#and like it devolved into a fight. for what? like there was no fucking reason?

[fangirltothefullest]

"I read some of the reblogs/tags from the proshipping post and one has got me thinking especially about the fictional minors, and certain restrictions like US not allow depictions of it. I get why this is a heated topic; but the moral responsibility should not be placed on the creators and the other people who enjoy in a fictional setting. I know that there will be really sick people who will use media as an excuse to do to certain heinous actions (like Fight Club) but i do think that is on those members of thr audience and not on the creator and those who are sensible enough not to that. There are so many things i wish i can articulate this better but i do hope that my words are enough. Let me know if you are alright discussing this with them or if you want me to stop."

i just get so tired because like.... i personally don't like that there are people who feel the need to write certain things or draw certain things and sometimes I wonder if the people who do write it need to go to therapy because maybe there's something that they could get help with.

But it sucks because like.... the moment you start policing what people write about it becomes an easy slope of "well EVERYTHING should be puritanical and censored to spare this group and that group" and suddenly it's an excuse to censor everything people consider even mildly "wrong". It's how "degenerates" are made out of homosexual and transgender people, how books are banned for talking about science, how even the most mundane of things we take for granted can so easily be labelled as "taboo" and banned.

There's so much bad that comes from censoring. If we just learned to be like you know what? There are more important things to think about than what random people online are writing about with fictional characters.

There's a reason this topic is heated and it makes sense but the whole point of the post was just to get people to think about the idea that instead of spending all day going "hey this person ships incest block them! Hate them! Send them hateful messages! Tell everyone you know to shun the beast!" it would save you so much energy and time to just.... walk away from this fictional thing you don't have to partake in. literally that's all.

But as usual it always devolves into whether people should get to draw fictional kids fucking or whatever because for some reason it's all or nothing for people.

I think the question for that post shouldn't be whether it's ok but whether we should not be dicks to the people who are like "dude if you wanna write about something I'm uncomfortable with, I'm just gonna hit da bricks"

[juregim]

treating tumblr as a diary pt 51772

me and my brother keep arguing over stupid shit because he always gets aggressive with me over inconsequential stuff and i just keep getting angry at him back and like. i know he starts it but i feel responsible because i’m older but at the same time he’s not a baby, he’s 16, he should have the self control not to raise his voice at me over literally anything i say. but also like i feel like it’s my responsibility to prevent it from happening at all and i can’t find a solution to this

[etz-ashashiyot]

Generally radicalized people are radicalized for a reason: their radicalization does something for them and/or they believe that their desire to reshape society in a way that they believe will fix things does something for them. The key to deradicalizing them, then, is to figure out what that need is and fill it with something else.

Most of the time, people don't actually want rivers of blood, they want justice for wrongs that they feel aren't being heard.

Most of the time, they don't actually hate [X] minority - they don't even know anyone of that minority! They hate the false strawman version of that minority that is completely detached from reality, but that's been sold to them as the source of their problems.

And most people are honestly kinda lazy, lol. They are not going to physically fight for their fucked up ideas unless either (1) they are backed into a corner and literally must, or (2) they get swept up as part of a larger mob where the bully mentality takes over and the few people leading it decide to turn it into a violent mob.

So you gotta suck the wind out of their sails.

This works best if they are in or adjacent to your own communit(ies), because you will have more insight into what this is doing for them.

For the goyische leftists that have been radicalized into Jew hate lately, it's a combination of things. It's a feeling of powerlessness as the world slides rapidly towards fascism and climate crisis. It's the ghosts of unaddressed colonialism that they are choosing to impose their emotional catharsis on this unrelated and falsely analogous situation to enact what they feel would be just in their own society on people safely half the world away. Why there? Well, it's because it's a very small area with all of the culturally significant places that they grew up hearing about from the Bible in church, so it carries emotional weight. Most importantly, both parties are small and neither party has much international power to stop them, so they are able to impose their own narrative on the situation and speak over everyone actually there. Anyone who tries to correct them is drowned out. And, it's the history of Soviet antisemitism that is baked into the DNA of most western leftist movements and which Jews have never had the numbers or power to force them to actually confront.

Jew hatred is extremely convenient and Jews have been murdered in large enough numbers that we are easy to talk over.

Now usually, when you start pointing these things out, and especially when you start pointing out how ineffective and self-serving their "activism" on behalf of Palestinians is, they are too radicalized to do anything but react emotionally. They will spit out talking points, but none of these things actually address any of the above. They usually just devolve into "but but, Israeli war crimes!!" like it's a talisman against accurate allegations of antisemitism.

Why won't they listen to reason? When you show them how what they're saying is literal Nazi propaganda with the swastikas filed off and "Zionists" being used as a stand-in for Jews while they simultaneously vociferously deny any connection between Jews and Zionism? Why won't they take any accountability for their bigotry? Why won't they, at a minimum, listen to the Palestinians who want peace even if they won't listen to Jews advocating for the same thing?

It's because then they would have to give up the major benefits that they've been reaping from this situation: the social capital, the excuses to act out, the glow of feeling totally righteous in their fury, the catharsis - and trade it for the extremely unappealing process of actually becoming a decent person and a better advocate for their cause. It's hurting people they don't care about and they have a whole lot of organizations and institutions and people with actual power who materially benefit from their misdirected anger stoking the flames, and helping them lie to themselves that they are actually helping someone besides themselves and the handful of true beneficiaries behind the conflict.

They are being used.

And in twenty years they'll wake up and realize that they spent their youth shouting Nazi and Stalinist slogans of hatred that only benefitted right-wing hawks on both sides who make actual money and power off this conflict at the expense of two persecuted minorities. But they will be ashamed and will bury that behavior underneath silence and excuses.

This happens in every generation, by the way. Every 70 - 100 years, people find a socially plausible reason to hate and kill Jews because it is easier than standing up to the people with actual power. We are people they know they can hurt, and so long as they lie to themselves about who they're hurting and why, it feels really good.

Overcoming that directly has never worked.

It doesn't work because catharsis and punching down or laterally feels productive and owning their biases and bigotry and developing practical long-term strategies is tedious and often feels like shit.

What I've seen real activists do is to address the need for catharsis, praise, and to feel useful in other ways, because they are often less attached to the specific lowest hanging bigoted fruit and more in the rewards it gives them.

If we want to see this change, yelling at leftists that they're being bigoted morons feels good (productivity! feeling a sense of reclaiming control and power from helplessness! catharsis! We are not immune to these human needs either) but it's counterproductive. You don't convince a toddler to give up the shiny dangerous toy by trying to just snatch it away - if anything, you've now cemented this as an epic struggle for all time against the cold, cruel, injustices of the parental controls. No, you have to give them a new, safer toy.

My position is that if we want to see movement on this, we need to suck it up, stop yelling at the radicalized, and start finding ways to help Palestine that both feel gratifying and are actually pro-peace.

And, for the true sick fucks who really do want rivers of Jewish blood (and if a bunch of Gazans are martyred in the process, oh well)? That's where we need our true allies to help us fight back the most. This type of person will never respond to anything but power, so they will back down if they feel that they are truly threatened. To get the rest of the fair weather friends on board, we need to show how these violent tantrums are actually threatening their new catharsis, gratification, and progress so that they aren't swayed by the bullies and instead want to guard their new emotional investment and moral high ground.

Ultimately, we all want to feel like we're the good guys. We want catharsis. We want instant gratification. We want to see movement. We want justice for the wrongs committed against us and those we choose to see ourselves in community with. Many of us have real-world serious grievances that are intractable and that we don't have the individual power to fix, but are intolerable as things currently stand. These people aren't special; they aren't different from us and we aren't different from them in those ways. The problem is that activism - real activism that actually moves the needle - will typically not give you that satisfaction or meet those needs, and most people don't have the mental space to meet those needs in a better way, so punching laterally becomes the quick fix solution. Meanwhile, the people in actual positions of power benefit from this gladiator fight.

And until actual activists reckon with that reality, we are going to see more and more of the same.

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

I’ve seen a number of imagines where due to interdimensional shenanigans or being liminal, Danny Phantom is more durable than most people in the dc dimension.

And those are cool and fine and all, but imagine if it was the opposite?

Danny Fenton gets punched twice and dies.

Which is fun on its own, but Danny is half ghost. He’s cursed to an existence where he can never truly be alive or dead for all eternity. Meaning that after a little while, Danny is back at it again, on the streets of Gotham in the same fleshy body he just died in.

He has to turn into ghost form first, but he can turn invisible as a ghost, so it’s fine, no one sees him glowing before he heads into an inconspicuous alleyway to return to life.

The blood stains would be a problem, but it’s Gotham so no one bats an eye.

Except for the bats.

(Warning: some death, corpses, and gore ahead)

—————

It always haunts Duke when he fails to save someone. He’s a hero now, and that’s part of the gig, but still.

He keeps wondering if maybe he had been faster, or stronger, or just a moment sooner, maybe then the civilian would’ve lived.

