#executioner band

[heavier-than-thou]

shoutout to old metal band posters, gotta be one of my favorite genders

[daddydicktampa]

[hellboyyy25]

Pierce The Veil - Death Of An Executioner

-

My edit not my photo

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

G.B.H. –  State Executioner

[the-l-spacer]

YALL NEVER TOLD ME GALAVANT WAS THIS FUNNY

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

[mikavlcs]

Not On My Mind

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: You leave school for a trip, and Wednesday doesn’t miss you. Not even a little bit.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday but she’s like...in denial about it, my writing

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: this is kinda messy, but cute. nothing else to add tbh. hope you guys enjoy<3

Masterlist

Wednesday Addams was not soft.

She simply wasn’t. She never had been, and she never would be, for as long as she drew breath. The word didn’t even exist in her vocabulary.

Because she, Wednesday Addams, was a singularity. Unlike any other lowly mortal, she was not born from a womb, but forged in the hottest, most ferocious flames of hell by Lucifer himself. She was pure menace and dread given a small, but formidable physical form.

A vile miscreant equipped with a smile that could make even the purest of angels scream in terror and a glare that could make the devil shed tears of despair. Judge, jury, and executioner—someone capable of horrors beyond even your worst nightmares.

(Well, not executioner since she was unfortunately not yet a murderer, but she would be someday. It was the only incomplete task on her bucket list.)

So, no, Wednesday Addams was not soft. Nor could she ever be capable of such abominable behavior.

And yet…here she was displaying signs of this weakness. Because of you.

You were going on a family vacation. An event which, to Wednesday, sounded like a particularly gruesome method of torture, but you were positively buzzing with excitement about the trip.

Either way, you were going away with your family for a week. An entire seven days without you constantly at her side, chattering in her ear between classes, and lounging around her room in the evenings.

This, in theory, should have been great news. Lucifer knew how much more writing she could get done without you dragging her out to Jericho after classes or trying to read over her shoulder despite her threats of bodily harm. But it wasn’t great news. In fact, the information brought forth an odd sort of discomfort. A dull ache in her chest she’d never experienced before.

It was disgusting, it was vile, and it would certainly stain her reputation if it ever got out.

She supposed her reputation had already been defiled by the fact that her roommate and self-appointed best friend was the human embodiment of a rainbow, but this? This was a new low.

Her shamefulness was all she could think about while she watched you pack from her place on your bed. Well, “pack” was a generous way to describe it. You were actually just frantically grabbing clothes and other various items from around your room and throwing them into your suitcase and duffel bag, much to the disapproval of the meticulously organized Addams.

You insisted that you had a system, a method to your madness. Wednesday disagreed but didn’t bother voicing it.

From the ground, your voice rose, sounding far too winded for someone doing so little exercise. “Can you hand me that box on the dresser, Wends?”

Wednesday exhaled sharply. She came here to see you off, not help you pack last minute. Still, she obeyed, not without sending you a scathing glare that you promptly ignored.

The box in question was easy to find, already open atop your dresser where you directed her. She took a passing glance inside to survey the contents within—a bunch of mismatched jewelry that sparked vague recognition but no interest.

Just as she was about to close it, something caught her eye. A ring, sitting in the corner of the box. It was a simple, visually unobtrusive black band with silver engravings wound throughout. She recognized it as one of your most frequently worn pieces of jewelry, but it had never captured her attention before now.

She was overcome with the sudden, overwhelming urge to take it. Wednesday very nearly stifled it, but she figured since you were subjecting her to these horrific feelings, she was entitled to a settlement of some kind.

Swiftly, she pocketed the ring and snapped the box shut, venturing back over to you, none the wiser as you messily stuffed clothing into your suitcase. She held the box out to you, eyes narrowing in condemnation at the messy state of your things below.

“Why are you taking the entire box?” Wednesday asked neutrally.

“Because these dorms are not the most secure,” you answered, taking the box from her hand with a smile and placing it on top of your clothes. “And I would hate for something to get stolen while I was gone.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched. “Yes, that would be unfortunate.”

Soon enough, you were finished packing and ready to go. Almost. For some reason, you were struggling to carry both your duffel bag and suitcase at the same time. It was quite humorous, watching you struggle, but she took pity on you knowing you were on a schedule.

“You’re weak,” she grumbled as she snatched the duffel bag from your hand, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped around you to open the door.

You followed closely behind, flashing her a grateful, slightly sheepish grin while closing the door behind you. “Thanks, Wends.”

