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curseofaphrodite · 3 years ago

Text

a little bit of mystery

STEVEN GRANT X FEM!READER | fluff

summary: steven didn't want to get suspicious about his new roommate, yet with all the odd clues — it's almost as if you were a superhero. | reader hates spider, takes place in ep 2

Steven didn’t want a roommate. He also knew he couldn't keep up with the apartment maintenance with no money, so he begrudgingly put an ad in the newspaper for someone to sublet the place. (Was it his fault that he was fired? It's not as if he asked the jackal to attack him.)

He thought finding a roommate would be a long process; but you came around the very next day, with real documents and a clean record. Most importantly, you seemed to like his apartment and had no objections to his long stacks of books laying messily about the place.

“I don’t trust her,” Marc said as soon as you walked inside. Steven ignored him, which he quickly came to regret.

The first night was the most surprising. He tossed and turned in the bed, then got up to walk around the building. On passing the hallway, he frowned.

The door to your room was open. Didn’t he distinctly remember you closing it after waving him goodbye? He could have dismissed his suspicions with a reason as simple as you wanting to use the bathroom, but that didn't make sense. He would have heard you walking out of your room.

With a steady breath, he knocked on the partly opened door, adjusting his eyes in the darkness. No answer of any kind came back. He took that as a cue to switch on the lights.

The bed was empty. The window was open.

“Told you,” Marc said from the nearest mirror.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked the next morning, taking a sip of the orange juice.

“Yes, uhm kind of,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “What about you?”

“Slept like the dead,” you smiled. “I need to get my bag and be off. Have yourself a good day please. Put off your worries about a new job and do something relaxing instead!”

“I don’t remember telling you…” that I was fired.

He bit back the words, watching you wander back into your room. As soon as he was sure you were occupied, he reached for the bag you had left on the counter.

“Right, like that’s going to help,” Marc’s voice said sharply.

“Shut up,” Steven muttered, clawing his way into the possessions. He knew it was rude, invasive and terribly unlike himself, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

He had a right to know if his new (unbelievably gorgeous) roommate was an assassin, right?

“You haven’t even asked what she does for a living,” Marc added.

“Yeah, yeah I messed up. It’s not like I can ask her to pack up and leave!”

“It is your apartment.”

“But…it’s rude.”

Marc masked his laugh with a scoff. Steven grimaced and continued looking. So far he came across some money, two lipsticks, a chocolate bar, bandages, another chocolate bar, and finally, a notebook with a clearly recognizable Stark Enterprise watermark. He blinked.

Is she…is she an avenger?

“STEVEN!!”

He nearly dropped the bag. He had forgotten how quiet you were. Just as he looked up expecting to see your angry eyes, he was met with…no one?

“Y/N?” he called uncertainly, realizing you were still in your room.

“Come here quick,” your voice hissed back.

Forgetting his current mission, he carefully followed the dim lights. He expected a jumpscare, possibly by you, but he was met with your silhouette pressed up against the wall, and upon adjusting his vision, he realized that your eyes were wide with shock. Fear.

“What’s going on?” he asked slowly, stepping inside.

“You’re right near it!” you shrieked, your words shrill. He jumped slightly, expecting something like the jackal from the museum.

Instead, he squinted his eyes. “Is that… a spider?”

“A fucking big spider!” you said defensively, getting more worked up. “Get it out of here!”

“You’re,” he coughed. “you’re scared of spiders?”

“Steven, I’m not scared of a creature who’s smaller than my hand. I just happen to prefer them being a mile away from me.”

“Right,” he laughed, not because of the situation, but thinking of what could have happened if you had indeed seen him going through your things.

He gently tapped the floor and the spider went scurrying away. He was sure it was hiding behind the bookshelves, but for the sake of your relief, he pretended as if he chased it out the window. He could always hunt it down after you were off to your job.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," he lied, smiling. With a sudden impulse, he added, “What do you do for a living by the way? I don’t think I’ve asked that before.”

“Oh! I work for Connors’ Company. I’m the assistant director.”

“Connors’ as in the same company funded by Tony Stark?”

You nodded.

Well at least the Stark notebooks make sense now.

He shook his head apologetically. “And here I am thinking you were an aven—"

Sudden knocks interrupted his words. You groaned, as if you knew and despised who was at the door already.

