU and I Can Do What I Want.

In fact, his writing in his journal is so frequent that he actually has a pen holder mounted to his left pauldron, so when he needs to take a note of anything he can just reach over and lo and behold there it is. (He's also the in-universe inventor of pre-filled fountain pens, because it's too much of a hassle to pull out a quill and a bottle of ink any time he needs to write in the middle of the field.)

His upper arm "armor" actually consists of little bags he keeps various things in, including a bottle of ink for when he needs to refill his fountain pen. Other trinkets include small amounts of alchemical ingredients and small personal trinkets (including, after his ID ring is removed, the chains it was kept on. side side note but while the clones who had their rings removed destroyed the rings themselves, they kept the chains because of the symbolism of brotherhood they carried. a lot of them reworked them back into a single loop and wore them around their necks, like they did when they were cadets.).

And then of course there is the Backpack of Many Things (tm) in which he keeps his many things, including but not limited to: alchemical bottles (both full and empty), bags and boxes and tubes of alchemical ingredients (he has an organizational system), backup journals (for when his current journal fills up, currently he has somewhere around twenty-seven full journals and he's been keeping them consistently since he was at least four-eight), medical supplies (common sense), non-perishable food items (also common sense), a waterskin and several empty extras (also ALSO common sense), his wallet (also also ALSO common sense), and his work instruments (knives, mortar and pestle, stoppers, eyedroppers, stirring sticks, measuring cups, et cetera et cetera).

Right Gauntlet Closeup

On his right arm, Tech wears a special leather gauntlet (as opposed to the metal bracer on his left arm) that, surprise surprise, also carries Things (tm).

He's got a little box (in which to keep miscellanea) that also functions as a holder for- you guessed it- more alchemical vials.

There's also a watch that double-functions as a thermometer and lunar calendar (there's a second face under the clock that has the thermometer, and the lunar calendar you see through a little cut-out window towards the bottom; it's got a little picture of the current phase of the moon in it).

This gauntlet doesn't have any heavy-duty finger armor on it cause he needs dexterous use of his dominant fingers. Also, it was the hand he wore his ID ring on, and with how bulky and complicated that gauntlet is, it was uncomfortable to have any major obstructions to the phlanges there.

Lower Body Armor

Featuring a full view of his cuirass! It... is in very low definition cause this is a small doodle mainly focusing on the legs XD

Okay so on his belt he has larger bottles full of chemicals that would need to be used often and reached quickly. It's not shown here but he does also have a book holster in which he keeps his journal for easy access.

Then there's his leather overskirt, which he wears to kind of cushion his bottles and book holster so they're not constantly chafing against his legs. It also serves as his upper-leg protection in place of full-leg greaves, and especially as a precaution in case any of his bottles ever shatter (protection against both whatever's in the bottle AND broken glass).

He does wear padded knee armor, since, you know, he's gotta kneel down a lot to study stuff and he needs to prevent early-onset knee damage XD

Finally, his boots; they do have the heaviest protection of all his lower-body armor (steel toes and heels, and tough shin guards), but they also double as- surprise!- a place to Hold More Stuff. Yes, he even has little pouches on his legs. I swear he carries like, all of his material possessions with him. If it can't be on his person at all times then why would he own it? (This does not apply to the piano he built into one of the Marauder's walls; I'll talk about that when I make that post about Clones and Music.)

Helmet

Okay so as you can see his helmet is unique because he actually had to design it himself. (Actually, all of Clone Force 99 have unique helmets, but Tech's is unique because it's not a historical style of helmet.) It's built in two separate pieces: a face plate, and a helm; this is so that, even when helmeted, he still has access to his goggles.

Other than that, it's pretty simple as far as helmets go. He did add the antennae just for funsies, but actually they're not really for funsies because he's Tech and everything he does has a Purpose (tm); they're incredibly sharp where they slot into the helmet and he can take them out as a secret weapon in life-or-death situations.

The other big thing is that the cheek guards of his helm are sculpted to look like Tern wings; Clone Force 99 are all Commandos, and as stated previously, Commandos are denoted by the fact that their helmets have wings mounted to them. Of the Batch, only Hunter and Cross have *actual* wings on their helms, but Tech and Wrecker still have the wing motif. (If you want to see the process behind this, and also what bird every Batcher claims, Evie and I had a long talk about it a few months ago, which I will link here. you may have to go into the notes to read the tags to get the complete picture but i assure you it's all there)

[scary-senpai]

So I was working on a little something for @wanpanmas...

What you must understand about me, is that I can never be normal about anything, ever.

Anyway, the prompt was supposed to be hot chocolate.

"What force, what brutality!" "Her power is surely on par with Tatsumaki's." "Thank God she can only manipulate desserts."

From the safety of HA Headquarters, Sitch and Sekinger surveyed the skirmish from every possible angle as it streamed across multiple televisions screens.

High up in the summits, the battle raged on—between the battered, beleagured heroes and the behemoth Swiss Maid that had somehow achieved sentience, and was now intent to wreck havoc across the snow-crested alps of K-City.

With a blood-curdling cry and a shake of her pigtails, the Swiss Miss dug her claws into the earth, ripped up a stretch of topsoil and began to wrap the earth around itself, layer by layer—as if storing a yoga mat, or a fruit rollup of some sort. Tanks, armored cars, entire infantry divisions—all abruptly squished together and immobalized like so much cream filling.

"A Swiss roll attack," Sekinger said. "We should have guessed."

"Metal Bat. Garou. Come in," Sitch spoke frantically into his ear piece. "Are you still there?"

"We're still here." Badd's voice came through, but barely. "We got lucky."

Garou's connection wasn't much better. "How's the backup situation?"

"I'll have to check." Sitch's assistant switched the video feed—bad news, all of it. Every city was beset by its own mascot disaster:

- Q City: Overrun by malevolent Tropicana Oranges. Watchdog Man, trapped in an endless game of fetch.

- A City: Plagued by Coca Cola Polar Bears. Zombieman was rapidly losing limbs.

- In Smelly Lid Prison, the Kool-Aid Man barrelled through wall after wall of reinforced concrete. Most of the prisoners had been freed, but Puri Puri had been buried under several cartloads of rubble.

Sekinger and Sitch looked at each other grimly. Their silence spoke volumes.

"Don't everybody answer at once." Garou's disdain was evident.

"And what about Caped Baldy, huh? What's he up to?"

Sitch cleared his throat. "We don't know. Nobody can reach him."

.......

While the K-City Alps were in shambles, the city below was fine.

