#i love young ash hes so scrappy

[killerslowpoke]

07/06/24 they's just scootin'! sketchy little bonus comic under the cut

[americanhero]

( BRUISED KNUCKLES AND INK-STAINED FINGERS, WELL-WORN LEATHER JACKETS, THE ASH LEFT BEHIND BY FIREWORKS )▸ welcome to latverion, STEVE ROGERS (CAPTAIN AMERICA). it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 104 and use HE/HIM pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as a SUPPORT GROUP LEADER, or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution. ( CLAIRE, GMT, 24, SHE/HER, CHRIS EVANS )

ABOUT BASICS

FULL NAME: steven “steve” grant rogers

ALIAS: captain america

AGE: 104 (july 4, 1918; cancer)

AFFILIATIONS: the avengers

GENDER AND PRONOUNS: cis male, he/him

FACE CLAIM: chris evans

IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS

POINT OF ORIGIN:

as always, i pull from a mix of canons! steve is from the same universe as tony (which i guess is the same universe as peter, which is ?? whatever we want it to be), and i use a combination of 616 and mcu for backstory and influences. basically! comics childhood, mcu becoming cap, mix of everything after (no secret empire lmao; also not mcu-dead) ; i’m always very happy to shift stuff around/specify/work with y’all for plotting to make things fit!

ABILITIES/SKILLS:

super soldier serum: artificially enhanced physiology; peak human strength, speed, durability, agility, reflexes, stamina, recovery, mental processing, senses; advanced longevity (the wikipedia page literally says he has “perfect cells.” this includes perfect teeth and very good hair.)

master tactician & strategist; martial artist; shield fighter; advanced military officer; weapons proficiency; vehicle handling; very good artist!!

HAVE THEY BROUGHT ANY FAMILY OR PETS WITH THEM:

no :( someone get this man a dog he could use one (he’s also on the lookout for bucky, who he very much considers his brother)

ANY HEADCANONS YOU WANT OTHERS TO KNOW:

more tbd but! for now! (TW DEATH, WAR, ALCOHOLISM)

although he grew up in brooklyn instead of the lower east side, i otherwise take steve’s family history/dynamics from 616 instead of the mcu--steve’s parents, joseph and sarah, were poor irish immigrants. his dad was Not Great TM and died when he was pretty young; his mom passed away when he was a teenager. he had a semester of art school, but dropped out to join the army, partly because he couldn’t afford to stay, partly because fighting for the country his family had given so much for felt like the right thing to do

steve’s got a bit of a complex about the steve/cap divide. he loves being captain america, most of the time. but he knows he’s more of a monument than a man to most of the world. he’s made his peace with it, and he’s played along, but it’s nice when he can just be steve. very few people see him that way (see: bucky, who he grew up with as a brother; tony, who was instrumental in helping steve adjust to life after the ice, and is one of the few people to treat him like a regular person; peggy, who knew him before he was cap, etc)

along those lines! captain america doesn’t swear. steve rogers does. exactly 2 people know this (bucky and tony), as far as he’s aware. he’s a scrappy little new yorker at heart. of course he’s got a foul mouth.

he doesn’t drink. some of this is because the serum means he can’t get drunk. some of it is the good old clean-cut image they drilled into him back when he was on the uso tour. a lot of it is because of his father

he’s an artist! this is very important! it’s pretty much just a hobby, but he’d love to be able to make a living on it. is that an impossible dream? yeah, probably, but so was turning into a genetically engineered super soldier. he particularly likes sketching faces and memories; he has been trying but failing miserably at learning digital art (he was also color-blind before the serum, which i like to think means his relationship towards colors and paints tends towards the abstract and stylized, because he basically taught himself color theory twice)

he spends quite a bit of time at memory lane. please don’t make me explain this too much if i think about it too long i will start to cry

that story from she-hulk about him and a girl on the uso tour in ‘43? i’m not entirely convinced he didn’t make it up so the team would stop bullying him change my mind

yes sometimes he signs his texts! this comes from canon he’s old and learning please be nice to him he’s trying his best and doing great

he’s currently living with thor in an apartment above frigga’s

QUESTIONNAIRE

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT EMPEROR DOOM?

You’re asking Steve Rogers, Captain America, the Sentinel of Liberty, how he feels about a masked megalomaniac self-proclaimed emperor? Sure. Okay. The answer, of course, is absolutely not. Steve’s lived for a very long time, and he doesn’t have any more time for Doom. Sarah Rogers raised her son to do no harm, but take no shit, and Steve’s taking no shit. He’s up there in the resistance working to take him down. He was, quite literally, made for something like this. A different time, a different world, a different tyrant, maybe, but it’s all the same. Tyranny is tyranny; freedom is freedom.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THE BATTLES? ARE THEY TRYING TO AVOID THEM? OR ARE THEY EAGER TO JUMP IN?

The battles are barbaric. No one should be forced to fight in a gladiatorial contest. It’s inhumane. He’s been the dancing (punching) monkey before, so many lifetimes ago, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He’s neither actively avoiding nor seeking them out, but Steve is absolutely using them as yet another reason Emperor Doom is extremely bad news. He’ll fight if he has to, and he’s not too worried about winning, but he doesn’t want to have to. He’s a soldier, not a gladiator.

WHY HAS YOUR CHARACTER ACCEPTED THEIR JOB POSITION? WILL THEY USE IT TO GET CLOSER TO DOOM? OR WILL THEY USE IT EXPLOIT HIM? OR DO THEY SIMPLY LIKE THEIR JOB? 

Steve runs a support group for people struggling with multiversal displacement (and living under the omnipresent gaze of Emperor Doom). They meet twice a week, sometimes in Frigga’s, which Thor has generously lent out (and provided complimentary fruity mocktails with the little umbrellas). Steve knows what it’s like to leave behind a life, to wake up in a new, unfamiliar world, to lose everyone and everything you knew and loved and have to keep living. He’s done it. It’s awful. No one should have to go through that alone. Steve can fight Doom as Captain America all he likes; as Steve Rogers, the least he can do is try to make the rest of their lives a little bit better.

[nitewrighter]

Humble Pie

None of the prompts in my inbox are currently speaking to me, so I decided to fill in a gap in my fic continuity and write something non-shippy. So here’s McCree’s recruitment into Blackwatch!

-----

It was the most crowded the Panorama Diner had been in god-knew-how-long. Overwatch agents and local law enforcement mingled in a mix of blue and beige, some clustered around table booths hasty laptop and holo-comm stations, some pacing about the floor, talking on their own comms and headpieces with officers back at Watchpoint Grand Mesa or even as far as Zurich. The most crowded Panorama had been, and no one was eating.

Well... almost no one.

“You sure you don’t want any?” said Gabe, pressing the side of his fork into the slice of apple pie, sectioning off the flaky crust and gooey filling.

Jesse McCree frowned sullenly at his own plate, his own slice of pie already in a puddle of melting vanilla ice cream. He moved to pick up his fork and the chain of his handcuffs clinked with the movement. He glared up at Reyes from beneath the brim of his hat, but Reyes kept calmly eating.

“It’s good pie,” Gabe said with a slight shrug. The corners of McCree’s mouth pulled inward in a repulsed little scowl.

“Ain’t you got anything better to do?” McCree growled. There was a pitchiness in his voice that spoke to the last miserable ekes of puberty in all their acne-speckling glory still clinging to his scrappy form.

“Oh we’ve got all the time in the world,” said Gabe with another forkful of pie.

“Where’s Ashe?” said McCree.

“Her folks posted her bail, and I have a stack of forms from her family legal team roughly as thick as your head that forbid me from saying anything further on her involvement in this incident.”

“Oh,” McCree huffed a little and eased back in his seat, “Guess that means they’re coming for me next,” A smug smile eased onto his features, but Reyes didn’t seem to respond to that, just let McCree’s words sit in the air between them as his fork scraped across his plate, gathering bits of pastry and melted ice cream dappled with cinnamon.

McCree first basked in the silence as victory, but as he noted the lack of reaction in Reyes, doubt crept in slowly. Reyes gently set his fork down on the side of his plate and looked up at Jesse. The calm eye contact from Reyes was all it took for Jesse’s nerves to bubble up in his throat.

“I mean... “ a short nervous laugh rippled out of him, “Th-that’s what they said, right? They’d be representin’ me, too?”

Reyes said nothing, just gave him a steady look.

“Right?” that pitchiness sharpened in his voice, nearly making it crack.

“...it’s a tough truth of this world, kid,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat slightly, “Don’t get involved with rich kids. They can buy their way out of trouble, but you...”

“No--” McCree interrupted him, “No--there’s--there’s been a mistake. Ashe said--she said---” 

“Maybe there was honor amongst thieves out here, under an open sky,” said Reyes with a weary shrug, “But I can’t say the same in the US legal system. And it’s a story jurors would love to hear: the pretty, oil tycoon princess just wants adventure, just wants attention, she gets mixed up with the dastardly local trash... falls in with a bad crowd... oh but she can change, she just needs another chance--it was Jesse McCree doing all the work, anyway, it was all his idea. Is that even his real name? Oh but don’t worry, 12 years in a maximum security cell oughta straighten him right up.”

All color had drained from McCree’s face. The look in those eyes would have been heartbreaking if Reyes wasn’t well aware he was a little shit.

“So that’s the stick,” said Reyes, picking up his fork, “Do you want to hear about the carrot, now?”

McCree tried to bring some hardness back to his expression, but his brow was still crinkling, realizing just how easy it was for Ashe’s family to throw him under the bus and how he had refused to see it for so long.

“...I ain’t a rat,” said McCree, staring down at the pie, “’sides, not like I can give you anything useful anyway.”

“I’m not looking for information,” said Reyes, “I’m looking for insight. A sharp eye. A steady hand.”

“Fresh blood,” McCree tilted his head up a little. Reyes gave a small single nod.

 A small scoff escaped McCree. “You can forget it. I ain’t a narc and I ain’t cannon fodder.”

“Did I say I was looking for a narc or cannon fodder?” Reyes pointed a fork at him, “Overwatch has plenty of those in our ranks already, rebuilding after the crisis is going to take more than bright-eyed button-up dumbasses star-struck by propaganda,” Reyes set the fork on his plate again and pushed it aside, now picking up a binder that had been on the seat next to him and flipping it open to CCTV photos of McCree. One was of him fixing up a dilapidated hover bike, another was of him carrying groceries in both arms for an old woman, and there were several photos of non-lethal gun wounds, “We had to do months of research to pull off this sting operation, and you know what I saw? Guts. Resourcefulness. Resilience. The ability to defuse high-tension situations. The ability to convince other people towards your own goals. The marks of a man who lives by a code... or at least is starting to. You wanted to be the goddamn Robin Hood of Route 66, but you’re young, you’re cocky, and you’re sloppy, and now you’re here.”

“You know how many ‘you have so much potential’ weepy speeches I’ve had to sit through?” McCree muttered.

“I don’t know, but I can guarantee you that whether you say yes or no, this is the last one,” said Reyes.

McCree’s glance fell down to his handcuffs. “It’s like that, then?”

“It’s like that,” said Reyes.

McCree was silent for a long time.

“I can give you the usual spiel--three square meals a day, roof over your head, travel the world and meet new and interesting people, top notch combat training--but you’ve heard all that shit before, and that didn’t convince you then, so there’s no reason it’ll convince you now,” Reyes went on, “You had fuck-all to do around here, but it wasn’t like you were going to join Overwatch or the army just to get out of here--you didn’t want to get out by fitting into someone else’s mold.” 

McCree made a near-scoffing “hm” noise that hinted at a smile.

“Did I read you right?” said Reyes.

“Fuck you,” the words came almost warmly out of McCree and his eyes were fixed on Reyes with a pensive curiosity that made Reyes wonder how interesting the conversation got out here in the middle of nowhere. McCree rubbed his chin, with one hand, the cuffs forcing his other hand to lift and hang lazily with the motion. “...y’know, I saw you in all those Crisis propaganda movies... thought you’d be more like Morrison.” 

“Morrison can have all the clean-scrubbed soldiers he wants,” said Gabe with a shrug, leaning back in his seat, “Me? I want the survivors. I want the cockroach motherfuckers.”

McCree snorted at this.

 “Dying for a cause you believe in,” Reyes followed up, “That’s easy. I saw loads of people do it... doing what needs to be done though... being willing to live with that shit afterward because there’s more shit to be done... It takes a certain kind of person to do that. And I’d rather have that person on my team than rotting away in a cell.” 

“On your team,” McCree repeated, squinting skeptically. 

“After the proper training of course. And there’s medical care. Dental. You get dental with the whole outlaw thing?”

McCree’s lips self-consciously closed over his teeth on instinct.

“And for what it’s worth, we’ll let you keep the hat,” said Reyes.

That smile tugged at the corner of McCree’s mouth. He resettled in his seat slightly, picked up his fork and sectioned off a bit of his own pie, now a virtual pile of pastry and apple mush beneath the melted remnants of its vanilla ice cream.

“Cockroach motherfuckers, huh?” said McCree, taking a bite of the pie.

“Working team name. Jack’s been pushing me toward ‘Blackwatch’ but what the hell does he know?”

“What does he know?” said McCree with a smile, taking another bite.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Ablaze - aka Obi-Wan learns the truth about what happened to Anakin post Mustafar Oneshot

Whatever Obi-Wan had hoped for, it wasn’t this.

He had been convinced when he turned his back on his past, tears blurring his vision as he left Anakin - his brother - behind by the molten lava lake of Mustafar, that that would be the end of it. He had known the twins once born must be hidden, concealed from the Empire and Palpatine. He had held them in his arms, as he watched Padmé’s life leave tear filled her eyes. As he watched her succumb to a broken heart, as her time ran out.

Obi-Wan had hoped that in spite of everything Anakin had done, every deed committed out of some sort of misplaced idea of justice to save his wife, he’d have passed on to find peace. There was the guilt, crippling and heart wrenching as it weighed heavy on his shoulders, looming over him every waking moment. Like a phantom, he wandered lost with only one purpose. One foot on the ground, one already in the grave as he watched over Luke faithfully. It was his only mission, as heeded the Lars’ warnings of not coming too close. Of not getting to know Luke personally. He watched as the boy grew to resemble his father more with each day, bringing back still painful memories of Anakin as a padawan, of Anakin questioning him, initiating arguments yet always returning for comfort and solace.

He had prayed that, much as it had destroyed him, Anakin was finally free from the demons that had plagued him so.

Anakin; who had been lured and manipulated into becoming a disciple of the Dark Side. Anakin; who had always been good, and kind, and just. Anakin; who loved so deeply, so truly that he stifled the air in Obi-Wan’s lungs. His brother, his son, his best friend - all in one. Anakin; whose final resting place lay among ashes, fire and brimstone. Obi-Wan considered it his cross to bear, and perhaps one day, he might have the courage to tell Luke the truth. Once Luke was old enough to understand, and to feign for himself. With the truth, danger would be sure to follow. The eyes of Emperor Palpatine were everywhere.

He had been wrong.

The first time caught wind of rumours regarding some mysterious empirical Enforcer cloaked in black, purging the remaining Jedi from the Galaxy on behalf of the Emperor - he felt sick to the stomach. Nauseous and dazed, losing focus the world became a blur as he casually continued to eavesdrop. He'd caught whiff of the grim news by accident from some bounty hunters normally located off planet, on one of his rare trips to the Cantina of Mos Eisley. At first, he told himself he must have misheard them. But the more he listened, the more he heard, the further the claws of dread sank into him. Suffocating him.

A menace clad all in black, face concealed. A Force wielder, one of the bounty hunters had professed. The other denied the existence of such a thing, but did affirm she too had heard some tall tales from a couple of drunk Imperial cadets, matching the description.

A regular smuggler was quick to chime in, in a foreboding low voice, that speaking of the devil might as well conjure him forward. Obi-Wan should have asked, then. But he couldn’t bear it. He’d prefer being unwise, uncertain as to the identity of this cloaked assassin. Deliberately ignorant by omission. Still, a voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to trust his gut feeling.

So, for a few more months, he buried it. He ignored the inquisitive part of himself, the one wanting desperately to pry and find out more. The one wanting to either reaffirm, or deny, what he was already suspecting. Eventually it got the upper hand. Hood pulled over his head, one night he surrendered to the urge. Travelling by land speeder with the intentions of visiting that same Cantina, back to the same area.

While it was not likely he’d be approaching the same crowd - bounty hunters never stayed long without Jabba the Hutt personally acquiescing - there might be other visitors willing to share their knowledge. Or perhaps suitable victim to coax information out of, via mind control. Against better judgment, Obi Wan found himself considering kidnapping, or at the very least stunning an unsuspecting stormtrooper, simply to pull the soldier away from public eyes for interrogation.

