#so the only damage this has for others is having to maybe see it

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Can you do a reaser g/n who is the equivalent to John wick. With Steve

♡ [TFP] STEVE/ST3V3 HCs!

anon, you asked after i said reqs were closed but i lowkey think the request is FIRE because the idea factory started going overdrive… it's kinda short though! forgive me :,,)

scenario: you're here because you get paid, a super efficent mercernary with a penchant for violence and the vehicons adore you for that, especially the one with the worst luck known to Cybertron

warnings: one sided from steve angst(?)

— He knew he wasn't supposed to, ST3V3 knew damn well he was never supposed to but how couldn't he? So what if you're a higher ranking bot and he's just an expendable clone! You technically don't have a rank though… You're just a mercenary-for-hire Megatron calls upon when everything's gone to slag. You make it clear you don't work for the tyrant and that you're only here because he has you on his payroll which all the vehicons are jealous of. But they respect it too. It makes you admirable in a way.

— And your lack of an alignment does make you a gamble for his benefactor but ST3V3 couldn't resist, even if he shouldn't. It was pathetic really, how, Pit, not even kindness but basic decency had him so utterly smitten. Only other mech was Breakdown but Breakdown was more of the pleasantries and conversation kind, you were actively saving their lives and from a trip to the medbay.

— It was the little things that really got to him. The fact that you bothered to remember the codenames of all the Vehicons you met, the way you actually tried to make sure none of them got hurt when you're one-on-one against an Autobot… And you get real violent.

— But he'd be lying if he said seeing you covered in energon wasn't ominously attractive in some strange kind of way. Maybe he's sustained too much blaster damage to his helm…

— He kinda also wants to be in the same position as those sorry Autobot troopers beneath you but in a different context.

— There's something about being treated like an actual individual that gets to him a lot. While you certainly aren’t a conversationalist, your cautiousness to make sure more Vehicons don't get terminated and the way you acknowledge their existence is sparkfelt to him. You somehow even knew who was who despite all of them looking almost alike!

— ST3V3's spark skips a beat every time you actually address him by his designation, the name he chose for himself— “Steve”. It's a bit monotone and dare he say, almost in the manner Shockwave would've said it in but even then, it gets him all giddy. Secretly of course.

— But… turns out, most of the Vehicons felt the same way about you. You are certainly a popular subject amongst them, they talk about you at least once a day. However, most of them admire only from a distance. Also, sometimes their talk about you is… less than savoury. It’s like in those movies where they go; “check out that babe over there”, cue someone whistling, “ohhh, i see that alright…”. Basically, they talk like old perverts. And they do envy ST3V3…

— Because he gets to talk to you a lot more than the rest of them. ST3V3 is known for his horrendously bad luck so you end up saving his tailpipe from more damage. Of course, you're doing this as a professional courtesy.

— They don't realize that you see them as individuals because you've never really been around drones before, you genuinely think of them as people and so, you think of them as being on the same team which is the only reason you look out for them.

— Now, ST3V3 and the other Vehicons get more reckless when they're assigned to help you out on missions you're hired for. They're endangering themselves on purpose so you could be their hero. You're like their angel. Even though you are far, far from one.

— ST3V3 still gushes thinking about that day when you held him in your servos for a brief moment when he was about to land flat onto his faceplate because of an explosion.

— At some point, you even have a chat with Megatron about how improperly trained his Vehicon troops are. Having the ball bearings to, respectfully, ask him if the Vehicons have had their combat programming curtailed. Lord Megatron could've blasted a shot right through your chassis for that one! ST3V3 is impressed by your courage. Megatron keeps you around because you're useful.

— ST3V3 is the number one culprit, he's already got terrible luck without even trying. So when you mention ST3V3 to Megatron, he's… he's confused. He has a ST3V3 in his ranks? What? Since when? Why an Earth name? And you just blink in confusion at his confusion. There's an awkward silence between the two of you. Megatron thinks you've gone off the rails by bothering to remember the names of drones. But he doesn't say that to you, judging you in silence but you can feel his judgement, heavily.

— You keep your optics peeled for ST3V3 and try to make sure he's not in a position where he's in trouble but even then, somehow, by some spark-forsaken curse or something (you're starting to believe he may actually be cursed), he still ends up in trouble! Under blaster fire, under debris, under falling Autobots. He hopes maybe someday he'll be under you instead.

— You're not an easily frustrated individual. You never really were one. So you scold ST3V3; the nicest, most polite, well-mannered and sparkfelt (his definition of sparkfelt is basic decency) way any bot as ever dared to speak to him in and he swore he fell even harder. The other Vehicons are seething in jealousy.

— Sometimes, ST3V3 fantasizes about being taken away to your world— wherever it is that you go in your spacecraft after you're done with what you were paid to do. Would you take him there? Primus, he hopes you do. But he knows it will never really happen.

— He gets easily distracted in a fight when you're there so his natural talent for finding trouble comes to him. But you're giving him a mouthful afterwards so… it's still a win in ST3V3’s book! He gets to be saved by you AND gets to hear you talk to him.

— You give ST3V3 a look of acknowledgement in the hallway once and he's been boastful about it to the other Vehicons since. His visor makes it hard for you to discern what he feels so you can't tell his excitement. They're all incredibly jealous.

— One time, he actually did something right for once and you applauded him. ST3V3 has had that memory engraved into his databanks and he's been clinging onto it for cycles.

— ST3V3 gets so awkward around you but you can't really blame him! You're intimidating. From your dark aura to the way you are on the field, it really makes you attractive and scary. Sometimes you crack a joke every now and then, it surprises him a bit but he laughs a bit. He's trying not to laugh out loud and look like a total idiot though‐ He doesn't want you to think he's even worse of an awkward clutz.

— You call him many things; trouble magnet, auto-bait, autobot detector (he's the first one to get shot at), adrenaline junkie, the world's worst good luck charm... many notable names. It's.. kinda funny though so he tries to not let it get to him. But the other Vehicons tease him with it too. Call him an actual pet-name and he will melt though. Something like 'sweetspark' and he's on his knees.

— He's so into you, it's not even funny at this point. ST3V3 wants you badly. So very badly. He gets extremely jealous when he sees Knockout try and shoot his shot at you, he doesn't really do anything about the jealousy he feels nor does he blame Knockout for even trying. He would too if he had a higher rank.

— He wouldn't actually try pursuing you though. ST3V3, as well as the other Vehicons know that they don't have a chance here. They're just Vehicon drones and they'll terminate as Vehicon drones… No matter how much they dream otherwise, the dark struggles of being a Vehicon are endless.

okay guys i'm still not done with OG batch of requests, ik i said i'd only be taking ten but there was an excess amount. so i did the ones that i felt i could write quickly first and moved onto the ones i feel would require more detail and my own special touch last. also pls, pls don't request when requests are closed :(( i feel inclined to write them and end up feeling bad when i don't... theres just like three more though so im good, cooling extra special for my moots :P

[wisteriasymphony]

If the ML world special focusing on Kagami is all about launching a spin-off then I need the Rio one with Luka to be entirely lore based just to make up for it. That's why he's still in Brazil, Su-Han is teaching him All The Horrors

Technically, I feel like it won't even focus on Kagami, either. The bulk of that looks like it'll go to the three new pilots (Miki, Mayotte, Yu Lu iirc?) as this will essentially be setting up the aforementioned spin-off.

I doubt any of the specials are going to be lore-heavy, if I'll be honest. At least when it comes to kwamis—New York and Shanghai were about establishing the other magic systems/powers existing in the world, and I feel like the Native American Miraculouses in New York and the Supreme/Reverse shit in Paris were a lot more shallow than I'd like them to be and only served to bring up more questions than answers. The London Special was half- damage control for S5 finale and half- Chrysalis setup.

