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windser · 1 month

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what about.. cuteness aggression with sylus like i lowkey wanna bite him (lovingly)

a/n: thank you so much for your request ... i apologize in advance bc i took this and ran with it under the excuse of been wanting to write sylus/mc sparring for agesssss. but you did get your bite in!

you fell back and the room around you capsized. it required a few moments longer to gather your senses but then you shifted quickly to avoid being pinned. from your position on the mat, you spun your body and brought your foot down behind sylus' knees and grinned proudly when stumbled down to one.

“and that is how hunters get it done.” you panted out as you lurched up to pin the man with your body. however, you weren't fast enough this time, however, because before you knew what was happening, sylus had you once more on your back as he straddled your waist, hands were pinned on either side of your head.

“cute, kitten,” sylus said, leering down at him from above.

this had all started with a light challenge. an attack more on UNICORNS then you specifically, when sylus outwardly commented on their faults. but you naturally took it personally, as you were trained up by the organization.

at the sum of it, sylus just wanted to see you properly trained for what you might encounter in the n109 zone. but you were determined to prove that you came packaged with all the necessary skill sets.

“i don't want to hear it” you grit out, yanking your arms and bending at the knee. it didn’t dislodge his hold on them, but it set sylus' equilibrium off long enough for you to rotate your hips and strike the taller man's side with enough force to knock him off.

you kept your own momentum to roll again, snapping your leg out to kick at sylus. “you forget who held their own at-ugh!”

the man seized your ankle and tossed off your balance. within seconds, sylus had you falling ass over tit until your cheek was pressed against the floor with your arms pinned behind you.

“come on, sweetie, is that all you’ve got?” sylus drawled. “and you were so sure of yourself a minute ago.” he leaned down to peck your cheek mockingly.

you snarled at him in frustration and snapped your head back, harder than was probably called for.

you managed to catch sylus on the chin and the man swore. he shifted but didn’t release your hands. instead, he transferred both wrists into his left hand, pressed both knees closer at your sides, and brought his free hand down against your ass.

you gasped and stilled, the sensation a surprise but not foreign.

“really, sy?” you yelped when sylus spanked you again. "sylus!"

"make me."

you wait with a baited breath for his next move, but all you get in return is the disappointing release of his grip as he calls for a timed break in favor of rehydrating. it was a mindful reminder that brought attention to your own parched throat from effort, but the desire to retaliate was stronger as you leapt to your feet.

if sylus had any hint to your action, it was muddled by the way he let the tackle send you both toppling to the ground near the edge of the ring.

if anything, the attack must have been equally warranted on his end as he returned the energy with a grunt. it was one of the more unrestrained tussle, a truth fight for dominance that still hinted at the same results.

sylus would win and you knew it—but that didn't mean you weren't going to make him work for it. and honestly, you got something extra out of it too. there was always something about the weight of sylus's body, the taut limbs and the real power behind it all that kindled this newly acquired thrill in you.

you manged to keep at it until you were twisted in such a way you could barely move. these were the moments when sylus showed the most expertise, favoring precision over pure strength. it wasn't until you tugged the last trick from your back, mouth finding the meat of his shoulder where you bit down just hard enough to bruise.

sylus hiss, something different than pain, until he reached the point where it was no longer a request for submission but a declaration. an effort that left his breath labored and his skin dampened from exertion as he pressed you back firmly into the floor, hand curled at the back of your neck.

"i think this makes me the winner, kitten. do you yield? " he drawls, words liquid heat.

your equally, if not more a mess of tangled hair and lips, yet you hold the stance of a stubborn bull as you blow out, "make me, honey."

"make you?" his laughter is thick and heady as it coats your skin. "i'm not sure there is much left for me to make you do. but i'm open to more options."

you turn your head towards him, watching as he licks his lips after he speaks in a low, husky voice. you realize that he does want you to make him -- he wants you to try your best until you get frustrated and hot, until you break free and nearly attack him with your mouth.

he wants to play this little game with you, get you all riled up, and get you on the bed without your clothes, to his mercy and his own rules.

he's not going to stop now and he won't stop then. he likes the flush of color dancing up on your neck and he likes getting you bothered.

he wants you and he wants you soon, so he's going to need to get you warm and sweaty and sticky.

and you were going to let him.

#sylus x reader #lnd sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads x reader #neeeeded this catalyst to get this out of my system

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moutainrusing · 3 months

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accident

519 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Friends kissed all the time. It was just a thing, obviously, a cheeky peck on the lips, or to teasingly piss people off. Just a thing. If the bottle lands on your friend during spin the bottle, you put on a show. If there’s mistletoe above your heads, then pucker up.

So really, it wasn’t a big deal when Remus and Sirius were dared to get caught past curfew in an act of public indecency.

“Alright, what should we do?” Sirius asked, standing in front of Remus.

Remus shrugged against the wall, before his eyes widened, and he hissed, “Hufflepuff Prefect round the corner. Think it’s… Qingjin Yao?”

Sirius laughed, “Bloody werewolf senses. You’re awesome.”

“Thanks. Now shut up and do something indecent in five secs.”

“What should I—”

Remus kissed him, and breathed, “Indecent,” into his mouth. Sirius felt the word diffuse from his lungs into his bloodstream, flowing into his organs and muscles as they tensed and clenched in response. He kissed back with equal fervour, ‘indecent’ chiming in his mind on repeat. Indecent. He reached down. Indecent. Their hips rolled like a spinning record. Indecent. The record stuttered in time to their own stutters.

Indecent, but it was more than decent, because Sirius was thrumming with energy, whirring faster and faster until the momentum thrusted them upwards, and they collided with atoms in the air, sparks flying and skin sparking. He pushed into Remus with a surge of power, the air hot and dense as particles compressed and pressure built, and Remus was pulling him like a magnet, the charges in his body lining up to face him and tug, as if Remus was the core of the Earth and gravity was dragging Sirius into him, and when they met, the world would explode into a million tiny stars—

“Um. Uh. I didn’t see this. Boys. Please step apart.”

Sirius flew away like a flipped magnet. But he immediately flipped back, and wanted to crowd Remus’s space forever—

“Hi, Qingjin,” Remus politely smiled, patting his hair down and fixing his clothes. Sirius frowned, and thoughtlessly reached up to dishevel Remus’s hair again. “Accident,” he muttered, smirking at Qingjin before shamelessly staring at Remus.

“Could you please escort us to the Gryffindor dorms before we get caught up in indecency again?” Remus asked, somehow sounding agreeable despite the way he was smirking.

Qingjin shook her head, “Um. I suppose. We’re gonna forget this happened though. I need bleach.” She began to walk, and they followed her quietly. She spun around suddenly, “No funny business, or I’ll take points and file detentions. Only reason I’m not doing that is ‘cause I really don’t want a reminder of this.”

“And ‘cause you’re a Hufflepuff,” Sirius smiled sweetly.

She ignored him, and carried on marching them to the common room, where James and Peter were waiting outside the portrait.

“Oh, thank you Qingjin,” James gushed, “We were so worried as to where they went! So… what did you catch them doing?”

“What trouble were they causing?” Peter piped up innocently.

She sighed. “Gay shit.”

James and Peter burst out laughing.

#sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #wolfstar #remus x sirius #microfiction #wolfstar microfic

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oinonsana · 9 months

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Tactical Combat, Violence Dice and Missing Your Attacks in Gubat Banwa

In this post I talk about game feel and decision points when it comes to the "To-Hit Roll" and the "Damage Roll" in relation to Gubat Banwa's design, the Violence Die.

Let's lay down some groundwork: this post assumes that the reader is familiar and has played with the D&D style of wargame combat common nowadays in TTRPGs, brought about no doubt by the market dominance of a game like D&D. It situates its arguments within that context, because much of new-school design makes these things mostly non-problems. (See: the paradigmatic shift required to play a Powered by the Apocalypse game, that completely changes how combat mechanics are interpreted).

With that done, let's specify even more: D&D 5e and 4e are the forerunners of this kind of game--the tactical grid game that prefers a battlemat. 5e's absolute dominance means that there's a 90% chance that you have played the kind of combat I'll be referring to in this post. The one where you roll a d20, add the relevant modifiers, and try to roll equal to or higher than a Target Number to actually hit. Then when you do hit, you roll dice to deal damage. This has been the way of things since OD&D, and has been a staple of many TTRPG combat systems. It's easy to grasp, and has behemoth cultural momentum. Each 1 on a d20 is a 5% chance, so you can essentially do a d100 with smaller increments and thus easier math (smaller numbers are easier to math than larger numbers, generally).

This is how LANCER works, this is how ICON works, this is how SHADOW OF THE DEMON LORD works, this is how TRESPASSER works, this is how WYRDWOOD WAND works, this is how VALIANT QUEST works, etc. etc. It's a tried and true formula, every D&D player has a d20, it's emblematic of the hobby.

There's been a lot more critical discussion lately on D&D's conventions, especially due to the OGL. Many past D&D only people are branching out of the bubble and into the rest of the TTRPG hobby. It's not a new phenomenon--it's happened before. Back in the 2010s, when Apocalypse World came out while D&D was in its 4th Edition, grappling with Pathfinder. Grappling with its stringent GSL License (funny how circular this all is).

Anyway, all of that is just to put in the groundwork. My problem with D&D Violence (particularly, of the 3e, 4e, and 5e version) is that it's a violence that arises from "default fantasy". Default Fantasy is what comes to mind when you say fantasy: dragons, kings, medieval castles, knights, goblins, trolls. It's that fantasy cultivated by people who's played D&D and thus informs D&D. There is much to be said about the majority of this being an American Samsaric Cycle, and it being tied to the greater commodification agenda of Capitalism, but we won't go into that right now. Anyway, D&D Violence is boring. It thinks of fights in HITS and MISSES and DAMAGE PER SECOND.

