#rogue refiner

[artofthero]

when ur sister is rude

[anarcho-astromech]

i love finishing episode 12 and then going to the theater where i work and putting rogue one on the biggest screen

it’s great i love to suffer

[arach-tinilith]

Thats my wife kibble. She got the demonblade in the divorce^

[roguedoodles]

Cowboy Cora save me 😩

[skullzy20]

SOT is kinda rotting my brain so here's a very rough concept of a siren au w Crowe

[shapeshyft]

Really soft headcanon about Mystique actively & with great effort/routine training herself to augment her powers after she adopts Anna Marie. Creating a layer of 'dead' skin over her dermis, connected to her through the faintest connections, but not actually of her skin, or of her body.

Like a snake shedding its skin, or a hermit crab and its shell. She creates a temporary bubble of 'herself' around 'herself', useful for giving little girls who can't have physical contact... a hug. Even if only for a bit.

[sapphosewrites]

Mmkay I liked part one of the LD finale much more than part two. Largely because I'm not into any narrative that comes down to "the status quo is always good and anyone who tries to disrupt hierarchical systems of power is bad" and "taking rogue action instead of following systems of authority is good when our protagonists do it and bad when the antagonists do it"

[eregar]

didn't intentionally mean for warnulf and ulfar to share a common etymology with their names but i do like how on the surface they appear as opposites — warnulf: small, quiet, erudite; ulfar: large, loud, physical — but they share the same core of the wolf. intelligent stubbornness, a protectiveness over their pack, and a quickness to harshly correct any slight. i think ulfar sees this in warnulf and that’s part of why he respects him enough to call him aett-vater. he is a guest in the home of another wolf, and he knows he ought to mind his manners.

[appleofthedoom]

So I have a headcanon about in stars and Time that Siffrin is genuinely extremely talented at craft in general but doesn't realize it because of his poor self esteem.

Like obviously within the timeloop they get to grow stronger while the party doesn't but let's assume that without the timeloops Siffrin would learn about as many craft skills as the party learn naturally which is backed up by the fact that Sif does learn his first three skills at roughly the same level as the party.

Isabeau just works on shouting encouraging things (presumably projecting craft energy into his voice somehow) which is a variation of skills he already has.

Mirabelle learns how to share a part of her blessing with others (which she confirms to have been working on for a while in some dialogue) and learns better healing skills which is also a variation of stuff she already knows.

Odile's skillset is more complicated than the other two picking up a more advanced paper attack as well as a unique buff and debuff which one can assume are the culmination of her study into the three different craft styles.

Siffrin meanwhile under no timeloop conditions would pick up another scissor attack (notably they're the only to get three separate moves of one type implying some level of heightened mastery compared to the rest), a healing move and a rock attack. And as far as I know they never show any interest in actively studying or learning either of them. they just kinda pick it up as they go along, presumably just from observing the rest of the gang do their things.

So while everyone else can only focus on refining what they already know Siffrin would just casually pick up two entirely separate crafting disciplines they likely never used before within a single very grind heavy day in the house of change.

And if we're feeling very generous and assume Siffrin would still have their level up movepool up to 75 (the level cap for non timeloopers) it gets even crazier since not only would they keep picking up new skills while the rest of the party plateau's but what they'd be picking up is another freaking crafting type and another healing skill

Autism be dammed that rogue can craft

[sirfrogsworth]

Canada: The Crudest Crude Oil

So, Canada has some shitty oil.

I don't know what Canada oil ate, but it might need a juice cleanse or something.

Trump is putting a 10% tariff on this shit.

This is called heavy sour crude oil. Because not all crude oil is the same. It can be light. It can be sweet. It can be heavy. It can be sour. Light and sweet is the easiest to refine. Heavy and sour (the Canada poop) is the most difficult.

But the US specializes in refining the shittiest crude. That's why we import so much from Canada. We have developed the best technologies to turn this shitty tar sand oil into something useful. We buy it cheap from Canada, make it useful (gas, kerosene, plastics, asphalt, etc), and then resell it.

