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lyledebeast · 1 year ago

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One aspect of Gladiator that has stuck with me since my rewatch earlier this month and through subsequent discussions with @malicious-compliance-esq is how well the opposition of the hero and villain works. Part of the reason, ironically, is how much they have in common. Maximus and Commodus are not only both Roman men. they are both sons of Marcus Aurelius, which allows comparison from multiple points of view within the story: Marcus himself, Lucilla, and the Roman people collectively. Commodus references the list of Roman Virtues his father wrote to him about, confessing that he has none of them. Marcus agrees, describing Commodus as "not a moral man" and telling Maximus, "You are the son I should have had." Lucilla tells Maximus that she is terrified every hour of what Commodus will do to her and her son and that "The only time I ever felt safe was with you." The more Maximus defies Commodus as a gladiator, the more the people love him. Their proximity is used to highlight their opposing traits, making for clear, clean, simple, effective storytelling.

The Patriot's opposition of Benjamin Martin and William Tavington is far murkier. One reason is the jingoism that lies in the film's framing of difference in terms of binary opposition. The British and American Patriot characters are on opposing sides in a war but are more alike than different. They share the same language, religion, even military customs as we see when Martin attempts to school Tavington on the rules of war. Martin is himself a former officer of a Colonial British regiment. A slightly more effective, but still questionable binary the film sets up is gentleman/rustic. Cornwallis extolls the virtues of "gentleman in command" to both lead and restrain their men and is mortified at the end of the film to find himself defeated by an army of "peasants." Martin, however, manages to be both at the same time. He is equally comfortable in a rowdy tavern and an assembly of South Carolina landowners, or even a meeting with a British general: a man for all seasons. When Gabriel has reservations about the men his father has recruited, Martin says. "They're exactly the sort of men we need. They've fought this kind of war before." He is not referring to their uncouth appearance and manners but the ferocity and unconventional approach to warfare that made them effective guerilla fighters. Who else has these traits?

Though Cornwallis describes Tavington as coming from an esteemed family, his fellow officers clearly do not recognize him as a peer. We see this when he arrives at a gathering with blood on his cravat from the battle the British just won and they look at him like he forgot to wear pink on Wednesday. Cornwallis reprimands him for executing surrendering enemy soldiers, the same thing Martin forbids his men from doing (also after it's too late to stop them). While Martin being neither gentleman nor rustic but somehow both at once wins him the respect of both sides, the traits Tavington shares in common with rustics make him a pariah among gentlemen, but this is less a difference between the two men than between British and Patriot values. That Martin and Tavington both collapse this binary means not only are they more alike than different, but they have more in common with each other than either one has with anyone on his own side.

No one in the film can comment on this similarity because no one has enough proximity to Martin and Tavington to notice it. The focus of the few scenes they share is on a third binary the film attempts to construct: child killer/father. Again, these things are not opposites. For one, the two are not mutually exclusive. Whether through intent, accident, or negligence, fathers are regularly responsible for the deaths of their own children. The opposite of a child killer would be a child protector. Does Martin fit the bill? Well, let's see. In the scenes immediately following Tavington's murder of his son Thomas, he abandons his youngest children in a field by his burning house, orders his next youngest sons to shoot British officers, and when the son he did all this to free is used as a human shield, Martin throws a tomahawk at his head to take out his captor. The only scene where Martin may be said to protect his children comes when he lures the Green Dragoons away from the burning plantation. However, the dragoons are only there in the first place because Martin blew his cover at Fort Carolina to save his captured men. The majority of Martin's children survive his negligence, but those of his men are not so lucky. He has no qualms about both making them targets of British aggression and eliminating their main source of protection from that aggression by recruiting their fathers. So much for "I am a parent; I can't afford principles."

Gladiator's comparison of Maximus and Commodus is effective because they are judged by the same standard: Maximus meets, even exceeds it, while Commodus does not. The Patriot, however, applies very different standards to strikingly similar characters. All of Tavington's reprehensible choices are made with an end goal of British victory, yet neither he nor anyone else can imagine a future for him in England in which those choices are not harshly condemned. Meanwhile, Martin's past war crimes and more recent abandonment/endangerment of his children are presented asforgivable, even laudable, because of the results he achieves. "The honor is in the ends, not the means," or something like that.

#gladiator 2000 #the patriot #general maximus #emperor commodus #benjamin martin #william tavington #the villain and hero two-step once again #villain discourse #2000 what a crazy year

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bloodontheclocktower · 2 years ago

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Including New Players

By Steven Medway

There is no one thing that you need to do as a Storyteller to include new players and make sure that they have a good time (and come back for more!). Having said that, here are a bunch of tips and tricks that I've found to work especially well.

Read out the rules explanation sheet

New players only need to know a few basic things to begin playing. The rules explanation sheet explains these things, and nothing more. I've gone into detail as to why this works in a previous post:

https://bloodontheclocktower.tumblr.com/post/720003279420030976/explaining-the-rules-to-new-players

Repeat rule #1 – "You may say whatever you want at any time" – at least once during the first game.

The thing that new players need most is to feel comfortable. They need this more than strategy advice and more than rules knowledge. If veteran players are telling new players what they should and shouldn’t say, then a new player might feel like it is better to stay silent. Or, if veteran players are policing or judging the speech of other veteran players while in earshot of a new player, the new player may get the impression that they best stay silent, at least until they become a veteran too. Reminding the group that each player may say "whatever they want at any time" smooths out this dynamic and encourages new players to speak up without fear.

The point where this is most needed is when a new player has been silent for most of the game and is then nominated. Often, they will be hesitant to speak, and a veteran player will advise them what to share or not share, depending on what character they are. While this may (or may not!) be good strategy, this creates a default of silence for a new player when instead we want them to have fun and engage. If this happens, I usually say to the new player "You may take player X's advice and stay silent if you wish. However, player X may be evil and lying to you. It can be helpful to reveal what you know, but the choice is up to you. The number one rule of the game is that you may say whatever you want at any time."

If a player is generally a quiet person, never force them to talk

Clocktower is a social game, and the good team relies on sharing information in order to win. The game also relies on people talking when and how they wish, and staying silent if they are unsure. Players that are shy or nervous will feel very uncomfortable if the players (or, heaven forbid, the storyteller) puts them in a position where they feel that they must speak. Players want to contribute, otherwise they wouldn't be playing in the first place. But forcing certain players to speak when the whole group is looking at them can often be intimidating and uncomfortable.

However, this courtesy doesn't extend to preventing them from dying, or encouraging players not to kill them. Shy players don't get special treatment when it comes to the vote. They still live or die based on the will of the group.

If a player wants to talk (particularly if they have just been nominated) but is finding it difficult, ask them, "What do you wish to say?"

Some players are extremely sensitive to being interrupted. In a group of ten, fifteen, or more players, there is no shortage of players that want to speak while someone else is speaking. Most players, when nominated, will talk in their own defence, and continue to talk even if another player tries to interrupt. However, some players will stop talking at even the slightest comment and find that they cannot finish a sentence.

If I ask a particularly silent player, "Do you wish to speak?" or "Do you have anything to say?" when they are nominated, the answer has been "no" almost 100% of the time. Either they feel like they are taking up the group's time unnecessarily, or they don't handle interruptions well, or something else.

When I asked the question "Do you wish to speak?", framing it as a closed, yes/no question, players found it easier to answer "no".

However, if I ask such a player an open ended question such as;

"What do you wish to say?"

"You have been nominated. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Player X has nominated you. What do you think about that?"

or otherwise prompt the new player to speak, they start speaking and usually have a lot to offer. This is often the first point in the game that the player really opens up and starts to have fun. Once they've done that once or twice, you won't need to ask the question again.

If you have one or two new players in a group of veterans, offer to bring in the Angel

Most new players have two fears when joining Clocktower for the first time: fear of saying the wrong thing and fear of dying. The first is social fear. The second is a game-strategy fear. Both are connected to the fear of losing or letting their team down.

Sometimes new players don't have any fear at all and just want to play the game for as long as possible, so they see an early death as a waste of their first game.

To overcome these things, the Angel will keep a good player alive until you, the Storyteller decide that it's time for that protection to end. The player doesn't need to worry about the Demon killing them too early, doesn't need to worry about not getting to use their ability, and doesn't need to worry about ‘letting their team down’ by dying early. Veteran players and storytellers know that this last worry is unfounded because dying early is not a big deal, and sometimes even desirable, but new players may not know that yet.

It's important for the player to know that the Angel isn't a handicap – it’s just part of the game! They are not imbalancing the game by accepting the Angel protection. Players are still free to execute them, and the Angel-protected players may still be good or evil. It mostly means that the Demon must turn their attention to different players at night, or pay the price.

If you can pitch the Angel not as a necessity and not as a handicap but as a cool opportunity that makes the game a little more interesting for everyone, and always allow the new player to choose not to have the Angel, you're doing great.

https://wiki.bloodontheclocktower.com/Angel

If you have one or two veterans in a group of new players, offer to bring in the Buddhist

Often, enthusiastic veterans want to tell new players how to play. They share too many rules, too many pieces of strategy advice, and generally make logical leaps much faster than new players.

New players will often feel like the veterans are telling them what they should do. Even if veteran players just tell them what they "can" do, it often feels like being told what they "should" do. This can be a domineering thing, or it can be the nicest thing in the world. It is usually the latter. Most times I give the Buddhist to a veteran, that veteran is one of my favourite players. It's just the case that, most of the time, new players have more fun when they figure things out for themselves. It prevents overwhelm and just feels more rewarding.

Similarly, veteran players are usually the first players to speak each day. They have their plans and ideas already, formed during the night, and leap into action as soon as the day begins. Even the most polite and considerate veterans tend to take the lead early each day - because that is a winning strategy! However, this creates a habit in new players of becoming followers, and waiting to see what the veteran players say each day before speaking themselves. The Buddhist breaks this habit before it begins. With the Buddhist in play, I've seen totally new players take the lead and start conversations each day, forming good habits of leadership and teamwork early.

It is best to bring in the Buddhist at the beginning of the game, not during the game. If the Buddhist comes in midway through the game it can feel like a punishment for the veteran player, which it is not. Also, a mid-game Buddhist is usually coming in because the new players have not formed the habit of talking early each day, so the habit of silence and waiting for others to take the lead is already half-formed.

When the Buddhist is in play from the very beginning, new players are practically playing with all new players from the very first day, and will be happily chatting away with each other by day three or four, and working as a team. Most Buddhist games I run, I put the Buddhist in day one, and I remove it by day three, at which point, the new players and the veteran players are all chatting at about the same amount, and I never need it again.

While being a Buddhist is always a choice for a veteran, I present it as less of a choice than the Angel. For the Angel, I ask a new player, "The Angel is here to help you have a good time for your first game. I think it's really cool, but it's up to you. Do you want it or not?" For the Buddhist, I ask a veteran, "I'd really like to bring in the Buddhist for this game, so that the new players can find their feet by themselves. Is that ok?" If a player really doesn't want the Buddhist, that's okay. But I ask them for the good of the game and hope that they will be cool with it. After a day or two I'll even reduce the Buddhist time to just the one minute, as long as the new players are engaged.

https://wiki.bloodontheclocktower.com/Buddhist

Think skill level before edition

New players are at their best, have the most fun, and learn quickest when they are in games with other new players. They figure out the rules when they need the rules, and they figure out the strategies by testing them out together.

The choice of edition isn’t as important as you might think. I’ve had almost completely new players play and love Bad Moon Rising, Sects & Violets, The Tomb (Called The Seventh Day at the time) and even Garden Of Sin. The Grimoire setup shouldn’t be mean if using these editions, but it is ok to run these editions if your players are newish and keen for a challenge. The important thing is that they experience them (or their similar custom scripts) in an environment where most other players are the same skill level, because they learn the edition together.

Conversely, I’ve seen new players really flounder when playing Trouble Brewing with veterans. Even the most intelligent new players are unfamiliar with the characters and interactions when compared to the veterans, so they are often playing the game of ‘catchup’ or the game of ‘help me understand’ instead of the ‘let’s figure this out together’ game. It mostly comes down to speed of understanding, not depth. The new players just can’t keep up with Trouble Brewing veterans, who no longer need the character sheet.

If you have a new player in your group, you don’t have to play Trouble Brewing just to cater to them. Given the large player size and need for social spaces, almost all Clocktower events have at least one new player. If you always play Trouble Brewing if it is a new player’s first day, then you’ll never play anything else. It’s not exactly easier for a new player to join in an intermediate or custom script for their first game either. But the social environment is more important than the edition.

If your group is large enough, running a Trouble Brewing game for beginners (and only the beginners), while the veterans play the more advanced editions is ideal. At pub events we often do this, and some players will swap from one group to the other as the night progresses. This works well but has the downside that you need at least 16 people to pull it off – 7 players and 1 Storyteller per game, with 2 games running at once.

Keep the games small

New players have a lot to think about, all at once:

What the game rules are

What each character ability does.

What possible characters could be in play.

What their strategy should be.

Whether their questions to the group are being answered truthfully or not

If player X is telling the truth, and player Y is lying, what does that say about player Z?

The easiest way to make it easy on your new players is to keep the games small, so that they only need to focus on a few people and a few characters at once. This makes the logic of the game significantly less complicated. More characters make things exponentially more complicated. With fewer characters in play, new players can focus on fewer character interactions, and don’t have to worry about understanding everything all at once.

You don’t need to go all the way to Teensyville. Just keeping the game to 7, 8, or 9 players is great. This should give a tight enough focus for a new player to really get to grips with what is happening, and what each player’s claims mean in context. Also, with 7, 8, or 9 players there is only one Minion, which helps provide clarity as to what isn’t in the game.

In smaller games, new players are talking to the same players over and over again and building up a picture of the whole game. This isn’t possible for a new player in a 20-player game, because there is too much to comprehend at once.

Keep the games short

A new player needs to be able to make mistakes that don’t have a lasting impact on their fun. When the games are short, even the most egregious errors can quickly be washed away. Did your first timer just claim to be the Demon, under pressure, and then get executed? No problem, in a short game. If they did it in a 17-player game with a Scarlet Woman and a Zombuul, they will be sitting there for a long time with nothing to do, feeling foolish.

The length of your days should be tailored to the player count, but also to new players and their need to experiment, make mistakes, and make risky plays. New players also may want to stay silent until the final day or the right moment, and it is helpful if you can speed up your days so that this moment comes more quickly.

Some players like long, serious games, but these players also usually like a more thoughtful, planned, strategy. New players are figuring things out as they go. Have you ever played a 6-hour Eurogame and at the 2-hour mark realised that you made a mistake on your first turn? And now you have to sit there for four hours, knowing that you’ve already lost, and are just going through the motions to be polite? That’s no fun at all, and I want to avoid a similar experience for new players at all costs. I’ve seen more than one video, review, or piece of feedback that said “BOTC sucks. I died on the first day, and had to sit there for nearly 3 hours doing nothing because I couldn’t leave.” 7 or 8-player games can be run in 45 minutes, and a 9 or 10-player game can be run in one hour. Games should only go for more than an hour and a half if all players want it to, and it is difficult to tell if new players want it to.

Shorter games also mean more games, and new players get to try out more ideas and more characters. Having many quick games also creates a more frivolous and playful mood. That mood is much more conducive to fun, learning, risk-taking, and experimenting with just-learned rules knowledge than a 2-hour epic game is.

Use humour, be approachable

A new player may not know anybody in the group. They may not even know you, initially. But you are the centre point for attention, and the only person who is guaranteed to be interacting with them in some way in every game.

You are also the only person that a new player can trust. Other players may be lying to them, but the Storyteller’s role is to be a trusted helper to new players. Rule #3 – “Ask me any questions you need to” – is there to remind new players that you are there to help! When I read the rules, I emphasise that no question is a silly question, and that it does not make you evil to ask me a question.

The more you use humour, positivity, liveliness, understanding, and playfulness in your approach to storytelling, the more that new players will feel comfortable to speak, listen, and think naturally. If they are having a good time due to your vibe, they will learn faster and integrate into the group quicker. And if they don’t integrate, that’s okay too, as long as they are having fun.

New players are more important than veterans

New players need your help more than veteran players do. They need to learn the rules. They need to know the basics of basic strategy. They need to know what the tone and feel of the game is, because that implies a certain etiquette. They need to know what the character sheet means, or what night signals mean. They may need to know which players are the friendliest, or where the bathroom is.

Veteran players don’t need as much help. Apart from the occasional weird rules question, they can take care of themselves.

Let them play

It is easy to unintentionally be overbearing with new players. Fight the urge to tell them what to do, or to help too much, because doing so can easily feel smothering to them.

Let new players make mistakes. Let them be silent if they want. Let them learn at their own pace. Let them poison the Saint twice in a row, or kill a dead player. Let them not know about that wacky character’s special ability, until they ask.

Find the balance between helping and watching. Being too involved can be irritating. Being just the right amount of involved can be wonderful.

- Steven

#bloodontheclocktower #murdermystery #socialdeduction

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ifmywishescametrue · 4 years ago

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"You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better." for buckytony pls 🤓

thank you for sending one! it got kind of out of hand lol so here's 2.2k of breaking up and making up. hope you like it!

Tony loses track of what the fight is about fairly quickly. He knows it started with what seemed like playful bickering, the kind their relationship was practically built on, but somewhere along the way the jabs turned much more pointed. Barbed wire wrapped around them, until each one was like a knife wound.

The first real cut came from him, he knows. Bucky's witty comment hit a little too close to one of his hundred insecurities, and reflex made him return it with too much sharpness. He can't blame Bucky for reacting, but they're both to blame for letting it get this out of hand. That’s not something that matters in the moment, though.