A Difference Of Paradigm and Philosophies

I believe this is because it stems from D&D still having one foot in the "grungy dungeon crawler" genre it wants to be and the "combat encounter balance MMO" it also wants to be. What ends up happening is that players play it like an immersive sim, finding ways to "cheese" encounters with spells, instead of interacting with the game as the fiction intended. This is exemplified in something like Baldur's Gate 3 for example: a lot of the strats that people love about it includes cheesing, shooting things before they have the chance to react, instead of doing an in-fiction brawl or fight to the death. It's a pragmatist way of approaching the game, and the mechanics of the game kind of reinforce it. People enjoy that approach, so that's good. I don't. Wuxia and Asian Martial Dramas aren't like that, for the most part.

It must be said that this is my paradigm: that the rules and mechanics of the game is what makes the fiction (that shared collective imagination that binds us, penetrates us) arise. A fiction that arises from a set of mechanics is dependent on those mechanics. There is no fiction that arises independently. This is why I commonly say that the mechanics are the narrative. Even if you try to play a game that completely ignores the rules--as is the case in many OSR games where rules elide--your fiction is still arising from shared cultural tropes, shared ideas, shared interests and consumed media.

So for Gubat Banwa, the philosophy was this: when you spend a resource, something happens. This changes the entire battle state--thus changing the mechanics, thus changing the fiction. In a tactical game, very often, the mechanics are the fiction, barring the moments that you or your Umalagad (or both of you!) have honed creativity enough to take advantage of the fiction without mechanical crutches (ie., trying to justify that cold soup on the table can douse the flames on your Kadungganan if he runs across the table).

The other philosophy was this: we're designing fights that feel like kinetic high flying exchanges between fabled heroes and dirty fighters. In these genres, in these fictions, there was no "he attacked thrice, and one of these attacks missed". Every attack was a move forward.

So Gubat Banwa removed itself from the To-Hit/Damage roll dichotomy. It sought to put itself outside of that paradigm, use game conventions and cultural rituals that exist outside of the current West-dominated space. For combat, I looked to Japanese RPGs for mechanical inspiration: in FINAL FANTASY TACTICS and TACTICS OGRE, missing was rare, and when you did miss it was because you didn't take advantage of your battlefield positioning or was using a kind of weapon that didn't work well against the target's armor. It existed as a fail state to encourage positioning and movement. In wuxia and silat films, fighters are constantly running across the environment and battlefield, trying to find good positioning so that they're not overwhelmed or so that they could have a hand up against the target.

The Violence Die: the Visceral Attacking Roll

Gubat Banwa has THE VIOLENCE DIE: this is the initial die or dice that you roll as part of a specific offensive technique.

In the above example, the Inflict Violence that belongs to the HEAVENSPEAR Discipline, the d8 is the Violence Die. When you roll this die, it can be modified by effects that affect the Violence Die specifically. This becomes an accuracy effect: the more accurate your attack, the more damage you deal against your target's Posture. Mas asintado, mas mapinsala.

You compare your Violence Die roll to your target's EVADE [EVD]. If you rolled equal to or lower than the target's EVD, they avoid that attack completely. There: we keep the tacticality of having to make sure your attack doesn't miss, but also EVD values are very low: often they're just 1, or 2. 4 is very often the highest it can go, and that's with significant investment.

If you rolled higher than that? Then you ignore EVD completely. If you rolled a 3 and the target's EVD was 2, then you deal 3 DMG + relevant modifiers to the DMG. When I wrote this, I had no conception of "removing the To-Hit Roll" or "Just rolling Damage Dice". To me this was the ATTACK, and all attacks wore down your target's capacity to defend themselves until they're completely open to a significant wound. In most fights, a single wound is more than enough to spell certain doom and put you out of the fight, which is the most important distinction here.

In the Thundering Spear example, that targets PARRY [PAR], representing it being blocked by physical means of acuity and quickness. Any damage brought about by the attack is directly reduced by the target's PAR. A means for the target to stay in the fight, actively defending.

But if the attack isn't outright EVADED, then they still suffer its effects. So the target of a Thundering Spear might have reduced the damage of an attack to just 1 (1 is minimum damage), they would still be thrown up to 3 tiles away. It matches that sort of, anime combat thing: they strike Goku, but Goku is still flung back. The game keeps going, the fight keeps going.

On Mechanical Weight

When you miss, the mechanical complexity immediately stops--if you miss, you don't do anything else. Move on. To the next Beat, the next Riff, the next Resound, think about where you could go to better your chances next time.

Otherwise, the attack's other parts are a lot more mechanically involved. If you don't miss: roll add your Attacking Prowess, add extra dice from buffs, roll an extra amount of dice representing battlefield positioning or perhaps other attacks you make, apply the effects of your attack, the statuses connected to your attack. It keeps going, and missing is rare, especially once you've learned the systematic intricacies of Gubat Banwa's THUNDERING TACTICS BATTLE SYSTEM.

So there was a lot of setup in the beginning of this post just to sort of contextualize what I was trying to say here. Gubat Banwa inherently arises from those traditions--as a 4e fan, I would be remiss to ignore that. However, the conclusion I wanted to come up to here is the fact that Gubat Banwa tries to step outside of the many conventions of that design due to that design inherently servicing the deliverance of a specific kind of combat fiction, one that isn't 100% conducive to the constantly exchanging attacks that Gubat Banwa tries to make arise in the imagination.

#gubat banwa #ttrpg #filipino #fantasy #gamedev #writing #rpg #dnd #southeast asia #d&d #d&d 5e #d&d 4e #i will say #that part of the decision away from a d20 (because gb alpha used one)#is sheer hater energy on my part #like i just didn't want to #because its used by all these other games by white people and especially because its used by dnd #there is like #4 instances where you use d20s in this game

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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TAKE CARE OF YOU

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 4,312

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It's why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn't look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn't be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: i know what you're thinking. 'JJ, what the hell are you doing?' The answer to that question, always, is 'I have no fucking idea'. But, this idea gripped my soul. Oops.]

01: YOU WORK A BUNCH THEN ONE DAY YOU DIE

"i don't want a sugar daddy but maybe like a sugar buddy. i just hit him up like, 'Hey how are you today?' and he replies, 'Doing great thanks for asking here's $7,000.'" -unknown

The life you lived was simple and boring. You were reminded of this fact as Nima rambled through a story about how her blind date last night had turned into a bar brawl which spiraled into a stint in the emergency room. Meanwhile, you had binged a show you'd already watched a dozen times on Netflix while shoveling popcorn down your throat. This worked perfectly for you though. You got to stay in your comfort zone while living vicariously through your best friend’s disasters.

“Please tell me you won’t be seeing her again.” You chuckled.

Nima scoffed, “Hell no. She could not carry her own in that bar brawl. That’s why we ended up in the ER.” She scrunched her nose then shrugged. “But she’s fine now. The girl only needed like seven stitches.”

You shook your head and breathed out a laugh. For the entire time you had known her, going on a decade now, Nima had never dated a normal woman. It was almost impressive how terrible her record was.

The Korean woman’s hair was dyed a solid bubble gum pink and tied up into two messy buns atop her head. Her clothes were a patchwork of pastel colors that showed off her toned midriff and long legs. The purse wrapped around her chest was shaped like a giant strawberry and the large headphones wrapped around her neck were equally as bright as the rest of her. Everything about Nima was a blur of chaos and energy and people couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Add that to her awful taste in women and it was the perfect recipe for her wild dating history.

“Why did we come here?” You asked as your eyes scanned the menu of the coffee shop. The two of you were in the very long line waiting to reach the register, and you had to lean to the side to see around the broad man standing in front of you both. “It’s so overpriced.”

“I follow this girl on insta and she said they have the best lavender matcha latte.” Nima shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “It looked amazing.” She bumped her hip against yours. “What are you gonna get?”

“Will you yell at me if I say vanilla latte?”

“Yes!” Nima scoffed. “That’s so boring! Get one of their specialty drinks at least!”

“Like?”

Nima scanned the menu then pointed at something. “Get the cotton candy frappe!”

You chuckled and continued to scan the menu. There had to be a middle ground option between those two. The line continued to move and Nima had switched from her dating life to her newest project at work. She was an engineer currently working in construction. You were immensely proud of the success she had found in her passions. Honestly, a bit jealous as well. You were in the northern end of your twenties and you had still yet to find something you loved. It was like the world had hit pause on the momentum of your life post college. Time flew by, years passed, but nothing had changed.

The man in front of you reached the register and you realized you’d have to pick something soon. You heard him order something simple⏤ like you had planned. You didn’t pay him much mind until you noticed him patting his pockets growing more frantic with his motions as he realized he was missing something. Finally, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. From the angle you stood at, you could just barely see his profile, but it was enough to see his face was scrunched up in frustration. You glanced over at Nima, who was texting, then back to the man who was obviously having a terrible day.

“Sir?” The boy working the till questioned.

“Just⏤” The man huffed as if he were trying to wrap his mind around something. You assumed there was more going on than just a lack of money to buy some coffee. Not having the means to pay for something was probably just the icing on the cake for him. It wasn’t a situation you were unfamiliar with. 'Been there, done that'.

Quickly, you stepped up to stand beside him and fished out your card. “Add a, uh, cinnamon roll latte to that order please. I’ll pay.”

“Wait.” The man held his hand out to argue, but the guy at the register was already swiping your card. He wrote the orders out and motioned for Nima to step up next. The man stepped away from the register without tearing his eyes away from you. His stare was inquisitive and confused. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He had a southern drawl to his words that you didn’t hear often in this part of Los Angeles. Your eyes scanned his figure which looked even more broad when you stood in front of him. The man wore a worn out red flannel with old blue jeans and work boots. His hair was a bit messy, fluffed and slightly curled at the ends, in mostly shades of brown with a bit of silver peppered in. The silver was more prominent in the scruff along his jawline. He was handsome, there was no denying that. Even with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips drawn out in a frown, you couldn’t help but admire him.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged. “You looked like you were having a rough day. We all need a helping hand now and again.”

