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mercurydancer · 1 year

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🤡

What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Yoda getting drunk and going out with Space!Shakespeare. I made him a Nightbrother. I also called him Wither Sententious which is funny enough on its own. But yeah, no.

Yoda drunk speeder-tipping with Shakespeare.

You're welcome

For extra bonus points - https://youtu.be/LOZuxwVk7TU this started playing while I was writing it, so like. You want the full effect you should too lOL

Yoda had drunk entirely too much.

Yoda let it go.

Wither hummed, looking around, and then pointed to a mid-size speeder. “I think I can lift that one,” he said.

“Try,” Yoda encouraged, and felt as Wither took a breath, and reached. It was different to anything that Yoda had ever felt, a deep pool with something flickering within it, dark and warm and heavy, and yet…not. It was nonetheless effective, the speeder that Wither was focused on slowly but surely lifting above the ground, and then moving over to lower on top of another speeder. Yoda hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “See I do,” he said softly. “Learned where did you?”

Wither frowned. “I just…learned,” he said. “I found that I could do it and so I did it, and then I worked on lifting more and more. I suppose it was a matter of I needed anything I could use to survive and so I just…kept working on perfecting it to the point where I could do something with it. How about you? What does it feel like when you use it?”

Yoda took a breath, closing his eyes, and once again reaching, lifting a nearby speeder, feeling the way Wither’s presence brushed against his, curiosity and interest burning within him as he observed the way Yoda worked. He placed it on top of the other two speeders, which creaked ominously, but held.

Wither was beaming. “That’s amazing,” he said, “I’ve never felt anything like it, you don’t…you don’t conduct it, do you? It’s almost like you let it flow through you?”

“Flow through us the Force does, connects us with every living thing it does,” Yoda said, his voice gaining the quality it did when he was teaching. “Control over much it gives us. A gift you have been given.”

Wither took this in for a moment before finally giving a soft acknowledging sound and a nod. “How many do you think it’ll take before that speeder collapses?”

Yoda narrowed his eyes at it, squinting in a mixture of alcohol and interest. “Find out we can.”

They did not find out.

Three speeders in, and suddenly Wither stiffened. “Oh no,” he said softly, and then Yoda felt it.

“HEY!” a voice called out.

“Run,” Yoda said, and Wither immediately broke into a sprint, running in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Wither was laughing, the sound exuberant and breathy, pulling a communicator from his belt.

There was a yell of “Halt,” other voices crying out. Yoda had pulled his hood lower on his head, holding onto Wither, pulling his makeshift hood down lower, fighting to make sure that the horns didn’t pierce through it and reveal themselves. Wither flipped his communicator open, even as he leapt, spinning in the air over the row of security guards that attempted to stop them, Yoda utilizing the Force to send the blaster bolts they sent towards them harmlessly aside, without making it look like he had utilized the Force to do it, merely that they had been lucky.

If they scorched a few paint jobs it wasn’t their fault, really the Coruscant Guard shouldn’t be so trigger-happy.

“Hello?” a new voice called as the communication was answered. “Who is…?”

“Hello,” Wither called brightly.

“Wi-!”

“No names, please~” Wither sing-songed, “I’m in a bit of trouble. How quickly can you get to the Senate Parking?”

“What happened?”

“How quickly, please?”

“Less than two minutes, I’m close to the district, I just… Get as high as you can go!”

“Oh, high?” Wither asked, and skidded to a halt, having been running towards the lower floors. “I can do that.”

With that he turned right back around, and ran, practically flying back up the ramp, leaping from one speeder to another. There was a yell from a Coruscant Guard who ran up before them, looking distinctly like he was ready to tackle them, but Wither simply brought his feet up and forward, plowing into him with all of his weight and sending him backwards onto the hard duracrete, flipping over him and throwing his momentum forward so he hit the ground running.

Yoda held on as tight as possible, cackling, the two of them rolling through the Coruscant Guards easily, Wither leaping into another twist, trusting in Yoda to hold on, and Yoda once again sent those blaster bolts harmlessly aside. Wither was all high adrenaline and gleeful motion, leaping off of speeders and off of people when appropriate, and Yoda found himself remembering ‘grace.’

Well.

Wither definitely had that.

They ran towards the topmost platform, realizing that they were running out of room, but then Wither gave a sound, running towards the center of the room, and that’s when Yoda spotted the ladder. It was in the center of the room, connected to a fueling station that went up past the upper floors where the more intricate workings of the garage were kept. Wither leapt towards it, catching the lowermost rungs, and pulling himself up hand over hand, before finally swinging up to land on the first catwalk in a long series, leaping between them with lithe grace.

They burst into the open air, and Wither paused for just a moment, before he seemingly took a direction at random and ran.

There were voices behind them, voices that were yelling for them to stop, to halt, and then Wither leapt.

Yoda was laughing, whooping with glee, hearing Wither’s own answering cackling, flying into open air, and for a moment Yoda worked to join his presence with Wither’s, feeling the way that Wither’s worked at catching their fall…

And then they dropped directly into an open-topped unmarked speeder, the occupant of which SCREECHED.

