#she will have big gauntlets and big boots.
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WOOOO! Done just in time! @kirbyoctournament
Name: Olympea, the Pummeling Peacekeeper
Gender: She-himbo, She/Her
Age: Never ask a woman her age! (She's an adult.)
Occupation: Warrior/Hero of Yore
Species: Puffball/Starborn/Star Child/whatever the Kirby species is called.
Uh-oh, due to a temporal anomaly the Hero of Yore Olympea suddenly finds herself transported alive and well from Ancient Halcandra to the Kirby OC tournament! She doesn't know what's going on, but she'll roll with the punches and treat it like a fun dream vacation of sorts. She does like meeting all sorts of new people and trying new foods, weapons and technology. She'll have so many stories to tell her friends when she returns! It's probably for the best if she doesn't learn what disaster befell the four heroes in the regular timeline, though...
Some ground rules, just in case:
I would love seeing people's OC's interact with her! Asking Olympea questions is okay, but this is not an ask blog/rp blog and I'm not looking for extended roleplay. I may not answer your question. If I see potential for an interesting interaction I may draw it, but I can't promise anything. (Keep in mind if I don't respond right away -> 1: I'm timid and get anxious easily. 2: I may not have figured out that part of her story/the history of Ancient Halcandra yet. 3: The answer would have contained a spoiler for my fics. 4: I'm very slow at drawing.)
I'm joining this tournament for fun, so thank you for understanding!
Overview:
While she's not very big, intellectual or attuned to magic, she is unbeatably chipper and physically strong. She loves fighting and gleefully uses a variety of lovely accessories/weapons like a giant club, enchanted glaive, magitech gauntlets, etc. Her left glove allows her to access a dimensional storage. Teases hard, punches even harder. Actually quite feminine when off the clock. Loves magitech gadgets a lot. Doesn't think science or magic is better, because their society needs both. She's definitely not insecure about her height. She'd also never conjure a giant squeaky hammer to bop you over the head if you call her short.
Likes: Vegetables, Nectar, Trying new foods, The colour green, Flowers, Butterflies and moths, Pretty/cool/badass women, Her club, Brass knuckles, Tinkering, New gadgets, Teasing her friends, Seeing a certain winged magenta knight open up and feel genuine joy
Dislikes: Being mistaken for a child, Being called stupid, Stuck-up people, Seeing her friends being hurt, Strangers flicking her antennae, How much dust and scales her wings leave behind
Abilities: Able to fly. Very physically strong. Innately has access to Suplex and Hammer, but mainly uses her trusty club. Her boots and gauntlets let her emulate elements of Hi-jump, Laser and Mecha. (The boosted jump, laser finger guns and palm blasts, respectively.)
Weaknesses: Can't fly quickly. Stubby little arms limit her great strength with little reach. Distractable and a little naive. Can't resist eating strange and exotic snacks no matter the source. Seeing cute girls (she HAS to show off).
Fighting Style:
Her gauntlets are good for punching and the palms can release blasts of energy as well. They're mainly so she can hold large weapons well, since her actual hands aren't very big.
Her moth wings aren't very big either, so while she can normally fly and can still break her fall when she's armoured, she prefers to zip around close to the ground. It's often faster and easier to run and jump when she's fighting. Especially when she's wielding her heavy club. Her boots help her boost and maneuver quickly.
Don't make the mistake of thinking that because she prefers close range combat and isn't proficient with magic she can't attack at a distance. Her gauntlets possess finger laser guns and she can use her left glove (which she also wears under her gauntlet) to access her weapon hoard at all times. Who knows what else she keeps in there?
Even her civilian outfit isn't harmless. She still has access to her innate Suplex and Hammer abilities, after all. And those shoes have steel toes! Of course, the platform heels are just to keep her delicate wings from scraping across the ground when folded. No other reasons. (Like being taller.)
Design Thoughts:
Olympea is the first of the Heroes of Yore who came to me. I was thinking about how to describe the Heroes of Yore and knew I wanted at least one to be a woman. Suddenly her name resounded through my head! Then I just started associating. Olympea sounds like Olympics, so she must be strong. Pea calls to mind small, round and green, so what if she's (mostly) the same species as Galacta Knight? Peas are famous for research on genetics and alleles, so what if she was born, not formed like him? Maybe she doesn't have a lot of magical affinity. Then she needs weapons. Pea, peace, pea shooters, peas in a pod, peacemaker, pea-smacker. Let's give her a hammer, no, a club! She's strong, so what if she packs a punch? How about some gauntlets for punching? She can have a gun, wait, let's put the gun (pea shooter!) in her gauntlet's finger! She needs storage for her weapon hoard (girl needs to accessorise!) so what if her enchanted gauntlets let her access dimensional storage (peas in a pod)? Hmmm, does she have wings? There's a bug called a pea moth, so she has moth wings now. Her ponytail is twisted like a dried pea pod and not-so-coincidentally looks a bit like a cocoon when down and a boxing glove while up in a bun.
I maaay have gone completely overboard with the whole pea thing, but such is life. Although there is a bit of Hammer Lord in there as well. She doesn't hate magic, she just doesn't have a lot of affinity for it. She does enjoy tinkering and building weapons. This is how she ended up relying mostly on technology instead of magic.
She's not a knight and has no mask, because while many people depict all adult puffballs as masked knights (probably influenced by the Star Warriors from the K:RBAY anime) I personally don't think this has to be universal for their kind. How sad it would be if all they were destined for was fighting! ...And then I made her a warrior anyway. Oh well.
#Joining fashionably late but I'm giving this a shot#kirby oc tournament#Olympea's Quest#HoY Olympea#Olympea#The heroes of yore#kirby oc#ibispaint#my drawing#my art#long post
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tootsie noodles perhaps,,, hes So
ty for suggesting this!! it made me realise i’ve never made Starship fanart so i got carried away and i also drew Junior and tried to do a redesign of Mega-girl’s costume hehehhee
#i fear i didnt quite do Tootsie justice#mayhaps i’ll try to draw him again sometime….#also i will DEFINITELY be revisiting the megagirl design#i’m gonna give her so much armour. i’m going to make her so functional.#she will have big gauntlets and big boots.#starkid#team starkid#starship#tootsie noodles#tootsie megagirl#junior#starship junior#megagirl#starship musical
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~Mystically Broken AU - Chapter 2~
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A week after your.. encounter with 4 of New York City's most wanted criminals.. You were currently walking down a hallway of one of the Genius Built™ buildings. It glowed purple.. (Due to the LED's)
"Why do i have feeling we're.." Donatello cut you off.. "Underground? We are. This wasn't my only choice but it was the easiest to create. I was also thinking volcano, underwater, abandoned library.. but those are still in progress." He didn't spare you a glance as he tapped away on his gauntlet with a smug grin.
"Why am i here again?" Donnie glared at you as you asked your question. "Scoff, Did you not read my very detailed email i sent you?" You remember receiving it.. though, it was LONG.. so you decided, what's the harm in ignoring it? "You're here to gather information about us to plead our innocence to the public. In return we're helping your company. Let's hope your boss wasn't lying when she said you could manage."
You looked at him, he was wearing a black turtle neck under a white button up shirt with a few buttons unbuttoned and tucked into a high-waisted pants paired with black boots and a few chains hanging from his pants. You looked up to see he had purple eyes with goggles, one colored red and the other colored blue. (I WILL DRAW THIS WHEN I HAVE THE TIME)
You enter a room, purple couch, big TV, circular table in the middle which had a screen built in it.. and a rug with the Genius Built™ logo on it. Donatello smirked. "Hold your applause." You just sat down. "So, how are we gonna do this?" Donatello looked at you and sat down the other side of the couch. "What do you want to know?"
"Why do you sell deadly weapons to criminals? to the black market.?" You looked at him and he was typing away at the built in screen on the table. "It's not my fault my clients were criminals. I'm not responsible for anything they use it for." You sighed. "You made it didn't you?"
His (drawn on) Eyebrows perked up a bit. "I didn't know they were gonna use it to harm anyone. Therefore, out of my control." He says it as if he didn't care if they were criminals or not. But he was right. ..
"That's not helping!!" You grabbed a pillow and shoved your face in it..He just shrugged and continued typing away.. You started thinking.. You spent hours thinking of anything. ANYTHING to help him. Hours of laying in different positions, walking and pacing around.. You were stressing at this point.
You were hugging a pillow before someone placed a cup of coffee infront of you. You turned to your side to see Donatello sipping his own coffee, you take a sip of yours and smiled before covering your mouth to spit it out.. WHY WAS IT SO BITTER?! Donatello must have saw you cause you heard a light chuckle. You turned to look at him, he was..smiling.?
Well, he wasn't looking at you anymore. His gaze back on the built-in screen on the table. "Bitter? There's creamer and sugar in the kitchen." He gestures to the door on the left without sparing you a glance.
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At this point you were looking through his criminal records.. and WOW.. you were distracted by a voice.
"Still going at it?" He asks. You were angrily looking at the folder like if you glare hard enough at it you'll find something...
You checked the time. 11pm..?! "You'll be sleeping here. You can talk to Leo tomorrow." You paused and looked at him. "You didn't think you could've told me that earlier?" Donatello just shrugged. "I didn't want to break your focus." You sighed. "S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. will escort you to your temporary quarters." An adorable purple drone with a head and face waved at you with its... arms? hover things? and the robot lead the way to your room.
It was kinda decent!. A bed, night stand, mini fridge, TV, a few books.
You were going to enjoy it to it's fullest. Almost forgetting you're gonna deal with Leonardo tomorrow.
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hope you like it!!!
From yours truly,
MysticMidnight
#rise of the tmnt#rise tmnt#rottmnt#save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise donnie#rise donnie x reader#yandere rottmnt#rise donatello#tmnt 2018#rottmnt donatello#rise tmnt Donatello#yandere rise donnie#villain donnie#Villain rottmnt#Mystically broken#Mystically broken AU
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Day 8 — Femslash February — Kiss/Secret Relationship
fem!gallavich, van kiss. (ao3)
@m4ndysk4nkovich @holymurdock @lovekenney @callivich @echosluvr
Mickey was always good at keeping secrets. She had to be, growing up in the Milkovich household. The threat of pain and violence was always hanging overhead if she or any of her siblings ever set one foot out of line. So when she and Gallagher started hooking up, Mickey knew it had to be secret, locked up tighter than anything. It didn't make things easy—landed her in juvie twice, even—but now she was back, and they were together again like Mickey had never even left.