When Nima finished ordering you turned your focus on her, but she said she was running to the bathroom and disappeared. It left you standing alone next to the man waiting for the drinks to be made. Which would be fine if you didn't feel his gaze still burning into you. Awkwardly, you crossed your arms. You were overthinking it. Paranoid. He probably wasn’t even paying you any mind anymore. To reassure yourself, you glanced over at him only to realize you had not been paranoid. Your eyes locked with his soulful brown ones. Handsome brown eyed men were a menace to society. Nobody should have that much power with just a gaze. Panicked and embarrassed, you snapped your gaze forward once more.

“Thank you.” He said gruffly.

“Like I said,” You cleared your throat, “It’s no problem.”

“I’d love to pay you back.”

You turned to face him, letting out a small laugh, but he didn’t join in. The man just stared at you patiently. Your laughter died as you blinked at him in surprise. “Wait, really?” He nodded. “That seriously isn’t necessary. It was like five dollars.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the principle.”

“Listen, you seem stubborn, but I promise you I’m worse.” You joked and the corner of his lip curled up into an amused smile that was gone as quick as it came. You almost wondered if you imagined it. “Just… the next time you’re out and you see someone struggling, pay it forward. Deal?”

He didn’t reply for a moment. Just stared, and it took all your willpower not to glance away again. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest. You mentally cursed when your dumb eyes traced the lines of his arms. No ogling the stranger. He nodded once. “You drive a hard bargain.” A small smile cracked his otherwise solemn features and this time it lingered long enough for you to actually acknowledge it. “But you got yourself a deal, darlin’.” Your cheeks burned again at the term of endearment. He paused before holding out a hand to you. “I’m Joel.”

You shook his hand, his much larger one enveloping yours entirely, and you offered him your own name. Silence settled between the two of you, but it only lasted a beat before your orders were called out. Joel’s long stride had him at the counter before you got there. He picked up your coffee first and offered it to you before taking his own.

“Thanks.” You chirped.

“I’m thankin’ you, remember?” Joel lifted his simple cup as a reminder. He gave you a slight nod. “It was nice to meet you, darlin’.”

“Uh, you too! Hope your day gets better!” You gave him a small wave.

Joel turned to leave and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail up and down his entire body. His jeans could not fit him more perfectly. Ogling the stranger was okay, you decided, as long as said stranger wasn’t watching you do it. As you shamelessly checked him out, you didn’t notice your friend drift back to you. “Nice.” You jumped in surprise. Nima was grinning at you in excitement. “Please tell me you got a number.”

“A number?” You scoffed. “Are you crazy??”

“I saw sparks!”

You rolled your eyes, “You literally see sparks everywhere, Nima.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but one of these days I’m gonna be right.” She argued. “Statistically, speaking.”

You changed the topic of conversation, which was always easy to do with Nima, and took a sip of your coffee. It was a bit too sweet for your taste, but the trip to this pretentious coffee shop hadn’t been a complete waste. How often did people get a chance to chat with a handsome, older southern gentleman?

The bakery you worked out was a small family owned business. The owner, a cute little old man named Henry Pack, was an old friend of your father’s and when you showed interest in work he hired you without hesitation. That was two years ago. The initial plan was for this to be temporary. A way to earn money so you could pay bills and save up to finish your degree. However, life had dished out hit after hit and suddenly your temporary plan had turned more permanent.

Plus, the shop wasn’t doing well, it wasn’t getting the traffic it used to, and Henry was getting older and older. He needed the help and even if something else came up⏤ whether it be better paying or more enjoyable⏤ you didn’t think you’d be able to leave Henry behind. Not after all he had done for you.

You wiped down the counter once more mostly out of boredom. The last customer had been in and out nearly an hour ago. Henry walked in from the back office and you glanced over at him. He was a short, portly man with ruddy cheeks and a kind smile. It hurt your heart how stressed he had been as of late.

“Have you noticed much foot traffic outside?” He asked, hopeful.

“A bit.” You nodded. “Lunch just ended. I’m sure that’s why we have a lull.”

“Right, right.” Henry replied as if trying to convince himself.

The older man knelt down to root around in the lower cabinets. You offered to find whatever it was he was looking for, knowing he had bad knees, but he brushed your hands away stating he was just fine. With a sigh, you thought now was the best time to bring up the question that had been plaguing you.

“Henry, I need to talk to you about maybe a… a raise?”

He glanced up from where he was knelt with a frown. “I told you, hon. I can’t afford to pay you more. No matter how much I wish I could.” Henry sighed. “Well, maybe if I…”

“Never mind.” You said quickly. It was clear that your question was distressing to Henry. It wasn’t his fault you weren’t making the kind of money you needed. He was barely scraping by as well with the costs of keeping this place open. Henry gave you a sad smile⏤ an apology. He finished what he was doing and wandered back to his office. You blew out a frustrated breath. Maybe you could pick up a new job. The problem was that you were already working a crazy amount of hours here at the bakery. If you were somehow able to become the first human alive who didn't require sleep then that could work.

You covered your face with your hands and leaned back against the counter. For most of your adult life, you only had yourself to rely on financially. It was fine. That was the hand life dealt you. Nima was constantly offering to pay for certain things, or trying to loan you money, but you always refused. Too prideful to take her money with no guarantee that you’d be able to pay her back or offer her anything in return.

The sound of a bell chime startled you and you pushed off the counter quickly to try and regather your bearings. You cleared your throat and turned toward the door to offer the guest a smile. A greeting began to leave your lips, but it was cut short when you realized you recognized the man crossing the space to reach the register. It was the handsome coffee guy from a week ago.

“Well, you’re a familiar face.” You chuckled. “Joel, right?”

“Right.” He looked surprised that you remembered his name. Joel cleared his throat and came to stand in front of the register to face you. He had on a similar outfit to the last time you saw him. Flannel and jeans, but he seemed a bit more put together today. “Are you guys closed?”

“No. It’s just a… slow day.” All the days were slow actually. You straightened your apron, the only uniform item required for you to wear, and offered him a bright grin. “What can I get for you, sir?”

Joel glanced over the menu then the display case before nodding. “Muffins?”

“Okay.” You nodded when he gave you no further information. His eyes just snapped back to you. “What kind? How many?”

His eyes widened and he forced his gaze back to the display. “Just, uh, six of the blueberry?”

You bit back an amused chuckle and moved to start packing a box with his order. It was funny to you that this man had come into a bakery without an order in mind. After closing the box, you set it on the counter in front of him. “So, do you make a habit of popping into bakeries to order random things? Just passing by and thought ‘why not?’.”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel chuckled. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He gave it a small wave and nodded at you. “I have money with me today.”

“Very nice. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” He flipped it open and pulled out a card to hand to you. You hadn’t even told him how much the muffins would be. “I triple checked before leavin’ the house.” You handed him back the receipt with his card, and Joel put them away without making any move to leave. “How long have you worked here?”

You leaned against the counter. “About 2 years now. A family friend owns the shop.”

“Are you the one who,” Joel motioned to the display, “bakes?”

It was odd to you that the man sounded so nervous about having a simple, casual conversation. It was as if he was rusty at the skill and was attempting to stretch out those old muscles. With a small, amused smile, you shrugged. “Some of it. Henry is the main baker, he’s incredible, and I learned from him.”

“Is it somethin’ you enjoy?”

“Meh.” You answered honestly. “I’ve gotten decent at it, but I don’t necessarily love it. Just sort of fell into it.” Joel nodded and his pretty brown eyes darted around like he was looking for a new conversation topic. You threw him a bone. “What about you? What do you do?” You motioned to him and teased. “I’m guessing lumberjack.”

Joel chuckled, “Lumberjack?”

“Yeah.” You pushed off the counter to stand straight. “If I squinted I‘d mix you up with the Brawny guy.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you let out a mocking scoff. “You know? The paper towel lumberjack.”

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and a breathy laugh left him. Joel shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before, darlin’.”

“Where are you from?” You blurted curiously. “There’s no way you picked up that drawl living in LA.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel replied. “Texas. I’m from Texas.”

“Ah. That fits. You’re like a cowboy then.”

Joel rested his hands on the counter, “Am I a lumberjack or a cowboy? I’m gonna need you to make up your mind here.”

“Hm, can I get three to five business days to decide?”

“I suppose.” Joel nodded.

The door chime rang out and you glanced over to see another person wander in. For the first time ever, you found yourself disappointed to see a paying customer. Joel cleared his throat, dragging your attention back to him, and you watched as he opened up his wallet again to pull out a crisp five dollar bill. You laughed with a shake of your head as he shoved it into the tip jar.

“It was nice to see you again.” Joel said.

“You too. Have a good day.”

Joel picked up the box of muffins and on his way out he called back, “I’ll be back to find out if I’m a lumberjack or cowboy, darlin’. So get to thinkin'.”

Your cheeks warmed in amusement and you wondered if he was actually serious or if that was just a teasing joke. The other customer reached the register, and you turned to greet them. The stress of thinking about your bills and work life had been briefly soothed by the distraction of talking to Joel. That was nice.

Shockingly, Joel hadn’t been joking. He came back a few days later, ordering something random and on the spot, then demanded to know if he was a cowboy or a lumberjack. You had convinced him to give you more time to think as you joked that you needed further evidence to assess. That had been the start of a habit. Joel would randomly come in just to chat every few days or so and buy a new baked good from you.

A few times, he had walked in while you were helping other customers, but he always waited until they were rung up and on their way out before initiating any conversation with you. It was during the fifth visit that you could tell he was nervous about something. After some time he had gotten more comfortable talking to you, but today it was almost like he had recessed back to that first time.

“Are you workin’ this weekend?” Joel asked after ten minutes of small talk.

“Only on Sunday.” You admitted. “I’m picking up some extra shifts.”

“More shifts? Don’t you already work ‘em all?”

You chuckled. “Not all of them, but definitely most. But, hey, that’s life, right? You work a bunch and then one day you die.” Joel always seemed uncomfortable when you talked about your work schedule in any fashion. “Why do you ask?”

He had furrowed his brow at your working comment, but it quickly smoothed out as he shifted in place. It was cute to see a man as large and intimidating as he could be squirming over whatever topic he was trying to bring up. You stayed silent and let Joel mull it over. While he worked out whatever was on his mind, you could admire how well his plain t-shirt fit him.

