#they may even hate it

[willowways]

What

[rainedroptalks]

I’d like to think all the other teachers at Aguefort hate Bobby Dawn’s ass immediately.

Porter is giving him death glares in the staff room. Tiberia doesn’t even acknowledge him whenever he’s in her line of sight. Lucilla, who is usually so kind, gives him side eyes in the hall, cuz bard classes are so gay and he’s homophobic. Jace avoids talking to him at all costs despite technically being the only person Bobby can go to for questions about the job. Henry seems more timid but even he is clearly upset at at this man’s general existence. And those are the ones who aren’t even openly hostile.

Zara only does night classes but whenever she does sees him she hisses. No one’s ever seen Terpsichore angry, but they have now. He made some of the younger queer students cry and Jawbone yells at him in full view of the student body. Corsica is so so close to beating this man up. They all miss Yolanda

[choccy-milky]

the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO

1 like = 1 prayer

[st-hedge]

MGSV sketch dump. The brainrot is thriving

[justaz]

merlin’s secret being a visual thing. when he is around arthur or gwen or leon or morgana or [insert whatever character here] merlin seems pale and thin, almost like a ghost or an apparition. when the sun lands on him he reflects it like a corpse, he eyes seem dark and dull. he has this ethereal beauty to him, this otherworldly visage that leads many to believe he is of fae blood. he just doesn’t seem to be 100% human. but when he is ONLY with lancelot or gaius (cough or gwaine bc gwaine DEFINITELY knew) merlin is heartachingly human. merlin shines in the sunlight, colors are brighter and more vibrant around him, and his smiles are wide and his laughs are boisterous. he takes on color and leaves everyone wanting to know him. but when other join in or interact with the two, merlin shifts before their eyes so quickly and suddenly that they aren’t sure whether or not what they saw was a trick of the light. the idea still leaves them wanting more and wanting to see the merlin who is just so full of life but that merlin only appears for a small select group of people. merlin who has a guard so high that it has an effect of other’s perception of him.

[jellyfishmakeoutparty]

next time you make baseless claims about how scary sharks are, look at a salmon shark.

look at him. you’re gonna look at him and tell me he’s infesting our waters? that this is a creature of terror?

look at him. look at him real good. this is a little dude. how fucking dare you talk about him this way. he’s gonna cry now, look at what you did. bet you feel real fucking stupid, huh? real silly? you better. think about what you’ve done. bitch

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[mangostarjam]

late night confessions — kaiju no. 8, fluff, "sweetheart" as a pet name, hoshina soshiro x female reader, 1.6k words, sequel to this fic + part three

Something is a little… off. 

You clutch your longtime crush's borrowed jacket in your hands, rumpling the fabric as you shift your weight. The door to Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro's room is shut, but you know he's in there — not that you've been… keeping tabs or anything, but he just got off duty and dinner was an hour ago so where else could he be? 

In the training rooms again, overworking — but no, he pinky promised you just this morning that he'd go to bed on time tonight. 

All you need to do is knock. One of the perks of being Vice Captain means he has his own room, so you wouldn't be disturbing anyone else. True, he didn't exactly invite you to his room today, but he's been… avoiding you. A little bit. 

Okonogi thinks it's all in your head. You confessed to her after she cornered you about your new pet name, and she's been championing your relationship developments ever since. "You don't see the way he looks at you sometimes! And didn't you just talk this morning?" 

But besides calling you "sweetheart" in public — always in that light, casual tone he uses with pretty much everyone except higher ups — Soshiro hasn't made any moves to acknowledge that night in the training room. He doesn't even stand that close to you anymore. 

That's… bad, right? What if he's changed his mind? What if he's come to realize that he doesn't want you like that — but he can't figure out how to reject you, especially not when you work so closely together — 

"Argh, this is why relationships are frowned upon in the Defense Force," you mutter, shoving your face into the jacket in your hands. 

"Huh? What're you doin' here, sweetheart?" 

Shoot. Stupid Vice Captain and his stupid light feet and the stupid doors being so well maintained you didn't even hear it open. 

"I came to return your jacket, sir." 

You hold it out and resolutely focus on his neck, directly in your line of sight. It's missing the skintight turtleneck of his fighting shirt, which means… he's in casual clothes. Your gaze dips down slightly to confirm this and… you find nothing. 

Instead, your eyes drag over miles of smooth, densely packed muscle covered by pale, scarred skin, visible reminders of the many battles he's faced and the numerous kaiju he's slayed. Oh, shit. 