This ends up being about a $700 billion business that generates about $175 billion in tax revenue.

To make things more interesting, the US has a lot of its own oil. Which is why Trump loves to say "drill, baby, drill." But our oil is light and sweet. It's the good stuff. Easy to refine.

That's good... right?

Not so fast!

Since no other countries are very good at processing the shit oil, we send our good stuff to Europe. They can easily refine it and we make a lot of money selling it to them.

Here's the rub...

The US isn't really set up to refine the good shit. Most of our refinery infrastructure is meant to process the Canada poop. So even though we technically have plenty of our own oil, we don't really have a lot of places to process it.

So I guess we would have to send it to Europe and buy it back.

Or we would have to build new refineries.

Or we would have to get shit oil from other places.

And those places?

Russia and Venezuela.

I have no idea if Trump understands any of this. Or if he thinks all oil is the same. But I feel like fucking with a $700 billion industry is bad for the economy.

I really don't understand why this is happening. I don't know if Trump is going rogue and doing this on his own. Or if Putin set this up so we will buy oil from Russia. Or if there is some other special interest group that wants to torpedo our refinery economy.

None of this makes a lot of sense to me and I don't see many people talking about this aspect of the tariff problem. I don't think oil quality is well known to the general public and maybe Trump's puppeteers are counting on that ignorance to do some sinister shit.

In any case, I imagine gas prices are going up. I'm sure the MAGA crowd, famous for being angry at gas prices, will finally see the light and turn on Trump.

I'm just kidding.

They will find some way to say it is a good thing and keep kicking themselves in the nuts.

[kuroananosanji]

Canon vs fanon Sanji discourse is always funny to me because… girlie which fanon Sanji are you talking about? There’s so many! You’ve got:

Bisexualji: Basically canon Sanji except he’s bi. His women loving antics can range from no different from canon to a bit toned down. Usually low-key about his sexuality but otherwise normal about it.

Internalised homophobiaji: What the name says. Feelings have to get punched out of him (usually by Zoro). Can be annoying to read/write but the when done well it’s chef’s kiss (pun intended)

Slutji: Most featured in E-rated fics. The fact that he sleeps around (mostly with men) is sometimes used to make someone jealous (mostly Zoro). OOC but when it’s one of those every man on the Grand Line dicks down Sanji fics… it doesn’t really matter does it.

Frenchji: When Sanji is essentially turned into APH France - refined, high-class, has impeccable fashion and uses expensive cologne, wears a deep V blouse, long wavy hair is always preferred. Mostly seen in 40!Sanji fics.

Twinkji: The most common target of these “fanon Sanji ew” complaints but unless you’re on Wattpad he’s actually a rare occurrence? Identifiers are an exaggerated height difference with Zoro, skinny, completely gay, 2000s yaoi level of bottom. I have to say I’ve maybe come across this 1% of the time.

Whumpji: He’s traumatised, he’s depressed and anxious, he thinks no one loves him, he thinks he deserves to suffer. Vinsmokes are 11/10 the time involved. Luffy is sunshine incarnate in these.

Princeji: When he’s either in a royalty AU or never escaped Germa. Usually acts more “pure” than his canon version because Zeff didn’t raise him to be sassy and chivalrous. Maintains the 5-9 year old Sanji personality. Very cute. Even cuter when combined with rogue/knight Zoro.

Tsunji: This is just canon Sanji. The louder he screams at you the more he loves you. His love language is beating you up then leaving a plate of food next to your work station. Objectively the best Sanji.