“Nothin’. Just curious is all, darlin’.” Joel finally coughed out and you bit back a frown.

“What about you?”

Joel shrugged. “Workin’ some. Stayin’ busy.”

Multiple conversations ago he had revealed that he worked as some kind of contractor. You didn’t know much about that job other than it had something to do with building houses? Maybe? When you asked for more details he had stayed pretty vague.

“I should head out.” Joel cleared his throat holding the box of cookies in his hands.

“Oh. Yeah.” You nodded. “Sure. It was nice to see you as always, Joel.”

Joel gave you a tight lipped smile before turning on his heel and beginning to leave. He was halfway to the door before he spun on his heel and marched back⏤ startling you. Joel set the box down on the counter, hands resting on the edge, and kept his eyes downcast.

“I have a…proposition.” He blurted. Joel’s eyes snapped up to meet yours and the weight in those warm brown eyes nearly knocked you to your knees. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harboring a small crush on this man. Despite him being nearly two decades older than you, if you garnered a guess, the attraction you felt to him was not affected. In fact, it probably made you a bit more attracted to him. You knew that a therapist would probably cry out ‘daddy issues’, but you also had a hard time believing anyone could not be attracted to this man.

That being said, a part of you⏤ a very small part that you were too scared to encourage⏤ was really hoping he could be asking you out to dinner or drinks. Was that silly and unrealistic? Probably. It didn’t extinguish that little flame of hope though. You shrugged. “Proposition?”

“I wanna take care of you.” Joel spoke firmly. As if by just bringing this topic up, he had shed his nerves and was focused solely on selling you whatever this proposition was. You narrowed your eyes confused at his wording. The man continued. “Help you out, darlin’.”

“With?”

“Anythin’ and everythin’.” Joel sighed. “You name it and it's yours.”

You let out a confused chuckle. It was like the tables had turned and now you were the one who felt nervous. You buried your hands into your apron pockets and tilted your head. “Not to sound dense, but, uh, what?” Joel didn’t immediately reply. He just stared at you and his eyes burned straight to your soul. A warmth churned in your belly. “I just need you to be specific about what you’re offering because it’s going to be really awkward if I’m misunderstanding you.”

“I’m offerin’ you a life of ease. You work too much, doing somethin’ you don’t even love, and even when you’re off I bet all you do is stress about havin’ to work more to afford rent and bills. Am I wrong?” Joel challenged. You twisted your lips not having a solid argument. He wasn’t wrong. “So… let me take care of you, darlin’.” The choice of his words, the sound of his accent, in his gruff voice sent chills down your spine. You swallowed the lump in your throat and squirmed under his heavy gaze. “I’d love nothin’ more.”

“Nothing more? I… I don’t think that’s usually how that works.” You mumbled softly. An almost sickening feeling filled your gut. No amount of attraction to Joel would soften the idea of him paying you for sex. That’s what he was asking right? Joel makes you comfortable, pays all your bills, and in return you fuck him?

Joel must have noticed the shift in your mood because he held out a hand in surrender. “I know what you’re thinkin’. Not like that. I wouldn’t expect…” He winced. A bit of his nerves crept back into his features. “I wanna take care of you, and all I ask in return is that you allow me to do that. Offer some platonic company. Someone to talk to. Plus, occasionally, I’d need…a date. No strings there either. Work drags me to a bunch of real stupid conferences and outings. Having someone to talk to durin’ those things would be…nice.”

“That’s it?” You found it hard to fully trust that. As much as you had enjoyed your conversations with him, you still barely knew him. “You’d offer someone a little cash to chat with them?”

“Not just a little cash.” Joel said firmly. “Everything. Takin’ care of you isn’t somethin’ I’d want to half ass, darlin’.”

“That’s even less believable.” You said skeptically.

Joel nodded. “Fair. How about this,” He cleared his throat, “You said you’re off Saturday?” You nodded. “Let’s meet. Talk about this. No pressure. You can ask any and all questions you have.”

You chewed on your lower lip in thought. Saturday was two days away. “Can I think about that? Before I even agree to meet you.”

“Of course.” Joel nodded. He pulled a business card from his wallet and held it out for you to take. You reached out for it, and the brush of his fingers against your hands gave you goosebumps. “I want you to be comfortable. Call me if you’d like. Or… if you’d rather never see or contact me again I⏤ I get that too, darlin’.”

You stared down at the card, but realized it wasn’t a business card like you thought. It was the same size, but he had scribbled his name and cell phone number on it for you. Joel mumbled a quick good-bye before heading to the door again. You called out to him, looking up from the card, and he paused to glance over his shoulder.

“Why me?” You questioned. It seemed so random. Situations like this didn’t happen to people like you. They happened to people like Nima. People who were willing to step out of their comfort zone and put themselves out there. This couldn’t possibly have stemmed from this man forgetting his wallet one day and you being in the vicinity to fix that problem.

Joel’s lips curled up into a small smile and he shrugged. “I, uh, I like talkin’ to you, is all.”

The chime of the door as he left echoed through the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes glanced back down to the card where ten numbers stared up at you dauntingly. Just above it, written in a messy scrawl, was his first and last name. ‘Joel Miller’. It wasn’t until you read his name for the seventh time that you realized you were actually considering his offer.

[next]

✨J.M. Masterlist✨

#the last of us #joel miller #modern au #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #sugar daddy!joel miller #slow burn #reader insert #female reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 2 months

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The Harris campaign kicks into high gear

July 26, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Kamala Harris has the Trump campaign on its back foot. Whatever Trump’s advisers expected from V.P. Harris, they were wrong. Although Trump and his surrogates have tried several lines of attack, each attempt backfires as Trump offends important constituencies he needs to win. In attacking Kamala Harris, Trump is offending Black Americans, successful women, mothers raising blended families, couples trying to conceive, young people, and more. The Harris campaign has responded forcefully, using a pointed sense of humor that is refreshing and attractive to younger voters who see the internet as a battlefield of ideas.

On Thursday, the Harris campaign released a powerful television ad that was a “no-holds-barred” look at the threat to democracy posed by Trump. See The Guardian, ‘We choose freedom’: Kamala Harris campaign launches first ad. The ad is embedded in The Guardian article; I urge you to watch it. If you don’t, here is The Guardian’s description of the ad:

Released on Thursday morning, the ad opens with shots of Harris’s smiling face behind a podium, the word Kamala, the word Harris, and the American flag. The soundtrack is the beginning of Beyoncé’s song Freedom, to which Harris entered and exited her first speech to campaign staffers after gaining lightning speed momentum on the road to becoming the presumptive nominee. The ad is narrated by Harris, whose first words are, “In this election we each face a question. What kind of country do we want to live in?” She continues: “There are some people who think we should be a country of chaos. Of fear. Of hate,” she says, over shots of Trump and JD Vance. “But us, we choose something different.”

On social media, the Harris campaign has been even more aggressive. The Harris campaign took a clip of Trump imitating Kamala Harris, saying, “I’m the prosecutor and he is the convicted felon.” After Trump admits that he is a convicted felon and Harris is a prosecutor, the ad immediately cuts to a picture of Kamala Harris with her voice saying, “I am Kamala Harris and I approve this message.” The Harris campaign is showing early signs of social media savvy—just as Barack Obama’s campaign did in 2008.

The Harris campaign also went after JD Vance, who described Kamala Harris in 2021 as a “childless cat lady” who should not have an equal voice in the future of America because she does not have biological children. (Harris is a stepmother to two children with Doug Emhoff.) Thursday was “In Vitro Fertilization Day.” The Harris campaign released a statement saying, “Happy World IVF Day To Everyone Except JD Vance.” See HuffPo, Harris Campaign Wishes Happy World IVF Day To Everyone Except 1 Person.

The confidence and swagger of that ad was reflected in the Harris campaign’s immediate acceptance of debate with Donald Trump, set for September 10. But as Kamala Harris demonstrated an eagerness to debate, Trump began hedging his bets, saying he “did not like the idea” of a debate on ABC. See CNBC, ‘Let’s go’: Harris agrees to debate Trump, accuses him of ‘backpedaling’ on Sept. 10 date.

The Harris campaign also used social media to troll Trump's morning appearance on Fox News, during which Trump called Kamala Harris “garbage.” The Harris campaign issued a press release entitled Statement on a 78-Year-Old Criminal’s Fox News Appearance. The press release said,

After watching Fox News this morning we only have one question, is Donald Trump ok? Trump is old and quite weird [and] this guy shouldn’t be president ever again.

For their part, Trump and his surrogates were reduced to claiming that Kamala Harris is a “DEI hire,” a “failed border czar,” and a socialist who will destroy the economy of America.

Luckily for Kamala Harris, economic growth and border security both improved in the second quarter. On Thursday, the US Bureau of Economic Analysis reported that the gross domestic product grew at a 2.8% rate in the second quarter, well above the consensus prediction of 1.9% by economists. See USA Today, US GDP report: Latest data shows economy grew 2.8% in Q2 (usatoday.com)

At the border, crossings by immigrants dropped to their lowest level since 2020 (under Donald Trump). See CBS News, Migrant crossings continue to plunge, nearing the level that would lift Biden's border crackdown. Per CBS News,

July is on track to see the fifth consecutive monthly drop in migrant apprehensions along the U.S.-Mexico border and the lowest level in illegal immigration there since the fall of 2020, during the Trump administration, the internal Department of Homeland Security figures show.

My point in noting the responses by the Harris campaign is not to revel in the “zingers” and “smackdowns” that are long overdue. Rather, it is to highlight the nimbleness, swagger, and professionalism of the Harris campaign. The lightning-quick responses would be exemplary for any presidential campaign; they are stunning for a presidential campaign that is four days old.

