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trulivin · 5 years ago

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Family Troubles

A/N: Here’s another one finally! (I finished it last night and thought I would be really busy today, BUT I’m free now so I thought it would be good to post it!) To the nonny who requested, I hope this is what you were looking for! Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about this. I’m not saying it’s bad, but I just, I don’t know. I say that about everything I write don’t I lmao. I don’t know if I built their relationship good enough. Please send feedback, comment, like, etc. I do hope you enjoy though! I love writing! It’s so fun! Thanks for the request!

ALSO, this contains another sensitive topic. Mental abuse is real! I’ve experienced it. If you ever find yourself being manipulated by someone that causes you to doubt yourself or anything of that nature, speak up! Mental health is just as important as physical health! Reach out and get the help you deserve because no one deserves to be manipulated into thinking you are worthless! All love!

John B x Reader, Outer Banks

Warnings: Mental Abuse

*This isn’t my gif. Credit goes to original owner*

The Pogues. A term Y/N found dear to her heart. Her best friends. Her biggest supporters. The family she was always looking for. Whenever she was with them, all of her troubles seemed to fade away. They could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

And then there was John B. The best type of friend a girl could ask for. Y/N had known him longer than the two had known JJ. Her father and John B’s, before he went missing, were the best of friends automatically making their children become friends. Y/N had spent every waking moment with John B since she could remember.

As the two got older, there was a point when John B became more than a brother to Y/N. And at some point, John B realized Y/N was a pretty girl. But, as their group went from two to five, a certain rule popped up: no-Pogue-on-Pogue macking.

Y/N never really minded it. She was still one hundred percent convinced John B still saw her as his sister, and she refused to ruin their lifelong friendship over some silly crush.

Kie, JJ, and Pope saw right through the girl, on the other hand. They honestly didn’t care if Y/N and John B got together. It would even be a relief to them so they wouldn’t have to put up with the constant longing looks from the pair. Not to mention the subconscious touchy shit that makes JJ gag.

JJ would constantly bring it up to John B too. Yet, he would, as JJ would say, deny, deny, deny.

But, regardless of John B and Y/N’s feelings for one another, the Pogues were always having a good time.

Except when Y/N had to go home and face her real family.

She never knew why she went back. John B was living without his father and seemed to avoid DCS fairly well. Why couldn’t she?

Yet somehow, she’d always wind up back in her tiny house on the Cut.

It wasn’t that her home situation was horrible. It just wasn’t great either. After John B’s dad disappeared, Y/N’s father left her and her mother to fend for themselves. For awhile, Y/N and her mom wouldn’t even speak to each other. Y/N never knew why they didn’t speak, but then a week later, a stranger was caught leaving her house in the morning. After that, Y/N’s mother had finally started speaking to her again as more and more men would be caught leaving the house in the morning.

Sadly, Y/N’s mother had changed. She would lash out at Y/N, telling her how useless she was and how Y/N should be helping her poor mom make money so they could eat. Y/N would take in every word her mom would say and try to explain she was doing little things to help out. The jobs were sporadic but it was something.

Their arguments would usually result in Y/N storming out of the house, but then getting a call about thirty minutes later from her mom, saying how sorry she was for saying all those things. She’d go on and on about how Y/N was such a great daughter and how she loved her so much.

So, Y/N would always come home with the slightest hope that her mother was alright and meant what she said. But, the same thing would happen a few days later, and Y/N would find herself in tears as her mother screamed at her for being incompetent like her father.

John B had a faint idea that home life for Y/N wasn’t very good. He could read her like a book after all. He could tell something had happened when the crew would be hanging out and Y/N was oddly quiet, but whenever he asked, she would just brush it off. Even Kie, JJ, and Pope could tell when something was wrong, but instead of pushing her, they left Y/N alone. John B, however, thought she shouldn’t be left alone and felt as if she was battling with something mentally.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the little jabs her mother would give towards her daughter that Y/N didn’t even seem to notice.

John B had swung by Y/N’s place to pick her up on the way to one of Kie’s family Kook events. While he was following Y/N around her room getting her stuff together, her mom had come in. “Where is it you’re going this time?” Y/M/N asked. “An outdoor movie thing that Kie invited us to,” Y/N replied, shoving stuff in her bag.

“Total Kook stuff, Ms. Y/L/N,” John B added with a small smile. The woman just narrowed her eyes. John B dropped his gaze, slightly confused as to why Y/N’s mother was acting so weird. She had always been so kind and welcoming.

“When will you be home?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Mom. Late,” Y/N answered with an irritated ring.

Y/N’s mother scoffed, “Just like usual. While I’m stuck at home slaving away.”

John B saw Y/N roll her eyes before standing up straight and facing her mom. “What do you want me to say?” Y/N snapped. “That I should stay here and find someone else who will pay for sex?”

John B’s gaze shot to Y/N’s at her statement. He didn’t have the slightest idea as to what was going on.

“Save it, Y/N. I don’t want to hear it. Just go out with your stupid friends. They’re just as useless as you are,” her mother retorted. John B refused to look up at the arguing mother and daughter.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve known John B for his entire life. You, and I quote, ‘absolutely adore that kid’, and you’re going to act like you hate him!”

Y/N’s mother glared at her child and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Let’s go,” she said, grabbing John B’s hand and shoving past the woman blocking the door. John B heard Y/N’s mother let out a breath and follow them down the hall. Y/N marched straight to the van with John B trailing after her, still shocked at the scene that had just unfolded before his eyes.

As they were about to drive off, Y/N’s mother came outside and called in a kind voice, “Be safe, Y/N! I’m sorry!” John B noticed Y/N’s face contort in pain before she shot her mother a small smile.

As if a switch flipped on in John B’s head, he realized what was happening. And he didn’t like it one bit.

“So,” he started slowly and felt Y/N’s gaze on him, “You’re seriously not mad at her anymore?” “What?” Y/N asked. “Who says I was mad?”

John B really couldn’t really believe what he was hearing.

“You were just arguing with your mom,” John B replied.

“Oh, that. That wasn’t arguing. Just a normal day in the Y/L/N household,” Y/N let out a strained laugh. John B looked at the girl with concern swimming in his eyes. “Y/N,” he said softly, “Does your mom do this a lot?”

“What call me useless, incompetent, stupid, but then says she loves me? I mean I suppose,” she mumbled. John B’s jaw clenched. “That’s not right,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. “She still loves me,” Y/N said defensively.

“She says she does, but--” John B started but was cut off.

“Just drop it okay?” Y/N snapped, “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

John B glanced at Y/N and saw her looking out the window, signalling that this conversation was over. He didn’t like it, but he kept his mouth shut anyways.

Ever since that day, John B tried talking to his best friend and show her how abusive her mother really was. But, Y/N refused to listen to him. She didn’t want to hear it because she wanted to believe she still had her mom after her father left.

Until one day, Y/N finally heard all of John B’s concerns in her mind.

Y/N had just gotten back from a day out with the Pogues, and her mother had already brought a new guy home. The teenager walked in on her half naked mother and stranger on the couch. “Oh god!” Y/N shouted, covering her eyes.

“What the hell?” the guy shouted at her mom. “Who is this?”

Y/N’s mother glared at her daughter and gritted her teeth, “This is my daughter.”

“You never told me you had kids! Geeze how old are you?” the man said, shoving Y/M/N off of him and grabbing his clothes. “Wait, don’t!” Y/N’s mom called after the guy who was storming out.

Y/N still stood there in shock. She wasn’t prepared for the storm that was about to enter the home. As soon as her mother came back in, she started screaming.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Y/N’s mom shouted.

“I live here!” Y/N snapped back, her temper rising.

“You little brat! You are always coming around when you aren’t wanted!”

“Mom! How was I supposed to know you were having someone over?” Y/N said.

“Oh don’t play dumb,” her mother rolled her eyes, “You never approved of what I did. You’re just trying to sabotage me! All I’m doing is trying to help keep a roof of your head and food on the table! You don’t appreciate anything I do for you!”

Y/N was so confused. “You’re making no sense!” she screamed trying to hold back her tears of anger. “I appreciate everything you do! I was helping Heyward with grocery deliveries today! I was tipped big! I was trying to help!”

“You never do anything helpful! All you do is go out with your stupid little boyfriend and friends! You’re the most worthless person I have ever met!” her mom screamed.

With every insult she spat at her daughter, Y/N felt a knife twist in her heart, and John B’s words echo in her head. Your mom may not be physically abusing you but she still is abusing you. Y/N, you need to get out of there.

“God, you’re the worst daughter someone could have asked for! You worthless piece of shit! Are you listening to me?” Y/N’s mom screamed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. Y/N shrunk back in fear. “I wish you were the one who left instead of your father,” Y/N’s mom hissed.

Y/N felt as though a boulder had crushed her heart. Tears flowed down her face as she shoved her mom off of her. Her mom’s face immediately fell as she realized what she said. “No, sweetie, I didn’t mean it,” her mom tried touching Y/N’s arm, but the girl jerked away.

Y/N had a look of horror written across her face. How could she do a complete 180? Y/N thought to herself.

“Y/N, baby. You know I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

“No you don’t,” Y/N cried, backing away from her mother. “You’re sick. I’m sorry your husband left you, but that’s no reason to take your pain out on your child. You’re supposed to protect me! I lost a father too! But you, you just act like a complete idiot!”

“No, sweetie--” Y/N’s mother started.

“I wish you were the one who left! Better you than Dad!”

And then Y/N ran.

She didn’t know where she’d go, but she knew she just needed to go anywhere but her home. Y/N let her legs carry her subconsciously and somehow wound up on the porch of the Chateau. Sobs racked her body as she collapsed on the ground.