“Kit, Kit, my beautiful Kit, you have come,” Wither called out, and Yoda rolled into the backseat off Wither’s shoulder as he spread his arms out. “Fly fast!”

Kit…Yoda narrowed his eyes, looking at the human male that was with them, who had pulled a cloak over his own head, and felt a burst of realization light up in his chest. Kit Lowe was the name of the man driving them, a playwright that had already developed a bit of a name and reputation for himself, the very man that Wither himself had acted for. Suddenly a lot of this made sense, not only why Wither would know him, but why he would have called him.

And then Kit put on such a sudden burst of speed it almost sent him directly into the seat. Wither gave a call, and Kit dove down, the speeder weaving and bobbing through traffic easily, Wither laughing all the way.

Yoda couldn’t help but join in, and after a while, after a few tense moments where they waited for anything to pursue them and realized they had gotten away…Kit began laughing, too.

#yoda #star wars #twin sons #wither sententious #kit lowe #i love them your honor #and also i think they're too funny #it happened quiet #you can read it happened quiet in complete on ao3 #or here #but it's a pain here

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footprints-and-tea-stains · 2 years

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Argumentation 1/7: What's The Point?

Imagine for a moment that you and a friend are at the movie theater to watch a new film. Excitedly you both purchase tickets and the attendant tells you the film you're going to see is down the hall to the left, in which there are two doors. You open the door to the first theater and ask someone inside which film this is for. It's the wrong one. You go into the second door this time without asking anyone if you're in the right place. Without thinking about it you've used logic.

We use argumentation everyday often without ever realizing. In deductionism we use a branch of formal logic called sentential logic (sometimes called prepositional logic). That means we take large blocks of text and convert them into sentences which we can then prove to be true or false. The argumentation this blog will be covering is the most basic form of sentential logic. If you've ever taken a Logic 101 course, you probably already know what I'm going to talk about over this series of posts. That being said, it would be smart to follow along and practice even if you have a grasp of the subject because it flows directly into the following series.

"Why!" I hear you yell. "Why should I learn argumentation and add unnecessary symbols and complexity to my deductions when I already use logic in my day to day life?" You need a strong foundation in logic otherwise the only thing you’ll be inferring is television plots. I’m serious, I don't care how good you think you are, professionals who use deductionism understand logic and use it as the basis of their work. Deductionist Ben Cardall uses logic as one of a few tools he shifts between during his work. In fiction, writers shield us from the unappealing work involved in problem solving, but believe me when I say your favorite detectives use formal logic (unless your investigator of choice is Mr. Magoo).

Deduction IS logic. If someone tries to convince you otherwise they’re being very silly. When Sherlock Holmes deduces the occupation of someone from a callus on their thumb or where they were three hours ago from the dampness of their umbrella, that's not just memorization and intuition (though those skills would certainly be at play). Holmes makes many, many logical proofs in his head quickly. This skill is the thing that I believe divides deductionists with room to grow from those who will stay at their respective skill plateau forever. This series is only one fifth of the beginner stage, but the abilities gained from it are worth half. This is the most important thing to get right.

Let’s take the example from the beginning of the post and break it down:

Film A is behind Door 1 or Door 2.

Film A is not behind Door 1.

Therefore, Film A is behind Door 2.

If each of our premises are true, then the conclusion MUST be true. Does that sound familiar? “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” Oh right that’s Sherlock Holmes describing his “enlightened common sense”.

We have a lot to cover and in the next few weeks we'll be going into detail on how to take similar examples to the next level. We'll begin with logical operations and convert large chunks of text into simple sentences, then build on those premises with truth tables, reconstruct those simple sentences with replacement rules, develop new premises with rules of inferences, and finally solidify everything with proofs. I would suggest going through this series multiple times and practicing each of the parts. If you learn to do these things automatically you will make deductions from information you didn't know you had access to.

-CM

#deductive reasoning #deduction #deductionist #mentalism #formal logic #sentential logic #logicalreasoning #logic

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cobragardens · 2 months

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♫ Unpopular Opinion tiiiime! ♫

Readers do not owe fanfic authors comments.

Humans literally developed writing so we could experience the thoughts of other people without having to talk to them. Dear writer, your readers have no obligation to engage with you.

This is especially true given that the fanfic reading/writing community have collectively decided it's taboo to offer constructive criticism on fic unless specifically requested by the author. That leaves commenters limited to offering only compliments, and no one owes you praise because you indulged in your hobby and published the products of that.

Both traditionally and legally, fics are published as gifts to the community. When you give a gift, that does not obligate the recipient of the gift to give you anything in return, because that is not how gifts work. The only thing gift recipients owe gift givers is a thank you, ONCE (no matter how many times they use the gift), and that is what kudos are. You don't get to expect labor in exchange for labor no one asked you to do.

