#wait thats the wrong tag…

[mittsushi]

char…? no that’s not right

[rbtlvr]

making my tags from the last post their own post, actually, because i went and did RESEARCH for this. SO BASICALLY

according to the wiki loop CANNOT crit in phase one

i dont know if their attack buff actually does anything (id have to fight them to check) since their attacks are based on percentage of your hp. BUT even if it did, they can only buff once per loop in phase one, meaning they can only do one buffed big attack per loop

regular attack does 10% hp (15% with attack buff), big attack does 17% hp (~25% with attack buff)

big attack is every third turn

guarding halves damage, halving the regular attack to 5% and the big attack to 8.5%

you heal 6% every turn with memory of a journey

those three turns where their attack is buffed aside, you can just stand there and guard and only lose a grand total of 0.5% of your hp for every three turns

this also does not take into account attack speed this is just assuming they both attack at the exact same rate. attack speed is gonna vary by level but i opened my act 6 save to check and my sif is level 76 and has 186 attack speed. they also have the scissors equipped which lower attack speed and i. cant unequip them. so. theres that too

so if youre fast enough (high level enough and dont have the scissors equipped like me. oops) you can straight up outheal all of loops attacks given enough turns + just standing there and guarding

loop does not want to hurt siffrin. thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cautionwetfloor-png]

Doodle request : Could you draw Torisai?

Also how are you today?

hiya fish!! im doing as good as i can. this week has been a bit hellish but,..... yours truly isnt dead yet, so its a win for me. thank you for asking!!

i hope this counts as torisai.. i think it being one sided is so funny ... just in case though a little bonus <3

[shaadowmilkcookie]

hi yall! todays warmup! one artist on twitter always draws his hat as a mouth of sorts, but i haven’t seen them in a while, and i missed it.

EDIT i found the artist i stole it from! @ akire_san_ on twitter! they do have an nsfw warning, so only for the older folks. hats off to them for the fun design!

[heartorbit]

creatures

[ganondoodle]

i dont know what the plan is now, i have never had a plan for anything, but i dont want to delete the previous posts bc it feels like im trying to sweep things under the rug or act like they didnt happen

[mamawasatesttube]

i have to speak my truth. i think timkon clone baby aus fucking suck

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[cepheusgalaxy]

In 👏 this 👏 house 👏 we 👏 support 👏 girls👏 having👏 hit 👏lists

[anemonet]

crimins :D

[hauntingblue]

I forgot how Sevika thinks the same as Vi in act one.... why are the girls fighting

[tired-lamb]

didn’t know if I should reblog this right in the original post itself, so hope it’s okay if I do it here! @hyperfixated-maybe sam, meet @secretly-larry-daley percy! :D you two might already know each other actually haha. your birthdays happen to be one after the other (percy’s first then sam’s), so I thought that and the natm relation was cool :].

[rbtlvr]

AND ANOTHER THING. i know that on a meta level this is literally just How Video Game Bosses Work. but also with how well the game mechanics work into the story in many other cases i don't think it's unreasonable to look at it from an in universe perspective

SO

i think it really says something that loop only uses their stronger attacks in their second phase. i think it really says something that you have to bring them down to 0hp four (4) times, attacking them repeatedly + proving that you are willing to genuinely hurt/kill them, before they'll use their most powerful attacks on siffrin

[pjlotrhhjeml]

it would be amazing if there were more reader insert that have a storyline about being family from your confort characters

[a-so-called-person]

Jayvik is my barbenheimer

[enbyfication]

bad sleep is affecting my ability to think of sexy things to say that make people feel dumb and needy and that's why it's a problem