Well, almost like she'd never left. They weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, never had been exclusive—Mickey still fucked guys sometimes, to keep her reputation—but now Ian had some geriatric sugar mama who bought her things and ordered room service for her at fancy hotels. Not to mention that, according to Ian, wasn't afraid to kiss her on the mouth. Fucking dumb as hell, if you asked Mickey. She never saw any appeal to dating old people, anyway. Ian did, apparently, and she'd looked Mickey dead in the eyes, her bun having fallen into a ponytail that trailed along the back of her shoulders, gaze as fiery as her hair. Standing there with that fake rifle cocked on her hip, white t-shirt tight across her shoulders, Ian knew exactly what kind of picture she painted. All Mickey could do was take a long drag off her cigarette and fiddle with the safety on her gun.
Fuck.
Why did Gallagher have to go and get so pushy? Usually Mickey didn't mind it—she liked when Gallagher got a little rough, it made the sex a lot more fun. Ever since the day they'd gotten caught by Frank, though, Gallagher—Ian—seemed like she was determined to get more out of Mickey than she knew Mickey could give. And…well.
It's not like Mickey didn't feel something for her, too; she wouldn't keep going back to Gallagher if there was nothing there, regardless of how good the sex was. They had fun together. Last summer when they'd been working at the Kash and Grab had been one of the best times of Mickey's life, if she really had to admit it. They'd become friends—really good ones, too. It made the boring-as-fuck job not quite so boring, and after work they had usually spent time together drinking, smoking, shooting the shit, not to mention fucking their way up and down the South Side of Chicago.
But all that got ruined when Mickey got herself sent back to juvie. Just proved that nothing good could last, no matter what Gallagher wanted to think. She was so fucking naive, with her dumbass freckles and her big green Bambi eyes and that stupid goddamn ponytail that Mickey liked to hold onto when they fucked. And now some cougar lesbo had gotten her claws into Ian, who didn't seem to realize how gross it was. So she'd thrown down the fucking gauntlet, and now it was all on Mickey. Goddammit.
And sure, she'd thought about kissing Gallagher before. Of course she fucking had. Pink pretty lips that looked good whether she was smiling or scowling—what wasn't to like? But kissing another girl wasn't allowed. Gallagher should know better than anyone how queers got treated around here. Just because she didn't give a fuck about being out apparently meant she thought it would be fine and dandy for Mickey, too. Nothing could be further from the truth, though. Not a goddamn bit.
So maybe she'd bashed on Ian's sugar mama a little bit. Bitch had it coming, though, giving Ian and Mickey both a look like she wanted to eat them alive. Nasty as fuck. Mickey didn't feel bad about punching her in the face, or kicking her in the stomach, or letting the heel of her boot connect hard with the bitch’s kneecap. If Gallagher hadn't stopped her, Mickey would have given her a lot more than that. She deserved it, too. Ian was too…too good for that sort of thing. She oughta have something better than some asshole who just wanted a young, pretty, naive thing like Ian.
But now here they were, doing a stupid goddamn favor for the cougar; the only reason Mickey had even agreed was for the chance to rob the bitch. Sounded like fun, if you asked her. Get back at the sugar mama and show Gallagher exactly what Mickey could do? How she was the better choice? Fuck yeah, Mickey was in.
They'd sat together in the front of the van all the way to the North Side, Ian giving her sideways looks and dopey grins the whole time. Mickey was just glad that Iggy and their cousins were too high to notice anything, otherwise she and Gallagher would be having fucking words. Keep that shit under lock, and all, but…part of her liked it, in the same way she'd liked how Ian had run off with her after Mickey bashed the cougar. Liked that it meant she was the one who'd come out on top, that she had been the one Ian chose in the end. Mickey didn't have much going for her, but Ian Gallagher saw something in her worth sticking around for. She rubbed her face, cheeks growing hot at the very thought of it, and hoped Gallagher didn't see anything.
Then Ian was backing the van into the driveway, Mickey's cousin opening the door so they could all hop out. No one was supposed to be home, so this should be an easy in and out, and maybe afterwards she could convince Gallagher to go up to the abandoned warehouse with her and they could have a celebratory fuck or two. It didn't even dim Mickey's spirits when Ian told them they didn't need to take any guns, although Mickey's self-preservation instinct still told her it was better to have a gun than not. Whatever. Maybe she was a little bit pussy-whipped, because she did what Ian asked and made sure her cousins did the same.
The other three headed up towards the front door of the house, and Mickey began to follow them, but stopped halfway up the path. Her mind raced as she weighed her options, thinking about Ian's words that day. She isn't afraid to kiss me. And here they were, robbing that very same bitch’s house, and all Mickey could think was I'll fucking show you who's not afraid. She ran her hands through her hair to calm her nerves, then turned back around. Gallagher was sitting in the driver's seat of the van, smoking a cigarette like she didn't have a care in the world. Mickey swallowed nervously, and jogged back over to the van, opening the passenger door. Before Ian could say anything, Mickey braced her knee on the seat, leaned over, and pressed her lips against the other girl's own in a firm kiss.
They were just as soft and warm as Mickey had always imagined, and she could taste the nicotine still lingering there from Ian's cigarette. Ian's lips parted in surprise, but much as Mickey might have liked to, she didn't push things further. She pulled away and smirked at the look of joy and disbelief on Ian's face, mouth still hanging open slightly like a damn idiot. Gotcha, Mickey thought, adrenaline surging through her. As she ran back up the front pathway to the door of the house, she had to take a moment to fight the grin on her face. She had kissed Ian Gallagher, shown her that a Milkovich never turned down a challenge. And for a moment, she didn't feel afraid at all. Her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach turned with butterflies, and she let herself think about the way Ian's lips felt pressed against her own.
For a moment, it felt like victory.
#fem!gallavich#shamelessfemslash#leinth writes fic#gallavich#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#shameless#gallavich fanfic#this one was so fun to write y'all I love mickey to pieces
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Lilith in N7 armor, though…
It may or may not surprise you to know that I actually have a whole mass effect au planned out in my head. I just…. Yeah. Ava Silva and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Ava Silva giving exclusive sponsorship to every single tech and weapons shop on the Citadel. Ava Silva with her aquarium and her pet hamster and a shadow longer than her life.
Ava Silva, waking up to fire in the sky above Mindoir. Ships blotting out the sky and the trees a smear of sound and heat and light outside her window. It’s enough to make them burst inward, waking her in time to save her life.
Boots in the hall of their little house and her mother running inside the room, pushing the dresser she made out of this planet up against the door they brought with them from the stars. Ava doesn’t know anything but this place – the grass crunchy in winter and the flowers in spring and the leaves in autumn and all the sunsets in summer.
Her mother has old scars on her hands and an old rifle she keeps under her bed and an old set of armour she wears now. It’s broken open across her chest and the gauntlets are cracked, falling onto the wood floor as she looks for Ava, finds her by the window in a halo of broken glass.
It’s weird, too see her smiling and bleeding at the same time.
There’s a second red heart on her chest, and when she speaks she leaves blood spatter on Ava’s forearms. Clutches at her so tightly that Ava is certain she could never let her go, but then she’s smoothing Ava’s hair off her face, tucking strands behind her ear.
She carries Ava to the window – she’s nine, too big for carrying and she squirms but her mother’s grip is iron. The grass is still wet from overnight rain, somehow, even backlit as they both are by fire. The shape of tall trees in her mother’s eyes which are just the same colour as hers. Brown like earth.
The door to Ava’s bedroom splinters and the last thing Ava hears as she’s pushed onto her back – out of sight and out of reach – is her mother telling her to run. This she knows how to do, running laps around the track at school while the other kids are still stretching out their legs. She knows how to do it alone in the woods around their house or down toward the lake, pretending to chase birds or her own shadow.
Ava, running and always, forever after this, running. Away from town, from home, with an old Alliance beacon in her hand, blinking like a red eye against her palm.
They’ll find you, she’d whispered, pressing it wet into Ava’s small hand, and they did.
When the Alliance come they find Ava. Just her. They ask her questions but all she can tell them about is fire, and sitting in the old cabin by the lake, underneath the floorboards with bugs the size of her hands crawling in the dirt around her. Staring at the beacon until she slept again. Woke again. Slept again.
Ten years later she’s on Akuze and everyone she trained with is dead around her. She’s fresh out of basic training and her armour belonged to someone else before her, ill-fitting at the shoulders and the hips. Her greaves rattle when she walks, and everyone teases her about it and then she’s running past pieces of them.
The creature responsible bleeds so much when it dies, and its insides burn where they touch Ava’s skin. When they find her, she’s carrying a fistful of dog tags, spends a week in a medi-gel bath regrowing a fifth of her skin. They recruit her straight into the N7 program, and some nights, sitting in various drop-ships eating expired ration bars, or gunning down mercs, she wonders if her mother would recognise her anymore. They were supposed to be farmers.
Then Eden Prime, the beacon and a Turian called Adriel who wants to bring about the end of the world. She meets an odd archaeologist on a lonely dig site and her name is Beatrice. A sniper on the Citadel called Shannon, who likes to wear blue. Their pilot, Mary, has a knack for pissing everyone off and a soft spot for Ava.
She sits in the mess late at night, when the ship’s circadian lights make everything dim and secret, drinking coffee with too much creamer and listening to Beatrice talk about the Protheans.
It's the wrong time to fall in love.
They win, eventually, and Ava is quietly side-lined for saying too much, too loudly about the Reapers, who want to come down from the sky and burn everything, like the slavers burned her home once upon a time.
And then she dies.