As luck would have it, he needn’t have worried. Ears perked, senses keenly attuned to his surroundings, he was quick to pick up on a rushed, impatient tone. There was a note of distress, of distinct dread radiating from the person speaking. Letting the Force guide him, Obi-Wan found himself drawing near to a small, scrappy docking area on the outskirts of the small city. Three ships anchored neatly aligned, all in beat up condition from bad to worse. The vessels would fly, but not much more. Pacing back and forth by the cargo holder of a battered YT-freighter, was a young twi’lek male. Lekku twitching, sharpened teeth bared. His company consisted only of a human woman, who looked about the same age but less antsy.

“How can you be so sure he won’t find us?”

“Because rumour has it this planet is off his radar,” said the woman, with clear disinterest. “We’ll have time to repair the ships. Turk'll gather up some credits, and then we'll go undercover. The Empi--”

“We’re not talking about the Empire, Oma!” hissed the twi’lek, and Obi-Wan felt the tension of anticipation pouring into his bones, as he pressed his back closely to the wreckage of what was once another clay building.

“It’s all the same, he is no different. He can’t be everywhere at once, surely he must have more important clientele to keep up with. We’re only possible associates at best, and even then he has no evidence.”

“You don’t understand!” the twi’lek raised his voice, before catching himself. "He doesn't need a justifiable reason to give chase!"

In an instant, the man's wide eyed stare darted madly around the location. Obi-Wan waited patiently, seeking aid from the Force to remain unseen and concealed. He had perfected the expert craft of hiding his Force signature, all to stay alert out of sight and mind from the Empire. For four years, it had worked to his favour. Still, he pulled his robes tight around himself, nodding in greeting as a random stranger - a Rodian - passed by in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan was considering wiping the encounter from her memory, but the woman disappeared into the night and it seemed an unnecessary endeavour.

With a hushed tone, the twi’lek piped up again as he inched closer to Oma, his female companion.

“He knows we aided that young Jedi. He knows we docked on I’qka, we’re in the Imperial records. The kid told us himself he was being hunted! Don’t you figure if there’s a kid on a planet that rarely ever receives visits from outside travelers, and this kid disappears with the one ship that has been knowingly recorded, that’s going to raise suspicion?”

“Which is why we’re going to make repairs only on The Japor, and trade this ship in for something more inconspicuous,” said Oma, still as unbothered as before. “You think too much about it, if anyone’s gonna raise suspicion, it’s you with your fidgeting. Pretend you never met the kid, and it’s gonna work out a hell of a lot better for us.”

“No one’s gonna want this junkyard of a ship,” the twi’lek huffed, glancing with a doubtful expression back at their vessel.

“There’s a constant demand for functioning scrap parts here, we’re gonna make a fortune if we pick it apart. Might even trade some parts off to the Jawas. You get in their good graces, and they’ll find you whatever you need.”

“Better be. I just don’t understand… aren’t you afraid of him?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m afraid or not, what matters is that we keep running. It’s only a problem if he catches us, and as long as we’re one step ahead, he’s no threat.”

Oma sounded calm and collected, but Obi-Wan could sense a fleeting tinge of dread through the living Force of her bloodstream. He could sense her palpitated heartbeats, sense her shortness of breath. He must condone their bravery however; hiding and assisting a Jedi fugitive under the Empire’s nose was high treason, punishable only by death penalty. Helping a Jedi was just as bad as being one, and the two must have been aware of that when they decided to act out of compassion. He couldn’t do much to aid their flight or ensure their safety, given the risk of blowing his own cover and subsequently Luke’s, but he was going to ask the Force be with and guide them. He hoped it’d be enough. Perhaps the Jedi was someone he knew, so he would wish him too a safe haven.

“So, we just keep running forever and hope he never catches us?”

The twi’lek sounded dejected, his lekku twitching in distress as he padded over to slump down to sit on the lowered landing pad. Obi-Wan felt his sadness as clearly as were it his own, even as Oma placed a hand on his shoulder to offer what appeared to be a supportive squeeze.

“Isn’t that what we do best? Let’s just hope the kid will get by and find a safe place to stay. That would make it all worth it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but if… if he comes after us, at least we’ll know he probably hasn’t found the kid. He’d need us alive, right?”

“Right,” Oma nodded, although that possibility didn’t seem to particularly put her at ease.

Obi-Wan sighed softly.

If the rumours of the Empire’s treatment of traitors was anything to go by, he’d presume a swift death was to prefer. More than one person had whispered of torture, and torment to force an approved testimony out of prisoners. It was frightening, how low the morals of those in power had stooped in such a short amount of time, since the fall of the Galactic Republic.

He had fought bravely in The Clone Wars for freedom, for justice. Was this his reward? Was this what the Jedi and their troops had laid down their lives to preserve? Then, on the other hand, Anakin too had been adamant to protect freedom. Had been adamant to end slavery, never able to overcome his own traumatic childhood raised on this burning sand planet as a slave to Watto. Mournfully, Obi-Wan regretted that he had never taken the time to speak about that experience in depth with Anakin. Regretted that he had not trusted Anakin’s visions of Shmi’s death. Perhaps, if his mother had lived, he would have resisted Palpatine’s lure.

It all came back to Anakin.

Every waking moment, Obi-Wan's mind would wander aimlessly until memories of familiar, mischievous blue eyes flashed before his inner vision. When he slept; nightmares of Mustafar, the stench of burning flesh and shrieks of anguish haunted him. Pleas for help, begging for him to come back. Begging him to stay. Every time, Obi-Wan tried to will himself to stay. Longing to turn back around, to hurry to Anakin’s side. To hold him in his arms, as they both perished in a burst of flames and embers. Instead, he had no control of his own limbs as he walked away. The sound of Anakin’s pained howls, and the gurgling noise that replaced them as the heat withered away his esophagus ringing in his ears.

“Are you afraid?”

Obi-Wan startled, at first convinced that the voice had spoken directly to him. He blinked his eyes, looking up only to realize it was Oma who had broken the silence. The twi’lek craned his neck to glance up at her, her dark eyes unreadable in the distant light spilling out of the freighter they called home. The twi’lek exhaled heavily; only to offer a sharp nod, eyes once more scanning their surroundings as if he’d been reminded of their vulnerable state.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If he was so intent on killing a kid, what’s to say he’d hesitate to kill us just out of spite? I...” he paused momentarily, tone almost inaudible as he spoke again and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been so attuned to their conversation, he would have missed it.” I know people opposed to the Empire. They’re… attempting to align. To form some sort of resistance. Either way, a childhood friend of mine, M’naaka, works in close contact with their organizations.”

Oma only nodded to confirm she was listening, but he expression spoke of curiosity. It was clear she had never heard of this before.

“So, M’naaka has never met him directly, but--” the young twi’lek’s head shot up abruptly, his entire body strung out like a prey animal sensing the close proximity of a predator.

When nothing happened, no ambush forthcoming - Oma herself beginning to look increasingly uneasy - he settled back down into his tale.

“But she’s heard from her companions. They say that if Vader’s got reason to keep you in his sight, you’ve already lost.”

‘Henceforth, you shall be down as Darth… Vader.’

No.

No.

“Vader has bigger problems to cater to, if what you’re telling me about your friend’s contacts is true.”

Vader.

The name left Obi-Wan cold - the same sickness of that first mention of an assassin of the Empire cloaked in shadow had brought forth. The nausea returning, head spinning. He had pleaded with Master Yoda years ago, as they rid the ransacked and destroyed Jedi Temple of clone intruders, pressing that he must watch the holographic surveillance recordings. That he must see who had massacred their peers; the people he had grown up with, the only family he had ever known. The only life he knew, laid to waste. Children chopped to pieces, young men and women cut down in their prime. Whoever he had imagined to be the perpetrator, it was not Anakin.

Even now, he couldn’t believe Anakin could be capable of such vile acts. Yet, the holograms didn’t lie.

Now the sinking feeling Obi-Wan had experienced in that horrifying moment - as he'd watched Anakin kneel obediently before the now revealed true identity of Sith Lord, Darth Sidious - had returned tenfold. The sorrow.

He'd watched Anakin take on the mantle of Darth Vader; apprentice and second in command only to Palpatine himself. He'd watched all his hopes for his former padawan as a young Jedi crumble to ashes, scattered to the wind. Molding to become one with the sand dunes of Tatooine nightfall as he was brought back to present day. The bitter cold of the air was matched only by the block of ice forming in his chest cavity. He shut his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

The memory was still fresh, still vivid and tangible. Anakin, body set ablaze. Eyes a sickly yellow; bloodshot and animalistic as he poured the full intensity of his rage, his hate, his fear into the already heavy, charged air of Mustafar. His clothes, his hair, his skin aflame. Obi-Wan could not bear to watch the man he had loved as his own brother succumb. He abandoned him. Had left it up to the Force. He had assumed that the Force would take pity on Anakin - the man who was supposed to be The Chosen One - despite the monster he had become.

There were so many question, nothing made sense anymore.

How?

How had Anakin lived? Why? What must he look like? What agony must he be in? How might anyone survive being set afire? Obi-Wan had assumed that Maul was alone in his conviction, his ability to feed off of the Dark Side to sustain himself despite his mortal wounds. Had Anakin relied on similar tactics? Where was he now? Was there anything left of the man Obi Wan had raised and mentored? Did he know where to find his former master? Was he coming for him?

Vader. Of course.

Who else would be so consumed by spite, as to hunt innocent Jedi children to purge? Who else could be so petty, so insidious, so self absorbed? Anakin had been good, at heart. He’d been flawed, he’d been human. He’d been lying, he’d bent the rules, he’d become too attached. But he’d been well meaning, he’d been gentle and loyal and caring.

The shadow that had taken his place seemed to feed off of death, as if the blood on his hands made no difference to him. And why would it? Obi-Wan had seen the children lying lifeless on the cold stone floors of the Temple halls. In that moment, he had known there was no saving Anakin. He had refused to kill Anakin, had been adamant Master Yoda go in his stead. Anything at all, but that. In the end, he was left with no choice. Left with a naive belief, that maybe he could help Padmé bring Anakin back to sanity. Help him see reason. In the end, it was all for naught. In the end, Padmé faded away to become one with the Force. Leaving behind Anakin's estranged children; children he must never be made aware of.

Anakin died that day.

The Anakin Skywalker Obi-Wan had known, burned to dust upon shores of ash. The man reemerging in his place was changed; twisted, evil and unrecognizable. The man who had taken his place was but a pawn of the Emperor, serving his master’s bidding at his beck and call as a slave. There could be no other explanation. The man in Anakin's place had nothing left to live for, no one left to save.

Why hadn’t Anakin told him about Padmé? He must have known it was an open secret. He must have known Obi-Wan had already suspected it for several years. How could he hesitate? How could he stubbornly go on, wrestling in silence with his own fears and the expectations placed upon him by outside forces? How could he find Palpatine a better confidant?

Padmé had died, and Anakin with her. And with Anakin’s death followed a part of Obi-Wan.

As he swallowed down the stone cold terror of truth welling up in his chest, biting back an inexplicable urge to weep over the pitiful fate that had befallen his brother in arms - Obi-Wan somehow found enough strength for his legs to carry him back to his land speeder. Enough energy to take him home; home to safety and solace, where he may still serve his purpose of guiding and watching over Luke.

A man like Vader would not hesitate to twist Anakin’s son into something as cruel, and vicious, and unyielding as himself. But despite the fact that Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge Vader as Anakin, refused to believe Anakin had ever possessed the ability to overstep the line so grievously - deep down, in his heart, he knew it was a poor man's comfort. But if he dared set it the truth free, dared allow himself to dwell upon it, he feared he too would lose his mind.

Deep down, he knew that the love he had harbored for the boy had never been enough. It seemed, he had never really known Anakin at all.

------------

I always did want to write something like this, a piece where Obi Wan tackles the realization that Anakin is still alive under the mantle of Darth Vader. Here's my take, until canon inevitably offers us an official version, of a possible look at that. I had fun writing Obi Wan though, and his denial of Anakin's true self as a juxtaposition to Ahsoka's acceptance of the truth.

If you ship Obikin, you can always look at it that way too. It is written to be canon compliant, however!

Enjoy!

Link below to the Ao3 post, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

Lose Companion to Lifeline:

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634787175881474048/lifeline-ahsoka-reaching-out-for-anakin-post

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

[richincolor]

New Releases For The Rest of 2020

The year ends with a number of books we've all been anticipating which makes for lots of great reading for us during the winter holidays. What books are you looking forward to?

A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) by Sabaa Tahir Razorbill

Picking up just a few months after A Reaper at the Gates left off…

The long-imprisoned jinn are on the attack, wreaking bloody havoc in villages and cities alike. But for the Nightbringer, vengeance on his human foes is just the beginning.

At his side, Commandant Keris Veturia declares herself Empress, and calls for the heads of any and all who defy her rule. At the top of the list? The Blood Shrike and her remaining family.

Laia of Serra, now allied with the Blood Shrike, struggles to recover from the loss of the two people most important to her. Determined to stop the approaching apocalypse, she throws herself into the destruction of the Nightbringer. In the process, she awakens an ancient power that could lead her to victory–or to an unimaginable doom.

And deep in the Waiting Place, the Soul Catcher seeks only to forget the life–and love–he left behind. Yet doing so means ignoring the trail of murder left by the Nightbringer and his jinn. To uphold his oath and protect the human world from the supernatural, the Soul Catcher must look beyond the borders of his own land. He must take on a mission that could save–or destroy–all that he knows. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Heiress Apparently (Daughters of the Dynasty #1) by Diana Ma Amulet

Gemma Huang is a recent transplant to Los Angeles from Illinois, having abandoned plans for college to pursue a career in acting, much to the dismay of her parents. Now she’s living with three roommates in a two-bedroom hovel, auditioning for bit roles that hardly cover rent. Gemma’s big break comes when she’s asked to play a lead role in an update of M. Butterfly filming for the summer in Beijing. When she arrives, she’s stopped by paparazzi at the airport. She quickly realizes she may as well be the twin of one of the most notorious young socialites in Beijing. Thus kicks off a summer of revelations, in which Gemma uncovers a legacy her parents have spent their lives protecting her from—one her mother would conceal from her daughter at any cost. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

The Black Friend: On Being a Better White Person by Frederick Joseph Candlewick Press

“We don’t see color.” “I didn’t know Black people liked Star Wars!” “What hood are you from?” For Frederick Joseph, life in a mostly white high school as a smart and increasingly popular transfer student was full of wince-worthy moments that he often simply let go. As he grew older, however, he saw these as missed opportunities not only to stand up for himself, but to spread awareness to the white friends and acquaintances who didn’t see the negative impact they were having and who would change if they knew how.

Speaking directly to the reader, The Black Friend calls up race-related anecdotes from the author’s past, weaving in his thoughts on why they were hurtful and how he might handle things differently now. Each chapter includes the voice of at least one artist or activist, including Tarell Alvin McCraney, screenwriter of Moonlight; April Reign, creator of #OscarsSoWhite; Angie Thomas, author of The Hate U Give; and eleven others. Touching on everything from cultural appropriation to power dynamics, “reverse racism” to white privilege, microaggressions to the tragic results of overt racism, this book serves as conversation starter, tool kit, and invaluable window into the life of a former “token Black kid” who now presents himself as the friend many of us need. Back matter includes an encyclopedia of racism, providing details on relevant historical events, terminology, and more.

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera, Celia Moscote (Illustrations) BOOM! Box

A NEW GRAPHIC NOVEL ADAPTATION OF THE BESTSELLING BOOK! Juliet Milagros Palante is leaving the Bronx and headed to Portland, Oregon. She just came out to her family and isn’t sure if her mom will ever speak to her again. But don’t worry, Juliet has something kinda resembling a plan that’ll help her figure out what it means to be Puerto Rican, lesbian and out. See, she’s going to intern with Harlowe Brisbane – her favorite feminist author, someone’s who’s the last work on feminism, self-love and lots of of ther things that will help Juliet find her ever elusive epiphany. There’s just one problem – Harlowe’s white, not from the Bronx and doesn’t have the answers. Okay, maybe that’s more than one problem but Juliet never said it was a perfect plan… Critically-acclaimed writer Gabby Rivera adapts her bestselling novel alongside artist Celia Moscote in an unforgettable queer coming-of-age story exploring race, idenrity and what it means to be true to your amazing self. even when the rest of the world doesn’t understand.

A Curse of Roses by Diana Pinguicha Entangled Teen

With just one touch, bread turns into roses. With just one bite, cheese turns into lilies.

There’s a famine plaguing the land, and Princess Yzabel is wasting food simply by trying to eat. Before she can even swallow, her magic—her curse—has turned her meal into a bouquet. She’s on the verge of starving, which only reminds her that the people of Portugal have been enduring the same pain.

