#juggernaut child

[he11swinter]

hi it's me again :3 🦇 anon!!

ok this is my last ask for everyone i swear!! (it's not :3)

(for everyone!! :3)

what if i just went around and hugged u all?? honestly i don't really care what happens, i love being around u guys!!/gen (u guys r witterway the best pls keep being u)

Everyone says:

Billy rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and displays the sassiest attitude possible. “Hugs are for sissies. Bleh.” He’s standing upside-down on the ceiling, so you have tough luck reaching him. The First Born Son sticks his tongue out at you and flickers away.

Jimmy crosses his arms thoughtfully. His voice is muffled by the plastic around his head. “Sheesh, I dunno, kid. I don’t get nothin’ out of hugs, personally.”

Susan giggles and throws her arms around your neck, bringing you in close. She comes between you and Jimmy, so you can’t hug him. “Hehehehe! You’re so cute. And funny.”

Jean smiles softly and brings you into a hug, but she’s a little sad. “Please don’t say that—that you don’t care what happens. Take care of yourself, hon.” She’s frightened of some of the other ghosts. She can sense them stirring in irritation.

Royce grimaces. “I don’t even know you, man. Back off.” He flips his baseball bat—to show off, or would he really use it?

Dana taps the edge of her knife, seeming bored, but if you approach her she raises it at the ready. There’s no doubt she would use it.

Isabella hangs back. She stays far away from everyone, and far away from you. She doesn’t want trouble, but her glare suggests you’ll get it if you push her too far.

Margaret and Harold are shy. They glance to each other—silent, still.

George contemplates. His expression is hard, and his stance just as tense. But when you approach and throw your arms around him, the blacksmith softens. He pats you awkwardly on the back, using his other arm to hold back the still-raging Ryan.

“Hell no!” The Jackal screeches when it’s his turn, no longer after you when it’s you after him. He cowers like a dog. “Not again. Get away from me—I don’t want it!”

As you approach Horace, his bloodshot eyes burn down on you. His arms are crossed. All this affection is annoying him immensely. He grabs you and hurls you away; the rest of the ghosts gasp.

[mlpshippingtournament]

MLP Shipping Tournament Round 1

[we-will-swallow-your-soul]

[magic-is-beauty]

Your beauty never ever scared me

[crowblincray]

Childhood trauma and trauma in general I suppose feels kinda like an onion for me.

You know it stinks when you first handle it but think well this isn't so bad. Then the layers keep peeling away bit by bit and you start to realize just how bad, how messed up, utterly twisted it all is.

And you wonder where the tears are coming from.

🧅 Its the attack of the trauma onion. 🧅

Can't even caramelize the bitch, what a load of bull.

(Just remembered the earliest dream I recalled having back when I was like five years old. The Juggernaut from the X men was handing out poisonous onions to kids on a schoolbus. No real connection, just weirdness.)

[wolvndmouth]

Guys. I think about this shot a lot. Seven (7) times a day, minimum.

This is the exact moment Wade realizes that Logan looks at him, like really looks at him. Logan’s eyes have always been reading Wade in every way they can. Annoyed and scowling aside, he tries in earnest to understand who Wade is through his cracked humor and self-depreciation. No matter how angry he is, no matter how confused he is, he has eyes on Wade. When they’re staring at each other from opposite sides of a gun, when they’re sitting across each other in the diner, when they first fight in the Void, when they argue in the Odyssey; each one of these scenes have a moment where Wade is showing his cards and Logan, even through his rage and thirst to hurt, stills himself to listen and learn for as long as he can.

The man has no choice in the matter. Charles left him with the burden of knowing what it is to be loved, even at his most difficult. He’s felt the healing that comes from someone being able to look past his defenses and aggression and have the patience to plant compassion in the spaces of him that need it the most. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to unbury all the good he had before the bad, but it doesn’t stop him from having the guts to be gentle and kind when someone least deserves it. One of his gentlest moments is when he takes Juggernaut’s helmet off Cassandra to save her, and his wish to be the man that Charles thinks he is is what strengthens his ability to comfort the displaced and love-starved child that Nova really is. It is that same hope that allows him to take a chance on Wade. All Logan can do is hear him out and do his best to see the merc for who he truly is. It takes him some time, but from the moment they met in the bar, to joining Wade’s world, Logan’s gaze never wavers; it only changes as he grows to understand Wade more. He is able to look past Deadpool, and see Wade Wilson.

‘Never take your eyes off an enemy’ evolves into looking at a mirror to his own soul. Wade is everything Logan is, and everything Logan isn’t. They are yin and yang down to the very cores of their being, and for Logan, it’s a tough pill to swallow when he realizes just how easy it is for Wade to love. It’s not only consistently thrown in his face with Wade’s repeated reminders of what’s at stake, but Wade showing him the picture of everything he has left forces him to reflect on the walls he’s built around himself and why. He has made so many mistakes, and he can do nothing but examine his own failures as an X-Man and as Logan himself. He is astounded by Wade’s ability to survive with his heart so crudely stapled to his sleeve, and when he looks at that photo, there’s a piece of him that almost wouldn’t mind being a part of the portrait. He thinks of a world where Scott doesn’t have to beg him to put on the suit. Where Jean, Storm, and Beast aren’t dead. Where Charles is still there to remind him everyday that he matters. Maybe a world where Charles could meet Wade and remind him that he matters too. But “when they fix your world” becomes “if they fix your world”, I imagine in the bitterness of that, Logan starts off repulsed by Wade’s openness to overfill his cup and share what overflows. It’s a slow eventuality, but inevitable nonetheless; Logan learns how to let Wade pour into him. His eyes soften and steady towards Wade as their relationship progresses. When being introduced to Althea, it’s obvious that something inside him has calmed, and the soft nod he gives is the only way Logan knows how to say that actually wants to be there. He’s answered Wade’s call and didn’t walk away. Logan can finally look at Wade with a sureness that he’s not going anywhere.