Her body, burned by the mouth of a planet upon re-entry, finds its way into the hands of a shadow organisation called Cerberus, who call her Lazarus and bring her back from the dead. She wakes up full of hairline fractures, her face trying to break open, bleeding red light like her once-small fingers, like running away again and waking up to flashlights, strange voices. Everything about life is circular.
She wakes in the hands of a girl with designer blood and bones not quite as handmade as Ava’s, but close. Her name is Lilith, and the first thing she tells Ava is that the galaxy hasn’t run out of ways to use her just yet.
#mass effect au#warrior nun#avatrice#anon#i would probably set the au during the ME2 era just because... that's when things really get going#and also. sexier#but anyway sadly Lilith isn't N7 but she definitely ends up wearing that armour at some point ^_^#because you're right. it would look hmmmmmmmm#also bkdljdkslkd she would NOT wear miri's armour like babe i love u but that is not OSHA approved. they are shooting at you#anyway what is this? no idea
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I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and one of the things that really bothers me about the whole "age gap" discourse re: EagleOne is that, by buying into it, you automatically erase a huge part of Leon's character.
Leon might have been on the planet for 27 years, but he still has the maturity of a 21 year old.
After Raccoon City, Leon basically falls out of time and space. He's all but completely removed from society and has his growth as an adult completely stunted by the CIA.
It isn't as though he's spent the last six years gaining practical wisdom and real-world life experience that puts him at some sort of advantage over Ashley and makes any relationship between them cunningly manipulative on Leon's part.
Leon wasn't out dating and socializing and learning the ways of the world and growing alongside heartbreaks and disappointments and setbacks and victories and achievements. Leon has spent the last six years locked in a room with Jack fucking Krauser and getting the shit beat out of him -- that is, when he wasn't being sent off to active war zones.
Like -- do people even realize the actual depths of what Leon's training entailed? Krauser wasn't just a sparring partner teaching him about edged blade combat. Leon was actually literally tortured in the most literal dictionary definition of the word. He had to be, in case he was ever caught and tortured by the enemy -- he had to be trained on how to take it and not crack.
Leon not actually being in STRATCOM is actually really important to his character. He wasn't sitting in a war room digging through intel and pursuing active leads in an investigation against Umbrella. Prior to the formation of the DSO, he was a military combat unit -- the most elite one that the US government has ever produced. He is a weapon in every sense of the word. He's probably had to go through boot camp with both Navy SEALs and Army Green Berets and then some.
Basically, Leon was an experiment conducted by the US government to see if it was possible to create a soldier capable of wiping out entire military units on his own (which is, incidentally, probably the how and why behind his involvement in Remake's version of Operation Javier. He was chosen to be sent in after Krauser's unit was wiped out for a reason.). He probably wasn't the only one to have been put through this gauntlet during this experiment, but he was the only one who made it through to the other side. He's an anomaly; he's the exception that proves the rule.
None of that is conducive to fostering his growth as an adult or as a human being -- and that was exactly the point. The idea was probably to try to strip him of as much of his humanity as possible in order to create a weapon who would mindlessly follow orders and never question the hows or whys. This is also probably why his "softness" was a huge point of contention for Krauser, who knew exactly what the intentions for Leon actually were. After all, he knew Leon's potential better than anyone.
That's why Leon is so stoic and serious and almost joyless at the start of RE4make. He hasn't lived as a human being living among other human beings in six years; he's been forged into a weapon instead. The last time that he felt like and acted like and lived like a person was when he was 21. He hasn't grown past that point.
That's why his reaction to and treatment of Ada is so goddamn immature.
And it's also why it's such a big deal when Ashley gets that first smile out of him. When Ashley brings out the sides of Leon that we haven't seen since early-to-mid RE2make, she's returning pieces of his humanity to him.
The government had Leon convinced that he wasn't the same person anymore -- that the kind-hearted guy who went into law enforcement out of a genuine desire to help and protect people was dead -- because he's been in an echo chamber and having that idea reinforced to him over and over and over again. Ada saw right through it and knew that the old Leon was still alive in there. And Ashley brought him to the surface and gave him a second chance at life.
On paper, Leon and Ashley have a seven year age gap. In practice and reality, there's only one year separating them. Ashley is 20, and Leon is still only 21.
Anyone who crows about an age gap between Leon and Ashley is outing themselves as someone who doesn't understand Leon's character at all and can be safely and thoroughly ignored.
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Summary: Alex and Danny have a little quarrel in the cage. Featuring Kate and Danny (@thesingularityseries) Echo (@roofgeese) Alex (me!) and Alora (@bihanspookies). Art by Quiddling!
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The crowd in the fight pit roars and Alex waves his arms to pump them up further. From the stands, Kate whoops loudly and Danny screws his face up in a disgusted grimace.
"You ready to get pummeled, Carver?" Alex sneers and Danny scoffs. Alex outweighs him by 50 pounds, a fact that isn't lost on the former.
But he's adapted since last time.
Alex lunges before Danny can queue up an illusion on his gauntlet. A quick strike to his midriff has him wheezing, skittering backward to cling at the chainlink for support.
Alex laughs, the sound muffled under his mask, as Danny regains his composure. Carver is a bastard, and Alex savors every hit he can land with childlike joy.
The two of them have butted heads constantly, to the point that Kano finally sent them settle their differences in the pit. Danny plays too fast and loose with civilian lives, Alex cares too much.
"Kick his ass, Demir!" Alora calls from the crowd, her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify the sound.
Alex grins and circles Danny like a big cat, his fists raised. If he had it his way, he'd break every bone in the spy's body, but he has to keep it contained or Kano will hand him his ass.
Danny doesn't look afraid though, he's smiling as he raises his gauntlet and an illusion comes to life. Alex's eyes widen.
Mikhail Federov stands before him, just as he remembers. He feels like a child who has just seen a shadow in the closet, so frightened that his mind goes blank. From in the stands, Kano chuckles as he watches Alex freeze.
"Carver you son of a bitch," he says it with a grin that has Kabal cocking his head in question.
Danny leaps through the illusion and levels a knee into Alex's ribs. Alex topples to the ground in a heap and Kate pulls her lip between her teeth in worry.
"Not so big and mighty now, are you?" Danny snarls as he kicks Alex in the side.
"Call him off, Kano!" Kate cries and the aussie laughs.
"Nah, I wanna see how this plays out."
Alex rolls and jumps to his feet, clutching at his ribs protectively. How the fuck did Carver know about the Federovs? He shakes his head to clear it, but his ribs throb in a way that tells him at least one is broken.
He's mad now, more angry than he's ever been.
Echo watches from beside Erron, her placid expression hiding the worry that builds in her chest. She recognizes the man from the illusion- Mikhail Federov, Alex's old boss. Leave it to the Brit to play dirty.
"Think the fuse is lit now," Erron nods toward Alex, who looks as if he's going to rip Danny's head off.
"Scared, Demir?" Carver smirks and Alex wants to wipe the expression from his face with his knuckles, "Now every merc in this building knows."
The thought makes Alex hesitate. He's right.
"I'm going to fucking kill you," Alex hisses and Danny throws his head back in genuine laughter.
Kate recognizes when the detonation is imminent.
"Fuck him up, Alex!"
Alex sprints toward Danny and the latter's smile fades. He's never seen him move that fast. The first ironlike fist hits Danny in the face and he stumbles backward into the chainlink with a pained groan. The second hit comes to his gut and he doubles over, unable to catch his breath.
"He's gonna kill him," Erron muses and Echo almost feels the corners of her mouth tick up.
The next punch makes Danny drop to his knees and Alex grabs him by the hair, jerking his face upward so their gazes meet. Danny's nose is bloodied and his cheek is already swelling.
Alex is so caught up in his blind rage that he doesn't see the knife Carver pulls from his boot.
A quick swipe on the back of his ankle has him hissing in pain and retreating as blood pools on the concrete beneath him. Danny scrambles to his feet and watches as the crimson puddle grows.
"Not fair!" Kate calls from the stands and Kano laughs.
"What fun is there in a fair fight?" he asks and Kabal rolls his eyes.
Adapt or die. Truly the Black Dragon motto.
Alex tries to put weight on the bleeding ankle, but he's sure his achilles is severed. Danny has learned since their last spat.
The Brit grins and nods at the pool of blood with a tut, "You really should get high top boots, mate."
"When I see you outside this cage," Alex grits as he holds his foot just above the floor, "I'm going to break your fucking neck, Carver."
"I'd like to see you try," Danny makes a beckoning gesture with his hands that makes Alex see red, "Go on then."
Alex lunges, one-legged, and grabs Danny around the middle, leveraging his weight to bring the Brit to the concrete. Danny yelps in surprise and Alex pins him, the sharp point of his knee driving into his gut to keep him in place.
Danny tries to shove him off, but Alex hits him in the face, this time shattering his glasses. Another hit has his mouth filling with blood. Still, he grins, even as the blood drips from the corner of his mouth in a thick crimson rivulet.
"You can't un-ring a bell," Danny mocks, "No matter how hard you hit me."
Kate doesn't catch the words from the crowd, but she sees Alex's face twist above the mask. Danny knows how to hit a nerve.
The next punch breaks his nose, he's sure of it.
Alex takes hold of his face, his massive hand enveloping nearly the entirety of it, and slams Danny's head into the concrete. There's a sickening crunch and Kano finally rises from his seat.
"Alright, call him off. We don't need Carver dead."
Kabal zips into the cage and grabs Alex by the shoulder. Alex shrugs him off with a snarl and moves to repeat the motion, but Kabal finally pulls him away.
"C'mon, Demir, you proved your point," he says it quietly enough that only Alex can hear it over the roar of the crowd.
Kabal glances down at Danny, whose face is so bloodied that he's nearly unrecognizable. Kabal offers him a hand and he rises, wincing at the way the cheers make his head throb.
Alex had won the fight, but Danny had won the war.
The former has already departed, ducking for the locker room before Danny can say something else to piss him off. Kate follows him, hot on his heels, concern painted on her face.
"Alex-" she tries to get his attention, but he levels a fist into a locker and dents it with a grunt.