You can't tell which parts of the fic people enjoyed? That sucks, but it does not obligate readers to comment. You can't tell whether you're improving as a writer? That sucks, but it does not obligate readers to comment. You can't tell how many times someone has read your fic? You don't know if your first attempt at smut gets people off? You can't tell how much discrete traffic your fic gets? That sucks, but guess what.

If you're writing fic because you want comments praise, that is a you problem. Readers have no responsibility to feed whatever that is. If you want engagement, post that shit on Tumblr or join or make a fanfic-writing Discord. It is absurd to leave stories on a story archive and then bitch and moan when people use the archive like an archive.

PS. I'm a writer of fanfic as well as a reader and commenter, fwtw in analyzing my motivations in saying this.

#writing #fanfiction #unpopular opinion #sententiousness

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espacey · 7 months

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Sentential Entity 6.3 @microsoft @ubuntu @debian @apple @centos

the OS is based on Ubuntu but is a ground up write up, it runs everything, apple, centos, boxes and shapes you name it executes and installs all forms of operating system but underneath is linux… Latest Operating System from us is as follows, some of the ISO you unpack to install; other you image and boot: # Sentential Stien – Stien Box for itextract Sentential-Stiens.iso # Sentential Entity –…

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#Entity #Operating System #Sentential

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crooked-corvid · 2 years

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one of my friends assigned me mao kin and the more I think about it the more apt it is. im torn between being touched and wanting to fling myself into the sun.

#'awwww they know me so well!!' vs 'how dare you know me this well. why must you perceive me.'#the final nail in the coffin was the fact that I actually fucking applied for a leadership position in the sci-fi and fantasy club #and also the fact that Mao gets called a 'magician who can do anything' and im just now realizing I can do a bunch of different shit.#I can play piano. I can sing. I can do magic tricks. I can play poker.#I can fence. I can draw. I can write. I read a lot of shit.#I know so fucking much about history and psychology #I took a class on sentential logic #I have a Very Nice Reading Voice.#im good at understanding poetry #I know how to clean surgical instruments and brachial tubes.#I am a skill monkey

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oldshrewsburyian · 1 year

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As much as I adore your (highly) interesting takes on medievalism and how it differs from what we actually know (or hypothesize) about the medieval period, I don't think I've ever asked: are there any books set in either the real middle ages or some fantasy approximation of the period that you WOULD recommend? They don't have to be "perfect" representations, obviously, but it would be nice to learn about any books that side-step the usual potholes. Thank you!

Hi, friend! A of all, thank you; B of all, there are and I would. From the following list it will become apparent that my criteria are idiosyncratic. Really, I think, the most important thing for my own enjoyment -- for any historical fiction, but especially for that set in the place/time I know best -- is that the work and its author are exploring the period as a way of opening up a conversation between past and present, rather than looking down on the past from the vantage point of the contemporary. This sententious prolegomenon concluded:

The Book Smuggler, Omaima Al-Khamis (eleventh-century Islamicate world, about knowledge and wisdom and religious intolerance)

Morality Play, Barry Unsworth (fourteenth-century England, about justice and law and vocation and community)

The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco (doesn't need my introduction, hilarious and deeply poignant meta-meditation on the genre of the detective story, also on theological debates and the love of one's neighbor and the nature of fear)

Sword at Sunset, Rosemary Sutcliff (fifth-century post-Roman Britain, has some clichés, also some magic, but is so richly imagined and full of people I love. Also good dogs.)

Cadfael Chronicles, Ellis Peters (twelfth-century England; I was wondering why I love these so much and I think a lot of it comes back to how much Ellis Peters loved the particular place she lived/set the books in, and watching the changing of the seasons there, so that that close observation of time -- very medieval! -- is also central. Inequality isn't made invisible or grotesque here, either, and it's often one or the other in Fictional Medieval Europe.)

Isaac of Girona mysteries, Caroline Roe (C14 Spain, also whodunits, but I cannot resist including this charming series about a blind Jewish doctor and his beloved wife and his daughters and the orphan he adopts and his chess-playing buddy the bishop and and and....! It's great.)

The History of the Siege of Lisbon, José Saramago (C12/C20 Portugal, called "metafiction about the instability of history and the reality assumed by fiction" by Kirkus Reviews and... yeah!)

She Who Became The Sun, Shelley Parker-Chan (C15 Ming China, with ghosts, definitely fantasy rather than regular historical fiction, and on the cusp of early modernity, also so so interesting)

The Apothecary's Shop, Roberto Tiraboschi (C12 Venice, deeply weird -- affectionate -- and drawing on Calvino and gialli as well as medieval history; some inaccuracies about women and medicine but I still found it compelling and thought-provoking)

#historical fiction #fun with medievalism #book recommendations #asks and answers

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dedalvs · 2 months

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Hi! Hope you're doing well. I was reading a fantasy webcomic with some Deaf characters and was wondering: what adjustments to the language creation processes would a conlanger have to make for creating a sign language? Thanks!