If only it were possible to reverse her magic. Then she could turn flowers…into food.

Fatyan, a beautiful Enchanted Moura, is the only one who can help. But she is trapped by magical binds. She can teach Yzabel how to control her curse—if Yzabel sets her free with a kiss.

As the King of Portugal’s betrothed, Yzabel would be committing treason, but what good is a king if his country has starved to death?

With just one kiss, Fatyan is set free. And with just one kiss, Yzabel is yearning for more.

She’d sought out Fatyan to help her save the people. Now, loving her could mean Yzabel’s destruction.

Based on Portuguese legend, this #OwnVoices historical fantasy is an epic tale of mystery, magic, and making the impossible choice between love and duty…

New Releases on Dec. 8th

A Universe of Wishes: A We Need Diverse Books Anthology edited by Dhonielle Clayton Random House Children’s Books

In the fourth collaboration with We Need Diverse Books, fifteen award-winning and celebrated diverse authors deliver stories about a princess without need of a prince, a monster long misunderstood, memories that vanish with a spell, and voices that refuse to stay silent in the face of injustice. This powerful and inclusive collection contains a universe of wishes for a braver and more beautiful world.

Authors include: Samira Ahmed, Libba Bray, Dhonielle Clayton, Zoraida Córdova, Tessa Gratton, Kwame Mbalia, Anna-Marie McLemore, Tochi Onyebuchi, Mark Oshiro, Natalie C. Parker, Rebecca Roanhorse, Victoria Schwab, Tara Sim, Nic Stone, and a to-be-announced debut author/short-story contest winner.

New Releases on Dec. 15th

Oculta (A Forgery of Magic #2) by Maya Motayne Balzer + Bray

After joining forces to save Castallan from an ancient magical evil, Alfie and Finn haven’t seen each other in months. Alfie is finally stepping up to his role as heir and preparing for an International Peace Summit, while Finn is travelling and revelling in her newfound freedom from Ignacio.

That is, until she’s unexpectedly installed as the new leader of one of Castallan’s powerful crime families. Now one of the four Thief Lords of Castallan, she’s forced to preside over the illegal underground Oculta competition, which coincides with the summit and boasts a legendary prize.

Just when Finn finds herself back in San Cristobal, Alfie’s plans are also derailed. Los Toros, the mysterious syndicate responsible for his brother’s murder, has resurfaced—and their newest target is the summit. And when these events all unexpectedly converge, Finn and Alfie are once again forced to work together to follow the assassins’ trail and preserve Castallan’s hopes for peace with Englass.

But will they be able to stop these sinister foes before a new war threatens their kingdom?

This Is How We Fly by Anna Meriano Philomel Books

17-year-old vegan feminist Ellen Lopez-Rourke has one muggy Houston summer left before college. She plans to spend every last moment with her two best friends before they go off to the opposite ends of Texas for school. But when Ellen is grounded for the entire summer by her (sometimes) evil stepmother, all her plans are thrown out the window.

Determined to do something with her time, Ellen (with the help of BFF Melissa) convinces her parents to let her join the local muggle Quidditch team. An all-gender, full-contact game, Quidditch isn’t quite what Ellen expects. There’s no flying, no magic, just a bunch of scrappy players holding PVC pipe between their legs and throwing dodgeballs. Suddenly Ellen is thrown into the very different world of sports: her life is all practices, training, and running with a group of Harry Potter fans.

Even as Melissa pulls away to pursue new relationships and their other BFF Xiumiao seems more interested in moving on from high school (and from Ellen), Ellen is steadily finding a place among her teammates. Maybe Quidditch is where she belongs.

But with her home life and friend troubles quickly spinning out of control–Ellen must fight for the future that she wants, now she’s playing for keeps. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

[trash-muse]

Flashback: A Long Trail of Ashes

WHO: John Constantine and Asmodel @dark-musngs​ WHAT: Flashback - July 2000 - First meeting between a punk ass magician and a not-yet-corrupted angel.

There was a sudden burst of music and drunken revelry as the side door of a London pub opened and a lean eighteen year old man exited with a swagger in his boot clad step.  The summer air was warm and sticky and not at all ideal for wearing tight purple jeans and a leather jacket, but that didn’t stop the young man dressing like a rejected 70s punk aesthetic.

“Constantine!”

John Constantine whirled around, flashing a devilish grin. “Evening lads,” he greeted the four men that approached him, demeanor calm to the point of arrogance. “Nice night for a stroll, yeah?”

“Sod off, Constantine.” The leader of the men shuffled forward, asserting dominance. “You have some nerve showing your face ‘round here. Especially after what you did.”

“And what did I apparently do?” John continued, the other man’s temper clearly ready to boil over as John’s flippant question added fuel to the fire.

“You cheated!” The man got into John’s personal space, shoving him hard into the solid brick wall of the pub. “You used your little magic tricks to win and now you’re gonna pay.”

“Not my fault you were daft enough to bet your house. I should be thanking you, the bed is very comfortable.” John replied, riling the other man up further. Really he should be doing the opposite, trying to soothe the man’s ire and make an escape. But it seemed John was itching for some kind of action and if that action was an uneven fight in an alley then so be it.

The man swung at him, his closed fist missing as John weaseled his way out. One of the others then lunged for him and John swung back, fist connecting with jaw. It didn’t take much for a scrappy brawl to break out. Four to one, odds not in John’s favour. However, the young magician did put up a good fight, proving he was a nasty piece of work as he had claimed to be so many times before.

There was no way he could win though. Arms pinned behind his back by two of the blokes, John braced himself as the leader went to punch his head in. But the hit never landed. White light filled the little alleyway and when John opened his eyes again, the other men were gone.

“What the…?” John rose to his feet from his knees, looking around flabbergasted. Had he been hit that hard he blacked out? John questioned himself, bringing a hand to his forehead and quickly withdrew it again, hissing in pain from a split eyebrow.

Suddenly movement caught his attention and John curiously moved toward it. “Hey!” He called out, realising the silhouette up ahead was actually a person. “Hey… who are you? Did you cause that light?”

---

You’re not supposed to get involved…

Asmodel found herself repeating that phrase over and over again as she kept watch over the troublesome human. She had griped for days when she had received the assignment - a task usually given to a much lower rank of angel. Like a guardian or heaven forbid, a cherub. Cheery winged balls of energy. It was a warning for sure but for what she wasn’t sure. After Lucifer’s fall, heaven remained on high alert of any defecting angels, even to the point where they seemed a bit overly paranoid.

So the assignment had grown more interesting as the boy and the trouble he attracted grew. He probably stocked up all his close calls and last minute victories as coincidences, but it was busy work for the all-powerful angel keeping an eye on him. Heaven deemed him worthy of something, if not just to piss of hell, so she simply followed orders to keep him alive. Bare minimum of course, but alive all the same.

….except when he’s about to die in a common alleyway brawl!

Az cursed under her breath as she quickly had to step in, her presence lighting up the alleyway instantly. Thankfully there weren’t any other humans besides the three and John, so as the light died down she quickly stepped into the shadows so to blend into the surroundings. She wasn’t quite counting on Constantine to call her out though. Pausing where she was, she slowly turned to face the mess of a human. “Light?” she held up a small flashlight in her hand. “You mean this?”

---

John jogged slightly to catch up, boot clad feet clunking heavily against the old stone street in the alley. A lazy smile crawled across his features as he was finally able to make out the woman’s appearance. “Yeah, light.” He repeated himself, eyes drifting down to the apparent source of light she held, a chuckle erupting from his lips. “Ah… right… must have meant that.”

Of course, John didn’t believe that for one second. There was no way the little flashlight could light up the whole alley the way it did. But John wasn’t going to call his savior a liar. That would just be rude.

“Anyway, love, while completely unnecessary, I do appreciate the assistance. So, thank you.” He spoke in a polite but rather dismissive tone, figuring the woman probably had better places to be.

---

Az cursed under her breath as she heard him coming up behind her, not taking her off-handed explanation as a sign that she wasn’t interested in further conversation. She pocketed the phone and glanced over to him as she felt his eyes on her. Cheeky as always.

“Unnecessary?” she repeated in amusement they fell into step. “If I’m not mistaken, you were about to have your ass handed to you.” Her dark eyes flickered over to him before with a subtle smirk.

---

“I had it under control,” John bit back, tone slightly defensive. He didn’t know what he would have done but he would have thought of something. He always thought of something.

The sass of the young woman was refreshing and her accent rather intriguing - definitely not local. Although, to be fair, neither was he. But he was willing to bet he was a lot closer to home than she was.

“But let’s not get into it, yeah?” John retreated on the pending bickering before it could even kick off. “So, my avenging angel, you got a name? Always like to know the name of someone before I buy them a drink.”

---

“I’d hate to see what it looks like when you don’t have it under control.” Az smirked as he tried to save face, as if she hadn’t seen him plenty of times failing to have similar moments under control. She paused as he invited her out for a drink. Always the sweet talker - if only he knew how accurate avenging angel was in this case.

“Azra.” She turned to face him, looking up at him indifferently. “And I don’t drink.”

---

“Never happen.” John smirked in reply, finding it easy to joke around with the young woman. Despite having never met her before, there was an air of familiarity about her. Like they had known each other for years. However, John paid it no mind.

Azra. Not a common name heard in those parts. Fitting for such an intriguing woman.

John had to chuckle at her indifference. “How about something to eat then? There are a few places still open. What do you feel like? Or don’t you do that either?”

---

Az rolled her eyes as he continued to badger her. He didn’t quit. She should have expected this when she interceded, honestly it was what had stopped her from stepping in personally before, but she just couldn’t help herself this time. She sighed, raising a brow as she contemplated just wiping his memory and moving on. It was just such a hassle.

“…I can eat and you don’t seem to be familiar with someone turning you down. So sure, a quick bite won’t hurt.”

---

A cheeky grin responded to Azra’s banter about being unfamiliar with someone turning him down. John was charming, cocky and persistent. All traits the blonde tried to use to his advantage. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. However as Azra continued it was clear John was winning her over.

“It definitely won’t hurt.” John replied, keeping in step with her. “So what do you feel like? There’s a pub down there that does chips but it gets a bit rowdy this time of night.” He nodded in the direction they were headed. “Or we could catch the tube to a little pizza place near King’s Cross. They shut soon but I know the owner, they’ll let us in after closing.”

“Or… if you don’t think it too forward. We can go back to mine and I can make you breakfast for dinner.”

---

Az took a moment to consider the options. More human interaction wasn’t exactly what she had hoped for tonight but it could be safer than more one on one time with his ridiculous self. Although, knowing John, going somewhere rowdy was just asking for trouble and she didn’t want to step in to stop another brawl - once a night was enough without exposing herself.

She raised a brow as she looked up to him skeptically. “Is that what you say to get a girl to go home with you?” It was a good border between sweet and sleezy, so how many times had he offered it in the past? “Fine, breakfast it is.”

---

John waited patiently as Azra mulled over the options. He wouldn’t pressure her into spending more time with him - though he found her intriguing, he did respect the young woman’s boundaries. However, Azra wasn’t saying no.

“Usually I’m the one being invited, not doing the inviting.” John’s apartment wasn’t exactly the most glamorous of venues. It was literally one bed with a small kitchenette and bathroom. Some closets had bigger square footage. But despite not having much room for guests over, it was safe and kept him off the street. “And not always a girl.”

His smile broadened as his offer was accepted. “Good choice,” John said before reaching out a hand to pause her steps forward, guiding Azra to cross the road with him. “What do you usually have for breakfast?”

---

“Of course. A pretty face offers you food and I doubt you say no.” she chuckled because little did he know, but she was well versed in the life of John Constantine. And maybe she should have known better than to agree - after all, she was supposed to be looking on from afar, not interacting with him face to face like this. It was against the guidelines and procedures….so maybe that thrill was why she ended up agreeing.

She followed his directed path, letting him lead despite knowing their intended destination already. “I don’t usually have much time for breakfast, so whatever is available will do.”

---

“Of course not.” John grinned at her chuckle. “Be rude of me if I did.” He did lead quite the colourful life but he also had enough respect for those he was with to not tell everyone about who he was with and what exactly they got up to.

John gave Azra a look of disbelief when she said she didn’t have breakfast, although there was no scolding behind his gaze. “Azra, my dear, you are in for a treat.”

He hopped the stairs up to his apartment building door two at a time and let himself into the old terrace house, holding the door open so Azra may enter first. Directly in front of the entry way was a sharp set of stairs upward - of which, John climbed, moved around the small landing and climbed a further set of stairs.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” John opened the door to his humble one room apartment. “There’s no sofa, but promise the bed’s clean if you want a seat.”

---

Azra followed him up the steps - all the steps - until they finally reached his little apartment. It was…quaint. Definitely showed that he didn’t spend too much time there. She observed the small space as she entered, looking around with a somewhat critical eye before taking a seat gingerly on the bed as he offered her a seat.

“What’s so important about breakfast?” she asked indifferently, her gaze shifting back to focus on him as he moved about the small kitchen area. She couldn’t stay long but she could play along with this idea of entertaining that he had in mind.

[onelichtwolich]

meta for lup coming to terms with how this whole isola situation is different from what she's used to, and maybe dealing with change in general?

mmkay, i’m gonna tackle this now, i think. at 5 in the morning. that seems wise of me, LMAO. so.

the thing about being in a situation where you were supposed to go on a space mission for two months, but it’s lasted 98 fucking years, is that… …as horrible as things get sometimes? i do think there’s kind of a routine to it. as traumatizing as it was to lose Twosun, as awful as it is to deal with the Hunger tirelessly every time, as many times as she and the crew have had to die and reset again like nothing ever happened… …it’s also something you just fall into, like… …okay, this is the deal now. she’s never… quite been able to stomach losing Taako as well as the rest of the crew, which is the reason for such a low death count; she’s always, always protected him to the best of her ability, sometimes sacrificing herself in his place. even losing Barry is easier, in part because–they both have such a weird relationship with death in the first place, and he does in particular, so she’s not as worried about him. but.

even though it’s by no means a comfortable situation, they’re all super duper used to it. more than that, they’re family, so any loss experienced, while super painful at first and sometimes shocking in the beginning–can be soothed by knowing there are other people on this ship who care just as much as you do, who are here for you in different ways. and she’s hella comfortable around all of them, to the point where if literally any of ‘em walked in on her in the shower she wouldn’t even flinch. you get so fucking comfortable with folks you’ve known for almost a whole century of your life, dude. those six other people? they know her better and she knows them better than anyone else in this multiverse, because they had to get familiar and get along, and their bonds with one another literally power the ship.

so when you take that away.

when there’s a break in the cycles, when suddenly there’s… …well, there’s no Hunger, which is an upside. it’s nice not to be dealing with a cosmic horrorterror devouring worlds and feeding off of and creating bad vibes. but that also means there’s no Light to pursue, which means… …there’s no Starblaster. for Lup, that means no family. it’s a break in a routine that for some reasons was highly unpleasant and traumatic and scary, but it’s also–it also means she doesn’t have her family. and forming that makeshift family is not something Lup can take lightly.

growing up, it was like… the twins’ parents died. they went to stay with folks who then also died, so by the time they were both twelve they were homeless and all they had was one another. and shit got really, truly awful. cold bitter winters with no roof over their heads and one or both of them getting sick. working desperately at caravan after caravan as cooks because that’s what their aunt taught them, but not all of those folks were nice or forgiving with kids. and sometimes that wasn’t enough gold, so they both had side jobs (won’t go into Taako’s, it’s not relevant, but Lup’s was specifically fighting in an underground ring and going up against folks more than twice her size as this scrappy young thing). thieving and getting into mischief. it wasn’t a good life? but they had each other. he’d tend to her bruises and scrapes; she’d help him with his own damages. things were bad, but it was okay, because they were all they had in this world.

“outcast but never alone.”

so adding more people to that outfit, when they’d both come from such a place of trauma, was… …interesting and unexpected to say the least. it took Taako much longer–cycles even–to accept that it wasn’t just them vs the world anymore, that he could trust these jamokes. Lup warmed up quicker and she was actually the one to help reassure him, time and time again, that no matter what happened they had each other, and the world? was good. was worth saving, despite everything they’d been through. hell, she was the one who wanted to go to space–had such a huge passion for it and arcana that carried her through the Academy. Taako p much just naturally aced stuff because he was wicked smart and refused to let her go alone because he didn’t want her to die. LMAO. she’s always been the one reassuring him and smiling for him and being strong for him. but because of all this, taking on… …new family? between the two of them? that’s a huge fucking deal, when all your previous family has gone, when you’ve learned that the only people you can rely on are each other.

family is Lup’s most sacred concept. elevated above all else. family means the world, and calling you her family is the highest honor. maybe it was naive, but… …even after losing Twosun, she had gained this new family. they had each other, no matter what happened.

and then. she came to Isola.

and lost that which she thought she’d never lose, could never lose:

Taako.

no matter what losses Lup has endured, Taako’s been there through all of ‘em. they’ve been inseparable since before birth. he’s her heart, he’s her twin, her other half. he’s so grounding for her that he’s one of the reasons she could become a lich without losing her tether to herself. he’s kept her going, fighting, smiling, laughing, held her, taken care of her, for so fucking long. for their entire lives.

he’s not here to help her with this one.

