You know ever since seeing all of Cap's PSAs and going back over Thor's Mockumentary, I've had the idea that if Thor ever ends up back on Earth he'll see these PSAs and actually be impressed by them--impressed enough to make his OWN PSAs, either for fun, to appeal to his adoring public, or to compete with Cap's. The only way to make it better would be if he tried to get Loki to either play cameraman or assist him in his PSAs! "Get Help," anyone? ;) Loki would NEVER live it down.
“Hello, my young human friends, I am Thor- Son of Odin,” Thor introduces himself. “And I am here today…to talk about safety,” he says as he gives a wink to the camera.
“You see, Midgardians have quite soft skulls, they are strangely- squishy…” Thor states as he makes grabby hands in the air. “And so, you must take precautions!” the man says a bit too loudly.
“Thus, you are required to wear headgear if you are to perform any sort of sporting activity. I have been informed that a hit to the head could cause you great harm.”
The god of thunder raises one leg up, placing his foot on a low table and slinging an arm over his knee casually. “Now, I have taken many hits to the head, hundreds! If not thousands!” He smiles proudly, his eyes glimmering.
“AH! A demonstration if I will!” he excitedly proclaims as he steps back from the table, lifting it up as someone shouts from off-screen, before slamming the wooden slab against his skull and splintering it apart.
Chunks of wood sticking in Thor’s beard the man smiles and says, “but my skull is not soft like that of a human’s, so do not follow my lead in this, for you will die.” He finishes with a smile.
The scene cuts off abruptly.
“Hello again,” Thor waves a bit awkwardly to the camera. “I Thor have come here today, to talk about Stranger Danger,” his eyes dart off-screen, perhaps asking if he got the term right.
“This rhyme, though simple, means a great deal.” Walking back a few paces Thor comes to stand next to a man in a thickly padded suit. “I will demonstrate what you should do if a stranger approaches you.”
“Aye- proceed in the art of acting, Sir Jeff,” Thor whispers loudly to the man opposite him. “It is best to be dramatic.”
Jeff sounds slightly choked as he begins, “hey you,” he croaks, raspy, “give me your money,” he says to Thor.
“HA!” Thor scoffs loudly, “you fool Jeff, I have not what you are looking for! That is Stark!” And with that Thor sweeps the man off his feet and lifts him over his head, “I AM THOR ODINSON! AND I SHALL NOT TAKE THIS DANGER FROM A STANGER!”
Jeff screams as Thor throws him across the room, there are the sounds of yells as the camera is tipped over, feet can be seen running past the screen as s few pop cans and shards of glass skitter by.
The screen goes black.
“Greetings my young friends, it is not just I today,” Thor says, the camera far too close to his face. “I have brought with me, my brother, Loki!”
The camera pans out so we can now see the two brothers, Loki glaring tiredly at the screen and Thor beaming brightly, smile all white teeth.
“Today, I will be discussing forgiveness,” Thor slings a beefy arm over Loki’s shoulder, causing the other man to slouch slightly. “You see Loki has caused many a deal of pain, but he is my brother, and that bond cannot be broken. No matter the trails.”
Loki sighs deeply, his eyes looking to the ceiling in a silent plea.
“Loki is the god of mischief, and he has lived up to the name,” Thor laughs bodily, “oh the tales we have gathered on our many adventures-” the man begins, delving into a story before Loki inevitably elbows the blond in the side, drawing his attention.
“Ah yes,” Thor reels himself back in, “forgiveness is a tricky thing, especially when you are dealing with the greatest trickster himself.” The taller squeezes Loki in a bone-crushing side hug before shoving him off camera. “Which is why I have forgiven, but not forgotten.”
Loki storms back on screen, his staff in hand and his hair sticking up on one side, disheveled, he seethes as he approaches Thor.
The god of thunder laughs heartily as he dodges the swing of the staff, “ah! next, I will bestow my vast knowledge on avoiding and deflecting oncoming attacks- this will be very helpful to you who have siblings.”
A/N: this is the first request ive ever gotten and may i just say,,,,, HOLY SHIT I WAS SO EXCITED WHEN I GOT THIS. So thank you for requesting♥♥♥♥ Same thing,,, i will have a story version up soon on the other blog!! Also. I am so fucking dead, school has been HOOOOOOOKAY. I’ve be getting so much homework and it’s really stressing me out,,,, and i have like no time to write :((( but anyways I hope you like this cute little haechen au ;33
pairing: haechan x artist!reader
genre: fluffy fluffy fluff fluff
warnings/notes: some language??? that’s a constant i guess
word count: 1223
side note: i really want to write gender nerutral scenarios, i tried in this one but i ended up scrapping it beacuse it turned out really stupid, i’m going to practice for sure though! the paintings at the top are mine, the picture of donghyuck isn’t though so cred to where i came from
OH and Y/I means your initials :))
(i didn’t proof read bc im busy so im sorry for spelling errors and such)
every brush stoke you made would show up on his skin
a/n: tbh i’m not sure what this is, it’s sorta trash but one night i was a little sad so i wrote this lol, i just found it in my notes so i thought i’d post!!!