While I have mentioned to people in the past that I was not a fan of the early special ideas (Lady Rose, Lady Tiger, Lady Lion, Lady Butterfly, see a pattern?), they at least promised the introduction of new kwamis.

So, why are they not doing that anymore? My theory is that establishing separate magic systems (in addition to frontloading the whole planned superhero comic book universe setup as fast as possible) is a very easy way to prevent power creep. They don't have to worry about making kwamis with powers that are increasingly bigger threats if they don't make kwamis at all, right?

...The fan kwamis I've made for the tongue-in-cheek "Chat Noir London/Tokyo Specials" are in essence me trying to argue that this line of logic is faulty. I think weaker kwamis would make fantastic villains, because then you have to get creative with how it's executed in ways that can still be threatening. Hell, Tenggu is a great example of this! Capture perfectly skirts around being a direct copy of Fetch or Voyage*, and while on its surface a power that lets you remotely move one thing once sounds lame I wrote a scene where a character uses it to kill someone! And, sure, maybe networks are so sensitive nowadays that nobody can die anymore in a kid's movie even offscreen. My point still stands, there are ways to expand the kwami roster without jeopardizing the system as it is.

*When Capture is activated, the holder draws a boundary around an object, and with a flick of the wrist the object is transported to a location of their choice. Because it does not require touch and does not bring the object directly into the holder's hands, it's not Fetch. Because it can only move one object and is a one-way transportation, it's not Voyage. Plus, the caveat of a boundary means that the object needs to be immobile or otherwise unable to exit the boundary, which causes problems for capturing moving or complex targets. Simple to understand, has a lot of room to be used creatively, etc. With the existence of Genesis and Amokitization I would even say the resemblance-but-not-direct-copy is a point to its favor and not against it.

[amethyst-geek]

So you know how in "The Ruler," it's implied that Cerise is starting to suspect that Nathaniel is Caprikid? Something I've been wondering lately is why out of all of the heroes, why did the writers pick Nathaniel/Caprikid's to be one Cerise started to suspect. From a meta standpoint, Nath's a rather random choice compared to say Marinette, Adrien, Alya, or Nino. However, I have a theory.

Once Chrysalis is defeated (which admittedly probably won't be for a while since Timetagger revealed that Chrysalis's time as the butterfly wielder will last long enough for Nino's little brother to go through puberty), the writers will almost certainly want to give Nooroo a new heroic wielder. However, I can see the writers taking a look at the teen characters who don't already have a miraculous (like Aurore or Ondine) and deciding that none of them really fit the vibe of the butterfly miraculous (which could be part of the reason season 6 has introduced several new teen characters, like Sublime and Diane). While looking at pre-established characters to decide which characters fit the butterfly' vibe, they may have realized that Nath (despite currently wielding the goat) fits the vibe of the butterfly pretty well.

Also, they're probably at least somewhat aware that the decision to give Nathaniel the goat miraculous has sparked controversy among the fandom due to the horns.

So perhaps the writers are planning to kill 2 birds with 1 stone by doing a storyline where Chrysalis does something to Nath that leads to him stepping down as Caprikid (in the process freeing up Nath to eventually become the new butterfly wielder after the heroes finally rescue Nooroo). Maybe it becomes clear to the heroes that Chrysalis knows Nath is Caprikid, so Nath decides that he'd rather retire from being Caprikid and return the goat miraculous to Ladybug than risk Ziggy falling into the hands of yet another supervillain.

Alternatively, if the writers are feeling edgy, maybe Chrysalis could sick an akumatized villain on Nath, have the akuma injure Nath really badly (like breaking his arm or making even badly damaging his spine, though that may be too dark), and then recall the akuma before Ladybug has the chance to summon a lucky charm, (since I pretty sure Ladybug can only reverse the damage caused by an akumatized villain or sentimonster if she summons her lucky charm BEFORE the akuma or amok is recalled), causing the injuries Nath sustained to have heal the old-fashioned way (or possibly even permanent if the injury in question was a spinal cord injury). If this were to happen, this would almost certainly lead to Nath having to retire from superheroing (at least for the time being), so he may have to return to goat miraculous.

Either way Ladybug reluctantly takes back the Goat miraculous, and finds a new wielder for Ziggy. I'm leaning towards Socqueline.

Fastforward 10 or so years in-universe, the heroes defeat Chrysalis and finally retrieve the butterfly miraculous. Ladybug thinks she and the other heroes can finally rest for a while, only for a bunch of new supervillains to show up in Paris. Nooroo begs Marinette to give him a new holder so that his powers can start being used for good again. Ladybug ultimately decides to make Nathaniel (who has either recovered from his injuries; or if it was spinal cord injury, the butterfly's powers make the butterfly well-suited for someone with mobility issues, as demonstrated, as seen in ML fanfic, "Nymph and the Corrupted Miraculous") the new Butterfly wielder. And since Nathaniel is lot nicer to Nooroo than Gabriel or Cerise ever were, Nooroo becomes extremely protective of Nathaniel.

[thislovintime]

“[Peter] is an avowed socialist.” - New West (January 1979)

“[Post-Monkees, Peter was part of] a San Francisco-based rock band named Osceola. ‘That was a name full of significance,’ he said. ‘Osceola was chief of the Seminoles, the only tribe never to have surrendered to the federal government.’ Tork said he identifies strongly with that kind of defiance. ‘All of my early life was spent feeling out of whack. Physically I matured late and never was very athletic and always found myself on the short end of the stick. I was raised in a liberal family in the middle of the McCarthy era.’” - The Daily Oklahoman (November 11, 1983)

“The system of interplay in this country, and over the vast majority of the surface of the world, which values competition, individualism, and essentially, aggression over the forces of cooperativism and community as a system which is inherently damaging to each and every one of us, and evolutionary necessary to abandon the sucker and get on with the business of getting together. Because, as I once said in a reasonably spontaneous mode, we have to stick together or we’re all going to come unglued together. Capitalism is on the way down, socialism and communism is the only conceivable way that we’re going to be able to get — (to camera) don’t use those words. Communityism, cooperativism. These are the things… Basically, capitalism fosters aggressiveness. […] Insofar as there is just enough to go around, every time somebody’s got more than they need, somebody else has less than they need and is dying of starvation and lack of material wellbeing. Insofar as there is more than enough to go around, maybe there’s a little room for some people to play around with. However, until we get everybody to the level of, they all have what they need, and we’re secure, at least on that material basis, we won’t *know* whether there’s enough to go around or not. [...] We, as a culture, tend to remove ourselves from our own support systems. And this happens interpersonally as well as *intra*personally. I don’t do very well by myself, and people do not support me and I do not support people except in rare circumstances as we are beginning to come together, as in the therapeutic group I was talking about. Now… so this brings me back to what I said earlier: we are uniquely — most of us feel that we are uniquely, deeply and specially flawed unlike anybody else. And this is a lie which has been foisted on us by those people who would like to keep us separate in order to keep us working against each other… The final thing brings me back to my political argument. The psychological and the political, of course, are not separate… As long as we keep ourselves separate and as long as we go on the basis that one person’s gain is another person’s loss, we are going to go on on a basis where we are going to regard that as true in the national economy too. But the converse is truer. That is that, as we shift over to a cooperative, where working together is the main emphasis, and individual effort is the lesser emphasis, we will all gain much more rapidly. And that is why I promote the communityist and cooperativist systems as opposed to the capitalist.” - Peter Tork, Reasonably Spontaneous Conversation with Dennis Tardan (1979)

“I’m rather to the left of Mao Zedong myself.” - Peter Tork, AA Tapes (1997)

“Thorkelson the teacher is happily planning his next course, ‘Mao, Marx and Mama.’ ‘I’m doing something important,’ he says. ‘I never do anything less than important.’” - People Magazine (April 5, 1976) 

“I was baptized a socialist. My faith is in a community.” - Peter Tork, visaliatimesdelta dot com (October 29, 2010)

“Sometimes I see the world as an eternal horse race between salvation and dissolution, now one, and now the other gaining the lead. But to the extent that we can learn, each and all of us, that the cooperative good is good for the greatest individual good (with safeguards, to be sure), that forgiveness is the route to true inner peace, and that not everything we deem wrong or bad may be so, to that extent hassles of all shapes, sizes and colors will diminish. I am so sure of all this that I would, I hope, be willing to bet my life on these principles.” - Peter Tork, Ask Peter Tork (2009)

[kingmlem]

This isn't related to either of the big projects, just a little plot bunny that I'm proud of/going to share. I might (heavy on the might) expand on it one day, but for now I'm trying to focus on Ikag and 3hrs.