She said nothing, just kept walking, finding amusement in the sound of you fumbling to catch up. When you found your footing, you took your usual place at her side, shoulders brushing while you easily fell into step with her.

The whole way down, you chattered on and on about what you were excited to do on the trip, but Wednesday wasn’t tuned in. Her attention was on the way her stomach fell further with every step closer to the waiting car outside and the pit she could feel forming for seemingly no reason at all.

She despised it, this ever-growing weakness you unwillingly made her develop.

Walking out, you found the car parked right by the curb outside, Principal Weems already leisurely resting against it while she waited for you to arrive.

The tall woman greeted the two of you with a smile, to which you offered a wave in return while Wednesday just stared. She came to collect your luggage and went to put it in the back of her car, leaving the two of you to say your goodbyes.

You turned to her, rocking back on your heels, clearly unsure of what to say. Wednesday, though she’d never admit it, was in a similar predicament, without the slightest clue of what to do now.

She didn’t know why, but she was tempted to pull you back into the school and drag her back to her dorm. The urge was utterly ridiculous, yet grew more powerful by the second, nagging at her as she watched your agonizingly slow internal debate.

“I guess I’ll see you in a week,” you finally said, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’ll be over in a flash, and I’ll be back to talking your ear off before you know it.”

Wednesday gave you a firm nod in lieu of a verbal response. You sent a sideways glance to the principal’s car, clearly remembering you had a flight to catch.

“Bye, Wends,” you said, then added, “Please don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” she deadpanned, earning a laugh from you.

After another moment of indecision, you pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, feather-light and entirely too quick for her tastes. But she didn’t voice that embarrassing thought, just watched you walk off and enter the vehicle with her arms crossed.

As the car pulled off, you turned and waved to her out the back window, and she lifted her fingers from her forearm slightly in response. The smile you gave her got smaller and smaller with distance.

Wednesday stayed standing there until the car was out of sight, the unidentified pit in her stomach never abating.

—

The week that followed was…weird.

It was the same as any other week at Nevermore, yet entirely different.

She was indeed able to get much more writing done, but it wasn’t as triumphant as Wednesday imagined. The silence in her room was refreshing for all of twenty minutes before the tone of it shifted, and the quiet felt empty. It didn’t impede her workflow—if anything, it increased it—but it just felt wrong.

There were a number of notable happenings throughout the week as well.

Bianca suffered her 47th defeat at the hands of Wednesday during their weekly fencing practice (she was very excited to get to 50), Eugene somehow got six bees stuck in his hair and, in a show of true incompetence, Xavier managed to spill an entire can of paint on himself. Something he would never, ever live down as far as Wednesday was concerned.

In all of those instances, she found herself looking to her right to see if you were smiling or laughing. Until she was met with the empty space you would’ve occupied, and she remembered. You weren’t here. It made a certain hollowness settle in her chest, making her mood drop ever so slightly.

It was pathetic, honestly. It made her want to self-lobotomize herself to attempt to determine just how much damage you’d done, to see if it was reverible.

Still, she mentally cataloged the events to recount for you upon your arrival. Only so she wouldn’t have to deal with your whining about her not telling you anything once you inevitably heard it from Enid.

Throughout each day, your ring accompanied Wednesday everywhere she went. Slipping it on right before leaving her dorm and taking it off just before bed quickly became her new routine.

She had never fully understood the obsession that people had with rings as the only hand jewelry she ever enjoyed wearing was brass knuckles, but she was beginning to get it now. The light weight on her hand was somewhat soothing, especially in moments when your absence was particularly potent.

She hoped that no one would notice it. Most wouldn’t have even known it belonged to you, but your shared group of friends (acquaintances on Wednesday’s end) would likely recognize it since you wore it so frequently.

Knowing this, Wednesday did her best to take it off in group settings, slipping it into her blazer pocket to put back on after, but it was harder to remember during classes. This oversight ended up being her undoing.

It wound up taking three days for someone to notice the ring. And, of course, that someone was Enid.

They were in Botany, listening to Miss Thornhill drone on about some rare carnivorous plant. Enid was in the seat next to her to “fill in the void” you left behind in your absence with her peppy, prismatic presence.

Entirely unnecessary, but so were most things Enid did. Wednesday had long since learned not to question her anymore.

Wednesday, having already known everything there was to know about the plant, had finished taking her notes five minutes after class started, but Enid wasn’t even trying to take notes. She was instead doing seemingly everything in her power to irritate Wednesday. Incessantly doodling, clicking her pen, constantly fidgeting and shifting, drumming her fingers against the desk.