[GIF by bettercallcohen]

And I think Wade can feel that. Wade is so open because his universe is so small compared to everyone else’s. 9 people. 9 people who make him feel seen, make his heart full, and that make him feel like he belongs somewhere. So when he’s presented with the chance to add #10 to the Polaroid, when someone can actually see him through his vulgarities, through the violence, through his cancerous mutation, it’s more than just surprising when it’s someone like Logan. It’s been a long time since someone’s looked at him like he’s home. No one has looked at him that way since Vanessa. And he probably felt like no one would ever look at him that way ever again. But then here comes Logan, all eyes on him, shredding him to pieces and picking him apart. Wade is the only person he knows in this world, and Wade is the only person in this world that knows him. Logan is forced to confront the idea of being seen and being needed by someone again. Wade comes to him in a crazy, desperate attempt to save the people he loves, and instead he finds one more person to violently stitch into the fabric of his existence.

It’s intense, probably for the both of them, but Wade only knows intensity. Maximum effort. Nothing is off the table, nothing is left behind. Wade’s eyes are as loud as his mouth and bear a burden of their own; a burden of honesty when it comes to conveying his feelings as being one of the only things the Weapon-X experimentation left true and untouched. He sees the truth and they speak the truth. He could see right through Logan from the moment they met. Where Logan could only see a traitor, the Worst Wolverine, Wade saw someone that could teach him how to be a hero. Where Logan could only see himself as the wrong guy for the job, Wade knew this man was the only one capable of saving everyone and everything he loved in this world. He just wasn’t expecting Logan to become part of that world.

Wade is a tractor beam for both the jaded and the gentle, and there is a softness in his eyes that is warm and inviting and penetrating all at the same time. For Wade, it’s not hard to look at Logan and see the tired parts of himself in him. He sees in him the familiar longing for death. He sees a world where he doesn’t have Cable’s time machine to make things right, where Vanessa and Peter are still dead, and he’s blowing out birthday candles alone. Logan is a mirror in his own right; a reflection of not only his failures, but his fears as well. The fear that there may be a day where his luck runs out, and being crazy isn’t enough to save his world.

Crazy is what Wade does best, and the two of them have more than enough instances where “your crazy matches my crazy”. But it’s not hard to see that the way Logan looks at Wade during those moments morphs from a sharpened hostility to a warm familiarity. Though the context of this last scene is Logan fulfilling his duty as a wingman, it is the very second Wade realizes that the other man’s gaze has lost its vitriol and conviction has taken its place. It’s the moment Wade figures out that Logan is serious about wanting to stay, serious about learning how to live in his universe, and serious about his change of heart towards him. It’s a Logan that has accepted his twin flame, and is comforted by the thought that he has someone now that can not only take everything he can give and more, but can bite back just as hard. It’s no secret that Wade holds a space for Logan, but he’s never been concerned with whether or not Logan has done the same. So the moment he’s met with a gaze that is as sure and true as Logan’s is, Wade knows there’s not only room for him to bare all, but now there’s someone that won’t shield their eyes and look away when he does.

[simping-overload]

Hello! I was just wondering if you could write some angst!!

I was wondering if you could write a ghost x male reader where reader gets seriously injured to the point where it scares the shit out of ghost and ghost lectures him but ends up crying as he's lecturing the reader? 👀

a/n: hurt/comfort my love tags: canon typical violence, gore(??ppl get stabbed and someone gets their throat sliced open) no use of y/n, male reader, injured reader, prob occ ghost??? ghost cries, everyone cries. angst, hurt/comfort

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm/nbmlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You were a sniper. You weren’t supposed to get too close to the fight. All you had to do was hang back and try to offer support, but by the gods do you never listen.

The situation got tight, Gaz and Soap trapped in a room by enemy fire. Captain Price and Ghost were clearing out another building.

You being the oh so self-sacrificing bastard you are ran to help. You went the back way, so the enemies’ backs would face you, unaware of your approach.

You quickly and efficiently took them out, just as you were trained, but—you missed one. A heavy hitter, a fucking Juggernaut.

He didn’t bother reloading his gun, throwing it to the side before he started swinging. The first few swings caught you off guard, and he got you right in the nose, breaking it. This throws you off balance, which gives him the opportunity to throw you against the concrete wall.

You rolled to the side before he could kick your ribs in, quickly standing up on your feet, slightly dazed. You pull out your knife, the one you were gifted to Simon, as using a gun in close combat would be useless.

You circled each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Vaguely out of the corner of your eye, you can see Soap carry Gaz out of the building. You feel a slight relief that now they’re safe.

Your way of winning this fight was to take it nice and slow, bait him into moving so he wears out easier due to all that heavy gear.

You move forward like you’re going to swing, which causes him to charge forward. You sidestep. His armor barley grazes yours.

“Oh? Is That all you got?” You mock, tapping your foot like an impatient child. You’ve played this game before.

He huffed like a big bad wolf, “I’ll fucking kill you,” He growls out.

Charing at you again, he actually gets you. He grabs onto the side of your armor and pulls you on him, securing his arms around your body before throwing you onto the ground with him.

You can feel something crack as your head fits the floor, that doesn’t stop you from squirming and wriggling in his grasp. You use your knife, plunging it into the nearest flesh you can find.

It didn’t go far, but it did make him shout in pain. For just a moment, his grip loosens, you throw yourself out of his hold, trying to dash away to create distance.

He recovered quickly, grabbing onto your ankle. He forced you to trip. Landing face first, you couldn’t stop him from dragging you back to him. He gets on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees as he starts punching you again.

You black out, head and mouth bleeding. The man cackles, throwing you up against the wall with a cackle. He holds you up, forearm pressed against your through as your feet dangle helplessly in the air.

Your eyes shoot open at your sudden lack of air, you kick at him weakly. Shaking hands, reach for your knife, ripping it out of his thigh. You can’t use it before he rips the blade out of your head and stabs your stomach multiple times.

High off of adrenaline, you grab a smaller knife from your shoulder strap, one that was covered in a fast acting poison to render your opponents immobile. You did the knife under his helmet; the knife meeting his now exposed throat and you slice.

The man immediately drops you, leaving the knife in your stomach as he stumbles back, holding his neck. He slides down against the wall as his body gives up on him.

You raise a shaky hand to your walkie, “Captain-L.T. I need a medic asap. I can’t stay awake for much longer.” You can feel your eyelids get heavy.