In the moment, all that matters is the careless insults and merciless words they lob back and forth. They chip away at each other and their relationship until it’s crumbling around them, but even that doesn’t matter. It becomes secondary to getting in the last word and one-upmanship, like it’s a competition for who can hurt who the most that they both desperately want to win, consequences be damned.

“You know this is why people keep leaving you,” Bucky says. “At some point it should be pretty damn obvious that it's you, not them.”

Tony laughs bitterly because the only other choice is crying. “Cause you're a real fucking prize, right? Bet people are just lining up to date a guy they're barely allowed to touch. And God forbid you ever try to do something nice for him, because it'll never actually be right.”

“Better than a guy with daddy issues so severe it'll take him two years to even tell you he loves you. Don't bother saying it in the meantime to him either, because he'll run off to hide for a week after each time.”

“Well, you know what, I'll make it easy for you, then,” Tony says, backing away to grab his jacket. “You don't have to worry about me and all my issues anymore.”

He forcefully shoves his arms into the sleeves and grabs his keys from the hook by the door. Bucky watches with a clenched jaw and doesn't try to stop him, not even when he pauses to give him the chance.

“What are you waiting for? Go ahead and run off. Prove my point.”

Tony shakes his head, an ache already forming in his chest that he ignores. “I’m not proving your point, because this isn’t running. This is breaking up with you because you’re a fucking asshole.”

He lets the door slam shut behind him and speedwalks down the hall, repeatedly pushing the elevator button. It doesn’t come quickly enough, and he flings open the door to the stairwell to rush down them. His vision blurs dangerously, and he can hardly see where he’s going, but he doesn’t slow down. The tears come freely with no around to see, until he’s out on the sidewalk and violently swipes them away with the back of his hand. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s walking, only on getting as far away as possible.

Where he ends up shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s muscle memory to come here at this point, a walk so familiar he could do it in his sleep and still manage to avoid all the cracks and uneven parts on the sidewalk on the way.

He stands outside of Shield’s Bar, neon lights coloring his face blue and pink, and he contemplates going in. It’s a Thursday, which means Clint is working the bar until midnight. Natasha will be waiting tables, and Steve will come in to replace her at ten.

All Bucky’s friends. He won’t get any of them in the breakup.

Steve will be the first to turn his back on him with his unwavering loyalty to his best friend. Clint will follow next because he hates tension and it’s the easier side to take. Natasha will be last, and she’ll claim that she loves them both and choosing sides is childish and ridiculous. But she’ll go, too, eventually. When none of her other friends will be in the same room as him, and all of their usual hangout spots become off limits. It’ll grow awkward and uncomfortable until promises to meet up turn into vague excuses and texts spaced months apart.

But where does he have to go if it isn’t here?

Rhodey’s on base in California, and Pepper moved back to New York the second her business degree was done. Staying in Boston was never the plan, not until Bucky and his found family welcomed him into their lives and made it feel like home. Where is there to go if home isn’t an option anymore?

He stands there long enough that people start to whisper as they pass by. They must think he’s lost his mind, staring blankly at a brick wall and hardly blinking, but he doesn’t hear what they say. Doesn’t hear anything but his own thoughts running in circles, going from anger to regret to shame and back again.

He wonders if Bucky’s right. If he truly is the reason it never works out. He knows he’s too insecure and emotionally unavailable. He demands too much and gives too little in return and doesn’t know how to communicate.

He used to watch his parents fight, orbiting around each other with avoidance and unspoken words until the dams broke and silence turned to screams, and he would swear that he would be better. If he was lucky enough to be in love with someone and have them love him in return, he would understand just how rare and beautiful that is and never take it for granted.

Easier said than done. Harder to face the fact that sometimes his words sound exactly like his father’s once did and sometimes he feels like his mother when he quietly lets himself be walked on and overlooked. The worst of both of them is tangled up inside of him, and it always kills whatever he touches.

Natasha finds him there eventually. She opens the door roughly, with intention that falters momentarily before she asks, “Do you plan on coming in at some point or are you staying out here all night?”

“I should probably go,” he says, quietly enough that it’s nearly lost to the wind.

Natasha watches him for a long moment, then steps out of the doorway to take his hand. She leads him over to an empty booth and slides into the opposite side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

She shrugs, “Steve will be here in a few minutes. No one’s going to die if they have to wait for their beer.”

Silence stretches on, and he stares down at his hands on the table. It’s warmer inside the bar, and he doesn’t realize that the cold has turned his fingers numb until they begin to unthaw.

“People coming in here were talking about some guy loitering outside. Some were saying he looked sad, some said lost. A few less optimistic people voted for strung out on drugs, but I think it’s safe to rule that one out now. Same with lost, seeing as you’ve been here a thousand times. That leaves sad, which means you had a fight with Bucky, and you didn’t come in, which means you think it’s your fault. Am I right so far?”

Tony nods, hanging his head low, and she continues to ask, “Do you want to talk about it or drink about it?”

“We broke up,” Tony mumbles. “I did it.”

She takes a long breath, and her hand is warm when it slips back into his. “Are you planning on fixing it?”

“Not sure it’s fixable. I said some things, he said some things. Can’t really take any of it back now.”

“People say things they don’t mean all the time. Doesn’t make it unforgivable.”

He shrugs like his heart isn’t broken. “Maybe it’s better off this way.”

Natasha sighs, “Tony.”

“What?”

“Go home.”

“Pretty sure I don’t have one of those anymore.”

“Of course you do,” she says softly. “I promise you that he wants you to come back.”

Tony shakes his head. “You weren’t there, Nat. You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened to know that he wants you to come home. If he feels even half as terrible as you look, he wants you. Just because you broke up doesn’t mean it’s over. It’s only over if you don’t go back.”

Tony bites his lip to keep it from quivering, and he asks, “What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Well, it can’t exactly make things worse, can it?”

He huffs a humorless laugh, “I guess not.”

Natasha slides out of the booth, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go home before he comes out looking for you, and text me in the morning to tell me I was right.”

She walks away, greeting Steve as he comes in, and Tony lingers there for another minute before getting up. He waves to them both on his way out and tries not to think about what she’ll tell Steve about his reason for being there.

The walk back to his and Bucky’s apartment seems quicker than the walk away from it, and Tony resents it for not giving him more time.

He takes the stairs again and hesitates outside the door, what ifs overwhelming his mind. What if he walks in and all of his things are packed up for him? What if Bucky isn’t even there or all of his belongings are gone instead? What if he can’t fix it and this is where it really ends? He doesn’t know if he could recover from that.

Turning the key in the lock, he opens the door slowly and holds his breath in trepidation.

Nothing looks different. No packed boxes, no smashed picture frames, no sign that anything ever went wrong.

Bucky is on the couch, curled into the corner with his legs held tight to his chest, and he doesn’t seem to notice that he isn’t alone anymore. It’s painfully quiet, and the single light that was on before isn’t enough now that it's grown darker outside, but he hasn’t turned any others on.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says into the silence. It’s as good a place as any to start. “You didn't deserve that. Any of it. The whole stupid thing. You deserve so much better. I should be better at this, but I’ve done a real shit job of it lately, I think. Maybe not even lately. Maybe I’ve been a terrible boyfriend the whole time, and in that case you should probably tell me to go and not come back, but I’d like to think there were at least moments where I was sort of okay, and I’d like to try to be more than just okay if you’ll let me.”

Bucky stares at him, lips parted and red-rimmed eyes unblinking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tony freezes, unsure of how to answer that, and Bucky unfolds himself to walk over and stand in front of him.

“You broke up with me,” Bucky says.

“Yes, but I -”

“No,” he interrupts. “You broke up with me.”

Tony frowns in confusion and slowly says again, “Yes.”

“That means I do the grovelling here, because I fucked it up. I beg for the second chance, because I crossed the line so far that you left. And I did it on purpose, too, because I had a shit day so I pushed until you pushed back,” Bucky explains. “And apparently I did such a good job being horrible to you that you think it’s your fault.”

Tony tries to process that, but it’s taking some time to work through. A complete turn around on his thoughts that almost makes him dizzy.

“Why did you have a shit day? What happened?”

“Is that really what you’re focusing on in all of that?” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand through his hair. “God, it’s you that deserves better. That’s what I’m telling you here. You were right to leave, and I should be the one telling you I’m sorry.”

“You had a bad day and took it out on me. How many times have I done the same to you? You never once left.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He reaches for one of Bucky’s hands, because he needs the contact and has a feeling that Bucky does too. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth working on. I meant what I said about wanting to be better for you.”

Bucky nods, looking down at their joined hands. “I want to be better for you, too. How do we do that?”

“A lot of talking about our feelings, probably.”

Bucky pulls a face. “God, that sounds terrible.”

Tony laughs, taking his other hand to pull him in closer, “Yeah, it does, but we’ll get better at it eventually.”

“Can we start tomorrow?” Bucky asks. He leans down to rest his forehead against Tony’s. “I’d really like to just hold you tonight.”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony murmurs. “Hold me tonight. It’ll be better in the morning.”

#buckytony #winteriron #my fic #my writing #prompts #prompt fill #warmachinesocks

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alreadyblondenow · 4 years ago

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Heaven knows

▸ Jung Jaehyun x reader ▸ 2k words ▸ Fluff, Smut, Angst ▸ angel reader, demon jaehyun, loss of virginity

From when you were only just a small angel, your senior angels told you to never trust a demon or anything that came from hell. The instructions were simple, avoid them at all costs.

Now that you’re all grown up, you’re finally allowed to guard and guide humans that in need of your presence. And as you do your job, of course, demons will always and always distract you. Demons are always awfully handsome, it’s part of their ways to distract humans and even angels like you. Growing up, there’s this one consistent demon who’s always following you from when you were just starting to be a guardian and up until now that you’re a senior angel.

Jung Jaehyun. A handsome demon who’s always by your side, annoying from sun up until sundown.

“Hey” he called you while you were putting a child to sleep, making the little girl calm because she was afraid of the dark. You ignore the demon and continue making the little girl calm. “I just wanted to say you’re beautiful” he whines. The demon is not just annoying because he wants to, he was bold about his feelings for you ever since you two hit puberty and the demon fell for your angelic features.

“Thank you” you replied coldly and spread your wings, ready to leave the sleeping child.

“Wow. That’s the third time you talked to me… So that’s the secret huh, I have to be good so I can win you” he smirked and blocked your way, looking at him sternly and flapping your wings so hard so he will be blown away. He loves it when you do that. You fly up back to heaven only to see the demon still following you in front of the huge gate. This is as far as he can follow you. Every night he watches you go inside those pearly gates and go back the next morning to watch you step out and start annoying you again.

This day, he brought you flowers. It was kind of him, to be honest, but you can’t take it. So you admired his kindness inside you and imagined yourself taking the flowers with a smile. You walked past him and went on to your day guiding people in need and avoiding the oh so talkative demon. And once again, he followed you back to the gates of heaven, smiling at you while he watches you go home safely.

After that day, he started doing kind gestures that moved you. Sometimes when you’re hands are all full and you’re not done helping someone, he will do the next job for you. Helping a human in the best way he can just to impress you. Day after day he’s becoming even sweeter and his sweet words are slowly becoming hard to ignore that you start smiling in front of him. Lying to yourself that you don't have even a small amount of crush on the demon won't work. But still, you kept your mouth shut and again, only thanked him inside your head and ignored him.

“Thank you. But really you should stop doing this or we will get into trouble” you said, taking the flowers from the demon whose smile is from ear to ear because you finally accepted something from him. Oh, you’re in big trouble.

“Tomorrow is my birthday and it will really make me happy if you spend the day with me without giving me cold shoulders” he requests with hopeful eyes.

Well, he has been nice lately and he’s been doing some good deeds. You don’t see any reason to be harsh on him during his birthday. “Just this one day and promise me you will stop this,” you said, pointing a finger and offering your hand to make it an unbreakable deal. Something angels do to keep their promises. He scratched his head, hesitating to shake hands with you. “I’m a demon, breaking promises is my thing. I don’t want to disappoint you because for sure I won’t leave you after tomorrow.” And again you admired his honesty, “fine, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Uh… advance happy birthday” you turned your back and entered the gate.

Jaehyun’s birthday is what human’s called heart’s day and couples are out and about dating. While you two walk on earth, invisible in the eyes of the humans, you and Jaehyun had a great time laughing and talking about random stuff like everything is fine. Surprisingly, he’s a great company, funny but too bold sometimes that you needed to warn him and he’s happy to comply.

It’s his birthday but you’re the one who’s getting gifts from him, stealing flowers and a box of chocolates just to make you feel loved and admired. “Those are stolen, I can’t accept those” you giggle and watch him open the box of chocolates, gave you a piece which you accepted with a smile. You two were watching the sun go down at the beachside, feeling the sand on your toes.

“I don’t want this day to end. Tomorrow you’ll hate me again and-“

“You’re wrong I don’t hate you but there are rules that we need to follow. And to be honest, me too. I don’t want to end this day yet. I don’t know how to face you tomorrow with my cold stares.”

There was comfortable silence as you two watch the sunset and watch the sky from orange to blue. It’s time to go home. You greet him a happy birthday again and told him to be happy. As you were about to fly away, he stopped you. Grabbing your wrist which made you face him.

And just like that, your lips touched.

The betrayal was not in his plans for today. Jaehyun just couldn’t stop himself. Nervous about what he did, he will completely understand if you fly out and leave him. But you didn’t. Slowly you covered your bodies with your wings and protected him from the eyes watching from above. “I hope this works,” you said, and returned the kiss.

You were planning to give him a smack on the lips but he became selfish and asked for more which you gave in wholeheartedly. You feel the demon’s hot tongue in your mouth, biting your lips, and hear him moan lustfully. When the kiss is over he caressed your face, said beautiful words that made your heart flutter, and completely fall for him.

"I promise to be good every day if that means winning you and letting me love you. Just say yes my love" he begs and grabs your hand. "I will make you feel loved every day, make you happy every second"

You giggle and watch him kiss your hand over and over again, "I thought you don't do promises?"

"Mhmm. But I also don't want to see you broken and disappointed so I wouldn't dare hurt you. Watch me keep this promise and prove to my love for you"

And that’s it. That’s the start of your rebellion against your kind. You and Jaehyun loved each other fiercely and hid your forbidden love for months. Spending time with each other every day and forgetting your duties as an angel. Being with Jaehyun means you’re giving up your purity in exchange for pleasure and happiness. How can being happy with the man you love became a sin? How can your kind forbid something so great and one of a kind? Choosing to love Jaehyun is the most wonderful thing you did for yourself. And as days go by, the demon became more and more in love with you that he can't help but get mad whenever other demons look at your perfection.

“Are you sure you want to do it tonight? The gates will soon close, I don’t want you to get into trouble” you two were on a thick cloud, kissing each other passionately under the stars. You remove your dress to answer his question, leaving you with only your damped underwear. He smiled and proceeds to kiss your neck, you feel your head dip in the thick cloud feeling Jaehyun’s wet kisses, legs shivering by how he teases your wet slit.

“Oh do that again?” you request.

“What? This?” he put his finger inside your damped underwear and it made you moan and close your eyes. “You love that, huh” he continued to finger you slowly, removed your panties, and spreading your legs wider so you could have the full experience of the pleasure.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are right now, I’m so lucky to have you” he smacked your ass and made you jolt. You don’t know when did he removed his clothes but he looked ethereal without a single fabric covering him. He guides your hand around his beautiful body and taught you how to pump his hardening cock. He went in between your legs and kissed you passionately again, pinching your nipples whenever he pleases, praising you with dirty words that sounded so good when it came from Jaehyun's mouth.

His lips, his hands, and his sweet words. The holy trinity that makes you jump headfirst to pleasure.

"Say, 'fuck me please'" he commands.

“Fuck me please” you moaned. The demon smiled and nod his head, intertwining his fingers with yours before he pushes in. He knew you're a virgin that's why he's being gentle as possible. He was thick and the stretch really hurt you that you have tears in your eyes already. But when he finally rolls his hips deliciously, you asked for more. Kissing Jaehyun's lips over and over again asking him so nicely to don't stop.

“Jaehyun, harder” the demon granted your request. Giving you a hard and piercing thrust that drags your skin on the cloud your head is already dangling at the edge of it. “Don’t worry you won't fall” his pace was quick and the sound of skin slapping was so sinful but you don’t care anymore. You spread your legs wider and wrapped your arms around the man you love, look deep in his eyes as he fucks you hard. “not yet” he felt you clenched and you went quiet because you felt something ball in your lower abdomen. You moan his name, and you feel his finger drawing circles on your clit.

“That’s too much”

“And you love it, right?” admitting that he’s right. You cum in less than a minute and feel your legs shiver. You call out his name over and over again but he was busy catching his own sweet release. And when he finally did, you feel hot liquid inside you and your body was so sensitive that even a small touch from Jaehyun makes you whine.

“I was supposed to pull out but your legs are wrapped around me so tight baby, I’m sorry” he kissed you sweetly and helped you calm down. Hugging you tightly so you can feel his warmth. He watches you smile while your eyes are closed, his heart still beats so fast whenever he sees you smile. “Are you going to sleep?” he tickles you which made your eyes open, “you okay?” he added.

“Yes. I’m fine. I just feel weak, I can’t feel my legs” you hugged him tightly.

“Hmm. You’re going to be fine. You did great” he kissed your forehead and kept you close, “I love you so much, never leave me okay?" you nod your head yes and whispered, "I love you too so much, Jaehyun. You're the only man that I will love don't you worry"

Losing your virginity was something you will never regret doing especially when it’s Jaehyun who took it. After having sex, he flew up with you and watched you enter safely. Little did he know that’s the last time he will see you.