He sees the corpse in his nightmares, a reminder that he wasn’t good enough. It’s not rational, but Duke can’t get the image of the dead teen out of his head- the lifeless blue eyes, the dark hair, the…

… is that him?

No, it can’t be. It looks a lot like the kid, but his mind must be playing tricks on him or something. Because he saw that kid die. This kid, across the street, they must be someone else. Maybe they’re related?

Duke hears a commotion down a nearby alley, and leaves the mystery for later.

—————

Cass is concerned about this dead body.

In her line of work, it’s normal to see a lot of corpses. What’s strange about this one is that it makes no sense.

It’s splattered on the ground like it fell from a skyscraper. The tallest building in the area is five stories high.

The body is too fresh to have been from a while ago. It doesn’t show signs of having been moved. There weren’t any helicopters in the area recently it might’ve fallen from.

She surveys the area again. Perhaps this is a trap?

No security cameras or bad guys in sight.

She turns back to the body-

It’s gone. Only a pool of blood remains, undisturbed.

No one could have snuck past her. Something strange is going on.

—————

The bullet Jason shot shouldn’t have done this much damage.

The teenager was accidentally hit in a hostage situation. Usually Jason doesn’t miss like that, but the bullet should have just nicked him. A bandaid should have done the trick.

But this kid is leaking blood like a fire hose. It’s absolutely gushing out.

You never realize how much blood a human body has in it until you see it spread out all over the floor.

Jason puts pressure on the wound, damn the bad guys he is not having a dead civilian on his hands if he can help it.

He grabs a tourniquet from the first aid pack he carries. Fastens it around the kids arm-

- and the kid’s arm flops off. Not normal. Either Jason has just gotten Superman-levels of strength, or something is wrong with the kid.

The kid’s rapid breaths devolve into quick gasps. The blood from his wound slows to a trickle. Jason feels the kids heart go from pounding to nothing-

Fuck.

Instinct driving Jason more than any sense of reason, he puts the kid on his back to do chest compressions.

Jason pushes down. He hears a loud Squelch. His hands go through the kid’s torso.

Double fuck. Jason might know CPR, but he doesn’t know how to deal with this. His panicked-brain remembers he’s in a fight right now, and Jason turns towards the people who held the kid hostage.

They immediately surrender.

[str4ngr]

STARTERS [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]

cw: none, strangers to lovers, first meeting, not beta read, might be military inaccuracies because im not in the military, medic! fem!reader. notes: i've worked so hard [exaggeration] to make this look cute but ik its gonna devolve in 0.5 seconds. this is part one of a series. words: 1,065.

"This won't be easy."

A fair warning, a meager one too, from your new, technically, superior, Kate Laswell. You had accepted her offer as a combat medic, seeing as their next mission was supposed to take months. But those months weren't even this year, they were the next.

This year, it was your mission to become familiar with your crew, have a starter and a taste.

Considering you've dealt with plenty of irritable, ill-mannered patients in the E.D. before, it shouldn't feel so stuffy when you enter the base. You I.D. card was scanned, and you were permitted entry past the intimidating security guard who's eyes nailed you like you were his prey. You might've been.

Heels clacking, you rushed to your new office,

MEDICAL WING

A sign read, in red, right above your head. You wanted to feel like you were walking into a new life, but the stares and exhausted attempts at a smile the veteran nurses tossed you made a breath you didn't realize you were holding leave.

Luckily, offices were assigned, and yours was on the first floor.

Empty and quite sad, you tossed your backpack and purse onto your desk, which didn't even have a chair, and put your hands on your hips. Laswell had told you that they wouldn't be back until evening, it was morning.

It felt like walking into your first job, gingerly taking your steps to the staff lounge where you introduced yourself to the nurses who were lounging. They returned the gesture graciously, luckily understanding of your nerves.

Soon enough, your actual superior came to greet you, smiling and laughing with the rest of the staff as she raved about you. As soon as basic information was given, you were tossed out of your nest, bidding you a good flight. The ED never waits for anyone after all.

⚬

As your first day ended and your night began, you sat in your office, which you finally got a chair for, to sift through paperwork. Boring things never really last for long, and as much as you'd like to one-go your work, it definitely wasn't happening. Especially when your sweet nurses and the other doctors bombarded into your office, playfully asking, more like dragging, you to come with them to the mess hall.

It's impolite to say no, isn't it?

It was fun. It was like being in high school again, smiling and giggling before everyone leans into to whisper, bursting back out into laughter. Oh, and it was juicy. Real juicy, juicier when they mentioned him.

"Ghost?"

You ask, tilting your head as you raise a brow, "What kinda' callsign's that?" There was a strange inkling of familiarity of the name, just right under your nose. The nurse who was telling the story went wide-eyed, grinning at you,

"Oh, honey, he's the one with the skull mask."

The mask. The fucking mask.

Everyone could see it, how you face paled like snow, your head dropping as you gawked at them. They all laughed at your reaction, it was quite comical, though they found it funnier for reasons different than yours, teasing, "I haven't even said the story yet!"

Well, Laswell did. God, were you stupid? He was from Task Force 141! They all, allegedly, saw him in the gym, allegedly lifting double his weight, and allegedly you were blushing at the idea of the number, allegedly. And that was essentially the whole story. The nurse beside you poked as he cooed at you,

"Aw, does the doctor have a crush on her first day?" Laughing as you smacked his arm playfully, a stupid grin on all of your faces. The conversation moves on, talking about the soldiers that got into a fight, and how funny it was when one got a rhinoplasty. It felt like you were half-present, like a fever dream as your thoughts swirled together. Maybe your shift was a little too long.

But you couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating?

You couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating? Your mind ran with every though, you hadn’t even seen him today, and yet here you were imagining him, strong, tall, muscular. And of high status? he sure seemed like the pear most imaginative women would like.

But you can't expect him to be a perfect romance lead, especially the more you listened, seeing as he was quite the topic.

Everyone else seemed to just know him, know him in the sense that he was a figure of admiration. The strongest, the fastest, the most intricate, coolest man on one of the greatest task forces affiliated. They knew every little intricate detail of his service. But you didn’t. You don’t even know what they mean by a ‘skull mask’, was it a full skul? does he do face paint like a 3-year-old? You've never seen him, not that you were reluctant to the chance to.

Maybe you were insane, especially since there was the entire rest of the task force for you to get familiar with too. Well, he was one of them so you should go one by one, right—

"Ya' like to talk, dinnea ya?"

You twitched at the voice, "Scottish," You thought to yourself, "John 'Soap' MacTacvish." Laswell had some comments about him, mostly about his inability to speak understandable English, and his refusal to get a military standard haircut, aka he has a mohawk. But it wasn't just the Scot, the devil answered when his name was called.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

It was almost as if he knew who you were the moment your eyes met, like a fuse set off between you. Brown eyes, deep like dark chocolate, and cold like the tundra, and more magnetic than any other man you've ever seen, he stared at you, speaking to his friend,

"Seems like they do, Johnny."

Gravelly and low, almost inaudible if it weren't for your fixated ear, his voice whispered to Soap, his eyes never leaving yours. Soap, or Johnny as Ghost had so endearingly called him, grinned, plopping beside you,

"Aye, yer that new medic Laswell's been talkin' 'bout?"

You blink a couple times before you smile, nodding as you introduce yourself. Soap smiles back, polite yet inked with a bit of his eccentric personality, taking your hand into a firm shake. You smile up at the masked figure,

"You must be Ghost, right?"

He gave a bland grunt, not that you expected much more from a quiet man. Soap grinned, ignoring Ghosts lack of proper manners to introduce himself. With small conversation, they left, almost.

Although he walked away, he never left your mind, and you never left his.

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

i think i'm just gonna set the reader to female bc ik i'm eventually gonna do suggestive bits so it'll be easier in the long run. lmk if you have any ideas for simon. [or the others i wrote about!!] also lmk if i should make a taglist. [part two]

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directory

[massivechestplate]

Is anyone else tired over recent events? Not in a sleepy way, but in that bone-deep depression way?

Bit of a long post about the general Gacha game-sphere. Needed to get this off of my chest, might as well scream into the void.

I ask this as someone who flirts between these gacha games out of boredom mostly. They're free, they're phone, they got Story, and I'm not spending a cent on them personally, so that's why I play them.

But every fucking day it seems we got another controversy. Bad VA this, fired an artist that, White_Pharaoh.png being handed out like fucking candy on Halloween lately.

And then we discuss on how Its Bad, and we all know Its Bad, people discuss on what to do, Boycott, torch the franchise and run, stay and try to fix it, ignore it because it's been your Comfort Media for the past 3 years, all that stuff. And it's hard. And a lot of those choices always feel half-assed.

I've been around a bit, I've seen it. I was around when Fate Grand Order had LB7, Wandjina, and all the other shit on 2023 JP hit, and there was talk, some talked but stayed, others left but chose to still engage with Type-Moon works, some might've left completely but I never heard of them.