Shielded from the fracas by several picturesque mountain ranges, the citizens went about their normal holiday preparations—stringing lights, decorating trees, and exploring the scenic Christmas Market that had popped up in the City Square.

As always, the line for hot chocolate snaked halfway across the block. It wasn't Saitama's idea of a good time, but Genos finally had a day off, and this is what Genos wanted to do with it. So Saitama had tagged along, for support.

Besides, it was nice to see the kid get excited about something other than murder, for once.

Saitama switched his phone to "silent" and mentally prepared himself for another lecture on wave machines.

"Wave mechanics," Genos corrected. "The Hot Chocolate effect is a phenomena of wave mechanics wherein—"

"—face it, Gen. It's a cool idea but that chocolate's never getting out of the swimming pool. It's way too sticky to put in a wave machine.”

"…indeed." Genos deferred to his sensei with a polite nod, and then gently changed the subject to something more accessible.

"Thank you for accompanying me today, Sensei. Are you sure that the Hero Association does not require your presence? They are often short-staffed during the holidays."

"Oh yeah," Saitama said, checking his pager. "I'm getting all these messages about the Swiss Miss. Isn't she supposed to be neutral?"

"Switzerland is a famously neutral entity," Genos confirmed. "Perhaps they refer to the Swiss Guard."

"That would explain why they’re Threat Level God,” Saitama murmured. “Well. I’m sure the Pope can handle it.”

Saitama promptly slipped his phone back into his pocket and went back to thinking about chocolate swimming pools.

[to be continued]

---

Author's note:

Maybe one day I'll write a fic without footnotes, but today is not that day.

The Hot Chocolate Effect

The Swiss Guard

[rkiveinmarvel]

the trick - kaz brekker. des. angst. shadow and bone (tv) s2 spoilers! kaz brekker saw love as nothing but a mere weakness, a soft edge, an instrument to drown, and then there was you. notes. kaz brekker is bad at love lmao. brief mentions of kaz's trauma (again). pekka rollins (yeah, he has his own warnings). six of crows shenanigans. mentions of hurting, bl##d. jordie rietveld. kaz brekker. enemies-to-lovers-to-idk.

hello, hello! i'm not good at intro lmao. but read it while listening to the night we met by l. huron for more raw emotion??? i remember writing this 3am on monday, so, it might be a lil' messy ;<

wc: 1.4k

The ride back to the slat was painted with the deepest shade of silence, the alarming heart rate of everyone, the tension of everyone’s gaze, the weight on everyone’s shoulder, and the bruise getting settled on Kaz’s face. Jesper looked over at you as he noticed your undying gaze on Kaz. His breath hitched as he whispered.

“He’s okay. Don’t think too much..” You gave a concerned look to Jesper as he gave you a soft smile. The minutes' ride back to the slat was only for a while but for Kaz, it felt like an hour, a decade, it seems like he felt everything, heard everything, and saw everything. He felt the carriage halt as he sensed the familiar noise, as the crows prepared to step down from the carriage, he looked over to your hands and noticed the bruise forming in your knuckles, taking him back to the night when you both met.

----

“Pekka sent me to kill you. You pissed him off after you kept on tailing him, tracking him, watching him. I might say you might be obsessed with him. ” You stated, earning a glare and a concerned look from the sharpshooter and his ‘boss’. As words left your mouth, you felt Kaz’s reserved and fearsome intensity. 

“Then why didn’t you?” Though the question felt a little personal to your liking, Kaz’s tone proves otherwise. You felt as if a crow was watching you, daring you, and judging you. No doubt, Kaz Brekker knew that Pekka Rollins hired you to kill him, the fucking bastard of the barrel knew that, and yet here you are having a fucking drink in his fucking club. 

When Pekka Rollins let you work for him, he forgot one thing and that is checking your background, yes, perhaps he knew how skilled you are in killing, how your step would knock in silence, and how would the knife and guns would bow down in your presence, but what he did know is your past. 

With the last sip of  your drink, you look at Dirtyhand’s eyes, “Jakob Hertzoon..”

Kaz Brekker's eyes widened, he uttered something under his breath and made Jesper leave. 

“I didn’t kill you in any chance I get because… he stole something from me and I guess he also did to you.” Kaz Brekker searches for any misconceptions in your eyes, white lies that will get under his skin, but all he found are eyes that look at him and it seems like they understood him and knew him under all his walls, all his armor. 

“I get what you want from Pekka, you give me what I want..”

“And what is that?” Kaz replied you were taken aback because he was indeed out of character when he replied. You sighed. “...A chance to prove myself.” 

And that’s where all it started, as month dances into years, the withering flame in your heart, starts to fuel and fuel even more, the lingering looks in the slat, the searching for him in every room, the protecting him at any given time, it fueled you. 

It happened to him too.

It made you strong, it made him afraid. It saved you yet it drowned him in his fears.

It was your dream, it is a nightmare that he got himself into. You were the poison and yet he drank it. Pekka Rollins hired you to kill him and Kaz is damn sure that not only you might kill him but also drown him by accepting his deepest fears and secrets, and an emotion that could cloud his judgment.

--

After meeting your bruised and bloody hand he looked at you, a flame burning in his eyes and heart, as he felt it the first six months you talked to him about Pekka’s plan and jobs, he felt it the third night when Jordie’s voice seems too loud to his liking, he knew it the moment he saw colors he hasn’t seen before, he knew it when you stood to stop a bullet for him in Ravka, he knew it the moment he searched for you in every corner of the room he’s into, you flashed him a sad smile while he just stared at you getting out of the carriage, by then he knew, that maybe after tonight, he might lose you.

The slat was once again empty when the crows left it, only the deafening silence was left as well as Kaz’s breathing and your hand that is fidgeting with your left ring. The job was done, everything was at ease, and the barrel belonged to the bastard, so, why are you here?

“We need to talk.” 

Oh, right, Kaz. 

You looked at him, his bruised face was noticeable. He looked at you, your hands are covered in bruises and wounds that is new. He ought to seek the words he wants to say, things that’ll make Jordie’s voice drown in the pit of his conscience, or a word that’ll make you stay forever. But among all the words in the world that entered his mind, it seems like you found the one he need.

“Are you okay, Kaz?” His eyes met yours, and the echoing sound of a candle’s flame drifted into his mind as he saw the distance between you and him, one table apart. 

His office was filled with paintings and trophies he stole from the rooms of every building he find fascinating, and yet the most treasured thing that he do not own was you, that among the most beautiful items scattered in the room would be no equal to the fascination that Kaz gives to you.