On the next day, Jaehyun went up with flowers in his hand and wore the sweetest smile. He waited outside the gates with his fellow demons and watch them leave one by one as they go and annoy their chosen angels. But you never came out. Why? Are you okay?

The same thing happened for days. Then days turned into weeks, then weeks turned to months. Until he reached a decade. Jaehyun was heartbroken each day that passes and even though he knew you will not appear again in that huge gate, he still waits everyday.

He wondered around the human world, following the people whom you usually guide and hope that he could see you. But he never did.

Until one day, he saw you standing in front of the church. Without your wings. Your iris aren’t glowing anymore and your halo is gone. “What have they done to you?” he then realized that heaven must have known about your relationship and punished you by making you human.

You fix your wedding gown and you ready yourself to walk down the aisle. You put on a smile in front of the demon that you can’t see and walked through him. Slowly, you walk inside the church while Jaehyun is screaming his lungs out, crying begging you to stop walking, and from entering the church. He can’t go inside of course. And watching you marry someone in front of his eyes was his punishment.

↩︎ prev next ▶︎

#nct-writers #kpopscape #kdiner #unfortunatus: inferno #nct smut #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader smut #nct jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct angel au #nct demon au

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triptuckers · 4 years ago

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79′s - Captain Rex

Request: yes! ‘Ello:) could I ask for Rex with a s/o who was in a previous toxic relationship where reader is still cautious about certain things just a lil bit of angst and lots of comfort and fluff please if your comfortable with writing it’ Pairing: Captain Rex x jedi!reader Summary: you finally go out again after a while :) Warnings: mentions of a toxic ex/relationship Word count: 1.6K A/N: thanks so much for requesting this! I’m very into my rex feels rn, enjoy reading! :)

You’re lounging on the small sofa that’s in Rex’ quarters. It was quite rare to be on Coruscant at the same time. One of you would always be off fighting some battle on a faraway planet.

But now that you’re both on Coruscant, you enjoy each other’s presence whenever you can.

Sometimes, like this evening, you don’t even have to do or say anything. You’re merely laying on the sofa in silence, not really doing anything. Rex is cleaning out his closet. He likes to have it organised, and you made a mess looking for a particular shirt. You told him you’d clean it up yourself, but he insisted. Said it was a nice task, a change from all the fighting and training.

You hear Rex chuckle and lift your head from the sofa, looking at him. He’s holding out an old shirt of his. You remember it well. It was the first time you’d seen him in anything other than his armour or blacks. You remember it so well because it was the first time you'd noticed how good he actually looked.

Of course, you’d known him before that. You fought battles together and occasionally trained when you needed a sparring partner. But it was as if that particular shirt had somehow flipped a switch in your brain.

A couple of the 501st were coming back from a night out. They were all a bit tipsy, and one or two were clearly drunk, needing others to support them. You smiled at them as they walked past and remembered the loving smile Rex had sent your way. From that day on, everything had changed.

‘Remember this?’ he says.

‘Of course I do.’ you say from your position on the sofa. ‘You wore that after you went out with the boys, and that’s when I knew I was in love with you.’

Rex smiles at your words and walks over to you. You sit up so he can sit down next to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and you gladly cuddle closer to him.

‘You didn’t have any plans for tonight, right?’ asks Rex. ‘Nope.’ you say. ‘A whole glorious night off.’ ‘Why don’t we go to 79′s with some of the boys?’ he says. ‘You’d be okay with that?’ you question.

You close your eyes and silently curse at yourself for letting it slip. When you open your eyes you see Rex is looking at you, clearly confused by your words.

‘Yes?’ he says. ‘Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? I’m the one proposing it.’ ‘Forget I said that, it’s nothing.’ you say and you get up off the couch but Rex grabs a hold of your wrist and gently pulls you back.

‘You know you can talk to me.’ he says.

You look at him and debate whether or not you should tell him. You only ever told him you went out with one other guy before you got together. Rex always sensed you didn’t want to talk about him, and he didn’t pressure you into opening up.

His eyes lock onto yours as he patiently waits, aware of the battle that’s going on in your mind.

‘It’s just...’ you sigh. You move so you can sit sideways on the couch, facing him. You take Rex’ hands in yours and absently play with his fingers, trying to figure out how to tell him.

‘You know I was hanging out with another guy before we got together.’ you start. ‘He... didn’t exactly like it when we’d go out together. To 79′s or another bar. He was afraid I might eye someone else or get another guy’s attention. We started going out less until eventually he forbid me from going out at all.’

You look up from yours and Rex’ intertwined hands. He’s looking at you with just the slightest bit of concern in his eyes.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ he asks after a while.

You shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ you say quietly. ‘Maybe I was embarrassed or ashamed. You know I don’t particularly enjoy talking about him.’

‘Why would he even do that in the first place?’ says Rex, more to himself than to you.

‘Because he knew Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments, and he threatened to got to the council and have me kicked out of the order, if I didn’t listen to him.’ you say, not meeting Rex’ eyes and looking at the ground instead.

‘He did what?’ exclaims Rex.

‘Rex, please.’ you say. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. He did some shitty things, yes, but I would much rather focus on the present. He’s no longer in my life, and I’m right here with you.’

‘Right. Sorry I brought it up again.’ says Rex.

You lift your gaze to look at him, a soft smile on your lips. You really did manage to get the best one. Your eyes fall on the shirt Rex had dropped before he came over to you.

‘Do you want to go to 79′s?’ you ask him.

At this, Rex raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Do you want to?’ he says.

‘I never disliked going out.’ you admit. ‘I just didn't like going out with him because he was trying to control my every move. I’d like to go to 79′s with you, and maybe some of the boys.’

‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’ says Rex. ‘It’s okay, Rex. I want to.’ you say. ‘On one condition.’ ‘Anything.’ ‘You wear that shirt.’ you say and Rex laughs and nods. ‘Only because you like it so much.’ he says.

Some time later, the two of you finished getting ready. You took considerably longer than Rex, because you kept changing your outfit and hair. Even though Rex told you you looked beautiful every single time.

After a quick stop, you and Rex head to 79′s, along with Fives, Jesse, Kix and Cody.

While you’re on your way, you’re nervously tugging at the sleeves of your shirt. Rex takes notice of it, and grabs your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. You shoot him a thankful smile as you continue your way to the bar.

You’re grateful the bar isn’t as crowded as it normally is. Jesse and Fives head to the bar to get everyone their drinks, while the rest of you goes off to find an empty booth. After finding one and squeezing in, Rex uses the opportunity to lean in closer to you.

‘If at any point you want to leave, just say the word and I’ll take you home, alright?’ he says.

You smile and nod at him. ‘Thank you.’ you say softly.

At first, you’re a bit shy and not really engaging in the conversations. But once you start to get more comfortable, and after a few drinks, you’re happily chatting away along with everyone else.

You’re listening to their stories and laughing at their jokes. You’re having such a good time, you realise how much you actually missed going out with friends.

Just as you grab a glass to take a shot after losing another round of a drinking game you’re playing with Jesse, Rex takes the glass instead and puts it down. You look at him and pout.

‘I was gonna drink that!’ you say, trying to take the glass from him. ‘I think you’ve had enough to drink, mesh’la’ he says. ‘Let’s go home.’ ‘I haven’t finished the game! I’m winning!’ you protest, making Rex chuckle. ‘I don’t think you are.’ he says before leaning in closer. ‘How about we go home now, and we can cuddle until you fall asleep. I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow morning and neither have you.’

Rex watches your puzzled expression as you’re thinking about his offer. After some time, you smile and nod at him.

You and Rex say your goodbyes to the others, and you let Rex guide you through the crowd of people toward the exit of the bar. You’re happily chatting away as Rex holds you steady while you walk.

Lucky for you, most of the halls are empty as you make your way to Rex’ quarters. He’s trying to get you to stay quiet, but you’re still telling him story after story. When he finally gets to his quarters, he takes you inside and walks you to the bed, where he sits you down.

You smile as you look up at him. ‘Hey.’ you say, making him smile as well. ‘Hey there.’ he says. ‘Look I know I’m tipsy- or drunk.’ you correct yourself after Rex raises his eyebrows at you. ‘But I really, really love you.’ you say.

‘Well, I really, really love you too.’ he says and he leans in to kiss your forehead. You yawn and rub your eyes, as sleep finally starts to get the better of you. Somehow hours had passed while you were having fun at 79′s.

‘Let’s get you into something more comfortable and then to bed, yeah?’ says Rex and you nod, closing your eyes. You feel how Rex takes off your clothes and replaces them with some of his for you to sleep in. You jump a little when he softly drags a wet cloth over your face.

‘C’mon.’ he says softly, helping you lay down before getting in the bed next to you. You instinctively move closer to him and lay your head on his chest.

‘Rex?’ you mumble. He hums in response. ‘I love you.’ you say. His chest moves beneath your head as he chuckles. ‘You already told me that tonight.’ he says. ‘I don’t care, I’m telling you again.’ you say.

You feel how Rex kisses the top of your head. ‘Goodnight, mesh’la, I love you too.’

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

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dalekofchaos · 4 years ago

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Killing The New Republic and Luke’s New Jedi Order killed the Sequel Trilogy

Disney you’re a business, who’s all about money, but then you chose to destroy the New Jedi Order and New Republic, that is definitely killing your billions, even after refusing to put storytelling first and foremost, and then having the audacity to claim “we don’t have source material” never mind the countless series of video games, comics, novels, tv shows and films, merchandising etc. Not to mention all the fucking stuff you could’ve done with the NR in BATTLEFRONT! YOU COULD HAVE MADE WITH THE NEW REPUBLIC AND NEW JEDI ORDER!

But no. Instead you made Leia an incompetent general leading an even weaker and an on the budget Rebel Alliance. Han’s character arc was dropped, Han and Leia’s iconic romance was broken up and they were both turned into absent parents and Luke’s Jedi Order failed and 30 years of peace was undone pointlessly. But instead you just wanted Rebels vs Empire 2.0, but only this time around it’s dumber.

Do you know what we could’ve done with The New Republic? Leia as Chancellor. Han and Lando as her Ministers of Defense. Boba Fett, Din Djarin and Bo-Katan leading The Mandalorians together as allies to the New Republic. We could’ve had a House Of Cards/West Wing/Game Of Thrones styled writing for the overall politics of The New Republic. You could’ve made a goddamn fortune on New Republic troopers, armor, weapons, fighters and frigates. Hell, you could even have The New Republic wield their own Star Defenders as opposed to Star Destroyers. I am well aware that canon demilitarized The New Republic and already made a post on why disarming the New Republic in new canon was stupid.

What should have happened is that the NR commanders the Imperial Fleet and starts protecting systems who join the NR, all while chasing down and fighting any of the Remnants (Moffs, Warlords, Crime Lords, etc) who have grabbed power in the resulting vacuum. We could have seen an evolution of ships from Old Republic to Empire to NR ones. They could have renamed Star Destroyers into Star Defenders. Hell, they could have had a Republic of independent systems, each with their own sizable military, so that power isn't centralized.

Here is what the Sequel Trilogy could’ve been with the New Republic in power.

This could have been an interesting question for the ST. What happens after you win a war? How do you not make the same mistakes or become the thing you fought. What happens in a power vacuum? The NR should have been the dominant emerging power, and the Remnant should have been a small, secretive, unknown order, striking strategically from the UR where they hid, and causing fear and panic to spread in the NR. But no, instead of telling an interesting story, we are force fed the recycled poorly written rehashed Rebels vs Empire and the Rebels are made to be weaker than The First Order. The First Order are a terrorist movement, they should not be reigning after Hosnian Prime’s destruction, ESPECIALLY AFTER LOSING STARKILLER BASE! Concentrating your government and defenses around only one system is really stupid(AND BAD FUCKING WRITING) The New Republic’s forces should have been spread far across the galaxy. So after Hosnian Prime, The New Republic sees the bigger picture and mobilizes their fleet and unites their forces with The Resistance. Instead The New Republic is stupidly destroyed because Rian wanted the Rebels to be the Rebels again.(lol this movie is fucking dumb) God forbid we get The New Republic fighting the First Order and making the heroes looking strong in force instead of stupidly having all the Rebels fit inside the Falcon. For the love of fucking god I hate this fucking timeline.

As for The Imperial Remnant. Thrawn, and Rae Sloane would lead the fleets and Darth Plagueis and the Knights Of Ren would would be in command of the dark side.

Do you have any idea how fucking frustrated it was to play The Battlefront games with The Resistance who are just discount Rebels? They look fucking pathetic.

JUST LOOK AT THE NEW REPUBLIC IN THE MANDALORIAN!!!!!!!! SO MUCH POTENTIAL!

Oh and just look at the NR Troopers from Legends and fan concepts

SO. MUCH. POTENTIAL!

As for the New Jedi Order.

Ya’ll were sitting on a GOLDMINE with the New Jedi Order. You murdered the goose which laid thegolden egg. Imagine proper video games, novels, animations, films in that era. Think about all of the unique characters and designs we could’ve seen, all the unique toys they could have sold, plus they could’ve centered Galaxy’s Edge around becoming a Jedi, building your own lightsaber, and undergoing training at Luke’s academy. I know they have a lightsaber-building thing there currently, but it would’ve made a lot more sense if they could’ve tied it in to the new trilogy with the New Jedi Order. Plus, Mark Hamill was the only one of the major OT actors who was willing to continually reprise his role well into the future, and they reduced Luke’s role to a cameo in 2/3 sequel movies and ruined his character and killed him off in the other one. They could’ve kept Luke around for several more decades and thrown him in to as many TV series, video games, and movies as they wanted to, and people would’ve flocked to see or purchase whatever he’s in, because it’s freaking Luke Skywalker. Destroying the New Jedi Order offscreen and ruining and killing off Luke Skywalker were the two dumbest decisions made with the sequel trilogy. They could’ve made BILLIONS off of this stuff. The continued pre-trilogy and post-trilogy stories, the toys, the merchandising, the video games, the books and comics, everything. What makes matters worse is that as I said, Mark Hamill was the only one who wanted to continue with his role,( Also he is an accomplished voice actor so he would have done well in the animated stuff, which also gives him opportunities to do action scenes without being young) he honestly probably would’ve been willing to reprise Luke up until he was in his 80s or even into his 90s, hell, Billy Dee Williams was just over 80 when he reprised Lando in TROS, and Luke wouldn’t even need an action-heavy role as he got older, as the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order, he’d be able to have a similar role to Yoda in the prequels and The Clone Wars, where he provides wisdom and guidance the majority of the time, but he every once in a while he steps into battle, while the new characters go on the vast majority of the adventures. They really shit the bed with these new movies, because using the New Jedi Order with Luke as Grandmaster would’ve made them BILLIONS. I truly don’t understand how such a money-hungry corporation could’ve missed out on this, because using the NJO would’ve been like printing money. It’s genuinely baffling.

We could’ve had it all

Source

For story purposes. It could’ve been like this.

Luke starts to rebuild the Jedi by training his sister Leia. Leia could not fully commit to the Jedi because she had to lead the Republic as Chancellor, but she is made an honorary member on his Jedi Council. Leia would agree to be trained as a Jedi Master. Leia has a Yellow Lightsaber she keeps hidden should the moment arises. Leia’s most powerful force ability is Battle Meditation. After training Leia, Luke eventually encountered The Emperor’s Hand Mara Jade. Their dynamic and romance would be the same as in Legends. Eventually after Ezra Bridger returns, Ahsoka Tano, Cal Kestis, and Ezra Bridger return and join Luke’s Jedi order. The Jedi council would be this. Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Mara Jade, Ahsoka Tano, Cal Kestis and Ezra Bridger. The new Jedi Order embrace both the Light and Dark Sides Of The Force instead of repeating the mistakes of the Jedi of old and so balance can be brought to the force. Balance would mean understanding both aspects of the force and you can indulge in your anger and more toxic emotions, but you can’t let them rule you and when you can come to peace with that, that’s when you have balance.

Also, Luke’s Jedi order would include multiple aliens species from Wookies, Twi'leks, Iridonians, Trandoshans, Mirialan and you get the picture.

Finn would be a mix of Kyle Katarn and Finn Galfridian.

For those not familiar with either character. Kyle Katarn, a self taught force sensitive who was a former Imperial Stormtrooper that later became a Jedi Master, Battlemaster and a Jedi Council member. Finn Galfridian, a Jedi who is from Royal background and is part of the New Jedi Order who was being taught by Luke Skywalker Finn could still be a Stormtrooper that chose empathy and to walk away, this results in Finn becoming Force Sensitive and brought to be trained by Grogu. We would later find out that Finn is a lost prince of Royalty stolen by The Imperial Remnant. Perhaps, in this scenario. Finn could be the lost Prince of Naboo. Finn would of course continue fighting in the war, but with Artorias on the New Republic’s side, they will gave more funding and at least another ally. It would also provide Finn the ability to have a home for the Stormtroopers after Finn liberates the Stormtroopers from the Remnant. Finn could allow the Stormtroopers that still want to fight to serve in the Naboo military. The Naboo having weak defenses could greatly benefit from having trained soldiers serve them and if the Stormtroopers would prefer a peaceful life, Finn can offer them a civilian lifestyle away from the judgment the rest of the galaxy would give them for their past, even offering them reparations.

Also, Finn would find love with best damn pilot in The New Republic, Poe Dameron!

Luke and Mara would have a daughter. Kira Jade Skywalker(who of course would be Rey) she would grow up loved, with her family and with the Jedi. They would all truly be With her.

