#he doesn't deserve any of this he's a shithead

[rawliverandgoronspice]

If Ganondorf was lying to anyone during that Wind Waker speech, he’d be lying to himself. The gerudo desert was indeed harsh, and Hyrule sucked during his time, but legit everything he did in Ocarina of Time is completely unjustifiable, except for the murder of the King of Hyrule. The man sat in luxury for 7 years with monsters surrounding the land, while his people remained in the desert. Yet at the end of the day, he believed that he had every right to do all of that.

Self-justification isn’t a trait that’s outright noticeable with Ganondorf, but Wind Waker puts it out in the open and shows that yes, the self proclaimed “King of Evil” truly believes he’s deserving of the world, and that his circumstances justify his crimes.

I feel like the fandom misses that while Ganondorf may not be this complex 5d villain, he still carries an interesting amount of traits like this

Hey, thanks for the ask!! I'm sorry, I haven't slept in over 24h and felt particularly rhapsodic today so uhhhh sorrryyyyy for being cringe about my little guyyyyyy (and the approximate use of English language that might ensue)

So yeah, I think there's absolutely a huge part of that, trying to make sense of the violently absurd situation he found himself in, a monster and one of the last people who remembers Hyrule and how it was destroyed, and rationalizing to himself why it is not meaningless.

I have to say, not to be uhhh a parody of myself, but I think it could be a little bit more complicated than that (all of it being interpretations of the text that I don't think canon entirely backs always, but my point is that it could be read out of it).

If Ganondorf wanted any meaningful chance to reshape his own reality, then there's no doing that without access to the Triforce. If he had wanted to go for the King's head and nothing else, he would have been stopped immediately by everybody who do have access to shards of the keys to the Sacred Realm (not to mention how trigger happy Zelda was about wishing ????? something to the Triforce about erasing him in some form). I don't think it would have been reasonable to aim for anything but the Triforce as a military goal --not to mention that his beef is half with Hyrule, and half with the Goddesses themselves for considering the gerudos beneath them in some form and for some reason (which becomes even more apparent and deranged in Wind Waker, as part of why he can't let go of Hyrule in my opinion is because their intervention was so violent he simply cannot wrap his head around it and, as usual, Will Not Be Defeated >:((( because he's that kind of bitter little shithead, which I uhhhh relate to a little too much maybe). And then, well. You can't exactly ask for the Triforce and be nice about it, right?

I'm not saying he wasn't gleefully horrible about it the entire time, but I can absolutely see a case of him being self-centered enough to see each of his actions as the necessary (or righteous/vengeful) next step to get closer to his goals, and one thing leads to the other, and after seven years of strife, well, the kingdom you wanted to rule is a pile of rubble, ash and misery you enforced at every step, and oops! You have alienated absolutely everyone who aren't your weird moms!

There's a ton of things to say about the many interpretations that could be made of his relationship to the gerudos so I won't over-expand on that, but, uhhhh yeah he probably used them, or at the very least ruled them with an iron fist to enforce his own power he believed unquestionnable (even if the goal was genuinely to do things for their sake, which in my opinion could still be argued --Hyrule is a big nightmare place during his reign, but the Valley is the only location basically untouched with arguably Kakariko after all).

To be honest, I think TP Ganondorf is more accursed with a sense of self-justification than WW Ganon, who has a surprising amount of clarity on his own motives (to restate my tags on a post I just reblogged: I don't think "I coveted this wind, I suppose" is particularly self-pitying, it's soberingly self-aware if anything). TP Ganon is the one who's obsessed with divine purpose and considering himself a weird take on the Chosen One.

But yeah, I think... To be completely honest, I sometimes feel like Ganondorf's potential (!!! not actual execution, very important to draw this distinction) is just kind of too large for the IP that birthed him? The full breadth of his complexity cannot be explored in a setting that demands he merely generates a simple conflict that doesn't seriously question the status quo while everything about him inherently begs for it (and I love Zelda and its simplicity and what it does, to be very clear!). Like, I know this is just me justifying my own investment to a degree, but... his relationship to the gerudo culture, his relationship to gender, to divinity, to fate, to self-definition, to absolute resistance grinded down to the point of absurdity (but at the same time, what else is there to do)... like all of this absolutely has potential to be large and epic and breathtaking, but. Nintendo needs to preserve the statut quo. And Ganondorf just cannot express all of these themes without having this simple world literally collapse around him.

This is what I find incredibly compelling about this dramatic disaster of a guy. And the very media that suggested all of these contradictions and inner conflicts (without necessarily understanding them at first I think) is now fighting tooth and nail against what it introduced, what he can embody and once questioned (in WW most potently) for the sake of Hyrule's moral balance, backpedalling into a state of simplicity that just never truly existed to that degree before --partially, in my opinion, because this conflict is scary to face heads on without taking significant artistic risks I am not confident we will ever see again, to be uhh less than optimistic.

So yeah! He isn't that complicated as the villain of the children video games for sure!! But. As a character, there's so much there, just sitting right under the surface.

[sydsaint]

My fav shithead old man <3

Summary: Fed up with listening to Drew talking shit about her man, reader confronts Mcintyre about his big mouth. Against Punk's wishes, of course.

Raw is hosting it's final show before what is set to be a record-breaking WrestleMania weekend. You are hanging out backstage with a few girlfriends after your match with Indi Hartwell near the start of the show.

You are listening to Liv Morgan vent about Becky and Rhea when you spot Drew Mcintyre enter the room from catering. Your jaw clenches involuntary and Liv notices the fire in your eyes.

"YN? You alright?" Liv tilts her head at you.

"Hmm?" You turn your attention back on Liv. "Yeah, its nothing." You nod absently, attention back on the other side of the room.

Liv turns around and sees Drew talking with someone on the other side of the room. "Oh, Drew." She nods to herself before turning back to you.

"Yeah, Drew." You confirm, venom dripping in your tone as you continue to mean-mug the Scot afar. "Sorry, Liv." You turn back to her after a minute.

"Its alright." Liv shrugs. "I get it. Drew's been running his mouth about your man. I'd be pissed too."

Your sour expresion softens and you nod. "Phil's arm is almost healed up." You smile to yourself. "And when he's back to his usual self, Drew will get what he deserves." You glance back over at Drew one last time. "Though I do have half a mind to go over there and knock him down a peg myself." You mumble to yourself.

"Oh! That'd be fun to see!" Liv giggles, being her usual chaotic self.

"Don't encourage me." You huff, eyes back on Drew.

Eventually your intense gaze manages to catch Drew's attention. Mcintyre meets your gaze and a smug smile warps onto his face. You roll your eyes at him, which prompts Drew to come sauntering over to you and Liv.

"Oh god." You clench your teeth. "Liv, please tell me not to hit him if he comes over here." You ask her.

"Mmm, no promises." Liv giggles and winks at you.

Drew comes sauntering over to the two of you, making a point to come to a stop in front of you.

"Afternoon, Liv." Drew greets Morgan first. "Always a pleasure seeing you around." He smiles at her.

"Hi, Drew." Liv waves at Mcintyre with a mischievous grin. "YN and I were just talking about you." She looks over at you and giggles.

You shoot Liv a glare as Drew turns toward you. "Is that so?" He quirks a brow at you. "So, CM Punk's lady likes to run her mouth just like her man then?" He taunts you.

"Yeah, sure." You roll your eyes. "I run my mouth about shit that doesn't concern me." You fire back, your gaze fixed on Drew's stupid meme shirt regarding your husbands squashed WrestleMania plans.

Drew huffs a breath from his nose, his nostrils flaring up in your face. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, little lass." He warns you. "Your loser hypocrite of a husband ain't here to protect you." He reminds you.

"I don't need any man to protect me." You snap back at Drew, chest puffed out. "Especially from some whiny little bitch that had to get his kicks dogging on my man just so he could stay relevant."

"Ooo!" Liv coos behind you.

Drew chuckles and stares down at you. "And tell me, little lass? Who's got a title match this weekend?" He taunts you.

"Fuck you." You growl at Mcintyre.

Drew chuckles again and walks off. You watch him saunter off and your anger and disdain for the man only grows. Liv puts a hand on you after Drew is gone so you turn back to her.

"Well, that was super fun!" Liv giggles.

"Yeah, loads." You huff. "Im headed back to the locker room. Catch you later, Liv." You give her a quick hug before heading off.

Later in the night you return to your hotel room where your husband is waiting for you.

"Phil? Sweetie? Im back." You announce yourself as you come through the door.