The short answer is relatively few. Sign languages are languages and do all the same things with a different phonology. So long as you understand the phonology of a sign language you can create a sign language.

The long answer is here. That's a thing I wrote up called SLIPA (Sign Language IPA). Due to the fact that the potential for iconicity with gesture is greater than with sound there's a lot more onomatopoeia in a sign language than in a spoken language. To explicate, onomatopoeia in spoken language is a word that imitates the sound of the referent (splash, crash, plunk, boing). In a sign language, it's a sign that imitates the look of the referent (ASL TREE, for example). Since it's possible to be more iconic, sign languages take advantage of that fact. Consequently, you don't find sign languages that DON'T take advantage of it and are purely abstract. There are also things that are hard or impractical in a spoken language that are simple in a sign language simply due to the medium (e.g. full number incorporation in the ASL words for WEEK and MONTH). Finally, there are a lot of "on the fly" verbs that are created that have no obvious analog in a spoken language. It's something like the sentential words of a polysynthetic language combined with imitative sounds in a spoken language to describe a body in motion.

In other words, because there are things you can do in a sign language simply due to the medium that you can't do in a spoken language, sign languages often do those things. It would be strange (i.e. non-human) if they didn't. If you're aiming to create a secret sign language, perhaps you intentionally don't take advantage of those things. It's possible to create a purely abstract sign language, but it would be a fairly obvious construct the way Ithkuil is very obviously not a plausible human language (i.e. it could never have evolved naturally to be the way it is). This might be a fun thing to do for a fictional setting—a totally non-iconic sign language created for secret communication. This is, essentially, what I did with the Atreides sign language in Dune (as opposed to the other sign language I created for the first film that wasn't used). Even that one, though, takes advantage of iconicity in a way that a truly abstract sign language need not. This is because part of the secrecy of the language is the way it's used. Others aren't even supposed to see it—and if they do, they're supposed to dismiss it as hand twitches. You could make an obvious sign language (i.e. it's obvious these characters are signing to each other) but with really, really weird associations—like pointing to your interlocutor means "sky", where eveyrone looking on will think it means "you".

Anyway, just some thoughts. This is an underexplored area of conlanging, but due to the simplicity of video creation and sharing nowadays, it's something that's worth exploring. Back in 2006 when I wrote up SLIPA it wasn't practical to take videos and upload them. It was possible, certainly—we had high speed internet and websites—but we didn't have smartphones, I don't think YouTube existed yet, most frontend UI didn't have video embedding as a feature of its platform, etc. We were lightyears ahead of the internet as we understood it in the 90s, so 2006 would be much more familiar to the people of 2024 than the people of 1994, but smartphones and social media (and its infrastructure) really changed the nature of capturing and sharing video. Conlangers have taken advantage of that in every way EXCEPT creating, documenting, and sharing CSLs (created sign languages).

Like (I don't want to go off on a tangent here) you can have an entire YouTube account that is just a dictionary. ASL already does this. Go on YouTube and type "ASL sign for [whatever]". There are tons of videos that are like 10-15 seconds long that are just demonstrations of a single sign from different angles, all made by Deaf signers. And the videos don't need sound! You don't have to worry about audio quality, microphones, etc. You can actually use YouTube to document an entire sign language. No one's done it yet. Why not?

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Hope this helps.

#conlang #language #ithkuil #sign language #deaf #csl #slipa #youtube #language creation #video #dictionary #deaf sign language

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ao3cassandraic · 5 months

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As far as they can

At the end of the Job minisode, Crowley inaugurates Their Side by proclaiming Aziraphale "an angel who goes along with Heaven... as far as he can," parallel to his own stated relationship with Hell.

Only it... doesn't actually work that way. Their exactlies are different exactlies.

Crowley defies and lies to Hell as often as he thinks he can get away with it. He never disabuses Downstairs of their misconceptions about his contributions to human atrocities. He cheerfully lies in his reports Downstairs, something Aziraphale briefly turns on his Baritone of Sarcastic Disapproval about in s1. Crowley even turns evil homeopathic in the latter part of the 20th century, likely in hopes that it will look good to head office while accomplishing essentially nothing. (This, of course, is another way he Crowleys himself, both with the London phone system and the M25.) After Eden, Crowley's default given an assignment from Hell is to see how he can subvert it.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, defies Her and Heaven as little as he possibly can. Sometimes, as with his sword giveaway, his compassion gets the better of his anxiety. Sometimes, as with Job's children in the destruction of the villa, he can try to stay within the letter of the law by leaving the defiance to Crowley.

His default, however, is "'m 'nangel. I can't dis- diso -- not do what 'm told." This comes out most often as respect for the Great/Divine Plan, which to him is sacrosanct. He sounds quite sincere in s1 when he says "Even if I wanted to help I couldn’t. I can’t interfere with the Divine Plan."