Lup has lost so fucking much in her life. one loss after another. her whole life has been an exercise in impermanence. but this is the loss she can’t handle. so she’s kind of having a breakdown right now. it manifests itself erratically, sporadically, in different ways. she’s not thinking clearly and kind of just throwing herself into this idea that–it’ll be okay. she’s not gonna find him here (she knows that now after talking to Susie and learning he was here two fucking years ago), but that means he’s safe, and if this place is a prison and everyone around her is stuck there, she’s going to try her damndest to do what she usually does and try to get people out, and work hard in the meantime (if she blends in and works at Ashe’s restaurant, the captors may be less suspicious). i don’t know if she’ll ever realize how futile that is. she might not ever, just because–that might break her. but i guess we’ll see, honestly.

dying is going to be… …hard for her. a new reset. i think about it a lot and i’m pretty sure i know how the first one is going to happen (she’s super determined to figure out the boundaries of this place and what ‘unpleasant side effects’ are). she’s used to dying and resetting, but… …with her family. with her home and her heart.

this change? this is the worst one she’s ever been through, and given her track record, that’s saying something.

but that’s also why i think forming new relationships here, like ones with Ashe and Kay, is so important to her wellbeing. she needs family. she needs softness. she needs people to care about, to protect, but more than she’ll ever admit she needs them to do that for her. and thank fuck for Barry Bluejeans, because i don’t even want to know what a Lup without him would look like in this place, and i don’t want to know. her love for him kept her grounded as a lich, too. and it’s probably her biggest, strongest, most important tether in this place.

she’s always had to be the one to give pep talks when they’re in the shit. to smile when people are losing faith. to keep fighting because that fire in her burns so bright and to stay strong for everyone.

but the people she was doing that for, who helped her do it? are mostly gone. so she just has all this to deal with now. she’s gonna have to come to terms with her pain. with trauma. and she’s gonna try to run like hell from it at all costs.

she can build a new life here. a new family again. but it’s gonna take time.

SO YEAH, WOW SORRY THAT WAS SO RAMBLY BUT I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS. THANKS FOR SENDING THIS IN JOTH I LOVE U DEARLY.

[docholligay]

Smoke and Ashes

This is a fic I wrote mostly for me for once but also for @rosepetalrevolution and anyone else who is interested in These Western Fucks, namely Yael, McCree, and Ashe. You can find it in the timeline: here. 3,300 words I would love to know if you enjoy it!! 

“Please don’t!” Tears ran down his face. “For Christ’s sake, please!”

“Wrong audience, motherfucker.” Yael cocked her gun, and fired, an impressive spray of blood spackling across McCree’s boots.

He looked down at them and frowned. “I just polished these, Yael.” He picked some of the brass off the ground. “That was quick.”

“Easy when it’s a bunch a little boys pissin their pants.” She knelt down and rifled through the dead man’s pockets, “Jacinta! You done over there? Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic.”

The echoing fire of a gun was the reply, and Jacinta walked around the end of the truck. “I would think you’d appreciate lingering on this a little bit.”

“It’s not about enjoying the job, it’s a practical matter,” Yael took the cigarettes out of the dead man’s jacket, tapping one out of the pack and lighting it, taking a long drag as she leaned her elbows back onto the dead man’s chest, “Though I don’t hate it. Goddamn, even their cigarettes are terrible, Jesus fucking wept.”

She sat up and put the cigarette out in his cheek.

“Nice cache a weapons, though.” McCree set an AK to the side of the truck.

“Welp,” Yael slapped her knee, “Alls well that ends well, then.” She gave a chuckle and slapped McCree on the shoulder. “We’ll eat good tonight, tell you what. Already have a buyer.”

“Didn’t you,” McCree pushed the brim of his hat back a touch, “Specifically tell me, more n once, not to sell anything you ain’t got in hand?”

“Yael thinks the rules don’t apply to her.” Jacinta put a crate of ammo into the back of the truck, “Thinks she is special.”

“You’d know.” Yael grinned.

Jacinta tried to scowl, but smiled anyhow, as she checked a rifle for a round. “You are not cute.”

“Yael you ever think that the people we sell these to, are gonna go back and sell em to these poor fucks again?” McCree had said it quite without meaning to.

Yael’s internal compass was its own creature, and McCree could never quite puzzle it out. She was happy enough to take the boxes of illegal arms from these people, but the suppliers they sold to probably didn’t exactly ask for an essay on intercultural exchange before they sold them. It’d just fall back, that they’d be back where they started.

“Not those poor fucks,” she tipped her head to the one on the ground, his head split open, flies buzzing around his brains, “cleared that right up.”

And that would be the end of the debate, McCree knew, in the way he knew he’d never stop thinking it. There were certain things, rhythms, in the gang, that flowed through everything they did like a bends of a river, and McCree knew how to point his canoe by now.

McCree had come to them three years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Cody Stenslund was an old man with a scraggy group of hungry young kids, and a smaller band of old men like him. It was the assumption they’d picked up these kids to pass the torch to someone, and it had proved successful, and he hadn’t wanted McCree. No one seemed to, back then.

But Yael was clever, and she was a connoisseur of people who survived when they weren’t meant to, and she’d stood for him. He’d been with them ever since, through his own training and scrapes and Cody’s retirement, and he couldn’t see leaving. Yael was Yael about near everything, but McCree never worried about where he was going to go, what he was going to eat, and the drifting tumbleweed decided this was a fine fence to be caught upon.

Besides that, he’d reflected at Jacinta and Yael’s wedding, it was a kind of a family, and McCree needed all of that he could get.

Carey loaded on an unopened crate to the back of the truck, and flipped up the tailgate, leaning against the back of it and giving McCree a grin, the soft green of his eyes flickering with excitement.  

“Yael said beers are on her tonight.” He tapped out two cigarettes, and offered McCree one, which he gratefully accepted.

“Better be,” he lit the smoke and took a deep drag, “much as she’s had us all runnin around Hell out here.”

Carey chuckled softly. He was a few years older than McCree, like most of the gang, tall and thin, his dark brown hair clipped neatly. He had no idea about McCree. McCree barely had any idea about McCree, even when he thought about walking over to Carey’s bunk in the night and kissing him as the moonlight streamed through the window.

There was nothing for McCree to be ashamed of, and he knew that, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yael had done it. No one questioned her or so much as said boo about it.

But the rules didn’t apply to Yael, you know.

“Well boys,” Yael circled around and tossed the keys to Carey, who caught them handily, “let’s get to gettin.”

_____

Ashe stood outside the bar, adjusting the collar of her shirt and trying to get the right angle of the hat on her head. She’d known the Deadlock Gang was going to be here, it was an open secret that they protected this bar and the bar did the same to them, a scrappy outpost at the edge of the world that no one seemed to much care about and that seemed fine to everyone inside.

She walked in the door, the dark and agining place exactly as she’d imagined it, and found the gang immediately. The leader was just as she’d read, when she decided this was the career path she wanted to take, when she got sick of everything her parents expected for her, tired of being a show pony and ready to take it on her own. She was a scary story to tell in the dark as much as she was a person, and Ashe wanted that for herself.

She strode confidently to where she sat, and a lean, green-eyed man to Yael’s right put his hand on a gun.

But Yael just watched, leaned forward onto her elbows, as Ashe approached.

“Yael Rabin?” She cleared her throat, puffing her chest out.  “Been looking for you. “I’m here to join the Deadlock Gang.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Ashe wondered if the entire concept of sound had gone from her, the chatter and music fading away from the space and leaving only Ashe, standing there.

Then Yael drummed her fingers on the table.

“You just looking for trouble in alphabetical order or somethin’? Barstow Boys turn you down already?”  Yael picked up a toothpick from the holder and on the table and placed it between her teeth as she studied Ashe.

It was the sort of look Ashe had not yet become accustomed to, though she would learn it for herself, in time. It was a look that scanned over every inch of her, that took the information and made conclusions, and locked it away until it was needed. It was the searing eye of a hawk setting on a rabbit, and Ashe squirmed underneath despite herself.

“Nice boots you got there, Tex.” A sly smile crept across her face and her collected gang spit out hoots of laughter.

Ashe didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down, but she noticed the beaten and scuffed hat Yael wore, the way her shirt had faded in rings from being pushed up to her elbows in the sun, and had a sudden moment of realization that the same things she wore that impressed the folks when she did barrel were a mistake here.

Didn’t matter. She was a trick of a rider, she could shoot a gun, and Ashe knew, above anything else, that the infamous Deadlock Gang could only profit by adding her to the group, even if they did make fun of her bright silver buckles.

“Name’s Ashe.” She jutted out her chin and extended her hand.

“Sure it is.” Yael chuckled and leaned back in her chair, and Ashe crossed her arms, her mouth forming into an angry twist, which Yael handily ignored, “You even old enough to be in here? Go home, kid, I ain’t got time to play dolls.”

“How old’s he?” She motioned her chin to the man at her left, though it was hardly fair to call him man, not yet filled in, still gangly with the edge of teenagerhood.

“Jesse?” She turned to him and smiled, “I dunno, how old are you?”

“Forty five this July.” He took a drink of his beer.

“That’s about what I thought, why, thank you Jesse.” she picked up her own beer, “Well, there you have it.”

Ashe popped like a corn kernel.

“You were younger than me, sixteen! When you joined the Deadlock Gang, and now you’re only afraid--”

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” Yael laughed, “You think you can compare yourself to me, Tex? What’s the worst thing ever happened to you, Daddy tell you no new pony this year? Shiiiit.” She chuckled again. “Swear to god, they get stupider every year.” She stood up. “You ain’t hungry enough. You don’t need it enough. You got a net, girl, and we perform without one.” She turned back briefly to her gang. “Gonna go find Jaci and have a smoke.”

She turned her back to Ashe as she left, completely unafraid of anything Ashe could do, and all she could do is stand stock-still, fuming and furious and embarrassed and ashamed and hungrier than Yael could ever know.

___

McCree didn’t ask too many questions, at this time in his life.

It would sound stupid to say it out loud, as he heard the dogs barking in the distance outside the shitty honky tonk, the party having briefly broken up from their reverie, but the last three years had been the most stable in his life since his mother had died. It wasn’t much of a life, rolling along the backroads and still-quiet ways that barely seemed to exist except as corridors anymore, but it was his, and it was consistent, and he knew what he was meant to do and why, and what he brought.

He wasn’t interested in shaking up the flow he’d come to understand in his life, and he wasn’t sure what someone so rich would want with the Deadlock Gang anyhow. Could be that she was an agent trying to infiltrate, but McCree hoped they’d send someone a little better than some little blonde thing fresh out of the ranchwear store. Maybe that was the trick, that they thought it was so stupid Yael’d fall for it.

They didn’t know her very well.

Ashe breezed by him after Yael, having had a few moments to think to herself and still not giving up, and he chuckled. She had plenty of sand, that much was sure, and if he was going to be so stupid as to tell Yael her business, he’d say that a sparrow who’s willing to chase after a hawk with no fear of nothing wasn’t the stupidest idea for the gang. Yael had a kill count that rivaled a small army, and there was no way Ashe didn’t know that. It just didn’t seem to matter. She had an idea of what she wanted, and maybe Yael would have to shoot her to get her to find another one.

They didn’t usually meet people like this, who wouldn’t take Yael’s no for an answer. Yael was particular about her crew, even at the best of times, and though she’d help other hard up folks set up complimentary organizations, or reinstall them their lives back home on their farms and ranches and wilds, her Deadlock Gang was a tightly closed group, only people she would happily sleep with her back to. And this girl was in no way Yael’s kind of people. This was all more stuff she should’ve known but didn’t seem to care much about.

There was a part of McCree that respected that.

Carey walked up next to him and sipped his beer. “What’s the over under on Yael shootin her where she stands?”

McCree smiled over at him. “She’s had, what, three beers? Say ten minutes.”

“You’re a regular optimist, Jess,” Carey clapped him on the shoulder, and McCree looked away from him into the night, “say that much for ya.”

McCree wasn’t sure he’d call himself that, but there was something that told him this girl who called herself Ashe was gonna be a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time.

___

Yael didn’t seem to be listening to her, just walking along and tapping out a cigarette as she looked up at the half-clouded moon.

“You don’t know what I can do!” Ashe spat, the injustice of the situation, the hopelessness of it, drilling into her head.

“But I do know that it’s my gang, and, I don’t like you.” She put the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter, shielding it from the wind. “Don’t need no prissy little rich girls whose daddies bought em their titles.”

What Yael needed and what Yael ended up getting could be very different indeed.

“Elizabeth Ashe?” A voice came out of the darkness, and Ashe’s hair stood up at the sound of her name.

She turned around and her eyes met with dark brown ones, ones she did not know but clearly knew her. It was not a question so much as a confirmation, but whatever it was, it furrowed Yael’s brow.

“You know her, Jacinta?” Yael stood up from where she leaned against the beam.

Jacinta took her eyes off Ashe for a moment, meeting Yael’s gaze, and let out an exclamation of rapid-fire Spanish, which Ashe suddenly wished she had opted to take in all of her private schooling.

“Huh,” was all Yael said by way of hint, before asking Jacinta a question Ashe could not understand, and receiving an answer Ashe wished she could know. “I dunno, Jaci, bad idea to me.”

Her ears perked at the English, and she looked back to Jacinta, wondering where she could possibly know her from. She was a handsome woman, dark with glossy in a low, tightly wound bun at her neck, but Ashe could not quite place her name, or where they might have seen each other.

Yael walked over to where she and Jacinta stood, and waved Ashe off. “Git.”

It was the first command of Yael’s Ashe would obey, and it would not be the last, and at her hand she would learn how to give a command so it never seemed like a request, to men twice her size, but right now all she could do was back up until she nearly hit the two young men who had been sitting beside Yael in the bar.

Carey shrugged at her. “Jaci’s your best chance, rich girl.”

Ashe fumed, but didn’t say a word. There was someone, for whatever reason, who was fighting for her, and the argument seemed to be growing more heated, Yael shaking her head, her eyebrows in a knot as she looked to Jacinta, who waved a hand in fury even as she tried to cross her arms in front of her.

“If she wants you,” McCree drawled, “well, Jaci’s the only one Yael’l ever listen to.”

“I don’t know why she does.” Ashe hadn’t meant to say it, but it had slipped out, her thoughts as to all the reasons why filling the space in her head meant for a tough showing.

McCree looked over to her, a brief recognition of her inability to understand that made her blood boil, and chuckled. “Best not to.”

Yael threw her arms in the air and kicked the dip bucket by the side of the back porch, spraying wet tobacco across the wood. Jacinta seemed unimpressed.

“¡Bueno! Christ,” She took her hat off and nearly threw it into the dirt before reconsidering. “You win, alright?”

Ashe felt a swirl of excitement rise in her chest, and pride. She was going to be a member of the Deadlock Gang, the kind of gang that people whispered about, the kind of gang that even someone like the Barstow Boys held in high regard. And she would be, in no time, she was sure, be at the right hand of the hawk, Ashe, a legend in her own right.

These fantasies of her own grandeur were quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as Yael walked up to her and grabbed her by the collar, almost pressing their faces together. Yael and Ashe were nearly the same size, but Ashe was shocked by the sheer strength of her, the grip of her claw next to Ashe’s neck.

“Now listen here. This is against my better judgement or will, Tex, so I want you to take very careful notice of what I’m bout to say.” Ashe nodded as Yael stared deep into her eyes, but she did not break her gaze or let her lip quiver, “You want to be a part of this gang, you’ll come to find there’s work to be done that ain’t all in the papers and glory, and when I say jump, the only thing I wanna hear out of your goddamn mouth is how high. I will teach you to be a gunslinger and an arms runner and every terrible thing you wanna be, and you had better pay me back with your unending goddamn loyalty or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She let go of Ashe’s collar and half-tossed her back into Carey and McCree, who caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Married life’s a whole thing, ain’t it, Yael?” Carey laughed good naturedly.

“Carey, I will leave you in the ditch I found you in.” But she sighed, seemingly forcing herself to make peace with the new, shiny-booted, crisp shirted, silver trimmed reality in her life.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Ashe tugged at her shirt, rolling her shoulders back.