A part of him wanted to say everything, every nightmare, every dream, every pain, everything that is about him, but he also wanted you to stay, by him, with him. But the armor he has betrayed every little thing that makes him a human, a man. 

“Don’t. It makes you dull.” Then, you recalled the moments earlier.

“The trick is not to love anything.” His shark eyes met Pekka’s desperate gaze. A little part of you felt brave but the whole part of you was betrayed. You looked at Nina as she heard your heart, and you looked at Jesper as he looked at Kaz. It pained you that when you felt like you were building Kaz, you were breaking him down into something, something you cannot see nor touch.

“Someone you'd sacrifice everything for and it makes you weak.” Then it hit you, Ketterdamn isn’t the place where the string of fate exists, you’d sacrifice everything for Kaz, all of them knew, except for him. Love is a weakness; you learned that the hard way. You fell for the man who you cannot touch, love, or even see. 

You love Kaz Brekker.

“Of course…Kaz, about what you said to Pekka, is it true? The trick?” His gaze lowered, and a sense of guilt woke the soul inside him. As he felt your eyes burning him. He couldn’t fight the right words or the actions he can take, but all he had was his walls and a pair of his broken armor. 

“Silence was never my forte, but please, tell me, those longing stares, those endless nights, those times…was that all the trick?” A shake. A shake in your voice was present. When did you become so emotional, Kaz wondered. He knew the answer because he felt the wave of emotion hit him too, harder that the punch and the bruise. 

“Love is weakness. It makes us weak—”

“I love you…” Then the world was silenced in the wake of your declaration, the sound of the storming sea was silenced in Kaz’s mind, the voices of Jordie were no longer near, and the water in his lungs was replaced by the enticing feeling in his stomach. “Does that make me weak?”

No. That was what he wanted to say, but all he did was to look at you with a shield in his eyes, that moment, he knew, he lost you.

The cold rushed down your head to your feet, you said those words and you read him wrong. Everything was wrong you were wrong. As you met Kaz’s reserved gaze, it took you to the night where you first met him, wishing that you should’ve killed him, perhaps he was right, the trick is not to love anything. 

But the only thing you heard was your footstep leaving the room, the slat, and leaving Kaz Brekker.

“No…It makes me.” He whispered under his breath.

That night, two crows understood something that love is awful, unfair, and unkind. 

That love is indeed and truly a weakness.

hehe. angst. haha, my forte.

⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3

[stardewremixed]

Alex headcanons

Wanted to be a knight when he was a child. Horse and lance, sword and suit of armor. Shiny. Made one out of tinfoil, scraps of Evelyn's fabric, and a broom stick. Neighbor kids made fun of him. He didn't dress up again.

Joined a yoga class on a dare. Well actually because he saw a pretty girl through the window and straight up walked into the glass. The instructor made him take the class. Something about balance and coordination.

Almost thought about joining the army right outta high school. He barely passed and wasn't sure college was for him. But the thought of dying while his grandparents (his only relatives) still lived qnd didnt have anyone to take care of them was too unnerving. He didn't want to leave them all alone. Still likes war movies sometimes.

Conscientious about his scent. Keeps his pit hairs trimmed. Religious about showering after working out. Keeps a spare deodorant in his truck. Leaves a trail of cologne - clean, just-out-of-shower scent, not too weighty, a bit soapy, rainforest mist like.

Has helped Sam out with his community service before because this man weirdly loves digging fence posts.

Also loves carrying things - groceries for his grandma (or the pretty farmer), barrels of ale and whiskey, folding tables from festivals, tools up a ladder, etc. Both arms full. Things normal people can carry on multiple trips. Alex gets it all and doesn't break a sweat. Would carry the farmer too (if she'd let him - and you know he's carrying her bridal style on their wedding night).

Loves a challenging ropes course. Can rappel down a wall or a mountain side. Can complete a obstacle course faster than anyone else. Would give Kent a run for his money at army crawling. Absolutely goes nuts about hiking, bouldering, free climbing too. Would probably do spelunking too if... he wasn't a teeny but afraid of the dark... because...

Kept a nightlight in his room until he was a teenager. It's why he never did sleepovers with the other kids. That and he hit puberty early. Towering over grade schoolers was only cool for like a minute. But you can reach things on the top shelf, I guess.

Occasionally freelances for the Adventurer's Guild. Gives guided hiking tours up into the mountains above the Valley or secret woods for tourists. He would be enthusiastic too - swinging his arms and waving his hands around while telling stories and pointing out cool sights.

His hugs are big, and leave you feeling wrapped up, but in a good way. Like a cozy warm blanket. You feel safe and loved.

He's a cuddler... while you watch TV together, while you read books together (yes, he likes sports magazines and biographies of his heroes), and while you sleep. He's definitely the big spoon and makes you feel cherished. That's until he starts snoring... lightly. You'll have to nudge him to stop. And those arms do get... heavy. And he's definitely elbowed his companion in bed before.

He's a bit of a wimp when it comes to shots. It's why he would never get a tattoo or get his ears pierced. He doesn't like needles. (They might also remind him of his mom and her treatments when he was little).

He once posed for a campaign poster for a lumberjack festival. Lewis had little success. Only a dozen young girls showed up on the bus that day. No actual woodchoppers. Needless to say, Alex kills it in plaid. Think Brawny paper towel guy vibes without the facial hair.

Also did a modeling gig for Pierre once to sell some winter gear. Haley took the photos. Alex is a natural in front of the camera. Again, lots of female visitors... erm... customers to the town for a period of two days. He may or may not have autographed the ad for one of the ladies.

He's shouldered a lot of responsibility from a young age. His dad ran out on them. His mom was sick. His grandparents aren't the healthiest. Alex has picked up odd jobs since he was eight. Recycling bottlecaps. ♻️ Washing cars. Lemonade stand. 🍋

Delivering newspapers was one of his first real paying gigs. Granny gave him one of George's old newsboy caps. Alex wore it with pride. He's got an incredible swing for it. Also led him to be interested in baseball. He played three seasons in Little League as a pitcher before he became fascinated with gridball. 📰

It was actually Grandpa George who got him into gridball. Watching games together on TV, critiquing the players, talking technique. Male bonding stuff. He wants to take George to a pro game one day, proudly wheeling his Gramps into the stadium. 🏈

One of his first jobs as a young adult was at the local hospital. It's how he paid for his first apartment. He wheeled people up from their appointments to get picked up at curbside. Just like with his mom when he was a young teen. It felt like a good way to keep giving back even after she was gone. New moms. Dialysis patients. Kids with broken legs from falling off a skateboard ramp...