John B opened the door expecting an animal or burglar but looked down to see a sobbing Y/N.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” John B said immediately, scoping her up in his arms, bringing her inside.

He went to set her down on the couch, but Y/N clung on to him and cried harder. John B sat down with her in his lap, a hand wrapped around her waist and head as he let her cry. John B knew what happened. He knew something like this was coming. Her mother must’ve said some awful thing and Y/N must’ve finally seen what was really going on.

“Shhh,” John B soothed as Y/N cried harder. “Whatever she said to you is a lie. You’re worth it. You’re worth something,” John B whispered in her ear. Y/N seemed to quiet a bit at the sound of his voice so John B continued.

“You’ve always been perfect, Y/N,” he said. John B didn’t really know where he was getting these words from. He never admitted his feelings for Y/N to JJ, but now, now he just knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. She needed to know that someone still loved her.

“You’re always putting everyone’s happiness first, so when she says you’re useless or incompetent, she’s wrong. You’re a selfless, beautiful girl.”

Y/N’s heart began pounding out of her chest as she listened to John B’s words.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” John B continued, “but she doesn’t love you. She’s not your family anymore. You have other people who love you. JJ, Kie, Pope. And me.” Y/N had stopped crying at this point. Does he mean it more than a friend?

“I,” John B hesitated, “I love you. And I think everyone has known that except you.”

John B fell silent after that, holding his breath. He had no idea what Y/N would do. Y/N slowly lifted her head off of his chest and looked up at him. John B’s eyes were full of concern, but a little apprehension. He was waiting for her to say something.

Instead, she leaned up, pressing her lips to his. John B instantly kissed her back. The kiss was sweet and slow. Y/N felt a warmth spread throughout her body as his grip tightened around her frame. She finally felt at home. Never in a million years did she think she would be kissing the boy who put sand in her hair as little kids.

When they broke apart, Y/N’s mouth quirked up, “I love you too, John Booker Rutledge.” John B grinned and pulled her back in for another kiss. She moaned quietly as he bit down on her lip causing his hands to grip her waist a little tighter. Soon enough, Y/N found herself straddling John B.

Her hands found the bottom of his t-shirt and began tugging at it. However, he quickly grabbed her wrists to stop her. “Wait, wait,” he said, pulling away. Y/N pouted a bit. “We aren’t doing this right now.” “Why not?” Y/N whined a bit.

“You just ran away from home,” John B replied.

“So?”

“Y/N,” he said with a stern voice, “You need to tell me what happened. Now is not the night for us to be ignoring this and you know it.”

Y/N contemplated his words for a moment, but reluctantly agreed. They resituated themselves to where she was laying on his chest while his arm was around her waist again.

“Well,” Y/N started slowly, “I came home and found my mom with another man. The man flipped out cause I guess my mom lied about her age and about having kids. And then she proceeded to blow up at me. Kept telling me how I was trying to sabotage her work and how I was worthless. The usual nonsense you know.”

John B nodded in the dark and gave her a squeeze telling her to continue.

“And,” Y/N paused, “and then she said she wished it was me who left instead of Dad.”

John B’s heart sank. “But then,” Y/N continued, “It was like she flipped a switch. She claimed she didn’t mean it and that she loved me. I didn’t believe her this time so that’s when I ran.”

Y/N shifted so she could look at the boy. John B had a mixed look of anger and sadness on his face. “Y/N,” he started, “you’re not going back there.” And for once, Y/N listened to him. “Ok.” John B was slightly surprised, but mostly relieved she didn’t try to defend her mother.

Y/N laid back down and closed her eyes as John B started speaking again.

“You don’t know how much you are loved. Especially me, but the group. JJ would fall apart if you weren’t here, and Kie and Pope, you know how much they care about you. Don’t let anyone tell you you are nothing because you are far from it. I promise you. You are worth everything to me. Promise me you won’t ever doubt yourself,” John B said.

Y/N smiled in the darkness. “I promise, John B.” He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her even closer as she finally drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the two were woken up by a very loud voice. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” JJ smirked. Y/N curled into John B’s chest mumbling something about killing JJ for waking her up.

“Leave them be JJ,” Kie’s voice snapped softly. “Thanks Kie,” John B groaned, slinging his arm over his face to block out the sunlight.

“Let’s go, we’ll meet up later,” Kie said before John B heard the porch door open and close.

“Congrats man,” JJ added kindly before slipping outside after Kie. “I love you,” Y/N mumbled before her soft snores filled the room again. John B grinned like an idiot and whispered, “I love you too my sweet girl,” before he slipped back into a comfortable sleep.

_____________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed! More fics coming soon! And feel free to send in requests! Xoxo

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thefreakydeaky · 4 years ago

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Call Out My name

Part Seven Title: Pretty

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie, Gregory, Mentions of Simon, Dwight,Sherri, Amber, Ezekiel, Maggie Rhee, Wives: Tanya and Frankie, and Lucille.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3,557

“What did I miss?” Negan inquired as the door shut behind him.

"I dunno what you mean.” You struggled to remove your panties.

“Sin-since when do you get into cat fights?” His eyebrows raised as he watched you hop around clumsily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my bra and panties.” You huffed pulling one arm into your dress to work open the clasps.

“Stop it.Here let me.”Negan shook his head in exasperation as he came to stand in front of you.

His long fingers gathered the soft material of your dress.He lifted it up over your head and slid it down your arm.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you gettin’ undressed?”

“I’m too hot for clothes.”

Negan grinned. “You sure are.”

“No.That’s not what I mean.Meant?Mean?”

“How much did you have to drink?” With one deft movement, he unclasped your bra.

He made it seem so easy.You pouted, glaring down at your exposed tummy pensively.

“I should be able to do that. I’m the one with boobs!” You complained.

Negan chuckled a smooth melodic sound.His warm hands slipped the bra straps off of your shoulders, freeing your arms, exposing your breasts.

“Panties too.” You reminded.

The hint of a smile played around his lips as he slipped the waistband of your slightly skewed underpants off of your hips.He knelt down.Something occurred to you as you watched him slide the thin fabric to your ankles.

“How come you’re home so early?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” His index finger tapped the top of your foot. “Lift.”

You leaned forward to sturdy yourself, hanging onto his leather clad shoulder as you raised your foot.

Negan unhooked your underpants from around one ankle, guided your foot back to the floor, and repeated the process with your left foot.

“Are you trying to start a mutiny of the wives or did you get bored enough in there to start shit for no reason?”

Knowing eyes looked up at you.

“I didn’t start it! Sherri did!”

“Did she now?”

“She could start an argument in an empty house.”

“You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock we do.” Negan quoted watching for your reaction.

“Well she does! She was being a-a-a judgey mcjudgerson!”

“A what?”

“A jerk.” You amended.

“Sherri is always “a jerk”.What was different about today?”

You frowned. “The vodka?”

“No.” He replied standing slowly back up.

“...the me?” You mumbled guiltily.

Negan cupped his hand behind his ear gazing at you expectantly.

“Me, I was different, because I got mad.”

“Mhmm.”

“I was angry so I egged her on.”

“That’s not the Y/n I know.” He admonished, taking your chin in his hand.

He tilted your face up and looked you in the eye.

“She said somethin’ mean.”

His brow furrowed. “Mean?”

“We were playing Never have I ever...”

“Mhmm...”

“And Amber said ‘Never have I ever wanted to sleep with Simon.’ Obviously I took a shot.” You recognized the spark of jealousy in his eyes.

“It’s the way the game works!”You defended. “Then Sherri said “Simon?” And I was like 'What’re you surprised?' And she said 'Not even a little.'”

Negan took a deep angry breath.

You jumped back into your case to keep him from yelling at you.

“It was the way she said it.” You emphasized.”Like like I was dirty like I was below her.”

The corner of his lip pulled back in a near snarl.

You could already see how his needless anger would play out.

“And not just me.”You back tracked, “Tanya and Frankie too! I mean how can you blame me?Honestly, she freaking implied that we were sluts or whores or-or worse just cause we’re married to you.She forgets that we’re equals and talks down to us. What was I supposed to do, let her??No no no.”

Negan ran a hand through his hair.His anger had gone down from a boil to a simmer.He struggled to adjust.

“Ugh, I knew it!You’re stuck on the Simon part.You just don’t get it.”

“You were fightin’ over another man! How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

“It wasn’t about Simon.I was giving you context so you would know how I went from putting up with her to wanting to kick her ass.” You explained, annoyed with his one track mind.

“What the fuck is so great about that scumbag anyway? What’s got y’all so obsessed?”

You sighed loudly.

“Nobody is obsessed! Amber was making fun, cause she thinks he’s ugly.”

“At least one of my wives is smart.”

You rankled at the bitterness in his voice.

“Well I can’t tell you why Tanya and Frankie wanted to sleep with Simon! I can only tell you why I did!”

“Why did you?” He wore a guarded expression.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mostly to piss you off. He’s got the whole second man in charge thing going for him and that works for some people, but for me, it was about how mad I was at you.”

Negan blinked, processing your words.

“You wanting to sleep with Simon was about Me?”

“That’s ... one hell of an over simplification, but yes. It was.You acted like a total dickwad from the second we met to the night I almost slept with him.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you put your finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“Yes, me wanting to sleep with Simon was about you.Ninety-five percent of the time I was talking to him, I thought of you.”

“And the other five percent?”

“You gotta be kidding me! Is ninety-five not enough?”

“Why wasn’t it a hundred percent of the time?"

“I hadn’t had sex in years!”

“Hmm...”

You interrupted his thinking with a slow languid kiss. He kissed you back savoring your affection.