Aziraphale quite frequently Good Angels along by parroting Heaven's party line, whether it's "it'll all be rather lovely" or "I am good, you (I'm afraid) are evil" or droning on about evil containing the seeds of its own destruction, or condemning Elspeth's graverobbing as "wicked" (a stance he offers absolutely no reasoned support for, no logic, no "but She said," not a word -- that's very Heaven; most of Heaven's angels have the approximate brainpower of paramecia). Maestro Michael Sheen even has a particular voice cadence -- I think of it as Sententious Voice -- he uses when Aziraphale is thoughtlessly party-lining.

When the angel's conscience wars with his sense of Heaven's orthodoxy but (and this is an important but) he can't feasibly resist whatever's wrong, he offers strengthless party-line justifications he clearly doesn't agree with (as with the "rain bow" in Mesopotamia) or resorts to a Nuremberg defense: "I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley!" Once or twice, he's even vocally aware of Heavenly hypocrisy: "Unless… [guns]'re in the right hands, where they give weight to a moral argument… I think." This isn't Sententious Voice. It's I-can't-disobey-and-I-hate-that voice.

But at base, the angel prefers obedience (not least because it's vastly safer), and he'd rather have someone else do his moral reasoning for him. Honestly? Pretty relatable. I know lots of people like this -- hell's bells, I've been this person, though I grew out of it somewhat -- and I daresay you do too. Moral reasoning is hard and often lonely (since it can be read as self-righteousness or even hypocrisy) and acting as it dictates can hurt. Nobody would need ethics codes if The Right Thing was also invariably The Convenient Thing.

Many GO fans find these Aziraphalean traits frustrating! Especially his repeated returns to parroting Heaven orthodoxy! Sometimes I do too! (Not least because I'm rather protective of my own integrity, and it's cost me quite a few times. I'm well-known in professional circles for picking up a rhetorical spear and tilting at the nearest iniquitous windmill. I often lose, but I sure do keep tilting. Every once in a blue moon I actually win one.)

The key, I think, to giving our angel a little grace on this (beyond honoring the gentle compassion that is pretty basic to his character) is noticing how often he can be induced to abandon an unconsidered Heavenish default stance. As irritating as his default is, and as consistently as he returns to it, it's not really that hard to talk him out of it. Crowley, of course, is tremendously good at knocking Aziraphale away from his default -- he's had to be. But Aziraphale even manages to talk himself away from his default once, in the form of the Ineffable Plan hairsplitting at the airbase!

I think the character-relevant point of the Resurrectionist minisode is making this breaking-the-Heavenish-default dynamic as clear as the contents of the pickled-herring barrel aren't. "That's lunatic!" Crowley exclaims, when Aziraphale Sententious Voicedly parrots Heaven's garbage about poverty providing extra opportunities for goodness. Aziraphale isn't quite ready to let go yet, replying "It's ineffable."

But Dalrymple (who, I think, parallels Heaven, perhaps even the Metatron -- there could be something decent there, but it's buried too deep under scorn and clueless privilege for any graverobber-of-souls to dig it out) manages to break Aziraphale's orthodoxy by explaining the child's tumor.

Once released from his orthodoxy, Aziraphale can't be trusted to handle moral reasoning well; his moral-reasoning ability is not-uncommonly (though not always) portrayed as vitiated. When he gives Elspeth the go-ahead to dig up more bodies, his excuses are just as vacuous as they were when he was convinced of her wickedness. He knows that he's crossed Heaven's line, too, and just as at Eden it's worrying him. That's why he has to talk to Crowley to nerve himself up to help Wee Morag... only he spends too much time talking, and it's too late.

But Crowley can then talk him into bankrolling Elspeth toward a better life. Aziraphale doesn't even put up any fight, both because he's compassionate and because Crowley is temporarily taking the place of Heaven (he's even Heaven-sized and staring down at them!) as the angel's moral compass.

S1 has an even worse example of Aziraphale's moral wavering, actually. Crowley yells "Shoot him, Aziraphale!" and Aziraphale sure does try to murder Adam. Again, he's adopting his morals from the nearest (and loudest) convenient source. Madame Tracy, thankfully, has enough of a moral backbone to save our angel from himself and Crowley.

(With my ersatz-ethicist hat on: this is a fight between utilitarianism and deontology. Crowley is the utilitarian, which is actually a bit of a departure for him, but he's admittedly desperate. Madame Tracy is the deontologist: One Doesn't Kill Children. Aziraphale is caught in the middle.)

I wouldn't be surprised if part of the reason we start s3 with Aziraphale and Crowley separated is so that Aziraphale finally has to do his own moral reasoning, without Crowley's nudges. I don't think it'll be easy for him. It will absolutely be lonely. And it may well hurt.

But I will watch for it, because it's how he will become his own angel, independent of Heaven and even of Crowley. And he must do that.

#good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #the resurrectionists #good omens s3 #s3 speculation #ethics #deontology #utilitarianism

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millymoonstar · 1 month

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"Huuhuu... Heh, HA!"