It was positively maddening. And not in a good way.

In an effort not to snap at her, Wednesday occupied herself with your ring. Tracing the engravings and twisting it around her finger. It was soothing. Enid, nosy as she was, glanced over at the movement and paused her pen clicking.

“Hey…” she started, and Wednesday immediately knew she would hate where this was going. Enid leaned over, making Wednesday lean back in turn. Her eyes narrowed then widened moments later with a soft gasp. “That ring, isn’t that—"

“None of your business? Absolutely,” she gritted out, sending her a scathing glare. “Now, perhaps you should actually pay attention. Maybe then you’ll have a chance of finally getting something higher than a 70 on the next test.”

Her roommate looked like she wanted to say more but eventually conceded with a disgustingly wide smile and a mumble that sounded awfully like that’s so cute of you, roomie.

Wednesday swore that if it were anybody else, she would’ve finally completed her bucket list that day.

—

After what seemed like an eternity and many more tests to Wednesday’s patience (almost exclusively from Enid), seven days passed and the time for you to return to Nevermore arrived.

It had actually been longer than seven days—170 hours and 17 minutes, to be exact—but who was counting? Certainly not Wednesday.

The principal’s car pulled in just as the sun began to set, and Wednesday was there, standing off to the side of the school’s entrance. Not because she was waiting for you, she simply had matters to attend to in the courtyard around that time.

You stepped out the car moments later and your eyes found hers instantly, expression brightening. Bags in hand, you ran over to her but stopped just short of her, excitement fading into uncertainty.

Wednesday stared at you, then, with an audible sigh, stepped forward. Your smile returned, increasing tenfold as you dropped your bags and wrapped your arms around her, careful not to squeeze her too hard. If you questioned the way she barely leaned into your embrace and turned her face just slightly into your neck, she would say it was entirely in your head.

“Did you miss me?” you asked once you pulled back, hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“Not for a second,” she answered. “I was able to get twice as much writing done without your constant prattling and distractions.”

“Uh-huh.” The sly smile on your face told her that you definitely weren’t buying it, but you plowed on before she could confront you. “Y’know, you could have texted me if you had a phone,” you persuaded, fixing her with a look she’d become intimately familiar with since you’d started dating. “I could always get you one.”

Wednesday blinked, shot you a dubious look. “You’re broke.”

Your shoulders fell dramatically, but your tone remained light. “Damn, Wends, you didn’t have to say it like that.”

She didn’t dignify you with another response. Knowing you would need time to unpack before dinner, she slung one of your bags over your shoulder and took off in the direction of your dorm, leaving you to catch up.

It wasn’t long before you were by her side, matching her pace easily. And, of course, you had more to say.

“Do you wanna hear about my trip?”

“No,” she said. A beat. Then, “But you may tell me while you unpack. I know you like to run your mouth while completing tasks anyway. I have things to tell you as well.”

“Really? Thanks, Wends,” you grinned brightly. Wednesday shot you a glare, and if you noticed that it was softer than usual, you didn’t comment.

Unable to keep your mouth shut, you started ranting about the traffic you hit on the way back to the airport, or something related to that. Wednesday wasn’t quite listening. She was instead taking in the unfocused drawl of your voice in her ear, the strides perfectly matching hers, the light brush of your shoulder against hers—just appreciating the familiar presence at her side once more.

It had only been a week, yet it felt like a lifetime since she had last experienced this.

Without thinking, her hand drifted to fiddle with your ring, and your eyes caught the movement. You stopped suddenly, prompting Wednesday to come to a halt as well with a questioning look.

Gently, you grabbed her hand and brought it closer to your face to inspect the band around her finger.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” you asked, brows knitting together. “I’ve been wondering where it went, I swore I packed it...”

Wednesday snatched her hand away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but grab my hand like that again and yours will be swiftly removed.”

“But—” you started to protest but stopped abruptly. She watched, curious, as your expression smoothed over into something even she couldn’t quite read. You nodded, smiled. “Yeah, I must be confused, sorry.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes but accepted the apology with a nod.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. It was odd. Wednesday stole a few glances to see if you were upset, but you seem to be. If anything, the opposite.

Still, the silence stretched on even when you both arrived at your destination, and you were pulling the door to your dorm open for her. She strode inside, trying to find a way to broach the subject without sounding too concerned.

But there was no need.

Just after the door closed, you put a hand on her shoulder and leaned over into her space. She gave you a startled glare but didn’t move away, ignoring the way her ears burned at the sight of your soft smile and the equally soft whisper that followed.