You close your eyes. "I apologize, sir, I didn't mean to disturb you! Please —" 

"Aw, you're givin' it back? I liked seein' you in it." 

You feel his hands wrap around yours and peek open your eyes slowly, doing your best to keep them on his neck. Not that it's really much of a safe spot to look, when the strong column of his throat just meets the sharp cut of his jawline and before you know it you're glancing up at his lips which are… frowning. 

Why's he frowning? 

"Y-you do? Sir?" 

"Come inside, will ya?" Soshiro says, tugging you in and kicking the door shut with his foot before you can protest. "There. Now we're alone." 

He says it expectantly, raising an eyebrow when you gape at him. "S-sir?" 

Soshiro's frown deepens. The adrenaline rushing through your veins is making you jumpy, and you're sure he can feel your hands twitch in his grasp. 

"I said it was fine when we're alone, right?" 

What is he…? Oh. Oh. 

"Hoshina-kun?" 

Soshiro's frown lightens and he sighs, releasing your hands and taking the jacket. You watch, brain swirling, as he hangs it up neatly and pulls on a loose t-shirt. Silently you mourn the loss of the view, but the way his arm muscles bunch and stretch as he moves more than makes up for it. He must've just finished in the bath — he's wearing black track pants that ride low on his hips, and his hair is still a little damp. 

"Was anyone givin' you a hard time? About my jacket?" 

It takes you a second to register his words, and you shake your head quickly. "No, nobody said anything, I just… felt bad for borrowing it for so long. I thought you might want it back." 

"It wasn't that long…" 

You stare up at him. Is he… is he pouting? 

The urge to giggle bursts out before you can help it, and Soshiro's expression lightens at the sound. "You're so cute when you laugh." 

Heat burns along your cheeks. So he still thinks you're cute! All hope is not lost! "Is there… is there something bothering you, Hoshina-kun?" 

Surprise flits across his face before he smothers it down with a grin. "Now, why would ya think that? Everythin's just peachy!" 

The hum of air conditioning kicks on and fills the room with a low buzz. It's your first time inside Soshiro's room, but you aren't surprised that he keeps it neat and tidy. There's a low shelf filled with books, and his bed is made with not a wrinkle in sight. He's left the overhead light off and only flicked on the lamp at his bedside, so the corners are bathed in shadows. 

You fix him with a glare and watch with satisfaction as he gulps. You're tired of dancing around the subject, and apparently Soshiro is a master at deflection and compartmentalizing. "Don't lie to me, Hoshina-kun. You haven't been… the same, lately. Do you… Are you trying to reject me?" 

Soshiro's grin slips off his face and his red eyes widen. "So you were confessin'? That wasn't me gettin' my hopes up?" 

"Wha— what did you think it was?" you ask, flabbergasted. Is he serious right now? The furrow of his eyebrows tells you yes. "I told you that you're the only one allowed to call me a pet name! And that you stress me out! I held your hand!" 

"Well," Soshiro winces, "I know the job's stressful, so I thought it was that. And maybe you were just lettin' me call you 'sweetheart' 'cause you didn't wanna get mixed up with Okonogi. 'Sides… it was late. Maybe you just didn't wanna trip on the walk back." 

He's got his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his track pants. His shoulders are a little hunched, and he's still watching every confused and exasperated expression cross your features, but somehow you still surprise him when you take a few steps forward to cup his face in your hands. 

Your palms are warm. Your thumbs sweep along his cheekbones soothingly and he leans into the touch. "I really, really like you, Hoshina-kun." 

"You do? Even though I'm only good with blades?" 

You squish his cheeks in surprise. "How is that even relevant?" 

Soshiro reaches up to pull your hands away from his face so that he can speak. "I was just thinkin'... I know I've got my work cut out for me, choosin' this path of mine, but that doesn't mean you've gotta walk it, too. You could pick anyone else — a civilian, so you don't hafta worry 'bout them riskin' their lives, or another Defense Force member who can actually use a gun —" 

"Hoshina Soshiro," you say firmly. His eyes widen in surprise, but he stops talking. "Begging your pardon, Vice Captain, sir, but please shut up. I like you for a whole bunch of reasons, and you don't get to decide that I should choose someone else just because you're feeling self conscious." 

"Even if I've got beady eyes and a bowl cut?" 

"I'm going to kick Captain Narumi's ass the next time we visit the First Division," you grumble, but a corner of your mouth lifts as Soshiro laughs. Man, just watching him laugh makes your stomach swoop. "You know I think you're hot, right?" 

"Whuh?" 

"Did you seriously not notice me trying not to check you out like five minutes ago?" 