I was around when Project Moon fired Vellmori, and there was betrayal, some deciding to leave, others staying because Project Moon wormed into their hearts and they decided to stay even knowing what was happening. Knowing what it was now built on and where the lines were drawn.

And I'm here now in the midst of the Hoyoverse shittery round 2, I don't think I need to speak at length on that. We've all seen it.

And all the time every potential choice to take feels half-assed?

Do you leave, abandoning the franchise as if leaving without fighting to improve something makes you good, preserving your own morality at the cost of never making anything better? The lack of evil substituting for substantial good?

Do you boycott? If so is it purely not spending money or not even logging in? Does it even make a difference? After all, when do these oversea companies really listen to anyone outside their country of origin? Is it enough to stop on that one specific game and still buy other works, or do you condemn the whole?

Do you continue on as normal, to indulge in the media? To continue what brings you joy and comfort? Is criticizing and acknowledging the faults enough or just lipservice?

Are we arrogant to impose our values on others, hating foreign companies not conforming to our beliefs? Or is this completely reasonable, every scathing speech and point completely justified and never bordering on some level of sinophobia?

And just... it's hard. Hard enough trying to be a Good Person normally but here? In this space? Part of it feels natural and some action is necessary for the Good of Everything, the other part feels like a big fuss over something ultimately small and meaningless.

And it hurts. You give out pieces of yourself to these stories, let it become a part of you, then become forced to tear it out of your heart just to be Good. And when I say that I don't mean in that internet point "I'm a good person way" but the way of being Good with yourself, proving only to yourself.

And it doesn't help that plenty of us have devolved into humanity's good old passtime of tribalism, mockery, and a lack of empathy for The Other. Everyone's been taking the piss out of the other gacha players for the stuff their games pull as if their own games haven't done the same. Some of it might be in good nature, over exaggerated and self-deprecating, a joke or criticism, but its honestly become indistinguishable from genuine malice and contempt.

And...

I'm tired.

Tired of seeing this. Tired of dealing with it. Tired of wondering what to do, what's the best choice, what choice even is there.

Part of me is honestly tempted to just not care. To accept that I'm a bad person by playing these games and going through with it anyways because I'm so tired and cynical that hedonistic indulgence just becomes more worth it than trying to be good. At most accept a Gacha-game that's a 'Lesser Evil' compared to another, if that even counts.

Because it hurts. Because you let these stories change you, touch you, let them into your heart, and then have to tear it out with your own two hands and pretend it doesn't hurt. And you can't feel like you can mourn what you lost, because someone will come in and start raving about how it's dumb you even cared to begin with.

I've seen arguments for every option, from people I don't respect and people I do, strangers and prominent community figures. I've warred with the argument of "Morally Pure Media doesn't exist, don't beat yourself up over it" and wonder just how absolute that statement should be.

And I don't know.

And all I want is to go to sleep, and wake up and have it magically be better.

[vikwrites]

Money, Money, Money - Tony Stark

CHAPTER 1 Summary ➣ Starting off as simple, transactional love during the height of Tony’s alcoholism, devolves into something real. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 1.2k words Warnings ➣ Slow Burn, Power Imbalance, Enemies to Lovers, Large age gap, Mildly Pretentious Narrator. Author's Notes ➣  The first, full-fledged Tony Stark series, so excited for this! I've always wanted to write a Materialistic!Reader so here it is! Happy readings <3

On the 86th floor of Stark Tower, atop a mini-bar, sat a delicate glass of Vodka Martini, 3 fluid-ounce Yamazaki, 1 fluid-ounce dry vermouth, with 3 small olives minutely pierced onto a thin gold-plated skewer. 

The thin stem of the crystal glass was passed to your gauzy, manicured fingers, in exchange for a crisp stack of ten dollar bills surrendered to the bartender, you didn’t bother to count. 

The plump skewer of olives swirled freely in your nearly full martini; minute drops threatened to spill over the edge of its fine rim. Luckily, you had caught the droplets before they had been discarded onto the carpeted floor.

Figures adorned in hues of gold and silver flitted about the lavish parlor, each mirrored the twinkling lights of the Manhattan skyline outside in their respective shimmering gowns, each one more expensive than the last. 

The atmosphere was lively, yet the main attraction has yet to arrive. You had heard mentions of the infamous Stark around; his name carried a certain mystique, spoken under hushed whispers amongst the attendees. You had never really met him face-to-face, considering he was the CEO of the company, but your position at Stark Industries held up a pretty good reputation, earning you enough, and granting you an invite to the party.

“Do you think he’s seeing anyone?” You picked up on the conversation between a few women sitting next to you on the barstools. The woman in question, doused in the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 5, was dressed in a form-fitting Valentino dress. Her voice carried through the air with a thick New-Yorkean accent, a bleak resemblance to her flashy, ostentatious appearance. 

“Quit it, stop trying to get into Stark’s pants. You never will.” The blonde next to you responded, patting the other on the shoulder playfully. You caught a glimpse of her manicured nails, adorned with a glossy velvet finish in a similar fashion to your own. However, unlike yours—which were neatly trimmed, the cuticles of her nails were a bit messy. A detail that wouldn't normally matter, but for some reason stood out to you in that moment.

Is she wearing a Cartier bracelet? Your jaw clenched at the sight of her bracelet, sparkling with diamonds and catching the light in a way that made your own bracelet pale in comparison, it was obviously more expensive than yours. The fact alone pissed you off. 

The room was filled with a swarm of pretentious individuals, each one flaunting their wealth and superiority. It was suffocating, being surrounded by so many egotistical assholes with their holier-than-thou attitudes. They may have money, but it didn't make them any less shallow or arrogant. You had this sixth-sense of being able to tell how much of an asshole specifically by what adorned their money-laced wrists—whether or not they wore a Patek Phillipe or a Jaeger was enough insight into their entire persona. 

“I’ve got a better chance than you at least, Stark would love me!” The first woman's voice snapped like a taut wire, dripping with disdain. Her eyes narrowed and glinted with malice as she shot dirty looks at the others, her loathing almost palpable.

Holier-than-thou attitude, as you had said.

You thought their behavior immature, not wanting to pay attention anymore to such infantile arguments. Fighting over some uber-rich billionaire who could give less of a shit who you are after you had warmed his bed for a single night? 

Pfft, fuck no, you were just here for the cocktails.

You brought the crystal glass to your lips, and took your first sip. The alcohol burnt as it cascaded down your throat, leaving your mouth with a spicy aftertaste, you could never really get used to a Martini. 

A part of you was contemplating asking for more, but the sensible side knew that ending up slobbering drunk at a party and waking up at the ungodly hour of 2pm with missing jewelry and a killer hangover was not exactly your idea of a good time.

The smooth sip of your drink is abruptly halted by the sharp sound of glass shattering, followed by the shrill voices of the ladies engaged in a vicious argument. Their heated words and swinging arms in-turn send glasses crashing to the ground, littering the once-pristine carpet with sparkling shards of broken glass. 

“Did you just call me a bitch?” The blonde's voice rose to a screeching crescendo as she yelled, her face flushed with anger. With a loud thud, she slammed her purse onto the table.

“Yeah, I did—bitch!” Another responded, her voice a bit more high pitched than the other, yet still carrying the same sanctimonious attitude, standing up and facing her with a smug smirk on their face. 

“Now, ladies. Must we really be resorting to calling each other names?” A voice echoed from atop the stairwell. The women’s dispute had been abruptly quelled, the whole room seemed silenced, and all eyes seemed to be glued onto the figure.

There stood Tony Stark, dressed in a perfectly-styled, deep-burgundy suit, no doubt Tom Ford, the barchetta pocket gave it away. His hair was styled in his signature quiff, slicked back to a T. And of course, he topped off the ensemble with a pair of red sunglasses, which you’d always found amusing since he'd wear them indoors. 

“Welcome, everybody. I would introduce myself, but it seems that you know who I am.” Each step he takes down the glass staircase, each time his Louboutin boots hit the glass stairs, resulted in a loud, echoed clap, which resonated across the room. “I’d personally like to thank all of you for attending. As you know, it happens to be my anniversaire today, so I thought to myself, why not throw a party?”

"What's with all the staring, is my suit on backwards?" Tony joked, his eyes scanning the room as he flashed his signature smirk. You knew, however, he thrived on attention, as if it were fuel for his larger-than-life persona. Flamboyant was practically his middle name; Tony Flamboyant Stark does have a nice ring to it, you chuckled.

"Jarvis," Tony’s voice carried a hint of excitement as he spoke to his AI, "let's crank up the music and get this party started." The monotone response did as so. 

After Tony made his grandeur entrance, you retreated to your lone seat at the bar, grateful for the temporary escape from the chaos. The previously bickering women had vanished, leaving a few neighboring barstools conveniently open for your solitude. You took a deep breath and savored the cool air conditioning and the soft murmur of conversation floating around you.