“I missed you too, Wednesday.”

—

everyone @ wednesday while reading this:

anyways happy pride to my fellow loser gays 🥳🏳️‍🌈

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

SLIPKNOT IN A FANTASY KINGDOM AU

SID WILSON - Jester

I mean... Let's get real. This guy is funny as fuck.

If I didn't headcanon him as a jester then something would be mentally and morally wrong with me.

JOEY JORDISON - Farrier

I think this one is for my own personal enjoyment but he just seems like he'd enjoy putting on horseshoes??

We all know he was an animal lover so this is certainly fitting in that sense

PAUL GRAY - Butcher

Paul could've certainly did this IRL when he was alive and most of me believes he would've been really good at it.

And to honor his legacy as the pig, this is only fitting.

CHRIS FEHN - Hunter

Chris on the hunt scares me in my head. So I had to do it. It had to happen.

Imagine him fucking chasing after you?? Helllllll no.

JIM ROOT - Blacksmith

He works with motorcycles so this is the closest we'd get in a kingdom fantasy sense

He can still be sexy and sweaty just without the grease from a bike

CRAIG JONES - Banker

I feel like at one point he was in charge of the bands finances, whether that's true or not I really don't know, but I want to assume it was true

He'd kill it as a banker and you can't change my mind

SHAWN CRAHAN - Judge

After all these shit decisions with the band, this would be so fitting! And it would give Mick a very intensive job.

As you can tell, I'm not happy with Shawn at all. He'd be corrupt and that's the end of the story.

MICK THOMSON - Executioner

Big man. Biiiiiig man. This is the perfect job for a big burly man.

And seeing him come up to fucking murder you with that black hood on? Terrifying.

COREY TAYLOR - Sheriff

Going along with Shawn in corruption, he'd make the perfect Sheriff! I'm also not happy with him.

But he does lay down the law most of the time so it's a fitting job regardless.

[knightprincess]

Wait (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader)

Warning: Angst, Mentions of Death, and PTSD. Words: 2.5k Pronouns used: She/Her - No psychically description given Period: Ranges from Clone Wars to Rebels. Mentions Order 66.

Execute Order 66. The three words that ended the war, almost annihilated the Jedi Order and spelled the true doom of the Republic. It was the order that turned millions of clones across the galaxy from free thinkers to robotic killers, human droids. The order forced the clones to turn on their friends in the Jedi and murder them under the guise they were protecting the republic, a republic that no longer existed. It was the order that sealed their fates and traumatized every clone apart of it, far more than anything than being on the front lines of the war could have thrown at them. 

For Wolffe, the worst was yet to come. He'd gotten away from the Empire after breaking free from the inhibitor chip control, he couldn't say for sure what had broken its grasp on his mind, one minute the part of himself created as part of the Sith Lord's plan was in control, he was in the back seat screaming for it to stop, fighting to stop what he was seeing. And the next he was in control, the voice repeating Good Soldiers Follow Orders had ceased, the dream-like state had faded, and the bubble had burst. Reality had hit him far worse than anything he had seen on the battlefield. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming feelings of guilt, regret, and the crushing loss that hit him like a ton of bricks, just hours after he had settled with the relief of being free. Even now Wolffe couldn't tell you which of the three feelings was worse. The guilt was overpowering the best of time, but it was what motivated him to help the band of Rebels when they needed help taking Lothal back from Imperial control. He had to make up for his past doings, he had to make those mistakes right, no matter the cost to himself. 

The regret for the things he wished to have done differently were things that constantly plagued him, the little things he should have done differently. Like being kinder to the shinnies when they came off the line, or telling Comet well done after a difficult job being completed. The missed opportunities to tell each of his brothers how much they meant to him, especially the ones who survived the war, but suffered a far worse fate. He truly did regret a lot of things, among them was not telling (Y/N) he loved her one last time, and not being able to truly save her from her broken mind.

By far the loss was the worst part of it all. Waking up from the chip's control to find the Republic was gone and he had helped to bring about its doom. To discover the Jedi Order had been destroyed, and he as well as his brothers had been the reason for it, the unwilling executioners that were forced to turn on and betray their friends and loved ones, only to further the revenge plot the now Emperor had been working from the shadows to see finished. The loss of Plo had hurt, knowing his last thoughts were questioning what was happening as his loyal troopers turned on him and shot him out of the sky, but the loss of his brothers was something else. 