[roguedoodles]

A first draft spicy comic based on @romanticrosinante idea of Cora keeping nude photos of you

(More full pic below but alas the good bits are still covered)

[whatisamildopinion]

was talking last night with @actual-sleeping-beauty about my headcanon for tiefling culture about how it's very common to decorate your horns with jewelry, especially gifts from friends and family. and I do think Fig would be like one of those people that wears ten million homemade bracelets but like. for her horns. explanation of the specific horn bracelets she has under the cut

Gorthalax: he's actually the first person to gift Fig a horn bracelet, because he's the one who knows about the tradition. he gifts her what is actually an old horn bracelet of his that doesn't fit anymore, as part of a sentimental family kind of thing. it's very traditional hell, heat-proof gold and rubies and its one of her fancier ones

Kristen: she's the second to get in on this, in the more traditional sense, because best believe that Kristen Applebees knows how to make friendship bracelets. she's made so many. she makes the first one for fig in freshman year and makes it very bright oranges and reds to be supportive of her rocker friend. (she also makes some veryyy corn yellow ones, because it's the type of string she has the most of)

Riz: he's next on the friendship bracelet train because Penny taught him how to make every kind of complicated friendship bracelet pattern under the sun. he is scarily good at it. (rogue dexterity makes for absurd textile skills apparently.) he gifts Fig like twenty different super complicated patterned ones and she adores them all, but this one is the one she uses the most

Adaine: she makes a more subdued, woven bracelet after Riz and Kristen show her how in their attempts to Give Adaine Childhood Experiences. nevermind that Riz and Kristen are not exactly experts on this. Adaine is not naturally gifted at this so she makes a bunch of fucked-up bracelets that she's very embarrassed of but fig is like "NO I LOVE THEM YOU CAN'T THROW THEM AWAY." she uses the later, more refined bracelets more but she stubbornly keeps all of Adaine's bracelets, even the ugly ones. you can pry them out of her cold dead hands

Gorgug: enlists his parents to help embed some fake pearls into a little nickel backing and make it heat resistant, to make her a nice little pearly one for her birthday. he's so so nervous about it because it's a little more formal but when fig opens the gift she loves it so much she cries. her name is engraved along the inside with a little flower

Fabian: my boy uses his proficiency in glass blowing to make some beautiful little glass beads and string them up on a chain to make her most rattly horn bracelet. she adores it and plays with it all the time. it's like a fidget toy for her. he also used fancy, super expensive enchanted glass to enchant it to so that it can never fall off her horn on accident, which she also loves

Sandra Lynn (and Gilear): this is a moonar yulenear gift that fig gets in freshman year, after the other bad kids have started gifting fig bracelets, and Sandra Lynn is trying to show more support for fig, albeit stumblingly. she gets her a very nice matching set of horn bracelets with a chain between, and kind of tacks Gilear's name onto the gift. freshman year fig is So Mad still that she doesn't wear it until after Family in Flames, but she does break it out for the Prompocalypse, and after that it's a semi-permanent jewelry piece for her

[novelistwriter]

Soul of the Phantom

DP x DC Prompt (believe it or not, inspired by Kirby Soul Bosses)

Souls, volatile, destructive, but contained within all living things. The energy the souls of a being produce goes through a form of refining or some such thing through the everyday actions one goes through.

Ghosts of the Infinite Realms need to expell the excess energy their souls provide by any means necessary. Their "obsessions" are just shackles around their soul that contain all the destructive power they contain. If those shackles were denied in any way, all the destructive power of the soul of that Ghost would burst out of them, making them a literal bomb that could destroy half a state at minimum, or an entire planet at maximum, it depends on how "powerful" the Ghost is.

Dan had become the embodiment of the destructive force a soul has when he was separated from his human half.

Danny, after his main "obsession," shifted from protecting to family when his parents accepted him as Phantom, began to help out the other Ghosts indulge in their "obsessions" to help them expell their powers, after learning about why the Ghosts do what they do.

But the GIW weren't going to let this world be "Corrupted" by the ectoplasmic scum. They saw Danny as their main threat. They, too, learned that he and Phantom were one and the same. So they hatched a plan, they would expose the true nature of the Ghosts by using Danny as that example.

The Fentons (Including Dani and Vlad, Dan isn'tpart of it becausehe has yet to be reformed), along with anyone else Danny considered part of his family, that means his friends, were executed by the GIW, in public, and in front of Danny, who was contained in a new device that's like a portal cage.