“Stay awake, soldier. I’m on my way.” Simon’s gruff voice was the last thing you heard before your eyes seemed to shut for what may be the last time.

You float in and out of consciousness, eyes cracking over just barley as you feel familiar arms pick you up and run to the evac. On the helicopter, his gloved hands holding your face with such gentleness.

The last thing you remembered was being jabbed with one too many needles before passing out completely.

You felt like shit. Your head was pounding, and the rest of your body felt like it was on fire. You crack your eyes open, wincing at the blinding lights of the medical ward.

Your eyes scan the room. There isn’t anyone here. Aside from whoever is sleeping next to you. You turn your head slightly, recognizing the familiar build of the love of your life, Simon.

“Simon.” You try, voice dry and horse.

His head automatically shoots up at the call of his name. His eyes lock with yours. You can see the internal strife within them debating over what he wants to say.

“You’re an idiot.” The insult doesn’t make you wince, as it’s true.

“I know—.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You rush in blind, without a care in the world. You could’ve been killed, and you nearly were.” Simon takes your hand in his.

“I was only trying to help Si... I couldn’t do shit from the bird’s nest.” You interlock your fingers and squeeze his hand.

“What help are you if you ended up dead?” His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you did.”

You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, “Simon... let me see you.” You nudged the edge of the mask with your free hand.

Simon slips off the mask, his eyes are bloodshot-a result of hours of crying. You cup his face with a shaky hand. “But I am here now, that is what matters, yeah?”

He leans into your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks. You sigh, pulling him towards you. Pressing your forehead against yours, he sighs against you.

“I’ll make sure to be safer next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

[thefrogdalorian]

I was watching Chapter 15: The Believer yesterday and something stood out to me that I guess I'd never really thought about before...

When the Juggernaut is getting attacked by the Pirates, we see several shots of Din struggling without his armour. It's a new way of fighting for him and he struggles to adapt at first.

He quickly rallies and skilfully fights them off, though. But more pirates soon appear and after fighting them off, Din is thrown backwards. He sees several pirates approaching.

Din lies down in defeat, powerless to fight them off without his armour or weapons. Knowing his death is likely imminent, without hope of survival.

Instead of giving up and accepting defeat, he does not allow himself to wallow in despair and mystery. After sighing deeply he steadies himself and gets right back up:

Facing down death as the pirates approach, he does not show weakness or fear.

He doesn't allow himself to be cowardly, or dwell on his likely impending doom and the fact he has failed in his quest to rescue the child he loves so much...

Instead, Din stands there with his fists up, outnumbered and without weapons, prepared to fight to the end even in the face of certain death...

Fortunately, of course, the TIE Fighters appear to save the day and Din succeeds in his quest to rescue Grogu and, well, you know the rest.

But I think this little moment in one of the best episodes is such a good insight into his character.

Standing up with his fists clenched like that, outnumbered and hopeless but refusing to accept defeat is perhaps one of the most Mandalorian things he's ever done. Yet only a few minutes later he removes his helmet and that act leaves him rendered an apostate in the eyes of his people. Told he is a Mandalorian no more, even.

It's kind of heartbreaking because he really did not deserve to be told that. Mandalorians are proud warriors, who never give up. Being a coward is the worst insult in Mando'a, their ancient language. Here, Din showed that he is nothing of the sort.

Din Djarin is as honourable a Mandalorian as they come.

[tobiasdrake]

Fun Fact: As Saiyans go, Raditz isn't just weak; He's a talentless hack. Nappa is much more talented at martial arts, but his skills are undermined by him being a complete fucking moron.

Raditz is our introduction to the particularities of the Planet Trade Organization - or, well, the Saiyans since the PTO didn't quite exist as a concept yet when he showed up.

Toriyama only came up with the PTO later in the arc. It's honestly kind of funny; Vegeta's referred to as the "Strongest in the Universe" a couple times in this arc because the idea for Frieza doesn't exist yet. The original plan was that the Saiyan race are the ones doing planet gentrification on their own initiative, but they were almost all wiped out by a meteor so if we take out Strongest in the Universe Vegeta, we'll put an end to it.

So all this stuff like the spaceship pods and Scouters that was original Saiyan equipment and methodology got retooled into being PTO equipment and methodology.

But I digress. We meet Raditz and he's unlike anyone we've seen before. He immediately starts shit with Piccolo because they're both assholes, and we see how he operates.

He has a little doodad that reads off someone's "Battle Power" into a flat, easily digestible number that even a child could understand. This is the industrialization of martial arts, simplifying it into something that can be replicated and mass-produced.

It's the difference between teaching swordsmanship lessons in your dojo versus handing someone an AK-47 and telling them to go shoot the enemy.

This is the key distinction between the Saiyans and Earthlings, that made Goku - A Saiyan raised on Earth engulfed by their martial arts philosophy - so formidable. The Saiyans and by extension Planet Trade's culture is built on capitalist efficiency. Their warriors are carefully measured, analyzed, and matched with suitable challenges. They aren't trained. In fact, Vegeta scoffs at the idea of it.

They're battle-hardened.

They measure their fighters and quantify their abilities into a number, then select the right target that matches that number. Those warriors become stronger through fire and frenzy, rather than by studying principles of martial technique.

Consequently, upwards mobility doesn't seem to be a thing. Nobody in the PTO got to where they are by working hard and improving themselves. Every single one of them is naturally gifted, coasting by on whatever privileges their birth afforded them. Especially Frieza.

They aren't practitioners of an art. They're cogs in a machine.

Raditz believes these distinctions made Goku weaker.

He has no idea. The limitations of the PTO's methodology is a recurring theme in the Saiyan and Namek arcs.

Raditz is a low-class Saiyan. By virtue of being a Saiyan, he's still unbelievably powerful compared to the terrestrial races of the worlds he's sent to. But power is all he brings to the table; He's an unrefined juggernaut who coasts by entirely on Big Number Go Brrrrr. Philosophically, Goku is unimpressed.

Coming from Goku, that's a pretty sick burn. He's already lost to Raditz once; He knows how Big Number this guy is. But he can't bite his tongue at Raditz's oversimplification of his art.

As a fighter, Raditz delivers what he promised. All he has going for him is Big Number Go Brr... but it's a really big number.