Those who got away from the Empire were met with two fates. Either they were left to fend for themselves in a galaxy that despised them and blamed them for what happened or they were hunted down and recaptured by those working in the Advanced Science Division. Either way, fate had cruelty in store for them. Either way, more trauma awaited. 

Wolffe's fate after abandoning the empire was to be hunted down, as was Gregor's when he got away, and eventually those a part of the enhanced unit Clone Force 99, when their value to the Empire was truly discovered. At first, the battle-worn commander had gone out there alone, with one purpose. Find his beloved Jedi Knight, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He'd heard the rumors of her survival, the stories on the lower levels of Coruscant of civvies taking pity on an injured Jedi, matching her description, they'd helped her flee the core world, to somewhere in the outer rim, and a few senators had aided in her escape. 

Eventually, he found her, working with Rex to sow the seeds of what would eventually become the rebellion that fought against the Empire. A rebellion built on hope and sacrifice for a better future. A future she'd never get to see. Like with him, fate was cruel to (Y/N). It would answer her question about what truly happened to her best friend Anakin Skywalker in the worst way possible. A fate no one would ask for and was arguably worse than his own. 

"What's wrong with him?" asked Zeb, gesturing towards the old mismatched-eyed Commander. Wolffe appeared to be staring off into space, not paying any attention to what was going on around him. Rex and Gregor had turned to their brother shortly after, Gregor noticing he held on to (Y/N)'s duel-bladed lightsaber, while Rex took notice of the hologram alight in front of Wolffe. The Jedi Knight and once hero of the republic who had stolen his heart. Both men knew Wolffe had lost his way when (Y/N) had been taken from him the first time, but he hadn't been the same since he had lost her for the second and final time. 

"Give him time, he'll be okay" replied Rex, a sigh escaping him as he remembered (Y/N). She'd taken many secrets to her grave, unbeknownst to the Captain of the 501st, one of them she kept to protect him. The truth on who Vader truly was. "Sometimes the past gets to him, what the empire did and took away still haunts him. He's never gotten past losing the woman he loved" he worded, recalling when Clone Force 99, or the Bad Batch as they preferred finally found where Dr. Hemlock was stationed, when they infiltrated the base, hoping to find both Omega and Crosshair. 

What they discovered was terrible, to say the least. Clones that once served the republic strapped down onto tables, tortured, tormented, and forced to suffer all in the name of science. Some were in tanks, others were left to die a slow and likely painful death. Others had been incorporated into Phase 1 of the Death Trooper program, to which the constant torture would have been far kinder. Among those rescued that day were Crosshair, Omega, Tech who had survived his fall, Cody, Wolffe, and Comet. Despite the best efforts, both Cody and Comet passed on shortly after returning to Pabu. 

"That's (Y/N)" whispered Kanan, upon glancing to the hologram. She was one of the few Jedi the people of the Empire hadn't forgotten, remembered along with Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon, Yoda, and Mace Windu. She was supposedly killed during Order 66 but eventually reappeared, being captured and taken Nur, nobody truly knows what happened to her there. For months many theorised she'd been killed by Vader or one of the inquisitors after being tortured for information. 

In reality, the constant torment and suffering had done something far worse, it had broken her mind and shattered her will to continue fighting until she found strength in the dark side. Until she had willingly joined the inquisitors as the First Sister, second only to the Grand Inquisitor. She wasn't sent out to hunt very often, but when she was she never failed. More often than not (Y/N) was the one whom Vader called upon when he needed assistance with his mission to destroy what remained of the Jedi. 

"Where is she now?" asked Ezra, not quite putting two and two together, or catching on to what haunted Wolffe every waking moment. Rex and Gregor could only share a common glance, knowing losing her once was bad enough for Wolffe, but twice was nothing less than cruel. Even when he'd spared her more suffering. 

"Gone" grumbled Wolffe, his voice resembling that of a growl upon the memories he tried so hard to bury over the years came back. How his heart sank when he was rescued, learning (Y/N) hadn't been found since both of them had been captured. His refusal to give up hope had paid off, but it hadn't lasted long. When he was reunited with her, her once pretty eyes were the orange/red of the Sith, her mind twisted by the dark side and all she had learned to rely on was constant suffering. Her mind had become so twisted she no longer knew the difference between good and bad, and no longer recognized herself. 