“I don’t like drama,Doll.I’ll forgive you this time.You girls got sauced after all, but don’t you go making trouble again.”

“What about Sherri?”

“Collateral damage.”

You exhaled sharply at the sympathy in his voice.

“Dwight needed to learn his place and the only way to do that without cracking open skulls was to threaten him with Lucille.”His thumb stroked over your jaw lightly.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Sherri offered herself up in exchange for his life.That just so happened to fit my agenda.So, ‘mean’ though she may be she was telling the truth.” Negan looked down and away for a minute.The deceptively charismatic smirk he wore like armor returned to its place.

“Not for nothin’ but not one of us became a wife because we were lookin’ to put our feet up, except for Frankie.” You pointed out.

“Amber went through some really bad shit.She feels indebted to you for saving her.Tanya’s mom was sick, in a lot of pain, and needed morphine.We both know how I ended up here-“

“Sherri doesn’t know that.” He interrupted.

“That’s my point, she shouldn’t talk about what she doesn’t know.Talk shit.Get hit.Just sayin’.”

“You are impossible...Why don’t you go on and get that gorgeous bottom of yours in the shower? It’ll help you cool down.” He suggested.

“Won’t you come with me? You tried, entwining your fingers with his.

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a small regretful kiss to it.

Negan’s sigh was bone weary.

“I’d love to, Darlin’ ,but Daddy’s got work to do.” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

Your face heated at the memory of your sarcastic remark.

“It was a joke.” You groaned.

“Not to me. I think Daddy might be my favorite nick name yet.” He taunted, watching you saunter to the bathroom to start your shower.

You heard his easy laughter receding as he left you to your own devices.

Not far from The Sanctuary, a militia made up of rebel misfits made their final preparations to dethrone the self-professed king.

Once upon a pre-apocalypse time, Rick Grimes thought of himself as a simple man.There was right and there was wrong,very seldom was there anything in between.When there was, it simply meant the situation needed resolving. Once resolved it would fall into one of those two basic categories and all was well with his world again.

However, that was before the apocalypse. Before his family’s survival twisted his morality into something neither black nor white, but a stormy weather grey. The many traumatic situations, trials and tribulations he and his chosen family had faced, forced his grey morality to stain a little darker, but no crisis had pushed him so close to the edge as Negan. Abraham and Glenn, along with so many others had lost theirs lives to the violent sociopath and his merry band of murders.He’d sworn vengeance on their oppressor.Now that vengeance was finally coming to fruition.

“...Those people who use, take, and kill, to carve out the world and make it their’s and their’s alone, We end them...” His soulful blue eyes took a moment to gaze meaningfully into the face of each member of his ragtag army.

“There’s only one person that has to die tonight”His gruff voice assured them, “and I will kill him myself.”

He could see his words already taking affect, giving their anger the justification of righteousness and their thirst for savior blood conviction.Rick kept watching, patiently as Ezekiel roused them with brotherhood and as Maggie Rhee gave them hope.Unlike Negan, it gave him no pleasure to manipulate minds like this.The ends he reminded his conscience would justify the means.

For the greater good!

His inner voice declared.He accepted the words as gospel.

The caravan barreled through the fences taking the few saviors, who weren’t out checking the far perimeter, by surprise. Four shots were fired into the air breaking up an impromptu meeting Negan was having with Hilltop’s incompetent leader.He and his men strolled out onto the platform to gauge the situation.

“Well I’m sorry” Negan apologized insincerity in his voice. “I was in a meetin’’.”

Upon laying eyes on Gregory, Rick Grimes snorted.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Negan’s sharp eyes roved over the caravan of misfit warriors, taking in the army, the battle ready vehicles, their many firearms. All of this would not have given him pause, except for one thing, the determination and fury on their faces.

“Now, I don’t see a reason why we should have us a shoot out,” He snarked, wondering anxiously if you were at the window of his bedroom right now.

Hoping you had heard the warning shots and taken cover, he resumed his performance.

“I have to look out for the safety of my people. I can’t let myself get wrapped up in playing cops and robbers just because you want to find out if my dick is really bigger than yours.” He paused like a comedian building suspense before a punchline, “It is.”

He smiled confidently. “We all know it.”

“This isn’t a game.” Rick Grimes intoned, his solemn countenance causing Simon to mutter an epithet under his breath. “This is a reckoning and your time has come.”

The shoot out that followed was a chaos of ricochetting bullets, screams of pain, and shouted orders. Minutes passed like seconds. Simon called out to Negan, they had reinforcements coming.

As it turned out, so did Rick Grimes.Of all the surprises Negan imagined the colonies to have under their sleeves, not being able to count on his silver tongue to buy time or get him out of such an impossible bitch of a situation wasn’t one, the colonies using the entirety of their separate communities, young and old, wasn’t one, and a heard of the dead filtering into his God damn Sanctuary sure as fuck wasn’t one.

Rick the Prick’s first spray of bullets missed Negan by a second.He dove out of the way and down a flight of stairs. When he reached the bottom he was a little worse for the wear, but his body was still in one piece.He was also resourceful enough to pick up the gun of a fallen Savior and stay out of the crosshairs for a bit.

His brain went into survival mode, pushing him to shoot back, pulling him back behind the dumpster before he could get himself shot. Negan’s gun ran out of bullets all too soon.

“Sonuvabitch!” He ground out, running to the nearest port in the shit storm, a rusty old trailer.

His heart beat so damn loud, he’d forgotten how terrifying a herd could be when you had nothing, but your will to live and your flight response to get you out of it.He heard glass breaking.

Y/n

His pulse jumped in his throat.Of all the days for you to drink you had to choose today.He couldn’t bear the thought of them getting to you.They could hate him all they all wanted, he’d done his share of fucked up shit. He deserved it. What he felt he didn’t deserve was for the consequences of his actions to effect you.

Another spine chilling thought circled in his brain.

“Everyone of you go to your rooms!!”

Had he doomed you all? Like he’d doomed her? A memory of bright blue eyes and a very expressive face loomed over him ominously.

Different time.Different situation.Different woman.He told himself pushing her memory away, down deep in the coffin shaped box where he kept his grief.

A newer memory arose unbidden, He took your hand in his, kissed it softly, and looked into your eyes.All trace of bravado and falsehood dissipated as he let you see him. The real Negan and the effect one night with you’d had on him.

"Can I trust you, Y/n?”

“Yes, you can.”You laced your fingers between his.

“How can I be sure you won’t think my love for you is a weakness?”He watched your face cautiously.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

You were resourceful.You were unbelievably resilient. Negan resolved to trust you to keep yourself alive.At least until he could reach you.

The trailer door blew wide open.Negan fisted the black material attached to whatever dickhead had been dumb enough to enter his refuge and pulled the door shut. The wide doe eyes of Alexandria’s creepy bald clergyman found his face in the dark.

The firing of live ammunition sounded from somewhere below you. In nothing, but a bra and a fresh pair of panties you ran to the wall of windows.Simon and a few of the saviors had taken cover and were taking their best shots at hitting something other than the corrugated steel the invaders were using as shields.Your mind went into over drive.You couldn’t see Negan out there.No sign of his black leather clad back anywhere.At least you knew he was alive.He wasn’t lying on the ground or you’d surely have seen him. A borage of bullets hit some of the panes of glass below.You dove to the ground and began crawling behind the nearest piece of furniture you could.Unfortunately, the closest was a sofa.Cushions and plywood wouldn’t be enough to keep you safe.You lay as flat against the floor as you could as the gunfire reached your floor.The cacophony out there went from loud to ear splitting within seconds.

A sharp angry pain caused you to cry out, but you weren’t willing to risk getting shot again to check the wound.Soon afterwards the shooting died down.They’re running out of ammo, you thought.They must need to make every bullet count.Your heart felt so heavy.Please Lord keep him safe.You prayed.You knew he wasn’t perfect by any means nor was he innocent, but you loved him.You couldn’t fathom a world without him.A moment of quiet passed as you reflected on your husbands many sins.You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure.You wanted so badly to fall apart, but there wasn’t time for that.There was no doubt in your mind that he would eventually come for you, but you couldn’t stay here and wait.It wasn’t safe.

You got onto your hands and knees and clambered to the closet.You cursed Negan’s stupid wives club bullshit for robbing you of your jeans.You only owned two outfits.A black dress with spaghetti straps or a white grass stained sundress.You silently fumed as you pulled the dress on.You owned exactly one pair of shoes these days and they were a pair of black flats, not made for trekking through the forest. You decided to take a pair of socks and Negan’s red kerchief from his night stand.The long tube socks you used to stifle the bleeding of your wound.You tied the kerchief around your wrist. As you left your bedroom behind, you quickly began assessing the damage.You found the parlor doors were wide open. Sherri was long gone, but Tanya and Frankie seemed to be waiting around for...something.

“He isn’t coming.” The statement left your mouth reluctantly.

You knew deep inside that he would come back, eventually. However, seeing the girls fall apart spurred you to action. “We have to go.”

“We can’t leave! We won’t make it!” Tanya cried, her eyes frantic.

“We will! We can!” They looked unconvinced.

“I’ve led a group before.” You sighed exasperated with their dithering.

Frankie’s eyes darted from the room you had just left to the parlor doors.

They’ll probably drag us out of here if we stay.” She said slowly to Tanya, “and who knows what else they’ll do to us.” She swallowed nervously.

“She’s right.” You told Tanya.”We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with here and we shouldn’t stick around to find out.”

