Loveallthings

Welcome to the most unhinged, crazy, lazy n' nice goblin you'll meet across this site. One that wishes to unleash his Warhammer (and others) sillies unto the world for people to enjoy; don't fear in dm me!

[thisuserislilsilly]

Masterlist

Presentation: Hello everyone! My name's Adam, but you can call me Alex, Adam (duh), LillSily or just Silly! I am a writer who is currently fixated in Warhammer 40k and the many possible ways it has to tell stories, themes, characters and all that jazz!

BUT! I cannot do this all on my own and that's why I need YOUR help! YOUR collaboration! How you may ask? Well by just tipping me with a bit of your blood in a ritual circle with all your friends in robes and offering said blood to the gods of writing and anti-art block! checking out my stuff! Likes, repost, comments or hell just checking them out would do a humongous amounts of help for both having the drive of keep going and for just the fun of it, writing is cool too!

DA M E A T: Below will be the tags in which I post my writings (besides having them here on the tags of this very post) so you can know where do I write and post them. Why I do not have a list set out with pompous things and all? Well...uh...I....I tend to not be so orderly whenever I write, spontaneous things, ya know?

II LEGION AND IT'S LOST PRIMARCH: In here you'll find my own fan take on one of the Lost Primarchs, a boyo named Neran Solticence who struggles with having emotions and showing them, woken up in 40k to fix the wrongdoings of the Imperium and reassembling his Legion back again, who knows what awaits him?

ROGUE TRADER CRAE VULLSCAT: Enjoy the batshit insane adventures of a Rogue Trader in the edges of the Imperium, written in the memoirs of the man, relive with him the traumatizing (and hilarious) situations the man went through in his life finding his little corner in the universe and, perhaps, a way to escape all the grimdark

CARDREAN 958th: Venture with this Penal regiment and their Commissar into the campaign wars of the Warmaster Elard; see for yourself the struggles this found family of misfits goes through and their chance to gain their freedom.

EMBER NOMADS: Ah my beloved fanmade Chapter. Discover the benevolent and savage Marines descendants of the White Scars, their traditions, their lives and their struggle to keep their way of life in a universe that just sees them as insensitive war machines.

The latter two stories have too a page in AO3! See chapters structured as actual stories and not just one shots there! With a narrative! More secondary characters! Equal amounts of smut! A bit more of gore sometimes because I feel more comfortable depicting those themes over there than actually here!

Farewell: From the bottom of my heart thank you all for checking these stories, for your likes, reblog and comments; I've said it before but this is something I truly dearly love to do, I have never been too good at painting but I try to always improve with writing stuff, this is my whole world and I wanted to share it with people; help me do that if you can, if you can't then that's okay, I'll continue to do this, to write fluff and smut and angst for you to enjoy. Thank you for opening your hearts to me and your attention just long enough to encourage me to continue to do this. I love you all, until the next story.

P.S: If it bares mentioning, English is not my first language, it's my second. If you find spelling mistakes well....I saw them too and had a panic attack trying to edit them

[mushbeast]

My Child

[writingdose]

fanfic writers who type their works directly onto ao3 instead of copy-and-pasting from elsewhere have no fear. fear fears them.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[la-venere]

nothing sexier than that picture with the italian players on top of eachother after the win and the english ones going through the 5 stages of grief in the back

[la-venere]

THIS ONE

[phthalooo]

i can see it

[hamster-is-tired]

ITALIAN MANWHORE SUMMER

[icarus-died-laughing]

always reblog italian manwhore summer

[righteoussness-deactivated20210]

happy birthday to our real hero

[hellbabyfromhell]

so ocelot’s a gemini….👀

[hellyesbro]

[metalgearheritageposts]

MGS Heritage Post

[metalgearheritageposts]

sources tell me a bitch is having a birthday

[puyopuyo]

things in this world that kick ass

1.