"Hey! There's my breadwinner wife!" Punk calls back to you from where he's lounging on the bed. "How was Raw? I saw you beat Indi." He adds.

You shut the door and lug your bag over to the foot of the bed. You drop your bag with a heavy sigh and plop down onto the bed.

"Work was fine." You explain. "I mostly just hung out with Liv after my match. Nothing special." You close your eyes and allow yourself to relax a bit.

"Nothing special, huh?" Punk replies and scoots down to you. He runs a hand through your hair, smiling down at you. "So you don't consider getting into it backstage with Drew Mcintyre nothing special then?"

You open your eyes and find Phil looking down at you. "How'd you find out about that?" You ask him.

"I have my people." Phil shrugs. "I do vaguely recall asking you to leave Drew to me though." He reminds you.

"I know." You sigh. "And I was trying, I swear." You insist with a sigh. "But I see him walking around backstage like some self-assured dickhead wearing that idiotic shirt." You huff. "And I hear all the stuff he says about you. And I just can't keep quiet. Okay?"

Phil smiles to himself and nods. He runs his hands through your hair again and shakes his head at you. "And that is one of the many reasons that I love you." He leans down and kisses your forehead. "But come on, YN. There was a reason I asked you to leave it alone."

"I'm sorry, babe." You frown. "Mcintyre just irks me so much." You huff. "God I can't wait to watch you kick his ass." You look back up at Punk.

"Imagine how excited I am." Phil chuckles and you watch him slide off the bed and come around to your side. "Get those off." He gestures to your clothes. "I know that you've got to be sore after that match with Indi. So i'll run you a bath." He explains before heading to the bathroom.

You close your eyes again and smile to yourself. "I love you!" You call out to Punk. "Best husband ever!" You shout with a laugh.

You hear Punk chuckle from the bathroom. "Pretty sure I'm the lucky one!" He shouts back at you. "And I love you too, sweetie!"

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

An Unwelcomed Conversation

Sequel to the drabble where Iggy finds Mickey and Ian sleeping/cuddling

---

When Mickey wakes up, it’s evening. The room is darker than it was when he laid down. 

He blinks his bleary eyes, feels something firm under his cheek and remembers that he’s on top of Ian. His face flushes even though there’s no one there to see it. 

Ian’s still holding onto him too. His grip is looser now that he’s asleep but it’s still keeping him in place. 

It’s so fucking gay but it’s also warm and fucking relaxing so he doesn’t immediately move off of his boyfriend. Mickey closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose and lets himself bask in whatever the hell this is. 

It doesn’t last much longer. Ian stirs; he groans softly, kisses Mickey’s hair, tightening his hold on him. “Hey,” he mutters, his voice deeper from sleep. “What time is it?” 

“Don’t know. It’s dark.” 

“We should get up,” Ian mumbles. 

“Think again, Firecrotch. I’m fucking comfortable.” 

“I’m hungry, Mick.” 

“Boo fucking hoo. Ain’t like there’s anything in this shithole to eat,” Mickey yawns, turning his head to do it in Ian’s chest. 

“I’ll buy pizza,” Ian negotiates. It’s unfortunate timing that Mickey’s stomach growls. 

“Fuckin’ fine,” he knows he’s gone fucking soft which he blames all on Gallagher. Ain’t no other explanation why he wants to keep laying there. Now that he’s a little more awake, his ears catch onto some noise outside of their bedroom.“Fuck. The shitheads are back now. Don’t go buyin’ for them too. They don’t deserve any.” 

“They’re probably hungry too,” Ian yawns. 

“So fucking what? Let ‘em fend for themselves.” 

Ian swats him on the ass. “No.”

Mickey grumbles as he lifts himself off his ginger asshole. Ian stretches his arms on their way out. His brothers and Mandy are out in the living room, they’ve got beers in their hands and probably talking about something fucking stupid. “Ay.” 

He’s immediately suspicious by the smirks sent his way. 

“Hey,” Mandy goes for nonchalance, and brings her bottle up to her lips. 

Ian, of course, is none the wiser. “Hey, guys,” he chirps like a damn bird. “You want pizza?”

“Fuck yes,” Iggy agrees. 

“I want one just for me, Gallagher,” Colin instructs. “I ain’t sharing with these losers.” 

Mandy shoots him a dirty look. “Jesus, Col. Don’t be so fucking rude. Ian’s not fucking rich.” 

“Fuck off. He asked.” 

Mickey doesn't let the discussion of pizza distract him. He knows something’s up. And he's gonna find out what it is. But for now, he shoves his sister’s legs outta the way so he and Ian can sit down on the damn couch. “Move, bitch.” 

“Ugh- fuck off, Mickey!” Mandy scoots to the end, glaring. 

Ian joins him, phone in hand so he can order. He’s got one hand on Mickey’s knee, rubbing circles on the skin. 

It’s quiet, but he knows it won’t last long. He’s proven right when Iggy speaks up, his voice sly and it sends Mickey on alert. “The fuck were you doin’ in there so long, huh?” 

“None of your damn business,” Mickey answers instantly. 

Iggy and Colin share a smirk. 

“You sure about that?” His second oldest brother asks. It’s too casual to be genuine. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He’s not getting any answers and it’s starting to piss him off. 

“It means Ig caught you doin’ some homo shit,” Colin slouches some more in the chair. He’s got a devilish grin on his face and it makes Mickey want to punch it right off him. 

“What?” Mickey barks. 

“Mickey...” Ian says cautiously, like he’s prepared to grab him to hold him back. 

“You wanna see?” Iggy pulls up the picture on his phone to show it off. Mickey thinks he’s about to see one of their bare asses or some shit. He doesn’t expect it to be from today when he was in Ian’s arms. 

His face burns like it’s on fucking fire. Why the fuck does he even have a picture of them? 

Ian leans forward to get a better look at it. “Can you send that to me?”

“Since fucking when do you have my brother’s number?” Mickey says in disbelief. 

His boyfriend shrugs. “I have Colin and Mandy’s too.”

“Sounds like Gallagher’s about to have a new wallpaper,” Colin comments. 

“Damn right,” Ian says. 

In the midst of all this, Mandy complains to Ian, “You’ve never cuddled with me like that.” 

“I would, but your brother’s a jealous asshole,” Ian says, feigning mournfulness. 

Mickey ignores the fuckin’ idiots, shoving the phone out of Iggy’s hand because the bastard is still holding it up. 

“Ay!” His brother says loudly when it falls to the floor. 

“Go fuck yourself and delete the damn picture.” 

“Too late,” Colin drawls. “He already sent it to me.” 

“And me,” Mandy says. 

“You Motherfucker!” Mickey nearly leaps at Iggy but Ian’s fast and he’s too damn strong for him to escape. 

His brothers are unimpressed and quite frankly, unbothered. Iggy just leans back in his chair, grinning slyly. 

“Didn’t know you liked being held like that, Mick.” 

“I don’t-” Mickey blusters. 

“Cut the shit, assface,” Mandy snorts. “You’re not fooling anybody.”

 He gets ready to raise hell because so fucking what if he liked it? That doesn’t make him some bitch. 

“Is Mick clingy?” Colin asks Ian. Nosy ass. 

“Didn’t you see the way he was laying on him?” Mandy interjects. “He’s definitely clingy. I don’t know how Ian stands it.” 

“I don’t mind,” Ian says. Mickey doesn’t even have to look at him to know that he’s got that sappy look to him. He’s used to it and for the most part, stopped rolling his eyes when he sees it. 

“Course you don’t,” Colin mutters. “You’ve got a hardon for him.” 

“Guess we know who’s taking it up the ass,” Iggy teases. 

“You’re not wrong,” Ian pipes up, and Mickey’s head whirls around so fast like he’s some fucking haunted doll head. He doesn’t know who he’s gonna kill first but somehow, someway, somebody is gonna fucking die. 

“Go to hell, all of ya!”

“Sounds like somebody needs a hug,” Mandy takes advantage of the fact that he can’t move like he wants to, and slaps the back of his head. 

“Ay, yeah. Go hug him, Gallagher,” Iggy calls.

Mickey really shoulda kept Ian and his brothers apart. Nothing good came from all three of them plus Mandy ganging up on him. 

Ian grins, gives him a noisy kiss on the cheek despite Mickey’s scowl. “Do you need a hug, baby?” 

“I’m gonna fucking murder you,” Mickey whispers through grit teeth. 

“That’s his way of saying I love you,” Ian announces. 

“Damn,” Iggy’s gotta be high. Than again, there’s not many times he isn’t. He looks surprised like he believes this shit. “He must really love us.” 