Ben Solo, Breha Solo(Played by Billie Lourd) and Jaina Solo(played by Millie Bobby Brown) would be the Solo children. Ben, Breha, and Jaina would all grow up close and would thrive as Jedi while their parents would visit and shower them with the love they would naturally receive from Han and Leia as their parents and Han and Leia would stand strong together leading The New Republic

You could have Ben Solo being the most promising of Luke’s Jedi Knights. He can either stay as a Jedi or choose The Imperial Remnant and become Kylo Ren. The Jedi Order is split between the Jedi loyal to Luke and those loyal to Ben. I will say Ben’s fall would be similar to Jacen’s. Because he sensed something terrible coming. The Grysk. He feels that the Jedi and the NR would not be enough. So he gives in to Darth Plagueis and leads the Knights Of Ren. But when The Grysk attack, Ben shows us his true colors and returns to his family to fight The Grysk and unites both The New Republic and Remnant.

If Ben doesn’t turn to the dark side, Ben would stay true to the Jedi and his family. Ben would lead the Jedi to face the Knights Of Ren and destroy Plagueis.

Together Kira, Ben, Breha, Jaina and Finn would rise together and destroy Darth Plagueis and end the Sith once and for all.

But that’s not the end, because The Grysk would invade the galaxy.

Towards the end of the Trilogy, The NR and FO will join forces to fend off The Grysk invasion. Sloane will call for a cease fire and signing a treaty with Leia, where The NR and FO align their forces and build The Galactic Federation. Building a better galaxy together. Leia's vision for a Republic and Sloane's virtues for the Empire.

We get the legacy characters getting treated with respect, we get the new generation built upon and being prepared for the coming war and are all treated as important heroes, we have a FO treated like strong villains and a stronger threat to unite both forces and we have peace in the end. This is how I think the ST should have been handled.

The theme should’ve been family. It’s about how the Skywalkers and Solos lead and protect the galaxy. How well Han, Luke and Leia became after the fall of the Empire and the upbringing of their children. It should end with all is well with the Skywalker and Solo families. Not end in misery.

As Carrie Fisher said

“It’s about family. And that’s what makes it so powerful.”

We could’ve had it all.

#Luke Skywalker #Finnpoe #Anti Lucasfilm #Anti Kathleen Kennedy #Anti Disney #Anti JJ Abrams #Anti Rian Johnson

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mostly-mundane-atla · 4 years ago

Text

Remembered how much I love this Ohtori au and I haven't been able to get this out of my head so:

He didn't make a habit of watching the students leave class, but he caught a peculiar smell by the door and turned to find the source when he should have been getting ready to leave himself.

Roses. He couldn't stand the smell of roses. Like those cryptic letters he received as a student, or those hands that made themselves too comfortable on his shoulders. Sometimes he could still feel the knuckles grazing his cheek, twisting his hair into curls, cooing about princehood, about the adult world and power.... The Car.... The Sister....

But he saw her.

No, not the Sister, the Bride!

He hadn't felt himself launch out of the chair so much as see the girl get closer, even though she was walking away. Same posture, same gait. He hadn't felt his arm extend to grab her shoulder and turn her around. Her face didn't show any annoyance, even, just the same tepid disappointment he always remembered. Eyes that seemed to be somewhere else. Glossy black hair pinned up in a way that reminded him of a 1950s movie star. The same as she always was.

"Sir?" she asked, prompting him to realize he had been staring in complete silence for about a full minute. The other students had all filed out of the classroom and headed to their dorms by then. They were alone and his breathing echoed off the walls.

"I met you," he said, still trying to string the words together, "generations ago. You attended this school when I did. The student council, the duels, you were... you gave out the...."

She had thorns around her neck and all down her arms then, skirts that seemed to be made of giant petals. How the image huanted him, how her silent glare that he swore held back tears jolted him from sleep for years and years.

"Why aren't you older?!?" he spat out. His grip tightened to where he squeazed all blood from his knuckles, but her face didn't betray any pain.

"Sir, I have to study," she said, plain as day. "I have a test tomorrow."

He let go of her but did not turn away. She did and gracefully walked to her dorm like the others. Her shoulders would definitely bruise, but she didn't seem to notice. Her steps sounded down the hall, but the scent didn't fade. He turned to gather his things, and there it was on his desk.

A rose, damned thing, a white one, with the stem trimmed. Just long enough to pin to your pocket.

The duels.

No.

The delicate perfume was nauseating and in one smooth motion he swept the rose's severed bloom into the trash basket by his feet.

Those awful duels.

He didn't like to remember, but oh, that smell took him back. The entire way home he remembered the dueling game, letters from End of the World, all of it.

He had settled in his on-campus accomodated room, leaning back in a soft chair he found both ugly and only moderately comfortable. Memories of his time as a student at Ohtori were normally so distant, shapeless, as if made of smoke or water that tinted the sun a different color. A good half of the time he was convinced they were just recurring dreams. He prefered it that way. They were not pleasant times, barring a few scattered moments. But it all came rushing back, clear as a bell and loud as Judgment Day.

He had an old photograph of them and even kept it in a frame. It seemed like the right thing to do. He'd put it on his nightstand, but flipped it down when the nightmares came back. It only took a few days. He held it in his hands, mentally reciting the names.

Bumi, always talking philosophical nonsense; Piandao, the youngest but perhaps most studious; Kanna, sweet but not to be trifled with; Pakku, arrogant like no other; Iroh, the Prince; Hama, the anger boiling under the surface may have been all that kept her alive.

Could they even be called friends? "Colleagues" or even "accomplices" felt more appropriate. Iroh was everyone's friend, competitive and boastful, but always happy with polite conversation. Hama was only interested in sharing kindness with Kanna and intended on knocking everyone else down a peg. These were the extremes of the scale.

And the girl seated on a chair in the center of the sanding student council, perfect posture and ankles crossed just so. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were unfocused and distant, but they seemed to him to be contemplating escape. And of course, her signature not-quite-frown. There was no doubt to be had that she was the same girl he saw leaving class.

Our Rose Bride, Mai.

But how? He had ruled out the idea that she could be a granddaughter to the Mai he met all those years ago. He had Kanna's granddaughter in his class, a Miss Katara Penatac who had refused to take off that tacky rose ring that student council members still wore. In her own gentle yet professionally insistant tone, she pointed out that the dresscode did not forbid rings, only limited the wearer to one on each hand for practicality. She said she would be happy to comply if the headmaster agreed that she hadn't any right to wear her ring, but until then she was quite sure it was protected as per the school rulebook she was given when she had been enrolled.

He had seen what had happened with teachers who pushed her too far. All the gentleness melted away and she began shouting and calling them tyrants. She wasn't quite charismatic enough to get the students to rally behind her, but none defended the teacher either. From that point on those teachers began to lose the stundents' respect, little by little. Definitely Kanna's, and looking at her likeness at that age the resemblance was obvious, but a resemblance isn't a copy. Not like with Mai.

He moved the picture to his other hand, and notice he had covered his own face with his thumb. That's right, he was barely in this photo and almost argued that he should take it. Much of his left side wasn't even in frame. He'd hoped they would ask him to leave, that they would find him too weak or too cowardly -- he couldn't even gather the courage to leave on his own just yet -- but their mercy was relentless.

He'd managed to win one of the duels, to win the Rose Bride, once. She became his roommate after that, somehow, in spite of that not being allowed. She scrubbed the dorm and polished his shoes and made him tea that didn't taste as good as he'd hoped. It felt off but entirely harmless until she insisted on sharing a bed. Her eyes, they weren't hollow or empty like many said they were. Some part of her was very aware that she was keeping herself in people-pleaser mode and it seemed to him that part wanted to cry out and scream. He cautiously acquiesced, but when she started touching him, he moved to the other bed. When she followed, he insisted on sleeping on the floor. When he awoke, he saw she had fallen asleep at the very edge of the bed. Her arm draped off the side and her pinky finger curled around his. He lost the next duel and told himself it was an accident. After that he grew more and more disinterested.

"I don't get it, Jeong Jeong," Iroh had said to him once after sparring. "Your form is good but you never follow through."

"Maybe I just don't want to hurt anyone," he replied.

"Of course you won't hurt anyone! It's just a game."

And it was just a game, until it wasn't. Until the warped half of Dios, and his car rides in the dark, his hands and words, memories of which still stuck to his mind like grime under fingernails. How he had tried to make it all seem silk and silver, but it was actually only made of rot and impossible promises.

And there was a new student council.

Wearing the same rings.

With the same Rose Bride.

He had often asked himself why he came back. The academy caused him nothing but pain and perhaps even ought to be shut down. He'd told himself it was to protect students from what had befallen him. How could he say that when it was all happening before his eyes? Had he dared hope these children had the courage that he didn't in the same situation? That they would come to him for guidance? The photo felt suddenly too heavy so he returned it to its place: face down on the nightstand.

If there's one thing Iroh was correct about, it was the power of comfort, and especially the comfort to be found in a cup of tea. Jeong Jeong filled his electric kettle with enough water for one cup and grabbed a mug with a little wire basket tucked inside. The tea he saved for such occasions was a hand-blended loose leaf from France. It was eqaul parts green and white tea, with bits of lavender and mint and he kept it in little ceramic jar.

But when he opened the cupboard, his tea jar was missing, and in its place was one of glass. Filled with dried rose petals and blooms.

The stems on them only just long enough to pin to a breast pocket.

"What in the world?" He could hear the water building itself up in the kettle. A breath more than a whistle. "Who could have...?"

He pushed past the aversion and reached for it to throw it out. No need to present it to the headmaster, a simple complaint would do. But the jar wore its own crown of thorns the same color as the lid just under the mouth, and his old eyes couldn't see the difference between them. The unexpected pain was enough to make him drop it. It shattered just as the kettle began to screech. Long dead roses made to maintain their shape rather than rot as nature intended spilled out at his feet.

Among them, a letter with that same dreaded rose seal. It was addressed "to the Boy who was Not a Prince, but remembers a Witch from his past," in ink not yet dry.

He stood there staring with that ear-splitting whistling in the background, petrified. He shut off the kettle and swept the glass shards and crumbling rose matter into the garbage. The letter found itself in his hands. It smelled like the others, and the handwriting matched, from what he remembered. Who had seen him recognize the girl?

Somehow, Mai was still a student at Ohtori Academy, and Jeong Jeong had to wonder. If he had fought for her as Iroh had until he won his something eternal, if he had said anything to her about being her own person, would she have grown up with them? If he had given her reason to leave, as he had only left the student council a day after that car ride, would she have freed herself of this place? Why did he come back to teach all those years ago? He told himself it was to protect new generations of students, but that couldn't be true, could it? Was it penance for penance's sake?

He held the letter, positioning his thumbnail to peal off the seal as if it was instinct. He hesitated. Why should its contents matter? What good could possibly come of it?

"Perhaps I'm chasing after what should have been," he admitted to himself.

He lit the damn thing on fire, holding it over the sink in case he dropped it. He watched the little flame lick at and devour the envelope and the pages inside. The scent of roses was gradually overpowered with the scent of smoke.

"Perhaps I'm hiding from the world." Embers lept off the paper and put themselves out in the drain. "Hiding in what I already know."

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla au #other interests #revolutionary girl utena #iroh's something eternal was fatherhood; he was promised that he would forever love and be loved by his future son #but that became a curse when Lu Ten died #narration is full of snark and salt because Jeong Jeong is a hater and we love him for that

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hcywards · 5 years ago

Text

love — jj maybank

summary: in which jj maybank didn’t know how many types of love there were until y/n l/n asked exactly what type of love he felt for her

words: 2.4k+

t/w: swearing, a fight — blood mentions, and literally one mention of abuse that you won’t notice unless you squint, kissing, underage drinking

note: uhhh so this is my first fic and i don’t know how i feel about it but i’m a whore for jj so here we are

Y/N had known JJ Maybank since she was four.

At four years old, thinking isn’t something you do often, and it was barely ever done with them. They did, rather than thought. They’d kiss each other’s cheeks as if it were nothing, change in front of one and another, sleep in the same bed. Hell, there were times when they’d had baths together.

And the not thinking did work for a while. They didn’t think for a few years, and those few years were perhaps the most stress free years they’d ever experienced, because, when you don’t think, you don’t worry, and everything is carefree and happy.

But there comes a time in your childhood when your not-thinking years come crashing down on you, and you have to think everything from the past few years through entirely. Suddenly, those cheek kisses could mean a lot more than just cheek kisses, but they could also just mean cheek kisses. Changing in front of each other couldn’t happen, because that meant more than ‘my clothes are soaked so I’m going to change them’; it meant ‘I have to undress in front of you’. Sleeping in the same bed? That had more connotations than imaginable. And, God forbid, sharing a bath? A pair of nine-year-olds couldn’t do that, no matter how close they were.

When you first start thinking before doing, you don’t think that you could think any more than you do, but that had to be the most incorrect idea anyone’s ever had, because, now, sixteen-year-old Y/N seemed to do nothing but thinking, all the time.

Which was how she came to the conclusion she was in love with her best friend.

It was a conclusion she hated, and she wished she could turn back time and stop herself from thinking it, but she couldn’t, and now, every time she saw him, it was the only thing she was able to think — that she was in love with him, but he simply loved her.

They’d drifted slightly as they grew older. They were still close, but not quite as much as they used to be, due to the thinking they both did. They were still in the same friend group, but JJ wouldn’t consider her his best friend any more. That place went to John B. And, as much as Y/N wished she could call JJ her best friend still, she knew that Kie was hers, not him.

But did she wish she could still call him just her best friend? Did she not want him to be her boyfriend? Would she be able to stop herself from telling him everything if he was her best friend?

There she went with the thinking again, the thinking she’d come to despise. She ran a hand over her face to bring herself out of her thoughts, taking a sip of her stale beer and looking out over the party. She then decided that idea was awful and tore her eyes back away from the scene quickly; she’d looked over at the dancing bodies and seen JJ with that stupidly beautiful blonde touron more times than she wanted to count, and she didn’t want to make the heart-wrenching mistake again.

So, instead, her eyes went on the fire she was sat in front of, and she watched its flames dance in front of her eyes, swallowing back the jealousy that was still bubbling inside of her and instead focusing on the heat that the orange flames rolled over her. She watched it with such intensity she didn’t notice that Kie case to sit by her side, and jumped when the girl began to talk.

“You should tell him,” the girl stated, as if it’d be that easy.

Of course, Y/N wanted to tell him; she’d always wanted to tell him, ever since she found out. She wanted to tell him because she thought that, if she told him, he might stop talking about the last girl he had sex with in front of her, or blatantly hitting on another touron while she was stood right there. Maybe, deep down, part of her hoped he might feel the same, but she knew that part of her was stupid and still thought that a fan fiction reality might come true one day, when there was no way it could ever work. Not for her. And telling him would go awfully — it would probably tear them apart more than they already were, and Y/N didn’t want that to happen, ever. She wanted to have the ability to laugh with him, and drink with him and smoke with him and talk about when they were kids with him, not have it be awkward with him and only see him when she absolutely had to. So, she turned to Kiara with an eye roll, an exasperated expression on her face as she prepared for another repeat of the conversation they’d had plenty of times before.

“Kiara,” she sighed, setting her drink by her side and pushing her hair out of her eyes. Kiara smiled bitterly, knowing exactly what her friend was going to say because she’d said it so many times before. “That’s stupid, and you know it. He doesn’t like me back. It’ll just make things awkward between us. And you know the rule.”

“That rule sucks ass, and you know it,” Kiara replied. “Besides, things are already awkward between you because you keep on avoiding him. If you just told him, then maybe—"

There was a loud shout that interrupted her, and the two girls looked up to see a circle of people beginning to form, the word “fight” ringing out around the beach loudly and repeatedly. Y/N and Kiara made eye contact, both rolling their eyes. Of course, every party had to end like this. Why couldn’t they all just go home, and not start punching each other?

They stood up to go see who it was, anyway, pushing their way through the group of drunk teenagers and muttering the occasional sorry when they pushed too hard and sent one stumbling into another, grateful they didn’t manage to start a domino effect around the ring by the time they reached the centre.

There, in the haphazard circle, was JJ and Rafe.

Y/N wondered why she wasn’t surprised as she took another small step forward. Rafe had JJ pinned — obviously, they’d been fighting for a while before Kiara and Y/N heard, and the two girls looked at each other again, wincing at the cracks of Rafe’s knuckles on JJ’s cheeks.

Y/N took another step forward, shrugging Kiara’s warning hand off of her. She’d broken up plenty of fights before, she knew what she was doing. Another step. JJ yelped in pain as a link on Rafe’s watch caught on his skin and ripped it, and more blood tricked down his cheeks, down his neck. It dripped on the sand in a steady pattern, staining the wet grains red. Another step. JJ kicked up at Rafe, trying to flip the pair. Rafe’s grip on him stopped him from doing so, but that didn’t mean he stopped struggling. Another step. JJ’s shirt pulled up to reveal bruising on his ribs — Y/N wasn’t sure whether that was from Rafe or his dad, and she wasn’t sure which one she’d be more content with.

Finally, she reached him, shoving Rafe off of him with an easy kick and grabbing JJ’s hand to pull him up, an irritated but concerned frown on her face as she began pulling him through the crowd, ignoring Rafe’s shouts behind her. Now, she wasn’t thinking — she’d done this so often she didn’t need to think. She could just do, and not pay attention to anything else for once, and, for that, she was grateful.

He stumbled with her as she lead him towards John B’a house, an arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist in their usual way, as if Y/N felt even marginally close to usual. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her lungs constricted and her throat a narrow passageway. Breathing seemed to burn, and with each step she seemed to double in weight and half in speed. JJ’s arm was heavy on her shoulders as he rested a lot of his weight on her, and it took them a long time to reach John B’s — by that point, the other Pogues had joined them, and John B and Pope had managed to get JJ off of Y/N and have themselves take his weight, instead, which increased their pace considerably.