"Y-you were? Wow, I've got one cute admirer." 

You drop his hands and sink into a crouch, burying your face into your arms with a muffled groan. Now that the issues have been aired out, you can feel your adrenaline leaving you in a rush. Soshiro goes down on his knees an instant later, hitting the floor with a thunk, yanking your arms free so that you're facing him properly. "Hold on, sweetheart, what was that?" 

"Hoshina-kun, do you like me?" 

Soshiro's face turns charmingly pink. You want to take that as a "yes", but you wait as he sits back on his heels and scratches at the side of his face. "Ain't it obvious?" 

You put your face in your arms again. The long ends of your lab coat are pooled around you, and Soshiro is careful to avoid pinning you in place as he leans forward to tug at your hair. The hum of the air conditioner clicks off and you sit in silence for a moment. 

"Are we dating now?" 

You lift your head to glare at him incredulously. "No." Maybe you should be nicer about this — it's clear your Vice Captain is in over his head, no matter how easily he seemed to be teasing you before. "You haven't even confessed yet!" 

There's a beat of silence, and then —

"I like you." Soshiro looks determined in spite of the redness of his ears. "I think you're funny, and cute, and brilliant. You're always supportin' me and the lil' fledglings, and you make me feel like... I exist. Even though we could die at any moment fightin' kaiju, you make me happy." Soshiro pauses and rubs at the back of his head sheepishly. "Yikes, that was kinda sappy." 

Heat burns through your body. You can't help the silly smile that spreads across your face. "Yeah? I guess we can date now." 

"Good." The hand at your hair slides forward to cup the back of your neck. Soshiro grins, his entire body unwinding with the release of tension as he leans forward. "'Cause I ain't ever givin' up my spot at your side." 

[sergle]

there is something so quintessentially modern about learning about fiberglass filler in mattresses from tumblr dot come and ruining my bedtime by:

Finding nothing substantial on my mattress label.

Frantically scouring the internet for more information and the mattress website is all sof t blues and greens and smiling heterosexual couple and has a bullet point list with

+made without formaldehyde❤️✨️ +made without mercury or lead🥰💖 +low emission (???)🤩💗💯 and only under a company run blog "home sweet foam" do they say

❤️yes❤️ we do use fiberglass💅💖🌟 (gobbernment told us we cant use asbestos anymore😢😔)

[dazednstoned]

Absolutely absurd that people give Arthur and John the benefit of the doubt by labeling them complex characters (which they are), but won't extend that grace to INCREDIBLY complex characters like Abigail, Molly, and Mary.

Abigail is strictly a nag, Molly is a rat, and Mary is a selfish woman who used Arthur. Meanwhile, John is seen as a deadbeat who grew from that into a family man. Arthur is a murderer, but he's also kind and generous.

Stop only extending grace to your male favs when the red dead women are just as complex as them.

[lotus-pear]

regret

[lerrryyyyy]

『 @tododekuweek 2024 Prompt 1: Hybrid AU 』

Cuddly 🐰🐱 tododeku for the soul

°°°

Do not edit or repost my art.

[asciidot]

what about yellow teeth? my teeth always stayed yellow and that + my poor mental health made brushing just so nightmarish

[blueskittlesart]

*sigh* thoughts on Nintendo's botw/totk timeline shenanigans and tomfoolery?

tbh. my maybe-unpopular opinion is that the timeline is only important when a game's place on the timeline seriously informs the way their narrative progresses. the problem is that before botw we almost NEVER got games where it didn't matter. it matters for skyward sword because it's the beginning, and it matters for tp/ww/alttp (and their respective sequels) because the choices the hero of time makes explicitly inform the narrative of those games in one way or another. it matters which timeline we're in for those games because these cycles we're seeing are close enough to oot's cycle that they're still feeling the effects of his choices. botw, however, takes place at minimum 10 thousand years after oot, so its place on the timeline actually functionally means nothing. botw is completely divorced from the hero of time & his story, so what he does is a nonissue in the context of botw link and zelda's story. thus, which timeline botw happens in is a nonissue. honestly I kind of liked the idea that it happened in all of them. i think there's a cool idea of inevitability that can be played with there. but the point is that the timeline exists to enhance and fill in the lore of games that need it, and botw/totk don't really need it because the devs finally realized they could make a game without the hero of time in it.

[shortnotsweet]

[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:

BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)

Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.

That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.

Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.

(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.

She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)

“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.

“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”

“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.

“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”

“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.

“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”

[wraith-caller]

they're both on the marginalized cult victim to fanatic pipeline but only one is a Girlboss™