He's no longer a sweet little bean boi

By the way, this is my Murder Drones Sona, not a redesign of any of the other canon drones. He's name is Xeylo! :3

Technically, he's 1/4 Worker Drone, 1/4 Disassembly Drone, 1/4 Sentential, 1/4 Absolute solver as he would put it.

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astarionposting · 6 months

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OC MOD LIST:

Freyja Baratheon ♡ Half-elf • Elk Heart Barbarian & Circle of the Moon Druid

COSMETIC

Head ('Bryra' ) - personal edit (i will not share this as i am not the original creator of this mod, it is not mine to share around. I edited for personal use ONLY) Skin (base game - 'pallid tone 1') Eyes (R 83% blind elf red, L brown) Scar (base game- 'scar 2') Body Art ('tattoo 20') Makeup ('makeup 9') Hair 1 ('mermaid') Hair 2 ('hair 13') Need hair mixer mod - oldest version Hair Colour ('ASTRL_DBL_Himalyan_Salt' and then 'ASTRL_Chocolate_Brown' for the highlights as 100%) Nails

ARMOUR

Head 'Landstrider's Antlers' Cloak 'Cloak of Steel Sentential' Armour 'Harper Armour' Gloves 'Black Barbarian Gloves A' Boots 'Original Dress Footwear' Camp outfit - NEW All dyed with TC DYES in 'Cartouche V2/V3'

Credits: x

#MY BLOG STUFF #bg3 mods #im uncreative with my ocs and get attached to one so i make like different variations LOL #so i usually use the same head/hair and make them half blind...#lets pretend they are long lost twins ok #oc: freyja Baratheon / se timpa velkrys

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guttergirlcore · 10 months

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East Coast Baby I (JJ Maybank x reader)

WARNINGS // NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, possessive behavior, stalking, alcohol use, jealousy, manipulation, toxicity, gaslighting, Topper jump-scare, non-canon ages, pogue!reader, she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma

MINORS DNI --> READ RESPONSIBLY

Synopsis // Running from a trauma-addled past, you arrive in OBX to find some peace. Shortly after, a series of strange events ensue, drawing your circle smaller and smaller, eventually driving you into the arms of one JJ Maybank. What you hadn't realized, however, is how difficult it would be to escape the one person you never thought you'd have to run from.

divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 2.6k

Everything was still so unfamiliar.

Even though you had been in Outer Banks for an entire month, you still felt like a stranger. You had visited your aunt’s house on The Cut a handful of times in your life, but now that this was your living situation for the foreseeable future, things looked truly bleak.

Still, not nearly as bleak as it would be if you had stayed back on the mainland.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your aunt, or that the general scenery was anything short of spectacular because neither was true. For one, it was that your aunt was hardly home enough to get to know her, being as she was working two jobs just to keep the lights on.

Two, from what few interactions you had with anyone else, you could say with definitive proof that the people on this island suck.

Topper Thornton and his group of lackeys, for instance. Only yesterday, you were making your way back to The Cut with a gallon of paint in hand. Even combined, you and your aunt didn’t have enough money to get you a car, and you hadn’t gotten around to looking for a bicycle yet, so on foot was the only option.

You heard the crunch of tires on gravel behind you and looked over to see an obscenely large black truck slowing beside you. A truck like this one could’ve easily covered your aunt’s bills for months. Out of the passenger side window leaned a boy with an entitled smirk on his face.

“You’re new. I’m Topper. That’s Rafe, and that’s Kelce.” The boy said, throwing his thumb toward the driver of said truck and another boy in the backseat.

“What’s your name, darlin’“ the one named Rafe drawled from the driver’s side.

“Not interested.” You replied back, quickly turning and walking forward. You were kind of lonely on this island, sure, but were you really going to find friendship in these three frat posers? Not likely.

The truck lurched forward another two feet or so.

“Aw, now is that any way to talk to a couple of guys just trying to offer you a ride?” Topper asked. Sententious judgment laced his tone as he added, “Back to... The Cut from what I can tell.” he turned to share a laugh with Rafe and Kelce.

You had dealt with entitled assholes like these three your entire life, even before you came to The Cut, so it pained you none to let them know precisely what you were thinking at the moment.

“And you and your goons live where? Figure 8, the land of the incorrigible and morally corrupt? Fuck off, thanks.”

Topper’s face twisted into an ugly grimace as Rafe pulled off, clearly done with their fun. Before being rid of them though, Topper chucked a crumpled plastic water bottle from the passenger side window, tossing you a middle finger as the truck disappeared into the distance.

“Littering prick,” you muttered as you continued on, picking up the trash to recycle later.

You had just been contemplating your imminent evacuation from the OBX at home when a knock on your front door startled you.

You made your way to the front of the house and pulled open the door, only to be greeted by a different blond boy standing on your porch.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” you asked.

“Oh, uh... Miss Laura?” the blond scratched at the back of his head, a confused expression on his face.

“Miss Laura’s niece, actually. You are?”

“Oh! I’m JJ. Your aunt’s letting me mow the yard,” the boy, now identified as JJ, informed you, gesturing to the old push-mower propped up against the oak in the front yard.