That's how he met Sam actually. (I like to think these two would be sort-of friends). Sam talked about music and boarding and surfing. Alex talked about the high school Alma Mater fight song and baseball and weightlifting.

Sam and Alex built an epic sandcastle village on the beach one year at the Luau. Both were bored. Vincent helped too. It was impressive... until high tide came in. Haley snapped a photo first at least.

Inspired by Grandpa George, he took a dance class. That's how he met Haley (when they were late teens). He was her favorite dance partner. He could actually lift her without dropping her. And he didn't step on his toes. He's actually pretty light on his feet. Tried tap dancing too but that wasn't as successful (or cool looking).

Named MVP for his high school gridball team. Would've gone on to play in uni but just didn't have the grades. And he needed to stay close for Granny and George. Still keeps his trophies from every sport he's ever played in his room.

Would challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest any day. Has actually made some money at the Stardew Valley Fair this way. Out of towners might underestimate him. Amateurs! Shane is the only one who's come close to besting Alex and only then because he was drunk. Sober Shane might have stood a chance.

Bought George a big recliner with his very first paycheck from his adult job. Comfy cushions, high quality leather, great arm rests. George never sits in it because he had his mining accident shortly after and so it sits unused in a storage closest somewhere collecting dust. Still every once in a while, George wheels by and thinks about his grandson's thoughtfulness.

Will carry any of the Farmer's picked produce back to the bins, trekking across the fields, or will personally deliver products to Pierre's. By the armful. Corn, lettuce, bushels of broccoli, squash, grapes, tomatoes. He can carry 3 or 4 buckets at a time. Or by the basket. The big round baskets that the average person can only carry one at a time.

Likes the smell of freshly washed cars. And the air after it rains. New leather on a ball. Granny's freshly baked cookies.

Would literally be your shoulder to cry on. No seriously, people have. His mom before she passed. Evelyn after her frustrations with George. Haley after a boy she liked dumped her. Even Emily after one awkward moment as she was taking out the trash behind the Saloon and felt overwhelmed about a disturbing vision she had. He is always willing to comfort those he cares about.

Doesn't really cook but he can make a mean cheesy macaroni casserole. It's one of the few recipes he learned as a boy that has stuck with him.

Feels strongly about cheating in sports. And popping pills to make someone stronger. Especially because his mom was ill. He knows there are people out there who really need medicines. Illegal drugs are a disgrace to the profession.

Would absolutely spend his days fixing up the farmhouse, repairing the barn, sprucing the greenhouse, patching up the chicken coop while the farmer worked the fields and orchards and took care of livestock. I have this longstanding belief that Alex would make an excellent handyman in the Valley. Maybe it starts out as an apprenticeship with Robin. He's gifted with a sander, a wrench, a saw. And this man looks great in a backward cap, tight jeans, and a tool belt. He likes to feel useful, stay busy, and work with his hands. Painting your bedroom and repairing your shower leak would be his first projects once moving to the farm.

[puppetmaster13u]

Who wants a WIP with some Batdad

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

   “B, catch me!”     Bruce had barely landed in the cave before there was a small child barrelling towards him from the computers, trailing a blanket tied into a mimicry of a cape. Thankfully, Dick was incredibly light and his reflexes were good enough to catch the child who decided to take a leap into his arms.     “B, guess what!” the child in his arms giggled, mischief dancing in blue eyes as he patted at the fake wound across his chest.     He let out a questioning noise, pausing for a moment before he managed to force himself to properly speak. “What, chum?”      “Alfred says I’m good enough to start trainin’ with the proper sticks!” his kid beamed, giving a gap-toothed grin. Right, he’d been learning with foam for the last few months, with the hopes of finding a proper weapon fit for him eventually.     Bruce smiled at Dick, a bright feeling of lightness on his shoulders. “That’s amazing chum, I think that deserves some icecream and a movie night, what do you think?”     There was a cheer, itty bitty hands raising in excitement as he laughed quietly. “Why don’t you head up and pick out a movie while I change into something more casual?” he booped their itty bitty nose, eliciting a giggle as they wiggled up on his arm and flipped off to scamper up the stairs.     He smiled after the somersaulting child who disappeared into the shadows, reaching up to unhook the curved claws from where they rested below his neck. He sighed, taking a moment to breathe and finish shifting mentally from the Bat to just Bruce, even if it was getting harder to differentiate the two.     His hands found their way to the cowl next, slipping it off and over the ears, which he turned off after a moment. The spike-guards that helped hold them in place came off piece by piece with silent efficiency, then the ears themselves alongside the mouthguard that made his teeth appear tusk-like. An idea that Dick had put forth after another round of nature documentaries.     Amusement twitched on his lips as he carefully removed the layers around the undersuit meticulously crafted to allow for his full range of motion without taking away armor. Along with mimicking a mixture of chitin-esque scales and velvet-like fur, which was slightly new since Dick insisted that since bats had fur the Bat should too. Which honestly, a fair point.     Finally he was clear to unclip each piece of the wing harness, bracing the limbs on the area they had built specifically for such an action to slip out, leaving him in the undershirt. Honestly it was better to do it with another person, but taking the wings off alone every once in a while was fine as well, as long as he tested them before taking them out the next night.     Stretching, he unhooked the last bit of the wing membrane from his legs then the layer of armor on the boots that mimicked claws, even if not functional. Huh, there was an idea- for later though. He had promised Dick that they could have a movie night after all. 

[biowhore]

Shrike

Solavellan angst, ~3100 words (i think that's the longest one i've done so far!)

Excerpt:

"You chase a dead dream, Fen'Harel," she murmured, closing her weary eyes, "If you'd only wake, you might see the world for what it is now. Appreciate what it has become." "Please, not that name. Not from you." She heard snow crunching underfoot. She felt cold fingers against her cheek. Her heart lurched in her burdened chest, but she refused to open her eyes. "I saw you," he spoke softly, with a longing sort of affection, struggling to stay distant, "And I see you now. Stretching yourself thin, exhausted to your very bones, putting yourself at great risk."

It was always Haven.

Her dreams always took her back there, back to when it was all brand new and she and her friends had no idea what they were doing. Every decision was a guess, a leap of faith, a shaky gamble. But she had loved it. Had loved getting to know everyone, had loved being a source of hope, even if she had little of it herself. She had been held together by wit and snow, getting away with being Herald by the skin of her teeth.

When she dreamed, Haven was empty. There was no birdsong, no chatter, no clank of armor. No footprints, except those of a large wolf, and not always present. She followed them when they appeared in the snow, but they always faded, as if the wolf simply ceased to exist.