“And I ain’t callin you Ashe, so best get used to that idea.” She grinned, and her voice turned sickly-sweet, “Elizabeth Caledonia, pretty little miss of the Texas debutante set. Jesse!”

“Yeah?” he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair before looking back to Yael.

“You’re off smoker duty tonight, other’n showin Bitsy here how to scrub it.” She waved her hand to McCree, “God knows you’ve earned it. And God knows you will, us having to teach her an honest day’s work.”

“She’s alright once you get used to her.” Carey gave his usual casual grin and shrugged. “Give her a year or two to warm up. Carey.” He gave a tip of his hat.

“Jesse.” He nodded to her.

She gave a snort, jutted her chin out, and looked at the two men who were now her teammates.

“Ashe.”

Carey chuckled as he turned to go. “S’not what Yael said.”

Ashe crossed her arms across her chest in frustration. When she had planned out the life she was going to create for herself, the infamous legend and outlaw she was going to become, this was not how she’d seen her first day on the team. She would learn, at Yael’s hand, how to scramble, how to deal, how to play a low card, but now she was a frustrated trainee.

“Welcome to the team,” McCree said, tipping his hat, “Come on then.”

Ashe gave the smallest smile, and she remembered she had won a victory today. It didn’t matter if she were Tex or Bitsy or whatever Yael wanted to call her today, because she had to call her one very important thing.

A member of the Deadlock Gang.

[negans-network]

Ugly Duckling

Summary: For Ash’s Round 3 Negan Challenge, this fills in the Fairy Tale slot for the Ugly Duckling. Negan sits in his office and thinks back on his life, wondering about how exactly he became the fearsome leader of the Sanctuary and the Saviors.

Word Count: 2111

Pairing: Negan x Lucille

Genre: Angst?

Warnings: Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language, Negan being Himself as Always

Author’s Note: This is a one-shot.

Author and submitted by: @genevievedarcygranger

Tagging: just for those that I think would be interested @purplemuse89 @backseat-negan @ladylorelitany @ofdragonsanddreams16 @alyisdead @collette04 @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @i-am-negan-trash @asshatry  @noodlecupcakes

Negan sat at his desk, stewing over the plans he had for the handful of communities and his various outposts, squinting at the map of Virginia. Though he had been confidently commanding the Saviors for a while now, life hadn’t always been so smooth to him.

For one thing, he’d never been considered a looker until recently in his life. As a kid, he’s been a happy-go-lucky. He’d play with the other kids, get just as many band-aids, scrapes, and bruises for the trouble – and he was teased unceasingly. At first it was because he was a little chubby, and then it was because he wore thick black-framed glasses. For all his happiness, even when he smiled, the other kids made fun of his teeth and dimples, too.

It was hard at first, and Negan knew intimately how kids could be cruel. If he wasn’t getting in trouble for being the class clown, then he was sent home for fighting with the other kids. At a young age, he had to learn to get scrappy to be left alone.

Then came the awkwardness of adolescence when he went through puberty, growing a mustache and a patchy beard, pinching pimples in the mirror. But one thing did change for him. He’d never been an academic student and he more or less stopped being the class clown once he realized that the other kids were laughing at him rather than with him. Instead, Negan signed up for baseball – and he found his natural calling in life.

After that it was like all his other problems went away. Baseball was the only thing that kept Negan from dropping out of school. He started behaving and doing better in class so that they couldn’t kick him off the team. Negan made friends on the team, and his teammates supported him so he wasn’t bullied anymore. In high school, he was promised a scholarship by at least three colleges if he kept up the good work and the good grades. When they promised him that, he was only a sophomore at the time. Life was shaping up and looking good – and so was Negan.

In typical teenaged boy fashion, he had slimmed up significantly even though he snacked constantly, all thanks to his high metabolism. His facial hair grew in evenly, but he learned to shave to keep himself neat and clean looking. The acne went away, too. The only dorky thing he had left was his glasses, but he had really gone from ugly duckling to swan. And then he met Lucille.

Lucky for Negan, he hadn’t grown up with Lucille otherwise he would have never had a chance with her. She transferred to his high school in their junior year, and nearly every guy in their year immediately tried to get with her. Negan couldn’t blame them for it when Lucille was so damn beautiful. Her high cheekbones were sprinkled generously with freckles across her nose and curly, dirty blonde ringlets messily framed her heart-shaped face with hazel-green eyes that danced with mischief. Lucille had the kind of smile made you think she was up to something, but you couldn’t be further from the truth.

The truth was that she was a sweetheart with a heart of gold, a good girl who didn’t mind teasing but never did anything. Once the boys started figuring that out, they quickly gave up on the chase. Negan himself never even attempted to pursue her, not believing he’d have the chance. But that didn’t matter to Lucille, because she was the one to chase Negan.

Looking back even now, he didn’t know what she saw in him. He was just a typical asshole jock, chasing after that athletic scholarship with big dreams of one day being in the major leagues with the pros. It didn’t matter to Lucille, though, she claimed that she saw something in him that the other boys didn’t have. The first time they had make out in Lucille’s car (Negan couldn’t even afford his own car to take her out on dates with), Lucille pulled away and grabbed his letterman jacket in both hands. Looking deep into his eyes, her own bright eyes cutting to his core, she’d beseeched him earnestly, “You’re a good man, Negan. You’re beautiful. I love you.”

Those words never failed to stop Negan’s heart. Three simple things that he had never been told growing up from anybody, but Lucille had no problem reminding him every day. She really was too good for Negan’s sorry ass.

He and Lucille became the iconic couple, the only pair of high-school sweethearts from their graduating class to get married. They didn’t wait to get married either. They had their marriage in the summer between high school and college – and they’d be going to different schools after. It pissed Lucille’s parents off and they immediately accused Negan of knocking up their daughter. For that, they became estranged. Negan’s own father didn’t give a shit about Negan, and Negan’s mother had died from alcohol poisoning in his senior year. None of that mattered, though, because both Lucille and Negan firmly believed that they only needed to have each other to be happy.

When it came time to go off to their colleges, they went their separate ways excited but a little heartbroken. Negan had his baseball scholarship and was going to go the easy route academic-wise. Lucille was pushing herself through nursing school. Naturally, it was hard for them to see each other and they became wrapped up in their own lives. And Negan discovered things about himself.

For one thing, the moment he stepped foot on that college campus, he became hot shit – and it didn’t even matter that he was a freshman. College girls threw themselves at his feet and even of few of Negan’s teammates did, too. Negan, who had been looking forward to making new friends, went along with it all at first. At his first college party, though, he drank – something he never did before because Lucille was always there to shoot him a disappointed look. When Negan took that first sip, Lucille’s voice was his conscious at the back of his mind, but by the end of his first five shots, he couldn’t hear anything over the music and that dull roaring in his ears. The next morning, he woke up naked with a brunette from Alpha Gamma. When he made it back to his dorm, he debated whether he should call Lucille up and tell her what he did. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

After that first time, it all became so much easier. Negan was the life of every party, didn’t matter if it was by a sorority or a fraternity – and he never even bothered to join a fraternity. Like clockwork every Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday night, Negan would play beer pong and do keg stands. Routinely the next morning he’d wake up naked with someone. He’d never been so damn popular in his life and life had never been so fun. The only drags were school assignments he couldn’t be assed with and the grueling baseball practices.

That’s when his grades started failing, and he started missing Lucille’s calls. His A’s went to B’s that then dropped to C’s and precariously hugged the edge of spiraling down to non-passing grades. The baseball coaches constantly chewed his ass out and gave him hell, and eventually their threats came to fruition and he was benched for the first season of baseball. Negan’s scholarship hung in the balance, and he had the rug yanked out from underneath him, left wondering if he would be forced to drop out after only one year.

The entire time, Lucille never knew. Even in her first year, nursing school was intense. The distance between them was too big for them to see each other in person regularly anyway since he went to school in Georgia and her in Massachusetts. All of their interactions were limited to phone calls, and though she constantly asked how Negan was and apologized that she couldn’t go see his games, Negan would lie his ass off. He told himself it was because he didn’t want her to worry about him, but really, he knew it was because he didn’t want her to leave him.

It was the week before finals, and rather than buckling down and studying, Negan went off partying. Usually they stuck around campus, but Negan was drunk and really wanted a burger. He hopped in the car with some chick from Tri-Delta-Whatever-the-Fuck – and the memory of rest of the night was blacked out.

Negan woke up in the hospital, his heart monitor beeping annoyingly, tubes down his throat, IVs in his arms. And Lucille had her head in her hands, crying for him. Later he learned that he had broken a collarbone – very nearly his neck. He wouldn’t be able to play baseball again for a while, and since it was a DUI, he was kicked out of school as well. The girl in the car was better off, just a sprained wrist. Her car, not so much. So, not only did Lucille have to babysit her husband, but she had to come to terms that Negan had been cheating. And yet, she never left him.

It took Negan ages to recover, and even when he did, he couldn’t go back to school. There was no money for it. Miraculously enough, his old high school was willing to hire him as a coach. Negan said yes because Lucille deserved a man who could provide, and her nursing school was expensive, as were his hospital bills.

Then Negan was back to being an ugly duckling, a coach getting attitude from teenagers. He was required to wear the shorts, the hat, and the sweatshirt, and he felt like a total dork doing it. But he was willing to put up with the teens and bullshit for Lucille. He owed her that much at least.

And he and Lucille were getting so much better. Negan had learned to love his job, and he even got another selling used cars. Lucille graduated from nursing school and was applying at the local hospitals. They were talking about having a baby together. Life was going to perfect and peachy-keen from here on out.

But Lucille got cancer, and Negan fell apart without her. He didn’t understand how she held it together for him in the hospital, but he guessed it was because she knew he wouldn’t die. Negan didn’t have that luxury; Lucille was given a year at the most. It was a long, long year, and the doctors told Negan every chance they could that putting Lucille through treatment would just kill her faster, make her suffer. Lucille wasn’t ready to die yet, though, so she kept fighting, and even Negan begged her to stop killing herself but Lucille wasn’t going to accept it.

She endured chemo until she withered away to nothing. Her curly hair all gone, her skin whiter than paper and just as thin, bones protruding too sharply. Lucille couldn’t keep any food down, it was terrible. Finally, finally, though, she died – and came back as one of those undead fucks and she could keep Negan’s flesh down then but he couldn’t do it. He was too much of a coward to kill her, and also too much of a coward to let her kill him like he deserved.

Coward that he was, he made his way out in the world and became responsible for so many people. He began to craft a persona, an ego of power with a bat named after Lucille, the true source of his strength, and a black leather jacket as though he were some bad boy biker rather than a widow from suburbia. And he was back from ugly, miserable, pitiful duckling to a swan with teeth that was not to be fucked with.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Negan reached in his desk drawer from the one surviving remnant of his ugly duckling days. It was his glasses, and since he was near sited he needed them to read or see faces up close. One of the reason why his intimidation tactic was leaning was just dumb luck. Now in the privacy of his office, though, he donned his glasses and fondly thought of his Lucille. Then he bent over the map again and ruthlessly started dividing it up. He was going to squeeze those communities for everything that they were worth for trying to fuck with him. Negan couldn’t be bullied anymore.

[sol1loqu1st]

hi i want to talk abt foi bc its legit among the coolest things ive done; this is long as Fuck but the book is longer i just really wanna talk,, abt this,,

it’s a high fantasy set on the northernmost side of a huge desert (a sea borders its northern side; beyond the sea is a country filled with plains and forests)

there were seven tribes (i still need to look up definitions and see if thats the most accurate term for what im goin for; im thinking abt just using ‘city’ tbh but yknow) in the desert:

-the riches tribe, whose people could shape gemstones and metals (think metalbending but add precious stones in the mix; each person can only control one thing and ur power is usually decided by the stars or some shit)

-the elements tribe, who could control the forces of wind, fire, water, or stone (now LITERALLY think atla; powers are passed down genetically and a few people can control two elements if their parents controlled different ones)

-the land, sky, and sea tribes, who could control animals related to their tribe (land tribe ppl can also learn to turn into their favored animal, sky tribe ppl grow wings as toddlers, sea tribe ppl can breathe underwater & usually live in the sea on the northern border of the desert bc they dont do well on land; powers are decided based on the animals’ preferences – e.g. if ravens had a specific affinity for a kid in the sky tribe the kid would grow raven wings and be able to communicate with and eventually control ravens)

-the time and space tribes, who destroyed each other 60 years ago, and have the power to speed, slow, or even stop time during the hour of their birth, or manifest physical objects from glowing blue energy that makes up everything in the world (also can see in the dark, i guess?)

60 years ago, a huge war happened between the seven tribes, wiping out the space tribe completely (except for one person; more on that later) and destroying all but 200 of the time tribe, who repopulated to about 1,000, and ruining a Lot of stuff in the other five tribes. for the most part the remaining 5 tribes (minus the time tribe for Reasons) have rebuilt themselves but hints of the past war linger. no one is aware that the time tribe survived (they rebuilt their city FAR from the original location). the time and space tribes faded from public consciousness pretty quickly since all their historical records were destroyed; most of the knowledge about them now is legends and myths

in the present day, 5 children (one from each of the remaining tribes) who lost various loved ones to the same glowing blue knives (created, ofc, by the surviving member of the space tribe, ebon (…courtesy of 2012 me’s genius naming skills, they’re all gonna be like this it’s part of the aesthetic), though the kids dont know that or even recognize it as a space tribe power) are approached by an old man (guess who! its ebon) who claims to be the last surviving member of the space tribe and apparently has evidence that the time tribe is plotting revenge and theyre the ones that killed the kids’ families and he speaks of a supposed prophecy that 5 kids who the time tribe had stolen from are gonna defeat the time tribe once and for all

the kids (and at this point, hopefully the reader too) are the wrong kind of genre savvy, and believe they’ve been approached by gandalf or some shit, and each end up Accepting The Call

(meanwhile back at the time tribe, the king and his rebellious teenage son talk about the future of the time tribe. teenage son, midnight (heyy GUESS what hour hes able to use his powers) learns to use Time Powers that are suspiciously dissimilar to the ones ebon was talking abt the ppl from the time tribe being able to use. midnight uses his powers to get more sleep bc his dad kinda overworks the shit out of him bc like the future of this horrifically unstable and tiny city is in midnight’s hands, basically, and we learn that Its Dangerous bc if u get stuck slowing down/speeding up time after ur 1 hour is up u basically become Time Tobias and ur trapped like that Until You Die)

if uve made it this far i think its time for a proper introduction to the 6 protags of part 1 (another is added in part 2 but we’re not there yet)

-eagle, from the sky tribe, a Massive Fuckin Jock Who Loves To Sport. shes 14 and pretty athletic but tends to chicken out when shit gets tough and so never makes it to the Fly Sport Playoffs. shes a Massive Optimist at first but then she finds her parents dead (hint: it was ebon). she deals with this throughout the novel i hope im writing her well lmao because i wanted it to have a Legit Impact on her character and not just be angst. A N Y W A Y she instantly pegs ash and emerald as The Rich Kids (ash is legit a rich kid, emerald is just from the riches tribe where they traditionally sew gems and shit into their clothes) and judges em for it

-snake, from the land tribe, a 13yo, Lonely Autistic who loves reptiles. (ok i mean. this is high fantasy and im really not sure if autism is a diagnosis in high fantasy. ive done my absolute best to code her as autistic and she is in fact autistic i just dont say it in canon bc idk how to bring it up) ppl dont like her at first because she comes across as cold but actually shes like the most adorable fuckin dork youve ever seen shes great. she doesnt talk hardly at all unless shes Super Comfortable around the people shes with, which is a challenge for me to write but tbqh shes my absolute favorite of the bunch,, also her only friend ever was a thief named lore who was (supposedly) killed by GUESS FUCKEN WHO

-ash, the 14yo daughter of one of the 4 ruling families of the elements tribe. her family’s genetic power is fire but she could never figure it out (later she discovers her power is actually water; im…..still figuring out how that works genetically she might just be adopted lmao) ebon brought her the news of her parents’ deaths and managed to kill her little sister while her back was turned; somehow she does not suspect him. shes kind of a snob and doesnt really /get/ the rest of the group and comes across pretty rude at first. (also, she and eagle deal w their very recent grief very differently but idk her exact Grief Arc yet)

-emerald, who i think is? 12? 13? i cant remember but somewhere around there; shes from the riches tribe, was orphaned as a toddler and raised by supposedly extinct desert dragons (which are basically 12-20ft desert iguanas), which were all wiped out horribly by more of ebon’s shit space weapons. she lived with ash’s family for a while when they were years younger but eventually emerald got blamed for ash’s lack of control over fire and was forced to leave, she found the riches tribe and discovered that she could metalbend emeralds lmao. shes a storyteller and raises money for orphans now i guess

-shark, a scrappy homeless 10yo from the sea tribe who will steal anything shiny enough. he has pointy teeth and an eyepatch (which covers a golden sphere in place of his eye) and hes reckless as fuKC. he was too young to remember his parents but when questioned about it he remembers blue knives (GUESS WHO). hes pretty unaware that sharks are infact chaotic neutral sea predators who do not give a shit about him even if he can communicate with them and he starts the novel with a Pretty Serious Bite Injury™. he takes a lot of shit apart and puts it back together in horrifying ways. yknow sid from toy story? basically thats shark if sid lived underwater and was portrayed as a fundamentally good person

-midnight, the 16yo prince of the time tribe, a Rebellious Teen™ who doesnt want responsibility and has Horrible Insomnia. he thinks his dad is Evil And Controlling and probably listens to heavy metal behind his back (meanwhile his dad is actually pretty decent just busy as Fuck trying to keep the time tribe from accidentally inbreeding collapsing and trying to show midnight how to lead; hes overprotective but not evil). he broke a pattern of various people born at midnight/noon alternating every century and people think hes Destined For Greatness™ or some shit; he is having absolutely none of that will someone let this child sleep instead of waking him up in the middle of the night to practice magic

anyway yea thats p much all ive edited so far and tbqh i dont remember a whole lot of details but That Is My Book!