Raditz is impossibly strong, impossibly fast, and his basic-ass ki blasts are impossibly powerful. The gulf between Goku and an adversary has never been so huge before.

And yet, for all his power, he is repeatedly startled and befuddled by Goku and Piccolo's training and technique. These weaklings are breaking out abilities he didn't even know were possible.

Raditz watching Goku power up the most basic ki concentration technique on Earth and exclaiming "WHAT IS THIS SORCERY!?" really tells you everything about the PTO's methodology, doesn't it?

Raditz falls for every trick and every shenanigan that these guys have spent their careers honing, forced to rely solely on tanking attacks with his tremendous Numbers.

This dipshit hasn't even trained the weakness out of his tail.

Goku was fifteen years old when he trained his tail and eliminated this vulnerability.

Raditz is less proficient than Goku was as a child. This isn't even the PTO's flaws manifesting through Raditz, either. Nappa and Vegeta trained their tails.

"LOL What kind of a useless clown doesn't train his tail?" ~Nappa, probably. Oh, wait. No. Actually.

~Vegeta literally.

Raditz is limited by the philosophy of the Planet Trade and he's also on the weaker side of Saiyans, but he also sucks even without taking power levels into account. He brings absolutely nothing to the table. He reads someone's number to tell him in advance if they'll fall down when he punches them, and then he punches them if the number tells him he's clear.

Raditz isn't a fighter. He's a bully with a gun.

For his part, Nappa is a more advanced version of Raditz. His Big Number Go Brr is even bigger than Raditz's and he's familiar with more advanced techniques beyond "Throw this ball of ki at your face".

As a front-line fighter, Nappa is unbelievably tough. Blow after blow and attack after attack, he never gives as much as it feels like he should. No matter what they do to him, he keeps getting back up and coming back, more bloodied and bruised than ever but ready for another round. He is unbelievably resilient.

Fighting Nappa feels like an exercise in futility. You're going to have to kill this man to put him down because he'll accept nothing less. Even when Goku takes the field, he finds himself at a loss with Nappa's absolute unwillingness to take the hint and lose consciousness already.

Nappa is a brick wall. Goku only finally manages to end this by breaking his spine so he can't keep getting up again.

That is what Nappa brings to his table. Though it's worth noting that his Sisyphean endurance is something Vegeta shares as well. It's not unique to Nappa. Fights with Vegeta are every bit as much of an ordeal as this bout with Nappa was.

Saiyans are hard to put down.

Nappa's biggest weakness, however, is simple: Like Raditz, he's coasting on his brute strength. He doesn't pay attention to what's happening around him, and is easily blindsided by sudden attacks from other fighters in this brawl.

Or baited into incredibly poor decision-making.

For all his Saiyan might, the Earthlings would have killed Nappa well in advance of Goku's arrival, if he didn't have Vegeta to watch his back. I'm half-convinced the only reason he trained his tail is because Vegeta told him to.

Nappa is very much a follower. He does what he's told. He's honestly a better Saiyan than Vegeta in the sense that he. Like. Cares about other Saiyans? His kneejerk reaction when Vegeta suggests taking Earth's Dragon Balls is that he wants his friend back.

And he's filled with eugenic fervor for the glory of the Saiyan race when he finds out what mixing Saiyan and Earthling physiology can do.

Fun little side note: "Super Saiyan" was originally the term used to describe Gohan's hybrid abilities before it was recontextualized to mean something else on Namek.

It's honestly interesting to look at their interactions and realize that Vegeta is a cruel, monstrous, selfish bastard even by Saiyan standards. Vegeta is uniquely wicked within this culture of for-profit colonizing murderers.

But Nappa defers to Vegeta every time. Vegeta tells him, "No, you're wrong," and Nappa pivots to supporting whatever Vegeta just said instead. Nappa obeys.

But he doesn't listen. Vegeta and Nappa were following the action while Raditz was fighting Goku and Piccolo. They saw all of the strange anomalies that occurred, that Raditz couldn't comprehend. Vegeta spends this time thinking about what this means for Earth and re-evaluating his assessment of the foes to come.

And he adjusts accordingly. From the moment they arrive at the fight, Vegeta pegs overreliance on the Scouter's readout for the vulnerability that it is.

Like. He says this. He acknowledges that he understands. And not five minutes later:

BUT THE NUMBERS, VEGETA

THE NUMBERS SAID NO

Even then, Nappa flat-out ignores The Numbers if he doesn't like what's printed on them.

Nappa and Vegeta both disregard the printout this time, but in different ways. Vegeta observes that Earthlings suppress their ki, presenting a smaller number than their true ability. So when the Scouter says 5000, that means Goku's true level is likely well beyond that.

Nappa observes that Goku is probably weak so that's stupid and you're wrong.

Nappa just does things. He doesn't think or pay attention to what they're doing. He destroys a city as soon as they arrive, and Vegeta immediately lays into him for what a fucking idiotic thing to do that was.

He's a beast on a chain, barely restrained by his deference to Vegeta. Powerful, seemingly unstoppable, but needing Vegeta to hold his hand and walk him through the higher concepts of combat and martial arts.

An absolute fool. But a Saiyan elite fool.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

[he11swinter]

Very basic! But what do you think the ghosts' favourite foods were when they were alive?

Billy: He liked a lot of snack foods, y’know? Chips, candy, boxed cereals with prizes in them… He’d often pick these things over his mother’s home cooking, which drove her crazy!

Jimmy: Jimmy never had a lot of time. He always had to be on the tracks or the casino making a bet, but would grab some finger food when he got a minute to spare—devilled eggs, sandwiches, salted nuts, cakes…

Susan: I’d say she was pretty fond of fruits. But also, everything she ate would be aesthetic as possible.

Jean: Whatever the average mom eats, so like…home baking? Spaghetti and meatballs? Casserole?

Royce: Royce went out for fast food a lot with his buddies, so burgers, fries…and maybe a milkshake!

Dana: She likely didn’t have a great relationship with food.

Margaret: She’d try to make a healthy example for her son, but she secretly loved candy!

Harold: He loved guacamole baby food so much that he’d throw it up and eat it again! He liked all the circus foods they had around, but his mommy didn’t want her widdle baby eating too unhealthily. 🙁

Isabella: I dunno, stale bread?