Tanya nodded slowly accepting the dire straits you were in.Trying to ignore the fear and anxiety she was radiating, you lead them to the doors.The empty hallway was not at all inviting, but you had no choice except to slip quietly into it.Frankie and Tanya followed.There was shouting and shooting in the distance.The further you walked the closer the noises sounded.You peaked around the first corner.

An arrow whizzed toward you.You ducked back behind the wall, your breathing sharp and quick with shock.You stayed as still as possible, waiting for another arrow to come, but none did. Instead there were heavy angry footsteps.The face of a man appeared, haggard sweaty and holding a cross bow in front of him.Tanya and Frankie yelped holding each other tight.

“Weapons?” He demanded.

“W-we don’t have any.” Frankie stuttered.

“Bullshit!” He barked and demanded you put your hands up.

You complied, more for the good of the wives than for your own.Stout fingers and a large palm invasively explored any place you might be hiding a gun or knife.

“Get on the ground.”He commanded and moved on to check Frankie, then Tanya.

“Who are you?” He asked suspiciously.

“We’re...wives” Tanya sniffed between sobs.“Negan’s wives.”

He grunted more to himself than to you.Static crackled from the walkie on his belt.

“Darryl, You find anything?”

“I found the wives,”He sounded disappointed. “They’re unarmed."

“Go ahead and bring ‘em with you.”A deep voice intoned.

“Sure.”Darryl replied.

“Anyone else back there?” He nodded toward the direction you came from.

“No.” You stated evenly.

“Get up.” He grabbed onto Frankie’s arm and pushed her ahead of him.

“Ladies first.” He mocked, making you go back the way you came.

Daryl stopped at every room.Checked every space a person could possibly hide.When you got back to the parlor, he tore the place apart looking for any one hidden. He found no one. He checked the other rooms found them empty and called to someone on the walkie.

“All clear.” He informed him.

“Good.Meet us on the first floor.”

#negan x plus sized reader #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #negan #negan x reader #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan #plus sized reader

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kneamet · 4 years ago

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4th part of misery! Tom. I really love this Tom. Reader is depressed since her punishment. She doesn't write and just lies in bed. She spends her days on crying. Tom tries to cheer her up. However, she is still in bed. Tom wants to make her keep writing. He kidnaps Will and traps him in his own basement. Tom threatens reader to murder him if she doesn't keep writing.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, kidnapping.

Word Count: 2367

Character: Tom Hiddleston/reader

Summary: You’re a famous author. You get into an accident. When you Wake up, you find out that you were saved by a mysterious person who is quite obsessive about your work.

POV Your

Two weeks. It's been two damn weeks since Thomas, your hated captor, decided to decide your fate. You knew he was too crazy and too obsessed to understand simple things, but that was too much.

You knew that the next escape would not lead to anything good. You felt yourself flinch. Bright, unfilled with obsessive thoughts, the head began to penetrate unpleasant thoughts about what would happen if you disobey him again.

I didn't want to look at my feet, but I didn't want to think about them. All you wanted right now, all you needed right now,was Will's gentle embrace and sweet hot chocolate. You imagined him and you wrapped up in that incredibly soft and fluffy blanket again and watching a detective movie, enjoying it and trying to guess who the main killer was.

Will. Your smile trembled slightly in exhaustion and you felt a small and weightless tear slide down your scorched cheek, but very cold, and radiating only pleasant memories and thoughts. How you'd like to see him again. But, having lost all hope, you could only dream and remember what it was dangerous to talk about in this house in which you lived at the moment.

You didn't have the strength to start writing anything. To continue the "Lost" sequel that Thomas was so eager to see. All you've been doing for the last two weeks, after your harsh punishment that you tried to talk a man out of, is lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

That's all.

You've been feeling a little lethargic these past few weeks. I didn't care what was going on around me. All you were interested in was Will, who probably misses you deeply and can't find a place for himself.

Oh, I wish I could see him again. Feel his soft touch on your skin as you both lie in bed; hear his melodic and slightly husky voice; see again his beautiful green-brown eyes that will closely follow the way your fingers run over the keyboard of your laptop.

"You're the best, the most impossible," a voice whispered softly, and you flinched when you felt Thomas's nose in your hair, inhaling the scent. Suddenly, his lips touched the top of your head and you felt the corner of your lips twitch slightly. Contact with Tom was terrible. Terrible and unpleasant.

They were so unpleasant that immediately there was a feeling that you need to take a shower, quickly wash off his weightless touch and kiss. Rub with a washcloth for a long time, rub the skin until it bleeds. Just to wash it off.

Your hands trembled in a slight tremor as Thomas's breath, like the man himself, drifted away from you, continuing to go about their business of cooking.

You saw how much Hiddleston didn't like the fact that you didn't write a sequel to his favorite book and just didn't do anything. I think, yes, I've had the feeling very often that all he wants from you is the continuation of the book. Although his addiction and obsession with you have not disappeared. They were still chasing you, too.

And so, it seems, he decided to cheer you up by preparing a meal. It felt like he wanted to have dinner. Date. And he wants to pretend that you and he are strangers, that they decided to sit at the table and enjoy glasses of wine, looking thoughtfully out the window at this clear snow.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to get your senses in order and focus. There was a very tense atmosphere, or so it seemed to you. You didn't like all the fake stuff. I wanted to tell him, your captor, everything to his face. But you knew you couldn't. I was afraid.

You were rarely in the kitchen. Usually, Thomas would bring food to your room and be there with you. Only a couple of times did he take you out here, or anywhere else besides your room.

It was an ordinary table, standing near the window, which gave a tempting view of the freedom that so attracted you and your eyes; next to it were chairs, one of which you were currently sitting on. Walking, or even standing, was still a problem, so all you had to do was use the wheelchair that just happened to be in Thomas ' house. That's a bit of luck, isn't it?

Across from the table was the main kitchen itself-except for the drawers that held the dishes, and you were sure that somewhere, in one of them, were the sleeping pills that Thomas sometimes used on you. There was also a built-in table where your captor was currently trying to kill a chicken. There was also a refrigerator nearby.

It always smelled different here. At the moment, just toasted meat, steak, apparently, and wine.

Your eyes darted to Thomas. He was wearing a pair of casual black sweatpants and a blue tank top, which showed off his toned muscles. He was wearing a white apron. You let out a sigh, feeling your lower lip tremble and your lungs run out of air. An apron with a quote from your character Kurt Page written on it.

A lunatic. A crazy person who thinks only about how to satisfy his needs, comparable to animals that have found love.

"Honey," Thomas said, looking up from what he was doing and squatting down next to you. The room was very small, so no wonder he came to you in two steps. He took your hands in his and began to rub your palm with his thumb. "Look at me," a stern voice that gives you goosebumps. Your heart began to beat and beat in you, drowning out all the other noises, including the man's words. You looked up at him, not daring to disobey him. "I know I'm not perfect. But doesn't that make me human?" he quoted a quote that was written on his apron. "I love you, my dear. I love very much."

***

POV Thomas

A couple of hours later

Anger was eating into his brain, filling every last drop. So that's who his favorite writer loves. This... a creature that looks like it hasn't slept in days and isn't taking care of it? So that's who you've been thinking about these last few weeks?

Thomas clenched his hand into a tight fist, feeling his nails dig painfully into the chapped skin. His indifference to this person, but filled with anger towards his beloved, shifted to Will Jordan, the manager, and, he restrained the outbursts of anger — he wanted to leave at least a drop of reason in him-your boyfriend.

The suddenness of this man was very annoying and extremely unsympathetic. I wonder what you, his favorite girl, found in this man? In this incompetence? But okay, you've got him, Tom, and he's so much better than that fucking Will who always took his writer away from him.

His dark hair, dark brown, was curled in small curls, but at the moment it was slightly bloody from the man's resistance; his eyes, as far as Thomas could remember, were either blue or green, but that didn't really matter. After all, all he was interested in was how to get his beloved girl to write.

Thomas didn't like the idea of you lying in bed for the last few weeks and doing absolutely nothing. No, he was just trying to cheer you up, but your pessimism only destroyed all the desire in him.

And then an idea popped into Thomas ' head. And why not involve someone who is very close to you in this case? The person you'd do anything for?

And let Hiddleston consider himself that person. He was sure that if you just catch on some points, in moral terms, then you will definitely do everything as he asks. Isn't that what love is all about? Isn't she pure and beautiful?

With a final kick to Jordan, who had not recovered from the shock of so many hours, and a kick to the side that turned him over, Thomas checked the key one last time and closed the door behind him, walking in the direction of such a room. He wants to help you so much.

"Honey, I have a surprise for you," the man said, smiling and opening the door.

He saw your tormented body. His mood immediately changed. It was constantly changing. It never depended on Tom.

Oh, poor thing, such were Thomas ' first thoughts when his keen eye caught sight of his beloved child in such a state. She lay curled up in the blanket, crying, not sparing her own tears. The pillow was already wet, and the flow of tears, as well as a small roar, did not end.

***

"Why are you crying, Sarah?" the soft voice of the boy who was standing near the half-open door and anxiously looked at his sister, who could not restrain herself, crying, afraid to stop.

Thank the Queen, my parents weren't home.

"Hey, honey," he walked around the room, sitting down next to his sister on the bed and touching her delicate back, starting to rub it with his small hand. "Sarah, you can tell me, really. I promise I'll keep my word to no one not to tell, " the boy promised, smiling reassuringly. There was a small chuckle from the nurse.

***

Her hair was disheveled, lying untidily on the pillow, and her eyes were red. It was too painful for him to look at his beloved in this state.

With a quick step, he walked over to her and brought her to a crouch in front of her face, brushing a stray lock of hair over her ear out of sight. He saw his girlfriend's eyes widen in a little fear. Was she afraid of him? No, no, no, she must love him, not fear him!