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

He can't hear what the nurse in front of him is saying. The ringing in his ears seems to just- echo through his head, bouncing around and never really absorbing. Maggie's clinging to his neck, wet sobs wracking her whole entire body.

He's vaguely aware of his mother trying to 'relieve him' of her.

He's acutely aware of how he clutches the little girl closer, practically daring the woman to try taking her. He doesn't even feel bad when she recoils like she'd been burned.

Good, he has the presence to think. Because of course she'd show her face after nearly twenty-years no-contact- not the time.

He doesn't doubt she'll try to fight him for Maggie. Doesn't doubt there's a sea of lawyers in his future.

There's arguing now, Maggie's gone so still she's practically a doll-

"-oes he know about raising a little girl?! You expect me to just sit back and let this happen?"

"Mrs. Kinard, this was your daughter's dying request-" He should really get the nurse's name, she's really standing her ground on this. He should send her a fruit basket- maybe flowers... something.

"Under duress. Of course she picked the first-"

"Go home," His voice is rough- dry, feeling far more fragile than he sounds- his mind finally catching up to the amount of noise around him. He makes sure to keep his gaze hard when he looks at his mother, terrified that one glint of weakness and she'll see how hard he's trying not to break. "Call your lawyers tomorrow, if you want. I don't care. Andie wanted this- me. You don't get to come back here and demand her kid."

"Tom, you know this is better-" God, that cajoling tone grates at his already frayed nerves, crawls against his skin like a worm-

"If you want to fight it, then call your lawyers." He wasn't ending this by just... giving up on the toddler, who-despite having thought she'd cried herself to sleep- was making small whimpers into his shirt, clutching her little fist into the fabric of his hood as hard as she could. "But know I don't intend to just... Let you abandon another kid." It's a low blow, and he knows it, but the affronted noise that leaves his mother's mouth is gratifying enough to say that he'd won. The nurse gives her one last triumphant look before ushering Tommy and his new charge into one of the open bays and closing the curtains.

"I'm sorry-" He starts, taking a seat on the bed when the nurse-Daniella, her heavily stickered nametag reveals- motions for him to sit.

"It happens more often than you'd think, usually it goes the other way though," She explains, running a comforting gloved hand down Maggie's back. His heart aches when she shivers, unconsciously pulling her a little closer, only relenting when he hears the soft 'plink' of glass shards falling onto the floor. He'd been so caught up in getting here, he never stopped to take stock of what had happened. They'd explained there'd been an accident, given him a location, and he'd been off, arms full of shaken toddler the minute he walked in the door.

Logically, there had been more steps, he's sure, but menial paperwork fades away in light of learning your sister and her husband had just died, and you're now their daughter's guardian.

Tommy shushes the little girl gently as he pulls her a little away, finally surveying the damage. There's still pieces of safety glass clinging to her brown curls, small cuts littering her alarmingly red, tear-stained cheeks. There's a cut somewhere along her hairline, judging by the crusted blood in her bangs.

Tommy tuts when she sniffles, meeting her terrified gaze and feeling his heart shatter further. He tucks an errant piece of hair behind her ear when she tucks her thumb into her mouth, feeling the panic in his chest finally give way to the threat of tears.

"They checked her over when she came in," Daniella offers, picking more of the glass pieces away from Maggie's jacket and hair, face so full of that gentle sympathy he's seen too many times at work. "Nothing broken. No concussion or neck injury. There'll be some bruising where the seatbelt was, especially around the pelvis and chest, but that will fade. A small sprain in her hip, so walking might be painful for a little-"

He knows better than to ask, but the word slips out anyway.

You never asked in this kind of work.

"How-?" How had this tiny, fragile thing made it through all of that? How had she lost both of her parents, but she was relatively unscathed?

Daniella does him the service of not answering and he has a brief moment to think that she'd must've read his paperwork-must know he's in a similar field- when she lightly touches his elbow where it's tucked like a bench under the back of Maggie's thighs. The look on her face is the same he gives to people after each rescue, don't question miracles.'

He lets Daniella- 'Dani, Mags and I are old friends here, huh?'- finish cleaning his niece up, signs the paperwork she brings him, and prepares to leave, only to find himself stuck at the door.

"Where... I don't have-" Maggie's finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, head tucked against the side of his neck. His own apartment's a shitty little one-bedroom settled in a complex with walls so thin he can hear the sink drip three apartments over. It'd been just enough to get him by, get him through the thing with Abby- it was never meant for long term, but now it just feels... negligent in a way. Like he should've been preparing for this, like he should've known-

"She'll probably want to sleep in her own bed, at least until her mind catches up." Dani offers, hands tucked into her own pockets as she stands with them at the door. "She's exhausted, best to bring her somewhere she knows."

"Right," Tommy breathes. "Thank you, for everything."

"It's what we do," Dani claps a hand gently on his shoulder before walking back down the hall, "If you need anything, we're literally always here. You got this though, I see it."

He doesn't. See it, that is. Every part of him is panicking, racing and jumping hurdles until he's almost sick with it by the time he gets to his truck. He doesn't even have a car seat, cursing himself before finally electing to set his niece along the passenger seat. He can hear his sister's voice in the back of his head screaming how unsafe it is, how he's taking her daughter's life into his own hands- he hovers his hand protectively over the toddler as soon as he gets in the truck.

He doesn't let the tears fall when her hand reaches out blindly, grasping onto the hem of his sweatshirt pocket before settling once more. He doesn't let the tears fall when he pulls out of the hospital, where an incoming ambulance threatens to wake the sleeping girl once again.

He doesn't cry while driving to his sister's house.

He can't.

He drives the safest he's ever driven. Five miles under any speed limits, slow corners, early and easy brakes- hand constantly hovered over the child in case of any sudden stops.

He doesn't cry when he pulls into his sister's driveway, her car still parked outside the garage like if he walked in, she'd be there.

He doesn't cry when he sets Maggie up in her tiny princess bed, making sure to leave the canopy open and the spinning nightlight on as he steps back into the hall.

His eyes stay dry until he sits down at the kitchen island, the landline blinking innocently next to him, answering machine full.

Andie's cell is sitting next to the coffee pot, and he feels the dam finally break.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just read the new mutants issue where Charles chose to stay behind in space and my god the juxtaposition between Charles trusting Erik and Erik joining the hellfire club and wondering at his own trust worthiness. I wonder how much of Charles decision was him ultimately trying to avoid the fact that his first class had seemingly betrayed mutant kind and not be willing to face them and how much of it was Dani and Illyana's reaction to him having Karma mind control Illyana. the fact that Illyana was depending on him to ease her mind through limbo and in choosing to stay he forced karma to do it instead, probably fucking up their relationship in the process.

I love him, this is crazy, how much of this is him trying to runaway and how much is this him not trusting himself to fix things and how much is it just him trusting Erik?

i keep trying to put into words my exact thoughts about the sitch but there really is a lot for one issue aintit... oh charles you and your brain...

[telesodalite]

Thinking about KrokFire...