"Alex, you're safe with us," she says quietly and he drops onto one of the wooden benches, his hand now bloodied. His shoulders shake and she knows he's barely holding back tears.
"I would have killed him" Alex says quietly and she pats his arm, "I should have killed him."
"If anyone deserves it..." Kate trails off and offers him a warm smile. His mouth twitches under his mask.
Back in the cage, Danny spits and runs his tongue over his teeth. All still there and in one piece. His glasses are a lost cause, laying in two pieces at his feet. He'd have Echo order him a new pair, it was about time anyway.
Beside him, Kano is droning on as usual.
"-lucky I had Kabal intervene when I did, or I think he'd have caved your head in," Danny catches the last part of his rant and scoffs.
"I had my boot ready," he gestures to the toe of his boot that holds a concealed knife.
"Hard to stab a man when he's got you pinned."
Danny shrugs.
Kabal glances between the two of them; this fight has surely caused a rift that he's not sure can be repaired. Kano's idea of team building had backfired spectacularly, not that he'd ever admit to that fact.
"Don't be surprised if you find a live grenade in your bed," Kano continues and Danny laughs.
"I'm not scared of that big idiot," Danny waves dismissively and Kabal gives him a pointed look.
"Maybe you should be."
#oc alex#mk alex#mk danny#mortal kombat ocs#he did in fact go on then <3#suggested listening: Riot by Hollywood Undead#surely this will come up later!#putting them in the get along shirt fr#Danny not telling alex when he spots enemies through his scope#Alex being more reckless with his explosives#holding them by the scruff like two tom cats
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Engineered Solutions:
How exactly did Mei's babies wipe out the challenges in the final exams?
I've mentioned before that one of the big improvements Hatsume made for Midoriya is that his costume helps him use more of One For All. She also upgrades his gloves into gauntlets to handle the kind of wind pressure One For All can produce, so he can make massive shockwaves with a lower percentage, allowing him to knock All Might back, plus a similar system in his boots to allow for not only massive leaps, but midair jumps like Gran Torino.
Uraraka also has a gauntlet upgrade that gives her grappling lines which are designed to let her conduct her Quirk through them; that is to say, if she hits something with the grapple she can take away its gravity. Plus some thrusters for midair mobility.
Uraraka also got a big fucking gun and a big fucking sword, both of which can fold up into an easily transported version--or at least, it's easy to transport if you have super strength or can remove the significant weight.
The mobility enhancements alone would've been extremely useful for the Final Exam--especially for Uraraka who could use them to avoid Black Hole
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Heavenly Scent
Lu Bu x Warrior! fem reader
Synopsis: You have known Lu Bu since childhood, and you were always there thick and thin, and now your friendship is to be tested by the scent of the heavens itself.
Warnings⚠️🖤❤️: Smut ahead, biting, getting steamy in the hot spring.
A/n: we need more Lu bu Smut. So I did one.
No man can taste the fruits of autumn while he is delighting in the scent of spring flowers.
The smell.
It was the smell that made him so drawn to you. Of his childhood when it was just the two of you. Exploring the roots of your home and beyond. Until the day you were sold off to a wealthy family. He went looking for you on that day with a bouquet, wisteria, peach flower, blue marigold, and some cherry blossoms. Only to find himself in a devastating situation, you were being dragged to the ground into a cart by an older adult. Shackled in chains. His bouquet dropped to the hard ground. Shattered.
It was the smell that made him so drawn to you. Of his childhood when it was just the two of you. Exploring the roots of your home and beyond. Until the day you were sold off to a wealthy family. He went looking for you on that day with a bouquet, wisteria, peach flower, blue marigold, and some cherry blossoms. Only to find himself in a devastating situation, You was dragged to the ground into a cart by an older adult, wrapped in chains. His bouquet dropped to the hard ground.
He felt his heart race like a beating drum as he ran towards you, running, running, and running. But it was already too late as the horses ran out into the distance.
That day he swore an oath that he'd get strong and bring you back to him. Into his arms once more. But he will forever remember the smell.
But those were years ago, and he had gotten strong. If not the strongest of all men. He fought countless armies that no one couldn't even match his power. His army grew with every passing day.
But this day, he had finally met his match.
Another kingdom was about to meet its end, his soldiers were ready and waiting for their lord's command. With A swing of his halberd, he and his army began their campaign.
Among his enemies was a woman. Who was brave enough to take Lu Bu head-on with her gauntlets armed and ready to smash whoever was in front of her. Their battle was fierce, neither side backing down before the enemy. Lu Bu couldn't control his excitement for finally. Finally, he has found a worthy opponent. Their weapons clashed while the world trembled around them. Only one will make it out alive.
After an incredible battle between who is stronger than the other, Lu Bu came victorious with his prize on his shoulders. Her.
Months passed since he fought that woman and brought her to join his army. The first female he'd let join his army. It reminds him of someone else he knew a long time ago. As his army and Lu bu (who is not a big fan of parties) celebrated another raid, the woman stood out from the party. Her arms crossed along with bandages on her thighs, Hugging her flesh plump skin, and metallic thigh-high boots.
She felt exhausted, but she'd never shown it. She spun around and left the crowd to continue their celebration, not knowing that Th general's eyes followed her out of his army and into the forest. Later then, he started following you. She traveled deep into the forest grounds for quite some time, all the way to her secret hiding spot. Not much of a hiding spot but her place of peace and serenity. Wher only the cherry blossoms and wisteria trees grow, lanterns swing into the wind's soft embrace. She felt the memories wash over her as she continued her descent into the dort road. The memory of how she was sold off and forced to her only friend behind.
She stopped suddenly and turned her head, only to see nothing behind her. I could've sworn someone was following me not long ago, she thought as she turned her head again. Lu Bu hid behind a giant wisteria tree. He felt an ache in his chest. The tingle in his crotch. He wants to see, he needs to see, Just what lies behind that armor and steel, behind the mask she covers. He heard her footsteps walking away and took it as his cue to continue following her from a distance.
His mind snapped to reality as he watched the woman take off her armor. Each piece of metal revealed more of her tender skin, To the softness of her breasts that carry her chest. To the curves of her hips sway so delicately that she'll tease a man with them, especially a general. She finally reached the back of her mask and unbuckled the straps behind her, showing her soft and young face as her long hair fell behind her, touching the ground. Your lower stomach revealed your slight six-pack poking out in the skin. A body well built for a warrior like her.
Primal desires were about to flood over him. He always thought about the type of woman you would become. But a warrior. With an intoxicating scent, with a body built on the battlefield. And with a beautiful face of that of all the Three Kingdoms. There's no distinction... he has to claim you before anyone else dares to think so.
He watched you rise and fall into the hot spring, your soft length fingers caressing your chest, your breathing while giving a sigh of relief as you stood above the water.
"I know you are watching, so can come out," you spoke softly, as you'd turned around with those innocent eyes sparkling like teardrops. Lu Bu steeped from behind the trees, his halberd in one hand and his other clenched at his side. Along with a smug smile on his face. And, eyes staring down at you like a quarry. And if you're his prey, that makes him a predator.
he couldn't waste any more of this, he impaled the halberd into the dirt, the clothing came afterwards and marched his way to you. You were the first to make a move and slowly guiding your fingers across his giant chest while standing on your tippy toes to. Exploring every inch of flesh and tattoo on his giant form, The giant felt your fascination through your fingers, he felt a prideful smile on his face. HE grabbed our hands and picked you up from the helm of your ass, and gave it a nice squeeze.
You gasped as he shoved his lips to yours, a rough yet passionate kiss. He sat in the water, his lips still locked with yours as he felt something at your entrance. He unlocked the kiss to hear the beautiful sounds of your voice as he thrust into you repeatedly. Hitting your g-spot every time, you felt as though he'll split you into two. As he pounded into you, his fangs marked the valley of your breasts, his h iron grips at your hips to keep up with his pace
The hot spring shook as he still continued to drill into you without rest, the sound of your voice chanting his name over a thousand times. You felt your body completely come undone as you reached your climax, now seeing stars. A couple of thrusts and grunts later it was his turn to come undone. Both panting, as he fell on his back and you with it. The flying general smiled as you laid on his chest, exhausted, and still impaled on his manhood. You looked at your general who was smiling at you.
"Something amusing, general?", you asked regaining your composure.
" Thinking about I should've done this sooner after we fought". He added.
You scoffed, " Still a cocky asshole I came to be friends with".
"Yet you slept with this cocky asshole".
You rolled your eyes and laid on his chest. flustered, "Shut up".
He took his large hand and caressed your back as he looked to the sky, the stars shining above the two of you. He'll thank the heavens for reuniting with his no longer friend, but a lover and future wife.
A/n: Who shall I write next?
#lu bu#ror x reader#record of ragnarok smut#snv lu bu#shuumatsu no valkyrie smut#lu bu x fem reader#snv fanfiction#ror lu bu#record of ragnarok x reader#female reader#x reader#reader insert#shuumatsu no valkyrie#shuumastu no valkyrie x reader#record of ragnarok#lu bu smut#snv lu bu x reader
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Batman Cass
I think this one will be shorter, since I'm iterating on a canon costume rather than creating an identity from scratch.
I know I'm giving Dick his discowing colors (several artists have actually given them to the Flying Graysons over the years, to keep Dick's costume being inspired by them without him just running around Gotham in his performance costume. I think Robin should be the tribute rather than Nightwing, but I'm happy to steal that as an excuse to put Dick in the blue & gold.) Cass's Batman costume was basically designed in tandem with the Moonbeam suit, so the two should compliment eachother.
Cass's cape is jet black, but the underside has a yellow-to-black gradient (ombre) where it's bright up high & fades out towards the edge. I'd actually make that highly reflective, since as Moonbeam Cass learned to use light as a weapon, and it makes her look downright angelic when the cape flares out, like she has a golden sun caught under her cape.
(This is definitely inspired by the fic Loading & Aspect Ratio, whose use of colors makes me rabid. Read it, please.)
(Have a quick & messy bit of concept art I threw together from the "Mark of Cain" cover to show what this cape might look like. Ignore the rest of the suit, we're getting to it.)