Dumbass. 

“Not as much as Gallagher,” Colin says with a sneer. It’s unlike the kind of look Mickey assumes he would've gotten from his brother after the fag bashing he received from Terry. It’s playful and probably woulda meant more to Mickey if he wasn’t pissed. 

“Of course not,” Ian’s proud of that, of course. 

“You two make me sick,” Mandy sighs. She crosses her legs. “I think we should send that picture to Sandy. She’ll get a kick out of it.” 

“No!” Mickey snaps just as their brothers agree. 

“Who’s Sandy?” Ian asks. 

“Our cousin. She’s a lesbian so she won’t care,” Mandy shrugs. 

“Can you all just shut the fuck up?” Mickey feels his face flushing again and it’s really starting to get fucking annoying. 

“What’s wrong, Mick? Don’t want us to talk about you cuddlin’ anymore?” Colin snickers. 

“What else does Gallagher do for ya?” Iggy says. “Does he give you his jacket when you get cold?” 

“Has he ever swept you off your feet?” Mandy smirks. “Literally?” 

The questions are coming rapidly. Mickey’s torn between anger and embarrassment. Ian doesn’t even try to stop them. He’s enjoying it, the fucker. 

“That’s it,” Mickey shoves Ian’s arms away and stands. “I ain’t listening to anymore of you fuckers. So fucking what if that’s what we were doing? Not like any of you are getting anything so shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone.” 

His outburst quiet's them. But then Iggy opens his damn mouth again. 

“Ay, Mick. I forgot to ask earlier. You got any smokes I can use?” 

“No I don’t have fucking smokes!” Mickey bellows, turning on his heel and slams his bedroom door shut. 

“....Guess you didn’t cuddle him enough,” Iggy says to Ian. 

[redr0sewrites]

I’m not sure if you take Helluva Boss requests, I know you take Hazbin hotel ones (I LOVE your Hazbin content, your writing is so ✨), if you do, could you make some Yandere Mammon headcanons? Tysm and I hope you have a wonderful day!

IVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR MAMMON NOR ANY YANDERE CHARACTERS BEFORE SO THIS WAS DEF A CHALLENGE, HOPE U ENJOY!!!

🥀Cw: yandere behavior, possessiveness, bribing, overall toxicity

mammon is the literal embodiment of greed and selfishness, and once he sets his sights on you, mammon wants you all to himself

hes the type to start off charming, sickeningly so, until his behavior slowly begins to become more corrupted and controlling

hes all about spoiling you, but not in a good way, he wants you to feel indebted to him

at first you marvel at all of the lavish gifts he gives you, but over time they become suffocating

he pretty much ignores your boundaries, mammon genuinely thinks he knows whats best for you

mammon does not take no for an answer, he pushes and pushes and pushes at your boundaries but turns around and makes you look crazy for snapping at such a silly thing! why would you ever get mad at him, especially when he spoils you rotten and treats you so well? (manipulation level 100)

absolutely the jealous type, at first he plays it off that he just "doesn't want to lose you" or "is worried about your wellbeing", but soon hes restricting you from your friends and family, making himself the sole focus of your attention

mammon highkey gets pissy when you aren't paying attention to him, and will try to coax you into paying more attention either through bribes or being ridiculously needy all of a sudden

he wants you to be his and only his at any given moment, and will even get mad or jealous of inanimate objects that hold your attention

he'd confiscate your phone or any social media you may have, he just can't have his precious jewel looking at other people, can he?

the more you begin to wither away and crumble under his control, the more overzealous he becomes

mammon can't understand why you aren't happy, how could you be so ungrateful? in his twisted mind, you're the one who doesn't deserve HIM

he'll make sexist, disgusting comments around you and will mock your discomfort. at first you think hes joking until you realize, no, hes quite serious

regardless of gender, mammon wants you to be his little house pet, always at his beck and call with dinner on the table and a pretty little outfit on

tears? anger? no, he can't have that. in fact, he'll try to pay you to shut up! mammon will give you gifts in the hope of getting you to quiet down, but its no use. no matter how fed up you get, he never listens. he might as well just lock you in your room if you aren't going to stop talking.... so, he does

if you ever try to leave him, be prepared for one hell of a break down

mammon will pull every abusive trick in the book- from gaslighting, to fake tears, to anger and outrage, he is desperate for you to stay, even if only to watch you crumble even more

if you ever manage to "leave", know that you probably won't be truly alone for at least a while. mammon has eyes everywhere, and for as long as he's concerned, youre his and his alone

hes def a perv too, but those r hcs for another time😇

HELPP IVE NEVER WRITTEN ANY YANDERE CONTENT BEFORE SO IM SORRY IF THIS IS ASS- IVE ALSO NEVER WRITTEN FOR MAMMON SO I HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE HES SUCH A SHITHEAD (affectionate <3) i might make a nsfw pt 2 if anyone wants me too- anyways hope yall enjoyed!!!

[torahtot]

you can always tell when someone doesn't have maga men in their life and god it makes me angry.. "if you're nice and compassionate you can be the one woman that makes them realize women aren't mean!" my mom bent over backwards for my dad for 25 fucking years he has plenty of other women kissing his ass and it never changed anything. do you really think that before being radicalized they never knew a single kind woman? they were never friends with a nice girl? alt-right men's problem with women isn't just that they've experienced too many mean women and they need to be shown that women can be nice, it's that they think women are inferior and don't deserve rights and don't understand anything so you can do what you want with them. and it takes a lot more than being nice to show someone that you aren't inferior. this isn't a case of being nice even when it's hard for the sake of deradicalization, it's about spending every fucking interaction with someone trying to get them to see you as a human being with value and a functioning intellect while they just laugh and show you that's never going to happen.

i cannot stress this enough: random women are not just going out and Being Mean to men. ur average guy interacts with plenty of women throughout his life- close women amongst their friends and family, casual interactions etc. most people don't start out being shunned by women, they start out being treated as NORMAL. & when they show their disrespect in normal society, it isn't tolerated, but when they go to alt-right spaces (which they're pushed towards online) they're told they're allowed to be as horrible as they want with no consequences because they're entitled to everything. it isn't "women aren't welcoming and the alt-right is so friendly so i'll become alt-right," it's "women don't let me disrespect them and the alt-right tells me fuck them, do whatever you want, you're entitled to it all" and why would you choose the group where you have to be a normal accountable person when there's a group that will reward you for being a shithead who gives no fucks?

the alt-right can afford to be more friendly and welcoming because they can allow bigotry. this can't work the same way for progressive spaces because we can be as kind & welcoming as possible but at the end of the day we have lines where we have to say "this behavior/speech isn't allowed in this space," and for certain people, that just can't win against a space where you can be as nasty as you want. these posts always end with a disclaimer saying "of course being kind doesnt mean you need to tolerate their bigotries" but what they don't realize and what drives me crazy is that women not tolerating bigotry IS the "women are mean" that radicalized them in the first place. they perceive you pushing back on any bigotry or bullshit as you being a meanie and treating them like they're ontologically evil. the 'kindness' they need to be deradicalized is you letting them walk all over you.

idk what the answer is to deradicalizing them and im sure relationships are part of it but you can be as kind as you want and all it will do is destroy you ime. i cant stand to see people (who have never even successfully deradicalized any man by being nice btw they always speak in hypotheticals and not from experience) double down on telling women to do things that will see no results and only hurt them, especially when any woman who has tried can tell you exactly how it went

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — counselor!JACK HUGHES x counselor!reader word count — 1.4k

note — i was (and still am) super proud of how i executed this concept, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy re-reading it!

recommended viewing — friday the 13th (1980), fear street: 1978 (2021)

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

bingo squares — sex in water, risky location/exhibitionism, and fear play additional content warnings — a few jokes about death/dying and murder, rather short n tame ("vanilla") barely-there spice from me???, jack being a little shithead (and a little switchy omg), a smidge of angst, and spoopy ending... (kevin heimbach hive rise!)

“Y’know, for someone who is so paranoid about being caught, you sure scream like you aren’t.”

The lake smacks Jack Hughes’ chest just moments before the true expulsion of annoyance. The succinct burst of emotion is pre-packaged into a lame wave. One that only stokes his predisposition for button-pushing—hers being a personal favorite target of his.

“Y'know, for someone so desperate to get laid, you sure do everything to guarantee the only thing you'll be fucking is your hand."

Jack's jaw unhinges as if making ample room for whatever semi-clever perverted retort is bound to manifest, but it slams shut prematurely. His only response is a strained whimper accompanying an audible gulp.