George: Anything his wife made for him after a long day of work, but I imagine steak was a favourite!

Ryan: Please just feed the guy—he’s not picky. He’ll usually scarf it all down without even tasting it, so just nothing too hot. 😅

Horace: Something inside me is screaming mostly “TV dinners” but he’s a big guy, and those microwave meals give you hardly anything. Maybe he eats 15 of them? 😵‍💫 I don’t think he puts much thought or care into his diet, but reserves only the best for his rotties!

I enjoyed this ask so much, hehe! I hope you did too, but now I’m hungry…

[jabbasyogainstructor]

Give us the Channing Tatum GAMBIT movie already.

We need to embrace that he’s a fun, popular character with a very silly costume and that we will need subtitles to understand him.

In fact, can we all just agree that superhero movies that don’t take themselves too seriously are the best? Like, I don’t need every one of them to be Deadpool, that would be overkill, but I’m so fucking tired of dark, gritty superhero movies.

I mean, come on DC, your best character lives in a nightmare world where there’s no sunshine, so he wears a bat costume and fights a clown on the regular. With the help of an orphaned child in green short-shorts. Jokes would not kill you. Neither would some self awareness.

I’m not even a big fan of Channing Tatum. But I think a fucking fun, silly Gambit movie is what we need to help bring the Xmen back. It can’t just be Wolverine. I love him, but there’s a zillion other Xmen characters out there. Let’s all find a new favorite together, shall we? Mine is Nightcrawler. If there’s hope for a Gambit movie, maybe we can get a good Storm movie, Cyclops, Nightcrawler, even a well done Jean Gray/Phoenix arc (I jinxed it just by saying it, didn’t I? Damn) or pick your favorite one. Juggernaut, idk.

If Disney/Marvel isn’t a bunch of cowards, they will give us GAMBIT!

[heartlyheavytohold]

Some headcanons for Russel and the peanutbub + Cable (I haven't forgotten about him either) family :} cause I'm feeling familial and somewhat wholesome

Someone please write a fic about them

~•°•°○°•°•~

Logan, Wade, and Cable share custody of Russel. If that child can get attached to Juggernaut, he can certainly bond with Logan and Cable. Cable after some explaining and (a lot of) therapy.

Russel is the s'more master

Given his propensity to burn things, especially after nightmares, the adults elected Russel stay at the X-mansion. Cable still has to deal with his trauma while Logan and Wade want him to bond with Laura. And also don't want to risk Al's life.

Russel starts off sort of scared of the X-mansion, thinking it'll turn out like the orphanage, but eventually loves it.

The kids at the mansion help him embrace his power, making him the s'more master he was born to be. He also helps with the grill. He loves it cause it makes him realize his power doesn't have to be dangerous.

Russel is like a weighted heat blanket. Only his closest friends get the privilege.

Russel is apprehensive about sparring, so Laura volunteers. It does take a while, but much like Logan with Wade, he gets used to someone being able to take what he gives.

[stealingyourbones]

Dp x dc

Combine full hazmat au

(Danny’s wearing a hazmat suit that covers his face during the accident but nobody can hear him speak through the suit)

Hazmat Danny:*gets recruited to Justice League because nobody actually can tell that he’s a child.*(they just think he’s short, this weirdly conflicts with records they’ve seen on time travel adventures of his future self being built like a juggernaut)

Shazam , scoping him out with Solomon’s wisdom:*slides up next to him* “hey there new bestie!”

Just them gaslighting , gate keeping , and girlbossing their way to not being sorted with the other child soldiers(young Justice)

LKJFHLSKFHSHKD THEY JUST THINK HE'S SHORT

Danny simply communicates using ASL or another form of non verbal communication when he's Phantom.

Billy and Danny talk shit about absolutely everyone in a Ghostly form of non verbal communication (wisdom of Solomon really comes in handy for long unknown or dead languages).

[otomiyaa]

Macarena

Deadpool x Colossus

[Fic Reupload] - Requested by yours truly, ha. The original had 700+ notes oof WHAT. Well even though this is a dead ship by now (?) and we barely got a crumb in the new movie, I'm still into it. Fic is from 2018 btw, oldie.

Summary: (taking place after 2nd movie) Wade is just out on some annoy-Colossus-to-death fun, without realizing how it could possibly lead to his own death. And now, what could be considered death if he wasn’t even able to die? Let’s find out. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.8K

“Come on guys! Let’s bring some music into this dead house!” Wade turned on his music player on his phone and began to shake his hips. 

Let’s just ignore the fact that there wasn’t really anyone but him and Colossus right here, so of course he had to do something to lift the mood.

“Wade.” Colossus souned so done with his shit already. The metal man sat bent over at his desk, going over a pile of paperwork and had commanded Wade to do the same. Alas he was in no such mood, and would not ever be. He was all Deadpool-suited up, taking care of some music and trying to get Colossus in some happy mood as well. 

I mean, how often did he end up alone with his big shiny friend? Something fun had to come out of this, at least. Dancing was high on the wishlist.

“Just dance along! You already said fuck for me didn’t you? What kinda super hero does that, and won’t shake his hips to some music? Shake that shiny booty!” He turned up the volume, but Colossus just sighed and raised his head. Their eyes met. He did not look happy.

“Right.” Wade looked at his phone and switched to another song.

“Another song then?” House. Pop. Country. Teletubbies theme. It was pretty funny to just see Colossus’ annoyance level-bar raise with each extra tune he played, and Wade was just loving this. 

“What about - OH. I know.” He suddenly caught sight of a song and the biggest grin appeared - under his mask - and he giggled like a child. Colossus’ face when La Macarena started playing was priceless. 

“Turn that off,” Colossus said, his voice low and calm, but if you’d just look very closely you could possibly see each imaginary vein twitch in annoyance.

“Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena ~ Dance with me man!” Wade began to carefully dance out of the way when Colossus slowly stood up from his desk and headed his way. Uh oh. Movement, people! This song’s doing it! 

“Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría cosa buena.” Dancy Deadpool shook his hips sexily and performed every simple dance move. 