Thinking about them sparring in the cargohold, because it's a long trip, and cabin fever is setting in, and Misfire is gonna pop a gasket if he doesn't do something about it soon, since flying in open space gets real boring real fast, and it's making everyone a little nervous, but Krok has time to kill, and maybe, quietly, he's also two steps away from doing something stupid just to feel alive again after cruising around pointlessly, mindlessly, endlessly, for so so long... (It's barely been a month)

And sure, Misfire is a terrible sparring partner. He has no technique, no concept of proper balance, or an inkling of how to use the weight of his own frame. He rushes headfirst like he's more bull than fighter jet, he talks too much, he spits, he bites, and he can't stand losing. But, in a roundabout way, it almost makes him the perfect partner in Krok's eyes.

Crankcase won't spar, "can't" he claims flatly, gesturing at the gaping hole in his helm, but Krok can respect his want for distance. That occasional flash of fear and frozen unease in Crankcase's visor in close combat doesn't go over his head. He knows that look. He gets it. He won't push.

Fulcrum... well, a streetlight might be a tougher fight, or at least it would stay up longer and complain less. So much for a once respectable officer of the empire. What was Deathsaurus' command thinking promoting anyone without any actual combat training? It would almost be pathetic if Fulcrum didn't find a way to put the vitriol of thrown fists into his words instead. Now there was some swears Krok hadn't heard in a couple millennia, it would be inspiring if it wasn't his own spark Fulcrum had been damning to the pits and back through a bloody nose.

Spinister? Now Spinister was a good fighter, a better fighter, Krok wasn't so prideful to deny that truth. He'd tasted the dust of the cargohold floor enough to know it was a definitive fact. But Spinister held back, he was careful, he matched Krok's pace, his movements, he held himself defensively, any attack was quick, simple, and merely restraining. It was less a fight, and more a waiting game until Krok finally gave up, and that... well, that did sting a bit.

But Misfire? Misfire was a different beast all together. Sure Krok could dance circles around the flier all day, but it wasn't totally effortless work, he had to stay sharp, Misfire was so predictably unpredictable, he kept him thinking, moving, on his toes, and maybe it felt good to sidestep another stupid headfirst charge, easily grabbing and swinging Misfire around by his arm, so unbalanced all Krok had to do was let him go, and the weight of his own frame would send him careening into the crates stacked around them.

Most days, Misfire would give up by then, pull himself off the pile of overturned cargo with no small amount of burning shame and frustration, as he avoided Krok's optics and stormed off into the bowels of the ship before Krok could say something to ease the sting of losing again and again. Misfire didn't want his apologies though, and even as a pang of guilt ate at him over it, Krok knew he'd be back eventually.

But today, too pent-up and bored to quit now, Misfire pushed himself back onto his feet and charged back in again, and again, and again.

And Krok moved with him again, and again, and again. It was almost repetitive, but lively enough that he could feel the energon pumping through his head, a thrumming beat in his audials that reminds him of deafening battlefields and roaring stadiums, and oh, he'd missed this feeling, the adrenaline, the movement, more so than he thought he did.

Maybe it's the overconfidence that gets him then, or the memories pulling him out of the present, but Misfire's fist suddenly comes slamming down into his mask, and for a moment everything becomes a blur, until he finds himself on the floor, clutching at the shattered metal falling from his face in disbelief.

Faintly he can feel the twinge of broken mesh, of pain pinching dully across scarred flickering sensors, and maybe it's the adrenaline that pulls a suprised and breathy laugh out of him as he stares down at the pieces in his hand.

Maybe it's also the disbelief, the sudden shock at being struck hard enough to break his mask, by Misfire of all mechs. Or maybe he's cracked his helm, finally snapping something important deep in his processor, some vital function that kept him sane all these years.

Either way, an old familiar buzz of heady energy fills his chest, loosening his joints and straightening his struts as he stands back up, brushing off the broken remains of his mask as he stares back at Misfire, barefaced and bleeding and amused as the flier's optics go bright and wide.

And all Misfire can do for a moment is stand there, wide-eyed and breathless, his own adrenaline filled frame and hammering processor still trying to make sense of the broken plating of his knuckles and the energon trickling down Krok's scarred lips.

But connections are made, and it's a panicked realization at first, a cold dread, a 'ohhhhh fuck oh primus I fucked up I'm dead I'm so fucking dead-!' sort of feeling, as Krok's marred face breaks into an energon stained grin. But then there's another feeling, growing somewhere underneath the panic, a sudden curl of heat in his chest, a flush of pride, conviction, a sort of frenzied joy at the sight of broken mesh and fresh energon, and another rush of hot anticipation as Krok began to move again, circling, waiting, an unspoken question in the air as he rolls his shoulders back and flexes his hands.

And Misfire answers eagerly, suprising himself almost as he charges foward again, wanting more of that feeling, wanting to win again.

It's not really sparring past this point, and somewhere in the back of their minds they both know that. Every strike, every kick, every punch, it's all thoughtless instinct, each clash of plating, and bite of denta, and scrape of fingertips, is part of a mad dash for victory in the gladiator pit of scrap and debris they've built around themselves.

Of course, it can't last forever. They're no real gladiators, no phase-sixers, no primes, and movements get sluggish, vents rattle and wheeze as coolant pumps reach their limits, and building condensation slides powerless punches right off of scuffed metal and mesh.

Even like this though, worn out and bleeding from more scrapes than he had half a mind to count, Krok is still better, and Misfire is still predictable, and it's no great feat to sweep his legs out from beneath him, landing him flat on the floor, wings spread out and chestplate heaving.

Overworked joints sharply protest as he goes to pin the flier down bodily, and finally Krok faces the fact he has to consider how to end this, so he might let his own beaten frame finally still for a moment to breathe.

But as Krok catches one flailing arm in his grip, scoffing at the desperation, still goading Misfire on even as he tries to end this, a hand stubbornly catches his throat, but stops before it can truly squeeze.

And once more they're not really moving, just staring, watching, but it's less wired and tense now, rather, its shaky, a little unfocused, as exhaustion filters out in heaving puffs of hot air between their frames.

Someone's plating is rattling, Krok isn't sure if it's his own or Misfire's, but the cost of adrenaline is painfully noticeable now. His grip loosens on Misfire's arms, and the idea of total victory is less sweet as his cables begin to ache throughout his inner-framework.

But Misfire's hand slides up to catch his jaw before he can lean back and relent to a truce, and he's pulling him closer, and Krok starts to push him off, call it quits before either of them breaks something past repair, but a flash of energon on Misfire lips catches his eye, and that hadn't been there a moment ago?

Before he can even begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, Misfire is pulling him down again, angling his helm upwards to feverishly meet his lips half-way.

Although the mesh of Misfire's face was throughly bruised and scuffed, Krok had frustratingly failed to return the favor of a busted lip. So, it had to be his own, smeared across Misfire's face at some point in the scuffle, it shouldn't have been interesting in the slightest, but Krok's processor was hazy, slow, and his optics trailed Misfire's glossa as he licked his lips and made an odd curious sound.

And maybe it was a stupid move to make so impulsively, one he'd regret making probably, but still too caught up in the waning heated high of the fight, Misfire figured he could worry about losing such a hard-earned battle later. Right now, this seemed far better than actually winning, and the taste of Krok's energon felt like a victory and reward nonetheless.

Bracing himself as Misfire wriggled his other hand free to splay out over his thigh, holding him desperately against his frame as he tried pulling him even closer, Krok considered the heat dispersion warnings flickering distractingly in his peripheral, and the very noticeable strain on his back and legs, even his arms.

It's not a great position to be in right now, after all they've done already. He'll regret it, he knows he will, his body will make sure of it, if Spinister doesn't first.