Although it is still early, it seems clear that the Harris campaign will focus on Trump's criminality, incoherence, age, and hateful agenda. And it is doing so with a satirical edge that transfers easily into internet memes—which is an effective way to create viral messaging that reaches young people. Meanwhile, the Trump campaign has been caught flat-footed, trying to ignore the awkward creepiness of JD Vance and Trump's part-time approach to campaigning.

All of this should give Democrats confidence that Kamala Harris will run a strong campaign against an opponent who will wage a vile and hate-filled counter-offensive. If the first few days of the campaign are any indication, Kamala Harris is up to the task.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

#Robert B. Hubbell #Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter #election 2024 #Kamala Harris #The Guardian #zingers #smackdowns

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linberlyy · 8 months

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Let's be honest: Criston's offense’s more than justified and well-reasoned. Another question is how much this very offense is, but everyone will judge this through their own internal compass. Let me explain Cole’s motivation and worldview, maybe I'll open someone's eyes.

Let’s simulate the situation: we have a son from a humble family (so low that his position was low even for an engagement), who, with sweat, blood, his skills and efforts, carved out a place for himself in the Kingsguard, taking into account that, thanks to the goodwill of a representative of the royal family, - who has a golden spoon in her mouth, we remember, was able to get a healthy assessment of her capabilities and skills without watered calculations.

- “I know what it’s like to fight for something that others don’t value.”

He owes his new position precisely to the favor of the princess, and we have no reason to refute Criston’s conscience, because BEFORE any traumatic and drastic changes/events, he manifests himself as a conscientious and devoted knight, with a clear worldview.

They spend a lot of time together, and already at Aegon’s name day we see that the level of trust between Rhaenyra and Criston is high, moreover, it is rapidly gaining momentum when she opens some part of her soul, shares things that can be called “personal”, laments his situation and outlines the problems he faces. Most notable:

— “My father is trying to sell me to Jason Lannister. I was named heir to the throne only to improve the position of Lord Casterly Rock.

— Should I kill him?”

This is literally a joke about killing the LORD that Criston makes in the presence of the princess, and it is remarkable that they both laugh without taking it seriously.

— “You can choose your own path, you are lucky. Many would gladly change places with you.

— “I am the princess of Dragonstone, but I am toothless.”

— “Once, not so long ago, you were able to write my name in the White Book. A position in the Kingsguard is the highest honor for the Cole family. I owe you everything. And I wouldn’t call it toothless.”

He provides her with sincere support, without greedy or hypocritical intent, and she accepts it with open arms.

The development of their relationship, on the initiative of the princess, follows immediately when, after some time, abandoned by Daemon (I condemn) in a brothel, she persuades Criston to have sex. Rhaenyra lures him into the room, plays with the helmet, kisses him, not allowing him to leave, and then tries to free the knight from his armor. Yes, Criston could more than experience romantic feelings towards his princess, but above all, it was a kind of admiration, sincere gratitude for what bestowed her favor on the rootless commoner. His representation of Rhaenyra may seem banal and naive, namely as “a poor princess, enslaved by her position,” we will note this in the future. But based on his pure motives, he faces a choice in which his feelings equally suffer, his vows and, of course, the wishes of his object of desire, in relation to whom Criston has never crossed the line before, are called into question. Many may underestimate the pressure that arises between the statuses and titles of total opposites, and only in the example of “maid - prince” do some realize the problematic nature of such a union, but not “princess - knight”. Please note: despite gender, it is still a class difference that breeds power with abuse. And, unfortunately, Cole cannot know and be sure that Rhaenyra’s need to get sex here and now has nothing to do with her love for him. He hesitantly follows the princess's lead, putting aside his white cloak.

Next we see and hear that Criston is ashamed of himself for violating his honor, neglecting his duty, although he listened to his heart, to his duty to Rhaenyra.

— “You occasionally confided in me... Over the years of acquaintance. And it seems to me that I know you. A little.

— “More than a little.”

Another imaginary confirmation in Christon’s eyes of reciprocity.

— “You have said many times how you despise your position. That you will be married off at the whim of your father, without thinking about the inclination of your heart. And this day has come."

He imbues her with the problem mentioned in the past; driven not only by his dilemma, but also by Rhaenyra's “confinement,” a literal shackle that equally binds and constrains them both.

— “I ask you to come with me. Away from all this, from the humiliations and burdens of your heritage. Let's leave all this and look at the world together. We will be free, nameless. We are free to go wherever we want, to love whoever we want. Will you marry me? Not for the crown. For love.

— “I’m the Crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be her. I can complain about my debt, but would I choose infamy in exchange for a barrel of oranges, or a ship to Asshai? It is my duty to marry a noble of a great house. But my marriage is not the end all be all. Ser Criston, Laenor and I have come to an understanding. I gave him the right to do what he wants. He granted me the same”.

— “Do you want to make me a whore?”

— “I want what started to continue.” You are my protector. My white knight”.

— “I made a vow, a vow of chastity. I have nothing but my white cloak, and I have stained it! I thought the wedding would cleanse him.”

Literally, Criston pours out not only his soul to Rhaenyra, but also to us, as viewers. He dictates the reality of his situation, assures that he can provide and protect the princess as much as possible. But, of course, for the blood of the dragon, for the heiress, for the father’s daughter, who was previously brought up in the conditions of “do you want it? Get it!” such a prospect is worthless. Naive of Cole? Yes, but not without reason.

After everything, he feels extremely vulnerable, as well as after a sincere confession to the Queen - which responds even more precariously and nervously to any conscience and confidence, despite her gratitude. Already at the wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor, Cole, like a taut string, stands at the service, but restlessly and nervously looks at the princess.

— “I’m on duty, what’s your business?”

— “You don’t know me, Ser Criston, but this alliance is very important to both of us.”

— “If you have something to say, Ser Joffrey, speak.”

— “Ser Laenor is as dear to me as I know the princess is to you. We must swear to keep them and their secrets. We’re not in any danger yet... They are safe.”

Sounds like a threat to a pins and needles knight with a stained cloak and a sense of duty, don’t you think? Criston can only guess how Joffrey knows about his affair with the princess, and only one of the options may look convincing - Rhaenyra telling Laenor about this, who could notify his lover along the chain. Again, every possible inclination towards princess on his part is undermined when their secret is at stake. Yes, Criston succumbs to anger and panic, resentment and hopelessness, for which he commits a much more terrible act than calling a woman names. But even so, Cole feels guilt, boundless disappointment, and at the lynching he also feels remorse. He plans to voluntarily commit suicide and admits his every mistake. This scene is literally the rebirth of a knight in the rays of Alicent’s understanding and favor.

And as a result: people complain countless times and blame Criston for swearing towards Rhaenyra, for which he apologizes. Cool. Let's think critically and delve into the story and characters, and not spit hypocrisy.

#hotd #anti team black #houseofthedragon #rhaenyra targaryen #pro team green #team green #the greens #criston cole #alicent hightower

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millionsofmaxime · 2 years

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There were three known facts about the universe, the sky is blue, the grass is green and Wally West is just about the nicest person you could ever meet and can do no wrong. So why is Wally is currently stealing some precious rocks from a museum? Wally knew he wasn’t the sneakiest and he certainly wasn’t the fastest but was determined not to get caught, least of all by his uncle but stealing was just so damn fun! He couldn’t not do it.

A small preview of the Momentum Equals Power AU. I hope you guys like it :)

#Momentum Equals Power #Maxi's AUs #wally west #villain au #villain!wally

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avelera · 2 years

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"Nice is Different than Good" Character Interpretation: Hob Gadling as Kind of a Bastard

Ok, slightly controversial take on Hob Gadling Is Kind of a Bastard that I've been toying with. It runs counter to some wonderful let me be clear, amazing fanon I've seen in some fics, so this is much more me going, "Hey, here's a way to do it different that might work better in different stories fan writers might want to tell," and not to invalidate other takes or even to put forth that I think this is necessarily true of Hob in a meta sense, it's just shining a light on the text from a different direction, y'know?

Hob as Neutral Evil (credit to Winter on the big dreamling server for this concept!)

I'm obsessed with the idea that Hob is neutral evil on ye olde D&D alignment chart because it makes so much sense if the axis for evil is primarily based on selfishness.

Primary evidence? How casually he talks in 1489 about having done a bit of soldiering and banditry. Those jobs are about killing people. Maybe not all the time as a bandit, ideally, but even then it's about taking their stuff. There is absolutely zero remorse in Hob's tone about being a soldier and a bandit just because he's at his most wide-eyed innocent and has since picked up a trade.

Hob as Politically Conservative until at least 1789 but possibly until 1989

Hob as far as I can tell is a model of the white male middle class existence in England throughout what we define as more or less the "modern era". As far as I can tell, there's no indication at any point prior to 1789 that Hob rocked the boat or was at all out of step with the Powers That Be.

In general, I kind of see Hob as always just this side of the "wrong side of history" and I personally find it more interesting when that's where we find him. And not in a grand sense but in a "middle of the road" sense of just going along with the day to day accepted levels of harm and evil caused by societal momentum. Generally speaking, only a very small percentage of the population takes active part in moving the needle towards good at any given time on a variety causes, and I tend to see Hob is generally speaking outside of all those minorities of do-gooders, except when it comes to taking care of his immediate friends and family. Which is a pretty average place to be.

Indeed, when it comes to the Wat Tyler rebellion, it's my personal headcanon that Hob was more likely on the side of the soldiers putting DOWN the rebellion on behalf of the local lords, and unlikely to have been interested in or part of the cause of greater equality in England. The fact he's a soldier drinking with his mates openly in a tavern when people around him are talking about Wat Tyler and he's blithely ignoring the discussion is where I get that sense.

Indeed, I believe (though I don't know where to cite it, even in the English Civil Wars, Hob was canonically on the side of the monarchy. So jot that down as Hob being pro-monarchy.

While, yes, I believe post 1789 he learned to be less of a piece of shit about taking active part if horrific industrial-level cruelty, I don't see evidence he became a superhero after that. The one bit of "on the page"altruism we see from him is him flipping a coin to Lushing Lou and telling an obvious alcoholic to go get a drink so she stops pestering his friend by offering herself to him as a prostitute, something Hob seems entirely comfortable with.