Next, Batman is losing about a foot of height. Cass will be compensating for this with ears. Not the super-absurdly-long ears Batman sometimes has, but still big.
(Thanks to broosepayne for literally collecting these. Very handy.)
She'll also be wearing lift-boots. Not platforms, not heels, those both threaten to seriously twist your ankle. But Cass is used to running around in lifts as Black Bat, and it helps make up the difference. Based on my observations of her costumes over the years, Cass genuinely likes fitted knee-high boots. (Is it a "make it more feminine" sexist command from on high? Probably. But it's a consistent part of her design, and I'm using it.)
(Something like these, probably. Maybe with a more emphasized/rugged sole, like these.)
For the cowl itself, I think Cass would probably still stick to her mouthless look. So probably something like Batman 1,000,000's cowl:
...which, now that I'm looking at it, I love the detail of the cape-clasp. And the shoulder pads kinda work too? She needs to add some breadth/bulk to her build, and their almost pauldron-like look is a nice callback to her Moonbeam days. Cass does wear more traditional shoulderpads under the suit, and then these pauldrons over the cape. I'd make them matte black, just slightly lighter than the cape. The little golden clasp should be bat-shaped, obviously. (This detail probably gets ignored a lot of the time, but it lets her have a bat visible even with the cape closed.)
Solid black body suit (also seen in the 1,000,000 pics) but I do think Cass should have a bat-symbol on her chest. After consulting my favorite chart, I think a slightly stretched version of the 70s bat symbol with a perfect circle behind it would probably be best.
(Quickly thrown together in GIMP. I really, really like the way the gold outline turned out, even though I wasn't leaning towards just an outline when I started.)
I think her utility belt is black, but the pouches are yellow/gold.
(Okay, this is the best version I can find, but I do want to draw everyone's attention to this comprehensive breakdown of every bat-belt because it's very impressive.)
Finally, rather than gauntlets, Cass wears black gloves with a folded cuff. Kinda like the Zero Year purple gloves, but with a much thicker cuff. The top & bottom of the cuff has a gold trim, but I'm going back & forth on whether there's more details (like capped knuckles or wire-thin fingerstripes) or if they're just plain aside from that trim.
(Here's the two best pics of these type of gloves I could find.)
I'm actually really pleased with this look. It helps Cass bridge the gap between her Black Bat (Batgirl) look and Batman, compensating for the difference in build decently well (especially when you remember most people aren't going to see Batman for very long or very well.) The wing-shaped shoulderpads & touches of glittering gold add a hint of showmanship, which means both thematically & color-wise she'll look good standing next to Moonbeam!Dick. The gloves then bring it back down to earth, looking like slightly fancier work gloves, emphasizing utility over flair or combat. Personally, I think the gloves soften the whole look a little, helping to show this is an older, more mature Cass who has taken an apprentice of her own, and especially how much she's healed & grown since donning the stitched-up Black Bat (Batgirl) suit after Steph's death. I even got to bring back my idea of the Shadows wearing Moonbeam's circle to represent their connection, very specifically with Cass's golden ring, to show that Cass is once again part of a matched set---it's just that this time, Cass is the shadow to Dick's light.
#batman cassandra cain#batman!cassandra#batman cass#batman!cass#reverse!robins#reverse robins#reverse robins au#reverse order robins#reverse order batkids#reverse batkids#reverse batfam#reverse batfamily#batfamily#bat family#bat fam#batfam#batkids#bat kids#bat siblings#batsiblings#cass cain#cassandra cain#cassandra wayne#my writing#mine
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「The Hound and The Vulture 」
Part 1
Third person reader-insert! A wandering widow and a wanted warrior. They're no "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," but they're close enough, right? After saving his life, the scavenger is half tempted to sell him out and half tempted to have her way with him. The dog is half tempted to throw her in the Trident and half tempted to throw her in the Blackwater Rush.
You know they're going to fall in love somewhere along the way.
I shouldn’t be here, she thought when she saw the first handprint of blood on the rocks. I should run.
But she didn’t run. She shouldered on, her cloak drawn tightly around her small frame and her hood up. The smear of blood on the first rock she’d passed had been a handprint, then she found more dripped into the path of the small game trail. Someone had staggered through here recently, and that someone was likely going to die. At least, they were going to die if the amount of blood they were losing was any indicator of their condition.
If they’re going to die, they won’t need their coin purse, she told herself. There was the possibility that whoever it was would not, in fact, be dead, or that there would be more than one of them and she was walking into trouble. She was light on her feet and quiet, though, and she told herself that at the first sign of trouble she could be gone before they knew she was there.
She found the man who had bled sprawled out in the grass further down the trail. He was much too dead to have heard her coming. At first she thought he might be unconscious, all stretched out in the evening sun. She sidled closer inch by careful inch until she could see that his eyes were open and unblinking and staring back at her. Open, empty eyes. Dead eyes, and dead eyes meant he could not hurt her. She nudged at him softly with her boot for good measure, then much less softly just to be sure. He did not stir, even when kicked. The dead soldier was hers for the taking.
In her big black cloak and black dress of mourning, she was sure she must have looked like a vulture every bit as much as she felt like one. How did my life come to this? she wondered as she turned the pockets in the man’s cloak inside out. Within she found a paltry lot: one silver stag and six copper pennies, and a small iron chain of no great value.
His armor could be worth something, she thought. A dead man has no use for armor. She hated thinking it, but it was true. Looters had been flocking to battlefields as of late, stripping the dead soldiers of the armor they no longer needed. They’d load it into wagons and take it to the nearest market, where it could be sold at market for a few stags or handfuls of pennies. It wouldn’t be much, but it wouldn’t be nothing, either. She’d sold a dead man’s helmet at Maidenpool a few turns of the moon ago. True as it may be that she wouldn’t dare double back to Maidenpool, there may be someone along the road willing to buy it from her, or somewhere she could set up a stall and sell it.
There was a hole in his breastplate where some sort of weapon—maybe a halberd or an iron spear—had punctured right through it and into the once-living man’s chest. In its current state, the breastplate was worthless. She didn’t feel like carrying an armful of greaves and gauntlets with her everywhere she went, so she left him. She took his wine skin and his helmet, though, and cursed him for having nothing further of use to her on him. Stupid dead man.
Down the game trail she continued. It was as good as any road, she supposed. If it was good enough for the deer and the rabbits and the wolves and the many unseen creatures that called the wildlands of Westeros home, then it was good enough for her.
It was a matter of moments before she found more blood. Had the first man come this way and then doubled back to die? That wasn’t very likely, as it made little to no sense. That man had staggered from the road, collapsed, and never stood again. This was different blood from a different man. Warily, and with her dagger in her hand, she continued down the game trail. The trail disappeared into a thicket of trees, the waist-high grass giving way to elm trees with their great thick branches and leaves of gold and orange and red. The forests of Westeros were beautiful in the autumn, making it all the sadder that winter was coming to choke out the beauty and replace it with cold, white death instead.
It was not uncommon to find a stream in a forest, but what was unusual were the markedly massive bootprints in the soft mud on either side of the bank. The sheer size stopped the vulture in her tracks. What kind of monster did this belong to? She compared the size of her own foot to the ones in the mud, brow furrowed. Frightened, and morbidly curious, she crossed the stream by passing from one stone to another. When she climbed the embankment, she saw the man who had left the massive prints in his wake.
The dead soldier was slumped against the base of a tree. He was a giant of a man, monstrous to behold, with a tangle of dark hair and a cropped beard. The soldier was easily double her size, and the helmet that laid at his side was fashioned in the shape of either a wolf or a snarling dog. A helmet of that level of detail would fetch a pretty penny. The horse—a magnificent black courser—hitched to a branch nearby would, too. The vulture inched forward slowly as she had with the last man. With gentle, lithe hands, she reached forward and pulled the helmet from beneath his arms.
When she moved the helmet, he groaned.
When he groaned, she screamed.
Startled and screeching, she reeled backwards and onto her haunches. Dead bodies made noises sometimes, but they don’t open their eyes and watch you. Well, maybe they did in stories, but this was no story. This was a living man.
He wasn’t just looking at her, he was seeing her, watching her. He was awake and conscious, though his face was pale and sunken and the bags beneath his eyes were black. Half of his face was badly burned, a gnarled ruin of scars that had never healed properly. He blinked slowly, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. The wound that was doing him in was between his neck and his shoulder, perfectly on his collarbone. Rotten blood, black and brown rather than red, was crusted around shards of the armor that had been shattered into his skin. It was festering and killing him.
She turned her dagger in her hands, a nervous sort of uncertain fiddling. “Can you hear me?” she asked. He did not speak in response, but instead just opened his eyes again. The knight looked up at the sky rather than at her. “I can help you,” she offered, though where the kindness was coming from, she could not say. “I can clean the wound and hope for the best, or I can give you the gift of mercy. Do you have a preference?”
The soldier’s eyes closed. She wasn’t sure if they were like to open again. Mercy, she decided, is the kindest thing I can give him. Again she crept forward, less fearful than the first time. She would do it, she would give him the Mother’s Mercy. Yet, when she brought the blade forth to give him the relief he needed, she couldn’t do it. Instead, she stood. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
She gathered dried sticks and heaped them into a small but neat pile, and she struck her flint and steel until she had a fire. The vulture had learned how to survive if nothing else. She placed the dead man’s helmet in the flames and poured half of his wineskin into it. The plating of the helmet was thick, and by the time the wine boiled the sky above was as orange as the trees below. She wrapped her hands in her cloak and lifted the helmet away from the flames.
“This will hurt,” she warned him. “This will hurt like a bitch, but try not to scream. Screaming calls the wolves, of four legs and of two.”
He screamed when she poured the boiling wine onto the wound. He threw his head back against the tree with such force that she feared he’d killed himself then and there, but a second wave of screaming let her know he was not, in fact, dead. Not yet. When she dabbed at the wound with a rag of the dead man’s cloak the huge man did not scream; he whimpered like a babe, so pitifully that she couldn’t help but whisper words of comfort to him. She cooed and hushed him and made promises that the pain would go away soon. He did not answer. When she poured the wine the third time, he did not scream. He blacked out from the pain instead.