“I am warning you,” Colossus said. Someone did not like the Macarena. Wade snickered and Macarena’ed out of here.

“Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena. Whaaat? Will you go all Juggernaut on me and tear my legs off? Heeeeyyyy Macarena! Haha! I’d like to see you try,” Wade challenged Mr. fussymetal as he began to stomp after him. Oooohh. Metalhead triggered!

He danced his way through the big abandoned house, and just managed to slip out of some possible veeery potentially deadly strangling as Colossus only just missed him closely when he tried to snatch him with his arm, and he made his way up the stairs. La Macarena juuust continued.

“Oh! Is this your room?” He danced towards what looked like Colossus’ neat and tidy bedroom, and judging from the angry grunt behind him it definitely was.

“Wade,” the angry voice behind him sent shivers all the way through his core and Wade giggled sheepishly. Oh the adrenaline. Angering Colossus would never fail to make him happy. 

“Well if you won’t dance, just say my name again. I like it when you do tha -” Oof. He was suddenly lying on top of Colossus’ bed with a huge metal weight on top of him.

“Geez man! C-calm it with the burgers!” he huffed, referring to the enormous heavy weight, and he waved his hand with the phone in it through the air in order to avoid Colossus’ grabby hand. La Macarena continued playing nevertheless and with one subtle swipe of his thumb, he even got to turn the volume up a notch.

“Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena, heeeyyy MacarenAAHH!” That last bit was unscripted and that shriek may have damaged your ears, as it did to his own ears as well. 

“Tha- that tickles!” he cried foolishly, curling up around his phone to continue protecting it. Colossus blinked his eyes and stared at him. 

YES, Wade knew it was stupid. All Colossus had done was accidentally graze his armpit and ribs as he tried to reach for the phone, so he had just kindly warned him. Of course metal peeps wouldn’t understand that human flesh could be sensitive. 

Colossus gave a nod, which Wade did not understand, and the enormous weight moved partially off him for a moment.

“I’m giving you one chance to turn that off,” he commanded. Wade was still snickering in embarrassment and looked up at him.

“Or what?” Suicide that was. Suddenly Colossus used his strength for forbidden actions as he grabbed Wade’s arm and pinned it to the side. He didn’t even try to reach for the phone. No, he tickled him. Seriously? Can you believe that? He definitely couldn’t. 

“EHYa! THAha- no that’s cheating! STaHap!” Wade flailed and kicked. This was definitely unfair alright. He kicked and punched, thrashed and bucked but Colossus wasn’t even budging.

“Hmh. That is one very ticklish Deadpool,” Colossus observed aloud. Ticklish Deadpool blushed. Why did that sound like a compliment, the way he said it? This man had no mean bone in his metal body - apart from the fact that he was FUCKING tickling Wade to death here and he could definitely swear breathing was becoming a luxury here.

“Will you turn off that music?” Colossus asked calmly. He could easily grab his phone and do it himself, no, the beast chose to tickle him and keep tickling him, and Wade was choking here. 

“HAHA- gohoho to f-fucking hehehll!” he laughed. Colossus shook his head.

“Language!” He pushed Wade onto his side and began to claw at his sides and tummy. Wade uncurled and began to flop around and shrieked, sounding much like Weasel bumping his toe. 

“GAHa-fucking dahahammnit! Stahahap!” Define torture. Define fucking torture, well this was torture. For a superhero he was being quite helpless here. 

Odds were against him as he was pinned underneath a huge metalman and suffering from ticklishness he had forgotten its existence of. 

Vanessa only ever so rarely tickled him because they both agreed he was not that attractive when he was laughing this hysterically. Whereas this big baby here seemed to enjoy his predicament big time.

“GEEHaha! Not thehere I s-swear to f-fu- ohnotthere!” he was rambling, laughing, it was hard to make himself understandable here. Colossus had reached his upper ribs and armpits and was not going easy on him. 

“You sure are laughing a lot,” Colossus said. Yes, he was. Even with La Macarena continuing to play, his laughter was booming through the house, out of the window, everywhere. Wade seriously felt like blushing and was thankful for the mask covering his face. 

Still, despite all that, he’d rather die from tickling or be torn in half again (much rather than the first thing) than surrender. 

“There. Will you quit acting like a kid?” Colossus asked as he finally gave Wade a break to breathe - after what seemed like a long deadly while of tickling. 

Wade desperately gasped for breath, and he pressed his phone against his heaving chest. He then looked up tiredly at the biggest tickle monster of the universe and glared.

“Says the one playing ickly tickly games like little kid,” he retaliated. For some extra bad points he increased the sound volume to a max and suffered the consequences for provoking Colossus even more. 

“SHAh-Shihihiiit! Fuhuuuuck!” At this point Colossus wasn’t even correcting his language anymore, having given up on that. Kind of like how Wade had surrendered himself to this ambush here. 

He just raised his arms and arched his back, accepting the fact that Colossus was wrecking him with tickles and that there was nothing he could do about it - well technically he could, if that was even possible at this point. 

La Macarena almost finished playing anyway, so he just lay here, tears leaking onto his mask and his face growing damp from the mixture of said tears and drool plus some gracious sweat. 

“Ahahalright I’m dohohone! Hhahave it your way!” The last few remaining seconds of the song weren’t worth it, but Colossus was unstoppable. Wade never knew that having his hips and thighs tickled could feel this bad, but here he was.

And with bad he meant, it kind of felt not so bad, but very bad. Get it? Probably not. Never mind. 

“I am having it my way,” Colossus replied. He firmly dug his fingers into Wade’s precious thighs and made him squeal. 

“AHHah! I HAhate you!” If he’d just be a liiittle bit more firmer it’d almost be a massage. Missed chance. Wade felt his entire body burn and ache from this whole struggle, even his throat was burning from all that laughter he had to endure. Not to even speak of that puddle of sweat beneath his mask and under his entire suit in general. 

Who would’ve thought this felt like a worse workout than every single battle he fought? La Macarena ended by this time, but the tickle torture did not, and listening to his own hysterical laughter was definitely not a favorite thing. 

“I c-cahahan’t breathe!” he laughed when Colossus was busy scratching his tummy as if he were his pet dog, making him giggle and squeal like Yukio would. 