In 1989 when Hob gets out of his sleek convertible, dressed like a stock trader, he uses the Financial Times to shield himself from the rain, a periodical that apparently was just lying around in his car. As tempting as it would be to say it's to somehow show off to Dream, he has no reason to believe Dream would come back to his car so more likely, it's just something for himself.

All of these put together show me on the page that Hob stayed pretty fixated on making money even after deciding and coming to regret being part of the "shipping business".

And to be clear, we don't actually know when Hob quit the shipping business. Personally, I like to think he did it right after Dream asked, but that's a romantic take and deliberately so. Hob having the opinion by 1889 that slavery is wrong is not necessarily a progressive take by then. Regardless, even if in 1789 he learned it was wrong, that still puts him just slightly ahead of the curve, philosophically speaking.

If we pull in comic canon we do know Hob was ahead of the curve on feminism by 1912 in Hob's Leviathan but again, women would get the right to vote by 1918/1928 in England after the issue had been discussed for at least a century (keep in mind, male Catholics couldn't vote in England until the early 1800s) so again this puts him as palatable to modern readers but not necessary terribly ahead of the curve.

Now, let me also be clear, where Hob is at in 2022 is anyone's guess. Personally I think Dream not showing up in 1989 was a second wakeup call for Hob. If he'd drifted back towards selfish hedonism by 1989, as his whole vibe suggests, he might very well have looked in the mirror and thought, "What if this is why my stranger stayed away?"

We know he becomes a teacher. That probably would go a long way towards changing his politics. We know he's a history teacher, so now he's got the long view. He's spending time in academia, which tends to lean left. My point is, Hob in 2022 is anyone guess and I think there's a lot of evidence and word of god evidence that he's become a Good Person by then, but I also think it's the 1989 meeting that jumpstarted him being Good and not just Nice. Because I do think Hob throughout all these periods of being morally a bastard was always good to the people close to him in his life. I think he was a good friend and a good husband and would have been a good friend to Dream had he allowed it. And that's what I enjoy most, that he could be both of those things, Nice and Not Good.

Hob as non-religious

I admit, this one is very near and dear to my heart for personal reasons of identifying as an atheist when it comes to Christianity and being a lifelong skeptic of Catholicism for the brief time I was technically a member of that organization (all of which while I was a minor). To be clear there is just as much evidence to say Hob is any number of religious alignments as there is that he has none. It's a totally personal choice by any author, I'm just outlining my evidence for why I write him as effectively an atheist.

The Black Death is considered the period that broke the spine of the Catholic church as a monolith in Europe. All the good priests who did their duty taking care of people and giving last rites died leaving only the ones who fled or were young, with tons of money given to the church because of all the rampant death.

Hob would have been born into an era that was particularly rife with both fanaticism and anti-church sentiment. There was a lot of evidence abounding that being a good Christian just got you killed.

Given Hob is a soldier drinking with his mates 1389, I don't see much evidence of him being particularly devout there. No less so in 1489, by the way. Not saying there's evidence against it, just that there's no evidence for it and indeed, societally there's justification for him to not be devout given the century he was born.

1589 I'd say we've got some evidence Hob isn't devout: he seems unperturbed by King Henry's ransacking of the monasteries. Politically speaking, if Hob is a New Man, he might have even benefited from that ransacking personally. In my personal view, Hob is an opportunist and most likely converted to Church of England at the earliest possible opportunity to curry favor with the Powers that Be. I don't personally see him as someone who would bother pretending to be Protestant while continuing to practice Catholicism, because:

Why would Hob bother to be faithful at all? He can't die. The #1 reason to be devout is to avoid Hell or get into Heaven. Hob has clearly chosen the secular world as the only Heaven he cares about. He says that his current life is what, "He once thought Heaven would be like" and it's a very secular vision of good food and safe streets. He does not appear to be pining at all for any spiritual version of Heaven and indeed, speaks of Heaven as a dream only in the past tense.

Personally, by 1689, I think Hob has plenty of reasons to hate God after what he's suffered and the fact he's still not interested in dying to me seems a pretty strong indication that he does not hold romantic views of the afterlife.

Finally, for 1789 to the present, there was absolutely a class of gentleman who were progress minded, obsessed with technology and the Age of Reason. Many American Founding Fathers were self-proclaimed deists, basically a safe form of atheism that said eh, yes God exists and is out there and we owe him some deference, but he doesn't impact day to day life and we can safely ignore him most of the time. Personally, and this is pure headcanon, I put Hob in that group cheerfully ignoring religion and never looking back because he's more interested in the new technologies of the day and not the crusty old church.

We also know, canonically, that at least in 1789, Hob does not consider himself Jewish.

And of course, we can't forget: Hob has evidence that the Christian cosmology is wrong, somehow, given his stranger and his own immortality.

Frankly, given that Hob appears on the page to be a hedonist with no fear of dying, it's interesting to speculate on what his moral boundaries would be at all coming from a world where Heaven and Hell were the primary means of moral social control. It is possible to speculate that Hob could have gone completely off the rails as far as worrying about his soul for a bit there, other than thinking he's already sold it, which could go either way as far as trying to redeem himself but again, he speaks casually of being a soldier and a bandit, so it doesn't sound like if he worried about his soul being sold already, he thought there was anything that could be done to redeem it.

#the sandman #sandman meta #hob gadling #just a collection of some headcanons I have #sometimes I use these in fic #sometimes i don't!#just stuff to think about

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devilheartsblog · 6 months

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Black Circle Musa AU (design & concept art)

The AU is in the name: Musa joins the Black Circle and becomes a Dark Fairy. Unlike Bloom she isn’t under a spell and joined them for her own reasons.

There she is!

I wanted Musa in this AU to be a mix of the Black Circle and a Dark Fairy. She’s an equal in the AU so I wanted her to have the same vibe as them. I had a hard time putting in red so when looking at the dark fairy references they leaned into purples, pinks and blues, which ended up making Musa’s look much better.

I wanted the wings to be smaller and there’s actually a reason behind it. Since she has dark magic it grants her the power to fly, hence why witches and wizards can fly without wings. But she’s also a fairy so she needs the wings for momentum. I love the purple wings sark fairies have so I kept it that way. Made the wings look like smaller versions of her Enchantix wings shape-wise.

First Concept:

This was the first design I came up with. Now usually I like the first design but I was struggling with her bangs and the outfit was too simple both in terms of the wizards and the Winx character design since general (I know about the later seasons’ dresses and yes I think they’re hella basic)

The wings and back are the things that stayed consistent.

Hair changes + Weapon

This one is less of design concept and more like light adjustments. I ended up keeping her regular straight bangs instead of the side-swept ones. I really wanted her hair to look like her season 3 cut because I miss it so much. Plus it could be her going back to being more tomboyish and hard on the outside rather than the softer version we got in season 4.

I feel like since she’s part of the Black Circle she needs her own specialty so she can summon a microphone as either sing into it for sound waves or swing it around for some gnarly damage

I also changed her top to have a zipper thing and become shorter.

Colors and cape (+ tiny Gantlos)

Aw look tiny Gantlos!

Anyway I decided to combine the zipper and the triangle cutout (don’t ask me how the zipper works, maybe it’s now a line) and I like it quite a bit. Her back is still exposed for her wings.

This is the point where I started messing with the colors as well. It was pretty hard combining red and purple without her looking a bit odd. I mostly envisioned her with Blue and purple gloves but I wanted red to be her main color.

And the bottom right is my favorite drawing. I like the pose and she’s showing off one of her powers. I was scrolling through some bocaloid shorts and it inspired me to give her fishnets. I also drew her boots and the design came together (except the colors whoch I figured out later)

That’s it for now, I’ll talk about the lore later. Thanks for reading!

#art #digital art #illustration #fanart #winx club #winx au #winx club musa #wizards of the black circle #here’s an AU I need to write about #i just really want a goth Musa man #she would rock the fairy hunter’s aesthetic ok?

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wrishwrosh · 9 months

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re: tags on labor in historical fiction post, would be very interested to hear what the four examples you mentioned are!!

ok u know what that tag WAS bait, thank you for taking it. technically speaking these aren't works dealing strictly with labor in historical fiction, they are my four treasured examples of BUREAUCRAT FICTION (so not NOT about labor in history?) i was gonna try to make this post pithy and short but then i remembered how extremely passionate i am about this microgenre i made up. so sorry.

bureaucrat fiction is not limited by genre or format but criteria for inclusion are as follows: long and detour-filled story about functionary on the outside of society finding unexpected success within a ponderously large and powerful System/exploring themes of class and physicality and work and autonomy and what it means to hold power over others beneath the heartless crushing wheels of empire/sad little man does paperwork. also typically long as hell. should include at least one scene where the protagonist is unironically applauded-perhaps for the first time in their life-for filling out a form really good. without further ado:

soldier's heart by alex51324. the bureaucracy: british army medical corps during wwi. the bureacrat: mean gay footman/new ramc recruit thomas barrow. YEAH it's a downton abbey fic YEAH it's a masterpiece. i've talked about it before at length, my love has not faded. the crowning moment of bureaucracy is a long interlude where thomas optimizes the hospital laundry (this actually happens twice or maybe three times)

hands of the emperor by victoria goddard. the bureaucracy: crumbling fantasy empire some time after magical apocalypse. the bureacrat: passionate late-career clerk from the hinterlands cliopher mdang. i reread this book every winter bc it is as a warm bath for my SAD-addled brain and every time i neglect all my responsibilities to read all nine billion pages in three days. it puts abt 93% of the worldbuilding momentum into elaborating all of the ministries and secretaries and audits necessary to run a global government and like 7% into the magic and stuff. there are also several charming companion novellas and an equally long sequel that dives more into the central relationship between cliopher and the emperor which i highly recommend if you like gentle old man yaoi and/or magic, but there's more bureaucracy in HOTE.