– In Buck’s, Dallas’s room became a little memorial. Not an actual memorial, with candles and flowers, but somewhere you went if you really were missing him, it was like his own personal gravestone. There was a picture of him on top of the dresser though, flashing a rare smile at the camera, yet his auburn eyes were wandered somewhere else, along with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Sylvia actually took the picture and decided it was probably his best. And no one was really ever allowed to sleep in there unless they were in the Curtis gang, and even they didn’t. Two-Bit goes there the most.
– Pony strongly believed that Dallas - whether he be a ghost, angel (but probably not,) or the devil himself, visits them a lot. He says he sort of feels his presence sometimes. Darry doesn’t quite believe it, but didn’t ever say anything. Steve believes it a little too. Some nights, Pony talks out loud, hoping Dallas would somehow hear.
– No one ever really says anything about Dallas. Everytime someone brings his name up, even if he’s just mentioned in a story, the room suddenly gets quiet, like how it sounds when someone says something inappropriate on a show and the record scratches. It was almost like his name was forbid to say. No one knows why, but everyone gets that same feeling. It almost felt disrespectful.
– But sometimes, if Soda and Steve are together alone hanging out, Steve will mention Dallas every once in a while. He’ll say he actually really misses him, and he misses how much of a hard time Dallas gave him. Soda will agree, but not say much after.
– Honestly, the boys miss him a lot. Through all of the horrible things he has done, that was still their brother. They lost the most loyal person they had. And even though they might not talk about him all the time, he was still on everyone’s minds all the time.
Is it wrong that I love seeing him happy, like in the top picture? And hate seeing him disappointed? Even though what he’s disappointed by is his failure to blow up the Earth? Yeah, I didn’t think so either. ;-p (From: Countdown to Oblivion)
A Picture and a Story about a DnD/Pathfinder character of mine.
So the following is a sweet commission done by @winters-shade. After the picture is a random short story about the two characters and how they first met. To clarify, Dionaea is a summoner who was a fetchling (in the story she’s referred to as a darkling). She lived with her Shae father in the Shadow Plane rather than the material world for a great portion of her life. This story takes place when she’s about 7 or 8.
Woebringer lay unmoving, as he did most days. The moonlit sky barely illuminated the foremost passage of his massive cavern dwelling, but it was the darkness he prefered. Most creatures of the Nightveil prefered the dark. Came with living in a plane where things like suns were a legend brought from across the veil in Terra. In either case, even the pale moonlight that shone down over the lands was too bright to bother with.
He stared lazily out into the meadow before his lair. Water trickled down from a nearby cliffside until cascading in a full waterfall. The white-barked trees with purples leaves swayed in the midnight breeze. It was always midnight here. Always quiet. Few creatures of the Nightveil dared venture into his lands. It was well known that he hunted the other nightmares that thrived in the dark.
The noise of a stone skipping across water caught his attention. It was out of place in his placid world. He glided forward, swimming on the air itself and peered into his meadow with thirteen shimmering red eyes.
He blinked. Surely his ancient mind was playing tricks on him. Another stone splashed into the waters of the small lake his waterfall poured into. No, she was certainly there.
Standing next to the water was a young girl as pale as the moonlight that washed over the Nightveil. Her hair shone metallic silver, and when she turned to face him, her deep violet eyes stood stark against the rest of her. She was a darkling, one of the humanoid beings that lived in the small cloister to the south of his lair. He did not know a single thing about the ages of darklings, but she must have been very young to be so small. Not even a worthy snack.
He slid out from his cavern into the clearing while she watched him. In some worlds, he might have been called a shark, a fierce ocean hunter. During his perishingly short visits to worlds beyond his own, he had seen such creatures. They were predators. The rulers of their lands. He found the comparison apt enough.
Unlike the sharks that inhabited the seas of the world beyond, he bore thirteen eyes and no gills. His hide was black as the void and wisps of shadow rolled off him in waves as he glided through the air. He coiled around her, bending his fins down to lightly touch the ground. He must have seemed a massive monster to the youngling. She was barely over a meter in height and he more than a hundred times that in length. His tail flicked at the night air as he pulled free of the cave, his bulk taking up most of the meadow.