But then Misfire's glossa is sliding against the jagged edges of his teeth, and he's making hoarse little pathetic noises into Krok's mouth that stoke some sort of ego at having the flier so desperate beneath him, and Misfire's hands are warm and heavy over aching plating and seams, and really, on second thought, after weeks of boredom, why the hell not?

They've got nowhere to be.

[doodlingwren]

It's 2024 can we please stop saying it's normal to trace or copying an entire drawing and pretending it's 100% your work? Just bc you changed the character or added clothes on a base you found on pinterest it doesn't mean you created original art

Edit: I need to specifying some things, or somebody might misinterpret this post in the future.

Tracing and copying are more than okay to use if you need to exercise or study stuff! Copying might be a bit better because you're actually training your eye and hand on how to make shapes and volumes. My best advice is, if you trace something, keep it for yourself and don't post it online (if you do, ask the original artist if they're okay with it)

Always use references, especially for anatomy stuff! It's not a cheat! Poses are complicated, and there are a lot of photographers posting pose packs FOR FREE TO USE! Or even artists drawing them :)

Remember to read the TERMS OF SERVICE when using a photo/ base you've found online: some people want credits, others are fine without them! But you have to check to know, and please be respectful

YCH (your character here) are NOT free to use bases; please know that. They are artwork from other artist showcasing a type of commission they are doing. And neither are WIPs

do NOT trust stuff you find on Pinterest. A great part of the artworks over there have been uploaded 1) without the artist consent and often 2) with a misleading use. Already happened to find other artist artworks or sketches being given out as "bases".

This post came from the fact some of the images used and traced were actually anatomy studies made by a very famous artist who requested for them not to be traced over (or if used like that, to give credits were it's due).

For the actual bases, they can be found on Twitter, and credits are required as well.

For that one traced artwork. It's actually a work in progress made by an artist, and I suppose it was uploaded on Pinterest, so some people might think of it as a base? Although it has on it "WIP" and the original artist name (if you've been drawing. You know exactly what those 2 things mean). The other things that bothered me it's while for the other there has been an attempt, this one it's traced 1 to 1. Didn't bother to change the character face at all. That's what makes me mad. Taking all the credits for something that you didn't do. That's just being lazy and not giving a fuck about art. Also they traced other artist's illustrations as well with their OCs so. I guess it's not just fandom art. They are just doing it for easy clout.

On a side note, this is something that I've seen happen quite a lot. And especially if you're doing commissions for a living, a trace accusation can destoy your carreer. Therefore, I won't tell this person a name or make a callout post. I did block them and moved on, and this was a vent post I had to do for myself.

Also because, I did fanarts for this person. Twice. And oh boy, I will never have that time I spent drawing back.

[anzfaulkner]

Ok yk what I think I need to run a poll I need to know what the pipeline is for ppl who like went to public school or didn’t have many friends or smth & basically had zero exposure to what is & isn’t socially acceptable until eventually branching out social circles and learning more

SO HERE IS THE QUESTION maybe this is actually a natural human experience maybe im just fucking autistic idfk. All I know is I’m still incredibly fucked up from smth that happened a decade ago and I’ve never bothered asking if anyone else has gone thru smth like it

[zhongli-lover-69]

hey girl is the room flooding or are you just happy to see me

[darklinespectra]

Are you 🫵 pissed off about the Lilo and Stitch monstrosity remake? Do you want to know how you can actually make a difference in supporting the people and ecosystems of Hawaii?

Tourism is a big issue in Hawaii (which the remake got rid of the original's commentary on because it makes foreigners look bad). I'm not gonna promote it, BUT I know that realistically, thousands of people arrive here every single day by the airplane-ful. And the majority of them aren't educated on the socio-cultural and economic impacts of tourism. SO, I'm making this post in an effort to educate visitors. If you or someone you know is visiting or moving to Hawaii (whether by circumstances in or out of your control), here are some suggestions on how you can give back!

You can donate to the Hawaii Community Foundation, which has been instrumental in giving aid to the displaced community of Lahaina after the Maui wildfires in 2023. They also provide scholarships to students of under-represented communities.

If you're interested in visiting Kualoa Ranch, you can do their Mālama Experience where you get your hands dirty giving back to the ‘āina (land)!

There are other organizations you can join to volunteer with, too, like Kupu and Mālama Maunalua. Check them out; maybe you can help with a beach cleanup or plant native trees! These are both non-profit organizations that accept monetary donations.

Visit the Bishop Museum to learn about Hawaiian history and culture! They also have events focused on sustainability and conservation.

If you're visiting Hilo on the Big Island, go visit the Laulima Nature Center! They're a non-profit aimed at protecting Hawaii's native species, and they even have an online store that ships to the US mainland and internationally! (After I post this, I'm gonna head on over and get myself a manu o Kū pin ♡)

A few other tips I have:

DO: Respect the locals' homes. Several beaches and hiking trails have access points in residential areas. Please be mindful to keep your voices down when passing by, and park ONLY in designated parking areas.

DO: Wear reef-safe sunscreen! Sunscreens containing oxybenzone and octinoxate are banned in Hawaii because they are known to damage coral reefs.

DON'T: Approach wildlife, particularly honu (sea turtles) and 'īlio holo i ka uaua (Hawaiian monk seals). Stay at least 10 feet (3 meters) away from turtles and at least 50 feet (15 meters) away from monk seals. If you see someone harassing animals, report them to the statewide NOAA Marine Wildlife Hotline: (888) 256-9840. You can also contact the Hawaii State Department of Land and Natural Resources.

DON'T: Collect sand, rocks, or other natural items to bring home with you. This is to protect the ecosystems and also out of respect for Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians), who have cultural beliefs regarding lava rocks in particular. Taking lava rocks is extremely disrespectful.

DON'T: Litter! Please throw away your waste in proper trash cans. If you see a bin that says "ʻōpala," that's a trash can!

Many Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) are moving to the US mainland because the cost of living in Hawaii has been driven up so high (because of people moving here), they can't afford to live in their ancestral home. So, if you are going to visit or move to Hawaii, please:

- Make the effort to support local businesses, especially those owned by Native Hawaiians!

- Educate yourself and your loved ones about actual Hawaiian culture!

- Try Hawaiian food, like poi!

- Learn some Hawaiian words and don't be afraid to ask how to pronounce words correctly!

- Donate to a food bank!

- Watch films and read books written by Native Hawaiians!

My hope is that whoever sees this post will use it to educate themselves, their friends, and their families who are considering visiting.

My background is in sustainability and the environment, so that's what I know to suggest off the top of my head. If any Kānaka Maoli read this post and have suggestions to add, please do!

[mw00nie]

you’ve been quiet all evening.

not your usual soft, thoughtful kind of quiet, either. this is heavy, sulking silence. a quiet born from hurt. you won’t look at him when he walks in, and you don’t meet him at the door like you usually do.

you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, your face barely illuminated by the glow of the tv you’re not even watching.

kento sees it immediately. the damage he’s done.

he exhales. his tie is loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned from a long day, and he doesn’t even take his shoes off before walking over to you. he drops to one knee in front of the couch, large hands finding your thighs, and you flinch.

just a little. but enough.

he closes his eyes and swears under his breath.

“sweetheart.” his voice is rough, regretful. “look at me.”

you don’t.

“i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

still, you won’t lift your gaze. he cups your jaw gently, guiding your face toward him.

“i came home and took it out on you. you did nothing wrong.”

you blink, lashes fluttering like you’re holding back something. maybe anger? maybe tears? either way, it twists in his chest like a dagger.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “you can punish me however you want. just don’t shut me out like this. i can’t take it.”

and then he leans in. softly. tentatively. kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying not to scare you away.

you don’t push him off.

but you don’t lean in either.

but when his lips brush against yours again, slower this time, his fingers stroking your thigh, he feels you sigh. quiet. resigned. wanting.

he deepens the kiss slowly. like he’s savoring every second. one hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, and the other slides up under your oversized shirt his shirt until his palm is resting just under your breast.

you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back to look at you.