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. the bureaucracy: court of henry viii. the bureaucrat: thomas cromwell, the real guy. curveball! it's critically acclaimed booker prize winning rpf novel wolf hall! mantel is really interested in particular ways of gaining and maintaining power in delicate and labyrinthine systems like the tudor court, specifically in strongmen who use both physical intimidation and metaphysical manipulation to succeed. under these conditions i do think my best friend long-dead historical personage thomas cromwell counts as Bureaucrat Fiction (as do danton and robespierre in a place of greater safety. bonus rec.)

going postal by terry pratchett. the bureaucracy: fantasy postal service of ankh-morpork. the bureaucrat: conman, scammer, and little freak moist von lipwig. this is definitely shorter and lighter than the other three entries on the list, sort of a screwball take on the bureaucrat. but the mail is such a classic bureaucracy thing? who doesn't love thinking about the mail? also contains a key genre element which is a fraught sexual tension with the person immediately above the protagonist in their hierarchy, who is also their god-king and boyfriend-dad. you can't tell me vetinari isn't torturing moist psychologically AND sexually.

anyway sorry about all this. if you've read any of these come talk to me about them. bureaucrat fiction recs welcomed with the openest possible arms.

#this post was very challenging to write bc i cannot spell the word bureaucracy to save my life. EVERY time i forget where the U goes #long post #asks #bureacracy. beaureaucracy. bereaucracy. fuck french

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wordsandrobots · 19 days

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Since you’re THE biggest IBO understander, I’ve wanted to get your input on something that’s been circulating in my mind for a while.

What do you think was Tekkadan’s biggest flaw that led to their downfall?

Heh, well, first off, I can't claim the definite article. Prolific output does not equal authority. But I can certainly try to give you both my understanding of what the text is aiming for and my opinions about the final result.

I have seen Orga Itsuka's biggest flaw termed a 'lack of conviction', although I would argue it's fairer to call it confusion over how to enact his convictions. Because Orga absolutely believes from the bottom of his heart that the most important thing in the world is to create a future for his friends. He just doesn't know how to do that, long-term. He's a tactical thinker, reacting to what's in front of him rather than taking a bigger-picture view. And he's willing to risk everything, including the lives he's trying to protect, to get immediate results. This works well for short-term victories but tends towards blind recklessness. Moreover, since Orga has not actually established for himself what a good future for everyone should look like, he latches on to other people's versions of it. First the CGS, then Naze, and finally, fatally, McGillis. For all his own intense charisma, he falls hard for that of others, and misjudges badly as a result.

This would be bad enough in isolation, but it's combined with Tekkadan's generalised 'all or nothing' attitude to truly terrible effect. I touched on this in the context of Mika and Orga's relationship in a previous essay: the rest of Tekkadan are behind Orga 110% and that creates its own inexorable momentum. We see multiple characters express dismay at looming problems-- Eugene, Biscuit, Merribit, even Shino -- only to set their doubts aside for what they perceive as the greater good. They believe in Tekkadan, more than anything else, this dream Orga has sold them on, and protecting it and advancing its fortunes becomes an all-encompassing goal for which they will gladly lay down their lives.

[As an aside, Shino's conversation with Eugene right before the 'final battle' is a great example of this problem playing out. As much as I rag on him, Shino isn't stupid. He shows repeatedly that despite his gung-ho attitude, he can recognise a losing fight. But he's quick to mask or go back on his doubts and act like Tekkadan is going to pull through regardless, because Orga has gotten them this far, right? Set alongside Eugene's failure to replace Biscuit as the voice of reason, it serves to underline how deeply enmeshed the boys are by this point. They've bet everything on Orga, and can't bring themselves to break with him. Not unrelatedly, it's Shino himself who talks Orga into the gamble that costs him his life.]

This combination -- the boy who doesn't know where he's going and the people willing to follow him anywhere he leads -- is what the show positions as Tekkadan's key flaw and the results of it steadily ramp up as the story progresses. They scrape through Season 1, making a big name for themselves, and reach their zenith by taking down the Dawn Horizon Corps with minimal losses. But then the 'Silent War' hits, dragging them more directly into political power-plays. It goes appallingly badly: they are betrayed from within, their legitimate connections to the Arbrau bloc are severed, and they lose their presence on Earth.

Next they uncover the mobile armour, and while they mange a victory over it, Mika definitively proves that he won't let Orga stop under any circumstances, McGillis is inspired to throw caution to the wind, and Tekkadan's tenuous position inside Teiwaz implodes. They just about got away with jumping on board with McGillis' coup plans, but once they've taken out the 'armour and embarrassed Iok Kujan into the bargain? A lot of chickens come home to roost.

Naze -- the one person Orga respects, listens to, and who actually has the potential to reign him in -- dies as a result of Tekkadan's display of power. Afterwards, Orga knows killing Jasley in return will mean breaking with Teiwaz. He hesitates, visibly, over going through with it -- only for the pressure of everyone wanting vengeance on behalf of Naze, Amida, Lafter and the rest to tip him over the edge. From there, the only possible route to achieving what he wants is the alliance with McGillis, who turns out not to be able to deliver on his promises. Everything falls apart.

Now. The way this is presented carries judgement. Orga is repeatedly castigated for his decisions, including the loss of one of his closest friends. Likewise, the Arbrau/SAU war arc serves as a microcosm of Tekkadan's failings, with Aston's death stemming from Takaki blindly acting according to their ethos. Crucially, Takaki chooses to change for the better, taking one of the other options available to him (with Kudelia's help) -- notably in the same moment Orga is doubling-down on his existing path.

Tragedies are built from characters making the wrong choices and this juxtaposition serves to underline that they are wrong, and could be approached differently. Takaki is correct to hold on to what he has instead of risking it for the sake of an imagined 'better place'. He recognises something Orga does not until after Shino is killed (and lots of other people, of course, but it's framed around Shino's death).

There follow several scenes of Ogra being directly called out. 'He died for you!' Eugene snarls, taking charge of getting everyone to safety. 'You're whining?' Yamagi demands, when Orga reaches his lowest ebb and comes close to abandoning Tekkadan's cause. 'I was under the impression you had a spine,' sneers Rustal Elion, assuming moral authority and refusing to blunt the consequences of Orga's actions.

[When @prezaki asked me to explain my stance on Rustal Elion's intentions, I talked about his gestured-to positive traits. That's not what I mean here: Rustal takes control over the setting and imposes his morals upon it. The tenor of his exchange with Orga is of someone in the right looking down on someone pleading for unearned leniency. Whatever you think about that -- and I view it as a great demonstration of Rustal's inherent contempt for 'little people' who don't meet his standards -- this is functionally what's happening, and Orga is powerless against it.]

In light of this, the manner of Orga's death -- finally taking up a gun and sacrificing his life for his comrades after two seasons of doing the opposite -- is both fitting and a form of redemption. Given the director's original conception of the show being one that ended with every named protagonist dead, a thread of 'just desserts' is undeniably present. Tekkadan are not placed in a positive light for their determination, which comes with a bloody cost, both on their side and on their enemies'. They are fools and upstarts in a world that violently rejects change.

However, like many of the show's components, its authorship is a two-part affair. Mari Okada and other writers argued against the kill 'em all direction, and the end result is far more ambiguous than clean-cut condemnation. To be clear, it is absolutely still saying that Orga and Tekkadan as a whole make terrible decisions. But the more-hopeful-than-it-might-have-been ending allows space for greater nuance. (Which is good - I doubt I would be as enamoured with IBO if it had concluded by thoroughly punishing a group of child-soldiers for being what they are and committed to their never being anything else.)

In light of the actual ending, we can look seriously at the ways the show demonstrates why its characters behave as they do. Mika and Orga's ingrained behaviour is responsible for a lot of what goes wrong, but we are shown quite blatantly that they would not have survived into adolescence if they hadn't developed it. The ever-present threat of what would happen if Tekkadan *didn't* strive to grow stronger and resist the harmful forces surrounding them frames every decision. Even the individuals who mean them ill are the products of the systems that created this whole miserable situation. Nobliss, Ein, Gaelio, Carta, Iok, Jasley, Galan, Rustal -- they each have major personal failings but are equally shaped by their positions in society, just as the boys are shaped by theirs. By being so thorough in constructing an exploitative world, the writers and director hew against reducing the characters down to simply being flawed people.

They are instead flawed people doing their best with limited resources in oft-times impossible circumstances. The story at once highlights the brutality of its protagonists and that they are children, abused by those who see them only as tools, within systems that encourage that perspective. Tekkadan is itself a microcosm of larger patterns, of might making right and human life being exchanged for money. Throughout, lines are blurred between 'proper' soldiers and teenage mercenaries, between businesses and the mafia, between pirates and police. The whole is rotten and while struggling may not be a path to survival, it is at least clearly a path, if you can stick to it.

Thus, any discussion of Tekkadan's flaws must account for the show's refusal to place them in a vacuum. I don't know to what extent Iron-Blooded Orphans is the result of a push and pull between competing ideas about how the tale should go. Yet what was put on screen frequently refuses easy categorisation into straightforward condemnation or sympathy. It's just not the kind of story that allows us to neatly assign blame to zealousness, recklessness or a murderous attitude. All these have too demonstrable a cause and within that context, it's hard to argue they are incorrect as responses. They are, at the very least, eminently understandable.

Errors of judgement on Orga's part and the failure of those around him to moderate his haste play a role in what happens, without question. But to a large degree, no one involved is allowed to be otherwise. Takaki's path is contingent on too many factors to be a widely-viable alternative. Likewise, for all that the eventual escape of the survivors is facilitated by wiser and cooler heads prevailing, it is nonetheless paid for in blood, past as well as present. Heck, Kudelia's character development is about learning the cost of improvement and accepting that cost as necessary -- the same calculation performed by every boy who steps on to the series' battlefields.

In the end, perhaps the most honest answer to 'what caused Tekkadan's downfall' is simply that they existed as part and parcel of the world they were born into. Their 'mistake' was responding to it on its own terms, meeting violence with violence and oppressive hopelessness with desperate hope. They tried to win a rigged game, not because it was the only one in town, but because it looked better than the alternatives and once committed, there was no easy way to turn back.