“Tell him I'll be right there. I still have to find the book,” you said, shaking your head and moving swiftly towards the shelves. Steven glanced at his left again, only to find the spider had disappeared. Deciding not to scare you, he left the room.

When he reached the door, the knocks seemed to have gotten more and more urgent. He pulled it open without even looking through the peephole.

His eyes widened in shock at the two visitors.

"This where she said she lives?" Tony asked Natasha. She nodded firmly.

"Y/N L/N?" she asked Steven uncertainly.

"She's uh, inside. Said," he gulped. "Said she'll be right here."

"Oh come on," Natasha groaned, stepping in even without Steven's approval. "Y/N, how many times do I tell you to NOT be late?"

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, THIS APARTMENT IS NEW AND I DONT KNOW WHERE I PUT WHAT!" you screamed back, dashing through the hall. "Now I can't find my bag, awesome."

"Got it," Tony said, plucking it off the floor. "Let's go please."

Steven grabbed your wrist.

"WAIT, wait wait, what's going on?" he asked slowly. "Are you an ave-"

"Oh shit I promised you we'd go to the museum today, didn't I? I'm so sorry. I'll get us tickets for a movie tonight to make up for it! We can have dinner in a fancy restaurant too, what about that?"

You were talking too fast, and he only caught words like dinner, movie and restaurant. He was about to ask another question, but you had already followed Natasha out the door.

He looked at the mirror, smiling in panic.

I think I have a date with an avenger.

"What?" you asked Tony as soon as you were out of the building. He only smiled teasingly.

"First Scott, now Steven, you do have a type," he noted.

"Oh shut up!"

——————

steven grant taglist: @prettysbliss

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #steven grant imagines #steven grant x y/n #fluff #astoria writes #avenger!reader #marvel #fem!reader #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight disney+

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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thalassa-caelum · 3 years ago

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IN/ENGLISH:

Well, this is going to be the last post I'm going to do on this topic and then "The End". As you know , followers and friends, a couple of months ago I have been receiving hateful (anonymous) comments from useless people who have a lot of free time. Normally, I ignore these kinds of things because they're the sick pastimes of cowardly people, but I have found out that they have been spreading slurs on me, so I'm going to dedicate this post to politely answer them:

1."Your Liar Princess is a copy of xxxx": Wrong. They told me this in 2021 but my AU was published on Feb 17th, 2019. You just have to go to the original post and you will find their publication date. This AU was born out of my fanaticism for the video game. There is no more story behind this. However, it's important to emphasize that my Au's story is VERY DIFFERENT from the story of the video game. The Knight and the Huntress don't exist in the video game, the Wolf's intentions are different (the game's wolf is much friendlier), and the Prince doesn't have magical eyes. These are some examples. Is it a copy of what exactly?

2. ”Your Identity V3 AU is a copy...too”: My AU’s was posted on Oct 17th, 2018, two years before the DRxID Collab announcement. I'm not a time traveler, is impossible for my AU to be a copy, and even if I decided to draw something on this today then that would just be a fanart, not a copy. To this I add, this AU’s was born when the Identity V game wasn't the globally recognized game that is today. I just thought "it would be a cool mix" and the rest is history.

3. “Your D. of Shuichi is a copy" (of what? They have never specified it): Wrong again. My comic (January 12, 2021) is slightly inspired by a book that I love called "Disarticulations", which tells the story of a woman with Alzheimer's. Obviously, neither Shuichi nor Kokichi have this sad disease, since the only thing I took from the book was a phrase ["only when we forget something, can we begin to remember"] and the rest is a modern interpretation of a philosophy concept name that I willn't mention because it would ruin much of the mystery. It isn't a copy, at most it has an intertext inside.

4. (This is perhaps the most inconceivable lol), “Your Remake is a copy”. because it makes all the logic in the world... to copy myself. I know that my style has changed, but I think is clear that the two drawings are the work of the same person because... they both have my watermark on them *sigh*.