Wide eyes bulging, his gaze never leaves the woody shore at your back.

"J-Jack, I'm serious. Cut it out. Right now."

Your blunt, conduct code-mandated nails slice their way through the sunburnt skin of his shoulders—the much-deserved consequence of brushing off the sunscreen you offered him prior to his afternoon shift at the canoes.

He hisses, mostly out of irritation, but keeps otherwise mum.

Unwittingly, further panic stirs in your gut at that, sending your tense face into his waiting chest.

"I-It's not funny—it never was. And it's absolutely not now, e-either. Please, Jack. Just, just knock it off, o-okay?"

"Or what, babe?"

His husky voice carries across the water and the trees rustle in response.

You loathe the way that innocuous noise shoves you deeper into his embrace, clutching onto his lithe, toned form like he isn't the instigator of your palpable distress.

"Stop pretending you see him, or I'll... I'll... —"

Any threat you could've come up with would've been hollow at best, you both know it. Even if you weren't strung out from a full day of covert teasing and stolen glances, your fear of what might lurk in the shadowy depths between you and the dock would be more than enough to keep you firmly planted.

Jack set himself up with yet another perfectly easy jump-scare, but as you helplessly cling to him like a soggy kitten at the mere implication of danger, he's presented with a better, more delicious opportunity to burrow under your thin skin.

Oh, how he lives to make you squirm.

Soft lips lower to your ear, "Is that really what you want? Because I don't think the lake's the only reason my dick is soaked."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Hughes."

You try and avoid his X-ray vision, but it doesn't matter. It hardly ever does.

"Really? Well, allow me to enlighten you, hm?"

His tone has you rolling your eyes even though he can't see them.

Jack holds you tighter, sharply bucking his hips until you whine, before he whispers, "I think you like when I scare you—or, at least, your pussy does. The poor thing, gushin' and squeezin' whenever you jump for me. Every damn time, babe. I damn near thought you'd squirted last time I got ya that good."

You grumble because he's right. Only about your physical reaction, of course. Definitely not the other things.

You definitely did not enjoy being scared shitless, and you definitely did not squirt when he pretended something—or someone—was pulling him under. You'd be damned if your first time doing that came at the hand of such juvenile flippancy.

"Quit talking and fuck me, Hughes. We don't have all night; Alice still isn't over the nightmares."

Every year, there was always one of those campers, and, this year, Alice was that one. A kid so freaked out by local legend that you have to wonder how their parent or guardian managed to get them up here in the first place. Or, why anyone thought sending them up into the mountains for the summer was a good idea to begin with.

It never takes long for the nightmares to start. Especially once the inaugural midnight bonfire passes and the sightings start making the rounds. Wind-carried screams, a flash of metal, the too-thick drip off of the leaves, torn flesh...

Everything in graphic detail, and every detail insomnia fodder at its peak.

If a camper lucked out, they had a counselor they could attach themselves to in the wee hours of the morning as they shook through waves of fear. Alice weaseled her way into your bunk every night this past week, bottom lip trembling as tears streamed down her face, always rambling about the same thing: a silent killer in a cheap mask wielding long, menacing blade.

Nightly, while you've donned a brave face, it's been as genuine as the plastic allegedly worn by the personified cautionary tale. Because, once upon a time, you had been that camper, too—and Jack had a front-row seat to your adolescent terror.

To this day, he finds your ardent belief in the legend a point of amusement.

He won't be laughing, though, when Alice finds your bunk empty and runs crying to the supervisor cabin, thinking you'd been the latest victim—the first in thirty years.

If you're going down, you're dragging jack hughes down with you. He can explain to your parents why you're home two months early—and unemployed.

His forehead falls to your shoulder, wafts of damp hair tickling the bare skin as he groans. Jack never bothers masking his ire. "That snot-nosed third grader is the last thing I want to think about when I'm balls-deep. Total boner-killer, babe."

"Jason Vorhees is the last thing I want to think about right now, but you never seem to care about that, do you?" you growl.

Your ankles tighten around his waist at just the thought of the camp's very own boogeyman.

If you were smart, you'd stop hooking up with the one person dead-set on sending you to an early grave all for a laugh.

The apparent inevitability of your trysts wasn't for a lack of options. No, every year there was plenty. But every year, Jack Hughes was the only peer you snuck out for.

After that many midnights, you would think his recycled material would lose its edge. Unfortunately for you, that's yet to happen.

You tug on a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck. He nips at your throat in retaliation; you don't have the confidence to tell him you like that, too.

"Fine, fine," he laments, eyes pinched shut and wincing. "Truce?"

"Truce," you nod and relinquish your tight grip. "Now, make me cum."

"Yes, ma'am."

"See? I told you it was fine. No wandering campers, no prying Visors," Jack hums, an arm looped around your shoulders. "And no hockey masks or machetes, either."

Your soft, grudging giggle harmonizes with the cicadas.

When you reach your cabin, he pecks your damp temple. "You should trust me more often."

You knew once you caved to the lake idea, he'd never let it go, but you'd be remiss if you said it didn't turn you on just as much as it did him. That, however, doesn't mean you're eager for an encore any time soon.

Next summer, perhaps. If he played his cards right.

"Yeah, right," you snort while eclipsing the two meager steps with him on your heels.

His ego is beginning to rub you the wrong way as your post-orgasm bliss fades. Still, you can't resist pulling him closer now that no one else is around.

Kiss-swollen lips ghosting over his, you whisper, "Over my dead body."

His eyes go dark; a rare flicker of concern. "Don't say shit like that, babe, you'll jinx it... And i've still got so much planned for your body."

"Well, it's a good thing you've got an entire summer, isn't it?"

"Only because you won't let me touch you outside of Camp Nightwing," jack huffs, mostly under his breath. His jaw is too tight, but his voice is louder, "Just think of what i could do with the other nine months."

He doesn't bother disguising the bitterness weighing on his voice or his conscience, and that alone is enough to make you skittish. It hurts to swallow, and the mounting nausea certainly isn't helping, but it's a necessary evil to rid yourself of the lump clawing up your throat.

Jack Hughes talks a big game, but that's all it'll ever be. A game.

You won't make the same mistake twice.

"Get lost before you wake my campers, Hughes." You wave your hand dismissively as you take a step back—and out of his magnetic field. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

He drops the complaint as easily as he championed it.

"I'm going, I'm going." Jack raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he backs away from the porch. "Wouldn't want to rob the little boogers of their last moments of peace before my reigning Color War champs kick their asses—for the fifth consecutive year."

Your reluctant affection glimmers in the moonlight as you shake your head. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't!" Jack calls over his towel-clad shoulder.

You're still smiling when the screen door smacks the dilapidated wooden frame.

As his jubilant footsteps fade down the path and you settle in your bunk, a large shadow slips between the moon and the cabin's front window.

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[faketrex]

a police station in a foreign country for the setting prompts if you're still taking them <3

Thank you, grace! 💝 For prompt number 13, "a police station in a foreign country."

RWRB, firstprince, featuring Henry throwing a punch, Alex scheming, and a fair amount of silliness. Post-canon, pre-bonus chapter.

...

“You can't punch him, you're a prince of fucking England,” Alex hisses.

It pains him to say it, obviously. The asshole standing in front of them has a punchable face–and extremely punch-worthy homophobic, xenophobic, racist opinions. It's not the first time they've had to just stand and listen to this kind of crap, but it never gets any easier.

Hell, Alex might take a swing himself if he didn't know for a fact that it would get him ushered out of England kicking and screaming, cursed to a life of long-distance love, groveling to his mom, and praying that one day, someday, Henry might escape the clutches of the monarchy and join him in the U.S. and–

“A prince,” Henry says mildly, in a tone that Alex has only heard once before, “me? You must be mistaken.”

And he hauls back his fist.

“Fucking–Henry!”

It's a solid punch.

☆☆☆

The less said about the next few hours, the better.

It doesn't really matter that Henry's a prince and Alex is the First Son of the United States. Or, well, it does, but only in the sense that when they're sitting in the police station, butts going numb in uncomfortable plastic chairs, they've got a whole entourage with them. There are three PPOs and two Secret Service officers, and the way Zahra keeps blowing up Alex's phone, she probably counts as present, too.

The chair he's sitting in squeaks obnoxiously when Alex leans over to whisper to Henry. “You know, if we had one more person on our side, we'd be a baseball team.”

“More's the pity that we're in England, not America, I suppose.”