“Sorry, she must’ve forgotten to let me know,” you added. “Um, if you need anything, let me know, I guess?”

JJ nodded curtly and turned on his heel, headed for the mower as you closed the door. You felt a little awkward with a stranger hanging out in your yard, but you sent a quick text to your aunt that JJ was here. Her response came a few seconds later:

“K. Left money on table 4 him. Tell him thx”

Sure enough, there was a twenty on the kitchen table next to a note that read “MAKE FRIENDS :)” So even your aunt, who you’ve had all of five conversations with, noticed your loner tendencies. Awesome. You grabbed the bill and headed outside.

JJ was already pushing the mower around when you walked up to him.

“Here’s the money for the, uh, mowing.” you gestured.

JJ quirked a blond eyebrow. “How do you know I’m not gonna take it and run?”

“Intuition. Besides, it’s a small island- and while I might not know where you live, I’m betting Laura does.”

JJ let out a good-natured laugh as he took the bill and shoved it into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “So, does Miss Laura’s niece have a name?”

You hadn’t realized you failed to introduce yourself to him earlier. “Oh, I’m y/n. Sorry, I don’t get many visitors. Sort of bad at introductions.”

“You’re new around here, yeah?” he asked.

“Guilty,” you shrugged. “I’ve been here about a month and haven’t really gotten around to the whole friend thing yet.”

“Do you want to get around to the whole ‘friend thing?’“ JJ asked. “Me and my friends- we’re having a kegger tonight. You should come along.”

“That sounds nice but I don’t have a ride, and I’m kind of still getting the lay of the land, you know?”

“Ride with me. I’ll pick you up at 6. Cool with you?” he asked.

In truth, you weren’t Little Miss Social Butterfly, but if you had to encounter another one of your aunt’s attempts to break you out of your proverbial shell, you might actually die. And what the hell? This party might be a nice break from the monotony of life on The Cut as it had been thus far. Besides, JJ was cute. Like, really cute. If all the people here looked half as good, you doubted you’d find the OBX quite so tragic.

“What the hell. I could use a night out.” You smiled at the blond.

"Alright then," JJ smiled back. "I guess I should get back to-" he gestured to the mower beneath his closed fists.

"Oh! Right, yeah. I'll leave you to it."

As you walked back inside, you went right to your room to find an outfit for tonight's activities. Just as the deliberation process was fully underway, a figure rounded the side of the house just near your window.

The sun glinted off of JJ's golden skin, his now-shirtless torso glistening in a sheen of sweat. His arms strained against the weight of the mower, and you watched as a single droplet of sweat streaked a thin path down his abdomen. His shorts hung lowly on his hips, and it made you take a quick intake of breath.

Just as you were about to rip your gaze away from the scene, JJ's blue eyes connected with yours. He smirked full and unabashedly. Feeling the heat immediately rise to your face in embarrassment, you ducked down beneath your window.

Great. That's just great. Already making a stellar impression on the locals.

The sound of the mower steadily receded and after a few more moments, you peaked your head back up, only to be greeted with a startling knock at your window.

You shrieked, holding a hand to your heart as you tried to steady your breathing. You pushed the window up.

"Sorry, sorry!" The now shirt-clad JJ laughed. "You're kind of jumpy, huh." He stated rather than asked.

"Not usually," you laughed pitifully.

"Mowing's done and I'm headed out, but I'll see you tonight, yeah?" The blond asked.

"Yeah. I'll be there." You smiled.

"Alright, see you tonight." He said, grinning wide.

You slid the window closed after the boy walked off, pressing your warm forehead against the cool glass.

OBX may end up being eventful after all.

As you finished the last-minute touches on your eye makeup, Aunt Laura softly pushed open your bedroom door.

“I’m headed out again, kiddo,” she smiled tiredly, dressed in her server apron for the casino on Figure 8.

“Lock up when you leave, okay? There’s a spare key under the plant on the porch. And try to have some fun for me.” She added with a genuine smile.

“I will, thanks, Aunt Laura.” You stood to hug her tightly before she departed.

Although Laura wasn't around much, she had done more for you in a month than your parents had managed in your whole life.

From your experience, genuine love like what she offered to you was rare, without which, you were sure you'd be out on your ass again.

You watched her headlights pull out of the front yard and down the street, just as it was replaced with the single round headlight of a motorbike. JJ nudged the kickstand down and pulled off his helmet, shaking out his blond hair in the setting light.

You ran to your room, grabbing your bag off the door knob. Unsurprisingly, you felt a little jittery to meet so many people at once but excited nonetheless.

“Hey!” You met JJ at the door, his fist raised in an anticipatory knock. His eyes traveled over your frame, taking in the casual, albeit skimpy, outfit you’d chosen for the occasion. At least you’d be cool in this summer heat wave.

“H- Hey,” JJ stuttered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You ready? I mean- you look ready! You look great, that’s what I meant.”