The girl-child did not flinch, she merely stared into his eyes as if she had been waiting for his arrival.
“Why have you come into my domain?” he asked, surprised to find himself genuinely curious. He rarely bothered hunting or eating the darklings from the south for they were small and bony, but he thought their legends of his presence more than enough to keep them away.
“I was bored,” she said. The rock she held in her hand tumbled to the ground. She walked over to his head until was a mere meter from his jaws.
“It seems an ill reason to wander to your death.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You aren’t going to kill me. If you were, you’d have eaten me already.”
“Perhaps I enjoy playing with my prey,” he growled.
The ends of her mouth pulled up, an expression unknown to him. She was taunting him, standing so close to his maw.
“What are you called?” she asked.
Faster than naturally possible, his jaws were around her. His teeth brushed her skin and shadows from his throat curled surrounded her. Again, she did not move.
He withdrew, thoughtful. “Woebringer is what I have been named by the creatures I hunt and the Night Lords that call for my assistance.”
“That’s a rather dour name, don’t you think?”
He blinked his thirteen eyes once again. What was it about this girl-child that enthralled him. Her fearlessness?
“You do not fear me,” he said.
“Of course I do. You’re the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” She was sincere in the way that children often are.
“You hide it well.”
“Fear is important, but superfluous. That’s what my daddy says, so I ignore it.”
“I think your…daddy, would be upset to know that you’re here.”
“I told him I was bored and he said to go play. If he wanted me to stay around his castle he would have said so, right?”
He didn’t answer, though he believed she was asking him the question in truth.
“Can I call you something else?”
“A different name. I don’t like Woebringer.”
“It was merely a name given me.”
“Then I’ll call you Wobbe.”
“Wobbe…” his voice echoed through the meadow. “What does it mean?”
“No, silly, it doesn’t have a meaning. I made it up.”
“Like the murderous plants?”
Her lips pulled back revealing her teeth this time. Here was an expression he was familiar with. Part joy, part threat.
Wobbe’s laugh shook the cliffsides. “And you claimed my name to be dour.”
“Will you play with me, Wobbe?” Dionaea asked.
He glanced up at the ever-present moon hanging in the sky then back down at the crazy child. She had made him laugh. He hadn’t laughed in centuries, of that he was sure.
“Very well, but you will have to show me how.”
She showed her teeth once more and in return he showed her his, every gleaming row.
I grew up in the Netherlands. And I grew up without super hero comics. At least as they’re defined in the US, with muscly dudes and vacuum sealed ladies with J cups. But I’d like to introduce you to one of my personal comic book superheroes: Yoko Tsuno.
This comic by Belgian artist Roger Leloup ran from the 70s to the 2000s (I read these most actively in the 80s). Yoko is a Japanese electrical engineer who lives in Belgium and has adventures all over the place. Not only all over the world, but also in outer space (she has alien friends), under water and in the past (Monya, in the last panel there, got stuck in this time with her time machine). They feature awesome futuristic technology as well as nuanced interpersonal relationships.
At the time I didn’t realize how non-standard these books were. Me and my brother and sister, we just liked them. But 30 years later I’d still be hard pressed to find a comic book hero like Yoko Tsuno.
an engineer who can fly helicopters and gliders, and an accomplished scuba diver. she has a black belt in aikido
yet, she’s not a bad-ass in the classical sense, she abhors violence and she is kind and compassionate
she is also smart and competent
she is a woman. she has many women friends. who are also competent (for the most part)
not only is she a woman, she is an asian woman. one who embraces her cultural back ground but isn’t limited by it
she is a woman mc and yet, she is not sexualized (that panel in the bikini is the worst I could find)
If I had daughters I’d be happy for them to read these.
There are 26 albums total in French and Dutch, but it seems only 9 have been translated in English. That top picture, though, that is not the first album. I recommend reading them in this order:
The Curious trio (#1 Le trio de l’étrange), published July 2012 The Devil’s Organ (#2 L’Orgue du Diable), published July 2013 On the Edge of Life ( #7 La Frontière de la vie), published July 2007 Daughter of the Wind (#9 La Fille du Vent), published July 2009 The Time Spiral (#11 La Spirale du temps), published January 2008 The Prey and the Ghost (#12 La Proie et l’ombre), published July 2008 The Dragon of Hong Kong (#16 Le Dragon de Hong Kong), published July 2010 The Morning of the World (#17 Le Matin du Monde), published June 2011