Eventually, they got the near-unconscious boy to lay out across his bed, and Y/N was running to get the rubbing alcohol before anyone else had the time to think, because that was her speciality. She was back at JJ’s side within a second, and only paused when she realised she’d have to be over him to clean his wounds.

He smiled at her, blood in his mouth and trickling down his chin, one eye already bruising and his lids squinted until the point they were almost shut.

She frowned, but decided that thinking would waste time she didn’t have if she wanted to stop anything, and threw one leg over him to straddle him, resulting in him giving her an award-winning smirk that would’ve made her blush scarlet in any other situation.

“You know, if you wanted to—” he began to murmur between the occasional spit of blood, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Shut it, JJ. You’re not attractive when you’ve got blood on your teeth.”

She leant forwards, tipping rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and raising a hand to his face. He hissed when it made contact with his skin, but, having done this many times before, didn’t make another sound, just watched her with red-rimmed eyes. “But I am otherwise?”

Y/N could smell the combination of weed, alcohol and blood on his breath, and grimaced, continuing to dab at his face carefully. Thankful the other Pogues had left the room when she started to straddle him, she muttered back, “That’s not what I said.”

“Really? Because it sounded like it to me.” he retorted. She rolled her eyes, shifting her position above his lap. His hands moved to her waist instinctively, steadying her, and she had to force herself not to gasp at the sudden, unexpected contact. This only caused his smirk to widen, though Y/N was unsure what he was expecting her reaction to be. After all, she’d been talking about how much she wanted to get laid for months, having not had sex since her boyfriend broke up with her over six months ago. “You alright there, Y/N?”

“I hate you,” she murmured, but it stung bitterly as she said it, because it wasn’t true. In fact, it was the opposite of the truth, because, as much as she hated it, she’d been dumb enough to fall in love with her oldest friend, her friend who could have almost any girl he wanted, and would certainly never pick her out of those girls.

JJ responded quietly, his voice teasing but words a painful sting, even though that was the opposite of how he intended them. “You love me.”

Yeah, I do, Y/N thought angrily. She’d spent too many nights wallowing in self pity over her unrequited love, and tonight was the night she decided she was getting over him, because she was fucking fed up of the hurt.

“Aww, don’t be shy about it,” JJ continued joking. “I love you too.”

Y/N had had enough, then, and she looked into his pale blue eyes, lit only dimly by the faint moonlight. Y/N doubted it’d matter; she knew his face better than she knew her own. And his eyes? She could tell you every single seemingly unnoticeable detail about them. Only then did he notice the tears in her’s, threatening to spill. Y/N always cried when she was angry, though, right now, JJ couldn’t tell whether she was angry or hurt. Perhaps both.

“Do you love me, or are you in love with me, JJ?” she demanded.

JJ frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Is there a difference?”

Y/N snorted, though it sounded like more of a scoff. “Yes, JJ! Of course there’s a fucking difference! I love my mom, I’m not in love with my mom! But I’m in love with you, JJ, and I wish you were in love with me too, but I know you’re not, and. . .”

By this point, Y/N’s words had drowned into nothing. Her tears were spilling, dripping down her cheeks and onto the pair of them. Her lip wobbled as she spoke, eyes having left him as she started talking and now refusing to land anywhere near him, flitting from one corner of the room to the other.

JJ wasn’t focussed on that, though, he was focussed on his sudden realisation that maybe he might be in love with Y/N. Maybe the anger he’d felt when she started dating her last boyfriend hadn’t been anger at all — maybe it’d been jealously. And maybe all of those glances he sent her way whenever she looked particularly pretty weren’t just platonic admiration, maybe they were romantic adoration. And maybe when he wanted to hug her for longer than the other Pogues, it wasn’t because they were best friends, it was because he wanted to be as near to her as possible for as long as possible because he loved Y/N L/N.

And holy shit, if that realisation wasn’t a big one.

JJ didn’t think before he was grabbing her damp cheeks and pulling her face to his. He was glad he didn’t, because, then, he might’ve thought himself out of it, like Y/N had done so many times before.

Her lips were soft against his, and it felt a thousand times different to any girl he’d ever kissed. When she pulled back, he found himself chasing after her mouth, wanting more — and then immediately blushing when he realised what he’d done because he’d never done that before. She was looking at him with a confused frown on her face, lips slightly parted and tears still slowly trickling down her cheeks, between JJ’s fingers and along his cracked skin.

“What the hell was that?” she asked.

JJ grinned, the shithead grin Y/N hated to admit she loved. “A kiss, stupid.”

“Yeah but. . . why’d you kiss me?” Y/N questioned, heart racing in her chest as she waited impatiently for the answer.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

#outer banks imagine #obx imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #obx jj #obx x reader #popcsheywards

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Note

any word on how btw!rhys becomes super extra shitty canon!rhys? 👀👀👀

Ohhh yes, lots of words!

So, there's little on btw!Rhys in the actual story (because I cut out his pov, because I couldn't stand writing him as somewhat nice), but basically, during his youth, it's considered cool for young Fae nobles to be very progressive in their mindset and with their plans for how they want to rule. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the War. Everyone wants to change the world, abolish the class system, create equality. Basically, every Fae noble under 100 wants to be like Drakon. This never quite makes it into the story becuse the protagonists are all far more concerned with actually winning the War.

But well, Rhys is in the fortunate position of being friends with the people who are (without really noticing) at the head of this movement. This friendship is more of an accident (the only reason Miryam and the others ever noticed Rhys was that he is Mor's cousin, and close to their age, and they are never quite as close as Rhys later likes to pretend. They certainly aren't as equal. Miryam, Jurian and Drakon are arguably the most important people in the Alliance, each the best in their areas. Miryam started the war and led the Alliance. Even Mor, emissary to the Night Court and friend to all of them, held indefinitely more power than Rhys. He was just a common commander. But oh, how he liked to pretend he was just like them.) But anyways, Rhys enjoys the standing this gives him. He also kind of enjoys feeling rebellious against his father - being friends with people he hates, part of a movement that goes against everything he believes, is the very definition of rebellion for Rhys.

After the War is over, Rhys keeps the pro-equality mindset, partially because it annoys his father, partially because being able to say "I was friends with Miryam and Drakon" gives him a certain amount of standing (and oh, does he hate to always be only a footnote in their story), and partially because he genuinely believes in equality. However, his actions never quite match his mindset. Even during the War, he didn't try to earn the respect of the Illyrians he was to lead, didn't try to compromise and work with them, he commanded them through force. And after the War, the "blunt force" approach continues on. He never goes to university to the Continent, never learns their way of looking at things, he stays in Prythian and studies under his father, learns his way of ruling.

And then, about 150 years after the War, Rhysand's father dies and he becomes High Lord. Rhys mourns his family, but he also rejoices at finally, finally becoming High Lord, finally having real power. And oh, is he going to use it. (To his credit, he genuinely wants to be better than his father was.)

One of the first things he does is to visit Miryam and Drakon on Cretea (a visit only possible now that his father is dead). By that time, things on Cretea are working somewhat smoothly, and Rhys is... well, somewhat amazed. But above all, he decides that he is going to do better. (Outdoing Miryam and Drakon is something Rhys, whether he admits it or not, always wanted. 150 years of being a footnote, a friend to people who were so much more, now he is going to be the one to make history.)

He thinks he can do it, too. In his mind, he was always better than Drakon, who is largely the one responsible for making things on Cretea work. Rhys learned to value brute strength, cunningness and manipulation. Drakon doesn't have any of that, so in Rhysand's mind, it is clear that he is going to be better. (As for Miryam... well, Rhys always enjoyed being the most powerful and the smartest person in the room. With Miryam around, he was neither and even though she is the only reason he survived the war, a part of him always resented that.) So Rhys brushes off Drakon's offer for help, advice, anything he might need, and returns to the Night Court. Not without first boasting about all he is going to achieve.

The first thing he does is appoint his cousin and his two Illyrian brothers as members of his Inner Circle. When the other advisors disagree, he fires them. The Hewn City rises up in opposition. Rhysand, all brute strength (just like his father taught him), kills the rebels. Murder, as usual, doesn't lead to peace. He turns to the Illyrians. Not a hint of understanding, not a negotiation, he orders them to change their entire culture in a day. Women are to train. No more wing-clipping. Bastards no longer thrown out into the snow. (All good ideas, but none quite as easy as Rhys likes to think.) Within a months, the Illyrians rallied forces in opposition. Who is he to give them orders, this man who got so many of them killed in the War? ("But I put two of yours in charge," Rhys insists, thinking it representation and ignoring that the Illyrians never chose Azriel and Cassian to lead them.) Rhys, once again, answers with violence. Kills the leaders, forces the rest back into their camps. His next attempt to change things in the Hewn City (end forced marriages, give rights to women and servants) goes equally awry. Another rebellion, more deaths.

By the time it is over, Rhys is done. He signs a treaty with Keir, allowing him to largely govern himself. Pulls Mor back from the Continent where she worked as emissary and puts her in charge of the Hewn City. (Relationships with the Continent, previously good, get worse and worse. Mor, who had been friends with so many of the Continental leaders in the War, who had learned their ways, was respected amongst Continental royalty. The new emissary isn't.) Rhys bans wing clipping for the Illyrians, but goes back on all other demands.

The Night Court, he decides, cannot be governed with a soft hand. He keeps his Court of Dreams (oh, how ironic the name has become) and Velaris, spends most of his time in his City of Starlight where he can pretend to be the ruler he always wanted to be. He becomes, although he will deny it to his last day, just like his father was. Cold. Cruel. Uncaring.

He comes up with excuses, millions of excuses. He did his best. He could never have succeeded. Miryam and Drakon did it, but the Seraphim were always more open-minded than the Illyrians. They had the advantage of peace, of being isolated from the ouside, on their side. They didn't have to reform a corrupt court. If they'd been in his place, they would have failed as well. They had it easier. He knows, deep down, that they didn't.

He never returns to Cretea, forbids Mor from going. (Too risky, he claims. The truth is that if he goes, he won't be able to keep up his lies. Deep down, knows all too well that he never had it harder, that his way of ruling is wrong.) Nothing can ever be allowed to shatter his illusion. Some days, he even believes it himself.

Amarantha happens. Excuses upon excuses for actions he knows to be inexcusable. Most people think him crueller than his father now. Amarantha gets killed. Another rebellion, another swath of his own subjects he murders for treason. (He never learned to compromise, to listen. Never understood that rebellion doesn't happen without reason.)

Hybern's threat looms on the Continent and Mor suggests they go to Cretea, ask for help. It would be the logical course of action. It would mean an army far larger than their own, and a chance to rally the Continent. (It would mean having to explain 350 years of silence. All the blood on his hands. It would mean needing to explain the Illyrians and the Hewn City and the fact that he is just like his father. Having to explain that he married a girl of nineteen. He thinks Drakon might believe him he is wrong, but then, as he usually is, but Miryam was never one for excusing inexcusable deeds.) "They wished to remain hidded", he lies, thinking that he should at least be able to win this one war on his own.

When he looks at Tarquin, young and honest, full of plans he will surely manage to get to work, he thinks of Drakon. More excuses. "Tarquin with his neutral court will always have it easier," he says to Feyre. And she believes him. She looks at him and sees a good person in him. She believes his excuses, his carefully spun lies. She thinks he is good, and that anyone who says otherwise is wrong. He loves her for it.

During the charade that is the meeting with the queens, he has Feyre play Miryam (a young woman with ties to both the humans and the Fae, with unusual powers. He makes her emissary on top of it, thinking it's the closest he can come). Another War, that's the image he wants to send. He is going to unite humans and Fae, he will rally the Continent. Neither works. (He never understood.) The war effort crashes and burns around him. He can barely unite Prythian. But Feyre is there, worshiping him like a god, believing his every lie, never noticing all the ways he failed. His friends are there, backing him up. And he is fighting for the right thing, isn't he? Surely that makes him a good person. Deep down, he knows it doesn't.

#cinaja talks about before the wall #lyn

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

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Californian Dream (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.9 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

<- Previous part (01)

Next part (03) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Open Book

You're checking your hair for the third time on the huge mirror in the main hall. The lilac dress fits you perfectly, of course, since your mother wouldn't allow you to buy anything that didn't look marvelous. Your hair, Amelia's doing, it pinned up on a high bun, a few strands allowed to be free, only to frame your face. But you can't wait to let it all down, to strip out of the dress and put on some normal clothes. The night would be doomed if it wasn't for Billy. Since the almost drowning incident, your father is very thankful, and he's even giving Billy generous tips. And you've been going out of your way to talk to him, offering help, even though he always refuses. And Michael is only allowed here on formal occasions when your father and his have business to discuss, so it means you haven't seen him in the last couple of days.

The bell ring drags you out of your thoughts, and you immediately get nervous. Taking a look at the clock, you notice he's right on time. Rushing to the front door, as fast as your high heels allow, you gesture for the butler to leave it to you, and he nods and walks away. Taking a deep breath, you pull the door open, and a smile comes to your lips straight away. Billy looks amazing, and in this suit, people will be talking for a very different reason. He'll get many stares, you're sure of it. He won't look misplaced, he'll be the center of all attentions.

“You... Clean up real nice.” As you stutter, you notice as he quickly runs his eyes through your body, making you blush.

“You too.” He says with a smile, before tilting his head towards the car. “Should we get going? I'm sure you'd hate to be late.”

“Oh, no. God forbid.” You say, sarcastically, making your way to his car. And what a car. A dark bluish Camaro, if you're not mistaken, which you think suits him perfectly. “Hey, what a machine, huh?” You exclaim as you get into the passenger seat. Billy walks around the car before settling down beside you.

“I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you may drive.” Giving you a glance and a small smile, he speeds away, through the rocky path that leads to the gates.

“Well, my pink Cadillac is not as badass as this baby here.”

“A pink Cadillac? That's girly.”

“I'm a girl if you haven't noticed.” He slows down at the gates, and you kindly waves at the security guard as you move to hit the street.

“I noticed, don't worry.” His Camaro makes a wild noise when he speeds up, flying through the road, so you decide to buckle up.

“Good.” Why does it makes you happy you know he noticed you're a girl? “So, what's her name?” You ask, gesturing at the car when Billy gives you a confused glance.

“She doesn't have one.” Chuckling, he turns his attention back at the road ahead. “But you're right, she should have a name.”

“What are the chances you'll let me chose it?” Moving on your seat a little to turn your body towards him, you bite your lip to see his smile.

“Only if you come up with something really good.”

“Lily.” You burst out.

“Absolutely not.”

“But is my favorite flower and it's beautiful.” Defending yourself, you can't keep the smile from your face.

Billy furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head lightly. “Nope. No way. You're not naming my car Lily.”

Since he seems very focused on the road, you get the chance to look at him. Your eyes run through his face, his cheeks, jawline, lips. His eyes, that you concluded, are the same color as the ocean. You wish you had a good excuse to look at them, just for a while. “Not even if I say please?”

“Not even if you make puppy eyes.”

With a dramatic eye roll, you decide to give up on the matter, for now at least. Half an hour later, you finally get to the hotel where the gala will happen. You advise Billy to park his car three blocks away since it'll be a lot easier to leave after the party is over. Then, you leave the car and walk the rest of the way. The hotel entrance is already crowded, and you know at least half of all these people, but so far, you haven't spotted any of your friends.

“Can I hold your arm? Just because that's how the dates walk around in these things.” Shyly, you ask as you climb up the stairs to the main hall.

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” Muttering, you take his arm, now already at the entrance. The two men by the door give you a nod, gesturing for you to get inside. People know you, there's no need to ask for an invitation. The hotel's hall is beautifully decorated, with tiny white and yellowish lights scattered through the walls, and then hanging, coming all together on the chandelier. You can't deny it looks amazing, but still, you'd rather be somewhere else. “So... That's how it happens.” You start, walking around with Billy. “We find our table, and on the way, we make sure to spot and greet some people. The goal is to make your presence known. Then, since it's a beneficial gala, I'll have to make a donation.” Shrugging your shoulders, you wave at one of your mother's friends. “Then we go to our table and endure the rest.”

“No dancing?” He asks, after a small pause you make to greet Mr. and Mrs. Whayland, and thankfully, not James.

“I don't dance on these things, but...” Letting go of his arm for a moment, you turn around until you facing him, slowly walking backwards. “I will if you let me name your car Lily.”

“No dancing then.” He simply says with a smirk. “Quit it. You won't–” Billy suddenly grabs your arms, pulling you to the side. When you look behind you, you notice you almost hit one of the waiters, his tray full of vol-au-vents. “Careful.”

“Oh, my gosh. Sorry.” Giggling and a little embarrassed, you give the young man an apologetic look. “Let me get these.” Reaching out your hand, you take two pieces, handing one over to Billy. “Try this.”

“What is that?”

“Vol-au-vents. Some French thing. It's a pastry with some kind of sauce. It's good.” Carefully not to drop any sauce on your dress, you give the small thing a bite, gesturing for Billy to do the same, eyes focused on his face as he eats. “So?”

“I like pizza better.” He concludes and you nod.

“You're definitely the best date I could find.” Taking his arm again, you pull him to the table where most of the food is placed. There are waiters here too, making sure it's always be full. “Now, chose something.”