“I gave you a chance and you did not take it. Thus suffer the consequences.” Colossus was definitely scariest talking down on someone while tickling them to death. Ladies and Gentlemen, don’t be like Deadpool. Don’t commit suicide like that. It’s not worth it.

“What in the world.” Both Colossus and Wade froze and gaped at the door where Negasonic Teenage Warhead and Yukio were standing. Ha! Speak of the devil.

“Please let me just unsee that. I mean. Unhear.” Negasonic looked disgusted. Yukio leaned more into the doorway from behind her and waved.

“Hi Wade!” she said. Wade lifted a very tired hand, took off his mask for some fresh breaths and waved back.

“H-hi Yukio!” he chirped. Colossus calmly climbed off Wade and nodded at the girls. For a moment Wade thought they were done here, but then Colossus closed the door.

“Please, excuse us for a moment.” Ohohoooo! Was he going to kiss him as an apology for that horrible and unfair torture just now?  Some naughty naughty metal kisses? Or maybe a Macarena dance off after all? 

Colossus moved back to the bed, and Wade froze when he looked quite... dark and threatening. Not what anyone would look like before a kissykiss or a Macarena dance. How naive of him. 

“I never said we were done here,” Colossus said, and Wade could only scream and try to leap away before he ended up back down pinned on that damn bed and getting tickled to damn tears. Yes, again. More. 

“THis r-reheheally isn’t fahahair anymooore!” he cried. Oh this shiny man here really hated the Macarena, or so it seemed. And now he did too. Fuck the Macarena. And fuck Colossus. Definitely fuck Colossus. 

.

..

.....

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[nemo-in-wonderland]

☪️ ZIL-E-QAMAR | FIEND WARLOCK | SELDARINE DROW ☪️

Name: Zil-e-Qamar

Nickname: Zil, Ya Qamar (only Halim called her so)

Title: The Scorching Mirage

Alias: Aranea Baelfaer

Age: ≅275 Years Old (She never disclosed her real age to anyone)

Birthplace: Menzoberranzan, Underdark Hometown: Huzuz, The City of Delight

Current Residence: She is wandering Faerun without a fixed place, collecting souls as she goes. When not on the Material Plane, she resides in Mephistar.

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Race: Seldarine Drow

Class: Warlock - The Fiend

Profession/job: Before the great tragedy that apprehended her life and forced her to flee to Faerun, she worked as a Scribe for the Grand Vizier Alyana al-Azzazi, a job she was immensely proud of. Visual particular traits: Standing at 183 cm barefoot, Zil is abnormally tall for a drow, and this is an anomaly for which she has no answer to give. Scent: Oud, Rose, Sandalwood, Saffron, Amber. Subsequently, sulfur and brimestone.

Colours/symbols associated with: The Colours of the Desert at Night; The White Heron that flew at dusk; The Sphinx whose riddles couldn’t be solved and whose smile couldn’t be understood.

Languages: Midani (mothertongue), Jaanti, Kadari, Infernal Language, Common Language, she is learning Undercommon.

Accent?: Before moving to Huzuz to embark on her studies at the Al-Bidr Sallah University, she spent her childhood and early teen years in Ajayib, the City of Wonders. Therefore, she spoke Midani with the regional accent of the Pearl Cities. Her accent translates even when she speaks the Common Language, immediately clocking her as not native of Faerun.

Tropes they embody: “Determinator”,” Implacable Woman”, “Deadpan Snarker”, “The Juggernaut”, “Broken Bird”, “Heartbroken Badass”, “Be Careful What You Wish For”, “Lady of Black Magic”, “Addicted to Magic”, “Dark Action Girl”, “Revenge Before Reason”, “The Dreaded”, ”Noble Demon”, ”Troubled Past”, “The Unfettered”, “Excessive Mourning”, “Long-Range Fighter”, “Love Makes you Evil,” “Roaring Rampage of Revenge”, “Squishy Wizard”, “Tragic Heroine”, “Tranquil Fury”, “Trauma Button”, “Violently Protective Girlfriend”, “Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds", "Cry for the Devil". Personality: Determinate, Curious, Mischievous, Resilient, Resourceful, Intuitive, Loyal toward those she loves, Secretive, Mysterious, Empathetic, Charming, Charismatic, Seductive, Ambitious, Prideful, Focused to the point of Obsession, Stubborn, Manipulative, Vengeful, Can become ruthless is pushed, Emotionally Withdrawn, Short-Tempered. Detailed Backstory: Zil-e-Qamar was the adopted daughter of Valakos and Breessa, a couple of Faerûnian tiefling merchants who permanently resided in Ajayib, the City of Wonders in the Land of Fate Zakhara. Zil had a childhood of relative comfort and ease, not wanting for anything. Ever a curious child, sometimes too nosy for her own good, she spent her childhood between school, helping her parents with trading and inventorying the goods they received from Faerûn, and exploring the caves upon which the city had been built. She was a brilliant young woman, with an incandescent personality and a silver tongue and cheeky personality that could easily charm the people around her. She wouldn't take “no” for an answer, especially when embarking on a quest to discover and learn about all manner of topics, though her interest always dwelled on Magic and all its different aspects and how they intertwined and connect.

Ajayib, despite being the cradle that sweetly protected her throughout her most tender years, had very little to offer to her ever-growing thirst for knowledge. Soon enough, she made preparations to move to the Capital of the Land of Fate, Golden Huzuz. After being admitted to the Home of the Seekers of Knowledge, the Great University of Al-Bidir Sallah in the City of Delight, she enrolled in the College of Magic to expand upon her knowledge and understanding of how magic worked. She was a hardworking student, with her nose always buried in any book she could put her hands on. It was around this time that she became a devotee of Zann the Learned, the God that oversaw Learning and Intelligence.

Eventually, under the advice of Imam Renn min Zann, her mentor at the University, she sought to learn more about who she was and where she stood in the world. She enrolled for a period in the College of Fine Arts, taking classes about non-Zakharan history and costumes in the hope of discovering more about her origins. After graduating and deciding to continue her studies as a scholar, she took up the position of Scribe for the Imam, and it was during that time that she met Halim Ibn Tariq, a well-renowned Sha'ir and Vizier of Huzuz, advisor to Grand Vizier Alyana al-Azzazi, in a diplomatic visit to the University to report of its state to the Grand Vizier.