The burned man was much easier to deal with once he was unconscious. She wasn’t entirely sure he would wake up again, and the odds weren’t in his favor, but if he didn’t, at least she could say she’d tried. It was dark and this man was strange, and she needed to leave him before wolves came along. She needed to find some place better to hide, she needed to…
“No one would fuck with you, would they?” she asked of his sleeping form. In the black of the night, in the dim light of the fire, you could scarce see the wound. If bandits and robbers and rapers came along, the sheer size and obvious strength of the knight might deter them. I may be safer sleeping by this dead body than beneath a ramshackle roof, she considered. So she laid at his side, curled up beneath her cloak, and hoped the mountain of a man would be enough to protect her.
For the most part she slept through the night, save for one time when wolves howled just a little too close to their small camp—if one could call it a camp. She fed the fire and laid back down, near pressed up against the sleeping giant for warmth and safety. Even unconscious, he somehow made her feel safer than she’d felt in…in a long, long time.
When she woke the second time, the sky was pink with the rising sun. The man’s eyes were open, and they were staring at her. Alarmed, she bolted up right and backed away from him. He said nothing.
“You made it through the night,” she observed. “Are you okay?”
For the first time since she’d found him, the giant knight spoke. “It fucking burns,” he told her through gritted teeth. His voice was intensely deep and gravely, so powerful and commanding. A strong voice, and it sent a shiver through her. Had he not looked like he was dying…maybe she would have…
“Better burning than dead.” She refused to be distracted by her own thoughts.
“Is it? Fuck off.”
The vulture shrugged. “I can kill you, if you’d prefer.” She had to pretend she wasn’t afraid of him, even if it was only to try and convince herself. Not sure of what else to do, she stood up and brushed herself off. “You need to drink,” she told him. She pulled the wineskin from where she’d placed it on the opposite side of the tree and brought it to him. “It’s wine, not water, but it’ll do.”
“That we can agree on.” His hands were shaking too badly to take the wineskin himself. All of him was shaking, she realized, likely from the fever.
“Here,” she offered, lifting the wineskin to his mouth, “I’ve got you.” When she went to steady his face with her free hand, he jerked away.
“Fuck off,” he said.
“You fuck off. You want wine or not?” He must have wanted the wine, because he didn’t object when she helped him the second time, and he managed several swallows. When she pulled the wineskin away, he closed his eyes again.
It was a long time before either of them spoke. The warrior drifted in and out of consciousness; sometimes sweating, sometimes shaking, sometimes snoring. The vulture didn’t wander too far, but boredom bested her and she ventured around a bit. She found plenty of ripe blackberries and a handful of morel mushrooms nearby, and again she ventured to the stream. She filled the helmet with water so they could boil and drink it, as she’d heard the maesters do.
The sun was going down before they spoke again. “Can you eat?” she asked, offering him a handful of berries. He didn’t answer, but he did accept the berries and ate them slowly, one by one by one until there were no more.
As they sat in the creeping dusk, the small woman asked, “What is your name, if you’ll share it?”
The knight just shook his head. It was a mutual sentiment; she didn’t want to share hers, anyway. So they sat there in silence, the dying man and the woman who’d intended to loot his corpse. If she had a horse or a mule or a cart or maybe even an oversized sack, she would have knocked him unconscious and taken everything he and the other dead man had. She didn’t have those things, though, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go, either. Though she considered stealing his helmet and his horse, she was a looter, not a robber. Dead men held no grudges.
Even out in the farmlands where she grew up, she heard talk. Travelers on the road talked, and merchants, and storytellers passing through. They’d talked a lifetime ago about the king’s dog; a great beast with a scarred face, the meanest dog in all the Seven Kingdoms. The Hound, they’d called him. He was cruel and vicious as they came, with a reputation preceded only by his brother’s. She didn’t know the name of the man beside her. She just knew he had a hound’s head helmet and that he was a great mean beast with a scarred face. The vulture sat beside the hound. If he dies, I will have that horse and that helmet. Don’t tell me your name, dog. I already know it.
It was another full day before he had strength enough to stand. It fell on the vulture to keep the hound’s wound clean and to find food enough for the two of them. He had no appetite for blackberries and she was miserable at catching fish, so they ate little enough. They ate little and talked less, and by the time a day and half had passed she gave up on trying to talk to him. The thought of stealing his horse, though, was becoming ever more tempting.
She woke on the morning of their third full day together to the sound of armor jostling about. Cold and confused and barely awake, it took her a moment to realize what he was doing.
“You’re leaving?” Her bewilderment was outmatched only by his audacity. He was sitting ahorse, and he would have ridden right off without her had the sound of him mounting not woken her. He said nothing as he reined up. “I’m coming with you!”
“Fuck you are,” he grunted. “You’re dead weight, that’s all you are.”
“Dead weight!?” The woman was aghast. “You’d be the dead one if I hadn’t found you!” His shadow passed over her as the big gray horse sauntered past. “Don’t leave me here! Please!”
He never responded, and he was getting further and further out of reach. With no rocks nearby, she grabbed a chunk of charred wood from the evening’s fire and hurled it at him. She missed, mostly, as it just struck the horse in the haunch. Neither rider nor steed looked back, and then they were gone around the corner.
Cold, and poor, and terribly alone, her frustration mounted and all she could do was sit down on the ground and cry. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat by the blackened remains of the fire and wept, but by the time she was done the sun was up and her face was sore, all puffy and swollen from the tears.
It was not in vain, though. It was through the tears that she’d sorted out a plan. He’s a wanted man, she realized. Someone will pay for him, and they will pay with gold. He will pay, too, for leaving, and he will pay with blood. She followed the game trail and the horse’s prints back out to the road from which she’d came nearly four days prior. The hooves turned left—which was north—and followed the road. It was perfect; the same direction she’d been going. The Hound, which she’d decided he indeed was, had a brother. It was the brother who had given him the kiss of fire, the brother they called The Mountain. The Mountain worked for the Lannisters, and those lions were made of gold. The gold was the fire that kept her burning.
The skies were grown grey by midday, and the vulture was tired and sore regardless of her spite-fueled path of war. She oft sang to keep herself alert and steady on the road, even at the cost of being seen, but today the songs would not come. Not even The Bear and the Maiden Fair or Seasons of My Love.
The Rains of Castamere, though…that one crept into her seething mind. She hummed as she drove forward, hoofprints of the Hound’s steed never out of sight. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.
The rain came when the day was nearly halfway over. It beat down hard and relentless with no end in sight, a cold autumn rain that soaked the vulture to her core. Worse, it washed away the hoofprints she’d been so diligently following when the road turned to mud. It sucked at her boots and slowed her pace by nearly half, but still she carried on. I know what direction he’s headed, and that’s enough. At least, it had better be enough, or she was like to throw herself into the Green Fork.
When riders came around the corner, there was little she could do to hide herself. They were too close and she was too slow to run from four—no, five—mounted men. They reined up around her in a sort of circle.
“What have we here?” said one rider. The rain had slicked his oily ginger hair to his face and dripped into his matted beard.
“A little lady, it seems,” said another. He was bald save for a few whisps of hair left clinging miserably to his scalp.
“Just passing through, sers,” answered the vulture, though it was plain these were no knights and did not deserve to be addressed as such.
The first rider dismounted. He was barrel-bodied with bandy legs, and a neck too thick for his shoulders. She backed away, but found she was trapped between horses. “Miserable looking thing, ain’t you?” He laughed. “Why don’t you sing us a song and might be we’ll let you go?”
She held open her hands. “Not much of a singer, tragically. My father told me once I had the voice of jackass.” The men laughed, but they were laughing at her in a cruel fashion that did little to assuage her growing unease. “I can sing you a different sort of song, though. For coin, that is.”
“And what sort of song might that be?” The red-haired man inched closer.
“One of a runaway hound,” she said. “A big beast. No doubt its master is looking for it.”
She hadn’t noticed the rider behind her had dismounted until it was too late. Suddenly he had her by the arms, and all of the men were talking at once, talking and laughing and jeering, and everything was happening so fast. She was being pulled away from the road, away from any hope of anyone else finding her. The trees were closing in around them. “Help! Help me!” she screamed to no one in particular. She screamed it again and again, until the man dragging her clapped one hand over her mouth and put an end to it. And when she couldn’t speak, she prayed it. Help me, Warrior, she thought. Help me Mother, Maiden, Crone, Smith, Father, Stranger. Help me whoever can hear. Help me Lord of Light, Black Goat. Someone, anyone, help me.
With no warning, the ground rose up to meet her. It was soft with mud and slick with fallen leaves, and she hit the forest floor with a wet thud. The men were laughing still. One of them knelt over her and attempted to tear at her dress.
And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours. She raked at his face with such fury that it left her hand aching. She dealt one swift hit, but it was as hard as she could manage and her untrimmed nails caught the skin of his face, leaving long, red ribbons in their wake. He did not expect the second blow from her other arm. She dropped her weight off of the elbow she was propped up on and shoved her hand upward at his face. In hindsight, she wasn’t sure what she had been hoping to accomplish, but she went for his eye. Maybe she’d meant to hit him, or maybe to scratch him. She did not intend to hit him so sharply that her nails and fingers punctured his eye.
The man howled, the woman screamed. He reeled backwards, clutching his bloodied eye. It was now or never; she shoved him off of her and scrambled to her feet. She had to go, she had to run, she had to…
The forest floor was slick with rain, the same rain that was pounding all around her and drowning out the cries of the men who chased her. The same rain that muddied the embankment; the same mud her boots kicked at helplessly, slipping and sliding as she tried her hardest to climb away from them. But the world was wet with rain and there was no escape. Halfway up she came down on her hands and knees, and try as she might to claw her way up, she was not fast enough. No sooner had she grabbed hold of a root than a man’s hands were fisted in her skirts, pulling her down again.
“No, no!” Her hands and feet left the ground entirely as she was lifted away. “Help me!” she screamed, moments before the wind was knocked from her. Her assailant tossed her haphazardly to the ground as if she were a child’s doll. Then there was a man holding down her arms, then another on top of her, then one was laughing. They were all laughing. The rain was in her eyes and the world was blurry.