I think that's a startlingly mature approach to a subject too often reduced to power-fantasies or personal horror. The existence of child-soldiers is a flaw in the real world. Through the way it fleshes out its tragic structure, Iron-Blooded Orphans manages to capture some of what that entails.

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

Thank you for the ask! I don't know to what extent this is the answer you were after. I tend to view Tekkadan's naiveté as a significant single contributing factor, but it's really only a facet of their being stuck where they are, socially speaking. And I wanted to discuss the narrative treatment of Orga's flaws because it's something that could be a lot more clear-cut than it actually is.

[Index of other writing]

#gundam iron blooded orphans #gundam ibo #g tekketsu #tekketsu no orphans #tekkadan #orga itsuka #flaws #analysis #authorial intent #(multiple)#spoilers #words in answer

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jd-loves-fiction · 2 years

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Breathtaking

➢ the kiss that breaks apart for a second, a smile stretching and they kiss you back again, fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to your neck (SWISS)

➢ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Swiss x GN!Reader

➢ 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff

➢ 𝖜𝖈: 603

➢ 𝖆/𝖓: Can you tell Swiss is my favorite? Hope he’s not too OOC i’m still trying to figure them all out 😅 (gets a little frisky but that’s just cuz im mad horny for Swiss and i couldn't keep it out of the writing)

Swiss's kisses are breathtaking, to say the least. You'd think him to be an air ghoul if you didn't know better, with how he seems to suck the air straight from your lungs every time.

You’re waiting at your agreed meeting location, in the shade of a large tree just beside the chapel. Copia’s nervous voice rings out of the building, sounding like his sermon is close to the ending. Nervous, yes, but still strong enough to be heard all throughout the building.

Attending Copia’s sermons isn’t mandatory for anyone but the ghouls and ghoulettes, knowing that if it wasn’t, most of them would never show up.

And so you wait, rocking back and forth on your heels impatiently.

When dozens of shoes start clicking upon the dark marble of the floor, you stand up straight, realizing that Copia has stopped talking. Your hands pat down your uniform and hair, hoping to look at least presentable after having rushed through the tasks that gave you a good excuse to miss the sermon.

A bug-eyed helmet peeks around the corner, looking straight at you, and by the roguish flash of white teeth against dark skin, you know exactly who it is.

You raise your hand in greeting, smiling wide as Swiss walks closer with powerful, resolute steps, smile seemingly glued on his face. He doesn’t wave back but you know it’s not out of malice, by that shit-eating grin, you know he’s got something nefarious cooking up in that fast-moving brain of his.

He doesn’t even take a second to settle his forward momentum once he reaches you, he simply grabs your face in between his large hands and brings his lips down on yours, harsher than he expected to. You almost stumble back with the force of it, before one of his hands dip around your waist to secure you against his hard body. The dips and planes of which you can feel starkly clear against your own uniformed body.

Even as you attempt to gasp from the surprise of it all, he doesn’t let up, not for a second. His lips stay sealed over yours as his split tongue slips into your mouth. Your hands clutch his shirt tightly, feeling overwhelmed by how he seems to be trying to suck your soul out of you.

“Don’t be too rough on ‘em, Swiss! They’re only human,” Shouts Aether suddenly, probably noticing that the kiss had gone on for a bit too long.

Swiss’ hands return to framing your face as he pulls himself back from your lips, seemingly with great effort, to look deep into your eyes as you both pant against each other’s skin. He pays the older ghoul’s warning no mind, cheshire grin returning as he gazes at you with eyes full of love and fondness. Or maybe it’s something else, it’s hard to tell with the helmet on.

“I missed you~.” He sings softly, rubbing the tip of your nose up with his, before dipping back for more kisses, these ones quick and loud. The last of which he lets linger, before pulling back with his eyes closed, hands sliding down your face to hold your neck in a grasp that nearly covers it with how big his hands are, “Satan, I missed you so much.”

“You saw me this morning. We woke up together.” You remind him playfully, lightly stroking the hair at the back of his neck, not covered by his helmet.

“Don’t care, too long.” Swiss complains equally as playfully, before his lips touch yours once more with the pleased sigh of a ghoul who has it all.

#ghost band #ghost band x reader #the band ghost #ghost bc #swissarmy #nameless ghoul swiss #swiss ghost #swiss ghoul #swiss ghoul x reader #swiss x reader #nameless ghouls #nameless ghouls x reader

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phanzon · 4 months

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Puppet Sisters AU (2/?)

Like before: OG AU by @rorydrawsandwrites, its time I get off my ass and continue the story. PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/phanzon/752669118845665280/i-cant-believe-im-going-to-write-this-au-out?source=share

Gangle opened her eyes, she had passed out for only a moment yet to her it felt like an eternity in a coma. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy, her legs were like jelly and her headache wouldn't end. "Ughhhh... how long was I out?" As she lifted her arm as high as she could to rub her head, a tiny squeak could be heard as the plastic glove rubbed Gangles porcelain face. Furthermore, the more Gangle moved ever so slightly, the more she could feel a moderate weight of fake denim rub across her furry torso, and the tightness of her ribbons strung around her neck... Something felt very wrong indeed. "I feel so weird... wait, what?!" For some reason or another, Jax's body began to repeat every word that came to Gangle's mind. Normally, Gangle would have to manually command Jax to say something, now it was automatic and came out a little too naturally. "Jax stop it... I SAID SHUT UP!" Gangle (and by extention Jax's body) growled in frustration at all these new confusing feelings. Gangle tried to sit up, however the mere movement only exacerbated all of Gangle's woes. It was not so much the weight of the body being too much for Gangle's ribbons to bear, but rather the sensation of feeling as if the body was hers in addition to controlling her own ribbon body. It was all too much for the girl, she released Jax's body, letting it's head to slouch back to where it started as Gangle slithered away to puke. "Uhhhhg... what just happened?" Gangle looked back at Jax's body, its eyes empty of life, and subtle movements nonexistent, there was not even a single breath. Gangle looked at the uncanny sight with an uncomfortable wince, by now the bunny would have returned to his senses, yet Gangle remembered how it felt like nobody was home. She slowly shifted over to examine the body and see what was going on. Wrapping her ribbon briefly around its neck, all of the sensations from before came rushing back. A breath was forced out of both bodies as Gangle struggled to process what was going on.

After a few more seconds, Gangle managed to pry her hand away from the neck, her eye's wide with shock and amazement. "I... I have control over his whole body... all of his senses... he literally gave me EVERYTHING!" Gangle felt awe struck and afraid at the sheer power and control she now had over Jax's body: there was still so much Gangle did not understand about the consequences of taking a second body with equal control to their own. A part of her regretted the path she had just took... but as her curiosity grew, she looked into Jax's blank eyes and realized there was no turning back. Closing their eyes and resting on Jax's face, Gangle readied to connect with the body a third time. "Alright... here goes nothing!" As they connected to Jax's mind, they slowly learned how to adapt from using two bodies at once. First, they moved Ja's right arm, getting a feel of its weight and senses, all the while moving her left ribbon independently from Jax's body. "I see... interesting. Now lets try... Sp-Spea... Speaking. There we go." Having learned to speak on her own again, Gangle took a while longer to learn how to speak as Jax independently. "Ma-ma-ma... Hello, Hello- ah! there we go! *Moves Jax's tongue around the mouth* Mmm? *moves it around more* Eww... Jax's mouth tastes awful... ugh!" After about an hour of figuring the basics of working with two bodies, it was time to try and stand up. Lifting one arm onto the bed, Gangle lifted themselves and Jax up onto their feet before they lost their balance and fell on the bed. "Sigh... lets try that again." Rolling onto their back, they used the momentum off their legs to launch themselves on their feet, where they could finally stand up straight. "Well that took a lot longer than I wanted it to... although I Guess it could have been worse, like the time I was learning how to walk while Jax was here and resisting. Anyway, I better check whats up outside."

Opening the door and walking out into the hallway, Gangle took note of how the new way of controlling Jax had its perks and quirks. On one hand it was far more flexible and less taxing to control the body itself. On the other hand, it was much more mentally taxing on Gangle. Looking out from the balcony to the stage, it was clear the others had left for an adventure without them, though Gangle didn't mind at all. If anything it allowed for more opportunity to try out Jax's body beyond what Gangle could do before. "Alright Jax, lets see what you were holding back!" They began by hopping onto the balcony wall with ease and began to peer out across the wide open jungle gym that was the Circus. Gangle had never been the adventurous time before, spending their time outside the tent tending to the garden, weaving fabrics together to make decorations and clothing, collecting figurines and generally keeping to themselves. But after learning how to possess Jax's body- "*jumps off balcony* WOO HOO!" -They've stepped outside their comfort zone. After all if they get hurt, its Jax who feels it afterwards. And that devious little assumption stuck in Gangles head as she parkoured across the circus' geometry like never before. "Ha... Ha... THIS IS AMAZING!" Coming up to a wide gap about 50 feet from the ground, Gangle looked up at the pipes hanging above before looking down at her ribbon hand and grinning. "Hehehe~" Jumping, she raised her hand to shoot out her ribbon, grabbing a hold of the pipe and swinging across. "WEEEEEE!!!" Unfortunately for Gangle: she was no super hero. The ribbon came loose and she smacked right into the wall of the block she was hoping to swing to before plummeting down below and hitting the ground hard." The pain shot through her like a stream boiling hot water. "AHhhHHhhH!!! %#!$ MOTHER$!#^, GOD&#!#, AHHH ha ha...." Tears began to stream down both of her faces. Picking herself up, she limped all the way back to the stage and sat in front of the wooden wall. It was then that Gangle realized that not only was she in pain, but completely exhausted too. The adrenaline and athleticism in Jax's body had masked how low its endurance was.

To be continued

#tadc gangle #tadc jax #puppeteer au #puppet sisters au #late night typing this out before work tomorrow #promise next chapter will come out sooner #tadc #the amazing digital circus #possession #identity death #fanfic of a fanfic #fanfic

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