"When she was captured, the empire corrupted her mind via torture. She became an inquisitor" voiced Rex, recalling Wolffe's refusal to believe she couldn't be saved as others stated. Instead, he tracked her wherever she went, and became a thorn in her side even at the risk of his own life. When the opportunity arose to capture her again, he took it. Bringing her aboard the ship, he, Rex, and Gregor shared at the time, determination alight in his mismatched eyes, he was going to save her and help her heal, he wasn't going to fail her again. 

"She's one of them?" accused Zeb, recalling his encounters with the pests known as Inquisitors. Although he'd admit he didn't know who they were before, just that they were out hunting for his friends, his family in Kanan and Ezra. Thrust they were his enemy. 

"Was" corrected Rex, not taking any notice when Zeb fell into silence and Sabine glanced to Kanan and Ezra, seeing their surprise upon hearing one could stop being an inquisitor. "Wolffe refused to give up on (Y/N). When he had the chance to get her away from the Empire he took it, we tried for months to help her, and it worked for a time until it became clear they wouldn't let her go" he added, shivering at the memory of Vader hunting them, of the villages and towns he burnt and the innocents who were slain just to get to her. 

"They killed her" guessed Sabine, not seeing any other fate that could have been waiting for the former Jedi Knight. Although the Mandalorian could only assume her death if it was at the hands of the empire, wouldn't have been quick. They would have seen her as a threat to them, those who rebelled against their iron fist rule would have seen her as a beckon of hope. 

"No, I did" growled Wolffe, standing briefly before slumping back into his chair again. (Y/N)'s lightsaber tightly in his grasp, the only thing he truly had left of her now. A stray tear slid down his cheek upon remembering the day burnt into his memory. The four of them were on the run, looking for a way to lose Vader, and the Inquisitors hunting them, looking for a way to get off the planet. When it became clear they had no way out, when they became cornered, (Y/N) fought Vader and the Inquisitors off for as long as she could, all but ordering Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor to go. 

But Wolffe had refused to leave, he couldn't bear to lose her again, lose another he loved. So he stayed at her side until she used her power to push him away. Speaking the haunting words of I Love You beforehand. The moment the former Commander of the 104th Battalion realized the inquisitors intended to turn her to the dark side again, he made the hardest choice. Once again he aimed his blaster, but this time at (Y/N), he closed mismatched eyes and pulled the trigger. He saved her from further torment, assured she would finally be at peace, but at the cost of shattering his own heart and being forced to live without her. 

"It was the only way to save her" whispered Wolffe, knowing she was still with him. He felt her there during the moments when his PTSD got the better of him. He felt her hand on his shoulder and could swear sometimes he heard her voice willing him to continue his fight. He sensed her there during the toughest moments when he struggled with the past. 

"That's why you went into hiding" commented Ezra, figuring the trio of clones hadn't just decided to "retire" due to their accelerated aging. They were among some of the best battle-tested minds there was. The rebellion needed them to survive, but it was becoming clear at least Wolffe needed a reason to fight. He'd lost his will the day he had to kill (Y/N) to save her from repeating the cruelty of being broken and twisted again until she lost herself once more. 

"We know (Y/N) would have taken the opportunity to stick it to the empire if she was here" laughed Gregor, his golden eyes glued to the hologram of the Jedi Knight in question. To the hologram of the friend waiting for them. "She was a fighter, a shining light of hope we needed during the darkest days of the war. Let's not let her down now by sitting by and doing nothing" 

"So you'll fight with us" questioned Zeb

"Yup" replied Gregor. "It's about time we remembered who we are, right Wolffe?" he added, nudging Wolffe who had since stood, the old Commander didn't pay much attention though, instead looking to the back door of the old walker. Where he could have sworn he'd seen a figure bathed in a blue glow standing. Where he saw (Y/N) standing, nodding with a proud grin, as if she was finally answering his call to see her again. As if she was encouraging them to fight for something they chose to believe in rather than something forced upon them like the Republic and Empire. 

"You see her right?" asked Wolffe, too afraid to look away in case she disappeared again. Rex only offered a small soft smile upon seeing (Y/N), a guiding angel for them to follow, as she had been once before in what felt like a lifetime ago. A life that seemed far less complicated than the one they had now. Back then they were soldiers created to fight a war, to sacrifice. Now they were relics of the same past as the Jedi and the Republic. They survived the horrors the empire threw at them, abandoned and left to fend for themselves, broken and forgotten by the galaxy around them. 

But now, it was time to rise and fight once again. Remind the Emperor why clones were created in the first place and remind him why they were better than the conscripted troopers he relied on to defend the weakening empire. This time they weren't going to be soldiers of the republic, commanders in a war they didn't choose. They would be beacons of hope amidst the shadow the empire cast across the galaxy, they were going to fight and sacrifice for a cause they chose to fight for. 