- I think this shouldn't even be a topic of discussion, it's very easy to find the publication dates of each of the Au's in this blog, and if they need more "proof" I have each of the original files saved on other platforms. In addition, it's very easy to identify the same dates in the metadata. Personally, I wasn't going to say anything about this because is a waste of time for me, however this post is to affirm that I'm not going to delete my drawings or my account just because some children are bothered by my saiouma, my ideas or they "don't like me" for their immature reasons. Here posted drawings just for fun, I don't want money, or anything like that, I'm never going to profit from this because I'm not a professional artist like many of my friends and, thanks God, I don't need it. For this same reason, I have the total freedom to posting what I want since, as I said, is a hobby.

My apologies for this text, but I thought is necessary to clarify the obvious in case any of you became a recipient of this nonsense.

Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen.

Long Live Tonight.

SPANISH/ESPAÑOL:

Bueno, este va a ser el último post que voy a hacer sobre este tema y luego voy a concluirlo. Como ustedes saben, seguidores, hace un par de meses he estado recibiendo comentarios (anónimos) de odio de parte de gente inutil que tiene mucho tiempo libre. Normalmente, ignoro esta clase de cosas porque son los pasatiempos enfermizos de gente cobarde, pero me he enterado que han estado esparciendo difamaciones sobre mí, así que voy a dedicar este post a contestarles:

1.Tu Liar Princess es una copia de xxxx. Error. Esto me lo dijeron en 2021 pero mi AU fue publicado en Feb 17th, 2019. Solamente tienes que ir al post original y encontrarás la fecha de publicación. Este AU nació por mi fanatismo por el videojuego. No hay historia más detrás de esto. Sin embargo, es importante recalcar que la historia de mi AU es MUY DIFERENTE a la historia del videojuego. El Caballero y la Cazadora no existen en el videojuego, las intenciones del Lobo son diferentes (el lobo del juego es mucho más amigable), y el príncipe no tiene ojos mágicos. Estos son algunos ejemplos. ¿Es una copia de qué exactamente?

2.”Tu Identity V3 AU es una copia”: Mi AU’s fue publicado el Oct 17th, 2018, dos años antes del anuncio del Collab. No soy una viajera del tiempo, es imposible que sea una copia y aunque yo decidiera dibujar algo sobre esto el día de hoy, entonces eso sería simplemente un fanart, no una copia. A esto agrego, este AU’s nació cuando el juego de Identity V no era el juego mundialmente reconocido que es hoy en día. Simplemente pensé “sería un mix cool” y el resto es historia.

3. “Tu D.of Shuichi” es una copia (¿de qué? Nunca lo han especificado). Como sea, de nuevo error. Mi comic ( Jan 12th, 2021) está inspirado levemente en un libro que amo llamado “Desarticulaciones”, el cual cuenta la historia de una mujer con alzheimer. Obviamente, ni Shuichi ni Kokichi tienen esta triste enfermedad, ya que lo único que tomé del libro fue una frase “solamente cuando olvidamos algo, podemos empezar a recordar” y lo demás es una interpretación moderna de un concepto de la filosofía cuyo nombre no voy a mencionar porque arruinaría gran parte del misterio. No es una copia, a lo sumo tiene un intertexto.

4. Esta es quizás la más inconcebible, “tu Remake es una copia”. Porque tiene toda la lógica del mundo el copiarme de mí misma. Sé que mi estilo ha cambiado, pero creo que es evidente que los dos dibujos son obra de una misma persona porque ambos tienen mi marca de agua en él.

Creo que esto ni siquiera debería ser un tema de discusión, es muy sencillo encontrar las fechas de publicación de cada uno de los AU’s en este blog, y si necesitan más “pruebas” tengo cada uno de los archivos originales guardados en otras plataformas. Además, es muy sencillo identificar las mismas fechas en los metadatos. Personalmente no iba a decir nada sobre esto porque es una pérdida de tiempo, sin embargo este post es para afirmar que no voy a borrar mi contenido ni mis cuentas solamente porque a unos niños les moleste el saiouma, mis ideas, o yo no les agrade por sus razones inmaduras. Publicó dibujos solamente por diversión, no quiero dinero, ni nada parecido, nunca voy a lucrar con esto porque no soy una artista profesional como varios de mis amigos y, gracias a Dios, no lo necesito. Por esta misma razón, tengo la libertad total para publicar lo que yo desee ya que, como dije, es un pasatiempo.

Mis disculpas por este texto, pero creí necesario aclarar lo evidente por si alguno de ustedes llega a ser receptor de estas tonterías.