“I don't know. If you were dead set on punching a fuckhead in the face, I think it's good you did it in England. I mean, your family must own all the dungeons here, right? When they lock you away, it'll be like home sweet home.”

Henry lets out a huff. “You realize we're not actually living in the Middle Ages, don't you?”

“Fuck that. If cops today could still use the rack, they would, in a heartbeat. And you can quote me on–”

Two chairs down, Amy clears her throat loudly.

“I mean,” Alex backpedals, “I mean. I sure do love sitting here quietly in a foreign police station and not stirring up shit.”

“Don't we all,” Henry sighs, rubbing at his bruised knuckles.

☆☆☆

The asshole guy–the punchee–says he won't press charges, to which the royal family replies that it will graciously agree to the same. It's a weird response that Alex isn't thinking too hard about tonight. Yeah, the guy had been a shithead, but Henry had been the one to throw hands. Technically, Henry's at fault here, unless–

“Are you like a swan?”

Henry has a cold, wet washcloth covering his face, but his confusion is audible through the fabric. “Pardon?”

“Like, if someone touches the Queen's swans, they're guilty, probably even if the swans were trying to fucking beak them or whatever. So I thought–”

“Alex–”

“Is it the same with you?” Alex twists sideways on the couch, watching as Henry peels the washcloth off his face. “Do you have honorary swan status?”

“I know how you feel about large birds, Alex.”

“This isn't about that!”

“No, I do not have ‘honorary swan status,’” Henry says. “I'm just one of the latest in a long line of unnecessary archaic figureheads who can behave badly and, it seems, get away with it.”

“That dick fucking deserved it.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Where'd you learn to punch like that? Dueling classes at Eton?”

“Boxing club at Oxford, actually.”

“No way. Seriously?”

“I had a crush on an instructor.” Even though he looks exhausted, one corner of Henry's mouth lifts upward. “If I recall correctly, I trained for three or four months before dropping it as a lost cause.”

“Punching people wasn't your cup of tea, huh?”

“Despite appearances otherwise today, no. And anyway, the instructor was hopelessly straight.”

“Lucky for you, I'm not,” Alex says, leaning in to kiss him.

When they break apart, Henry seems sheepish. “I still shouldn't have done it.”

“We can't change that now, but here's the game plan. The next time someone spews toxic, hateful abuse at us, we'll have two options.”

“Option one?”

Alex holds up one finger. “Option one: we leave. Doesn't matter where we are or who we're supposed to be impressing or whatever. If it sucks, hit the bricks, as the internet says.”

“And option two?”

Alex uses the finger he's already holding up to point at his own face. “Option two: I kiss you. It's a classic distraction move. Option two is also valid no matter where we are or who we're supposed to be impressing. Both options mean we won't have to listen to the bullshit.”

“I'm afraid the Queen would hate either. In fact, I'm not sure which would rile her more: our kissing in public or simply… walking away, refusing to be subject to the invective.”

“Exactly. It's a win-win for us on multiple levels.”

The expression on Henry's face is brighter than it has been all day. That, too, is a major win for Alex. “You're truly a force to be reckoned with, love, do you know that?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, “I'm a one-two punch. But, like, the metaphorical kind. Now come here so I can kiss you again.”

[gummyfang]

For some reason I think jealous Anakin fucks you and breeds you, maybe being 'persuasive' (ahem, manipulative) about it. That scene where he was jealous and fought with Clovis? Hmm, delicious.

OHGHHH YES,,, NSFW under cut

Warnings for (slightly toxic) possessiveness, unprotected sex, slight mention of voyeurism, lotta (praising) dirty talk. Also dom Ani. Gender-neutral afab reader <3

That Anakin is a possessive man hardly needs to be mentioned. He is afraid to lose, especially those he holds dear. It causes him to downright crave control over everything in his life, and this craving extends to the loved ones he has not lost yet.

Yeah, cue the stinging jealousy he feels whenever another man is trying to make his moves on you. Anakin truly and deeply loves you, he really does, but in moments like that his possessiveness can cause him to objectify you a tad. He sees you as his. His to claim, and not for anybody else to lay their dirty fucking hands on.

Truth is, although Anakin would love to put handsy men in their place, he doesn't always have the liberty to do so. He will absolutely knock the teeth out of the helpless choking shithead who just made an inappropriate comment in an abandoned alleyway, but in crowded spaces? He can't really get away with it. It drives him crazy. His urges to claim you on the spot are difficult for him to suppress.

Ani can improvise though. He'll gladly claim you in other ways.

He will lean in over your shoulder, seemingly moving in to kiss you on your cheek but leaning down further to wetly place his lips against your neck, muttering about how it's time to get back to your place. Whoever you were talking to will get the hint when he glares up darkly at them, a quiet warning to leave what is his alone or suffer the consequences.

When you get back he wastes no time marking you up, desperately teething at the skin on your neck and collarbone to decorate it with red marks.

"You look so good tonight." he breathes between desperate kisses.

"So fucking good. Maker, what am I going to do with you?"

A deeper growl is laced into the tone of what almost sounds like desperate worship he takes on for you in the bedroom, a hint of the jealousy still stirring a poisonous fire in his gut.

He pushes you to the bed and wastes no time getting you out of your clothes, quickly moving on to get himself out of his as well.

"They can't appreciate you like I can."

His words are sharp and venomous as he pushes himself into you with one rough movement, pelvis pressed harshly against you. He gives you some time to adjust to him, he'd never go out of his way to make things painful for you. But the second you catch your breath, the thrusts he delivers are fast and harsh.

"They don't get to see you like this. They don't deserve to."

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees your face contort, his cock pounding into you relentlessly. It's like you were fucking made for him.

He pulls out of you abruptly, leaving some of your slick to trickle down out of your fluttering pussy.

Before you can so much as whine, both your legs are hoisted up over his shoulders, before he's back inside and pounding into you with newfound vigor.

"You don't need to go back to that filthy place." Anakin groans loudly, his own claiming words and your acceptance of them making his cock twitch harshly.

The pads of his fingers trail over your body, pressing down roughly to leave reddened stripes in your skin.

"I'm all you need, right? Th... This is... Maker, look at you, you're gorgeous like this. Only for me..."

As he continues to fuck himself into you deeply, he pants and mutters incoherent promises of making you his, filling you up. The overwhelming pleasure clouds his judgment and train of thought.

Anakin keeps plunging himself into you, angling himself until you cry out. He can't be bothered about the fact that passerby on the streets below could hear you. If anything, that turns him on even more.

Before you know it, his hips stutter, cursing as he cums inside. His hands keep your hips down, ensuring you take it all deeply. He keeps his cock plugged deeply inside as he lazily kisses up your jaw, humming soft praise about how well you did, how you're his.

And despite your promises you'll find another bar to frequent, you know damn well that regardless of location this will happen again if you are approached by someone else.

[salaminus]

Rex & Cody and the stolen commando

Summary:

Cody has stolen a commando from Kamino. But Cody isn't there to pick up his package himself, so he sends it to Rex because he can. Rex hasn't slept more than an hour in 48 hours, the caf is empty, his back hurts and there's a stupid commando in his hangar causing stress with Torrent!

Non-native speaker, pleaser bear with me.

Masterlist

CHAPTER 1:

Rex might kill someone. Fives would be best. Or Hardcase. Or Denal. Or Attie - not Coric, he's a medic - forget it, Coric too. It's best if he stabs himself as well.

Two hours of sleep, just two hours of undisturbed sleep, but no, he won't get it because he has to have Torrent under his command.

Rex trudges more than he has to - the door shoots open in front of him, a bunch of shinies salute, yeah yeah, get out of there now, he desperately needs a caf. Someone better not have drunk all the rations, because his personal supply is empty. How can something like that happen, kriffing shit. How and when!

His boys know better than to talk to him, after all. First course through the canteen, past the crowded tables. Far too little blue in the white sea of plastoid, that's unpleasant, it should be different. Problem for later, first the most important thing - caf, otherwise Rex will fall asleep. His eyes burn, when he blinks, his eyelids feel like they're stuck, he always needs two seconds before he can open them completely.

Past the queue - every now and then it pays to be a kama wearer, it has to, you don't forget the pain from back then - to the large plastoid cup, full of the strange powder from which the stuff is made. Step by step, he should be able to see the black stuff, but the large bowl remains nice and white.

What.

He stands in front of it - a pitiful little pile of powder, down in the corner, it barely fits on a fingernail is in the box, otherwise it's empty. Scratched out, rather licked out. This can't be true! Rex wants to scream, knock the box off the table, he's already clenching his fist when his com flashes happily. Karking fucking green, "WHAT!"