Having been assigned to be the Vizier’s guide, Zil found herself intrigued by this physically imposing yet apparently kind and soft-spoken man, who had all the authority that was expected of a man of his station and background, yet possessed none of the arrogance, a man of exceptional moral strength and vivacious intelligence, known for his even temper and warm laughter.

On his side, Halim also found himself fascinated by the young drow, the first he ever had the chance to speak with in his life, with her pale eyes always twinkling with curiosity, her insatiable need for knowledge, and her mischievous way of flirting with him. He found her company pleasant and when away for his duties, he found himself unable to stop thinking about her and her beguiling, infectious smile. Despite their mutual interest, they both believed that, due to the Vizier’s busy life and Zil’s own duties, the few meetings they had at the University were destined to remain as such. Yet, Halim extended an invitation to her to seek him out if she ever needed anything, either a favour or even just his company. Little did Halim know about Zil’s own resilience and way of making things happen the way she wanted. Zil applied to become a Scribe in the service of Grand Vizier Al-Azzazi, to be closer to the man who had completely captivated her. She obtained the position, thanks to her own merits and partially thanks to the good recommendation of the Imam. In time, Zil and Halim became friends and started to spend more and more time together, their mutual attraction growing and blossoming like the beautiful lilies that bloomed in the pans surrounding Hazuz when the rains blessed the city. It grew until being far away from each other felt more torturous than standing underneath the ruthless Zakharan Sun at noon without shade.

With the blessing of the Grand Caliph himself, they married and spent more than 40 years of blissful happiness. But the Court of Enlightenment was not devoid of intrigue, and Halim, with his progressive philosophies and advocacy to abolish the common practice of trading slaves, had drawn upon itself the malcontent of the slave owners in the Caravan District. He had fallen victim to a ploy that resulted in an incrimination for corruption and bribery.

Zil knew that her husband was innocent, having worked closely with him for all those years, and tried with all the means she had available to find who was behind all that scheming and bring them to justice to clear her husband’s name. But before she could do anything of substance, she was apprehended and charged with the accusation of being complicit and accessory to all of Halim’s crimes. Despite all her efforts, despite all her begging, she couldn’t find the resources she needed fast enough, and the accusations against her husband transmuted from corruption to treason that warranted a death sentence without appeal.

All Zil could do was witness the execution from her cell, not leaving her husband’s eyes for one moment, not even when the blade of the executioner came down and shattered her entire heart in the process.

Alone in her damp cell, shell-shocked and broken, Zil waited all night for her own sentence to pass, wishing with all her might that the moment would come soon enough so that she could be reunited with her husband once more. But, much to her dismay, during the darkest hour that preceded the arrival of dawn, the Grand Vizier herself showed up in her cell, maintaining complete secrecy.

All she carried with her was a note, carved in her husband’s handwriting, and the promise that, as a last favor to Halim, she would see Zil out of Huzuz safely. Zil escaped her own death, thanks to her husband’s foresight and protection, and fled away from the Golden City and beyond Zakhara, finally reaching distant Faerûn.

After Halim’s death, Zil assumed a new name, Aranea Baelfaer, and turned to every god and goddess in the pantheon, begging, imploring, and beseeching all of them to grant her the power to vindicate her husband and to see him one last time. But all her prayers and supplications fell into a deafening silence that reeked of contempt. Enraged with the gods for letting something like this befall a man as virtuous, kind, and compassionate as her husband, she didn’t give up and persistently sought the means to gain the power she needed, her mind and resolve sharpened by grief and rage.

Her obsession and focus would reach such heights that they resonated all across the Weave until they attracted the Patron who would finally answer her call and grant her the power she desired: Mephistopheles. Most treasured possession: Her husband’s jambiya dagger and a lock of his dark hair that she wore braided in her own; the last letter that he wrote her, that she re-read every single night before going to sleep.

Sexual and/or romantic situation: After Halim’s death, she decided to forgo any kind of romantic relationship, absolutely refusing to run the risk of facing the same type of pain she went through when her husband was killed. In her grief, she asked Mephistopheles to actually freeze her heart, putting it in a stasis. As a wager between the two of them, Mephistopheles added a small clause that declared if someone were ever able to thaw her frozen heart, she would lose her powers, her soul would be his and the contract would be considered fulfilled regardless of whether she had reached her vengeance or not. Zil humored him, secure in her belief that no one on Toril would ever be able to ever ignite the flame in her dead heart again. Last famous words indeed. Favourite place in Faerûn: She doesn’t truly have one. She finds Faerun excessively cold and humid. But if she were to choose one, it would be the Great Harbor of Waterdeep, from where she can see the City. What makes them happiest: She likes to create small illusions of her memories of her years in Zakhara and stare at them, wishing with all her might that they were more than just echoes from a distant time.   What makes them angriest: Any uncalled mentioning of her late husband was enough to provoke at best a death glare and at worst an outburst of pure ire. She didn’t appreciate talking about her past or about him with anyone, for her memories of him are hers and hers alone. What makes them laugh: She rarely laughed from the heart. But something that did make her laugh and gave her comfort was hearing children’s laughter. It reminded her of simpler times. Biggest secret: Who her Patron is and the terms and conditions of her pact with him. Obsession: Revenge. She sold her soul to Mephistopheles in order to gain the power she needed to grow as powerful as she needed to be and hunt down and kill whoever was involved in Halim’s betrayal and death. If the Gods didn’t want to help her in the path of vengeance, then the might of the Archdevils would.

soooo.

While on vacation, I had sometime to properly sit down and finally write Aranea's (or should I say Zil's?) proper bio, alongside working on her infographic (and I am SO HAPPY with how it turned out. I love doing this kind of things, I have done so many that I haven't shared lol).

I still need to add a few things as I keep playing the game, which is the reason why I haven't written anything about her current relationship with Gale, the other companions, or the Dream Guardian. But as I proceed, I will update this (or make another post, we shall see) and fill in what is missing.

In the meantime, thank you for reading her profile and I hope you will love this brainchild of mine just as much as I love her <3

--Nemo

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