Time slowed, then it crawled. She thought of her stupid husband and his stupid mother. She thought of the first man whose body she’d found discarded along the Kingsroad and the coin purse she’d taken from him. She’d said a prayer to the Stranger for him. The second body she’d found a day later, and she’d taken his cloak of black, the same cloak she wore now in the mud. After that they all blended together, all bloated in the sun and from the rain, with their eyes pecked out by crows. She thought of the fact she’d found the wanted man they called The Hound, and that she’d spent three days at his side. For some reason she’d nursed him back to health; maybe it was the same reason he’d left her there. I felt so safe at his side, she thought bitterly. Even when he was dying, even when he couldn’t stand. She thought of the nights she’d spent pressed at his side listening to wolves. I wanted to be safe with him.
The man on top of her looked away suddenly. “What the fu—”
Blood sprayed over her, red and hot and thick. Inches from her face, horse hooves thundered past in the mud, then they were gone just as quick as they’d come. The men were shouting. The one on top of her was up and standing before he ever had a chance to defile her. The vulture wasn’t sure what was happening. The man who had been holding her down lay in the mud, blood pouring from his now-cracked skull, his eyes open but unseeing. It wasn’t until she turned and saw the great black courser rearing in the rain that she realized. The Hound.
One of the men ran at him, slashing wildly. He’s still hurt, she realized, remembering the black wound on his neck. Another man grabbed at the courser’s reins, just out of the Hound’s reach. They’ll overtake him.
The same instinct that had taken the first man’s eye found her again. It seized her and made her grab hold of the dead man’s discarded dagger. Women did not often pray to the Warrior for strength for themselves; just for their sons and husbands and men who went off to war and were like to never return. Warrior give me strength, she thought nonetheless, and if the Warrior cannot, then I hope the Stranger does, so that I may send this man to you. She grabbed the redheaded man by the hair. Her fingers fisted in his oily red curls, and when she pulled back with all her might, the pale white flesh of his neck was there for the taking. The steel of the blade—the glittering, beautiful steel—found his throat in what would have been one clean sweep had her hands not been shaking so badly. Instead it cut him sideways, puncturing deep into his skin. She pulled it out and pushed it in again, then again, then again.
Then she was not sure what had happened. It was still raining, and none of the five men were living. The Hound was not on his horse, he was standing over one of the still-warm bodies. The vulture was standing at the edge of the embankment. Perhaps she’d hoped to climb away with better luck than she’d had the first time.
The Hound kicked at the body with his boot and grunted. The woman watched. When he turned to face her, it was plain he was in pain, that his wound was still raw and burning. The new wound on his leg wasn’t helping, either.
“Are you alright?”
His words took her by surprise. “I’m fine,” she said, though she hadn’t realized until then that she was crying. “Are you?”
The Hound half-nodded in response. When the vulture looked around, she noticed one of the dead riders had a wineskin at his hip. She knelt and took it. Old habits die hard, she thought when she pulled it from his belt. “You’ll need this,” she started.
She never got to finish. The Hound took the wineskin from her hands mid-sentence. “Damn right I will.” He took a long pull from it, wine dripping from his mouth and into his beard. Had he not been so large, she might have tried to stop him. Instead she just stood and watched the spectacle.
When he was done, she told him, “You could have boiled it for your wounds.”
“Piss on the wounds,” he told her. “Find more wine.”
By the time they’d stripped the bodies of anything of value, they had eighteen silver stags, a handful of coppers, and two more wineskins. One of them was empty, to the Hound’s disdain, but the other had enough for him to take a Hound-sized swig with some left over to boil.
Two of the riders’ horses who had not bolted from the fray remained. The vulture approached one, cooing and shushing and making all matter of silly noises to soothe it. It was a pretty, young thing, piebald and bright-eyed.
“Can you ride?” the Hound asked.
“I can.” She balled the reins in her hand and gently edged towards the other horse, a chestnut mare with a mane of black. Though it whickered and pawed at the mud, it otherwise put-up little fight. She stood between the two horses, securing them to one another.
“The fuck are you doing?” The Hound watched her with a furrowed brow.
“They’re both young and in good health,” she said, checking her knots. They were nice and secure. “This one here might fetch a pretty penny in the next town.”
The Hound considered that a moment. “It’ll slow us down.”
“Us?” The vulture looked at him. “I wasn’t aware there’s an us.”
“Bugger that. I’m leaving you at the first hole of a village we find. You want to get left to the rapers and raiders again?”
She smiled. “Weren’t you the one that left me in the first place?”
They rode until they found a barn that could at least halfway pass as a shelter. Neither knew whose land the barn was on, or whether or not anyone would care that they were there. Judging by the weeds that grew up around it, though, no one had been there in a while. And if they do care, the Hound will kill them, she thought to herself.
She dabbed at his wounds with strips of cloth boiled in wine. The whole damn thing was shades of purple and black and fierce reds, but it seemed somewhat improved at the very least. “If we can keep it up like this, you might not die,” said the woman.
“I wasn’t aware there’s a we,” was his answer. Could it be? Was he joking with her? Though she laughed, he did not. It didn’t matter. It felt good to laugh, so she laughed and laughed and laughed until surely he thought she’d lost her mind.
They supped on strips of salted pork they’d rummaged up from one of the rider’s bags, and they boiled rainwater to drink. “Why bother collecting it in the helmet?” As the sun went down the Hound sat with his back to the wall, looking sodden and sick and miserable but pretending he was none of those things.
“How else should we drink it?” she asked. “Do you propose I go stand out in the rain with my head to the sky and my mouth open like a turkey?”
That marked the first time she saw him smile. His mouth twitched up at the corners for the briefest of seconds and his eyebrows raised. “I don’t know, why don’t you go try?”
“Piss on that,” the vulture told him, and sat down to boil their water.
The fire was warm, but the night was cold. Bitter cold. Even when she laid down to sleep, the rain had not let up. The rain was making the air damp and heavy til the chill settled into their very bones. She wished she was a proper lady, then, safe and sound on a featherbed with furs all around her, with a fire in the hearth and fresh rushes on the floor. She was the one on the floor, though, and it was a floor of straw and dirt. There were no furs, and instead she laid beneath a sodden cloak that didn’t seem to dry no matter how much she held it by the flames or how close she laid to the small fire. It would go out soon, and then they’d be utterly, miserably cold.
She awoke shivering in the middle of the night. The fire had mostly burned down to embers, so she fed it and stirred at it until the flames took. Not even the wolves howled into the wretched, rainy darkness. Fuck the north. She rubbed her hands over the fire as a chill took hold of her. Why’d I go north? Why not to Dorne? Her cloak would be dry in Dorne, no doubt, and she could be eating oranges and swimming in the Greenblood river.
“Are you that fucking cold?” The Hound’s voice startled the vulture so badly that she near instinctively went for her knife.
“Aren’t you?” Her heart rate steadied again.
The Hound scoffed. “It’s only going to get colder.”
All she could do was shrug. He was right. “It’s not so bad without the rain,” she said at last.
“It could rain for fuckin’ weeks. Has before. You gonna sit by that fire for weeks?”
The big man was irritating her. She began to wonder again exactly how much of a reward was offered for him. Maybe the king would marry me to a knight, she dreamed dramatically. Instead, she just said, “No. But it’s tempting.” Whether it was tempting to sit by the fire for a week’s time or sell him back to the king, the vulture could not say.
The Hound stirred, moving closer to the fire. With a theatric huff, he stretched out. “Get over here,” he growled in that gruff, raspy voice of his.
The woman was caught off guard. “For what?”
“What do you mean ‘for what?’ What the fuck do you think?” When she just stared at him, confused, he said, “Do you want to warm up or not?”
The act of kindness was startling. She went to him, though, and curled up at his side, close enough for warmth but barely touching. Almost begrudgingly, he tossed half of his cloak over her. He didn’t speak again, so they laid there in a silence that was somehow neither awkward nor entirely comfortable. He smells like a man that’s been dying for a week, she thought, and the thought made her smile to herself.
“The fuck are you smiling at?”
“You smell like a man who’s been dying for a week, maybe longer.”
“Fuck off.”
#sandor clegane#the hound#game of thrones#got#got the hound#sandor clegane x reader#sandor x reader#sandor clegane/reader#reader insert#romance#sandor clegane fic#mywriting
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Fixing Jackpot Pt. 1
I'm no stranger to dealing with Marvel's nonsense especially when it comes to their insistence that PeterMJ isn't real. Currently she's having her superhero arc but like a lot of fans, I'm not meshing with this storyline. And for someone who's supposed to be a fashionista her choice of outfit is messier than an x men family tree! So with my amateur design skills I took it upon myself to see if I can break her out of her faux pas. But first let's dive deeper into my issues with this marvelous disaster!
Comparing the original cover to greyscale, everything kinda contrasts but it isn't enough. If I were to see this far away I would mistake it for a giant grey blob. The big ass cards on her thighs causes unnecessary distraction and too on the nose. The outlines around the cards, the gauntlets and tie and angle on her chest AND the goggles, makes her costume look incoherent and dated. Also her sleeves are grey yet the top half of her chest is white, there's like five main colors fighting for dominance.
So what did I do?
First thing I did was change the color. Since MJ already has long bright red hair, it made sense to add cool colors to balance it out. I went with purple for its association with magic, graceful qualities, and wealth. These contexts are especially ironic when you take her backstory into account. I also changed the sleeves to better match with the top.
For the second variant I added gold to contrast with the purple and to further emphasize the fortune aspect. It makes the goggles stand out more too. Oh yeah I colored over those rectangles so you're focused on her face.
Here's another variant. Blue is also commonly associated with magic, and it matches the blue on Peter's suit.
Again cool colors compliments her hair, and they're almost at equal areas so they're balanced as all things should be. I noticed the blue matches the numbers too. This rich shade pops out pretty well from thr background. The palette leans towards the trope "Primary Color Champion."