You laugh and nod, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

You trail behind JJ to his bike and he turns to you to offer a helmet.

“One helmet,” he says.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to take your only one!”

“Y/n, really, take it.” He took your hand and placed it on the helmet. Relenting, you slid the hard plastic over your head. Before you could react, JJ’s ring-clad fingers were working the buckle underneath your chin. Your eyes met his blue ones and he flashed you a smile before flipping down the dark visor over your eyes. He climbed on the bike, beckoning you over.

“You ever rode on a bike before?” he asked.

You flipped the visor back up. “No! Where- How do I...?” You practically shouted, your hearing muffled by the padded helmet.

“Here,” JJ chuckled, pointing to where you should position your legs behind him. As soon as you were settled in, he nudged up the kickstand and revved the engine.

“Now, just hold onto me,” he said. You could hear the smirk in his voice as the two of you pulled off in pursuit of what JJ called “The Boneyard-” the beach this kegger was supposed to be held on.

The Boneyard was actually so beautiful.

The two of you arrived just as the sun was setting, casting warm streaks of golden light across the sand and assortment of driftwood.

From what you could tell, the party was already in full swing. The beach was filled with people clustered around popping bonfires or standing in groups, all with red solo cups in hand. Music blared as your eyes grazed over the beach, connecting with a group of three stoney-faced boys- Topper, Rafe, and Kelce.

So their supposed hatred of Pogues doesn’t extend to free beer. Got it.

You rolled your eyes in their direction before JJ pulled your attention back to him and the three friends that gathered in front of the two of you.

“Hi, I’m Pope- Heyward.” Pope extended a hand out to you and you chuckled a bit as you shook it.

“Old school. I like it,” you laughed freely now.

“This is John B., and that’s Kiara,” JJ added.

The taller boy next to Pope raised his hand in a half salute, half wave.

“Hi. Nice to meet you all.” You remembered your first interaction with JJ this morning and added, “I’m y/n. New here.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” Kiara added. “Call me Kie.”

“Thanks,” you said. “It’ll be nice to have some friends this side of the island. I’ve already seemed to make some enemies out of the locals.” You gestured towards the still-staring Topper, Rafe, and Kelce, though now they were joined by a pretty blonde girl.

“Ugh! They’re the actual worst. Just stick with us and you’ll be alright.” Kie said, rolling her eyes.

“Technically, if you want to avoid Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, we’re probably not the best friend group to stick around. They kind of have it out for us too.” Pope shrugged and JJ shoved him on the shoulder.

“Shut up, dude. She’ll be fine,” JJ laughed as John B. filled a cup for you from the keg.

The five of you sat laughing by the bonfire. A cold gust of wind had you shivering and JJ noticed.

“You cold?” He asked, already taking off his flannel.

“A little, yeah,” you smiled as he draped the fabric over your shoulders, putting your arms through one at a time.

“Subtle, dude,” Pope laughed from across the fire.

“I’ll show you subtle, come here!” JJ shouted as he and Pope barreled off in a faux wresting match.

Kie shook her head and resumed her conversation with John B. about climate change and its impact on coastal environments, which gave you some time to zone out.

You nuzzled your face into the flannel, JJ’s body heat and scent engulfing you. Kie glanced over at you and signaled to John B. He got the hint and the two stood and walked a few feet away to refill their already full solo cups.

Just as you were starting to settle into your inner brain babble, a tall figure approached.

“First time you’ve been without your guard dogs all night,” Rafe Cameron chuckled humorlessly.

You looked around for JJ or Pope, but they were nowhere to be found.

“You know, you really shouldn’t hang with the Pogues. They’re sort of the wrong crowd,” Rafe began.

“Rafe, I am really not interested in entertaining your bigoted elitist bullshit, okay? I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions of who I do and don’t hang out with. You don’t even know me.” You scooted further down the piece of driftwood you two were sitting on, but Rafe followed close behind.

“Hey, you don’t want my advice, that’s fine. You’ll see soon enough.”

Your eyes connected with JJ’s across the beach at the same time Rafe’s did. In what was obviously a calculated move on his part, Rafe’s ringed hand reached over to rest on your exposed knee.

Before you even had time to react, JJ was on Rafe, dragging him back by the collar of his shirt toward the water’s edge. Shouts erupted from around you as you stood to see the commotion.

At the shore, JJ and Rafe splashed in the shallows, tossing each other this way and that. JJ landed punch after punch to Rafe’s face, Rafe landing punches in JJ’s sides. You rushed to the boys, shoving past body after body.

You desperately clawed at Rafe’s arm in a feeble attempt to pull him off of JJ, but as he prepared to land another punch, his arm swung back and connected harshly with your jaw.

You fell back onto the hard sand, the muffled shouts, curses, and cheers blooming like fireworks around you.

The last thing you heard before total darkness invaded your vision was the deafening pop of two shots.

~series masterlist~

#jj maybank #dark!jj maybank #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank x reader #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #jj obx #jj maybank fanfiction

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