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, ASH! You’ve been accepted for the role of TYBALT. Admin Bree: I don’t even know where to start with this application, Ash, except to say that I couldn’t stop smiling while I read it. It’s a bit weird, I know, considering Tiberius is not exactly the kind of character that makes people happy, but your portrayal of him was so accurate that I knew I’d found the right person to bring him back to the dash. Your plot ideas were wonderful, your interview was priceless, and your para sample was raw in a way that fit him perfectly. This was, in a word, incredible. Welcome to DiVerona! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours. 

                                                                                 WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Ash.

Age | Twenty - three.

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | On a scale of 1-10, i’ll definitely have somewhere between an 8 or 9 in activity. I’m currently looking for a job, so until i have one, i can be here just about everyday.

Timezone | EST.

Current/Past RP Accounts | http://macnaired.tumblr.com/  ( the link i’ve included is to one of my current characters in a harry potter/marauders rpg. his muse is incredibly similar as far as what i’m envisioning for Tybalt’s character when it comes to the violence, and the temper and the chaotic behaviors )

IN CHARACTER

Character | TYBALT – tiberius alessio capulet

(fun fact: The name Alessio is of Italian origin, and it means “defender,” a fitting name for the Captain of the Capulets, but holding a touch of irony, in that defender has such a positive connotation, associated with nobility and honor. A defender protects what is important to them, and Tiberius does, but he’s the most vicious extremist defender you could find.)

What drew you to this character? | WELL, first and foremost i’ve been creeping this rp for a minute now because it’s absolutely stunning, the bios are so thought out, the spin on the characters that so many of us know and love is so well executed, and i honestly just adore the whole mafia meets Shakespeare theme going on. It’s absolutely brilliant, and i’ve been so intimidated because of the flawlessness but i was like NO imma do this. not to mention Tybalt is such a BAE. and i will stop there before i start GUSHING.

BUT – scanning through the bios i was taken right back to my high school literature class just looking at Tybalt’s bio. I was drawn to him instantly because he was actually one of my favorite Romeo and Juliet characters. He was hatred given form and a name, sharply contrasting to Benvolio and Romeo. He was young and scrappy and pushed the plot forward with his need to fight everyone and everything. He was the active driving force in the Montague-Capulet rivalry (because let’s be honest Capulet and Montague were way too old and crusty to try and kill each other).  And i know you’re probably like – whaaaaat? But i’ve always been drawn to the more antagonistic characters no matter what the series. I adore the hot-blooded heathens, the wild cards, the perpetual pot-stirrers. I rooted for the Disney villains, okay? Not because i agree with any single thing they do, but i find their stories by far more intriguing. I love figuring out what it is that drives the villain – How did they become the way they are? Do they eventually get what they used all their villainy to pursue? I firmly believe that no one is born so evil, so for me, I was drawn to the potential for Tybalt’s arc as he slips from slighted Capulet prince to the potential king of the mob. I’m here for his unabashed and fiery personality, and his unquenched thirst for blood and power.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

I can see different aspects of Tybalt developing as the story goes on. I want to see his ascent to the top of the food chain, I want to see him get the power, the glory. But I’d also like to see him struggle, have him realize that not only does responsibility come with this caliber of power, but great cost as well. I want to see him battle not only everyone in his path, but battle himself and his demons too. His values (or lack thereof) and loyalties need to be tested, because we know what he wants, but how far is he going to be willing to go to get it?

HOISTED BY HIS OWN PETARD // We all know the Shakespearean ending for Tybalt. He is very much hoisted by his own petard, stabbed by Romeo for stabbing Mercutio. One thing I’d love to explore is one of Tybalt’s likely enemies catching up to him, and giving him a taste of his own medicine. I’ve seen that some characters have become hostages of the opposing family, so LORD that would be crazy if that happened to him. I could even see something to the effect of him perhaps getting demoted to soldier status, his captain’s badge being ripped away and now having to work in the ranks of all his subordinates, take orders from someone else.

Tybalt thinks of himself very much in a godly light, that he is unbeatable, he is impenetrable and as of right now, due to the reign of terror he’s created in Verona, the bodies he’s left in his wake, he pretty much is. He is the dreaded. People don’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. For that, i’d love to see him finally fail. I want his underhanded tactics, foul play and dirty deeds to catch up with him. OR to make it hurt more, perhaps all that he’s worked for, his one goal, slips right out of his fingers just as he gets it, or right when he’s about to have it all.

WHATS A KING, TO A GOD // If people think Tybalt is bad now, he’ll be something else entirely if his plans were to come into fruition. Tybalt is the antagonist, we know that much. But he is no shallow villain, no mindless ruffian, just committing murder and causing destruction because he can (though, he does have the tendency to do so). There is a method to the madness. Every shot fired, every slice of his blade through the air, is a power play, an exertion of his dominance. While it would be likely very easy to get Juliana out of his way, realistically, Rafaella poses the real challenge. But I think an interesting way to take his plot, of course, would be for Tybalt to obtain everything he’s ever wanted. To convince his cousins of what he’s known all along - that he is the most fitting for the job. I would like to see him get a taste of what that kind of power is like, no matter how short or long the term. But one important thing in his bio that i picked up on is ‘complacency is cowardice.’ and because Tybalt is never satisfied, I want to see what his next big thing would have to be. He becomes the Boss …what then? I’d like to think that someone like Tybalt, once he has the power, he won’t know how to act, he won’t truly know what’s best for the Capulets. He’s a warmonger, the most likely to be a tyrant, and will decisively pick options with which their enemies will be eliminated completely, conquer territories, burn bridges and cut ties, as opposed to playing the game, taking on allies and getting close to foes. So a Tybalt regime - yes pLEASE.

CRACK IN THE ARMOR // Tybalt’s main goal is to be ‘king,’ be the ‘general.’ He wants to take what he believes is his rightful place as the Boss of the Capulet family, that means cutting down every and all obstacles in his way. He’s heartless, merciless, unapproachable and irascible , so naturally this would make for a surplus of enemies and not that many allies. I’d actually like to explore and see someone break past the stone walls Tybalt has built up around himself, pierce his iron armor. He’s distrustful of everyone, and likely won’t be able to comprehend positive attitudes towards him. He’s built up so much resentment and so much anger that it’s all he truly knows. But i want to explore some emotional depth with him, for someone to tell him it’s okay that he feels so much, perhaps even for someone to show him that he’s capable of much more than anger and snark. A confidant, perhaps even someone he might call a friend one day.

LOYALTY TESTED // As the title says, i’d like to see Tybalt’s loyalty tested. He’s not a loyal person outright, because he will turn on any ally, double cross any foe, only trusting himself, but family is the only thing he holds dear. I want to see Tybalt struggle with whether loyalty or power is more important. I want his limits (while there’s seemingly none) to be pushed. How far is he willing to go to get his cousins out of his way to the proverbial throne? I want the Capulet cousin conflict (ayeee alliteration!). But i want to see the sort of cool, boiling under the surface rivalry that is obviously there (and yanno - some cute fambam moments to cut the tension too, can’t always be conflict, even though Tybalt would say otherwise lol). There is love, there is love and devotion and protection from all sides, but for Tybalt there is also greed and there is envy - and they’re not considered deadly sins for nothing.

MY TOY SOLDIERS // This last one is a totally short term plot, but i would just love to see Tybalt in his role as that ruthless leader, in his element. I want to see the man working with his army of Capulet soldiers, gearing them up to defend the family name, knowing that they’re all incompetent underlings that can’t hold a candle to what he can do, but training them anyways out of obligation. Maybe even seeing the potential in a fellow soldier, offering mentorship at a price of allegiance, gaining himself a little lackey. I feel like Tybalt would love something like that, relish in the idea of pushing someone around.

IN DEPTH

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

He sits, slouched lowly upon the leather of the sofa, dark eyes piercing into the boy who practically shakes with pad and pen. Pathetic. A knife, poised in his right hand, digs and then slices through the crispness of the green apple in his left. Tiberius’ gaze does not move once, doesn’t even blink as he raises the knife, the precise sliver of apple draping on the metal blade before he’s sliding it in his mouth. His lips pull into a sneer then as he chews, waving the blade around in an impatiently vague gesture, “So are we going to get on with this, or not? I’m the one doing you a favor - humoring this bullshit.”

“Y-yes. Right. Of course,” the interviewer rushed out, shaking his head, and adjusting the spectacles on his nose, “Um. What is your favorite place in Verona?”

“Your mother’s house,” replied Tiberius, not even a beat missed as his lips twisted wickedly. Full of cheek, he could be when he felt like it. So easily one could almost forget the brute that he’s rumored of being when he spoke like this, with petty words and boyish grins. A chuckle fell from his lips then, another bit of apple sliced off and popped into his mouth, “Ah – “ Tiberius’s gaze lifted towards the ceiling as he thought. “Pass.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“I said ‘Pass’. Or did I stutter?” It wasn’t because he didn’t have a favorite place, because he did. Tiberius could actually say that he held a place in his hollowed heart for the Cathedral of Verona. Surprisingly enough, it had nothing to do with the fact that it was the Capulet Headquarters, the hiding place for all their deals and deeds. If anything, that was a bonus, but the true reasoning had to do with the aura of the church as a whole. There was purity in its very foundation, a sanctity within the walls, and it only held fond memories as he recalled his days spent within the pews, dressed in his Sunday best and marveling at the stained glass, attempting to recall the Latin words to the songs everyone was singing. There was something about the smell of incense and the ringing of the toll bells that brought him some strange semblance of peace in the chaos that was his life, his existence.

But he couldn’t let anyone know that. Sentiment was weakness.

“You can’t–” The captain was quick to cut him off, a clear and present challenge in his voice, “I can’t what? Hm?” Tiberius was sitting up then, leaning over to peer into the boy’s face more closely, all rules of personal space ignored for the sake of intimidation. His head ticked to the right, eyes widening dangerously. “Last I checked, this is my house, capiche? Which means - if I want to pass on this question, I’ll pass it. You wanna know why?” His right hand was twisting the knife with every word, rotating it over and over, plunging it deeper into the flesh of the fruit before he was swiftly ripping it out to point the blade in the other’s face, a silent demonstration, an unspoken threat posed, hanging in the air between them now. “Because I can end this interview.” End you. “And I know you don’t want me to do that.” The boy had the decency to look frightened.

“Next question,” Tiberius demanded coolly, leaning back once more.

“…What is your typical day like?”

“Wanna stick around and find out?” That wolfish grin of his came out to play then. The slow, roguish curve of his lips held a blaring warning, a firm promise, that sticking around to witness a day in the life of Tiberius Capulet was not a sound decision to make. Glory and gore was all it possessed. It was a decision one made if they wanted to lose their life by way of a stray bullet from his gun. It was a decision one made if they wanted to be up to their elbows in enemy blood. It was a decision one made if they reveled in the burn of fine liquor as it slid down their throat at ten in the morning. Because Tiberius did. But it was clear the other wasn’t interested. “Your loss. Wouldn’t be able to handle it anyways.”

“What’d Juliana say, hm?” Tiberius twisted the interview around, eyes curious as he deflected the question from him, before his voice took on a higher octave, mimicking his cousin, childishly, “Well first I wake up, and I drink a few mimosas. Then I go shopping with daddy’s credit card, and to finish off my day, I get a manicure and sigh about my life because it’s – so. hard.” The man was feigning pitiful sobs then, before rolling his eyes, his words holding spite, but his eyes shining with a certain fondness.

He was met with silence. Tiberius supposed that was fair.

“Well. You didn’t say what you actually…do,” the other pointed out, tentatively, slowly learning that asking probing questions could be likened to poking a tiger with a stick.

“I don’t answer questions is what I ‘do’ - how about that,” he snapped back, already growing irritable with this ‘interview.’

Silence fills the room again and all Tiberius can hear is the scratching of the boy’s pen against paper. His nose wrinkles in disdain. He hates that sound, he’s decided.

“What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues, then?”

Tiberius paused, expression hardening, jaw clenching before his eyes darted up to the boy. A nerve had been struck. Not by the question itself but by the mere mentioning of the name Montague in his presence. It made his blood boil beneath his skin, made his trigger finger itch. “I don’t know why it’s still going on.” Truly, it was a fact that baffled Tiberius, and quite frankly it frustrated him, that much was clear. This was a war between families that has been able to withstand generations, and he didn’t understand why one didn’t just take the other out.  If he was boss, that’s what he would have done long ago. Now, they were resigned to a ‘ceasefire. A stalemate – and Tiberius Capulet didn’t play chess. He saw no point in giving the enemy rest in a time of peace. To him, this was the time to strike, when the defences were down. That’s how cities were conquered. The Montague family tree would be nothing but memory if he had anything to say about it, burnt to a crisp from the very roots, wiped from history completely. He’d have sent the Montagues and their allies running for the hills, driving them out of Verona forever. He’d have all of their heads, collect them like trophies to put over his fireplace. The Capulets would have had full reign.

But they don’t. Not yet anyways. “They’re a minor roadblock, The Montagues. But they’ll be paved over. Believe that.”

In-Character Para Sample: We do require one in-character para sample. Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

( A/N: i took the liberty of making my para sample from the last #diveronatask prompt about detailing the character’s most depraved state, a time when they really felt part of the mob + showcasing the kinds of things tybalt had to do to rise in the ranks. so tw: blood, tw: murder, tw: vomit )

“Your body, your responsibility.”

It was the only thing young Tiberius Capulet could hear. Those stone cold words of his uncle, ringing in his ears louder than any toll bell now as he dragged the rolled up black tarpe down the alleyway, hands slipping, shaking. Whether it was from anticipation or anxiousness, to this day the boy would never know.

Kicking open the back door to the macelleria, Tiberius was hit with the aroma first. The savory salt of cured meats. He certainly would have come here for some thinly sliced prosciutto on a typical day, it was the best in the entire city. But God, after this? The seventeen year old probably would never be able to eat sausage, maybe not even a meatball, much less look at them the same way again. Perhaps the vegetarians were onto something…  

“You want another assignment, Tiberius, you got it, he said. You’ll enjoy it, he said.”

But Tiberius had a feeling he wasn’t going to enjoy this at all.

Giuseppe Picari was 215 pounds of rat. He was an informant, a sneak, leaking precious information to sources that sought to take the Capulets down. The kill had been fun, for lack of a word more appropriate. Easy. Drawn out and agonizing – a death deserving of a traitor. It brought the Capulet soldier nothing but utter glee to deliver it, dish out his signature brand of cutthroat justice. The lights leaving his eyes could only be compared to the way the sun gave way to the horizon. He delighted in those final breaths, sucked from panicked lungs to fan across his cheeks. Tiberius was the decider. He was Death, personified. The last thing anyone would see before he cast them to Hell with the Capulets regards.

But the hand of his god had graced his shoulder, eyes telling him that he trusted him. They believed that he, and no one else, could carry out such a task for him next. Tiberius would never let down his uncle, he couldn’t. He’s killed for him, destroyed for him and his kingdom, for their family. The boy was already resigned to the idea that Cosimo Capulet was the man he was going to Hell for.

“Take care of it,” his uncle had ordered, leaving not an ounce of room for protest.

“How,” he remembered himself naively asking in response.

“Clever boy,” the older man ran a hand through Tiberius’ dark locks, fingers gripping at the back of his neck, firmly, “You’ll figure it out.”

But that was the thing about Tiberius – he made messes. He was never made to clean them up.