You take a quick glance at his face as he thinks. You're happy he doesn't seem so out of place here, or at least he doesn't let it show. “Shrimp cocktails.” He says. “Are they as good as they look or will I be disappointed?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm allergic to shrimp so if you're planning to kill me, that's the fastest way to do it.” Halfway through your sentence, Billy stops on his tracks, his hand now just hovering over the shrimps. “But you can eat them. Just... For real, don't touch me with that hand.”

“Let's not risk it then.”

“Alright.” Blushing, you clear your throat. You did hear some stories about Billy, mostly from your friends, trying to talk you out of coming with him. Billy has a way with women, never really going out with the same more than a couple of times. He's up late partying, punching people in the face when they get on his nerves, stuff like that. But he's being very nice with you today and was kind enough to make this hell of a huge favor. You don't care what he does in his free time, he's a nice guy. “This over here.”

“Brandy snaps.” You say, taking one for yourself. “I love this.” Some of the chocolate gets on your thumb as you eat, so you suck it clean, a gesture that makes some people around give you a disapproving stare. Flustered, you turn back at the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yup. Come, I want to make a donation and sit down.” The incident makes you a little upset. These rules, as stupid as they may be, are meant to be followed, mostly on an event like this. Not even silly accidents as getting some chocolate cream on your thumb are acceptable. When you get to the table, you ignore the line of people behind it, taking one of the paychecks and a pen, you start writing down. “Last time, I donated fifty cents. As a joke, you know. People only do this to show off how much money they can afford to give away.” You tell Billy as you sign down your name. “My mother gave me a hell of a lecture.”

“So how much will you donate now?” He asks, coming a little closer to read what you're writing.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty dollars?”

“Twenty thousand.” You say as you put down the value, sliding it into the rectangular glass box. When you move to take Billy's arm again, he has his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Nothing. It's just a lot of money.”

Not really, but you won't tell him that. “At least it'll buy something someone needs. Our table is by the windows, thank God.” You exclaim once you finally read your name on a piece of paper attached to the centerpiece of the table. Pulling Billy with you, you take a seat, your eyes immediately finding the beach, just across the street. “We can see the beach from here. A total win.”

“(Y/N)?” Your father calls, and you abandon the ocean for a while, finding him standing beside your mother.

“Hi, dad. Mom. How's the organization of–”

“Is he your companion for the gala?” He cuts you off, exchanging a glance with Billy. You knew they'd be mad, but something just clicks inside you. Through the corner of your eyes, you see Billy immediately looks away, at the beach.

“Yes, father.”

“Didn't you had other guys to–” He's interrupted by an announcement, his and your mother's being called alongside several other people. “We'll discuss this later.” And he leaves, your mother only giving you a hard stare.

“I bet it won't be pretty when you get home,” Billy speaks, still looking through the window. “They might even ask for someone else to attend to your pool.”

“Well, if it wasn't you working that day, I could've drowned so... I'll make sure to remind them of that.” Then, everybody stands up. You, taking the chance, walk closer to the window, arms crossed, forcing your eyes to find where the horizon is, now mixed with the dark sky. Soon, Billy joins you, eyes on the landscape. “Sorry about that. I swear I don't understand why is such a big deal.” You do get it's because he's just the pool guy, an employee, but still, it's stupid. Why can't he be your date? Would your father rather Michael, who almost got you killed, came with you? “I... I'm having a good time with you. This would suck a lot more if I were with some of those idiots.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm used to it.”

“You shouldn't be.” Turning around, you rest your back against the glass, gesturing at the party in general. “Do you know why people make such exaggerated donations? Because the five highest paychecks will be announced, so everyone will know. And you think people will find that selfless and generous? No. They'll start counting, calculating how much those people actually have on the bank to afford to spend so much.” There's a mocking tone on your voice, and you struggle to keep it down. “This isn't about helping those in need, is about social status.”

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Billy suddenly says, and the idea is so absurd it makes you chuckle, looking at him.

“What?” Looking around, you shake your head. “I can't... I can't just leave.”

“Why not?” He shrugs his shoulders. “You donated, your parents already know you came, and some woman gave you a death stare just because you sucked some chocolate off your thumb. You achieved all your goals for the night.”

Tilting your head to the side and looking at the floor, you consider it. The night is far from over, and the thought of having to sit here for hours is horrible. And the possibility of leaving thos place makes your heart beat faster. “Where?”

“There.” When you look up at him again, he's gesturing at the beach.

Slowly, a smile comes to your lips. Quickly scanning through the people, you notice they're quite focused on the host, who's still speaking. “Alright, let's go. But we gotta be careful.”

“We will. C'mon.” Billy grabs your hand, moving through the tables, but remaining near the wall. As you keep his pace, you're on high alert, checking if anyone is looking your way. It feels like it takes forever for you to reach the entrance, only half open, but when you do, you're relieved to notice those two men aren't here.

“We're out!” You burst out, quite loudly, bringing a hand to cover your mouth. Quickly, you rush downstairs, walking around the huge fountain and right into the sidewalk. You make a small pause, waiting for some cars to pass by before crossing. You can't stop smiling when you reach the other side. That's when you notice you're still holding his hand, so you let go, looking away. “I can't believe we're doing this.”

“It's not a bid deal.”

“It is for me.” Using his shoulder to balance yourself, you take your high heels off before stepping on the sand. “I never did anything like this.” Feeling the sand under your feet is amazing. This night just got so much better. “You're the best date I could ever find and that's final.” Turning on your heels, you find Billy coming your way, also barefoot.

“A lot of people would disagree.”

“I don't see anyone else here, so their opinion doesn't matter.” Reaching out to your bun, you pull all the pins, letting your hair down and dramatically shaking your head, until the strands fall all over your face. “This feels like freedom.” You giggle, taking a deep breath, aware of how stupid it may sound.

“I don't understand you.” He says, and you open your eyes again, looking at him. Billy walks by, and you quickly move to follow his pacenalong the beach.

“What don't you understand?”

“I met a lot of chicks like you. Rich, wearing rings more expansive than my car, with easy access to anything money can buy and they're happy.” Putting a strand of hair behind your ear, you glance at Billy. His shirt is half unbuttoned under the suit, giving you a glimpse of his chest, and that makes you blush and look ahead again. “But you don't sound happy.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you breathe out, not sure how to answer to that. “I know you probably think I'm just some spoiled rich kid with rich kid's problems who has everything yet wants more–”

“I know people who are just like that.” Billy makes a pause, and you give some more steps before turning around to look at him. “You're not one of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“You're the only boss I ever had who offers help.” As he speaks, a small ripple reaches your feet, and you jump a little before giggling and walking into the water until it reaches your calves, soaking your skirt. “You'll ruin your dress.”

“Mother won't let me wear it again since everyone already saw it so...”

“So... You always do what's expected of you.”

“I'm an open book to you, am I not?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you wonder how did he got there so fast. People don't notice it. You're always in perfect disguise.

“I just know where to look, I guess.”

“Well, I do what's expected of me, yes.” Walking out of the water, you feel the skirts of the dress getting attached to your legs, but you don't mind. “I gave up trying to argue with my parents a long time ago so I just... Follow the rules. One day after the other.” This is sad, you know it. Just mentioning it sucks. Being part of the high society is a privilege, or so they say. But you? You don't have a choice. “The good part is that it's Summer and there's no college. The bad part is that there are some stupid events to attend to, like that gala.”

“I know some people who would kill to be invited for something like that.” Billy tilts his head to where the hotel is.

“If you were somehow enjoying that we can go back.” By the look he gives you, it's quite obvious he wasn't, so you smile, walking closer to him, and pretending to pin your hair up again. “I can just fix this and we can go.”

“That's not my kind of party, don't bother.” He takes both your hands, pulling them away from your hair, causing it to cascade down again.

“And what's your kind of party?”

“You wouldn't like it.”

“Try me. You will never know if you don't take me to one.” The moment you say it, you understand what you meant, and the smile fades from your lips as you both resume your walking. Billy wouldn't take you anywhere else, not somewhere where his friends would see him with you, some wealthy, stupid girl. And your parents would never approve you going somewhere... Different. Somewhere not filled with millionaires. “Nevermind.” You're quick to add. “I throw my own parties. Just blasting music in my bedroom and dancing with myself.”

“So that's where that music comes from.” He chuckles, and you playfully elbow him. “Maybe someday. If your father doesn't kick me out of your property, we might see a little of each other every once in a while.”

“Yeah. You could let me rake some leaves at least, I'm sure I can–” A loud, deafening explosion cuts you short, and you cover both your ears out of instinct. When the impact is over, you turn around, easily finding where the dark smoke and flames are coming from. The hotel. “What the hell.” You're still speaking when a dozen black vans come into your sight, all heading to the hotel. Seconds later, the shootings begin.

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @alwaysadreamingoptimist

#imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #imagine stranger things #stranger things

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hypocrisyofandrewdobson · 4 years ago

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Dobson's Patreon: An Addendum to His Monument of Sins

(The following is a submission from @soyouareandrewdobson, meant to be an addendum to the multi-post submission @ripsinfest made a while back. Ironically, this one also had issues when being submitted, so I’ll be copypasting it here with all the images and links originally intended.)

In 2018, user @ripsinfest wrote a multipart series of posts for THOAD, recounting Dobson’s attempt to establish a patreon in 2015 and how it resulted in failure on a massive scale, to the point that his patreon is arguably “a monument to all his sins”.

Personally I think the post series is extremely well researched, rather “neutral” in terms of tone (letting the posts provided as evidence speak more for themselves than the opinion of the writer) and gives a detailed but quick rundown on what went wrong. Primarily that Dobson overestimated his own “value” as an artist and did NOT attempt to give his few supporters what they wanted through his artwork posted around the time.

I do however want to use the opportunity to also point out at certain obvious things that in my opinion (and likely the opinions of others) added to the failure of the patreon account, that were not accounted for in detail and are primarily related to how the internet perceives popularity and Dobson’s inability to understand, how to “sell” and make himself look good to the public.

To begin with, let’s just point out a certain truth about making money via Patreon: To do so, depends a lot on your popularity as a content creator online. That is simply because the more popular you are, the bigger your fanbase is and as such the more likely a certain percentage of people may be willing to donate money to you and your work in hopes they get something out of it, even if it is just the altruistic feeling of having helped someone they “like”. It doesn’t take a genius to see, how e.g. internet reviewers such as Linkara or moviebob (around 2800 and 4400$ earnings via patreon each month respectively) can make quite some money, while other, more obscure content creator or artists barely make money to go by, earning essentially pocket money at best.

In addition, popularity is fleeting. A few years ago e.g. internet personality Noah Antweiler aka The SpoonyOne managed to earn 5000$ a month via patreon, just shortly after establishing his account. But his lack of content over the years AND his toxic behavior online resulted in a decline of popularity and with it people jumping off his Patreon. As such, Antweiler only earns nowadays around 290$ a month via Patreon and most of that money is likely form people who have forgotten they donate to him in the first place anyway.

And Noah is not the only one who over the course of the last couple of years lost earnings. Brianna Wu makes barely more than he does, despite having once been the “darling” of the internet when the Gamergate controversy was at its peak. Many Bronies who once made more than 2k via video reviews on a show about little horses at the peak of its popularity (2013-15) earn less than 300-800 on average nowadays because interest on the show as well as people talking about it has declined.

Heck, in preparation of writing this piece I found out, that one of the highest grossing patreons nowadays is “The last podcast on the left”, a podcast that earns more than 67k a month by making recordings on obscure and macabre subjects on a regular basis.

So there you have it folks: As the interests of the internet users change, so does the popularity of certain people online and -in case they have a patreon account or similar plattforms- their chances of making money via their content.

Which now brings us back to Dobson, who was not popular at all at that particular time and managed to become even less popular as the months and years passed by.

Sure, Dobson had his fans via deviantart, people knew who he was. But the later was more because of “infamy” than popularity and the number of fans he had accumulated online were representing people interested in him at least since 2005 and did not quite represent his actual present day numbers of supporters at the time.

And mind you, the number of supporters was less than 100k, most of them likely underaged deviantart users. And if my research indicates something, then that most content creators with a halfway decent patreon earning need at least 100k+ followers in total. Because of those fans, only around 1-3% will on average then spend money on you, if you actually create content they enjoy and on a regular basis.

Which brings up the next major problem: Dobson did not create content people enjoyed and that in more than one meaning of the word.

On one hand, as pointed out by ripsinfest, he barely released any content at all over 2015 after a few initial months, despite the fact that he was obviously active online a lot, as shown by his presence on twitter. On the other hand, the few things he did create were not the stuff people wanted.

As an example: If you go to a restaurant and pay for a pizza, you expect the cook to give you a pizza. If however for some reason he just gives you a soda, you get ripped off and never come back. In Dobson’s case, the thing people wanted was not pizza but comic pages. But what he delivered was mostly bland fanart, such as of Disney and Marvel characters crossing over or KorraSami. Sure, a few strips of “So…you are a cartoonist” were still released at the time, but not really many.

To give an overview: Taking the release dates on Dobson’s official SYAC site into account, he released around 16 strips of it between March and August of 2015, the last two being “No Leia” being titled “Zip line”

Afterwards, the next official strip released was “Anything at all” in October of 2016.

Now to be fair, there was at least one more strip at the time Dobson released via patreon, that is also save to see on kiwifarms and other plattforms, which has not been uploaded to his official SYAC page. Likely because he simply forgot about it.

But I think that in itself should tell you something about Dobson’s work ethics when it comes to his webcomics. He promoted his patreon in his own video as a way to ensure he can make comics in a timely fashion again for others to enjoy, but in an environment where certain artists are capable to create multiple strips per week at minimum, Dobson could overall not manage to produce more than 16 over a course of six months, which means an average production of 3 strips per month.

For comparison, Tatsuya Ishida of the infamous sinfest webcomic (a garbage fire of epic proportions from a TERF who I think should be put on a watch list) has produced on average 4 strips per week, including full page Sunday strips, for years and nowadays even releases stuff on a daily basis to pass the covid crisis. So a mad man who wants to see trnas people die, has better work ethics than Dobson.

In other words, people expected Dobson to actually get back into creating comics (with some even expecting a return of Alex ze Pirate), but he got in fact even lazier than before, releasing only SYAC strips and random fanart as a product. Which he then also tried to justify as his choice to make because a) he had mental health issues and b) no one can tell him what to do.

And sure, people do not need to tell you what to do. But when people pay/donate money to you expecting to get a certain product in return, they should get the product. Linkara e.g. by all means doesn’t NEED to review comics to have a fullfilling life, but he got famous for his reviews, people want to see his reviews and they pay him for those reviews. So obviously, he will continue those things.

Then there is also the fact that despite Dobson’s claims how he wants to create comics for everone to enjoy and that he aims to keep his artwork online for free so anyone can view it…(his exact words in his promotional video AND text on his patreon once upon a time)

youtube

…the reality was, that he wanted to use patreon as a paywall. Something I actually kinda pointed out at on my own account (shameless self promotion) once, but want now to elaborate a bit. Basically at the time Dobson opened up his patreon, he also was on the verge of leaving deviantart as a platform people could look at his work behind. Which he eventually did.

Meaning that the only major platforms for people to watch any “new” stuff by him were his patreon or art sites such as the SYAC homepage or andysartwork. Which granted, he did EVENTUALLY put his stuff on.

But unlike other content creators who would put “patreon exclusive” new content up on more public plattforms often within a few days, weeks or a month after making them “patreon only” at first, Dobson waited longer and did barely anything to promote his sites as places to look his stuff up for a public audience. In doing so creating a “bubble” for himself that hurt him more than it helped, as Dobson made himself essentially come off as a snob.

A snob who did not create content for everybody to enjoy, but ONLY for those willing to pay him at least one dollar per month. As evident e.g. by the fact that as time went by, certain content was never released outside of his patreon at all, such as a SYAC strip involving Dobbear screaming at the computer because he saw a piece of art that featured tumblr nose.

Lastly, there is the issue of his patreon perks and stretch goals.

See, his perks were essentially non existent. Aside of the beggars reward of “my eternal thank you if you donate 1 dollar”, two other perks that come to my mind were the following: If you donated up to 5$ at minimum, you got your name thrown into a lottery to potentially win buttons and postcards of his artwork. Unsold cheap merch from years prior he failed to sell at conventions basically. There was just a problem with that thing: That lottery thing, which he also was only going to initiate when he reached a stretch goal of 150 dollar a month? It was illegal!

Patreon itself has in their user agreement a rule that forbids people from offering perks that essentially boil down to “earning” something via gambling, which this lottery by Dobson was.

(THOAD chiming in here to add that, in addition to all this, he fully admitted he would be excluding Patrons that he “knew were clearly trolls” from the lottery. Which made the already illegal lottery also fixed, so...yeah.)

The next thing coming to mind was his “discount” on previous books of his he offered online, if you donated at least 10 bucks per month to him. Or to translate it: You would get a bare minimum discount at pdf files of books such as Alex ze Pirate and Formera (you know, the permanently cancelled Dobson comics) if you paid up 50-75% of their original price on Patreon already. And considering the quality of his early works, he should have given you at least a book per month for free if you dared to donate him that much.

As for the stretch goals… lets go through them, shall we:

100$: A wallpaper per month. Something he did provide with eventually, but barely. And after less than five of those he stopped to make them overall

150$: Monthly Gift basket Lottery, which as I stated, was illegal and almost got him into serious trouble with his account. Also not an initial stretch goal he made up but instead came up with a few months into his accounts existence. Finally it got temporarily replaced by Dobson playing with the idea to use 150$ per month to open up a server and art site where people could upload stuff for free similar to deviantart, but under his administration. Promising a “safe space” for other artists. Which considering Dobson’s ego and inability to accept criticism or delegate responsibilities would have likely ended like this:

175$: Establishing a Minecraft server for him and his fans to play on. Meaning Dobson would have just wasted time he could spend on creating comics to endulge in his Minecraft obsession.