"Get up, dear, I have a present for you," he would say, shaking her gently. Although, most likely, it was not a gift, but a real threat in the form of a person and what would happen if she did not follow his order to write further.

Ignoring some of your mumbling, he grabbed your hands, and painfully pulling them away, lifted you up, forcing you to sit up in an upright position. The tears stopped flowing, but the throat and fur coats continued to tremble. Thomas smiled, gesturing at the vehicle he'd brought from the other side of the room. He was standing there on purpose. His beloved should not have access to the door.

Grabbing you by the armpits, making it very painful, Thomas was still able to drag you to the chair, fastening the handcuffs on your right leg. He knew you wouldn't be able to escape, but it was a precaution.

"Come on, honey, we'll take a look," he said, locking the door behind him and leading you to the stairs.

***

POV Your

It was scary. Very scary. It was the uncertainty in your captor that really scared you. What was he up to? Did he kill someone while you were in the room, working on your possibly imminent death?

"You'll like it, I promise,"he whispered in my ear. Suddenly, you stopped. You quickly began to look around. You were here. If you go up these stairs, you can see Thomas ' room, where he keeps his secret. "Here we are." After performing some light machinations, he finally opened the door.

"Surprise!"

Your eyes immediately widened. My heart was pounding loudly, and it felt as if the rhythm had accelerated to such an extent that it was ready to explode and was driving at high speed on the oncoming lane. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his lower lip trembled again.

Right in front of you, unconscious, tied by his hand to a small post, lay Will. Your sweet boy Will. So scruffy, battered, and covered in blood. Did this bastard do this to him?

"What did you do to him?" unable to withstand the pressure, you curled your lips, trying to pull away and not even thinking about the consequences that could happen if you resist.

"It's easy, honey," Thomas said, and as he walked over to Will, he kicked him again and put his foot on his stomach, which was covered in a shirt that was torn in some places.

"Don't you dare touch him!" The veins in his neck were slightly swollen. You tried to resist these acts as much as you could. But unfortunately, the handcuffs could not be broken.

Thomas smiled, making some gestures with his hands. "Don't yell, honey, it's okay."

Your eye twitched. The previous apathy seemed to have disappeared. At this point, it was necessary to save Will. Just him.

"I don't like your so-called apathy at all. It doesn't suit me," he said, grabbing an axe that stood against a gray wall whose wallpaper was peeling.

Her gaze was troubled. It was unpleasant. What if he kills him? Something must be done urgently. You can't leave him without help. You swallowed a nonexistent saliva. His teeth were biting painfully on his gums. There was nothing to help.

"And I thought, very strongly and for a long time: what if I touch the person that my beloved girl protects the most?" He tightened his grip on his axe, the tip of which was red, and swung it slightly.

"Don't kill him!" The tears started to flow from your eyes again. It was very painful and dangerous for the person you loved. It can't end like this.

"Honey, don't cry, you know I don't like your tears," he murmured in a gentle voice that oozed softness towards you. "You just have to understand and agree to my terms: I don't kill your boyfriend and let him go, and you continue to love me and write a sequel to Lost, or I kill him. So, your choice, honey?"

Tears flowed. They wet your white T-shirt. Her lower lip was trembling. It was scary. My hands were shaking.

"I agree."

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aegor-bamfsteel · 2 years ago

Text

“George, does this Nymeria do anything other than sail on ships?” That and get married. TWOIAF said that she was no frontline commander and never carried a weapon during her conquest of Dorne with Mors Martell (even though training at arms was necessary for heirs in the medieval period, especially in a chaotic landscape like Valyrian Empire Essos), which disappointed me because she was the only non-Targaryen warrior woman who is historically revered in canon (the ones we got in the later supplementary material were blatant retcons used to fill space). And of those Targaryen warrior women, George said in Fire and Blood that Rhaenys “was no true warrior” (even though her biggest contributions to canon were getting involved in wars, and her law of 6 was a blatant retcon), and he made Visenya (lady who got the Vale to bend without a fight) a bloodthirsty tyrant without allies who had to be talked down by Aenys from slaughtering the Faith Militant. I know he hates the “bad fantasy cliche” of warrior women, but these women’s warriority is important to the history (especially Nymeria, who had no dragon and so can’t be accused of being exceptional), and the one woman who’s warriority stays intact is made cartoonishly evil and incompetent. Can you tell I hate the way female characters are treated in the supplemental material?

Not quoting that passage back because none of us need to see it again, but GRRM’s breast fixation rears it’s head, while the editor who is supposed to notice errant words and inaccurate phrases keeps quiet.

"And the Dragonknight?" She flung the bedclothes aside and swung her legs to the floor. "The noblest knight who ever lived, you said, and he took his queen to bed and got her with child." The next part goes: "I will not believe that," he said, offended. "The tale of Prince Aemon's treason with Queen Naerys was only that, a tale, a lie his brother told when he wished to set his trueborn son aside in favor of his bastard. Aegon was not called the Unworthy without cause.” Arys feeling offended on Aemon’s behalf when he just did what Arianne accused Aemon of doing is very Arys. Also “his bastard” was Daemon Blackfyre, but Aegon never disowned Daeron II and made him heir. Also also, certain phrases by Bloodraven indicate the rumors were true and Daeron was not the son of Aegon IV.

“I don’t know how Daenerys is going to factor in” Well she has Barristan, right? Seems kind of pointless for him to die before he goes back to Westeros.

“A prison does not have fountains and fig trees, is that what you think?” Blackfyre antis (and GRRM, judging by his SSM) who think Daena and her sister’s 10 years “comfortable confinement” in the Maidenvault wasn’t traumatizing or worthy of trying to escape, take note.

I certainly wouldn’t have your head for omitting Bittersteel’s first mention in the main series. I probably would’ve written something in the comments, though. Really interesting Aegor Rivers is first mentioned with the Golden Company—the “not like other sellswords” who care more about loyalty than money—and the Yronwoods. Antis like to claim that the Blackfyre cause was racist against Dornish people and that the Yronwoods just wanted to be Lords Paramount of Dorne. However, Aegor Rivers counted the Yronwoods as allies in the Rebellions when the sun had mostly set on his dream of a child of Daemon Blackfyre’s on the throne. There was a deeper relationship there than opportunism, and considering how Bittersteel is introduced here, one based in mutual loyalty. I also don’t understand why Anders is allegedly so sexist wrt succession, considering his ancestor Linnet was a warrior-ruler during Daeron I’s conquest, but I’ll chalk that up to Arianne manipulation.

Your mockery of the Aegon Blackfyre theory is sorely appreciated, considering a BNF told one of my friends that the only people who don’t believe in it “are delusional and fooling themselves”. As is the interesting idea of Jon 3 ADWD coming directly before this chapter. And Boros possibly being poisoned. Seriously, this was a great chapter recap.

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: The Soiled Knight (Arys I) [Chapter 13]

His hand drifted down to brush lightly over the hilt on the longsword that hung half-hidden amongst the folds of his layered linen robes, the outer with its turquoise stripes and rows of golden suns, and the lighter orange one beneath. The Dornish garb was comfortable, but his father would have been aghast had he lived to see his son so dressed. He was a man of the Reach, and the Dornish were his ancient foes, as the tapestries at Old Oak bore witness. Arys only had to close his eyes to see them still. Lord Edgerran the Open-Handed, seated in splendor with the heads of a hundred Dornishmen piled round his feet. The Three Leaves in the Prince's Pass, pierced by Dornish spears, Alester sounding his warhorn with his last breath. Ser Olyvar the Green Oak all in white, dying at the side of the Young Dragon. Dorne is no fit place for any Oakheart.

@agentrouka-blog has managed to make me paranoid about tapestries.

Are any of these images important?

+.+.+

Even so, to wear his white cloak openly in the shadow city would be asking for attack. He had brought three with him: two of wool, one light and one heavy, the third of fine white silk. He felt naked without one hanging from his shoulders.

Better naked than dead, he told himself. I am a Kingsguard still, even uncloaked. She must respect that. I must make her understand. He should never have let himself be drawn into this, but the singer said that love can make a fool of any man.

Everyone meet Arys Oakheart.

The more pathetic, less principled version of Jon Snow.

+.+.+

A short man stood in an arched doorway grilling chunks of snake over a brazier, turning them with wooden tongs as they crisped. The pungent smell of his sauces brought tears to the knight's eyes. The best snake sauce had a drop of venom in it, he had heard, along with mustard seeds and dragon peppers. Myrcella had taken to Dornish food as quick as she had to her Dornish prince, and from time to time Ser Arys would try a dish or two to please her. The food seared his mouth and made him gasp for wine, and burned even worse coming out than it did going in. His little princess loved it, though.

Uh oh.

+.+.+

"Ours is a harsh land, and poor, yet not without its beauties. It grieves us that you have seen no more of Dorne than Sunspear, but I [Doran Martell] fear that neither you nor your princess would be safe beyond these walls. We Dornish are a hot-blooded people, quick to anger and slow to forgive.

Better than quick tempers, slow minds. Ha!

+.+.+

"My mother taught me long ago that only madmen fight wars they cannot win." If the bluntness of the question had offended him, Prince Doran hid it well. "Yet this peace is fragile . . . as fragile as your princess."

"Only a beast would harm a little girl."

We'll never know for sure, but I have a strong suspicion Jon III, ADWD was meant to follow this chapter.