“let me make it up to you,” he says, voice low and rough. “let me show you how sorry I am.”

and when you whisper, “okay…” it comes out breathy, hesitant. he kisses you again, harder this time. less patient. more desperate.

he carries you to the bedroom, kissing your neck the whole way there, muttering apologies between each press of his lips.

once you’re on the bed, he strips you slow. reverent. like he’s trying to re-memorize your body, like he thinks he’s lost the right to touch it. he undresses himself only after you’re bare before him. flushed and shy but still watching him now, finally.

when he pushes your thighs open and settles between them, he just looks at you.

“you’re the softest thing I’ve ever known,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “i don’t deserve to be this close to you.”

his mouth trails down your tummy, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the inside of your thigh. you squirm when he kisses lower, and his large hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place.

he eats you out like it’s penance.

slow, slow drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. then again. then again. he flicks it, circles it, sucks gently until your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. he flattens his tongue and moans low against you when you whimper his name.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing his mind. “i could stay here all night.”

two fingers slide into you, thick and slow, curling just right until your back arches off the bed. he doesn’t stop when you come, if anything, he gets hungrier. stays there until your thighs tremble, until you're panting, oversensitive and breathless.

“turn around,” he says softly. then, catching your hesitation, adds: “please.”

you do. on your hands and knees now, cheek pressed to the pillow, thighs still shaky from how hard you came. He kneels behind you, one hand smoothing down your back, then gripping your hip as he lines himself up.

“gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, running his leaking tip through your slick folds.

you nod quickly. “yes. please…”

he pushes in slowly. inches at a time.

you both groan when he bottoms out. you’re so tight, warm, wet. he has to close his eyes and grip your hips to keep from losing it immediately.

“fuck,” he grits out. “you always feel like this after i’ve been an asshole to you?”

you whine, half flustered, half desperate. and he leans over you, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades.

“say I’m forgiven,” he rasps. “say it, and i’ll take care of you.”

“i forgive you,” you whisper.

he thrusts once. deep. controlled.

you choke on a moan.

“again.”

“i forgive you– ken– please–”

he sets a rhythm, deep and slow, dragging his dick against every sensitive part of you. one hand slides under your stomach, pressing down right where the bulge forms when he fucks you deep.

“you feel that?” he growls in your ear. “feel me right here?”

you nod helplessly, mouth open, drool slipping down your chin.

he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you upright, back to his chest, fucking up into you from beneath now. one hand snakes between your thighs to rub your clit while the other grabs your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss your jaw.

“mine,” he breathes. “my sweet girl. i’m so fucking sorry.”

you clench tight around him, moaning his name again and again until your body tensed, shaking, and you come hard, thighs trembling, hips twitching.

he groans, burying himself deep one last time, spilling inside you with a low, broken curse.

afterward, he doesn't pull out. just keeps holding you close, lips brushing your shoulder, your temple, your hair.

“you’re everything to me,” he whispers. “even when I’m too stupid to act like it.”

you murmur something back, barely audible, and he shifts to kiss your cheek.

“what was that?”

“i said…” You glance at him, eyes soft. “you’re forgiven. but you’re making me sore.”

he chuckles low, pressing a kiss to your temple. “then i guess i’ll just have to rub your thighs and draw you a bath.”

you hum sleepily against his chest.

“…and maybe eat you out again before you fall asleep.”

you chuckled. and he smiles for real this time.

because nothing feels better than being let back in.

[ohnonotthehorrors]

Can I... talk about the theory that winners help craft the next game?

Because, and I really can not say this enough, it puts So Much into perspective.

Everything starts out Normal. Three lives, simple, cut and dry, there hasn't been a winner yet. No one to help craft the game. (And there's something to be said about how simple it really was. Not even a real expectation of the world becoming pvp or combative. No idea of the war to come)

Then Grian wins. The green killer, the man who vowed his first life to the one whose life he took. The next game the boogie man is born. A mechanic that allows and, in fact, demands, a green kill. People can trade lives back and forth, currency and debt wrapped up in one. (can we still be friends? Said the red partner. A life time later and reds are hostile, alone. Maybe it's an answer: No. Not anymore)

Scott wins this time. He refuses to play the game. He will not kill his team, he will love and he will do so fiercely and with all of himself. The next game people are attached through to their very souls. Every bit of damage to one soul is done to its twin. There is no boogeyman. (There is no way for a widow to be left without their love)

Pearl wins and she wins a blood bath. Spent the game draped in red, only wolves for company. Sitting in her tower, shivering in ice, maybe she wanted it to end. To see where it would. Limited life rewards you for killing, limited life has a clock tick tick ticking down, you always no how long you have. A curse yes, but a blessing too.

Now It's Martyn's turn.

And what a turn it is.

Keep your secrets, says the disloyal man, keep them well. Everything hurts, everything Matters, says the man fracturing with every loss. (What if we could love each other without hurting? Says The Hand, who never wanted to be coated in blood)

More importantly, Martyn has always seen the watchers below the surface. Now, they're right here in front of him. Something that could almost... be rebelled against, no? Something that someone else could finally point to and say: hey, hey isn't that familiar?

[tokoyamisstuff]

omg I definetly need more about the Invincible variants if you may!!

Second Chance At Love Pt. 2

After -> this <- silly lil' adorable idea by @rainydaygotham (but I made Reader a civilian instead).

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: stockholm-syndrome, mentions of death, angst, (fabricated) tragic backstory, canon divergence, not proofread

A/N: whew, I never imagined you people would enjoy it this much. thanks for all the feedback, it really means the world to me! 💌🐞

"Our satellites found the missing variant, Sir."

"And what?" Cecil unintentionally stared daggers towards Donald, probably due to the stress and the fact that both of them had given their everything those past 32 hours. "Spit it out, damn it!"

Even through the reflection of his glasses Donald's mannerism were an open book for the head of the GDA, and right now he acted like he always did when he was unsure how to deliver troublesome information to his boss.

But this time it wasn't particulary bad news that made him hesistant, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"He-he is...with an old friend of our Mark, and...currently not attacking anyone."

The elder man rubbed his temples, lack of sleep being a steady companion in this profession but damn his advancing age sure made it harder to function properly.

"I want him on screen immediately!" he commanded harshly, voice not even slightly hinting the extent of his exhaustion.

This one apparently is more clever than the original Mark if he was able to slip past their organization's surveilance, Cecil concluded as the spitting image of his involuntary ally popped up on the monitor.

The young Viltrumite perfectly blended in with the crowd, sitting in a tiny suburban cafè far away from all the chaos. On the opposite end of the coffee table were you - not an unknown face to the GDA solely because of your affiliation with the world's strongest hero.

Cecil worked his jaw in irritation at the unfitting piece to this mess of a puzzle he was expected to solve. No way one of them came here merely to catch up with an old acquaintace...

...and yet for now, there were more urgent matters that he was needed to tend to first.

"Keep an eye on them and report shall he do anything out of the ordinary." As if this right now wasn't enough. "As long as he's preoccupied we have one less monster to worry about...for now."

Meanwhile you were sitting in front of your still untouched drink, watching your reflection on the liquid surface.

There was a radio running in the background, almost constantly updating you about how the other variants were still wreaking havoc everywhere, laying waste to the world as you knew it while you were trapped here acting as if it's a normal fucking tuesday.

You really shouldnt't be playing all domestic with a man that's just as much of a villain as his alternate selves currently on the run, and yet you keep reminding yourself that the only reason you're still alive is the uncertain benevolence of that very same person.

Trying to convince him to see the error of his ways or maybe even switch sides was out of the question - this Mark, just as the other sociopaths you saw in the news, has totally lost it a long time ago. You should be glad that he currently entertains himself with this little obsession of his, but that's no guarantee he couldn't snap and reduce you to a bloodied pulp any time.