200$: Writing a Skyrim children book. Aside of the legal nightmare that this could have been (I doubt Valve would have been happy of someone else profiting of their property) I have to ask, who was even interested in Skyrim by 2015 anymore? Sure, Skyrim was a popular game and it had its qualities, but it was also a trend that had passed by that time. So in other words, there was not a market to cater towards here.

300$: A strip per week guaranteed.

… are you fucking kidding me? 75$ per strip essentially? Something people expect you to produce anyway if you want to be considered a “prolific” creator worth supporting online? Imagine if certain internet reviewers would do that, telling you that if they do not earn at least a certain amount of money, they will not produce anything, period, or less than usual. And Dobson had already proven that he can release more than just one comic within a few days, if he is motivated by enough spite.

600$: Starting a podcast with his friends to talk about nerd culture. In my opinion could only work under the assumption that people even like the idea of listening to Dobson and his opinions. Which considering how very little people like talking to him sounds doubtful. Also, considering how Dobson tends to be late to the party when it comes to nerd culture, likely tending to be out of date faster than he could upload. Finally... what friends?

700$: Returning the love, as he says it, by donating some of the money patreon users gave him to other content creators. This in my opinion is the most self defeating cause possible. On one hand sure, being generous and all that. But essentially Dobson admits here he would blow the money people give him to support HIS art on others, essentially defeating the purpose of HIS own account. He also does not clarify how much of that money he would donate, meaning there was a high chance that he would spend less than 10% of it on other creators, only creating the illusion of support while putting the actual earnings/donations into his own pocket.

2000$: A massive jump ahead. 2000$ per month would result in him getting better equipment (as in a new computer e.g.) and as such “potentially” make more comics. Mind you, only potentially.

This goal in my opinion is also the most fucked up one. Primarily for the following reasons:

Lets say Dobson would have achieved the goal and actually earned over 2000$ per month for at least a year. His annual earning would have been 24k, minus whatever he had to pay as taxes and payment for using the patreon service. And what would he do with this money? Get himself a better computer and equipment by paying a minor fraction of it once. Then he could use that computer for years to come while still having over 10k in his account, plus his monthly earnings. And he may still just produce 3-4 comics a month of a series that has as much depth to it than Peppa Pig if not less.

Sure, many patreon users have 2k+ as a stretch goal on their accounts to signify that if they could make that much monthly, they could have the necessary financial security to focus their time primarily on their content instead of a regular job. And if the content they create is actually well made, many people would support that or be okay with it.

But 2000 dollars to buy ONE computer and not account for how this money will add up over time? And that in light of such profits people may actually expect you to create more than you barely do already? That is either a case of narcissism, plain stupidity because you can't look further than 5 feet or just shows how Dobson did not understand at all the tool he had at his disposal.

Bottom line: Dobson, like many times before, fucked it up. He overestimated the potential support and resulting profits he could make, he expected that his name alone would be enough to assure gainings instead of creating content to justify support and he was unwilling to really give his supporters anything worthwhile back.

And while I am sure that there were also many other factors guaranteeing his failure, those at least to me, were his "common" mistakes most other people familiar even with the basics of internet popularity would ahve avoided.

#long post #patreon #syac #submission #very long post #andrew dobson #adobsonartworks #tom preston #adobsonart #soyouareandrewdobson #ripsinfest

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

I'm tired of this human duet / no civilizing hides / our animal impulses

“We’re going for the offensive. Follow my lead,” Aguni barks, and they move as a single unit, running towards the group.

The enemy advances, and the other friendly teams near the militants flee, their terrorized screams echoing through the arena. It doesn’t help that the masks their opponents wear gave them a hellish, demonic appearance.

It didn’t matter. Last Boss was a stronger demon than they are.

Swinging his katana, he parries the incoming attack, the naginata clashing with his weapon. Niragi and Yamane brace themselves, the impact and Last Boss’ movements affecting the cavalry’s balance. A lump forms in Yamane’s throat as she watches the katana-wielding militant drive his weapon through the enemy’s heart. Their spear topples over, and as soon as he hits the ground, his teammates’ collars go off.

A friendly team struggles with an enemy, at a disadvantage due to the short range the provided knives had in comparison to the polearms. Luck turns in their favor as the militant team approached their attackers from behind, Last Boss lopping the enemy’s head off with a swing of his sword. Though Last Boss’ action saved their lives, the look the tattooed man had on his face made them fear him more than they feared the masked men.

One of them taps his teammates' shoulder, leaning in to say, "Let's stay out of this. Let those freaks handle it."

This isn’t a problem to Last Boss at all, who’s ready to strike the next enemy, but Yamane felt a wave of fury pass through her body.

“Damn pieces of shit who can’t pull their own weight,” she pants as they advance, earning her a chuckle from their spear.

“More for me, then,” said Last Boss, breaking from his monotone, almost sounding happy. Yamane looks up, and sees a small smile on his lips. “Looks like making Last Boss the spear was a great decision after all,” Niragi yells, and he wets his lips with his tongue.

Now Yamane knows why Last Boss thanked her for suggesting that he should be the spear.

He’s going to have so much fun.

“Focus, all of you,” Aguni grunts, chest drenched with sweat as the militants marched forward.

Unfortunately for them, the enemy teams took note of their unit’s competence, and are now converging towards their location.

Last Boss lurches forward and swings his sword, tearing through an enemy spear with a diagonal slash. Two teams approach from opposing directions, and Yamane can feel her sweat pouring now. One of them reaches Last Boss first, thrusting the naginata towards him. It misses his torso by mere inches, slicing his forearm. He parries the next attack, but the other enemy unit catches up and successfully slashes his side.

“No! Last Boss!” Yamane yells, his blood trickling from his wound to her face. Yet, he pays the injury no mind.

Aguni, Niragi and Yamane maneuvers so Last Boss can parry both attacks, but it still leaves the enemy plenty of opportunities to strike. It doesn’t help that a third unit is fast approaching as well. Their spear is panting now, and exhaustion is starting to settle in among the horses too.

“This is bad,” Yamane blurts, one arm wrapped around Last Boss’ leg, while another was linked with Aguni’s hand to support Last Boss’ foot. She turns to look at the other friendly team, who just watched.

“They won’t even help!”

“We don’t need their help!” Niragi berates her.

The situation is desperate. Yamane looks down to the dagger at her thigh, and she thinks back to the number of weapons on the table. There was enough for all twenty players to take one. Surely whoever devised the game wouldn’t have provided them if the players couldn’t use them at their disposal.

Could it be that all this time, the horses are allowed to fight too?

“Wait a second. Niragi, there wasn’t anything in the rules forbidding horses to use weapons, right?”

Niragi realizes it too and gives Yamane a cheeky smirk. “No, there wasn’t. Chief, we’ll be letting go of Last Boss’ foot,” Niragi yells, and Aguni grunts as the balance shifts.

“Just do what you need to do to win!” Aguni booms, and Niragi takes out the knife he got from the table, while Yamane reaches for her dagger. One of their arms is still holding Last Boss’ legs, but now, they’re free to assist him by going for the other horses.

Niragi had no problem slashing an enemy horse’s throat, which put their unit off balance. This created an opening, and Last Boss proceeded to finish that team’s spear off. Screwing her eyes shut, Yamane lets out a scream as she slashes wildly at the unit near her side, warm blood spraying her.

“Wild little Yamaneko,” Last Boss snickers, grinning at her as she swung blindly.

In the chaos, the unit topples over, and their spear falls backward, allowing the tattooed militant to drive his sword through his chest.

Panting, Yamane sees the fallen enemies, and relief floods her system, which manifests as laughter that she couldn’t hold back. The last remaining unit approaches, and Last Boss finishes them off with ease.

Right after the defeated unit’s collars went off, the robotic voice chimes in from their phones.

“Game clear! Congratulations!”

The collars around the surviving players release, and Aguni lowers Last Boss down. Bloody and sweaty, Yamane tucks her dagger away, and rests her hands on her knees, laughing and relieved to be alive. She turns to see the other surviving unit, the one that decided to stand idly by as they struggled, and scowls. Anger replaces her relief.

Feet taking her to the cowards before she could stop herself, she backhands one of them and proceeds to swing a fist to another. Aguni remains planted to his spot, watching the brawl unfold, while Niragi and Last Boss follow her, an amused look on their faces.

“Looks like Yamane finally lost it,” Niragi chuckles, grinning as he watched Yamane kick one of the other players.

“About time,” Last Boss adds.

Two of the strangers tried to restrain the wildcat, who kicked, cursed, and spat at them. “You fucking cowards! You assholes do know that if our group didn’t survive that assault, you’d have to face the enemy yourself too, right?! You weak, useless sacks of shit!”

Last Boss pushes one of them off, while Niragi points his gun at the other, which he retrieved on the way to the fight. They let Yamane go, who attempts to brawl with one of them again, but Last Boss beats her to the punch. He grabs the coward by the hair, and slices through his carotid artery, and his blood spills on the grass, killing him in seconds. The other players present scramble away, not wanting to get involved. Niragi shoots one of them in the leg, the others leaving him behind as they run away in terror.

Feet planted on the grass, Yamane freezes in her spot, stunned. She wanted to beat the hell out of those people, but not kill them, nothing as extreme as that. Last Boss turns to her, still panting, smiling with his mouth open, a predatory glint in his eye as he approaches her. The more she looked, the more he looked like a tiger, his tattoos serving as his stripes.

“That’s enough. Let’s go,” Aguni says as he passes by them, walking to the exit without looking back. Shrugging, Niragi totes his rifle over his shoulder again, while Last Boss grabs Yamane’s good arm. His hands are cold, fingers leaving indentations on the woman’s flesh.

The wildcat shrinks back into a dormouse as the tiger dragged her with them.

Once in the car, she sat a little closer to the window and avoided looking at him. Niragi turns on the engine and they speed away from the venue.

“KIlling those morons was unnecessary, you know,” Yamane finally speaks up, avoiding looking at the tattooed man.

“Don’t act like you haven’t killed anyone, Yamane,” Niragi cuts in, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s us or them. Doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I don’t get off on inflicting unnecessary harm on anyone.”

From the rearview mirror, she sees Aguni giving her a pondering, scrutinizing look. From the corner of her eyes, on the other hand, Last Boss is leaning towards her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Your kills are sloppy,” Last Boss tells her, voice monotonous.

That finally made Yamane turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “I- what does that have to do with anything?”

“If you care so much, you’ll kill them swiftly instead of letting them bleed all over you, Yamaneko,” he droned, emphasizing the moniker. Jaw dropping in horror, Yamane looks at the blood on her body, and a wave of nausea washes through her.

“Heh, that’s right. You’re a killer too, and a crazed one at that. You’ve shown that twice now. Stop acting all moral, mousy,” Niragi continues, tongue drawing out of his lips languidly.

To Yamane’s horror, the two were right. It happened with the middle-aged man in the Elimination game, and it happened again tonight. Yamane’s way of killing them prolonged their suffering. The guilt ate at her, and made her sink.

Darker parts of herself are emerging, the ones that remind her of mother’s heavy hands and her father’s sharp tongue, and she feels the bile rising in her throat. Chest constricting, Yamane couldn’t breathe, so she rolls down the window and leans over, the wind tousling her hair.

Looking through the rearview mirror, Niragi notices the distance between Yamane and his companion, the look of despair in Yamane’s face, and he grins. “Oh c’mon Yamane, no need to give Last Boss that kind of avoidant treatment. Just earlier you were crying his name when he got nicked.”

“I’m not trying to avoid- I did not!” Yamane exclaims, defensive all of a sudden.

“No! Last Boss!” Niragi imitates her in a falsetto, and cackles. “You sound like a high school girl watching her boyfriend get into a brawl!”

Just a few days ago, Niragi was bending her over every surface he can find, and now he’s teasing her for showing the slightest bit of concern towards the tattooed man. At least Yamane knows that he no longer acts entitled to her anymore.

“Well, if he died, we’ll all die. Of course I’d be worried,” Yamane mumbles, thankful that the car is dark, or they would’ve seen her flushed face.

A warm puff of breath on her cheek makes her head turn abruptly and she sees Last Boss’ face, merely inches from hers, making her scoot backward and brace herself against the open window in surprise. He’s watching her curiously, like a cat enthralled with a new toy. Behind the tattoos and his odd behavior is a handsome face; sharp cheekbones, a strong nose with a high bridge, piercing eyes, and delicate lips, which Yamane can clearly see even in the dim light.

At the pit of her belly, Yamane can feel the fire spread, and it pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be feeling that way for someone who just killed a man without remorse in front of her, but her body betrayed the rational parts of her brain, which had been steadily crumbling since her arrival in the borderlands.

“You- you really like watching me, don’t you?” she whispers.

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, and Yamane didn’t know how to feel when he nodded.

When they arrived at the Beach, she had planned to visit Doctor Sunohara to check on her shoulder and ask for a refill for her painkillers. Last Boss is going the opposite direction, the wound on his side still bleeding

“Uh, Last Boss, you should come with me to the clinic to get that wound checked.”

He tilts his head, and Niragi rolls his eyes and smirks. “Still beating around the bush like a schoolgirl, huh? Hopeless, both of you,” he scoffs, then strolls away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yamane yells after him, but he keeps walking.

As the strange exchange unfolded between the three, Aguni is still watching, deep in thought. “Yes, Yamane’s right. Get that wound fixed. It may cost us the next game.”

As the militants’ chief, his word carries weight, and Last Boss complies, shuffling towards the direction of the clinic. More than ready to replenish her painkiller supply, Yamane goes after him, but Aguni places a hand on her good shoulder.

“Come with me for a moment,” the chief tells her, and lets go of the younger militant’s shoulder promptly. Cold sweat washing over her and unsure of what will happen next, Yamane nods.

Leading her to an unoccupied room, the chief sits down on the sofa, and the younger militant sits right across him. Aguni leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Tell me about the day you met Niragi and Last Boss,” he asks her.

“Huh? Well, I’m sure they’ve already told you what there is to know, chief,” Yamane replies, fiddling with her thumbs to alleviate her unease. “We played a game called Elimination and only the three of us survived.”

Aguni exhales softly, leaning back on the sofa. “Niragi and Last Boss are prominent members of the Beach, and you’ve seen firsthand how capable our sect is. I need to see what they saw in you. You’ve caught their attention that night.”

“I’m… I’m not even sure how I caught their attention, chief. Maybe Niragi just wanted a new fuck toy to use and discard, and Last Boss’ intentions are a mystery to me,” Yamane groans, rubbing her face. “But letting me keep my knives and making me one of you? I wasn’t even the strongest player out there. I just went crazy when one of the boys killed this kid that was tagging along with me, and called us the weak link in our team.”

At Yamane’s confession, Aguni straightens. “I see. That’s all. Go.”

Letting go of a breath that she didn’t know that she was holding, Yamane bows, and turns to leave.

“And Yamane?” Aguni calls out, turning to the young militant. “While I expect honesty, you reveal too much of yourself. It has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass. Don’t show weakness.”

A thoughtful look on her face, Yamane nods. “I’ll keep it in mind, chief.”

As Yamane closed the door, Aguni grimaced. From the bathroom, Hatter emerges, listening to the exchange the entire time. He sits in front of his friend, and Aguni drops his facade.

Meanwhile, Yamane begins her trek to the clinic, and people avoid her as she walks through the halls, drenched in blood and looking positively feral. Sunohara and another medic are tending to Last Boss’ wound, the others steering clear, when Yamane enters the clinic. The blood on her clothes made Sunohara gasp, who stopped dabbing the antiseptic on the tattooed man’s side.

“Uh, don’t worry about me. This isn’t my blood,” Yamane mutters, making a few onlookers inch away from her. She grimaces at her choice of words. “I’m just here to get my shoulder checked and get more painkillers.”

Sunohara nods, leaving the task of wrapping a bandage around Last Boss’ torso to the other medic. While waiting for Sunohara to finish washing her hands in the sink, Yamane sits next to her fellow militant.

“Hey. Are you doing something tonight?” she asks him, not making any eye contact.

“Executive meeting,” he drones. Yamane nods and turns away. “Nothing after that.”

“Can we meet at the main balcony after? I’ll just get cleaned up while you attend the meeting.”

The tattooed militant turns to her, expression inscrutable, and his eyes flick down for a brief moment. He nods.

After getting her prescription refilled, Yamane takes the elevator to the floor where she had taken a room. The bathroom has a tub and she turned the water on for it to fill. After stripping herself, she runs water through her stained clothes in the sink, plugs it, and pours detergent to soak. She places her wrist tag at the counter, the number 32 on it.

Leaning over the basin, Yamane looks at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her buns had come loose from all the moving they did in the game. The bruising on her shoulder is nearly invisible now, but she’s still careful with it, and it still hurts on occasion. Sunohara advised her to wear the brace for a few weeks more. Water continues to fill the tub, while Yamane quickly rinses the blood off her body in the shower before she enjoys her soak. Or at least try to, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, Yamane is still soaking in the tub, fingers wrinkled, and the bathwater has gone cold. Last Boss’ comment about how sloppy her kills are lingered in her mind.

Perhaps she’ll ask him to teach her how to kill a little cleaner; ask him to teach her that cut he does where the victim bleeds to death in a matter of seconds.

“Yes,” Yamane thought. “Maybe it will ease some of the guilt.”

With her clothes still in the sink, instead of her usual ensemble, Yamane puts on a black off-shoulder shirt, which she ties at a knot at her midriff, her shoulder brace, and black, high-waisted denim shorts with harnesses for her daggers. Hair still wet and clinging to her neck and upper back, Yamane steps out of her occupied room, not bothering to put any makeup on.