The Chantry was hollow, and the wind sang through its bones in a way that almost felt real. Over the years she had wandered through every inch of it slowly, savoring each snowflake, each supply barrel, each speck of dust. All of it was so detailed, but ever so slightly off. As if one were looking though warped glass.

Tonight, she was more exhausted than usual, with her work over the last 9 years expected to be coming to a head very soon. Rather than wander, she sat wearily on part of the stone half-wall that surrounded the chantry and stared up at the memory of the Breach.

Her stump tingled. Strangely, despite returning to Haven as it had been, her arm never returned to what it was. She supposed dreams couldn't give one everything, but a little reprieve from the phantom limb would have been nice. It itched more intensely here. Her right hand closed around the stump, squeezing in a pattern, trying to remind her body yet again of its new form. Malloria sighed, closed her eyes, and listened to the false wind.

With her eyes closed, she felt the snowflakes speckle her dark skin, leaving brief pinpricks of icy cold on her warm face. At times, she reveled in the silence and peace here, and at others she mourned. Tonight, with how tired she was, she was grateful for the somewhat eerie simplicity of the place.

As it often did while she was here, her mind remembered quick flashes of an easy conversation, of surprised kisses, and hands grabbing for more. Her memories were of her senses; the taste of his lips, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his tunic between her fingers, the smell of his skin, and the color of his eyes.

Her face still upturned, and her eyes still closed, her pointed ears flickered at the sound of snow being compacted underfoot. Under four feet, to be exact. Other than the footprints, she had encountered no other sign of this wolf until now. Too tired to hunt, she hoped it might settle for a chat.

She listened to it, turning her head to follow the sound, but it seemed to trickle in from all around her. Pat pat pat, it barely made any sound in the snow, but the hollow and contradictory nature of this version of Haven had anything other than the wind amplified by magnitudes.

"I hope to skip a long line of questioning and ask you directly why you only show yourself now, Hunter," Malloria called out.

There came no answer. She didn't know what she expected. She sighed when the sounds of the wolf trampling the snow morphed into growls that filtered in from all directions, bouncing off the stone of the Chantry and echoing into the ether.

"You're doing to make me get up, aren't you."

The growling faded, as did the sound of the wolf's feet. Suddenly Haven was silent. The false wind had even ceased.

Malloria briefly closed her eyes, steeling herself. When she opened them, the wolf stood directly in her line of sight, perhaps 30 feet away. It was massive and many-eyed, pelt as dark as the night and producing a faint smoke. The eyes did not blink and were of no color. It stood unnervingly still, those many unblinking eyes locked onto her.

She stood, realizing she could feel her heartbeat in her pointed ears. Her hand tensed, preparing to pull for a magical blade.

"Well, Beast?" she asked, low and calm. There was no point in trying to attack it immediately. She wasn't even sure what it was. Its wolf form was dredging up feelings she would rather not address, especially with how tired she was. She needed to focus. If she couldn't do that, she needed to wake up, but her head was starting to feel like it was swimming.

The only reaction she received was that the wolf began walking a wide perimeter around her. The giant paws padded a slow, deliberate rhythm, its head swiveling to keep its monstrous eyes focused upon her. It taunted her openly, trying to intimidate her to run as if she were an anxious doe.

Except Malloria did not run. Not anymore.

She reached into the Fade for a blade to defend herself. Her feet planted into the stone and snow, her whole body tensing in anticipation. The blade came so easily here, in her dreams. It shone like bright cold flame, energy crackling away from it in frenzy. She held it low, as a warning that she was prepared but would allow the creature to leave if it finally thought better of it. The wolf paced behind her now, slowly coming around to her right periphery and her weapon. Her fingers gripped the hilt of the sword like a lifeline – her instincts screaming at her so loudly it was affecting her focus. Her heart raced, her blood ran cold, and her breath quickened to quiet, shallow, pants. She had a terrible feeling about this.

It finally entered her peripheral vision again, dumbfoundedly choosing not to attack within her blind spots. Her ears picked up a sizzling sound as it continued its circuit – acidic saliva was dripping into the snow from its maw, poison steam rising in small tendrils from the ground as it walked. A growl grew within its chest anew, as if it were agitated by something. It continued walking, its eyes still focused on her.

The beast halted in front of her, back at the beginning, hackles raised high, and grinned at her with all its poisoned teeth, "May the Dread Wolf take you." It cursed her with a voice of tumbling stone, bouncing through the Fade like a nightmare.

With an echoing cackle, its body melted and disintegrated into a smoky, ashy, pool, the mess evaporating slowly into the ether of the Fade.

Malloria disengaged, confused, dismissing her sword and flexing her fingers. She blinked slowly at the darkened snow where the thing had been. Her instincts were screaming at her again, that she knew what it was, but her mind fought it. It couldn’t be… she was too strong for that. And then a slow awareness prickled up her spine, spreading across her shoulders as they tensed. Malloria turned slowly, stiffly.

The Dread Wolf was there, standing calmly in the middle of the yard. She surveyed him from feet to ears - he wore the same wolf pelt as last they met, but he had exchanged armor for robes of a dark material she could not name. There were gold embellishments throughout, and a rather important looking dagger secured at his hip. His posture was deceptively guarded, his hands behind his back, as always, but shoulders lax and stance casual. She arrived at his face, and it too was lined in deceit. Feigning calm and collectedness - disinterest, even - but his eyes told her his sorrow, his regret.

Her mind viewed the Dread Wolf as an enemy. She didn't recognize this person, but she saw Solas's eyes. She would always know them, no matter their form.

Malloria blinked, and her Solas stood before her. The dagger and pelt remained, but he now wore the same humble hedge mage robes as when they first met. He bore no other weapons, only himself.

"Hello, Inquisitor," he greeted. He sounded so formal, so foreign. He briefly looked down at himself, keeping his hands behind his back, "Remembering me as I was?"

"Some version of you, anyway. Whatever that may be," it was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, "You could have changed yourself to suit me better, for all I know."

"This is your dream. You have... most… of the power here." He spoke carefully.

"If that is true then how are you even here?"

"I said most, not all. And you are weakened, as evidenced by the demon that sought to take you over.”

"Ah. Demon..." She knew her instincts had been right. Her guard was down, and a demon had walked right in. She wondered if it had been scouting her all this time, stalking her, leaving its footprints in the snow as some sort of taunt. All the endless work she had been doing over the years was catching up to her. Little rest, little time for contemplation, as she liked it. It wasn’t safe. She had to shove down the shock that was threatening to overtake her with this realization. Focus. She needed to focus. The Dread Wolf was here.