The horn crashed amongst the logs and leaves and kindling. Within three heartbeats the whole pit was aflame. Clutching the bars of his cage with bound hands, Mance sobbed and begged. - Jon III, ADWD

+.+.+

"My sister Elia had a little girl as well. Her name was Rhaenys. She was a princess too." The prince sighed. "Those who would plunge a knife into Princess Myrcella do not bear her any malice, no more than Ser Amory Lorch did when he killed Rhaenys, if indeed he did. They seek only to force my hand. For if Myrcella should be slain in Dorne whilst under my protection, who would believe my denials?"

Oh no.

+.+.+

"No one shall ever harm Myrcella whilst I live."

Um.

+.+.+

"My lady?" he called. "Where are you?"

"Here." She stepped out from the shadow behind the door.

An ornate snake coiled around her right forearm, its copper and gold scales glimmering when she moved. It was all she wore.

No, he meant to tell her, I only came to tell you I must go, but when he saw her shining in the candlelight he seemed to lose the power of speech. His throat felt as dry as the Dornish sands. Silent he stood, drinking in the glories of her body, the hollow of her throat, the round ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip. And then somehow he was holding her, and she was pulling off his robes.

I'm so sorry for this parallel, Arianne.

"We shouldn't—"

"We should." Her breasts bounced as she stood on one leg to pull one boot, then hopped onto her other foot to attend to the other. Her nipples were wide pink circles. "You as well," Ygritte said as she yanked down her sheepskin breeches. "If you want to look you have to show. You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"I know I want you," he heard himself say, all his vows and all his honor forgotten. She stood before him naked as her name day, and he was as hard as the rock around them. He had been in her half a hundred times by now, but always beneath the furs, with others all around them. He had never seen how beautiful she was. Her legs were skinny but well muscled, the hair at the juncture of her thighs a brighter red than that on her head. Does that make it even luckier? He pulled her close. - Jon III, ASOS

+.+.+

His desire was as deep and boundless as the sea, but when the tide receded, the rocks of shame and guilt thrust up as sharp as ever. Sometimes the waves would cover them, but they remained beneath the waters, hard and black and slimy. What am I doing? he asked himself. I am a man of the Night's Watch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.

+.+.+

A great crack ran across it, from one wall to the other. He had not noticed that before, no more than he had noticed the picture on the tapestry, a scene of Nymeria and her ten thousand ships.

George, does this Nymeria do anything other than sail on ships?

+.+.+

"I scratched too hard."

When she touched his back, he flinched as if her fingers were afire. "Don't." Naked, he stood. "No more."

"I have balm. For the scratches."

But none for my shame.

I can't with this.

While there may be some elements of manipulation going on, the big difference between Arianne / Arys and Ygritte / Jon is the distinct lack of coercion and threat to his life.

He can walk away at any point.

+.+.+

"You seemed glad enough for the lessons at the time, ser. Are you certain you are not off to some other bed, some other woman? Tell me who she is. I will fight her for you, bare-breasted, knife to knife." She smiled. "Unless she is a Sand Snake. If so, we can share you. I love my cousins well."

Up until this point you're not entirely sure who the woman is. The reveal is great.

+.+.+

"My place is at the palace."

She sighed. "With your other princess. You will make me jealous. I think you love her more than me. The maid is much too young for you. You need a woman, not a little girl, but I can play the innocent if that excites you."

"You should not say such things." Remember, she is Dornish. In the Reach men said it was the food that made Dornishmen so hot-tempered and their women so wild and wanton. Fiery peppers and strange spices heat the blood, she cannot help herself.

Lol? What a dweeb.

+.+.+

"I love Myrcella as a daughter." He could never have a daughter of his own, no more than he could have a wife. He had a fine white cloak instead.

Try being killed by your brothers, then coming back.

+.+.+

Seeing her there upon the featherbed, smiling that wicked smile, toying with her breast . . . was there ever a woman with nipples so large or so responsive? He could hardly look at them without wanting to grab them, to suckle them until they were hard and wet and shiny . . .

I am begging the author to hire a woman ghostwriter for scenes like this.

Please, while there's still time.

+.+.+

"Men will think me an oathbreaker. What if someone were to go to your father and tell him how I'd dishonored you?"

He's no bastard, but we can still add turncloak.

+.+.+

My father is many things, but no one has ever said he was a fool. The Bastard of Godsgrace had my maidenhead when we were both fourteen.

(Pretty strong suspicion it was Jon III, ADWD.)

+.+.+

My father is many things, but no one has ever said he was a fool. The Bastard of Godsgrace had my maidenhead when we were both fourteen. Do you know what my father did when he learned of it?

Be completely level-headed about two consenting teenagers getting wrapped up in their feelings, and making a mistake?

+.+.+

Nothing. My father is very good at doing nothing. He calls it thinking.

Thought so.

+.+.+

But I am weak, else I would not be here now. He could not tell her that; she was the sort of woman who despised weakness, he could sense that. She has more of her uncle in her than her father.

Arys knows Arianne about as well as Jon knows Ygritte.

+.+.+

He turned away and found his striped silk undertunic on a chair. She had ripped the fabric to the navel when she pulled it down over his arms. "This is ruined," he complained. "How can I wear it now?"

"Backwards," she suggested.

Turn your coat, ser.

+.+.+

"Is that gallant, ser? You hurt me. I begin to think that all your words of love were lies."

I could never lie to you. Ser Arys felt as if she'd slapped him. "Why else would I have forsaken all my honor, but for love? When I am with you I . . . I can scarcely think, you are all I ever dreamt of, but . . ."

"Words are wind. If you love me, do not leave me."

Watch, as the masterful Arianne Martell attempts every technique in the book to break him.

Don't you love me?

+.+.+

"I swore a vow . . ."

". . . not to wed or father children. Well, I have drunk my moon tea, and you know I cannot marry you." She smiled. "Though I might be persuaded to keep you for my paramour."

You and Asha, eh.

+.+.+

"Perhaps a little. Do you think you are the only Kingsguard who ever loved a woman?"

"There have always been men who found it easier to speak vows than to keep them," he admitted.

[...]

"And the Dragonknight?" She flung the bedclothes aside and swung her legs to the floor. "The noblest knight who ever lived, you said, and he took his queen to bed and got her with child."

Wasn't working, switch it up.

Everyone does it!

(Pretty strong suspicion it was Jon III, ADWD.)

+.+.+

"I will not be remembered as Ser Arys the Unworthy," he declared. "I will not soil my cloak."

You will not be remembered at all, lol.

+.+.+

"My uncle always said that it was the sword in a man's hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs," she went on, "so spare me all your pious talk of soiled cloaks. It is not our love that has dishonored you, it is the monsters you have served and the brutes you've called your brothers."

+.+.+

Joffrey. He had been a handsome lad, tall and strong for his age, but that was all the good that could be said of him. It still shamed Ser Arys to remember all the times he'd struck that poor Stark girl at the boy's command. When Tyrion had chosen him to go with Myrcella to Dorne, he lit a candle to the Warrior in thanks.

Oh, well, as long as you feel bad about it.

+.+.+

Tommen was a good-hearted little man who always tried his best, but the last time Ser Arys saw him he had been weeping on the quay. Myrcella never shed a tear, though it was she who was leaving hearth and home to seal an alliance with her maidenhood. The truth was, the princess was braver than her brother, and brighter and more confident as well. Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing ever daunted her, not even Joffrey. The women are the strong ones, truly. He was thinking not only of Myrcella, but of her mother and his own, of the Queen of Thorns, of the Red Viper's pretty, deadly Sand Snakes. And of Princess Arianne Martell, her most of all.

Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones. He found himself thinking about Sam and Maester Aemon, about Gilly and the babe. - Jon III, ADWD

(Pretty strong suspicion it was Jon III, ADWD.)

+.+.+

"A son comes before a daughter."

"Why? What god has made it so? I am my father's heir. Should I give up my rights to my brothers?"

"You twist my words. I never said . . . Dorne is different. The Seven Kingdoms have never had a ruling queen."

"The first Viserys intended his daughter Rhaenyra to follow him, do you deny it? But as the king lay dying the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard decided that it should be otherwise."

Ser Criston Cole. Criston the Kingmaker had set brother against sister and divided the Kingsguard against itself, bringing on the terrible war the singers named the Dance of the Dragons. Some claimed he acted from ambition, for Prince Aegon was more tractable than his willful older sister. Others allowed him nobler motives, and argued that he was defending ancient Andal custom. A few whispered that Ser Criston had been Princess Rhaenyra's lover before he took the white and wanted vengeance on the woman who had spurned him. "The Kingmaker wrought grave harm," Ser Arys said, "and gravely did he pay for it, but . . ."

I don't know anything about Criston Cole. No idea what actually happened. Sorry.

The Kingsguard being divided is gaining a bit of steam.

Ser Boros and Ser Meryn sat to his right, leaving an empty chair between them for Ser Arys Oakheart, off in Dorne. Ser Osmund, Ser Balon, and Ser Loras took the seats to his left. The old and the new. Jaime wondered if that meant anything. There had been times during its history where the Kingsguard had been divided against itself, most notably and bitterly during the Dance of the Dragons. Was that something he needed to fear as well? - Jaime VIII, ASOS

It makes more sense if it's Cersei and Aegon, right? I don't know how Daenerys could factor in.

+.+.+

You do know that when my father returns to the Water Gardens he plans to take Myrcella with him?"

"To keep her safe from those who would do her harm."

"No. To keep her away from those who'd seek to crown her. Prince Oberyn Viper would have placed the crown upon her head himself if he had lived, but my father lacks the courage."

Sigh.

The cheesemonger spooned up cherries. "In Volantis they use a coin with a crown on one face and a death's-head on the other. Yet it is the same coin. To queen her is to kill her. Dorne might rise for Myrcella, but Dorne alone is not enough. If you are as clever as our friend insists, you know this." - Tyrion I, ADWD

+.+.+

"A prison does not have fountains and fig trees, is that what you think? Yet once the girl is there, she will not be allowed to leave. No more than you will. Hotah will see to that. You do not know him as I do. He is terrible when aroused."