He fired up the bandsaw then, watching as the blade readied itself, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. It was thin, vibrating with a buzz that eerily filled the entire emptied shop. He found a smock then, bright blue and rubbery in material. He shed his jacket and slipped the garment over his head, tying it behind his back before he was rolling the tarpe back out. And there Picari was – lifeless, the angriest red marks at his neck the only evidence of his fight for life as wire sliced into his flesh. Tiberius stared at his work for a long moment before his eyes flitted over to the clock – 3:17. It was three in the morning and with the early meat shipment, he needed to make this quick.

He decided to start with the ‘DNA limbs’. Hands and feet – for prints and nails. Head – for teeth and hair. The rest didn’t matter much, Tiberius reasoned. You couldn’t ID a man by what his innards looked like. And with that, the boy was raising the man’s leg to the small belt, easing his ankle towards the blade. As flesh connected with metal, Tiberius will never admit he closed his eyes that first time, even flinched, feeling the backsplash against his arms, seeing the crimson of blood as it splattered onto him. He’s shot men down, maimed and cut them down by his knife – but never before had he felt so dirty, sawing a man in chunks like pork to be packaged and sold.

His pride tasted like bile as he swallowed it back down his throat.

Clean. The cut was clean, right through flesh and bone with precision. A slice any butcher would have been proud of. The severed foot fell to the ground before Tiberius’ widened eyes.

Not now. You can’t do this now, Uncle needs you. Needs you.

His frozen form went back into action not out of want, but out of necessity. The boy gritted his teeth and continued the process for the other foot, for both hands…and lastly the head. He dropped them all into gym bags, filling them the rest of the way with bricks. He intended to drive right up to the divide, Castelvecchio Bridge, and toss them right off, let them sink to the shadowy depths of the river to be forgotten forever.

He watched as that final bag, carrying Picari’s head, began to drift into the dark waters. And when Tiberius couldn’t see it any longer, he felt like he was finally alone, not being watched by anyone anymore. Himself, the silence of the night, and the reality of his foul deed was all that remained.

It was then that his hands gripped helplessly to the side of the bridge, stomach contracting with such a violence he hardly had the time to pitch forward, the contents of his stomach coming up and splashing into the water below. The boy heaved again, his tongue tasting like acid as he wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his hand. Eyes watering slightly, throat feeling raw, Tiberius vowed to himself that he would forget this part. That he would remember the boy who took on a man’s job and executed his task with nothing but undaunted confidence, recount the story of the boy who looked in the face of death and tore it apart with his claws in the way that only the Tiger of Verona knew how.

The boy knew one thing after that night, though – that it became easier the second time around. And the third. And the fourth.

EXTRAS:  If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

HERE is my inspo tag for Tybalt on my blog.

CHARACTER ALIGNMENT

CHAOTIC EVIL – A chaotic evil character does whatever his greed, hatred, and lust for destruction drive him to do. He is hot-tempered, vicious, arbitrarily violent, and unpredictable.

Chaotic evil characters trust no one, and see everyone and everything as either obstacles to be overcome, or pawns to be manipulated. a chaotic evil character feels that the only way individuals get ahead is by causing others to fall behind.

Chaotic evil characters are motivated by the desire for personal gain and pleasure. They see absolutely nothing wrong with taking whatever they want by whatever means possible. Laws and governments are the tools of weaklings unable to fend for themselves. The strong have the right to take what they want, and the weak are there to be exploited.

A chaotic evil character never feels compelled to keep his word. He will attack and kill an unarmed foe (those are the best kind). He will kill an innocent. He will use torture to extract information and for pleasure. He will kill for pleasure. A chaotic evil character will use poison. He will not help those in need. He prefers to work alone, as he values his freedom. He does not respond well to higher authority, is distrustful of organizations, and will disregard the law in pursuing his self-interest. He will betray a family member, comrade, or friend whenever it is convenient to do so. Chaotic evil characters do not respect the concepts of self-discipline and honor, because they believe such concepts limit their ability to gain power over others.

TEMPERAMENT

CHOLERIC –

Extroverted, unemotional and task-oriented

Key Strengths: Takes the lead, hard worker, strong-willed, practical, passionate, a good repossession worker, an excellent strongman/woman of the team (drill sergeant at the most extreme), determined, goal-oriented and thrives under criticism.

Key Weaknesses: Hot-tempered, rude, rebellious, can be cruel, stubborn, harsh, bossy, expects complete devotion, insensitive,often condescending, can become psychotic in overbearing situations, workaholic, without compassion or conscience, can be a warmonger, vindictive, a shallow cynic of people’s character, most likely a bad winner/loser, and may nastily misinterpret jokes.

CHARACTER TROPES + HEADCANONS

BLOOD KNIGHT //  “Fighting is everything to the Blood Knight. He lives for it. It’s not so much about winning or losing, morality, the motives of his allies, or even the glory, that drives this guy so much as it is the opportunity for a good fight.” If there’s anyone who gets a thrill out of a fight, it’s Tybalt. Violence might not be the answer, but it will be his answer. Much like the war god, Ares himself, Tybalt is everything untamed and destructive, and the streets of Verona are his battlefield. He forged a reputation that had people running for the hills when they knew the Capulets were looking for them. It came to a point when the boy hoped and prayed that deals would fall through, that money would come up short just so he could take a bat to someone’s skull, or a knife to their throat or a bullet to their brain. Tiberius was a thug, a brute running on nothing but adrenaline and fury, and he made sure no one made the fatal mistake of forgetting that. But his love for the fight wasn’t something newly discovered, he was born with his blood boiling, with a war-ready spirit, it’s what made Tiberius a star pupil when he learned martial arts. Like many kids, he started with karate. As he grew up, he moved into more varied techniques, welding his body, quite literally, into the weapon he knew he was. (his favorite styles are muay thai and kali, the latter of which is a weapons based combat technique). He’s always strapped, whether a gun at his waist, a knife tucked in his boot, but he’s never caught without something to defend himself. Though, he’s incredibly resourceful, and can likely find something to cause harm, regardless.

COMBAT PRAGMATIST // “The Combat Pragmatist is a character who is defined by his or her willingness to do anything in a fight to win. He is an unsympathetic character (usually the main antagonist) who shows through his ruthlessness that he honors nothing — not his opponents, not the sport and its customs, not the tournament’s sacred history — but winning.” An expert marksman, a smug fighter, very much used to his victories, Tybalt doesn’t take loss well, so he ensures his wins by any means necessary. He’s underhanded and unscrupulous, never one to believe in a truly fair fight. He is an opportunist, a shrewd fighter and fought as dirtily as they came. He knows how to spot weakness and had no qualms with exploiting it. To him, there are winners and there are losers, and he’s a winner - but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy his win every step, every swing and every shot along the way.

HAIR TRIGGER TEMPER // “A character with a hair-trigger temper flies into a rage at the slightest provocation. They react explosively to the slightest annoyance. Characters with a hair-trigger temper can be set off by anything. This makes them far less predictable — and far more dangerous.“ Tybalt is a man capable of extreme violence and blinding rage when provoked. His temper is practically legendary in the streets of Verona, and can be triggered in split seconds, oftentimes by minor things. He can go from cool, calm and collected right into angry and borderline psychotic in his actions like the flip of a coin. He’s impulsive. He’s reactive, uninhibited by second guessing and overthinking, fully prepared to throw himself into any and everything, disregarding the risks and possible repercussions of his actions - which of course gets him into a lot of trouble. In school, he was always the kid in a fight, waking up each day prepared to get into it with somebody, always stirring the pot, looking to get a rise out of others, returning home with bloody fists and a bloody face for his cousins or his aunt to clean up because his impulses couldn’t stop him. It’s what led to his expulsion from his Catholic school and the eventual decision to have him placed into military school. They hoped to diminish his fire – but if anything, it amplified.

THE RESENTER // “There’s one thing any Resenter can certainly agree on: Whoever it is that chooses The Chosen One has clearly chosen the wrong one. The grapes are just out of reach, and that makes them all the more sour.” Tybalt is a resenter if there ever was one. From his birth, he’s convinced fate has had it all wrong. He was born to Lady Capulet’s brother, and while she was a beloved aunt and Capulet was a beloved and revered uncle to Tybalt, the fact still remained that he wasn’t their son, meaning that as far as the ‘throne’ was concerned, he would never be the next in line. Juliana, her father’s chosen one, doesn’t even seem to want the position as the Boss, which irks Tybalt to his very core despite how much he loves his cousin. How could someone with the power right at their fingertips be so ungrateful? Tybalt knows if he’s given the chance, he could do far better, take the Capulet name to new and feared heights if he was just allowed.

EVEN EVIL HAS LOVED ONES // “Being evil doesn’t always mean hatred and negativity 24/7. Even evil characters (and real people) can find someone to love.” While Tybalt is absolutely capable of monstrous things, he is capable of love too. It’s a harsh love, but it exists. And he holds it for his family – Cosimo, his aunt, and his cousins, Rafaella and Juliana. His love for them manifests itself in his undying loyalty to them. From he was young, he lived with his cousin, and looks at his aunt and uncle like a second set of parents, being that both of his birth parents are now dead. He idolized them as the Olympian gods they were. He wanted to be everything they were, wanted to take on every single thing they stood for because he was a Capulet too. He looks at Rafaella and Juliana like sisters, and he is their brother – older, more experienced, and meant to protect them. He will fight for them. He will die for them if he has to.

Honorable Mention Tropes: Murder Is the Best Solution, Berserk Button, The Casanova, The Unfettered

[samanthasroberts]

5 Celebrities Who Did Crazy Scummy (And Underreported) Stuff

Maybe you’ve seen a picture of Justin Timberlake eating an apple and thought, “The stars, they’re just like us!” And while it’s true that some celebrities have apples like us — like we normal folk do for every single meal — some of them might be legitimately unhinged. Here are several ludicrous incidents wherein the stars were quite decidedly not like us.

5

50 Cent Bullied An Autistic Airline Employee

You’d think that after owning more bullet wounds than hit albums, 50 Cent (aka Curtis James Jackson III) would be a little more judicious in his dealings with strangers. But back in 2016, as he was apparently looking for ways to stave off boredom in the Cincinnati Airport, he noticed something fishy about one of the young maintenance workers. He seemed almost high, like the kind you might get from drugs — or as they’re called on the street, reefers.

50 leapt into action! No, he didn’t contact a supervisor to let them know their employee was on drugs; he got out his phone and followed the man around so he could mock him on Instagram. Hilarious, right? A drug user? At an AIRPORT!? It quickly went viral, but not in the way he was expecting.

The employee, a young man named Andrew Farrell, did his best to ignore Mr. Cent as he pointed his phone at him and lamented how “crazy” the younger generation is. He wondered aloud to his Instagram followers, “What kind of shit you think he took before he got to work today?” Sadly, this was the sort of abuse that Mr. Farrell had become accustomed to over the years. Because Mr. Farrell is not a drug addict — he’s autistic. Yes, 50 Cent was harassing and publicly humiliating a stranger because of a developmental disorder, not a drug habit.

Before our president made mocking the disabled a partisan issue, everyone agreed this was terrible. Fans were outraged, and liquor stores threatened to stop selling the faded rap star’s “Effen Vodka” brand of booze.

Effen Vodka“Effen” is, of course, a Dutch children’s game about number guessing. Wait, unless 50 Cent meant it like “Fuckin’ Vodka”? Oh 50, that’s naughty!

Read Next

The Hidden Connection Between 'Ghostbusters' And The Remake

As uniquely awful as this seems, it wasn’t the first time Jackson did something like this. Or even the second. A few years before, he’d landed in hot water after telling someone on Twitter “Just saw your picture fool you look autistic.” He ended another social media discussion by saying, “I don’t want no special ed kids on my timeline follow some body else.” It’s all very disappointing when someone unfairly derides another’s cognitive differences. Especially when that someone is the sort of person who claims bankruptcy while simultaneously posting photos of himself wallowing on a Scrooge-McDuck-sized pile of fake money. Maybe next time, try renting a conscience instead of a Rolex and a pile of money, Mr. Cent.

4

Both Akon And Afroman Savagely Attacked Fans On Stage

There’s an unspoken (and also very spoken) rule that you don’t get up on the stage when someone is performing. You can throw your panties and flowers, but hardly ever your beer, and never your throwing stars. When you violate these rules, you will get violently grabbed and thrown out on your ass. That’s exactly what happened to a fan at an Akon concert, only not the way you may think.

It was between songs, and Akon seemed to be doing some light crowd work. He took his shirt off and pulled an eager fan up on stage. It wasn’t a hot girl, as you’d expect a freshly shirtless singer to select. It was a nerdy guy in glasses and cargo shorts, and Akon immediately grabbed him by the dick, flung him up on his shoulders, and heaved him into the crowd. He did this not so much in a fun crowd-surfing arc, but at a low angle, directly into a pocket of girls extremely unprepared to catch a 150-pound projectile. The fan ate what most onlookers would call total shit. You can watch it here:

You’re not allowed to body-slam people to near death, even if they seemed like they were asking for it, so Akon was fined $350 and sentenced to 65 hours of community service. The stars, they are not just like us.

A strangely similar but way, way less cool incident happened at an Afroman show. Afroman was on stage playing guitar when a female fan jumped up and started stumbling around with her drink. For 10 or 15 seconds, she danced behind Afroman while he ignored her. Oh my god, can you believe how crazy she was being, you guys!?

Emboldened by the club’s lack of security, she started inching closer to Afroman. Oh my god, you guys, she was going to rub her butt on him! Can you believe how crazy she was being!? But then she finally did. Her butt, getting closer and closer to Afroman’s, finally made contact. Afroman reacted like a mousetrap. His right hand came off the guitar strings, formed a fist, and blasted into the intruder’s face.

Afroman went back to playing, disturbingly undisturbed after punching a woman out. A few seconds later, some drunk guy, presumably the disoriented girl’s boyfriend, struggled onto stage. Afroman kept playing, but made it absolutely clear he would be more than happy to fuck up the second entrant into his impromptu gladiator arena. The fan’s disapproving expression quickly changed to the universal gesture for “Whoa, whoa, I’m only here to get this drunk idiot home.” And he did indeed have more important things to worry about, as his drunk, concussed companion was now wandering aimlessly backstage.

It was a bad way to handle a difficult situation placed upon him by a shitty person, but if the world’s worst TV producer created a fight league between drunk women and guitar players twice their size, this would absolutely be the knockout highlight of the year.

3

Justin Bieber Abandoned His Dog, And His Backup Dancer Had To Pay For Its Surgery

Justin Bieber has a love/hate relationship with animals. He loves getting them and taking pictures with them, and he hates feeding them, taking care of them, and generally keeping them alive. Last year, C.J. Salvador, one of Bieber’s dancers, gave the famously irresponsible singer a puppy. Naturally, it didn’t work out so well. A routine checkup found that the puppy had severe hip dysplasia and may not be able to walk unless an $8,000 procedure was performed. Bieber didn’t want to pay for this, despite that amount literally not registering as money to him, because you should never underestimate a shitty human’s capacity for awfulness.

Justin Bieber“Sorry dude, but you know how many [current fad bullshit item]s I can buy with that?”

Salvador mounted a scrappy fundraising effort for the puppy’s surgery himself. He managed to secure over 90 donors to help Todd the dog walk again, and Bieber’s animal kill count did not grow. “At least for now,” Bieber added from the shadows. “At least for now.”

2

Vince Neil Body-Slammed a Woman Because She Snubbed Him For Nicolas Cage

As the frontman for Motley Crue, Vince Neil has had many encounters with women. In fact, mathematically speaking, 17 percent of all people reading this have Neil DNA in them, or possibly just on them. But this dude …

Elektra Records

… is well into his 50s now, so you’d think he would have mellowed out some. But no. A couple of years ago in Vegas, a woman was taking a picture with Neil when she saw Nicolas Cage. She screamed, “Nicolas, I love you!” and ran for Cage, abandoning poor Neil for a younger model — a practice he was well used to being on the other side of. Neil did what any insecure, doughy man in eyeliner would do: He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. We believe it was Archimedes who said, “Give me an innocent lady’s ponytail long enough, and I can assault the world.”

Cage sprung into action. He seized Neil in a wrestler’s clinch and screamed into his ear, “Stop this SHIT! NOW!” Cage isn’t sure what that phrase means, but it’s what his agent says to him every time he attaches himself to a project.

Neil initially deflected the allegations, saying he merely “pushed past her,” but when he realized the offense could land him up to six months in prison, he pleaded guilty. The story has a happy ending, though. Neil was forced to pay a $1,000 fine and agree to six months of not beating up random women for shockingly pathetic reasons. Oh, we meant a happy ending for Vince Neil, not the woman or the concept of justice in general.