But just when you thought you had some peace and quiet, you heard the shuffling of a chair being pulled out next to you. Expecting one of the argumentative ladies to return, you turned to find Tony  Stark himself settling into the seat beside you, nonchalantly pulling out his wallet and fishing out a few bills.

"So, could I buy you a drink?" 

⎊ back to masterlist

[oneslimybastard]

Ghetsis facts:

>At least two grunts are scared of him (musharna being able to spook them off with visions of being scolded by Ghetsis)

>His speeches does in fact convince some people to release their pokémon or at least second-guess their view on the trainer-pokémon relationship

>Tells the grunts to give Bianca's Munna back

>Persuasive enough to essentially wiggle some of his Guys out of arrest in Driftveil, even if Clay does it reluctantly

>Knows Reshiram and Zekrom would not fuck with him so he picks up a miracle child from the forest to do it for him instead. Raises said child kind of like his own but also kind of not, there's a deliberate distance put between them

>Did make this wonderchild who can speak to pokémon and are clearly very empathetic towards them hang out with pokémon who had been mistreated for the purpose of instilling an ideology in him.

>Randomly has 3 ninjas who are just ride or die until the end of time for some reason

>Lots of team plasma is ride or die for him actually, otherwise Neo Team Plasma wouldn't have been a thing

>He rubs the death of Alder's partner pokémon in the mans face. All cheeky beaky like. Because he can.

>He will tell the teenager his Adopted I Swear Not Related Promise son is fixated on as a rival all about how he basically groomed say son into doing all of this dragon bullshit while having them cornered on a bridge. Then just casually walks off. His ninjas are there too.

>Will also happily tell said teenager they probably aren't that special or chosen or whatever, lol lmao, seems like ur dragon haven't woken up yet, dw maybe it will, lol.

>Cannot take an L to save his fucking life. Will lash out at everything and everyone around him and build a stupid airship with a stupid laser powered by the crinkly old grandpa of the dragon trio and do a terrorism before taking an L

>Refers to himself as being PERFECT while inhaling massive amounts of copium

>Needs a cane in bw2 and is only ever seen using one of his hands, so probably physically disabled to some degree

>Strong enough to jam the butt of that cane into the solid frozen earth of a cave. Probably just kind of a visual metaphor for him being threatening but also Hear Me Out What If He's Fucking Built-

>N is ride or die for him enough to still try and get through to him during the bw2 climax despite having been utilized as a silly little pawn yet again. This does not work, because as previously mentioned, man just cannot take that L

>When faced with literally no other option but to take an L, he passes out. His ninja squad punctuates this with him probably not being a threat anymore.

Ghetsis interpertation:

I think all of these things weave together into just a very fascinating person when you look at them a little deeper. Someone who's clearly charismatic enough to acquire that much loyalty, love, and fear — but also not equipped to handle the shame of failure in the god damn slightest. When threatened he devolves from a calculated cult leader above it all to a snarling animal fighting for its life, because he's probably rotted away behind a mask of perfectionism for years rather than done any significant growth as a person. He's clearly intelligent, probably highly emotionally intelligent because if he wasn't he wouldn't be able to pull this shit, but all of that shatters and breaks and splinters with one (1) crucial failure. He tries to recuperate but can't, the survival instinct is breathing down his neck because to him the shame of being a human like the rest of them rather than the perfect ideal he's been forging is scarier than anything that could actually physically kill him. He blames N, he blames MC, Colress, just about anyone and anything that doesn't end up pointing back to his own shortcomings.

And still! N probably loves him! And it's probably genuine! He wants to connect with him and breach that gap and give him ibuprofen because even if he's shown himself to be cringe, that's still his father, which is something he values enough to try and hold on to. And the ninja guys remain ride or die, so there's clearly something to him other than schemes and trickery, something genuine and beautiful that might not in practice be worth fighting for but it sure feels like it.

A beautiful man who's warped himself into a demon because he couldn't stand his own humanity because he's probably autistic and traumatized from his undefined childhood, and when he's beat down, rather than taking that L at long last, he'll curl up in his little cage, continue to snarl and tell himself over and over that this is what he is. What he will always be. He couldn't become god so he resigns to dying a devil. Because even still, that is preferable to him over taking that L, admitting to himself he is just a little guy like other little guys with problems he couldn't cope with, and that it caused hurt and destruction.

Devils don't feel regret or shame, humans do. And he'd have a loooot of that to chug through if he decided to face it. So he won't.

which is just very sexy and milfy and babygirl of him i think. this is my "why ghetsis is like so sexy actually" manifesto, without even tapping into the juice that is him going "nuh-uh" over his own dang disabilities but that too ties into how he can't cope with his own imperfect humanity so u know. Also that he's just kinda sassy and petty. Amazing. 10/10 best written character not in the games but in my brain.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Summer 2020 - The Hard Deck

Chapter 8 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Two months. Sometimes you can't believe you've already been dating Bradley Bradshaw, the most perfect man you've ever met and your soulmate, for that long. But with the pressures of being officers in the Navy and everything your jobs entail, you haven't taken your relationship to the next step. When a night at The Hard Deck has you seeing green, you decide enough is enough. Bradley is your soulmate and you're going to make sure he knows just how much you love him.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 4051

A/N: Hiya lovelies! I'm back with yet another chapter of YAMS! My muse sort of went into hibernation between March and now, but never fear, this fic is not on hiatus! I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Tinkerbell

It’s been only a little under a year since you came to North Island. So much has changed over that time. The biggest change? Finding Bradley Bradshaw. You can’t believe you once wished anyone else could be your soulmate. Now, you’re not sure you could wish for anyone else. It feels like your entire outlook on life has changed, because you’re not sure you could go back to the person who wasn’t quickly falling in love with their soulmate.

Bradley Bradshaw is different now, too. When he’s not on base, he’s sweet and kind, considerate in a way you’d agreed he wouldn’t be when you were on duty. A part of the reason why is because nobody on base (except your best friends) knows that Bradley Bradshaw is your soulmate. Neither of you is in a rush to put a label on what you are either. Jake and Javy have both asked you, repeatedly, whether you're together, but you can’t tell them not when you’re not sure what is going on between you and your soulmate. After your contentious first few months at North Island, you’re a little afraid to ask Bradley, as well. What if that question makes everything devolve between the two of you? What if you go back to the fighting? You’re not sure you can go back to how it used to be between the two of you, with tension rising in the air between you. You think Bradley feels the same as you do. You hope he does. While you can still see the disbelief on his face sometimes when you kiss him, like he can’t believe he’s yours, you’re still not sure.

The rumor mill around North Island hasn’t helped anything. It’s obvious the newest Top Gun class has heard the rumors of the last few months. It should be a blessing they haven’t focused on the events leading up to Hawk’s inquiry and its aftermath. Instead, they’ve chosen to focus on what is going on (or may be going on) between you and Bradley. No doubt they’ve heard from Calypso, who was as gossipy as could be, before coming to North Island. You’ve witnessed it yourself, how the LTJG gossip network works. How else would news of the great Maverick’s latest brush with the Admiralty become the next talked about thing when you’re on board a ship for months at a time? Now every interaction you have with the Dagger Squadron is examined with a fine-toothed comb when superior officers aren’t present. You’ve heard some truly ridiculous things at this point, just by walking past the lounge.

“Have you seen how Tinkerbell is with Phoenix and Bob? I’m pretty sure she’s fucking both of them in addition to Bradshaw. The question is if they know or if she’s cheating on each of them with the others?”

As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, it seems like you’re rumored to be romantically linked to almost every Dagger you speak to.

“Okay, but have you seen how she acts with Coyote and Hangman? If she gets any closer to them when they’re off duty, she’d be on top of them.”

“I bet you 50, she is!”

“I’d take that bet, but Hangy’s too buttoned up for that!”

If only it were just the Dagger Squad you’ve been rumored to be in a relationship with.

“She’s totally got an April-September thing going on with Admiral Mitchell! You’ve seen him napping on the sofa in front of her desk! Why else would an Admiral be in the AMDO hangar?”

Your favorite rumors of all, though, are the ones about Bradley and you. 

“Bradshaw has to be who she is dating! He smiles so much when she’s around him! There’s this tension between the two of them all the time! If they’re not head over heels for each other, then I think I need a vacation (or my radar is broken).”

“That’s a shame, Jiffy! Are you a WSO or aren’t you?”

“Fuck you, Toast! Anyways, like I was saying, they’ll be fucking before we graduate from Top Gun!”

They’re your favorite rumors because they’re the ones most likely to come true, not that any of the class will come to know, especially not Toast and Jiffy, from whom you heard that last parlay. 

It’s the turmoil of being known as Bradley Bradshaw’s soulmate which has had you in a tailspin since the aftermath of that all too successful first date. Can you be known as his? Yes. Do you want to be known as his? Yes and no. That’s about where your feelings and thoughts get complicated. You’d love to scream “Bradley Bradshaw is my soulmate” from the rooftops. But you’re also tired of the double standard. You get enough of it as is, being a successful female, AMDO Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy. The words Bradley had flung at you that first night on North Island (the ones he has apologized for a hundred times)? You’ve heard them more times than you can count. You’re sure you’ll hear them again. But you’re also sure that if the news of you and Bradley being soulmates gets out, every achievement of your career will be in question.