So let's not go out of our way to test him.

+.+.+

Ser Arys frowned. The big Norvoshi captain with the scarred face had always made him feel profoundly uneasy. They say he sleeps with that great axe beside him.

I'm sure you have nothing to worry about.

+.+.+

"Aye, but Tommen is a good-hearted boy. He will be a better king than Joffrey."

"But not better than Myrcella. She loves the boy as well. I know she will not let him come to any harm.

In what world do both Tommen and Myrcella survive if they're the central figures in a war for the throne?

Hey, has anyone tried asking Myrcella what she wants?

+.+.+

When she stood, the long black tangle of her hair fell down to the small of her back. "Aegon the Dragon made the Kingsguard and its vows, but what one king does another can undo, or change. Formerly the Kingsguard served for life, yet Joffrey dismissed Ser Barristan so his dog could have a cloak. Myrcella would want you to be happy, and she is fond of me as well. She will give us leave to marry if we ask." Arianne put her arms around him and laid her face against his chest. The top of her head came to just beneath his chin.

Don't talk about marrying men from the Reach, I get ideas.

+.+.+

When he put his arms upon her shoulders, he realized she was trembling. "Arianne? My princess? What is it, my love?"

"Must I say it, ser? I am afraid. You call me love, yet you refuse me, when I have most desperate need of you. Is it so wrong of me to want a knight to keep me safe?"

He had never heard her sound so vulnerable. "No," he said, "but you have your father's guards to keep you safe, why—"

"It is my father's guards I fear." For a moment she sounded younger than Myrcella. "It was my father's guards who dragged my sweet cousins off in chains."

He wasn't budging, what else can she do? She can be a damsel in distress for a white knight.

Clever girl.

+.+.+

"Loreza is six, Dorea eight. What wars could they foment? Yet my father has imprisoned them with their sisters. You have seen him. Fear makes even strong men do things they might never do otherwise, and my father was never strong. Arys, my heart, hear me for the love you say you bear me. I have never been as fearless as my cousins, for I was made with weaker seed, but Tyene and I are of an age and have been close as sisters since we were little girls. We have no secrets between us. If she can be imprisoned, so can I, and for the same cause . . . this of Myrcella."

You think getting our first impression of Sansa through Arya's eyes was bad? Look at what the author has been doing to poor Doran since the start of this book.

+.+.+

"Even so, you are his heir."

"Am I?"

"He left you to rule in Sunspear when he took himself off to his Water Gardens, did he not?"

"To rule? No. He left his cousin Ser Manfrey as castellan, old blind Ricasso as seneschal, his bailiffs to collect duties and taxes for his treasurer Alyse Ladybright to count, his shariffs to police the shadow city, his justiciars to sit in judgment, and Maester Myles to deal with any letters not requiring the prince's own attention. Above them all he placed the Red Viper. My charge was feasts and frolics, and the entertainment of distinguished guests.

Honestly, it kind of sounds like you're a queen, and Doran gave you a household and council to delegate to.

+.+.+

"Not Trys. Quentyn." Her eyes were bold and black as sin, unflinching. "I have known the truth since I was four-and-ten, since the day that I went to my father's solar to give him a good night kiss, and found him gone. My mother had sent for him, I learned later. He'd left a candle burning. When I went to blow it out, I found a letter lying incomplete beside it, a letter to my brother Quentyn, off at Yronwood. My father told Quentyn that he must do all that his maester and his master-at-arms required of him, because 'one day you will sit where I sit and rule all Dorne, and a ruler must be strong of mind and body.'" A tear crept down Arianne's soft cheek. "My father's words, written in his own hand. They burned themselves into my memory. I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights thereafter."

Look, another father resistant to talking to his daughter.

Would Quentyn not be troubled by a letter like that? How much did he know? I forget.

+.+.+

If I were a father, I would want my son to follow me as well, he thought, but he could hear the hurt in her voice

I really didn't need his POV.

+.+.+

"Sellswords break their contracts all the time."

"Not the Golden Company. Our word is good as gold has been their boast since the days of Bittersteel. Myr is on the point of war with Lys and Tyrosh. Why break a contract that offered them the prospect of good wages and good plunder?"

[...]

"No," she said. "I would believe it of any of the other free companies, yes. Most of them would change sides for half a groat. The Golden Company is different. A brotherhood of exiles and the sons of exiles, united by the dream of Bittersteel. It's home they want, as much as gold. Lord Yronwood knows that as well as I do. His forebears rode with Bittersteel during three of the Blackfyre Rebellions."

If I didn't include this @aegor-bamfsteel would have my head.

The Golden Company is marching to Volantis with the intention of joining Daenerys. I guess that means she's a Blackfyre.

+.+.+

"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?"

He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?"

"The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again. Anders Yronwood is Criston Cole reborn. He whispers in my brother's ear that he should rule after my father, that it is not right for men to kneel to women . . . that Arianne especially is unfit to rule, being the willful wanton that she is."

I don't see time, I only see a dragon eating itself.

History is a wheel though, and boy do those Targaryens love to eat each other.

+.+.+

"I will." Ser Arys sank to one knee. "Myrcella is the elder, and better suited to the crown. Who will defend her rights if not her Kingsguard? My sword, my life, my honor, all belong to her . . . and to you, my heart's delight. I swear, no man will steal your birthright whilst I still have the strength to lift a sword. I am yours. What would you have of me?"

"All." She knelt to kiss his lips. "All, my love, my true love, my sweet love, and forever. But first . . ."

"Ask, and it is yours."

What could possibly go wrong?

Final thoughts:

Joffrey died from poison.

I think there's a high probability the show got parts of it right, and Myrcella will be poisoned.

I think there's a high probability that Jaime and Cersei will purposely drink poison.

That's four out of five.

I'm a little spooked, I can no longer take for granted that Tommen will go splat. It could still happen, but we have to start considering other possibilities too.

Moving forward, we will be focusing on something that gets a lot of attention, and I never gave a second thought.

The man had grown stout in recent years, though he was big-boned enough to carry it. "Ser Boros, you look like a man who enjoys his food. Henceforth you'll taste everything Tommen eats or drinks."

Ser Osmund Kettleblack laughed aloud and the Knight of Flowers smiled, but Ser Boros turned a deep beet red. "I am no food taster! I am a knight of the Kingsguard!" - Jaime VIII, ASOS

Ser Boros will be tasting every course before Tommen puts a bite into his mouth. - Cersei III, AFFC

"Ser Boros," the queen said pleasantly, "you look quite grey this morning. Something you ate, perchance?" Jaime had made him the king's food taster. A tasty task, but shameful for a knight. Blount hated it. - Cersei IV, AFFC

He did not look well. Of late Boros had grown notably heavier about the face and belly, and his color was not good. And he was leaning against the wall behind him, as if standing had become too great an effort for him.

[...]

Ser Boros tasted every dish that was set before the king. A humiliating duty for a knight of the Kingsguard, but perhaps all Blount was capable of these days … and wise, after the way Tommen's brother had died. - Epilogue, ADWD

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#asoiaf #arys oakheart #aegor rivers #house yronwood #fandom critical #asoiaf theories

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thewadapan · 6 years ago

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Are You Happy: one year later

Today marks the first anniversary of Are You Happy, a dumb web series I made in a terrible bit of animation software. In celebration, I’m... un-unlisting the series and writing a post to pat myself on the back. Huh.

Normally I wouldn’t bother with this kind of thing, but I think my own general appraisal of this series has shifted somewhat since I put it out into the world. I’ve yet to receive any feedback of any kind from the internet at large, but a few friends of mine have ended up watching it at various points - the last of whom suggested that I should “totally” make the videos public. Well, fine, now I totally have.

I’ve rewatched the series a handful of times since its release and have come to the conclusion that it’s a pretty mixed bag. I’ve come to like many of the individual episodes a lot more, but as a whole the series doesn’t come together for me. In this post, I’m gonna build on what I wrote in the original commentary by briefly shooting through the episodes one by one.

As the first episode of the series, “I Hate You” is pretty much just me getting to grips with the program. I like the way Chris storms out, gets as far as the elevator before he starts feeling bad, and comes back - only to find that, naturally, Samir also left. Back towards the tail end of secondary school, my friends and I got in the habit of just hanging around in classrooms outside of classes - the teachers weren’t technically supposed to let us do that, I think, but they did. I figure that’s what Chris and Samir are doing here - just standing about in a quiet spot. Chris does something annoying, Samir slaps him... business as usual for these two.

Anyway, I showed that first episode to one of my friends, and he helped me out with “The Meaning of Life” by offering a Genghis Khan quote and sitting around as I made it. Plotagon has relatively few options for direct interaction between characters, and I immediately pegged the “slap” action as the funniest of these. It’s even funnier when combined with a sharp cut and a scare chord.

Back in school, we had these two acronyms: WALT and WILF. These stood for “What Are (We) Learning Today” and “What I’m Looking For” and were used by our teachers to lay out the objectives for each class. I guess it seemed funny to me to go completely in the opposite direction for “What are we Learning Today?” - it’s the student who has to try and poke the teacher into giving the class any kind of information whatsoever - but the execution’s poor. This episode is funnier if you imagine the five preceding minutes of silence, during which Mr. Hernandez is having a completely undetectable internal meltdown.