"Good morning to you too, sunshine."

Cody, of course, the little bastard grins and Rex can hear it, it makes his blood boil. "What do you want, shebs, I hope for your sake it's important and if it was a good morning I wouldn't hear your voice!"

Behind him, his men twitch, the very young ones, the babies, look almost terrified. Take a breath, really deep, relax your fingers - no, the box doesn't get punched, but it deserves it, damn Kark – Calm down now, he's kriffing Captain, he can't do that, ARCs are allowed to do that, Captains aren't. He's ARC too, quips an evil ugly voice in his head, it would only be boxing the damn bowl once....

Cody at the com snorts through his nose. "Rex'ika, got off on the wrong foot? Did they turn you inside out in the retorts? You're talking to a marshal commander."

Oh, fuck YOU.

"Kark you, you shithead. What do you want? If this was in any way official, you wouldn't be greeting me with sunshine, don't fucking give me ranks!"

A brief pause at the other end - a pause in which Rex slams a hand on the kitchen counter so that the karking droid behind it turns around. He does so, agonizingly slowly; if Rex reacted like that with Natborns, he would have been on Kamino long ago for insubordination. "Is there still caf here today, or why is the bucket empty?"

Droids, Rex hates them, especially that one. If anyone else says they can't smile, oh yes, they can, and it does it as sneakily as ever, tilting its head and waddling a step towards Rex. "CT-756---"

 "That wasn't the question, damn it - Where. is. My. Caf!"

"Rex," Cody says at the wrist - oh, no sunshine, no hypocritical smile on his lips that you can literally hear, much better, but Cody's off the air now, Rex needs caffeine before he kills someone.

Droidy doesn't understand, his head just jerks up and down at Rex. "I suggest you go to your commanding clone until you've calmed down."

Rex is about to light something on fire. "I am MY commanding- Is there still caf here now, yes, or no, that was a simple question!"

"If you do not leave this room immediately, soldier, I will inform your superior officer..."

Okay, that's it. Rex is just going to jump over the counter, rip the droid's head off and look for Caf himself, simple as that. He's already got one leg over the counter when someone shouts a very hasty: "Sir!"

Some reflexes can't be helped when they've been pumped into your brain since early childhood, so Rex turns to the speaker anyway - a shiny, completely white, but he has a rather impressive tattoo on his face, a huge V. Much better tattoo choice than Jesse, but what does he expect from Jesse, he already shares the same initial with Jojo, which says it all - wait a minute.

His vod'ika swallows hard, somehow managing to stand even more at attention than before - and he holds out a cup to him. A mug filled with... not caf, no. Coffee, the stuff from the big machine that Nici has set up and which spits out fantastic hot drinks for two hours a day, desirable enough that you now have to register the squads.

Foot back off the counter, Rex walks up to the shiny, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Name."

That sounded brutal, as if he wanted to berate him, Rex sees him flinch and raises his hand. "I'm sorry. What's your name, vod'ika, I'm in a terrible fucking mood, it's not your fault though."

Minimal relaxation in the eyes of his little brother in front of him, but overall he still stands there with his arm with the cup stretched out like a flagpole. "Sir! Dogma, sir, CT-5784! I have been assigned to the Platoon Bravo--"

Dogma, then, one of the names that was more of a insult. Innately, Rex writes a note to himself to introduce him to Echo.

"That's enough for me, thank you, Dogma."

Take the cup, give the rookie a quick pat on his shoulder. "And you just forget your number. Just like..."

Then he spins around - oh, the cup is warm, really warm, the coffee is still fresh, praise be to Prime's mother –, and stares at the room as best he can with his helmet on. Rex doesn't like to shout, but today everything sucks and therefore he's allowed to do so. "We all forget what I did at the dispenser, is that clear? The second I hear a word about it, you run penalty laps until you vomit!"

Silence, pleasurable silence in the room, wonderful. Rex could just lie down and sleep now, instead he grips his mug tighter and nods to the shiny in front of him. "Thanks for the caf, kid. You're saving some people's lives today and they'll never appreciate it - Cody, what do you want now and keep it short, my patience is shorter today than the time Kenobi has his lightsaber in his hand and doesn't lose it!"

Cody has the decency to wait half a second. Rex takes advantage of this and walks past Dogma to the exit, clutching the cup tightly. Behind him, the droid wants to complain, "Cups may not be removed from the canteen", which Rex acknowledges with a middle finger and "Write to my superior, clanker!", for which he doesn't turn around.

He's almost out of the room, almost behind the saving door, when Cody starts talking. "So, I need you to take something for me. I stole a batch from Kamino."

That's it. Rex rips off his helmet, vaguely sees the horrified looks - never seen anyone go 48 hours without sleep, eh! - and starts drinking the caf in order to down it in one go.

"Hello, are you still there - listen, what's wrong with you, didn't get enough sleep?"

Cody’s about to get slapped in the face. "Commander, kriff yourself, respectfully said. If I haven't slept enough, you're karking kidding, Cody - or you know what, I don't care. I don't want to know. I don't want to know what you did. When is your stupid fucking batch coming and how exactly I'm supposed to proceed with them!"

"That's... quite simple."

Rex pauses. Firstly, he can already feel the caffeine - no, but the warmth of the coffee for that, the smell alone soothes him like a comforting blanket it drapes over him, making his aching eyes blink more easily. However, Cody paused in his sentence, one of the very long ones, and then came the word 'Just'. Something here stinks big time.

"What's that supposed to mean."

"Well, you don't have to do anything, it's a commando."

NOW he’s dead. "A karking COMMANDO?!"

"Don't shout like that. A very nice one, an experimental unit, under my command, you don't have any flimsiwork or anything, you just have to receive it, you can do that, can't you?"

This little fucker. Rex grinds his teeth and marches on towards the exit of the canteen, his eyes stubbornly fixed ahead. Keep thinking about the coffee in his hand. It will help him against everything, against the karking universe, full of stupid, stupid older brothers.

" Receive it for you, Commander. And why doesn't Jango's Pride and Glory do it himself!"

"Rex, I'm not there, we're way off the grid. All you have to do is take the batch and keep it for me, you can do that!"

Rex can do anything because he has to. "Is that an order?"

"If that's what you want," Cody doesn't even have the decency to sound meaner, "then yes. Otherwise it's a favor, but if I order you to do it, I'll forget the part."

"Do it, you douche. I have so many favors with you, I couldn't even redeem them if I wanted to - when's your Commando coming and why are you only telling me about it now?"

"Because it wasn't certain yet..."

Lazy excuse and he knows it. There's something else going on, but Cody doesn't want to say it. Should make Rex even grumpier, but he doesn't even know if that's possible. First he trudges down the corridor towards his quarters. Skywalker better does not want anything from him now, he has reports to finish.

"Yes. So - they're landing soon, they'll be coming out of hyperspace in three hours. I'd be grateful if you could keep them safe... until we meet again or they leave on their own because they've been assigned a mission."

Oh great, wonderful. Just keep walking, he's almost there.

"Rex. Hello?"

No, Rex is not here. Rex has to accept deliveries for stupid ori'vods.

"I've already sent you the files. They're all less than ten years old, by the way, just so you're prepared. I have to---"

"Kote." Rex hisses into the com, stops and bares his teeth involuntarily. "you're sending me an unfinished trained Commando, an experimental unit younger than kriffing Domino Squad?"

"Just a little younger, Rex, and it's a Commando."

"That's exactly the problem!"

MASTERLIST

[solarmorrigan]

Bob adopts Steve part 2 [cw: hurt/no comfort]

Part 1

Bob Newby is - well, he isn't cool. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he doesn't seem to mind that; in fact, he seems pretty settled in it. He knows what he likes and what he's good at, and that makes him happy. He's not like anyone Steve's ever been around; he's lame, but he's refreshing

He's also probably the steadiest and most calming person in Steve's life right now

After helping him fix up his yard a bit, and the resulting decent night's sleep he'd gotten, Steve kinda-sorta seeks Bob out again. At first, it's just to ask where he might be able to find a camera to replace Jonathan's. Then it's to ask if Bob maybe needs help with anything else, around the house or around the store - just because Steve still feels kind of bad for destroying his yard and imposing on him, you understand

But after that, they fall into kind of a pattern. Sometimes Steve will go to Bob's house after school or after practice, instead of his own empty house (or to his parents, when they're home, because sometimes being ignored is worse than having no one there at all; and sometimes being noticed is worse than being ignored). Sometimes he even does his homework there, and Bob doesn't seem to mind helping when Steve has questions; in fact, he seems delighted to answer

He encourages Steve to make an effort, tells him that he is smart, that everyone is smart, just sometimes in different ways. Bob starts showing up to the high school basketball games when he hears that Steve's parents never make it, and it makes Steve light up to see him every time. He shares his interest in technology with Steve and explains it in a way that actually makes sense

For all intents and purposes, Bob has pretty much adopted Steve - and Steve has no idea why, what he's done to deserve it, but he doesn't question it, because god damn it's nice to have an adult who cares. Who knew?