[nyctoheart]

these tags are so funnyyyy

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Holding Up A Titan

The primarch of the Word Bearers had fallen. His armour, once red and engraved with scripture, was an ashen husk of charred plate. Cracked and weeping skin showed around the patchwork spread of bleeding burns. Not a patch of skin was left untouched. He didn’t rise from his knees. He didn’t lift his head. He did nothing at all. ‘He’s dead.’ Ellas spoke softly. ‘Fire again.’ Delantyr breathed the words. ‘Fire again.’ ‘You bled the core,’ Kei replied. ‘We’re plasma-starved.’ ‘Fire the suppressing tracers. Three bursts.’ Ardentor’s anti-infantry bolters spat their tracer fire at the prone primarch. The first burst chewed glass, spraying fragments everywhere. The second two punched home in the scorched armour, blasting the fallen Emperor’s son onto his back – a vessel of cooked, punctured meat. ‘We just killed a primarch.’ Kei swallowed. ‘We just killed a primarch.’ Delantyr’s grin showed almost every tooth he had. ‘Crush him. Leave them nothing to bury.’ Ardentor walked. Its backwards-jointed legs hammered down on the steaming, downsloping glass, breaking it underfoot as it staggered down into the crater. When it reached the primarch’s body, Ellas raised the right claw-foot, and steered both control levers to slam the limb back down. The Warhound shook, unbalanced with one leg in the air. Great gears in the war machine’s knee and hip protested with rough, mechanical coughs. ‘Get the leg down,’ Delantyr ordered. ‘Finish it.’ Ellas gave the control levers another wrenching shove. ‘Something’s obstructing us.’ Kei lifted his targeting visor again, looking out of the Warhound’s left eye-windshield. He took a slow breath, and glanced back at his princeps. ‘My princeps? The World Eaters in the ruins… They’re cheering.’ The bleeding demigod had torn his way through the ground, giving voice to his resurrection with a bellow nothing short of ursine. Gore sheeted him, painting him in dark, rich red wetness. He threw his axes away, ruined and never to be wielded again, and breathed freedom into his lungs. It smelled of melted glass and felt like sunburn. ‘Lorgar.’ He spat blood as he said the name, rising to his feet at last. The Word Bearer lifted a scalded hand, not for aid, but in warning. Angron had no time to lift his mutilated brother, sprawled at his feet. The sun went dark, as dark as night falling in an instant. He turned, raising his arms, and took a god-machine’s weight on his shoulders. Every muscle in his body locked tighter than the iron trying to crush him. Drool stringed through his metal teeth, skinned knuckles white as he defied the will of a Titan. He gave a bear’s roar as the foot lowered another half-metre. Sinews crackled in his shoulders. His broken boots skidded back on the patch of unglassed rock; something cracked in his spine, something else cracked in his left knee. The compression of his bones sounded like twigs breaking underfoot, which was a vivid burst of imagination he didn’t appreciate. But he could hear his men cheering. He could hear them howling as they killed, and crying his name. He blinked to clear away his sweat’s greasy sting, and dug his boots into the ground. With a smile slitting across his broken-angel face, he shifted his slipping, blood-slick grip on the Titan’s clawed foot, and started pushing back. ‘Lorgar.’ Angron spoke in something that wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a laugh. ‘Get up. I can’t hold this forever.' ~Betrayer, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden

By Salvador Trakal

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Holding Up A Titan

The primarch of the Word Bearers had fallen. His armour, once red and engraved with scripture, was an ashen husk of charred plate. Cracked and weeping skin showed around the patchwork spread of bleeding burns. Not a patch of skin was left untouched. He didn’t rise from his knees. He didn’t lift his head. He did nothing at all. ‘He’s dead.’ Ellas spoke softly. ‘Fire again.’ Delantyr breathed the words. ‘Fire again.’ ‘You bled the core,’ Kei replied. ‘We’re plasma-starved.’ ‘Fire the suppressing tracers. Three bursts.’ Ardentor’s anti-infantry bolters spat their tracer fire at the prone primarch. The first burst chewed glass, spraying fragments everywhere. The second two punched home in the scorched armour, blasting the fallen Emperor’s son onto his back – a vessel of cooked, punctured meat. ‘We just killed a primarch.’ Kei swallowed. ‘We just killed a primarch.’ Delantyr’s grin showed almost every tooth he had. ‘Crush him. Leave them nothing to bury.’ Ardentor walked. Its backwards-jointed legs hammered down on the steaming, downsloping glass, breaking it underfoot as it staggered down into the crater. When it reached the primarch’s body, Ellas raised the right claw-foot, and steered both control levers to slam the limb back down. The Warhound shook, unbalanced with one leg in the air. Great gears in the war machine’s knee and hip protested with rough, mechanical coughs. ‘Get the leg down,’ Delantyr ordered. ‘Finish it.’ Ellas gave the control levers another wrenching shove. ‘Something’s obstructing us.’ Kei lifted his targeting visor again, looking out of the Warhound’s left eye-windshield. He took a slow breath, and glanced back at his princeps. ‘My princeps? The World Eaters in the ruins… They’re cheering.’ The bleeding demigod had torn his way through the ground, giving voice to his resurrection with a bellow nothing short of ursine. Gore sheeted him, painting him in dark, rich red wetness. He threw his axes away, ruined and never to be wielded again, and breathed freedom into his lungs. It smelled of melted glass and felt like sunburn. ‘Lorgar.’ He spat blood as he said the name, rising to his feet at last. The Word Bearer lifted a scalded hand, not for aid, but in warning. Angron had no time to lift his mutilated brother, sprawled at his feet. The sun went dark, as dark as night falling in an instant. He turned, raising his arms, and took a god-machine’s weight on his shoulders. Every muscle in his body locked tighter than the iron trying to crush him. Drool stringed through his metal teeth, skinned knuckles white as he defied the will of a Titan. He gave a bear’s roar as the foot lowered another half-metre. Sinews crackled in his shoulders. His broken boots skidded back on the patch of unglassed rock; something cracked in his spine, something else cracked in his left knee. The compression of his bones sounded like twigs breaking underfoot, which was a vivid burst of imagination he didn’t appreciate. But he could hear his men cheering. He could hear them howling as they killed, and crying his name. He blinked to clear away his sweat’s greasy sting, and dug his boots into the ground. With a smile slitting across his broken-angel face, he shifted his slipping, blood-slick grip on the Titan’s clawed foot, and started pushing back. ‘Lorgar.’ Angron spoke in something that wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a laugh. ‘Get up. I can’t hold this forever.' ~Betrayer, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden

By Salvador Trakal

[mrhealyourgirl]

happy pride to losers who get no bitches and stack no paper

[silentstratos]

me frfr

[literallyzombie]

I'M DOING MY PART!

[userfish]

this pride month we’re all going to be radically pro transgender. or else.

[mxtomituck]

OR.

ELSE.

[cloudabserk]

just watched an interview with james ortiz (rocky’s puppeteer) where he’s like “they were torturing ryan gosling for this movie. it was killing him. he was developing isolation sickness in real life from being the only actor on set for 6 months. i needed to be there for him even when rocky wasn’t in frame to serve as his guiding light and the sole thread tethering him to the concept of love. i was kneeling at the altar” and what

[cloudabserk]

and then in ryan goslings interviews he’s like “i was struggling in the depths of hell. until a beautiful puppeteer angel lifted me up out of the darkness and saved me so completely and understood the character so well we had to make him play the role for real”

[galateaencore]

A fable about looking up a new fandom on AO3

I got ship vibes from the Dark Elf captain and the Tarkian merchant in Tectum Carvos and decided to check out the Vagrus fandom on ao3. Folks, there isn't one! There is NO fanfic based on this game 🤯 the tag doesn't exist!

And now for something vulnerable: I still want to write this fic, but I think this will be my first time writing for a nonexistent fandom, so we'll see how I do with no engagement at all.

[galateaencore]

I appreciate that, 2 years later, this is still the only mention of Vagrus on tumblr.

[thisuserislilsilly]

I'll never forget you OP, and the sadness of knowing this, still after 3 years, is the only post about Vagrus in here

[moxleyrollins]

You will be the only El Grande Americano. NOCHE DE LOS GRANDES | 05.30.26

[thisuserislilsilly]

There is no Italy WWE thing. There is only AAA

You hear me?!?!? THERE. IS. NO. WWE. ON. ITALY. RN