And still, even though you have no other choice, it felt so terribly wrong to have a date - that felt more like a hostage situation - during an international emergency of apocalyptic scale.

Starting to feel sick as reality of your predicament dawned on you once again, you shoved the cup to aside, bracing yourself to interact with your kidnapper that hasn't initiated anything by himself until now.

Invincible on the other hand had destroyed Levi's orb long before finding you, never having disclosed his true intentions of joining this war. Also, with all the damage he's done the other 19 versions of himself would be sufficient, surely their 'boss' wouldn't care if one went astray from the plan. Not that he ever trusted Angstrom to not stab him in the back at some point, so who cares.

Back in the day you always had some spare clothes for this world's Mark in your room, in case he needed them - which was frankly quite often as they tend to get either torn or bloody from spontaneous fights. Maybe it was the sentimental value that made you keep them long after your friendship had ended, but right now they came in handy.

The other Mark nervously picks and tugs on the fabric, not used to wear civilian clothing after what felt like an eternity. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable to present himself this way. For years his costume had served as a barrier between himself and humanity, a symbol that the person he once was had long since ceased to exist so his Viltrumite side could rise.

Still, those familiar clothes, especially since given to him by you of all people, offered a strange comfort all the same.

At least he looked remotely normal like this, but god this man can be awkward at times. Some things really never change, even across different dimensions. Right now he was a perfect picture of misery, looking at you expectantly like a lost puppy that had just been kicked. Almost adorable, if you shun out the circumstances.

An uninvolved stranger would never believe that this is the villain who reduced entire cities to ashes just a few hours ago.

"So" you finally dare speaking up, casually leaning back in your seat as you take a sip of your already ice cold drink."I take it you're not a Seance Dog fan anymore?"

Noticing the bright logo on his shirt, Invincible actually managed to crack a smile - that trademark lopsided smirk of his that seemed more like a snarl now that you saw it after all this time. "Oh, you'd be shocked: The author is actually one of the few people I deliberately kept alive."

He's right, you are shocked not only with the answer, but the delivery as well. Suddenly you regret having pried in the first place. "Just a joke" he adds as soon as he sees the slightest shift of your expression, clutching the edge of the tabletop in frustration until it left a dent of his handprint.

You don't want to laugh. This isn't even remotely funny, and his reaction was awfully concerning as well. And yet you force yourself to snort, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to keep up the facade. "Glad to know you're as much of a weirdo as the original one."

It amazed yourself how calm and collected you could act, despite being as terrified of him as in the very beginning. Maybe you got used to the feeling already, or you had discovered a hidden talent of working well under pressure. May apply for a job at the GDA if you're ever alive and free again.

For the remaining duration of this afternoon, the two of you exchanged trivial stories about the past with your respective counterparts, many of whom were shared experiences. And as much as you tried to deny it, deep down you were aware you enjoyed this conversation more than you should.

There were only mild differences between your two dimensions as it seemed - at least when it came to your friendship, that was.

Invincible was pretty secretive about anything else really, but judging from the bits he threw in between you deduced he got his abilities way earlier than your Mark, which caused his father to never lose track of his original goal.

Occasionally Mark would state contradictionary opinions and you were sure most of it was just him mindlessly repeating the indoctrination his father had hammered into his head through inhumane methods.

You can only imagine what it meant for a gentle, sensitive soul like Mark to be subjected to a Viltrumite upbringing.

The sun was already starting to set when you were scooped up once again, however this time around you weren't afraid of the height in the slightest. You felt his chin resting atop of your head as he carried you through the sky, holding you firmly but carefully like you were a precious porcellain doll - and compared to his strenght you might as well be.

Yet all you could think of was the beauty of the twilight sky, and how oddly content you felt at that very moment.

Your date had promised to bring you to a secret location with a breathtaking view, and he really did not disappoint. It was in the midst of nature, absent of any human intervention. Just the two of you, surrounded by the sounds of the earth and the sight of the most horrible day in history of mankind slowly coming to an end.

Invincible spread his jacket out for you to sit on, and you secretly appreciated the gesture. A murderer, but also a gentleman, you mentally noted. Ironic. He slumped down on the damp grass an appropriate distance away from you, subconsciously starting to rip out some leaves.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he freezes in his tracks at the unexpected display of affection - or at least he hopes it's the absence of fear. For a long while you remain like this, admiring the view and each other's closeness, until you disturb the comfortable silence.

"How did you..." You hesitated for a moment, but then you met his eyes, so completely and utterly filled with genuine affection that caused something to blossom beneath your ribcage which you didn't want to acknowledge.

Even though you were still wary of him, it was hard to stay objective in the proximity of a literal carbon copy of the love of your life in nearly every single way.

"...how did you become like this?"

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

"I got my powers shortly before my 13th birthday..." In hindsight, after having met the other variants who got them even earlier, it could've been worse. At least he was granted a few good years. "...and from then on, everything suddenly changed. My mom had an 'accident', so my dad was left to raise me on his own. It was-"

Mark's voice cracked, eyes glossed with unshed tears he was long since taught to repress as they were a sign of weakness. "The only times I felt truly happy was when I sneaked out to see you...I think for a long time those visits were what kept me sane. But nothing went past him..."

He balled a fist in the fabric over his sternum, and there was so much agony in his tone that it made your own heart clench painfully. "Dad- no, he's not a father. Never was. Anyways, Nolan tolerated it for a while, thinking I'd outgrow this sentiment and understand humans are beneath us. But when I turned 18..."

A tidal wave of shame and guilt washed over him, making him unable to bear looking at you as he continued his story. "He made me watch...I should've done something, I should've defended you, but...I was so scared of him. I just stood there when he snapped your neck."

The disclosure of the other's fate ultimately caused the panic attack that was seething inside of you ever since your first encounter with this variant to finally unravel. You frantically tug on your collar as you began to hyperventillate, feeling as if it was actually your neck that was being assaulted.

"Don't worry, I took care of it..." Invincible still had his face buried in his hands, and there was an eerie coldness in the following statement. "It took me a while, but I got stronger just to avenge you...ripped his sorry excuse of a heart right out of his fucking chest."

That's hardly a solace for either of you, isn't it.

Mark looks down at his palms as vivid images of his past crimes creep up on his mind, accompanied by a neurotic laughter that could only be described as absolutely broken...

...until you cup his hands with yours, the gesture conveying emotions you would never be able to put into words.

"Everything felt so pointless after you were gone..." he snivels, not resisting as you couldn't help but tug his head towards your lap. "You have no idea what emptiness you left behind...at some point I started doing unspeakable things just in order to feel something, anything to distract myself from the grief..."

You hum in between choked sobs, weeping for this lost soul as you rake your fingers through his hair, listening to him repeat countless apologies. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I should've just flown into the sun...I should've been stronger, better...I didn't want to become cruel...I wanted to be good...for you..."

What were you even doing here? Have you lost your mind?! Snap out of it, this is insane!

"Shh...it's enough. Stop tormenting yourself." No. He deserves far worse. Victim of circumstance or not, this man is beyond saving.

"Accompany me to my homeworld. Let me indulge you the way you deserve. Never leave me again" was what he desperately wanted to say, but instead he gulped harshly around the lump forming in his throat before announcing "I'll take you back home soon...phase one of Angstrom's plan is over, the variants will leave and you're safe again."

"Huh? I thought-"

"Drop the performance" he ordered as he fought to regain his composure. "You can speak freely. I meant what I said, I won't hurt you. Even if you hate me, even if you hurl all kinds of insults and accusations at me...I can take it. I'm just grateful for today. I'll cherish this memory forever."

Yes. This was more than he could possibly ask for. He already destroyed the life of your counterpart in his world, it's not fair of him to do the same to someone so precious twice.