Malloria slowly looked Solas over, from the placid expression on his face, to his casual stance, and back up again. Stopping at his eyes, she asked, "Did you come here just for that? Just to drive it off?"

"Did I enter your dream just to save you?" he asked softly. His gaze fell to the ground, his head turning to the side. "Yes, I did." He turned to face the Breach, giving her his back. His right hand clasped his left wrist behind his back, still so formal after that confession. For a several moments he said nothing, and Malloria allowed it. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions. She didn’t think she wanted to know the answers.

"Why Haven, with the Breach?" he asked, almost casually.

Now it was her turn to pause. To stare at the blasted thing that started them all down this cursed journey.

"Hope," she finally said. Back when it was brightest. Back when there was only one problem to solve, and she was the one who could do it. Her dreams used to be more exciting or fantastical. Faraway lands, distant pasts, incredible adventures. Now, she just wanted peace, even if only for a moment. She hadn't been one for hope at the time. More inclined toward a dark sense of humor. Inside, she had always clung to it though, the thought that she could be something, do something, so much greater than herself. That was what she was supposed to believe, anyway.

He turned his head toward her, then slowly faced her, taking her in again anew, "You've changed."

"People do that, Solas." She took slow steps toward him, circling him and coming to stand at his front. Closer, but not too close. Her hand brushed the pelt mantle just slightly as she passed him; she was amazed at how real it felt, "Change is the nature of the world."

"It didn't use to be."

"So you've said. But it's been many, many ages since your time. Since your people's time.

"Our people."

"My people are not yours," she said with all the conviction of the Inquisitor, the Herald. "You don't even recognize them."

"That is why-" he cut himself off, shaking his head, "You know my path. I will not stray from it. I've done what I came here to do, there is no reason to stay and continue a pointless argument."

"Are you just keeping me alive for some machination of yours?"

He looked at her again and actually appeared wounded, his eyebrows drawn in, his jaw clenched.

"If only I were so detached from you."

If only she could believe that. Malloria sighed with all the weight of over 10 years of separation, of never truly understanding why. And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Even now she didn't understand. Why? Why? Why had she not been enough? Had she ever been?

"You chase a dead dream, Fen'Harel," she murmured, closing her weary eyes, "If you'd only wake, you might see the world for what it is now. Appreciate what it has become."

"Please, not that name. Not from you."

She heard snow crunching underfoot. She felt cold fingers against her cheek. Her heart lurched in her burdened chest, but she refused to open her eyes.

"I saw you," he spoke softly, with a longing sort of affection, struggling to stay distant, "And I see you now. Stretching yourself thin, exhausted to your very bones, putting yourself at great risk."

His thumb brushed across the high arch of her cheekbone, where part of her vallaslin had been, and she lost her battle against looking at him. Her eyes fluttered open and flooded with his gaze. She felt his intake of breath when she looked at him, obviously as affected by her as she was of him. There was nothing she could say that she had not already said. He would not come home, he would not stop. She had to be the one to stop him. She had to stand against him. She had to build a network. She had to move, and scheme, and toil, and work and work and work... She was tired. But he would not come home.

“Do you know what it was?” she asked, trying weakly to steer the conversation away from the vast void between them.

Solas sighed, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. “It is a more complex demon… attracted to and influenced by your mind.” Again his thumb ran across her cheekbone, as if to emphasize the point, “But, you know this.”

Did she? Did she truly understand the depth and gravity of her inner emotions? Or had she been shoving them away into a dark corner of her mind, focusing only on what lay in front of her.

Solas’s eyes bore into her, looking at her like he could read everything about her that she wanted to ignore. See all the hard parts of her that she tried to file down into softness. He saw the raw heart beyond the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. He saw Malloria, and she wished he did not.

Her jaw ached with a rising wave of acceptance. That she had opened the door for this spirit and let it through, to become the thing she couldn’t acknowledge in herself.

“Duty.” Solas named it softly, “Resentment.”

She closed her eyes with the weight of it given life through his words. It was true. She was no longer Malloria, she was a symbol. An idea. She could not hide from it no matter how she longed to. She would chase Solas across Thedas to keep her world alive, and she would forever resent the events that started her on this path.

“I’m so tired, Solas.”

“I know.”

Malloria stared into his eyes, her hand coming up to his own cheek, her bare fingertips roving over the cold skin. His face had begun to blur in her mind over the years, but she always knew the shape and colors of his eyes. Sometimes stormy, melancholic blue, sometimes sensual, prideful purple. But always the same, always Solas.

"Aren't you as well?" she whispered after a moment, "Are you not weary?"

"As I have ever been, ma vhenan."

“And yet…”

“And yet,” he acknowledged. And yet he would continue. And yet she would chase him. And yet they would go on and on in this game of cat and mouse, until the bitter end, whatever shape that took.

Malloria’s composure chipped, her face crumpling briefly with the power of her sorrow threatening to overtake her. Small tears built in the corners of her eyes and she attempted to blink them away.

“Ir abelas, vhenan.” Solas whispered, brushing his thumb under her eye, anticipating the tear that fell there.

 She nodded, trying and failing to say the words without choking, more tears spilling onto her cheeks, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan.”

Solas’s other hand came up to her face and pulled her forward, bridging the small gap between them. The kiss was just as she remembered them, but laced with salt from her tears, and the bitterness of his regret. Their lips still danced together as she remembered, brushing softly, then taking great sips of each other, trying to communicate the incommunicable, trying to take from one another, trying to give to one another what they each thought they needed. His hands fell away from her face and his arms came around her, as if his body would not accept leaving without her. For the moment of their kiss, their souls tangled together and cried out, attempting to fight a fate neither of their hearts would abandon.

They parted slowly, foreheads touching, bodies pressed together, reluctant to return to their respective paths. Solas marching forward and she trailing behind, as a hunter, trying to head him off. For this impossibly small window of time, they could exist outside of those roles they had built for themselves.

Malloira tried to catch her breath, but she felt her heart breaking all over again. She could see nothing but him; not her plans, not her friends, not her life. Only him. She thought she might perish the moment she had to be thrust back into reality. And she knew he knew what she was thinking. How she did didn’t think she could let him go again, even in the Fade. She couldn’t end this, but he could. He could always do the hard things.

"You used tongue again," she whispered onto his lips.

The faintest, lightest little bemused laugh on his lips, a smile, then the echo of his voice as he commanded her, "Wake up."