Despite all of the leading research in the world, nobody fully understands how far and deep soulmate bonds go. After all, it’s difficult to, when there are as many types of bonds as there are and even more types of soul markers. You and your soul shared dreams, centered around different objects integral to your soul's identity. Your parents only heard the music the other was listening to until they met. Jake and Javy hold each other’s names on their skin, written out in each other's handwriting. It seems like each type of bond holds a different type of connection, too. In the two months since you and Bradley crashed together, opening the bond, you’ve begun to feel his emotions, get a sense of what he's thinking. Nobody knows how the bond will evolve, but you’re sure it could evolve into a full telepathic bond given time. If anyone were to know, they’d assume your talent with fighter jets came from your soul. They’d find it hard to believe you knew anything of your own. The thoughts have you questioning yourself just a little, too. Before you met him, who knows how much of the bond was open? How much of your success was due to him and how much of it was due to your own hard work?

Thankfully, you have Mav and Ice to confide in and counsel you. Their advice and reassurances have gone a long way in helping you sort out exactly how and when you want your bond publicized. As it turns out, you weren’t the only person to be shocked when they found out Ice and Mav are each other’s soulmates. It’s probably the US Navy’s best kept secret, to be clear. Very few people know, mostly family and commanding officers. You’ve even had the chance to view their public files. There is only a singular line mentioning their bond in each file, stating the words Soulbound, Married followed by the other’s initials.

The way Mav tells it, keeping each other hidden, keeping their bond quiet, has been the biggest help of their careers. Ice would have never been able to protect Mav over the years if their bond had been widely publicized. Of course, like most things in life, it wasn't easy. But it's the price they've each paid time and again to be with each other in spite of their dual need to succeed in their chosen fields.

Bradley and you've talked about it, too. It wasn’t a unilateral decision on either of your parts. You both have goals in your careers you are trying to achieve. So you're trying to follow the same precedent and example. But despite Mav’s warnings, you weren’t expecting keeping your distance from Bradley Bradshaw to be quite so difficult. At work, it's not as big a deal, staying away from each other. It feels like you couldn’t behave in any other way, honestly. Every motion is choreographed, governed by the muscle memory of bodies conditioned by the US Navy into holding themselves a certain way, responding in a certain way.

Unfortunately, the two of you act the same way when you're alone. When you're at home or at Mav and Ice's house, you melt into him, kiss him, hold him like you've been aching to for your whole life. But when you’re out and about in San Diego, he keeps a constant distance between you. He doesn’t slip his arm around your shoulder or your waist, kiss your cheek or shoulder or any of the hundreds of little ways couples you see on the street show their love for each other. You know it’s part and parcel of your pact. But it still makes you feel like a dirty little secret when you know you’re anything but. At least Bradley still kisses you like he believes you are going to disappear if he blinks. Each embrace, each brush of his lips against your skin sparks an inferno. But that is it. As soon as his lips meet your skin, they're gone again.

For weeks you've been feeling the itch under your skin, begging you to get closer to your soul. You're craving intimacy, a need to imprint yourself on his skin so deep he'll never forget who he belongs to. You might not be able to show it publicly, but privately, you’re ready to stake your claim. You know how gorgeous your soul is, inside and out. After all, you have eyes. You would never have noticed him the first night at the Hard Deck all those months ago if it weren’t for his charisma and looks. If only there was a way you could show him, in front of anyone who matters.

It doesn’t help that you can’t even kiss him when you’re off duty most of the time, because you inevitably find yourselves at The Hard Deck with the rest of the Dagger Squadron. There are too many eyes on you, on the Dagger Squadron when you’re there. They’re practically famous, and with Naval personnel other than the Daggers around, you can’t risk anything. When the Daggers are involved, things always seem to get turned on their heads. They are an affectionate squadron, closer to family than colleagues, preferring to hug each other with impunity. After all, you’ve seen the puppy-pile the lot of them turn into after a particularly rough training session at the behest of Mav. So it’s no wonder the rumors fly as fast and furiously about them as they do.

Anti-fraternization regulations are one thing. The badge bunnies and the odd bachelorette parties who wander into the Hard Deck for fun with some men and women in uniform are something else entirely. With enough alcohol, they flirt with anyone in sight. It’s no wonder they flirt as much as they do with your soulmate. They fall over themselves when he sits at the piano at the end of the bar, a flirty smile on his lips as he tickles the ivory keys and sings with his gorgeous voice. He’s your soulmate. You know it in your soul, just as you know all the reasons why Bradley would never pick one of them. But logic and reasoning don’t keep you from seeing red whenever other women flirt with your man.

It’s late, half-past 11 at the very least, with the time ticking closer to midnight with every elapsed second. All the regulars have mostly cleared out tonight, leaving only the Daggers, you, and a few scantily-clad girls in the bar. The Daggers are often the first to enter the bar when it opens and the last to leave. Right now, they’re all arrayed at the pool tables, talking shit and taking shots with the cues in turn. Penny’s behind the bar, like always, though even she seems less than pleased by the high-pitched giggling from the bachelorette party tottering about on too high heels. You hope she’s at least getting good tips from their repeated squeals for shots.

Bradley’s the only Dagger not at the pool tables. Even Bob with his ever-present can of soda and cup of peanuts is over there. If you focus, you think you can hear him roasting Jake in that quiet understated way of his. But most of your focus is on the badge bunny draped across Bradley’s broad chest. She stinks of cheap tequila, you could probably smell her from a mile away, and only the sash draped around her proclaiming her to be the maid-of-honor explains why she’s in this bar. What’s pissing you off just a little more than how this slut is draped over your soulmate is how she barely seems to care how you’re right there. You’ve been standing next to Bradley all night long, closer than is proper for colleagues. His hand’s been looped through one of the belt-loops on your jeans all night too, hidden behind the high table, palm scorching as it rests just over the swell of your ass. What part of your posture screams “This man is single”? If that wasn’t enough, he’d been leaning into your face as you chatted in intimate whispers barely audible over the music. 

She’d barged right into the middle of your conversation, tossing her hair and batting her eyelashes. Even now, she’s flirting and giggling, the high-pitched noises making you wince, putting you so thoroughly on edge that you feel like you��re seconds from snapping. You sigh when she finally stumbles away, her heels clacking clumsily over the sticky floor. You could do without the come-hither eyes she sends Bradley’s way, but at least Bradley doesn’t seem to notice. His attention is on you, like it has been all night.

“Fuck,” His voice is rough, the sound wrapping around you in a way that makes your panties just a little wet. “I’m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

He tugs you in a little closer by your belt loops, the motion soothing the ragged edges of your nerves as the Sandalwood of his cologne drowns you.

“She just wouldn’t go away!”

He drags his hand, the one with his US Naval Academy ring with its garnet gem through his curls as he downs the last few sips of his beer. You track a droplet as it drips down his cut jaw, and desperately want to kiss your soul once again. Of course, that feeling is drowned by more rage as you catch the cow-eyes little miss Maid-of-Honor is making in her sparkly hot pink dress on the other side of the bar. 

It makes you a little reckless as you spit words out, trying to provoke an argument, something to make your soul realize little things like a woman flirting with him, touching him, bothers you.

“Hmm… I wonder why, Roo?” You roll your eyes and stamp your foot a little. “Maybe it’s ‘cause you looked happy to have her wrapped around you?”

He recoils at your words and vitriolic tone, a puppy-dog pout dragging the corners of his mouth down for just a few seconds before resettling his lips into his most charming grin. It’s too charming for words, eroding at the edges of your anger just enough to make her flirting seem less troubling than it is.

“Is everything okay, Tink?” His hand slides up, rubbing at your hip in slow circles, but you’re not willing to give in. “C’mon baby, tell me what I did wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know.”

You gulp the last bit of your margarita in response before shoving the glass into his chest.

“It’s nothing, Roo. I’m fine. Just a little thirsty, that’s all.”

Your excuse is slim at best. You know it. So does he by the quirk in his brow as he looks at you. 

“We’ll talk about this when you’re ready.”

Maybe it’s the bond working to let him know when you’re not ready to talk. But when he grabs his empty beer bottle and your martini glass and turns around to walk back to the bar, your irrational anger rears its ugly little head again. Because there she is in all of her glory, whispering with one of her friends, waving him over with red-taloned fingers while seductively staring at your soul. She’s obviously noticed the swagger in his hips just as much as you have. If only she’d noticed your glower in her direction, a gaze which is quickly turning into a piercing glare. You’re not trying to pick a fight, tonight. It's not Bradley's fault that women find him irresistible. You just want your soul to know she bothers you. And you want her to know he’s not hers to seduce into her bed just because he’s hot.