On the way to the balcony, she runs into Saiko in the elevator, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Huh. You’re actually pretty cute if you didn’t wear all that dark makeup.”

“Piss off, Saiko. I’m looking for Last Boss. Is he still at the meeting?”

At Yamane’s question, Saiko looks at her like she’s gone mad. Maybe she has. “Why would you purposely seek out that freak? He gives me the creeps.”

“Not your business. Do you know where he is or not?”

“Executive meeting’s probably done by now.” Saiko huffs, checking her nails. The shorter woman nods, and Saiko gets off on her floor.

Heart pounding, Yamane psychs herself up. She hasn’t been this nervous since confessing to her middle school crush, and the comparison makes her cringe. “You’re just asking him a favor,” Yamane tells herself. “You’re going to meet him, ask how to kill people swiftly, and leave.”

The elevator door slides open, and Yamane steps out, and she sees him waiting there, back against the wall and leaning on his katana.

“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Yamane greets, taking a few tentative steps towards him. “May I ask you a favor?”

Last Boss doesn’t say anything, but he turns to look at her and gives her a small nod.

“Teach me how to kill fast and without inflicting too much pain.”

The tattooed militant straightens, taking a step towards her. Several steps. He traps Yamane against the wall. The scent of sweat and blood is still heavy on him, and the dormouse gulps, a shaky exhale escaping her throat. Cold fingers trail on her neck and Yamane flinches, goosebumps rippling through her skin and her nipples hardening under her shirt. The water dripping from her hair and the cold night air made it worse. Last Boss presses his finger on the spot harder and feels Yamane’s rapid pulse.

“Bleeding out is a painless way to die. This is where the carotid artery is. Cutting it would result in death in fifteen to thirty seconds,” said Last Boss, his voice fluctuating from his usual monotone. “The jugular is another option, but it’ll take a little longer due to the less pressure in the veins.”

Yamane’s eyes are glistening as the man before her holds her chin and tilts her head upward. “Do it with the victim facing down. If their head is tilted upward like this, their trachea gets in the way and it’ll be harder to cut the artery.”

This is the first time Yamane ever heard him say anything more than a sentence, clearly knowledgeable on the topic. Clearing her throat, Yamane asks him a question. “Just what were you before you came here?”

Ever so slightly, his grip on her chin tightens. “I have no past.”

“H- I- Where did you learn that, then?” Yamane asks him, stuttering and flustered.

“The internet.”

A cold hand gripped her good shoulder, thumb pressing against her deltoid, knuckles almost brushing against her breast. “There are other parts of the body you can strike. Severing the cephalic vein is another way to get the person to bleed out. Do you want to learn more?”

Yamane couldn’t answer, only nodding, and he kneels in front of her, his cold fingers pressing her inner thighs as he pointed out where the femoral artery is, his warm breath kissing her stomach.

Fear and desire muddles together into a nebulous fog in her mind.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #fanfic: dormouse #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #suguru niragi #morizono aguni #takeru danma #hatter #fanfiction #character study

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himbowelsh · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I loooooved your drunk band of brothers hc's so much, could you elaborate more on the pacific and saving private ryan boys? 🥰

oooooohhh dude if you insist

The Pacific

Robert Leckie: The Messy Drunk. Giving Leckie booze is highkey like disco dancing beside a hornet’s nest. You’re going to get stung, and it’s going to be severely unpleasant, you just don’t know how or when. Drunk Leckie... is that friend. He really can’t be left alone; when out partying, he’s probably fine, but his moods swing from reckless highs to terrifying lows. All his guards are lower, and pent up emotions are quicker to bleed through --- because he can’t be assed to hold them back. He’ll drunk-dial his ex and leave a dozen voicemails, or call his mom to tell her how he really feels about his fourteenth birthday party... and when friends try to step in, suddenly he’s shouting at them. Why? They didn’t do anything... but Leckie is a mess, and it bleeds all over everything. Safest range for him is comfortably drunk. When he crosses the border into hammered territory, he’s a hazard to himself and others.

Runner Conley: The Energetic Drunk. No one knows what drugs Drunk Runner is on, but he needs to share. Whoa, is he wired. Alcohol is a suppressant, but no one ever bothered to inform him; he gains energy when he’s drunk. He’s the one on the dance floor for hours, busting a move and trying to convince his friends to join in; he’s the one shouting song suggestions and hollering about how it’s his friend’s birthday, hell yeah, pour it out (it’s not actually Leckie’s birthday, but if it gets them free drinks he’ll roll with it). Runner is very inclined to drunk gymnastics, but should not under any circumstances be allowed to. Other than that, excellent guy to have on a night out.

Chuckler Juergens: The Ladies’ Man. Don’t worry, he’s having a great night. Chuckler’s got a very high tolerance, so he actually keeps his head pretty well; this is good, because he’s got to keep an eye on everyone else, before Runner cartwheels out a plate glass window. He isn’t the Mom Friend Drunk, however... oh no, Chuckler’s got other things on his mind. Namely, flirting with every cutie in the bar. He’s great at flirting sober, but Drunk Chuckler is absolutely gifted. He’s suave, charming, funny, and no one on earth could tell he’s already had three vodka-and-limes. He spends most of his evening chatting girls up and dancing with them; his friends have to actively drag him away at the end of the night, otherwise he will end up going home with someone. He’s never drunk enough that it’s a bad idea, just drunk enough that he can’t think of a reason not to. After a night out, he finds numbers written on multiple places on his body. Once, someone wrote their number on his abs.

Hoosier Smith: The Dr. Jekyll. Give Hoosier a bottle of whiskey, and he turns into a different person, okay. He’s still... like, he’s still Hoosier, but this Hoosier grins. With his teeth. This Hoosier will actually dance; he’ll flirt with people for the hell of it (”for the hell of it” is Drunk Hoosier’s philosophy), he’ll try to talk Runner into gymnastics just so he can film it... he got a job drunk once. He literally made one phone call, ended up having a twenty-minute conversation, and came back to tell everyone he just got hired as a finance manager. Drunk Hoosier is impressively cool in the face of a crisis; there’s nothing messy about him (he observes Leckie’s swaying and slurring with disdain). He could probably be coached through first-aid drunk. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s drunk at all, you’d think he’s just like that.

Sid Phillips: The Impatient Drunk. Does not have time for anyone’s shit, and no longer cares to pretend he does. No one knows why Sid gets so short-tempered when he’s drunk. He’s not like that sober, so the going theory is he just has a lot of pent-up frustration. Now, when buzzed, Sid is a delight. He’s talkative, bubbly, and overall a treat to be around. This is where he should stay. The more he drinks, the progressively less fun the party gets, until he’s glowering at people across the room and shouting at someone for bumping into him. He will not win a bar fight, but he will start one, and not remember a damn thing about it in the morning. By the time Sid’s reached his limit, most of his friends are still just starting, so they’re usually sober enough to cut him off before he gets to that point.

Eugene Sledge: The Snuggly Drunk. He just gets lonely, okay? Liquor makes him morose, and he prefers not to be alone whenever he does choose to indulge. He needs someone there, just to keep him from getting lost in his own thoughts. When out with friends, Drunk Sledge is docile, pretty sweet, but unabashedly clingy. He wants to touch people; he’ll touch their faces, their hair, lean against their shoulders, hug them (”someone help me,” Drunk Leyden says in abject terror, with Sledge wrapped around his waist)... he’s just fine as long as there’s someone there to keep him entertained all night. Tell him a story and he’ll listen in silent rapture; give him a phone and let him watch videos, and he’ll be entertained for hours.

Snafu Shelton: The Possessive Drunk. Snafu... is not a fun drunk to be around. He’s a funny drunk, but this does not make him fun. Drunk Snafu’s idea of fun is not dancing in the club, it’s setting a dumpster on fire. He’s never gotten arrested drunk, but whoa has he come close. So long as he has a more responsible friend to keep him in line, he’s going to “behave” (and Snafu has a very strict rule that he does not drink alone, for his own good, so there’s usually someone). However, he... latches onto this person. Like, he acquires them like a $1,000 watch, and refuses to let anyone else near them for the rest of the night. Since Burgie wouldn’t put up with it, this behavior only becomes really apparent with Sledge, because Snafu is fiercely protective of Drunk Sledge. (Drunk Sledge needs to be protected tbh.) He looks after him all night, steals drinks for him, makes sure he’s drinking water and not hugging strange men... if Drunk Snafu doesn’t have a project, he’s going to commit a felony. Drunk Sledge is a godsend to his criminal record.

RV Burgin: The Hyperfocused Drunk. It’s not safe for him to get drunk, because he has to be the mom friend! He has to keep everyone else from burning the bar down! He knows this, but somehow his friends always end up pushing drinks on him, and next thing he knows, he’s five shots in wondering where rainbows come from. Drunk Burgie has a very one-track mind, and little patience for anything else. He’s not looking after his friends, because he can’t understand why dogs don’t have twins. He’ll discuss this out loud; he’ll crowdsource opinions. Drunk Burgie is actually very outgoing, but no one knows what the hell he’s talking about. His brain goes off in directions no one can follow, and next thing you know he’s trying to get to the library at midnight to see if they have any books about crayfish. (God forbid if he decides he wants fast food; he’ll talk about it for an hour, until someone’s annoyed enough to get it for him.)

Jay De L’Eau: The Giggly Drunk pt deux. He’s such a nice drunk. Everything is funny, and he’s constantly laughing at the dumb jokes and antics of everyone else; he’s less inclined to do the crazy shit, happier just to watch. He’ll stop and ask a stranger if they’re doing okay, or give his last few dollars away just because someone else needed it --- he’s an angel and everyone’s thrilled that he’s here.

Andrew Haldane: The Bemused Drunk. Okay, he doesn’t drink too much as a rule, because he’s a responsible person, okay... but Andy is weak to peer-pressure coming from his friends, so when he goes out, he’ll probably end up having a few. Liquor makes him thoughtful, and he’s a placid drunk overall. His reflexes are a lot slower, but he’s content to just sit there, observing everyone or lost in his own thoughts. He’s just... not totally there. If he puts something down, he will misplace it. If he’s talking to someone, he’ll lose track of the threads of conversation halfway through, and need to be stared back on topic. He doesn’t remember what bar he’s in, what street he’s on, where he lives --- he can rattle off sports history facts like he’s reading from a mental wikipedia page, but god help him if he knows where he put his wallet.

Hillbilly Jones: The Responsible Drunk. He doesn’t know how he always ends up looking after everyone else during a night out. It’s not a responsibility he wants. There are at least two people in the group better suited for it. But Andy’s been staring out the window for ten minutes humming to himself, and Burgie is trying to remember what his brother said to him years ago, and Jay is about to give his wallet to a homeless man, damn it --- Hillbilly isn’t a big drinker, but liquor lends him a bit more patience. This is a godsend, because somehow he ends up wrangling the whole crew. He makes a good mom friend, keeping them from wandering off and reminding them to drink water, making sure they don’t go too wild... Hillbilly’s night isn’t over until everyone else has gotten home safe. No, he’s not thrilled he’s gotta be the one to do it, but someone has to.

Gunny Haney: The Stripper. I’m sorry.

John Basilone: The ‘And I’ll Do It Again’ Drunk. He pretends he has a rule where he’d never do anything drunk that he wouldn’t do sober. This is... almost true. John wouldn’t not start a barfight sober, if given a damn good reason, but he’d think it through a lot more. Drunk John... does not think things through. Not for a second. He does things without considering the consequences. There’s a thin line with John, between “fun to have at parties” and “needs to be asked to leave”. Usually, he knows better than to drink enough to cross that valley, but when he does... let’s just say, JP and Manny are banned from a few bars by sheer association.

Lena Riggi: The Careful Drunk. Lena does not have control issues. I’ll say it again, because she needs everyone to know: Lena does not have control issues. But if she’s going to be out of control, it’s no one’s business but her own. She hates the idea of really letting her hair down in front of strangers --- or worse, casual acquaintances. Which isn’t to say she’s not fun at parties, she just... minds her alcohol intake. She’s very aware of when she’s getting tipsy, and knows when to stop. She also keeps up with her friends, and is an expert at keeping an eye on them, wrangling them when they wander off or get into trouble. (Basically, she’s the perfect person to rein in Drunk John’s self-destructive tendencies.)

Saving Private Ryan

John Miller: The Depressed Drunk. No, really, this man shouldn’t be allowed to drink. He tries not to, as a rule. He knows his limits. Only on rare occasions does he actually get drunk, and once he does, everyone regret it. He’s... not fun. He’s not responsible. He’s just sad. He’s got a lot of thoughts, and is clearly working through them right here at the table. He’s been staring at his hands for the past half hour, he won’t talk to anyone, and looks like he’s going to cry. Someone needs to take him home.

Mike Horvath: The Drunk With A Lot of Opinions. He’s a very social drinker, and doesn’t need to know anybody else at the party to have a good time. Mike will talk to anyone. More specifically, he’ll talk at anyone. He’s got a lot to say about the Black Rhino crisis, the 1998 Superbowl, sitcoms that ended 20 years ago... he feels very strongly about these things, and is not accepting dissenting opinions at this time. He won’t pick arguments with people, really, but he won’t shy away from them. Mike’s one rule on a night out is that he Will Not Dance, so he has to do something with his time.

Richard Reiben: The Shouty Drunk. He’s not even shouting at anyone. Reiben isn’t an angry drunk, he’s just loud. His entire drinking philosophy is “turn down for what” and the answer is: nothing. He’s not going to turn down, he doesn’t feel inclined. He doesn’t really dance, just gets excited and fistpumps the air a lot; he thinks drunk sports are a great idea; he’s nicer to people, for some reason, but will also talk their ear off if allowed. If he’s a pain in the ass sober, he’s even worse drunk, because he’s got twice as much to say and no indoor voice to say it with.

Daniel Jackson: The “Dude, Watch This” Drunk. He really doesn’t change that much when drunk, to be honest. Jackson’s got a lot of self-control, and doesn’t overindulge often. When he does drink, he gets a bit chattier, but that’s about it. He prefers not to dance, and will responsibly stop his friends from doing things likely to get them killed... only to do those things himself, just because he can. He’s drunk vodka out of a broken lightblub; he jumped from an upstairs window into a frozen swimming pool; he stole Horvath’s wallet. The question is not “what won’t he do”, it’s “why would he do this”? He’s not that drunk. He’s never drunk enough to justify anything; he just uses liquor as an excuse to do all the things his sober friends would dissuade him from.

Stanley Mellish: The Karaoke Drunk. He’s actually so much fun to go out drinking with, because he’s having a good time, having a good time --- he’s the life of the party. He’s the one standing on tables and riling the bar up; he’s got the best drunk jokes; he always knows when someone needs another drink, and finds one for them. (He made it a special project to get Upham drunk the first time they went out, and was thrilled with the result.) Loves to drunk-sing. If the bar does not have a karaoke stage, Mellish will simply create one.

Adrian Caparzo: The Drunk White Girl. My man completely forgets that he’s over six feet tall and has a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket. Caparzo doesn’t remember exactly why he came out tonight, but he’s out, and he’s had so much vodka, and he just threw up into a potted plant, and his shoes hurt, and now his shoes are off, and he lost a shoe, and where’s Fish, oh my god, they lost Fish --- (Mellish is right behind him, laughing his ass off.) Things get messy. He’s very sweet, however, very liberal with compliments, extremely supportive, and really craving fast food.

Irwin Wade: The Tragic Backstory Drunk. Wade gets a lot more upbeat after he’s had a few drinks; he talks louder, smiles brighter, and really comes out of his shell a lot more. Unfortunately, he’s a talker. Drunk Wade has not learned the virtues of shutting the fuck up. He doesn’t need to talk about everything, he just occasionally starts blabbing about really personal shit, like the time his grandmother died of cancer or the first time he saw his mother cry, and it’s like... are you okay, buddy? Do you need to talk to someone? He says it so casually, too, like the liquor has numbed whatever obviously raw emotions are tied to these memories. His friends always know Wade a lot better after a night out, in plenty of ways they didn’t need to. They’ve learned to be smart about it; anytime Wade starts rambling, Reiben pushes some pretzels in his mouth, just so he’ll happily shush.

Timothy Upham: The Enthusiastic Drunk. He’s having a great time, even if no one else is. Drunk Upham comes out of his shell a lot more, which would be great if the liquor gave him any extra social skills. It doesn’t. Honestly, he just gets... more oblivious to everyone else, and cares less about what other people are doing. He’s just vibing, and having fun doing it. Will bop along to music even if no one else is dancing with him, will ramble even if nobody’s listening... oh god, and he loves to be on the dance floor. Like, the best way to keep an eye on him is to just drag him out and plant him in the middle of a dancing crowd, because he’s just happy to be there. 10/10 pleasant drunk, doesn’t know what the hell is going on. What language is he speaking? Who knows.

James Ryan: The Fun-Time Drunk. No, really, the rest of these guys are disasters, here’s the dude you want to go drinking with. He never goes alone, always with a group of buddies; he comes out solely to have a good time, and will not accept alternatives. This man has done body shots before. He loves loud music, crowded bars, and lively people. Yes, he can be a little obnoxious when drunk, but no more than your average well-intentioned dumb kid. He’s such an emotionally supportive drunk friend; he’s very physically affectionate, and will hug people while trying to coax them out of their sour moods. Anything can be solved with a trip to the dance floor. By the end of the night, he’ll probably end up passing out on someone’s shoulder, probably on the ride home, but he’s just worn out from a great party.

#saving private ryan #the pacific #headcanons #this got SO LONG

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