With his "obsession" gone, Danny's shackles on his soul were breaking, all that destructive power held within his soul is desperately trying to unleash itself unto the world.

Clockwork, who was distracted by the Observants, finally returned to his Clocktower, only to see his favorite Halfa about to he ended when his "obsession" had been taken away. The Time Ghost acts quickly, taking Danny away from his home dimension, forcefully unlocking a new power for Danny to use as a means to expell his powers from his soul and sends the Halfa to a new place, where he will hopefully gain a new family for his obsession.

Gotham has a new rogue, a Meta Boy who makes people see those they hold dear to them die, reject them, or a combination of both. The Bats have been trying to get close to the boy for apprehending him, but maybe it goes deeper than that. They just need to overcome the pain and sorrow of seeing one of their worst fears to actually talk to the boy.

[soup-future]

yearly rogues redesigns

could refine them more but I’m tired..

[yukinohiko]

Blue Flower | Kaiser

✧ A/N: I adore period pieces, in every sense of reading/watching/writing. This was an indulgence that I’ll probably continue piecing onto.

✧ Synopsis: The aristocratic members of London enjoy their soirées. You do, too, especially when you get the chance to perform some teasing poetry. But you happen to catch the eye of one esteemed German guest — one who isn’t so amused by your wit, and one, you start to suspect, is an imposter among the ton.

Read Part Two here.

You first draw attention to yourself at one of the ton’s poetry reading soirées. Hosted, of course, by one of the queen’s titled ladies in a grand hall.

The hearth burns with an intimate fire, warming the room in shades of amber and scents of floral incense. Around you are the upper crust of London’s aristocracy, enjoying wines and tarts.

“Tarts,” says one of the ladies, “for an event celebrating our most tart-tongued poet.”

A round of chuckles echo. The crème of the party, a German-born marquess, leans his cheek into his palm and drawls, “Does English society have many witty writers?”

“You would be surprised, my lord,” the lady preens. “Or you ought not to be — our ton is brimming with talent.”

“I’ll judge that for myself, thank you.” He snaps his fingers once, a leonine grace to his order. “Ness, fetch me a stronger drink, will you? I can’t feel this wine in the slightest.”

“Yes, Lord Kaiser.”

You stare at the marquess subtly over the rim of your own glass. From the drifting rumours around town, you’ve gathered that he’s an invited guest of the queen, a rising influence in Berlin’s upper echelon, and a notable rake, though that part wasn’t advertised so much as implicitly understood by the young ladies and their mothers.

To his credit or lack thereof, he’s certainly embodying his reputation. A cultured arrogance permeates his movements and tone. But it’s not quite the same as the viscounts and dukes and earls you’ve seen around the ton over the course of your life. No, there’s something off about him.

When his attendant — Ness, was that what he was called? — returns and hands the marquess a brandy, you can’t help but notice Kaiser’s hands. They’re neither the soft, supple hands of an aristocrat nor the refined hands of a worldly rogue, which was what his attitude made him seem like at times.

So what was he, exactly?

He surprises you. Intrigues you. But you don’t have an opportunity to approach him, as the hostess kicks off the soirée.

Members of the audience pitch in heartily, reading out their own poems or guessing the answers for riddles. Kaiser watches in a strange manner, occasionally volunteering his commentary to the banter but, at the same time, remaining separate from the group.

It really is intriguing, you think. He has the mannerisms of someone on the brink of society, clinging to it, not someone settled in the heart of it.

When it is your turn, you attempt a poem that’s perhaps a bit tongue-in-cheek. You unfold your paper, coyly catching his eye, reading out, “In gardens where the noble walk, / In odd numbers, it dares to talk. / Not soft as silk, but rough in hand, / A secret bloom from distant land. / What is it?”

The crowd falls into murmurs, repeating lines and calling answers. Your gaze passes over familiar faces as they struggle with the little riddle. At their frustrated entertainment, it’s all you can do to chew the inside of your cheek and prevent a smile.