1

Aaron Eckhart Crashed A Support Group For Grieving Parents

Aaron Eckhart, known for his portrayals of Harvey Dent and Sexy Frankenstein, needed to get deep into the emotions of a grieving father for a role. Most actors would consider what they know about sadness and then try to act sad, but Eckart knew it would take more. So he went to a support group for grieving parents and pretended his kid died.

Lionsgate“So in this scene, I’m supposed to have half a face? Well off comes half my face, then!”

We understand every artist has their own ways of working, and maybe faking a dead kid is what he needed to do. But when Eckhart did an interview on Howard Stern’s show, it seemed like he genuinely forgot other people’s for-real kids died.

We learn that when it was his turn to share, Eckhart described his character and broke down in tears, and was then consoled by the group of legitimately bereaved people over the loss of his pretend movie baby. Stern, to his credit, offered Eckhart a lifeline by asking if he later felt bad about doing it. Eckhart did not take the lifeline. In fact, he burned the lifeline and scattered its ashes into the wind. He said, “you really believe that you just lost a child. You are as close to reality in that sense as possible. I don’t want to be rude to people who have lost a child, but yeah, you feel right there. You feel like your character.”

OK, Aaron Eckhart made the reprehensible choice to go into a room with people who had real emotional problems and made them comfort him over a fake dead kid. And he doesn’t feel bad about it. But at least we got the legendary and beloved film Rabbit Hole out of it, right? We all saw and loved … Rabbit Hole? Yeah, it was all worth it for Rabbit Hole.

Greg Tuff has a Twitter, and recommends you check out his friends at Bush Gang Gaming on YouTube. Michael Battaglino is a contributor to Cracked.com. Be sure to check out some of his other work if you enjoyed this article.

Nic Cage has been in some crummy flicks, but he was in a pretty good one already in 2018 called Mom and Dad that’s worth checking out.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/5-celebrities-who-did-crazy-scummy-and-underreported-stuff/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/09/01/5-celebrities-who-did-crazy-scummy-and-underreported-stuff/

[adambstingus]

5 Celebrities Who Did Crazy Scummy (And Underreported) Stuff

Maybe you’ve seen a picture of Justin Timberlake eating an apple and thought, “The stars, they’re just like us!” And while it’s true that some celebrities have apples like us — like we normal folk do for every single meal — some of them might be legitimately unhinged. Here are several ludicrous incidents wherein the stars were quite decidedly not like us.

5

50 Cent Bullied An Autistic Airline Employee

You’d think that after owning more bullet wounds than hit albums, 50 Cent (aka Curtis James Jackson III) would be a little more judicious in his dealings with strangers. But back in 2016, as he was apparently looking for ways to stave off boredom in the Cincinnati Airport, he noticed something fishy about one of the young maintenance workers. He seemed almost high, like the kind you might get from drugs — or as they’re called on the street, reefers.

50 leapt into action! No, he didn’t contact a supervisor to let them know their employee was on drugs; he got out his phone and followed the man around so he could mock him on Instagram. Hilarious, right? A drug user? At an AIRPORT!? It quickly went viral, but not in the way he was expecting.

The employee, a young man named Andrew Farrell, did his best to ignore Mr. Cent as he pointed his phone at him and lamented how “crazy” the younger generation is. He wondered aloud to his Instagram followers, “What kind of shit you think he took before he got to work today?” Sadly, this was the sort of abuse that Mr. Farrell had become accustomed to over the years. Because Mr. Farrell is not a drug addict — he’s autistic. Yes, 50 Cent was harassing and publicly humiliating a stranger because of a developmental disorder, not a drug habit.

Before our president made mocking the disabled a partisan issue, everyone agreed this was terrible. Fans were outraged, and liquor stores threatened to stop selling the faded rap star’s “Effen Vodka” brand of booze.

Effen Vodka“Effen” is, of course, a Dutch children’s game about number guessing. Wait, unless 50 Cent meant it like “Fuckin’ Vodka”? Oh 50, that’s naughty!

Read Next

The Hidden Connection Between ‘Ghostbusters’ And The Remake

As uniquely awful as this seems, it wasn’t the first time Jackson did something like this. Or even the second. A few years before, he’d landed in hot water after telling someone on Twitter “Just saw your picture fool you look autistic.” He ended another social media discussion by saying, “I don’t want no special ed kids on my timeline follow some body else.” It’s all very disappointing when someone unfairly derides another’s cognitive differences. Especially when that someone is the sort of person who claims bankruptcy while simultaneously posting photos of himself wallowing on a Scrooge-McDuck-sized pile of fake money. Maybe next time, try renting a conscience instead of a Rolex and a pile of money, Mr. Cent.

4

Both Akon And Afroman Savagely Attacked Fans On Stage

There’s an unspoken (and also very spoken) rule that you don’t get up on the stage when someone is performing. You can throw your panties and flowers, but hardly ever your beer, and never your throwing stars. When you violate these rules, you will get violently grabbed and thrown out on your ass. That’s exactly what happened to a fan at an Akon concert, only not the way you may think.

It was between songs, and Akon seemed to be doing some light crowd work. He took his shirt off and pulled an eager fan up on stage. It wasn’t a hot girl, as you’d expect a freshly shirtless singer to select. It was a nerdy guy in glasses and cargo shorts, and Akon immediately grabbed him by the dick, flung him up on his shoulders, and heaved him into the crowd. He did this not so much in a fun crowd-surfing arc, but at a low angle, directly into a pocket of girls extremely unprepared to catch a 150-pound projectile. The fan ate what most onlookers would call total shit. You can watch it here:

You’re not allowed to body-slam people to near death, even if they seemed like they were asking for it, so Akon was fined $350 and sentenced to 65 hours of community service. The stars, they are not just like us.

A strangely similar but way, way less cool incident happened at an Afroman show. Afroman was on stage playing guitar when a female fan jumped up and started stumbling around with her drink. For 10 or 15 seconds, she danced behind Afroman while he ignored her. Oh my god, can you believe how crazy she was being, you guys!?

Emboldened by the club’s lack of security, she started inching closer to Afroman. Oh my god, you guys, she was going to rub her butt on him! Can you believe how crazy she was being!? But then she finally did. Her butt, getting closer and closer to Afroman’s, finally made contact. Afroman reacted like a mousetrap. His right hand came off the guitar strings, formed a fist, and blasted into the intruder’s face.

Afroman went back to playing, disturbingly undisturbed after punching a woman out. A few seconds later, some drunk guy, presumably the disoriented girl’s boyfriend, struggled onto stage. Afroman kept playing, but made it absolutely clear he would be more than happy to fuck up the second entrant into his impromptu gladiator arena. The fan’s disapproving expression quickly changed to the universal gesture for “Whoa, whoa, I’m only here to get this drunk idiot home.” And he did indeed have more important things to worry about, as his drunk, concussed companion was now wandering aimlessly backstage.

It was a bad way to handle a difficult situation placed upon him by a shitty person, but if the world’s worst TV producer created a fight league between drunk women and guitar players twice their size, this would absolutely be the knockout highlight of the year.

3

Justin Bieber Abandoned His Dog, And His Backup Dancer Had To Pay For Its Surgery

Justin Bieber has a love/hate relationship with animals. He loves getting them and taking pictures with them, and he hates feeding them, taking care of them, and generally keeping them alive. Last year, C.J. Salvador, one of Bieber’s dancers, gave the famously irresponsible singer a puppy. Naturally, it didn’t work out so well. A routine checkup found that the puppy had severe hip dysplasia and may not be able to walk unless an $8,000 procedure was performed. Bieber didn’t want to pay for this, despite that amount literally not registering as money to him, because you should never underestimate a shitty human’s capacity for awfulness.

Justin Bieber“Sorry dude, but you know how many [current fad bullshit item]s I can buy with that?”

Salvador mounted a scrappy fundraising effort for the puppy’s surgery himself. He managed to secure over 90 donors to help Todd the dog walk again, and Bieber’s animal kill count did not grow. “At least for now,” Bieber added from the shadows. “At least for now.”

2

Vince Neil Body-Slammed a Woman Because She Snubbed Him For Nicolas Cage

As the frontman for Motley Crue, Vince Neil has had many encounters with women. In fact, mathematically speaking, 17 percent of all people reading this have Neil DNA in them, or possibly just on them. But this dude …

Elektra Records

… is well into his 50s now, so you’d think he would have mellowed out some. But no. A couple of years ago in Vegas, a woman was taking a picture with Neil when she saw Nicolas Cage. She screamed, “Nicolas, I love you!” and ran for Cage, abandoning poor Neil for a younger model — a practice he was well used to being on the other side of. Neil did what any insecure, doughy man in eyeliner would do: He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. We believe it was Archimedes who said, “Give me an innocent lady’s ponytail long enough, and I can assault the world.”

Cage sprung into action. He seized Neil in a wrestler’s clinch and screamed into his ear, “Stop this SHIT! NOW!” Cage isn’t sure what that phrase means, but it’s what his agent says to him every time he attaches himself to a project.

Neil initially deflected the allegations, saying he merely “pushed past her,” but when he realized the offense could land him up to six months in prison, he pleaded guilty. The story has a happy ending, though. Neil was forced to pay a $1,000 fine and agree to six months of not beating up random women for shockingly pathetic reasons. Oh, we meant a happy ending for Vince Neil, not the woman or the concept of justice in general.

1

Aaron Eckhart Crashed A Support Group For Grieving Parents

Aaron Eckhart, known for his portrayals of Harvey Dent and Sexy Frankenstein, needed to get deep into the emotions of a grieving father for a role. Most actors would consider what they know about sadness and then try to act sad, but Eckart knew it would take more. So he went to a support group for grieving parents and pretended his kid died.

Lionsgate“So in this scene, I’m supposed to have half a face? Well off comes half my face, then!”

We understand every artist has their own ways of working, and maybe faking a dead kid is what he needed to do. But when Eckhart did an interview on Howard Stern’s show, it seemed like he genuinely forgot other people’s for-real kids died.

We learn that when it was his turn to share, Eckhart described his character and broke down in tears, and was then consoled by the group of legitimately bereaved people over the loss of his pretend movie baby. Stern, to his credit, offered Eckhart a lifeline by asking if he later felt bad about doing it. Eckhart did not take the lifeline. In fact, he burned the lifeline and scattered its ashes into the wind. He said, “you really believe that you just lost a child. You are as close to reality in that sense as possible. I don’t want to be rude to people who have lost a child, but yeah, you feel right there. You feel like your character.”

OK, Aaron Eckhart made the reprehensible choice to go into a room with people who had real emotional problems and made them comfort him over a fake dead kid. And he doesn’t feel bad about it. But at least we got the legendary and beloved film Rabbit Hole out of it, right? We all saw and loved … Rabbit Hole? Yeah, it was all worth it for Rabbit Hole.

Greg Tuff has a Twitter, and recommends you check out his friends at Bush Gang Gaming on YouTube. Michael Battaglino is a contributor to Cracked.com. Be sure to check out some of his other work if you enjoyed this article.

Nic Cage has been in some crummy flicks, but he was in a pretty good one already in 2018 called Mom and Dad that’s worth checking out.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-celebrities-who-did-crazy-scummy-and-underreported-stuff/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/177604784842

[the-bio-hole-blog]

The Doctor

Name: Mezza Age: Looks 11, is actually 14 Gender: Male Orientation: When greeted with that question he just points at his face. However he does have cute moments of infatuation when things are really pretty. Other than that, he's not really interested. Occupation: College student prodigy, Doctor for the thieves Race: Alicorn Appearance: Scrappy white hair, diamond blue eyes, pale skin. Has a symbol on his forehead indicating where his horn is when he transformed into his Alicorn form. Wears ripped faded jeans, brand name tshirts, loves his pair of green converse shoes. When working he just throws a white lab coat on that he stole from the medical university he attends. Personality: Seems very detached from the world, often bored, numb to most things. Sleepy. Sometimes makes stupid doctor related puns just to make the air even more awkward. He is wallflower and proud. When he gets in the mood though, he can be quite cute when he's fascinated about something that's brand new to him. For the moment, then he loses interest quickly. Bio: Unicorns were on the brink of extinction, Pegasus as well. Alicorn haven't been seen around in a millennia. Mezza was extremely rare from the get go. One could say a very rich and powerful man had Mezza bred from the dna of Unicorn and a captured Pegasus. Alicorn was to be raised as almost a showpony, a trophy, an escort, whatever you would call it. All of it was at the expense of a man fixated on power, image, greed, and lust. What the Master didn't expect was a Firebird invading his home. Mezza didn't really know who it was, since well, he was five at the time even though his intellect was that comparable to a 13 year old. But Mezza could tell whoever this Firebird was, he was ancient. He recalled words of "How dare you do this to my brethren! We Fae are a proud race, not tools for your greed." If Mezza recalled correctly, the Manor was home to a underground facility, and he did recall seeing only one strange creature, one that didn't look like anything in today's bestiary of creatures. Back on topic, the Firebird burned everything down to the ground, freeing enslaved creatures and cradling the said special creature in his arms, and like that, he turned the body into Ash and used those ashes to burn onto his skin to form a new tattoo over his tanned body. The man had turned and notice Mezza, being the only one left still sticking around. He introduced himself as Kiros, and Mezza was suddenly met with a warm aura and smile. Whoever he was, Mezza knew he wasn't a bad guy. Kiros had decided then to take Mezza to the one place where he knew the young Alicorn would be safe. A place where it would welcome any outcast no matter who you were. So here Mezza was, pretty much just left at the door steps of this strange building in the middle of the night. Kiros had flown away, making no intention of knocking on the door. He just told Mezza to sit tight and live a normal life, and like that, the Firebird was gone. So Mezza maybe sat there for a good hour, still nothing until the door opened, smacking him right in the face, causing him to tumble back. When the door opened all the way, he was greeted by a Elven looking woman with long blond hair. Of course, the first question that came up was about his age and being in the wrong place. Mezza explained he was just dropped here. The second question was about his parents...Mezza couldn't answer. Didn't take long for the woman to take him inside. She introduced her as Liz and explained that the building was a Lady's club in a sense. And that was when he was introduced to the club members. However, when he was introduced to the one who would be known as Allelujah, Mezza just stared, it was like....a tingly feeling and almost like looking into a mirror. But Mezza wouldn't say anything about it, probably just coincidence. That's all his life was at this point.   Mezza began going to school finally, each member occasionally taking the time to take him to school or driving him home. It was here that Mezza truly began to shine. His aptitude for learning was almost godlike as he came home with nothing but A's. As he grew, he was skipping a few grades, graduated Highschool at the age of 13. Due to his keen intellect and learning capabilities, Mezza was treated outside of societal norms. No one wanted to be his friend because he was one: too young, or two: too smart for them. He now attends the medical university of Dawnington, appropriately named the Shuretto University. And as expected he was treated like crap. The students of this place constantly berated his age, saying things like a child doesn't belong in the medical world. But Mezza didn't really let that get to him. Liz always told him to focus on his studies after all. When he met Yurei, it was under the weirdest of circumstances. It was in the middle of the night, and here Yurei was on University Grounds, with documents and some medical supplies. Since the guy looked injured. He turned and only grinned at Mezza. "Don't believe in the fake society they got built up here kid....it's all a scam." Was the first words that came out of his mouth. But before Yurei ran off, Mezza began pointing out that the meds that Yurei had stolen weren't going to help. So Mezza decided to give him the ones he really needed. He was still puzzled by Yurei's words really. Of course, Mezza knew sometimes the medical world....Doctors lied to their patients, only to reel in money while the victims are suffering and forced to believe their medication was "Working". When Mezza began to ask about it, Yurei was gone. When the day followed, police had arrived and arrested some of the Professors who were at the university, who were also famed doctors at the Dawnington Baptist Hospital. Was this Yurei's doing? Well, there were rumored scandals and apparently a plot to off one of tbe students....and Mezza knew. Did Yurei just save Mezza's life and wasnt aware of it? Well it caused an uproar at the university so classes were cancelled for a week. And that's when it came, a card in the mail addressed to Mezza. "I could use a Doctor like you. I'll keep in touch if you want to be a member of the Thieves of Hearts." That was really how Mezza joined the Thieves, he accepted the offer because well, it made him feel Alive, if only for a couple fleeting moments. And Yurei inadvertently saved his life. So he was indebted to tbe human. Mezza knew that he belonged here, a place that needed him, and a place that he could feel like he had a purpose in this life he was never supposed to really have. He just sometimes has trouble sneaking out late at night to meet with the group is all. The club members were extremely protective of him after all. Note: Hes called Nine because he looks like hes 11 so 9 1 1 for medical emergency. He hates it alot. It was Lar's dumb idea. Loves candy. Aloooooot.