So your tone is artificially light as you call out, just loud enough over the din that Bradley hears you.

“You don’t even know you’re doing it, huh?”

“Doing what?” He sounds confused, adorably so.

“I mean, it’s obvious you haven’t spent any time on a farm.”

You grin from ear-to-ear, fighting the urge to fist-bump the air, when he turns around, out of the line of sight of little miss Maid-of-Honor at the other end of the bar. He thuds the empties down and crosses his arms across his chest, the muscles bulging mouth-wateringly in front of you. It’s obvious he knows what you’re up to based on the amused quirk to his lips, but he’s playing along regardless.

“And you have?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he looks down at you. Your grin could be called positively wicked in response.

“Sure I have! Seresin Ranch is an awful lot of fun at Christmas-time!” You tug one of the chairs over and sit down in it, keeping the high table between you and your soulmate. “You know what else they have at Seresin Ranch?”

“Lemme take a quick guess here…” 

His eyebrows raise as he pretends to think. 

“Chickens?”

“Yup!”

You relish in the shape of your lips as you pop the ‘p’ in your too cheeky response to him.

“And there is one ole Rooster in the flock, too. And you know how he walks? Especially when he’s got a hen he’s wooing?”

“Just like I do?” Your lips quirk at the disappointment on his face, destroying the mock thoughtful pout you'd sent your soul's way moments before. When a smile sneaks onto his lips unwillingly, you giggle. He looks fondly exasperated at the sight of your glee, but takes a step closer to you.

“God, Tinky! If I hadn’t been right here all night, I would’ve been asking you just how much you’ve had to drink tonight!”

You can’t find it in you to respond, the thoughts flitting past at lightning speed. It feels like you’re magnetized to his presence. One of his big hands wraps around your hip as he comes to stand between your open legs. He’s a lot, all of a sudden, standing there so close. It’s a little overwhelming. You can’t keep your eyes off of his face, eyes straying repeatedly over the little laugh lines stamped at the corner of his eyes and the way his lips are spit-slicked and a little chapped. You’re so close to him, you’d be kissing him if you pressed upwards just a little more. But somehow, you can’t bring yourself to.

“You’re jealous.”

Everything in you screams you should deny the statement. But you can’t lie. The bond would tell him what your face hasn’t already.

“C-can you blame me?”

The words leave you in a puff of breath, barely audible over the clinking glasses and the whir of the jukebox in the corner.

“Why would you be jealous? I promise there’s no reason for you to be jealous. I promise, sweetheart.” There’s something almost knowing in his face.

“I - I should believe you, Bradley, but I don’t. There's no reason why I shouldn't be jealous of the girls who flirt with you who look like that.” You want to believe him, but the words aren't reassuring in the slightest. “E - especially when I know I’ve never once looked like that on my best days, forget my worst.”

He cups your cheek in his big hand, his skin hot against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” He sighs, then, pressing his forehead against yours. “And you don’t even know it, do you? That first night? When you were chatting with Penny at the bar wearing that sundress? I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I was tracking you all night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since. You have a way of taking over the room with your presence. You’re so sure of who you are and what you’re capable of. You’ve never shied about going after what you want. I admire that about you. I adore that about you.”

“So trust me, beautiful, when I say you have nothing to worry about. You never have and you never will. I know it in my very soul.”

This? This is exactly why it took less than two months for you to fall head-over-heels in love with your soulmate. He always seems to know what to say to make you see things in a different way. All of a sudden, it feels like there isn’t anyone else in the room. The noise of the jukebox, of the Daggers squabbling in the background fades away. All you want in that moment is your soul. But just before you fling yourself into his arms, the shattering of glass jolts you out of your feelings. You're too close to Bradley Bradshaw - too close for a pair of colleagues sharing a late night drink after a long day. Were you both anywhere else, you would have kissed him already, given your preoccupation with the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him.

Instead, you murmur, “I'm heading out, Roo. I've got this terrible headache and I should probably turn in early for the night.”

You know he's looking at you with those big, deep brown eyes, trying to get you to meet his gaze, convince you to stay for another drink, another chat, another laugh. But you can’t. You're at the end of your rope. If you were to fall now, loosen your grip on the chains keeping you in check, it would result in the destruction of your efforts. The Daggers barely acknowledge your goodbyes, too absorbed by the game of pool happening before their eyes. Penny wraps you in a motherly embrace as you pay your tab, enquiring fussily if you need her to call a cab. With every move you make, you feel eyes on you. You know exactly who it is, your soul, watching eagle-eyed as you collect your bag and walk out to your car. You know it’s that old Bradshaw chivalry rearing its head, something Mav told you Goose had exhibited with Carole his whole life.

So, of course, you're not alone in the sea-perfumed night air for long. Footsteps disturbing gravel follow you as soon as you step out of the pool of light cast by The Hard Deck’s lamps, hints of sandalwood scent curling around you on the breeze.

“C'mon, sweetheart. Don't I even get a kiss goodnight?” He's wheedling, enticing. Damn him, because you ache for his skin in a way you're not sure you could ever voice. He’s weakening your resolve with every step in your direction.

“There isn't even anybody watching!”

“Who said I was saying goodnight, Roo?” 

The shell-shocked look on his face makes you giggle as you start your car and drive away from The Hard Deck. The roads are deserted, but not for long. Only seconds later, you hear the growl of an engine and smile at the sight of a blue truck pulling up behind you. Your phone chirps with a text as you idle at a stoplight.

This time, I'm not letting you go.

This time, you muse as the light changes, you don’t intend to let him walk out the door so easily.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[eldritch-spouse]

How would the TCE boys hold up in a zombie apocalypse?

Putting aside the fact that Krulu and Miara would never let that happen.

[A zombie apocalypse setting is very intriguing, because you have to ask yourself a series of questions here. Are there only human zombies or monster zombies too? What properties do monster zombies have in particular? What has started the apocalypse? How does it spread?? It'd take so incredibly long to piece this all together coherently. So I'm going to go with something quite generic.]

TW: Mild gore; Unsanitary acts; Mild angst.

Morell has a very unique skill in this bleak scenario. Provided the zombie isn't too old, Morell can probably cook it in a way that still provides some type of nourishment and doesn't infect you. Or maybe it does... Just a little bit at a time. Maybe that's why he's been a little more bloodthirsty and twitchy lately. Is that a dark patch spreading around his cap? Zombies have began to avoid him, perhaps because he's a freak even to them. A zombie that eats zombies...

Grimbly is not having fun. But for one reason only mostly. Undead blood doesn't taste good, and it hardly sustains him. Depending on the scope of the invasion, he may die of starvation, or simply have to target survivors. Otherwise, he'd likely have an easier time avoiding zombies due to his speed, and killing them likely isn't that big of a hassle either. Grimbly could make a living wiping out groups of zombies for people and getting paid in blood.

Gallon would move to water bodies and mostly remain there. Zombies are sluggish in water generally. Slimes can remove nutrients from a surprising amount of things, so his biggest fear Iis only getting distracted enough to get bitten, and that the infection starts rotting his slime too fast for him to regenerate in time. He's so alert he's going vastly insane and extremely murderous towards most.

Santi is... Existing. He fucked a few zombies, don't judge him! Some of them are entertaining and clean, others just kinda... Well. He doesn't really find them to be ideal meals. Especially when he has to crush their jaws and break limbs so they don't infect him during coitus. He doesn't exactly feel threatened, but he does feel lonely and always a tad hungry. He's waiting to attach himself to someone and gain a steady stream of food, preferably someone weaker so he can act as their guard dog. Please he's so tired of limp zombie dick and lumpy pussy. They can't even suck.

Vinnel is getting a little too silly with it. Zombies can't pierce his suit, it was made by a God, after all, no rotted teeth and claws can ruin it. So he just floats around, picks some of them up and performs for absolutely no one but himself. The jester has put clown makeup on at least five zombies. They have names and they're his best friends! Except Pogo, the little shit keeps tearing the tutu off. Ungrateful fuck. Not everyone has the privilege to look good during the apocalypse, Pogo. Vinnel is also always starving to a degree. He doesn't kill survivors anymore out of desperation for genuine conversation. Most people just run from him.

Nebul, as an undead, has nothing to worry about. He will actually weaponize large hordes of them using his abilities as a wraith. Nebul is a creature to be feared during an apocalypse. He's likely the mastermind behind organized zombie attacks. His goal? To establish control of sizable portions of land and inflict total submission on those living he comes across. It may devolve into an apocalyptic cult. He's having a grand old time really! You may find him walking around with several bare humans in leashes crawling by his side. Somehow, someway, Purpur can eat zombies and be perfectly fine.

Patches, likewise, is not a target. Except he's less preoccupied with domination and more so trying to fight his instincts to put the living dead back into their graves. It's strange, his dullahan instincts don't usually react like this to other undead... He's holed up somewhere like a hermit, trying to study the source of the infection and keeping Stitches from exhausting himself in an effort to kill all zombies. Curiously, the sound of his yelling as a dullahan causes great confusion and fear in these particular types of undead. He has succeeded in controlling at least one zombie, but killed it shortly afterwards.