Mark doesn't care what happens to him from now on, because thanks to you he was able to make peace with what happened.

"Come." He jolts up as he wipes his tear-stained cheeks clean, not biding you another look as he fears that otherwise he won't be able to pull through with his good intentions. "It's getting cold, we should-"

"No!"

Out of a whim you tackle hug the Viltrumite, who is caught off guard enough to stagger and fall. You softly punch against his chest and he allows you to let it all out, though he has no idea what you're on about.

"You-you're not like those other variants of Mark...please..." Your bottom lip is trembling as you speak, voice wavering with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher yourself. "Don't leave. If you have nothing to live for in your timeline, then...just stay in this one."

"And then what? Go to the Pentagon and say 'hi, I'm one of the Invincibles that ruined simply everything, but now I'd like to stay here'? They'll never believe that I don't have an ulterior motive!"

"So what? It's not like they can contain or even scratch you. And even if they could, I-I'll make sure to visit you every day!" You giggle like an infatuated teenager as you add that last sentence, and even a maniac like him realizes you must've lost your mind.

God, this is all his fault...

"What are you even talking about?" he almost yells, now on top of you and softly grabbing your shoulders to shake you ever so slightly. "Why are you trying to convince me? That can't seriously be what you want!"

"I-I...don't know." You're staring straight at him now, a stubborn determination in your eyes that almost frightens this unstoppable man. Wrapping your arms around his neck to make your foreheads touch, you whisper "All I'm sure of is that you didn't deserve any of this, and maybe...shit, just give us some time to figure it out, would you?"

Mark's hands were hovering over your body, giving it his best to hold back yet it was a lost battle before it even started. He utters vile curses under his breath before finally crushing you flush against his body, lips brushing against yours as if to ask for permission. You're quick to take the initiative, tossing all reason overboard as you give in to this all-consuming madness some might call hope...

...but just when you were about to pull him in for a long overdue kiss, the man that was straddling your waist mere seconds ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The soundwave reached your ears much later than the actual impact, and much to your shock, when you saw not one but two Invincibles - yours having been knocked into a nearby rock formation - you immediately understood what it meant.

"Mark, wait!" you screamed, but your plea went on deaf ears.

After everything your world's Invincible had to endure those past few days, he wasn't even slightly in an amenable constitution. The only thing he was able to feel at this moment was rage, and he needed to direct it to something or otherwise he'd burst.

Sadly the next best target of his fury was the variant right in front of him - a man who not only attacked his homeplanet, but tried to violate someone he once held dear.

Mark will make him pay for trying to harm you.

"C'mon, stand up. Right now all I want to do is hit something...as hard as I can."

[Next Part]

[kathaynesart]

RECOMMENDED MUSIC: Boom Goes the Donnie-mite (Mikey/Donnie/Raph vs the Sweeper) - "The Red Zone" by Mitsuoto Suzuk

Finally! This big ol' update is out! Thank you everyone for your patience. Hopefully the next one will be much sooner since I already have parts of it drawn out. We're nearing the end of... uh, lets just call it the "Holiday Special."

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Also couldn't get this out of my head as I was drawing this update:

Mikey's Ninpo:

Donnie's Ninpo:

Anyways, have some long winded deep dive into Donnie and Mikey's powers below the cut:

Mikey and Donnie are interesting because I feel these two are the ones who truly reach the full potential of their gifts. Mikey isn't there as of yet in the story but he will be by the end of Replica. Where as Leo and Raph had a lot of other things to focus on (leading, planning, and dealing with colony drama), Donnie and Mikey took the time to really focus on themselves and their abilities, choosing to distance themselves from a lot of the drama that the leaders of the family have to deal with.

Mikey's Ninpo

I always found it interesting how Mikey's weapon (the kusari-fundō) seemed to be the only one that had an actual entity within it. While they never address it, it's obviously some sort of flame demon/spirt. It could also help explain Mikey's dramatic increase in strength knowing that the spirit of his weapon is literally able to help him lift boats and buildings. I like to think that Michelangelo formed a connection with the spirit, especially since he looked so crushed when the Shredder destroyed his weapon in a way that none of the other brothers had.

Shortly after the victory against the Shredder I imagine he comes across his destroyed weapon in their old lair (probably while they're gathering thing to move to their new home) and he can still feel the sad little remnants of the spirit clinging to life in the broken object. I feel this would be the turning point that would lead to Mikey's first dip into the mystic arts. He would bring the weapon back to Barry for guidance and Barry would explain that the spirit has been bound to the object for so long that it can no longer survive on its own. Normally it could be bound to a new object but in it's dying state it would not be able to attach properly.

It is Mikey who suggests that maybe if it was bound to a person rather than a inanimate object then maybe the person could help the spirit survive. Barry admits the reasoning is sound and after much coercing finally helps guide Mikey through the steps, allowing the fire spirt to bind itself to Mikey's being (think something similar to Howl and Calcifer in Howl's Moving Castle, sans the heart losing). At first, not much seems to comes of the union. The spirit is still too weak to be able to do much of anything, but over time it regains its strength in tandem with Mikey and is able to gift him with similar abilities, becoming an integral part of Mikey's arsenal as well as a new spiritual connection to the Hamato family line. That is what we get a peek of here in this chapter.

Donnie's Ninpo

Just as Mikey canonically will go through a sort of mystic and spiritual enlightenment, Donnie too will have a similar scientific revelation. It always bothered me in the movie that his "firepower" (guns, missiles, etc) never seemed to be very effective, or at least not as effective as his ninpo designed physical constructs (such as the jet packs and the giant drill he uses on both the Krang and the Shredder). I believe this is because with physical constructs like a drill he has a sense of the weight and velocity needed to understand how hard it should hit. This properly visualized weight and damage is then made into reality.

But it's different with firearms and bombs. Up until the movie he really doesn't have a lot of real world experience around artillery and projectiles outside of what he sees on the internet and film. He does not know how a megaton bomb should feel or even the damage a bullet can create. And don't get me started on the the imaginary ray guns he uses on the Krang that don't seem to even leave a scratch. Without proper knowledge it's all just a light show. Very flashy, but not very effective.

When he realizes this it comes as a heavy hit to Donnie early on in the war. ...However, if there's one thing he is going to be exposed to in this bad timeline it's weapons of all kinds, even mass destruction. He will know exactly how it feels to get hit with a bullet, the blast of a projectile, and even an atomic bomb. He will then take this real world knowledge and recreate it in the same realistic way he can recreate his battle shell or drill staff. It takes a lot of work, sweat, and literal blood but this exposure to the worst of mankind's creations will help make him a walking encyclopedia of destruction. Over time, he will no longer need to make actual constructs of "bombs" or "bullets." He'll be able to simply create the pure raw power desired, no radiation or nuclear fusion needed. That's exactly what we see here.

We also see his use of shields, which is just as important as his ninpo arsenal. Specifically his ability to create shields to contain his own blasts, dramatically reducing the collateral damage from his own weapons of mass destruction. This makes him highly effective at taking down large enemies, but the shields sap his strength even more than the weapons (for it is easy to destroy, but hard to protect and preserve). This makes him often times a liability. He's often a sitting duck after pushing himself too hard and it can take him a decent amount of time to build these heavy hitting bombs. It's a double edged sword to be sure.

NOTE: these are stories I do plan to address further in my Patreon, with proper illustrations, but I wanted to give a little taste of what to expect! Haha. Very soon....

[ahalliance]

im watching étoiles valo and i’ll probably be too lazy to vod later but it sounds to me like a tubbo cubito is once again going through the Paranoia Horrors <3 but like that specific paranoia where your seemingly outlandish theories and thoughts actually have a decent amount of truth to them and it’s just the way they manifest/are expressed that is rooted in distrust and fear