But then, Bob starts dating Joyce Byers

And, like, yes, Steve is happy for him. Bob is over the moon about it; it would be ridiculous if Steve wasn't happy for him. And it's not that he minds that Bob's time is split now, between Steve and the Byers family; he can stomach that just fine. What he worries about is that now there's no way Bob won't find out what happened between Steve and Jonathan last fall

Like some kind of deluded saint, Bob has never actually asked why Steve had been all beaten up the day they'd met. He'd never asked why Steve had thought he was being an asshole, or what he'd needed to apologize for, or to whom - he'd just kind of taken Steve in stride. But once he finds out about what Steve had said about Nancy, what he'd spat at Jonathan, why they'd gotten into a fight in the first place--

Well, as far as Steve's concerned, there's no way Bob won't drop his ass once he finds out what a shithead Steve had been

So Steve's a little on edge about it

Bob's seemed a little edgy, too; not in a bad way, just - excited. Like he's sitting on some kind of secret that he really wants to share, but can't yet

And then, on Halloween, when Steve swings by the store before going to get ready for Tina's party, Bob drops the bomb: he's going to ask Joyce if she wants to move to Maine with him

But see, here's the thing: Bob knows that Steve is still hoping to work for his dad's company if he doesn't get into any schools (and he knows Steve isn't optimistic about his prospects there, no matter how much Bob's tried to boost him up about it), but he also knew Steve's dad in school. And listen, Bob is an optimist and sometimes cheerfully oblivious, but he's not an idiot; he's listened to Steve mention in passing the way his dad treats him, and he knows how Richard Harrington was when they were younger, and he has a bad feeling that Steve's not going to be working for his dad

So, he's hopeful that maybe he can convince Steve to go with him and the Byerses. New school opportunities there, new job opportunities, new start (he can also see that something about Hawkins weighs on Steve, haunts him, a little in the same way it does Joyce)

Unfortunately, he doesn't quite make it that far into his explanation. He leads with "I've been thinking about asking Joyce to move away with me," and Steve shuts down. He starts out all stoic and civil about it, telling Bob congrats, hope it works out, I gotta go now, and the more Bob tries to explain what he means, the more Steve freaks out about it, and it gets worse and worse, until Steve just insists that he doesn't need Bob, okay? So Bob can just back off

Then he goes to Tina's Halloween party, where he and Nancy crash and burn

He doesn't have a chance to talk to Bob again before everything explodes, and by the time Steve finds out that Bob was even at Hawkins Labs, it's too late

[zerojobprospects]

Brad Huff related thoughts: I don't think them egging his house was about revenge for being bullied, I think it was a wounded ego/pride thing.

A lot of what we hear about him is that he's an asshole, personality wise. He's dickish and entitled. When Andre is mimicking him, he does so by saying "what do you pussies want?" Brad Huff is clearly a shithead, and I'm not disputing this.

However, the other thing we hear a lot about is his car. Not only his car, but his drunk driving issue, and how he never gets his car taken away. In fact, that's mainly what they focus on--how he has this expensive car that he's allowed to keep despite everything--and his car was the initial target of their egging.

But we never hear about him actually bullying Cal and Andre. In fact, we never hear about him interacting with them in any way. In their grievances against him, they don't bring up a single time he's wronged them personally, aside from being generally a jackass.

They are indeed unreliable narrators, so you could say that they didn't bring up any incidents where he had victimized them out of pride, but they don't seem to hesitate mentioning other times they've been bullied. Andre freely talks about the JCPenney thing, Cal talks about that Tomlinson kid, they mention that they've been insulted and etc. They list other wrongs of Brad Huff's. Based on how they talk about people, it seems like if Brad Huff had fucked them over in some way, they'd at least mention it. They wanted people to know on the tapes that they felt personally wronged by people.

Instead, they mainly focus on what he has, and what they feel he doesn't deserve. As Andre says, he's everything they hate: he has what they don't.

[momentomori24]

Bringing this post back up because as hyped as I am and HAVE been for this movie for ages (Shadow is being unapologetically hot cool and it's a movie based on SA2/Shadow 05 what do you want from me), it's important to remember that Paramount is very much pro-Israel and has also snuck in Zionist propaganda in the Knuckles show as well (here's people way smarter than me breaking it down ). That's not even mentioning the fact that they casted a man who has spread doubt about vaccines as our Robotniks and the first two movies-- as fun as they are-- being blatant copaganda (which is funny considering Sonic is heavy on the police/military and government corruption and being anti-cop).

And to all the people in the notes of that post AND in general being all "but Keanu isn't a Zionist!!" or "he only shook hands with someone" or "that was [inserts years] ago!":

First off-- YOU MEAN BENJAMIN NETANYAHU??? THAT TOTALLY RANDOM ASS SOMEONE HE SHOOK HANDS WITH???? I don't think I need to tell you that shaking hands with the fucking Prime Minister of an ethnostate that's been a genocidal menace towards Palestinians for more than seven and a half decades before Oct. 7 is not some trivial thing nor is that some "random" Israeli. Please stop acting like it is 💀 And it doesn't matter how long ago it's been, be it 2014 or 2017 or whatever (especially when the genocide dates waaayy back); what's important is that he has not made any comments about what's happening right now. He hasn't made any mention on his stances or on his previous involvement with other Zionists (who are very vocal on their genocidal intentions btw). He may not endorse their actions, or maybe his views have changed, and maybe he isn't and was never even a Zionist, but what does that mean if he doesn't say anything about it?

Also. He not only shook hands with the Prime Minister of Israel but he trained specifically with an Israeli special operations soldier, Aaron Cohen, for the John Wick movies too. And if you somehow think "oh but what's so bad about that??" THIS can be found about him btw:

And if he wasn't enough of a shithead from this alone, I recommend watching this clip where he appeared on Fox News (that's a good sign innit) from May this year. THIS is the guy Keanu was training with. This guy. The more you look into him, the worse he gets.

It would've been something else entirely if these were just random people who just happen to be Israeli (bonus points if they weren't even Zionists), but that's not the case in the slightest and downplaying that isn't helping. The Israelis he's been involved with are openly genocidal maniacs. He has multiple instances of being friendly with Zionists in the past and nothing about condemning Israel now. Even if he isn't a Zionist himself, what does that mean to you?

Also also. Zionist or not, it doesn't matter. Keanu is part of the problem, not The Problem. Regardless of his own political stance which I know nothing about, it's just a perpetuation of a pattern we've seen already. Paramount has made pro-Israel statements (they also had this on twitter). They added Israel propaganda in the Knuckles show. They cast a man who has relations to IOF members as Shadow. What does that say to you?

All in all, I'm not here to rain on your parade. You're excited for the third movie? Be excited for the third movie, I don't blame you. I really, really don't. Love the art and not the artist but it's extremely important, now more than ever, to know the artist and what they stand for. You deserve to know who your money goes to and make an informed decision based on that knowledge, hence why I bring all this up again 9 days away from the movie's release.

For me? As much as it personally really kills me on the inside as someone who's been looking forward to this thing for so long, I won't be paying to watch it. Even without Reeves, the blatant Zionism oozing from Paramount makes me really hesitant. I'm just gonna bake something instead or whatever. I'd encourage y'all to do the same, but I'm just some random college kid barely surviving my final year, so whether or not that means something is entirely up to you, I guess.

[acharactertorturer]

CHARACTER SHEET

FOCUS: Rachel

NAME: Rachel

ALIASES: Shithead, Rach, Beautiful Demon, my demon, girl, asshole, bitch. (You can tell most of these are from Zephyros) BIRTHDAY: [MISSING INFO]

TEXT COLOR: Pink

AGE: 13 MILLION (I'm just getting into my teens!)

HEIGHT: 4'11 (I'll have a growth spurt!)

SEXUALITY: Lesbian (Father won't like this..)

OBESSIONS: ???