Belo is devastated, like any angel ought to be watching the Earth get populated by corruption that Dorem ought to have fixed. He kills most zombies he comes across and cannot be infected as far as he knows. Zombies avoid him, actually. Belo spends his time finding groups of survivors and attempting to help them fortify their bases. After all, they're all that's left... Even if they're demons, anything is better than those rotting husks. In a way, Belo feels as if he's been abandoned a second time, his existence is vastly miserable.

Sybastian is having a strange time. The zombies that have a fainter sense of smell don't pick up on him when he mimics them, the rest do, forcing him to be very careful. He's not having an easy time considering his method of dispatching zombies is very physical and he could get bitten in zones of his body that he fails to harden. Sybastian has lost many a mimicling to the apocalypse and lives mostly to protect the remaining ones, who have managed to survive alongside him. He too wants to find a group, in spite of adult mimics not being pack species.

Fank-e is having a... Boring time, mostly. He's not a target, in fact, he's loud and grating enough to drive zombies away. He doesn't need food or water. But he does need maintenance, so it's imperative he finds someone who can work in robotics minimally well or he'll perish eventually. Truth of the matter is he can't exactly die from battery loss, he may just lie dormant collecting moss and dust until someone with enough resources finds him. It's just as likely that he'll get torn into pieces and reused as armor or plating for other important machinery.

[kurithedweeb]

I did not have nearly as many thoughts about Gene before I started this rewrite. Like, brain, you know he's not gonna be seen in this thing we're writing for ages, why can't you think about something useful like finding a tiny half-feral almost naked lady in the woods or getting your shit rocked by unexpected terrain during a dark and stormy chase sequence? But no!

No, instead you keep thinking about the "For my next trick! . . . I'm gonna fucking kms" audio on TikTok you listened to a month back except it's Gene, grinning and victorious even as he loses, standing against his brother and putting a knife to his own throat while Dante, who has still loved him all this time, who can't bear to betray him a second time no matter what Gene's done to him, runs for him while crying for him not to do this, not to take his brother from him a second time. Bad brain. I need to think about anything except Gene, a bit battered and bruised, sitting on the curb with his sword leaning against his shoulder while he lights a cigarette cupped gently by a gauntlet that shines like an oil slick in the light of the match, a little sleepy after a good fight.

I don't have time to be working on Gene's fic right now. I'm excited for it, I'm excited to get into the bad habits and devolving attitude coupled with ascension in power but remaining soft for his family and cute little kids, Dante especially, until the betrayal and execution and climbing the ranks of the Shadow Knights with horrible efficiency, and Gene twisting himself into worse and worse shapes as he becomes an unmistakable villain standing at the right hand of the greatest villain history has ever known, being praised for his ruthlessness by someone he'll never give a reason to betray him, by someone who hand-picked him from death itself and gifted him his greatest powers and greatest vengeance and who treats him like he's the most important of his special hand-picked army because he's gotten so very GOOD at being the general he's clawed his way into becoming, okay? I am. Just not right this second.

But the brainpower I spend thinking of this little con artist. This actor, this showman, who twists the past into his preferred reality with a sly little smile. This man who has turned himself into a pawn on his own board, who wields his manipulative little games like he does his blade; with clear finesse and brutal strength in turn. It's too much brainpower.

How did he worm his way into my brain? I have no clue, but he's taken up residence in there and I don't think he's leaving any time soon.

[scribble-brain-aced]

cross has fangs.

okay so i read in the wiki that he has fangs. so

HEADCANONS:

-He canonically used to bite people. XGaster said it was childish, so he stopped, but one day in battle, he bit Ink’s arm so hard, he practically fucking amputated it. Everyone in the castle treated him like a rabid dog for about 2 days afterward.

-He doesn’t bite people anymore, yeah. But there’s no reason he doesn’t bite pencils, sleeves, hoodie strings, his own fingers, stuff like that. He’s probably spent more than 1000 bucks on pencils in one particular stressful week.

-Kinda embarrassed by them because XGaster didn’t like them. So he doesn’t really use his fangs too often. At least, not when people can see him. Like, he looks around to be sure nobody’s watching, before biting the cap off of a water bottle.

-His fangs are fucking SHARP. i mean- yeah obviously. but like. REALLY sharp. If you’ve ever read The Subtle Knife, it’s THAT sharp. in other words if you haven’t read it: literally sharp enough to pierce through the fabric of reality itself.

-he probably hisses or growls lmao

-the gang fights a LOT. arguments devolve into physical fights. Cross has probably bitten all of them at least once. knows what they all taste like, and that is knowledge he never even wanted.

-probably once broke a mug with his fangs alone. literally just took a sip of hot cocoa or something, got startled and bit down. literally shattered glass with the sheer power of Fangs.

-and yet somehow, nobody even knows he has fangs.

[kawareo]

what were some of your fav scenes/fights in bg3?

also completely unrelated, but what were Strike’s pre-tadpole stats?

oh boy okay stats first, then the ramble under cut ^-^

I said before that his stats as Durge would be pretty op, and I do know that they are, but I think the fact that he devolves so much before the events of the game evens him out lol - he was also multi-classing into a Fighter. I was trying to think of him more of in a 'what if he was the miniboss instead of Orin' way, rather than as if he were a playable character

After tadpoling, his stats have nearly halved, except Charisma which is still pretty high (like 17 at the start, i think)

I really like the Nere fight for some reason, especially if I made a deal with the duegar and also am trying to keep the gnomes alive!

And the entire part in the Ilithid colony, i love parts where you can clean out a place room by room, and then the big fights, once I figure out the strategies for them (for example, the Moonrise towers, creche, or protecting the grove, love when I learn how to beat them). Also in my evil Durge run every fight is fun because I have Lae'zen, Minthara, Shadowheart's spirit guardians and my sorcerer who can deal two level five spells per round if needed, so we kind of just power through every fight lol

All of the romance/sex scenes are lovely and I could stare at them forever, personal favorite is the Halsin one. The dance scene with Wyll is super cute. The entire tiefling party slaps absolute ass I love that section. Haarlep scene, too! Genuinely scary! That thing scares the shit out of me but their scene is so fun to watch.

Some of my all time favorite scenes are also Ketheric's introduction, Gortash and Orin talking (orin's va fucking killed it there with the "yes so no sir rip and cut your throat sir", i can quote that entire scene from memory), Minsc' introduction! Dame Aylin and Isobel kiss! The coronation scene! Anything where Auntie Ethel shows up! Rolan!

Lmao it might be shorter if I just tell you things that I dislike tbh, the list is shorter; i love Lae'zel but after act 2 I kind of really don't care about her storyline? I dont know why but the political coup and the githyanki drama just isn't that interesting to me. I couldn't care less about Orpheous, either. Genuinely fuck that Lorroakan fight I hate it form the bottom of my heart. Haven't found the dragon yet and I'm scared in advance because I heard some scary shit. I haven't had to fight any of the Thorm family yet because I always charisma my way through them but in my new run I'll try them, the fights look like a bitch though. It's mostly the gityanki stuff (besides Lae'zel herself) that i don't care that much for , almost everything else I can find interest for

[sonicasura]

Let's be honest with ourselves that Transformers Earthspark has its issues. It isn't uncommon for the series to have a few messy iterations throughout the years. However those at least have something going for them.

Bayverse is a junk pile yet there's a lot of material you can build off on and some pretty interesting concepts. RiD15 is an awful sequel to Prime but does decently well as a standalone although there are much needed changes to be had. Earthspark... Well, it's just there.

I can be lenient with the plot holes and poor pacing as Nickelodeon is notorious for interfering with any show that isn't SpongeBob to the point of cancellation. The issues truly land on the characters themselves. I'm gonna try to simplify it without devolving into a rant like the previous draft.

Edit: Gonna add some further edits as I wrote this in the middle of the night. Plus my simplified version skipped some key details.

Robby. Somehow they made a human character I actually dislike instead of be neutral about. In the official Transformers wiki, he's labeled as a big brother who cares for his siblings but his actions so far say otherwise. Robby literally ran away in the first episode because they moved then decided to try and hide the Terrans from his parents.

Yet he rarely gets enough consequences for his actions. I think we don't just need less Emberstone saves not just because of plot armor but force actual character growth on him. Like a life changing to one of his siblings as consequences for his actions and strained relationship until he gets his head outta his ass.

Edit: Yes, I know Robby is a teenager but that isn't a decent enough excuse for his behavior. Seen the trope about big brothers who do act closed off or at some points rude but they haven't done shit that put their family in serious danger. No, I didn't try to purposely forget the times he was injured badly.

There honestly needs to be less of those and his consequences be adjusted to it affects someone else badly. *

Next issue is lacking confrontation with Optimus choices alongside the obvious misplaced trust in the 13 Primes. Quintus Prime literally emotionally manipulated and scarred Mo through a fake bad ending reality because she doubted herself. No good person would do that, much less an actual ally. Even moreso on a child.