Malloria sat up straight in her bed, her breaths short and shallow, her heart racing in her chest, her stump on fire. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down her back as her mind caught up with her body. She gripped her stump with her hand, trying to massage it, trying to distract herself from the incessant pain. Her room was dark and cold, as empty as it had ever been.

She still tasted him on her tongue, and somehow, she knew it would be the last piece of him she would ever have.

[howlingday]

Yang VS Jaune

Goku VS Superman story

--------------------------------------------------

Thunder echoed across the mountain range, disturbing the peaceful wildlife that lived there. At the source of these explosions were two combatants, each brave heroes in their own right. One was a huntress from an island north of Vale, training her mind, body, and spirit to become the strongest who ever lived. Her opponent was a huntsman from a small farming community from the south, raised from humble beginnings and trained to be the greatest protector of Remnant. They'd once met as little more than colleagues but steadily grew into becoming rivals. And today, Yang Xiao Long was ready to prove herself against Jaune Arc.

Yang: Today's the day, Vomit Boy! Today we settle who's stronger~!

Jaune: (Chuckles) If you say so.

Jaune charged at his brawler foe, his armored weight shaking the ground as he barreled towards her. Yang gave a smirk as she slapped his punch away, deflecting herself out of his path. Watching her fly over made him grin, something she held as well as she struck him from behind with a swift heel kick.

Jaune rolled through a tree in his flight, stopped only as Yang cut him off and struck him from every direction. Jaune, now with bearings regained, delivered hard blows in kind, only to be deflected once more by a kick to the chin. Both fighters stared each other down for a moment before continuing their tear across the forests of Sanus.

More booming strikes were given back and forth them until Jaune boosted the aura within his eyes in an attempt to distract Yang. This didn't work as Yang blinked out of sight. Once Jaune blinked, Yang appeared in front of him and delivered a hook kick before blinking out once more. This time, she appeared behind him and delivered another kick into him.

Yang: You're holding back!

Jaune: (Hit from every angle)

Yang: Give me your all!

Jaune: (Grabbed by his armor)

Yang: (Spins him around) NO REGRETS!

Jaune: (Rolls to his feet) I'm doing just fine, thank you!

With little effort on his part, Jaune launched himself at Yang and knocked her across a lake. She really felt that one as her semblance flared her body to shine like gold with a superheat that caused water on the shore to evaporate just from her being nearby! Jaune quickly crossed the water to strike but was easily dodged by Yang once more with a simple leap and a struck him into the water. As he fell, he saw the golden light concentrate to a single point as Yang began to chant her mantra above him.

Yang: Golden Dragon Wave!

Jaune yelled as he was knocked deeper below the waves, searing heat scorching his body like dragon fire! However, Yang noticed something was off. Faster than she could respond to, Jaune shot out of the lake like a cannon, just over her attack, and hit her hard once again, sending her flying across Remnant. Chasing her, Jaune swung and missed as Yang dodged, and the two entered their aerial combat dance, perhaps unknowing that they'd left the world of Remnant and entered orbit!

The Shattered Moon hanging just overhead, Jaune and Yang clashed outside of all but the Brother's view. Jaune threw a punch, but was easily dodged as Yang delivered one-inch counter punch that knocked Jaune back just enough to give her the chance to launch fireballs at him. Jaune responded to these projectiles with using his eye beams once more, decimating most of them before grabbing one in his hand. Tossing it aside, he was too late to realize it was heading for-

BOOM!

The formerly known Shattered Moon, now known as the Obliterated Moon.

Yang: Whoops! Ha ha! Well, I guess we can always make a new one, right?

Jaune: (Flexes hand) Paper-thin world... (Smiles) Alright! I'll show you just how powerful I really am~!

Yang: (Giggles)

With a single strike, Yang caught a glimpse of a tear in reality, one in which she was a lot more dragon-y than usual, with scales and everything, as she duked it out with a much more knightly looking Jaune. She was sent flying a lot farther than before, stopping herself in time to throw a counter at the near-teleporting image of Jaune, who blinked out and struck again, making her see another tear in which black fire erupted from her hands against the rainbow-hued eye beams of a more sinister looking Jaune. Sent further away from Remnant, still reeling in pain, Yang didn't notice Jaune had already sped ahead of her to deliver a two-handed hammer-fist blow to her back, forcing another vision of another world in which she, in much simpler clothes, challenged a planet-sized being that looked dangerously similar to Jaune. The visions came to an end as she hurtled back down to Remnant, landing not in the Kingdom of Vale but crashed into the deserts of Vacuo!

Picking Yang up from her crash site, he tossed her into the side of a mountain. Or was it a plateau? In any case, she hit the stony structure hard. So hard, in fact, that the impact shredded her jacket and knocked the golden shine from her hair. Jaune stood in front of Yang with a beaming smile, but hers was even bigger and brighter.

Jaune: So? What do you think?

Yang: Heeheehee~! That was AWESOME~! By the way, nice shirt!

Jaune: Oh! Uh, thanks! Old Arc family fabric. My sister said it was the same kind our grandpa wo-

Yang: HYA!

Yang's attempt to strike Jaune from behind while he was distracted didn't work so well, so she tried again. Then tried again. Even as Jaune lazily blocked her strikes, she continued to battle. Going in for the counter, Jaune aimed right for Yang's face. Time slowed around her, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jaune rocketed past Yang faster than she casually stepped aside with her hair glowing white.

Faster than Jaune could react, Yang delivered a gut punch that bent Jaune over. As Yang backflipped away from another punch, lights glittered around Jaune, each exploding all at once like tiny, little fire-bombs. The smile knocked off Jaune's face and a more mischievous one settled on Yang's, the two charged one another across the arid skies. Jaune unleashed a wave of eye beams so intense that they sliced the peaks off distant mountains!

Yang moved in, countering Jaune's blows with either blocks or dodges, slipping in hooks, crosses, jabs, uppercuts, and even a few kicks until Jaune was left immobilized by the assault. Having enough of being stuck in one place, Jaune super-charged his semblance to unleash an explosion of aura that destroyed everything around him! Everything, that is, except for Yang.

Tired by the sudden outburst of his aura, Jaune took to the skies and beyond Remnant's orbit once more. However, this time, he went further than the Obliterated Moon. He flew into the source of all life on Remnant, the Sun, and then traveled even further beyond, reaching a dozen or even a hundred or a thousand, maybe even a million different suns! Back on Remnant, Yang gave a soft smile as the sky began to glow brighter and brighter with from a more intense beacon of light than the star that greeted her every morning.

Yang: Finally...