FORMER LOVER: [MISSING INFO]

LOVER: [MISSING INFO]

LIKES: Tormenting her big brother, her father, things being messy and unclean, talking, yapping, being loud,

DISLIKES: Mother, Zephyros, any angel above, people who talk to Zephyros like he's a buddy buddy, (That scumbag doesn't deserve shit.) People who have a CRUSH on her brother (WHO WOULD FUCKING LOVE BRUTUS!?)

DISORDERS: Insomnia, Borderline Personality Disorder

(WIP)

[reriart]

In Joy And Sorrow - Chapter Two: The Dinner

Plot: Returning to Whitestone doesn't seem so bad, thanks to Kiki. However, something inside seems out of place.

Tags (for whole fic, not only related to this chapter!): AFAB!Reader, first kiss, lovemaking, PiV, dancing Percy, non-canonical events, a lil bit of angst and slowburn, Kiki is reader’s best friend, depression.

(Please remember that English is not my native language - if you find mistakes, please send me a private message). Read it on AO3 too! Also, first chapter on Tumblr here. (Dividers by cafekitsune)

As predicted by the elf (who had taken her human form in the meantime), the castle was already crammed with people, many who had come from out of town and all glammed up for the event. In comparison, you were wearing the battered and even rather smelly armor. You were so embarrassed to be seen like that. Not that the others were any better tanned: Grog was practically naked, Scanlan would soon become one, and Vax looked like a bum. Typical Vox Machina style.

The only difference was in their smiles. For you, staying there was a nightmare. Beyond the endless annoying chattering in the background, the whole castle was screaming in agony. It was so overwhelming that you were out of breath. 

However, it was important to keep your secret safe. Kiki winked at you and created a small white flower around your arm, like a bracelet, and two other small ones around your neck, mimicking a necklace. 

Suddenly, the pain in your chest faded. “Did you enchanted them? Everything seems much less... loud.”

“Consider it an experiment. You deserve some quiet,” she said. “Especially now.”

“Now?”

The girl pointed to someone with her head, before turning on her heels and walking away whistling, making her copper-red hair sway. 

That someone turned out to be Percival. 

Holy shit.

“Hey, Percy! So, what a great job your sister Cassandra has been doing! By the way, where is she? She is in need of...”

The man's dark eyebrows arched, and for a split second, maybe due to a play of light, his complexion seemed less pale to you than usual. He was wearing a coat very similar to the one he wore daily, but with some gold embroidered details, including branches around the sleeves. His eyes immediately fell on the flowers around your body. 

“Hey-”

And, as if by magic, his sister, a little shorter than him but taller than you, appeared with impeccable timing.

“Cassandra! We were just talking about you!” you greeted her with a hug, trying to act like everyone else in the room and not like an unsociable person.

She smiled, adjusting her tight jacket. “Oh, I hope positively. My brother sometimes tends to be a little, you know, edgy.”

He tried to speak up, raising his hand to adjust his round glasses. “Actually, I don't...”

The woman's statement had caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

Cassandra's eyes lit up. In spite of the suffering related to the past, she was quite happy to talk about the fondest memories. A mocking smirk brightened her face.

“You must know that he was really awful. Not that he's better now! He was a real know-it-all as a kid, though!”

A laugh escaped you, and your eyes chained back to Percival's. They were so green. You wished you could have taken off his glasses, seen them more closely, but you just lost yourself in his gaze for a moment, before returning to reality and shifting your gaze to, well, anything but him.

Curiosity took hold of you. “And now ... what would you call him?"

Cassandra tapped her right index finger to her lips. “Mmmh. He's grown up. He's proud and a shithead, but he's got some good sides, too.”

Percival's eyebrow quivered. “Excuse me? ME? Shithead?”

The woman approached him and pressed a finger against his chest. “Oh yes, Percival Fredrickstein...”

Their comical bickering was interrupted by the limpid ringing of a few silver bells, waved in the crisp party air by what sounded like a waiter. 

“I kindly invite the ladies and gentlemen here to take a seat at the tables present in the next room. Dinner will soon be served.”

Your belly muttered a little. Kiki's flowers were working for real.

Lost among the many nobles, you walked toward the huge table, already familiar to you. Despite the inhibition of your senses, brushing against it caused you a vague sense of unease. Discomfort that deepened as Scanlan sat down next to you, accompanied by a guy significantly younger than him with caramel-colored skin and blue eyes. The two already seemed lost in their most vivid perversions (mental, for the moment). Between glances and a fleeting neck kiss, the bard already had his hands directed toward his dick-

“Oh gods.”

“Hmm? Would you like to join the party, my dear?” he asked, smirking as usual. “The more the merrier.”

“Huh, Scanlan,” you rolled your eyes. “I'm sorry, but I like tall men.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that the small barrel holds the good wine?” he whispered in your ear. “And I'm a whole wine shop...”

You were about to throw a boot at his head when the waiters began to serve the courses: plenty of meat, bread, wine, desserts. It had been a long time since you had had the opportunity to have such a filling meal. Better to take advantage of it. 

“I-I don't eat meat,” Keyleth murmured. “There are, ehhhm, vegetables?” whispered to Vex, beside her. The half-elf took a bite of a chicken leg. “I'm afraid not. I guess you'll have to settle for pudding.”

The druid puffed, crossing her arms. You laughed, noticing how Vex watched her sneakily, vaguely shielding himself with the chicken. As much as he was one of the strongest of the group, when it came to his (well known to all) crush, he suddenly became a dork.

Between that, Scanlan stretching out his hands in places where the sun surely shone very little (thankfully not on you), and Grog intent on flirting with a big woman as big as he was, you felt like you were home: your friends intent on doing what they did best, which was being dicks. On the one hand, though, you couldn't help but feel also ... lonely. Maybe you really wanted to join Scanlan's red-light festivities. Intrusive thoughts began to corrode you, until something pulled inside you, like a string.

[just-existing-as-you-do-blog]

Enderian charecter analysis time!

Outside sources effecting her charecter (cause i gotta start somewhere)

-she can read minds

-her brother killed her other brother.

Okay so Enderian, being able to read minds, thought that Fable was being manipulative ruling over his people as a mortal and (either before or after) decided to rule over the gods and the church but not her people, they would have to figure that out on their own. (Which makes me curious how end society worked beyond the church, did her religious order form the government?)

Also she once said to Centross that she only found one person deserving of her love and. I think she was full of shit when she said that. She went to war over her brother's death, she felt *betrayed* by Netherum. She was arguing with both of them but was also godmother(get it) of both of their children. I think she just makes a pointed effort not to love mortals, because they die so it's bound to drive any god crazy if they get attached to every single one. So she treats them all with a cold detachment.

So she loved (two of) her siblings, and Isla, and her realm, that's still not alot.

Next I wanna talk about her starting fights she can't win. Soul once pushed her soul out of her body during an argument, and she went against fable, she was united with the nether she should have won, why didn't she? Because the resets, because everyone lost, because all the realms are shattered. She full of her infinite Hubris yelled "silence" at Athena when they disagreed with her worldview not expecting them to keep arguing their point.

She thinks that because she is very powerful and has been alive for so long that she should know everything and therefore be able to win. She doesn't like not knowing things.

Her and Rae!

She hated Rae before she knew, she called him a Heretic, she had him rip his eye out. She found out and sounded confused (and perhaps horrified but that is blatant speculation). She has been watching him for probably this whole reset. She let her chest bleed to help him control his powers and she knew that (the worst) one of the ways to get him to calm down was to tell him "you can't be helpful like this." HOWEVER I am not an Enderian apologist! She made his son rip his eye out! She called him weak when he had anxiety attacks! She belittled him from inside his mind! And had a shit idea of comfort when he got into a fight with his brother that he wouldn't have gotten into if she'd been less of a shithead in the first reset!

Then something changed, I have no clue what, it could have just been time around Rae. She apologized, and asked if he would let her try to be a mother. Then she put in the work to do it, like I said she's on a treadmill working for that redemption arc. She might love Rae just as fiercely as anyone else, she helped him look inside his mind to find answers, the thing she knows he wants most in the world. His mind shattered and his chest bleeding she took controll of his body (something difficult for her to do) and flew him back home. Then sent MULTIPLE people inside his mind to save him. Girlboss's chest must be drenched in blood.

So in conclusion her primary charecter traits are

-her love

-her temper

-her overconfidence

-her complete disregard for human life

We love to see it.

[vvitchgrindergeneral]

I don't give a fuck what any tenderqueer anarchist shithead on here says some people do deserve to die and Elon Musk is among the top 5 he doesn't just deserve to die he deserves the worst sort of humiliating and painful suffering imaginable