I seen this shit in Trollhunters but at least Jim, the main character, was a teenager. (It still was wrong though.) We also got remember that Liege Maximo and Megatronus/The Fallen are Primes. Yet somehow it is best to trust them.

Don't get me started with some of Optimus' choices when it comes to GHOST. He probably did it to protect his Autobots but what about the Decepticons who are locked away? Why are there so little of his companions with him especially since Bumblebee had fucking went into hiding before the show began.

There needs to be tension between Optimus with his Autobots. Someone is bound to snap and Bumblebee would have the biggest impact. The man clearly isn't okay as he's doing things that even Megatron admits ain't like him.

Mandroid needs to be written differently. He has the making of a sympathetic villain but oh boy. First off it is clear that his depiction is ableist aligned since the reason he doesn't like Cybertronians is because he lost his arm. Major thing to change right there.

Give him a narrative where his interest been genuine but slowly declines as the Autobot/Decepticon war increases the number of destroyed lives. Let him become a victim to this than just 'I lost my arm so death alongside experimentation to all Cybertronians'. Also don't make Mandroid ignore the obvious fact that the Transformers parts he puts into his body is slowly poisoning and instead come up with ways to fight the infection. Kinda like in Ironman 2 where Tony's arc reactor began to do the same thing.

Edit: Mandroid's negative views on Cybertronians are about the war and he's aware of the Energon poisoning. It is just that it is poorly portrayed to the point you rarely see it over his Arachnamechs/his ruined life.

Have the man present various evidence of destruction the war caused by both sides at the Malto children or anonymously spread such info around town to sew discontent with the townsfolk. 'These are the people who you consider heroes. Who you see as family and friends. Or should these tragedies be forgotten?'

Do a Baxter Stockman where you frequently see him try to fix the Energon poisoning than just simple dialogue. Even have testing on organic subjects to see how they react and find ways to counter it. Don't keep these key points as simple dialogue. *

I don't think Karen needs much changes either. 'But her taking over Cybertron doesn't make sense!' It actually does for one reason: hubris. Have you ever seen what happens when you give a control freak power? Their behavior becomes more erratic as they begin to think they deserve more. She is xenophobic in nature so imprisoning Decepticons and ordering around the Autobots is a drug to her.

Karen wants to treat them like slaves so the next step in her mind is Cybertron. Her death is well deserved and well played. Just like Icarus, the bitch flew too close to the sun.

I think the last major issue, other than out of character racist Shockwave, is the Terrans. No offense but they need a bit less screentime so the rest of the cast can shine. We barely see Alex and there's unclarified issues involving Bumblebee with Arcee if he's uncomfortable around her.

I also want their flaws to be at the forefront. Thrash is the only one who gotten such character development from his encounter with Swindle. We need more of that! Like Hashtag's overreliance on the Internet biting her back as she is forced to use real world skills.

Edit: I accidentally put in Terrans when I really meant Twitch. The screentime for everyone needs to be balanced mainly for the Malto family. Alex alongside the three younger Terrans rarely get involved or their characters further build upon. Twitch needs to get benched more.

Also the Dad Number 2 should really be addressed. Wheeljack was clearly uncomfortable when it been brought up. Plus it is way too fast to even consider such ideas unless you plan to have it addressed properly. Like 'Kid. We barely know each other yet somehow I became a father figure in an instant? It's best not to do that until you truly certain "Dad Number 2" doesn't mean harm or feels comfortable with it.' *

Earthspark clearly has potential but these problems need to be handled better. Addong the deleted scenes help add some clarification but canon needs to present it. We are supposed to get a second season so hopefully some of these are addressed.

[tabithatwo]

Can I ask why you don’t like this new season of yj? No hate or anything, I’m just genuinely curious

I’m so tired and probably won’t be very coherent but that’s okay there’s like six more of these in my asks if I want a second more thorough answer tomorrow lol but a lot of how I feel is in posts on my blog and I’ll just talk mostly 2x08 here. I’ve been hanging on tight until this episode but it has BROKEN me. Like I’m in mourning lol. To anyone who likes it I’m so happy for you I’m not coming for you at all.

But to me the main issue I’ve had is how they have constantly had opportunities to go DARK and SHOW the devolution but they played it very fucking safe (the makeup being the catalyst, Shauna’s birth being truly the safest option possible, like an episode of call the midwife except a fucked up dream happens, etc) and there was no actual build to the level of violence and depravity (or even RELIGION BUILDING) that the card draw sacrifice calls for. The ate Jackie because she was already dead and the wilderness slow cooked her, they were all mourning the baby last episode, they showed us Misty feeling potentially genuine remorse and guilt for Crystal? The “cult stuff” up until now has been mostly fucking dbt techniques and self harm. Yes the shauna lottie last episode was intense but we got absolutely zero follow up on it in any real characterization way for shauna this episode.

Then they kicked us out of the room when the decision was being made and I PROMISE people who think that was a shit move are largely not thinking they needed to explain the card game. It’s about showing your characters in pivotal huge moments. Yellowjackets is advertised and set up in s1 as a psychological horror. I want to see the characters GRAPPLE with things in a psychological horror. Seeing how they got from point a to point b isn’t about understanding the rules of their game, it’s about seeing developed characters reactions to crazy fucking shit.

Instead we get a jump straight into everyone drawing a card and the group deciding to kill one of their two hunters. Would some be on board with no questions asked? sure, but to ask the audience to believe that it just Makes Sense that they landed here after being very fucking relatively TAME all season until that one fight (I was so scared after that scene and no one reacting that this is the jump they were making, based on one moment alone and I was so sad to see it happen lol) is a big ask.

Now add on top of that the way they’re cutting us out of the actual character driven moments. That wasn’t psychological horror, that wasn’t delving into characters psyches like we’ve been promised. It was a thriller moment, change on a dime, maybe for shock value I guess. To me that interim would’ve been a very hard scene to write, a glimpse even of them deciding and reckoning with this belief and darkness in themselves. It’s a large group with a lot to juggle and big messy dynamics. And the easy way out of that is to just not show it at all.

People keep saying “they don’t have time to develop things this season because of side plots.” But they CHOSE to have those side plots in the first place. They’re filling shit in because they don’t WANT to get into the nitty gritty. We watched musical theater and cops and whatever the hell else and whatever. Fine. Sure. But it isn’t that those plots magically overtook some extra brilliant deep moments that they planned on showing with these characters to actually WITNESS their devolution, like s1 set us up to expect. They added them to fill empty space.

I GET that they become brutal. I GET that they devolve. I UNDERSTAND that from moment fucking one. The draw of the show to me is not watching them chase someone. We got that in the first scene. It’s seeing HOW they get there. What has to happen to get them to that place AND how does it impact each main character. Don’t just list the bad things for me. Show me their reasoning and their religion building and their arguing and their giving in. That’s what the real story is to me. Because we just saw them do their first ritual kill, but we didn’t see much more DEPTH to it, with these characters that we’ve now spent 18 episode getting to know, than the pilot already showed us.

1 am ramblings please forgive confusing turns of phrase or typos lol

[mercurialmalcontent]

Got a fair amount of the Weeping Peninsula explored today, and defeated the Leonine Misbegotten on my second try (my first ended embarrassingly and abruptly as I fumbled around trying to decide what to do first for some reason and got myself stunlocked into a corner. Oops!). I'm not exactly sure how, considering that my budding combat skills devolved into flailing and running around to drink a flask while my Lone Wolves distracted the boss, but hey, it was clearly effectual flailing so I've definitely learned something!

It's gotten me to thinking about how way too many Souls fans make Fromsoft's games out to be the kind of difficult that's unapproachable, the kind where you already need to be good at games like this and have perfect reflexes and pattern recogniton and if you have an impossibly hard time, that's just how it is, git gud!

But -- for Elden Ring at least -- it's NOT that kind of difficult. It's learnable and adjustable. It rewards observation and strategic thinking, and if things are still too tough? You can grind levels and get items and summons that will help smooth out fights. You can get weapons that are melee and ranged, fast and slow, and find out what playstyle you like best. You don't have to fight every single thing, you can sneak, and you can run the fuck away from open field enemies. And if you die, at worst you lose some runes if you die again before you can retrieve what you dropped, but you keep all your levels and your stuff. Keep your runes spent down and it's a minor setback at worst.

That still isn't everyone's cup of tea, and that's fine -- sometimes you want a game that you can learn as you go along and not have to make a lot of do-overs. But it's not the monolith of unapproachable difficulty so many fans have made it out to be, and it really frustrates and annoys me that by portraying Fromsoft's games like that, those fans put me off of trying them until @bleaksqueak's enthusiastic nudging and encouragement got me excited enough to try Elden Ring anyway. Now I'm having a great time that's only marred by how tired I am of looking at the vagabond armor's dirty old cloak.