I knew that the stuff I was making would be quote-unquote “in continuity” - but I wasn’t particularly expecting it to “have continuity”. That changed with “Why Nobody Likes You”, which establishes that Lizzie and Chris are friends of a sort. I like to imagine that Lizzie is one of just two people Chris ever talks to (the other being Samir), and that the only reason they interact at all is because they happen to be the only people catching their particular bus. They really have nothing in common, and struggle to hold an actual conversation - although I figure that’s mostly Chris’s fault.

A fair bit of time has probably passed in-universe between the first and second times Mr. Hernandez and Santa meet on-screen. In “A Bad Teacher”, Santa seems a little more chill - rather than sitting at a distance on the bench, he’s standing. Perhaps Mr. Hernandez just treated him to a coffee, or something, and they’ve just exited the shop. Whatever. I’ve suffered my fair share of bad teachers, and one of the things they all have in common is that they’re completely oblivious to the fact that they’re bad. It’s like... bad students exist, but if (as a teacher) you honestly think your entire class consists of bad students, that’s the point where you should realise that you’re the problem. I think that tendency to place the blame on the students is the kind of thing that leads to whole-class detentions, which are a hallmark of bad teachers.

I’d originally pegged “White-Hat Hacking” as my least-favourite episode - for reasons outside of my control, it’s the first to break the one-minute mark - but upon subsequent rewatches I’ve come to feel more positively about it. Jessica’s line about V for Vendetta and zip bombs always takes me off guard, and I like the way Detective Raymond describes himself as “the smartest and most controversial detective”. It’s also funny to me going back to the source file and seeing a ton of lines marked “JESSICA (flirty)” and a single line marked “JESSICA (surprised)”.

My opinion on “The Faculty Bathroom” hasn’t really changed. As far as self-contained concepts in this series go, “insecure teacher talks to himself while on a smoke break, then dies in a fire” is easily the strongest.

Of all the episodes, I think “Nobody to Talk To” is probably the most forgettable. It opens with Chris, who’s lamenting the destruction of the school (mostly because it means he's even more bored than usual). There’s a medal hanging above his bedside table - I like to think that he bought it himself, only to find that he couldn’t think of something to get inscribed on it. Maybe it just says “CHRIS”. Anyway, the rest of the episode is a soliloquy from Lizzie - I’m not sure how exactly the idea of her being a well-connected anarchist came about, and the way that aspect of her character is introduced here feels a little jarring in retrospect. Still, I guess this episode does slightly redeem itself with a surprise appearance from Detective Raymond.

I’m gonna have to take a few paragraphs to talk about “Ever Get Tired of Movies?” - there’s a lot that I failed to cover in the original commentary. In terms of sound design, it’s probably one of the most ambitious episodes - all the sound effects come from the TV, so there’s nothing in the way of ambient music - but I’m not convinced that having the movie drown out the dialogue at the beginning was a good choice. I still love that Katia and Philippe’s colour schemes each match those of their sides of the room; I didn’t design the characters that way!

In the last commentary, I mistakenly said that I’d forgotten to use Ms. Green - when in fact, I’d used her as the reporter in this episode. I repurposed Plotagon’s “convention booth” scene as the newsroom, which works surprisingly well - combined with Ms. Green’s dialogue, which was intended to sound entirely unlike that of an actual reporter, the overall effect is one of a really incompetent production team on the show. This is entirely accurate: the production team consists of me.

Katia and Philippe have an odd role in the narrative - they’re basically an atomic unit from a completely different story. Of the teens in the series, Philippe is the only one who’s happy with where his life is; Katia is suffering from existential boredom. I think, in showing a failure in communication between these two, the episode fails to properly communicate what’s going on to the audience: Philippe is usually content just to do the same stuff over and over - watching movies, as it may be - but that doesn’t mean that he dislikes new things, only that he’s not the sort to actively seek them out. So the conflict is that Katia is doing the same stuff because she wants Philippe to be happy, while Philippe is fully expecting Katia to be pushing for new things - which she finally does here, when she suggests breaking Lizzie out of jail. Another aspect of this dynamic which I think is unclear is the fact that Philippe’s happy to do pretty much anything - including literal crime - but draws the line at taking off his sunglasses. Katia’s presumably been trying to get him to do so for months; her narrativist instincts are telling her that he must be hiding something. I figure he’s not - he just really likes his sunglasses.

Anyway, enough of that. “The Easy Way” is another fairly-forgettable plot-centric episode - but I like the way it handles the third and final appearance of Santa, who at first glance seems to have no reason to be at the office. The reveal that the whole thing’s been a distraction for the breakout is probably the closest the series comes to ever having a plot twist - I think it sits very well in the series as a whole, which (for technical reasons) never shows the big, important moments on-screen. I’m pretty proud of Santa’s monologue, which I wrote myself as a bookend to his opening quote, and the little glimpses of his history given within. I also like the moment towards the middle of the episode, where Detective Raymond - having been left to his own devices - wonders aloud “how can one man be so based”, right after threatening a teenager with torture and right before getting duped by a homeless man in a Santa suit.

Getting four characters into a single scene was a real challenge, let me tell ya, but I think “The Agenda (Part 1)” pulls it off decently enough. It offers some decent closure for the minor characters: Katia and Philippe get their adventure; Jessica’s mad hacks keep the cops off their backs. I think Lizzie’s “true power of love” realisation is a sincere one, but she won’t get her closure until a little later. Her expression upon seeing Chris again strikes me as similarly sincere. By this point, I’m banking on the audience having forgotten about Samir - so Lizzie’s actual goal here should come as something of a surprise.

In “The Agenda (Part 2)”, the penultimate episode, the series comes full circle. There isn’t really much to say about this one; the way Chris and Samir make up is pretty much the same as the way they fell out in the first place. Lizzie is just a facilitator here - she’s still planning to leave, but this time has decided that she doesn’t want to leave Chris entirely on his own.

Finally, in “The Agenda (Part III)”, we end up back at the bus stop, where Lizzie talks to Literally The Devil - who turns out to be a much better conversational partner than Chris ever was. This episode tries to strike a balance between jokes and introspection, but I don’t really think that it properly achieves either. Still, Lizzie’s shift to optimistic nihilism here feels like a good conclusion to her arc within the series.

It’s obvious that I was writing Are You Happy by the seat of my pants. While this lead to a pretty unpredictable plot, it lead to fairly poor economy of narrative. Although many of the characters get rudimentary arcs of their own, there isn’t a clear throughline which connects them all - I didn’t know what I wanted to say with this series, and so it ended up saying pretty much nothing.

On the other hand, this is just fifteen minutes of content - and I think it packs a lot of individually-quite-good snippets into that runtime. Usually, when I’m writing something, I hit a point where it starts to be a chore; that wasn’t really the case with Are You Happy, thanks to the fast turnaround provided by Plotagon and - perhaps more importantly - the fact that I didn’t need to worry about writing full descriptive prose.

Plotagon provided a huge amount of great background music - seeing as I didn’t go into detail in the last commentary, here’s a breakdown of which pieces I used:

“cruising rap battle” is something of a leitmotif for Chris, appearing during “I Hate You”, “The Agenda (Part 2)” and his scene in “Nobody to Talk To”

Lizzie, meanwhile, has “hideout”, which appears during “Why Nobody Likes You”, her scene in “Nobody to Talk To”, and the final scene in “The Agenda (Part 1)”

Santa naturally has “jingle bells” for all three of his appearances

I guess you could say that “happy music (care free)” from “What are we Learning Today?” is technically a Mr. Hernandez song, but I’d consider this to be more true of “sentimental” which plays throughout “The Faculty Bathroom”

Detective Raymond’s theme is “Detective Noir background”, which appears during the endings of “White-Hat Hacking” and “Nobody to Talk To”

Jessica gets two songs - “pirate ditty” and “suspenseful”, appearing in “White-Hat Hacking” and “The Easy Way” respectively

Katia and Philippe technically get “zombie theme” and “news intro” in “Ever Get Tired of Movies?”, but that’s just the stuff that plays from the TV - it’s not until “The Agenda (Part 1)” that they get “anticipating”, which I consider to be theirs

Fitting neatly with the vague stabs at liminality present in “The Agenda (Part III)”, Literally The Devil gets “muzak”: elevator music

Other bits of music include “lounge” in the actual elevator in “I Hate You” and “french bistro” for the cafe in “The Meaning of Life”

Upon booting up Plotagon, I was greeted with the disconcerting news that it’s being discontinued on desktop at the end of next month - ostensibly so the developers can focus on mobile platforms, although I can’t help but notice that this announcement was shortly followed by a flash sale on their “Plotagon Studio” subscription service for desktop: just $49.99 monthly, or $499.99 annually! Yeah, uhh, I’m good. This is pretty disappointing, but not entirely surprising - I’ve always kinda felt like the software was about to disappear in a poof of smoke, and now it kinda has.

However, I was also greeted with some good news: apparently, it turns out that I’d previously revisited the program all the way back on the 21st of September last year, to start work on a sequel to Are You Happy. Although I knew that I’d made vague plans to do so, I’d completely forgotten that I’d actually gone ahead and produced any new material! The sequel will likely share a portion of its cast with the original series, but based on what I’ve currently got it’ll probably end up dealing with pretty different themes.

With any luck, the application will continue to work offline past that date - but just in case it doesn’t, I’m going to try and accelerate production on the sequel. Don’t get your hopes up. If I can’t finish it, or I’m not happy with it, I’ll still try and put it out - but it’ll be more as a “bonus feature” than as a fully-fledged instalment in the continuity. More importantly, as is the case with everything made in Plotagon, I can’t promise it’ll be good - I can only promise that I’ll have fun making it.

#Plotagon #animation #web series #Are You Happy #The Wadapan #31/05/2019

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