Crouching into a horse stance, Yang gathered her aura. All of it, every last bit, and focused it into a single point in her hands. This technique, the same one she used earlier, the very same she'd been taught by her father, allowed her to gather all of her fighting spirit and concentrated it into a single beam of aura. As it built, she chanted the same mantra she'd always had, ever since her first day at Signal.

Yang: GOOOLDEEEN...

Yang: DRAAAGOOON...

Jaune then began his return to Remnant. The world he grew up on looked so small, so delicate from here, and yet its growing size did little to ease his worry. Even though he'd faced challenges greater than himself time and time again, fearing for his life every time, he knew he'd do it over and over again every time, because that's what she would have done. Shining with a golden light, he moved forward and kept pushing on.

WAAAAAAAAVE!

Remnant quaked as a tower, no, a CONTINENT of golden aura erupted from its orbit! This was only matched as a smaller, more concentrated beam of golden light pierced a path through towards the huntress. With a scream, she activated her semblance, forcing the beam to explode out with more power, more intensity that destroyed the world behind her. But this blast, too, however, was also cut through as the huntsman neared her position.

Using the last of her strength, Yang Xiao Long formed a conduit of pure aura from her, a titanic version of herself, and launched a fist the size of a mountain at her opponent. Jaune Arc replied with his own punch, the cosmos themselves shaking as a shockwave destroyed all of creation, shattering reality and leaving only a white void.

Yang groaned, opening her eyes, wincing from the bright world around her, confused by the white space. Looking down, she saw that she was still whole, her body still intact. It wasn't until she saw the ring above her head that she let out a sigh.

Yang: Ah, darn it.

A chuckle nearby drew her attention to Jaune, who was smiling in his cracked armor and tattered clothes.

Jaune: You almost had me there! That was actually pretty fun.

Yang: Yeah, it sure was!

Yang gave a laugh of her own, but it was short-lived as she stood up, clenching her fist with more competitive, but no less friendly grin.

Yang: But I'll be stronger next time!

Jaune: I look forward to it.

Jaune turned away from the blonde brawler, looking to the shattered reality around them. In the tears in the rifts, the two saw windows into countless, alternate worlds. In these windows of different Yang and different Jaunes, there were only three constants.

There was always a Yang.

There was always a Jaune.

And even though they fought in some tears, they were always friends.

Yang: ...

Jaune: ...

Yang: (Holds out her fist) Wanna go again~?

Jaune: (Bumps her fist) You bet~!

[gloriousburden]

I agree with your take on Mobius so much! People treat him like a cinnamon roll. Which he isn't. He is a horrible person but no one wants to acknowledge that. Sylvie is terrible too, but at least people acknowledge her flaws which is something I guess. Oh, and I had watched season 2 of Loki series, and Mobius was so ooc in the first episode. Like, he randomly went from torturing and manipulating and gaslighting Loki to suddenly risking his life for Loki. It made me wanna throw up. I have never seen such a random 180° turn. Extremely ooc. And Lokius shippers eat that shit up. Like, I don't know whether you have watched Season 2 or not, but there's a scene where Mobius volunteers to do something extremely risky to save Loki. And yeah, I don't believe that crap at all. Tomorrow they might suddenly show Thanos risking his life for Loki too. I think season 2 episode 1 should have came with an OOC warning attached lol.

Have a great day! ❤️

Unfortunately, I have watched all of the series. I may talk about Lokius shippers a lot, but Sylki shippers (though there’s only like… two of them nowadays) have the same issue that Lokius shippers have. They only acknowledge the flaws of the character from the opposite ship, and not the flaws of the character they ship with Loki. Sylvie fans hate Mobius, Mobius fans hate Sylvie. There’s issues with both characters! Are you kidding me?

YES EXACTLY. He was very OOC… I guess he got some kind of “redemption”/“change of heart” or some shit behind the scenes. Why do you suddenly love Loki so much? Of course the shippers eat it up. They’d eat literal garbage if it was orange color coded with grey hair, and green color coded with black hair or played by Tom/Owen.

Nothing towards either actors BTW hope it doesn’t come off as that. I mean this towards the fans, not the actors!

It’s just… these aren’t even the same characters anymore. That’s not even Loki! And Mobius, though I have no love for him, isn’t even himself anymore. The writing is so fucking inconsistent not only with Loki, but with EVERYONE.

Yep. I do know what you’re talking about. Why so lovey dovey and knight in shining armor all of a sudden? Why would he suddenly risk his life for someone he threw into a time loop to get physically assaulted without a second thought? Oh why cause they hugged so it’s okay now? 🤦🏻‍♀️

Look, if Mobius had apologized or even acknowledged his previous behaviors, then I wouldn’t be so freaked out by the way the fandom treats him or the OOC-ness (because obviously they’re gonna let shit slide for a mediocre ship) But… NONE OF THAT HAPPENED! Think I spoke about this in one of my last posts but so many Loki “fans” TRULY believe Loki needs to be humbled. That’s why they don’t bat an eye at the abuse coming from Mobius. As well as them being eager to excuse absolutely anything in order to not ship the “straight” ship.

It’s getting really weird. Some of them want Lokius to be canon just because “Ooh gay ship” and not because they really believe Loki and Mobius go along well together and they’re opposites attract and one’s a god one’s a human and so on. Whatever tropes you can throw in there.

And Lokius fans pretending to be so much more morally superior/holier than thou for being against Sylki because of the selfcest shit… YOU EXCUSE MOBIUS VERBALLY DEMEANING LOKI AND HAVING HIM BE PHYSICALLY ASSAULTED… HOW IS THAT BETTER?! This is like the pot calling the kettle black. Like I’ve said before, If Mobius was female.. People would hate his guts! And the amount of people shipping Lokius would be so, so much lower. And they’d actually see the flaws of the show.

Hope this does not sound like me trying to defend Sylki/Sylvie in anyway, Both are HORRIBLE, bottom of the barrel, and garbage ships. Sylvie’s writing/actions are not excused just because she’s female. It’s just Lokius shippers are more prevalent, therefore more annoying to me. And for some reason, Lokius shippers tend to be a lot more immature. I think because they’re usually younger than Sylki shippers.

I understand people want representation, but there are so many ships that have been done better. You don’t need to grasp for straws just because you only now learned that Loki is bisexual!

THE THANOS POINT LOLLLLLLL EXACTLY. That cracked me up, I won’t lie. I wouldn’t be surprised if that became a thing. They’re just so desperate to ship anyone and everyone! Can we think critically about these characters/movies/series for one moment?

Thank you! You too ❤️