Well, until you come upon a distinct face — one that is very much unamused. Kaiser meets your eye across the dim room with fierce clarity. He’s still surrounded by admirers, but from his place lounging on the chaise, his gaze is meant for you alone. The glass tilts in his grasp, very nearly spilling his brandy.

You let your eyes lower onto his hand, his calloused palms and roughened fingertips; the hands of the working class, not the aristocracy. His shrewd expression, pupils slitted in the candlelight, lacks the ignorant bliss of the elites.

“I don’t believe anyone knows the answer, dear,” laughs the hostess, tipping her flute to you graciously. “You’ll have to enlighten us —”

“The blue flower,” Kaiser cuts in.

The crowd turns to him, surprised yet pleased to have found an answer. No one seems to notice how the curl of his lip is less of a smile and more a sneer.

“An old symbol of Germany’s romantic movement,” he adds, a knowing lilt to his voice. “Scattered across German literature, really. A symbol of unattainable perfection. As for your poem — clever. A distant land, indeed, from England. And in Germany, roses are known to only be gifted in odd numbers, never even.”

The party’s eyes dart to you, startled and interested in their own right. You clear your throat, pocketing the poem. “Ah — yes, the Marquess has gotten it in one.”

“Please,” he says, as a cruel smile carves itself onto his charming mouth, “Lord Kaiser is fine.”

Your fingers twitch, but you maintain a placid expression. It pleases you immeasurably when you see his veneer crack a little more.

“Well,” the hostess titters, “I see we’ve certainly found our tart-tongued poet of the night! Well done, dear! And to have our esteemed guest be the only one to figure out your clever riddle — it is a wonderful soirée, if I say so myself. What say you, Lord Kaiser?”

He lifts a lemon square off Ness’s plate, long blond lashes casted downward as though in thought. When he looks up again, there’s a calculating glint in his gaze, as blue as the flower he decoded from your poem. “I think you were right, my lady. English society certainly has fine writers — and fine tarts, too.”

A circle of laughter and cheers ring out. Clearly, as he bites into the sweet, they assume he’s meant the pastry. You know better; your temper burns. His smile leers.

Oh, a tart am I? You can’t help but think to yourself, moving to retake your seat. However, as you pass his chaise, you feel him catch your wrist. You’re startled by the improperness of it, but more so by his voice as he murmurs, “Think you’re clever, do you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“No?” His finger hooks into your silk glove, tugging it delicately down your wrist. “Perhaps you ought to feel it directly, rough in hand, to understand me?”

The glove slides down to your palm. His thumb and index finger encircle your wrist, rubbing the back of your hand almost gently, were it not for the gleam in his stormy gaze. You feel his finger encroach lower, slipping into your glove opening, trailing down your palm, tracing your love line —

Despite the dim lights, you know that if anyone happened to see this — well, your place in good society would be tarnished. You pull your wrist back to yourself, skin prickling, cheeks flushed, as you fix your glove. “You forget yourself, sir.”

“No.” He leans back in his seat, continuing to watch you with lethal, lidded eyes. “I know exactly who I am — and I believe you’re starting to, as well.”

“I did not mean to offend you, my Lord. If you will forgive me, we can move past this —”

“I have no intention of moving past this,” he says, biting his tart again. “You see, I’m starting to suspect you know more than you’re letting on. And, as I’m staying in England for the next indefinite period as the guest of the queen, my position in the ton is paramount. You’ll be a charming ladybird to keep —”

“I am not a ladybird.”

“You do not wish to be kept by a marquess?”

“Not in such a crass manner,” you take a step back, “and certainly not by a rake and most definitely not by —”

“Me?” He licks his teeth, baring them in a wicked smile. “Or someone like me? No matter. We’ll have a proper conversation about this in due time.”

Though, that time doesn’t come with conversation so much as something much more nerve wracking. The next morning, after bathing, you enter your drawing room — only to find it filled to the brim with 333, blooming, blue roses.