Knight Princess Masterlist

[thathcwriter]

AU Alphabet

These are meant to be vague: Take them however you want to. With that being said, have fun!

A)

Apocalypse AU

Afterlife AU

Arranged Marriage AU

Angel AU

Actor AU

B)

Band AU

Boxer AU

Bounty Hunter AU

Bachelor/ette AU

Bookstore AU

C)

Coffee Shop AU

College AU

Cooking Contest AU

Coaches AU

Campground AU

D)

Do-Over (Second Chance) AU

Dance Company AU

Drivers (Racing or Rideshare) AU

Divers AU

Dragon Tamers AU

E)

Emergency Room AU

Empath AU

Entrepreneurs AU

Executioner(s) AU

F)

Fake Dating AU

Firefighter AU

Flower Shop AU

Face Blindness AU (the inability to recognize the other person’s face.)

Forced Partners/ In a group together AU

G)

Graveyard AU

Ghost AU

Gang AU

Gardeners AU

Group Therapy AU

H)

Holding Cell AU

High School AU

Harpy AU

Historical Fiction AU

Husky Race/Doglsed AU

I)

Ice Cream Shop AU

Ice Hockey AU

Interior Designer AU

Island (Survival) AU

Investigation AU

J)

Jeweler AU

Janitors AU

Jazz Club AU

(Court) Jester AU

K)

Kennel (Animal Shelter) AU

Knitting AU 

Karate AU

Kayaking AU

Kingpin AU

L)

Lawyer AU

Lemonade Stand AU

Library AU

Lycanthropy AU

Lifeguard AU

M)

Musician AU

Medieval AU

Motocross AU

Makeup Artists AU

Mafia AU

N)

Navy AU

News Station AU

Nurses AU

Neverland AU

No (Insert Character) AU

O)

Online Friends AU

Orchard AU

Office AU

Ocean AU

Olympics AU

P)

Podcasters AU

Photographer AU

Psychic AU

Pirate AU

Pizza Place AU

Q) 

Quilting AU

Queen (Royalty) AU

Quarry AU

R)

Reporter AU

Resurrections AU

Receptionist AU

Rodeo AU

Raceway (Horses or Cars) AU

S)

Soulmate AU

Skiing AU

Songwriter AU

Soldier AU

Stunt Performer AU

T)

Time Travel AU

Tennis AU

Tour Guide AU

Tattoo Shop AU

Talent Agency Au

U)

Undercover AU

Underworld AU

Umpire AU

Underwater AU

V) 

Vampire AU

Veterinarian AU

Vlogging AU

Vineyard AU

Virtuoso AU

W)

Writer AU

Wedding Planner AU

Woodworker AU

Western AU

X) N/A

Y)

Youtube AU

Yacht Club AU

Z)

Zookeeper AU

Zodiac AU

Zombie AU

[strawbubbysugar]

Sir Spring Bonnie of House Locke, loyal advisor to the throne of House Fazbear.

Prince Michael Afton of the human kingdom, runaway heir and current missing person

The tragic story of the brave Queen Mangle, a scary story to frighten new animatronics into staying in their charging pods at night, and away from terrifying humans

Commander Roxanne of House Wolf, head of the knighthood

Sir Montgomery of House Gator, trusted mercenary and executioner of house Fazbear

Her Royal highness, Queen Chica of House Chicken, breaker of fasts and the voice of her people

Ward Gregory of the Human Kingdom, ward to Glam King Freddy, entrusted to his care as a show of good will by the human Queen Vanessa.

Page Cassie of house Wolf, formally adopted as a young girl found on the border between kingdoms, raised and currently under the tutelage of Commander Roxanne Wolf.

Sir Deejay Music of House Man, second in his line, composer of the Royal Orchestra. His large family makes up the entirety of the band.

[opheliaintherushes]

First off, when Nate Mann loses the Emmy to everyone on White Lotus this year, we riot.

Second, Tim Van Patten probably got the shot of the series, with Bucky raising a tattered American flag over the camp as the the other POWs wave their own nations' flags, finally freed from under jackbooted terror.