This green variant is based on Alana Jobson, the original Jackpot. Ugh greyscale is NOT on my side! 🙄🙄🙄
Out of curiousity I sketched up long boots with gold trim at the top, round to contrast the sharp symbols as well as to match the shape of her gauntlet. Now comparing to greyscale again, she pops out more against the background.
It's not perfect but at least I got the point across.
Overall, absolutely nobody asked for this story. I won't even entertain the idea of reading it. But I love fashion and MJ as a character. She deserved better. Next time I'll see if I can draw a new costume from scratch. Any critiques are welcomed, I love to hear y'all thoughts on this!
#Jackpot#mary jane watson#marvel critical#spiderman#character design#rant#my essay#marvel comics#peter x mj#Redesign#marvel#style analysis
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I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and one of the things that really bothers me about the whole "age gap" discourse re: EagleOne is that, by buying into it, you automatically erase a huge part of Leon's character.
Leon might have been on the planet for 27 years, but he still has the maturity of a 21 year old.
After Raccoon City, Leon basically falls out of time and space. He's all but completely removed from society and has his growth as an adult completely stunted by the CIA.
It isn't as though he's spent the last six years gaining practical wisdom and real-world life experience that puts him at some sort of advantage over Ashley and makes any relationship between them cunningly manipulative on Leon's part.
Leon wasn't out dating and socializing and learning the ways of the world and growing alongside heartbreaks and disappointments and setbacks and victories and achievements. Leon has spent the last six years locked in a room with Jack fucking Krauser and getting the shit beat out of him -- that is, when he wasn't being sent off to active war zones.
Like -- do people even realize the actual depths of what Leon's training entailed? Krauser wasn't just a sparring partner teaching him about edged blade combat. Leon was actually literally tortured in the most literal dictionary definition of the word. He had to be, in case he was ever caught and tortured by the enemy -- he had to be trained on how to take it and not crack.
Leon not actually being in STRATCOM is actually really important to his character. He wasn't sitting in a war room digging through intel and pursuing active leads in an investigation against Umbrella. Prior to the formation of the DSO, he was a military combat unit -- the most elite one that the US government has ever produced. He is a weapon in every sense of the word. He's probably had to go through boot camp with both Navy SEALs and Army Green Berets and then some.
Basically, Leon was an experiment conducted by the US government to see if it was possible to create a soldier capable of wiping out entire military units on his own (which is, incidentally, probably the how and why behind his involvement in Remake's version of Operation Javier. He was chosen to be sent in after Krauser's unit was wiped out for a reason.). He probably wasn't the only one to have been put through this gauntlet during this experiment, but he was the only one who made it through to the other side. He's an anomaly; he's the exception that proves the rule.
None of that is conducive to fostering his growth as an adult or as a human being -- and that was exactly the point. The idea was probably to try to strip him of as much of his humanity as possible in order to create a weapon who would mindlessly follow orders and never question the hows or whys. This is also probably why his "softness" was a huge point of contention for Krauser, who knew exactly what the intentions for Leon actually were. After all, he knew Leon's potential better than anyone.
That's why Leon is so stoic and serious and almost joyless at the start of RE4make. He hasn't lived as a human being living among other human beings in six years; he's been forged into a weapon instead. The last time that he felt like and acted like and lived like a person was when he was 21. He hasn't grown past that point.
That's why his reaction to and treatment of Ada is so goddamn immature.
And it's also why it's such a big deal when Ashley gets that first smile out of him. When Ashley brings out the sides of Leon that we haven't seen since early-to-mid RE2make, she's returning pieces of his humanity to him.
The government had Leon convinced that he wasn't the same person anymore -- that the kind-hearted guy who went into law enforcement out of a genuine desire to help and protect people was dead -- because he's been in an echo chamber and having that idea reinforced to him over and over and over again. Ada saw right through it and knew that the old Leon was still alive in there. And Ashley brought him to the surface and gave him a second chance at life.
On paper, Leon and Ashley have a seven year age gap. In practice and reality, there's only one year separating them. Ashley is 20, and Leon is still only 21.
Anyone who crows about an age gap between Leon and Ashley is outing themselves as someone who doesn't understand Leon's character at all and can be safely and thoroughly ignored.
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no i'm going to continue to talk about she-ra merch actually. specifically, i want to talk about the different versions/releases of Adora in the fashion dolls (one in particular but we'll get to that). As far as I can tell they released this line in 2019, botched it, and left the pieces to the scalpers and collectors. I wasn't around for that so feel free to add context in the replies if you know it.
It kind of makes sense since she's the main character but half the line is Adora. The initial line up was Adora (in her red jacket), Glimmer, Bow, Catra, and a separate doll for She-ra, with everyone in their season 1 outfits (obvs). She-ra had a different sculpt than Adora and was taller than the others. That's 2 Adoras out of 5 dolls so far.
They also released the "Battle of Bright Moon" set which featured She-ra in her battle armor along with Swift Wind. I'm really not sure whether to include him in the final doll count, but since his quality was shit and I don't usually count "pets," I'm going to say we're at 3 Adoras out of 6 dolls. (we will be circling back around to this set it's the whole reason we're here)
The last set is the SDCC exclusive She-ra vs Shadow Weaver set. This has (as far as I can tell) the "same" She-ra as the original release but with a bigger cape and better skirt, along with a Shadow Weaver doll.
That's 4 Adoras out of 8 dolls, but what I want to talk about is the Battle of Bright Moon set, because it is SHIT. I'm gonna be using seller photos here because the official pics won't show you lmao. We'll start with what I think is an official photo for the SDCC set so you can see the usual She-ra to compare.
As you can see, she's a skin-color articulated doll with a fabric unitard, skirt, and cape (again, the regular She-ra had a less luxurious cape and skirt, but was otherwise the same to this). Everything gold is plastic, so she has plastic boots, gauntlets, chest emblem, shoulder paldrons, and tiara. Also a sword. Everything I just listed could be removed and put back on. This is what they did for all of the dolls, She-ra or otherwise, in the line, but Battle of Bright Moon took... a different approach. Let's start with in-box seller photos because you can already see problems there.
I wish I knew more context for this and maybe somebody can add it but from the best I can tell this was manufactured (maybe not priced, but manufactured) as a budget set. Swift Wind is a terrible plastic lump, but we have nothing to compare him to. Adora, though, has taken a big hit. The tiara, head, and probably the sculpt are the same but that's it. She doesn't have gauntlets at all, they just casted her forearms in gold since it was a separate piece anyway with the articulation. The skirt in the original she-ra outfit wasn't great, but this one is hot garbage, especially in open-box listings where it has often fallen apart. speaking of, lets go there to reveal the sin.
Yeah. She doesn't have clothes. They just casted her body and legs out of white and slapped a terrible skirt over it. At least they gave her actual boots instead of casting them like her "gauntlets." but the armor. It doesn't even cover her back!! It just snaps onto the front and makes it more obvious she's naked! They made this doll right twice why did they downgrade so bad for this set. The first time I saw a naked she-ra doll with a white body for sale I was so baffled because I hadn't paid too much attention to this one and didn't realize they'd done it completely differently (wrong. They did it wrong). I'm convinced they don't put a photo of her in this armor on the box so you don't realize how poorly done it is
#okay this has been my rant#edit: modified because i believe from tweets all of these were released concurrently except maybe the SDCC one#and just. why. why did they do it like this#one day im gonna have one of the normal ones and im going to enter the horrors of doll clothes sewing to make her a season five outfit lmao#words and things#she ra#merch#spop dolls
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𝓦 ⸺ POWERS, ABILITIES, + WEAPONS :
STRENGTH, far superior to any human [ meta-human ] . It includes the ability to lift even the heaviest human-made tanks, for example. It was originally meant to surpass the strength of the strongest Gods, withholding some modern technology that has also done so, or certain magic that can hold her down.
DURABILITY, far superior to any human and most meta-humans with the exception of superman and supergirl as examples. She is not resistant to any type of damage and almost anything can damage her, but Diana has accelerated healing and an intense tolerance to pain.
SPEED / REFLEXES / STAMINA, superior to any human. The one advantage that isn't far superior. This actually comes more from thousands years worth of ancient, warrior training. Her reaction time to attacks and being able to counterattack is considerably well-trained. She can certainly leave even the fastest human in her dust. She's incredibly hard to catch and impossible for any regular human to best in a fight of speed, stamina, or reflexes. A lot meta-humans have an advantage.
SENSES, things like vision, speed, and smell are slightly more enhanced than a humans.
LEAPING, with a pair of boots gifted to her from Hermes, Diana is able to leap extremely high. As high as some of the tallest human buildings, 40-50 stories. Also able to propel herself forward and land rather gracefully.
GAUNTLETS OF SUBMISSION, gauntlets that have the ability to deflect projectiles and blunt attacks. Indestructible to all forms of attack while Diana is wearing them. She is not known to take them off. The gauntlets, themselves, do most of the work. Diana can also be attacked if she's unprepared, but if she is prepared, she just has to raise the gauntlet in the general direction and it'll find and deflect projectiles and attacks.
LASSO OF TRUTH, whoever is ensnared in the lasso will be compelled to speak the truth of a question asked. The lasso can also translate language [ for the truth will be understood ] . If someone has been ensnared in it that Diana does not seek the truth from and has an emotional bond with, the lasso understands the heart, and it can locate the person with whom Diana has an emotional connection with.
INVISIBLE JET, it's a big jet with big guns that can go completely visible. I feel like this one doesn't need explaining.
SWORD OF HEPHAESTUS, a sword forged by the God himself, it's blade will never dull and it is sharp enough to cut almost anything imagineable. Some metahumans aside.
SHIELD OF ANTIOPE / THEMYSCIRA, also nearly as indestructible as the gauntlets [ but without the magic to deflect ], this shield can withstand almost anything. Also quite frequently used as an offensive weapon, especially one not meant to directly kill.
OTHER SKILLS / PROFICIENCIES : aviation, equestrianism, diplomacy, leadership, hand-to-hand combat, tactical analysis, archery, swordsmanship, throwing [ weapons ] .
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