Third, this series does somewhat repeat the sins of the father, in that, like Webster scolding Liebgott when he goes after the commandant and Liebgott being forced to translate the German surrender to show that the German army, too, was a band of brothers, this episode suddenly has a moment of humanity between a German officer and the Jewish soldier he's forcing to march, possibly to his death (while many Jews were being marched to their actual deaths across Europe as the Allies closed in on the camps). I'm not sure if Jewish anger is too unpalatable, but please note that we're like two scenes away from Rosie discovering the dead prisoners and talking to a man whose entire family has been shot and dumped in a mass grave (pay extra attention to where that man says he's going to go now that he's been freed! If you know your history, that man has a long and quite impossible road ahead of him.) I've long been fascinated by the World War II novel, written as it was by Jewish veterans, as my grandfathers both served - and a great-aunt! - but Band of Brothers holds an important place for me because my great-uncle was a member of the 82nd Airborne. He essentially journeyed their journey, from Normandy to the liberation of the camps. But what I only learned, right before he passed, is that while he was occupying Berlin, the moment that gave him the most satisfaction was sitting on a bench that had once been forbidden to Jews. For once, it would be something if these shows let their Jewish fighters have that experience.

Fourth, the show doesn't mention it, but the raid in which Rosie was shot down actually resulted in the death of Roland Friesler, attendee of the Wannsee Conference and the man who shaped the court system in Nazi Germany into an executioner's chamber.

Fifth, this show may think Austin Butler and Callum Turner are its central characters, but I waited ten years to see Robert Rosenthal on screen and I couldn't have asked for more. See above re: Nate Mann deserving all the awards. When his hand touches the wall of the barracks...chills.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 18 March 1915, Mexican revolutionary Wenceslao Moguel was shot by a firing squad in Halacho, Yucatan, but miraculously survived. After the defeat of Mexican revolutionary leader Pancho Villa's forces, Moguel was arrested by constitutionalist military forces in the wave of the subsequent repression. At 5 PM he was stood in front of a firing squad of nine soldiers with rifles. They opened fire, hitting him eight times, then an officer walked up with a revolver and shot him point blank range in the head in a coup de grace. But somehow he managed to survive, and after his "executioners" left he made his way to safety. While suffering permanent facial injuries, he lived until the age of 75 and appeared on the Ripley's Believe It or Not! radio show in 1937 to tell his story, who dubbed him "El Fusilado" (the executed/shot one). British anarchist band Chumbawamba released a song about him in 2008. More: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/9019/wenceslao-moguel-shot https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.1819457841572691/2233171990201272/?type=3

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

You wanna get high as the sky You're kissin' your life goodbye You think it's game that you play But the winners lose it all someday.

Body Count  -  The Winner Loses

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 10, vol. 12, 9 mars 1890, Paris. 1. (1) Toilette en faille vert roseau avec broché de fleurs; — (2) Robe en veloutine bleu ancien avec bande de velours et broderie bleu et or. (Modèles de la maison Rouff.) Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1) Toilette en faille vert roseau avec broché de fleurs. — Jupe en faille à plis derrière, ouverte sur un tablier plissé en crêpe de soie crème, encadre par deux panneaux de broché, le corsage à pointe entr’ouvert sur un mince plastron de velours vert, de chaque côté jabot de dentelle, col droit, manche très bouffante avec un froncé au haut du bras, dentelle au poignet.

(1) Ensemble in reed green faille with flower brocade. — Faille skirt with pleats behind, open on a pleated apron in cream silk crepe, framed by two panels of brocade, the pointed bodice half open on a thin green velvet bib, lace frill on each side, straight collar, very puffy sleeve with a gather at the top of the arm, lace at the wrist.

Matériaux: 11 mètres faille, 2m,50 broché, 2m,50 de crêpe de soie.

—

(2) Robe en veloutine bleu ancien avec bande de velours broderie bleu et or. — Jupe bourreau, bande de velours découpée et rehaussée de broderie soie bleu et or, s’arrêtant aux plis de la demi-traîne derrière. Corsage ouvert en pointe devant et derrière sur velours bleu encadré de broderie. Manche de velours avec passementerie formant chaînette sur le haut du bras, broderie au bas de la manche, bracelet or mat finement ciselé.

(2) Old blue velvet dress with blue and gold embroidery velvet band. — Executioner's skirt, strip of velvet cut out and enhanced with blue and gold silk embroidery, stopping at the folds of the half-train behind. Bodice open point front and back on blue velvet framed with embroidery. Velvet sleeve with trimmings forming a chain on the upper arm, embroidery at the bottom of the sleeve, finely chiseled matte gold bracelet.

[grimmmur]

I was a little blunt with Tumblr, but here's the first sketch on the topic of Yarnam Rock. What kind of music does Executioners band have?