Tengan un buen día, damas y caballeros.

Long Live Tonight.

#Ask #Asks #text post #Thank you all for your support and kind words #But we won't waste anymore of our time on potential sociopaths #Kisses to my anonymous cowards <3 #I still have a lot of AU's for all of you

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janekfan · 4 years ago

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Dismiss

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016568

This was all Jon’s fault.

He should have known; he’d just brought about an apocalypse for christ’s sake! Of course it was too soon! Of course Martin would be upset at finding him rifling in the dark like an addict. What if there was something worse hiding away in another one and there he was, walking in on Jon pawing through the box for a goddamn snack?

But after the panic and questions and shouting at a sky that only looked on silent and steady, the shakiness was back. The ache. The draw that came from knowing they were here and whispering to him, beckoning to him, promising to ease the hurt building up in his bones as the Eye continued to take and take and take when the well had long since run dry.

And now Martin was alone. Holed up in the bedroom, their(?) bedroom, and it was Jon’s fault. He was alone again and it was because he was too selfish to think beyond feeding the monster he’d become. All because he couldn’t wait, couldn’t give him even a moment to try and forget about Jon’s dietary needs and the pain they caused. There was no way it was easy on Martin, knowing that Jon required.

This.

Worse still was the disappointment, the devastation rolling over him like the rain laden clouds of a storm as he backed away, anguished betrayal pooling in his eyes, even as Jon reached for him, excuses pouring over his lips like ink from a pen.

The mug in his hand seemed like such a paltry offering. Martin deserved infinitely more than this and Jon would never be up for the task if he kept relying on his more monstrous half. Like his resolve, his hold on the ceramic tightened. If Martin wanted him to hold off, or, or prove that he was better than his thirst for fear, then he would give that to him.

Anything for him.

“M’Martin?” He called through the door rather than knock, holding his breath while the decision to let him in or not was made. He couldn’t help but count the seconds, forty seven, a small eternity. Jon fought the impulse to apologize again, Martin said he did that far too much, likely thought he didn’t truly mean it because he never seemed to fix his mistakes. Patience. Wait.

It was not his forte.

“Come in.” Good lord, Martin sounded so tired and when Jon stepped into the room he could see him curled up on the bed facing away from him, the slope of his shoulders defeated. The desire to express remorse all but choked him and he swallowed it down with difficulty. It wouldn’t be for Martin anyway, not really, just another selfish attempt to assuage his own guilt.

“I’m. I brought tea?” Another step closer, watching Martin sit up slowly, elbow rising up as he swiped at his eyes. “O’of course it, it could never hope to m’measure up to yours. I’m afraid I’I’ve never been a deft hand.” He was babbling, rounding the frame so fast that liquid splashed over his fingers. “Mm. B’but here? It’s warm?”

“Thank you, Jon.” It shouldn’t have mattered but the lack of an endearment he’d become so used to was like a blow. Still, he accepted the tea, taking a measured sip before setting it aside and glancing up with red rimmed eyes.

“I. I wasn’t thinking.” To prevent himself reaching for more, Jon plucked at the bottom hem of his, of Martin’s jumper, picking and pulling at the stray threads.

“I was. Surprised, I guess? That you could even look at--” He shook his head, “it’s not important.” And while Jon didn’t agree considering how insensitive he’d been, he welcomed Martin’s arms around him.

“Can’t it wait, Jon?”

Caught.

As he tried to steal away up the stairs with his prize, all too aware of the inherent chicanery.

All too aware of the exasperation in Martin’s voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Exasperation with him.

“I can’t exactly...avoid you in here.” He gestured absently to the small space of the cabin made smaller by fear of leaving and they both knew well there was no way Martin wouldn’t be able to hear him. It physically hurt to replace the yellowed paper back into its watermarked manila folder.

“S’sorry Martin. Of course it can wait.” But it was worse for having held it in his hands, for having been so close and the Eye was railing at him now, shouting in his mind for his denial and dizzying him with its volume. Instead Jon settled for stumbling over to the couch to burrow into Martin’s warmth, sighing when he draped a heavy arm across his aching shoulders and dropped a kiss into his messy hair. Beneath his ear Martin’s pulse beat loud, nearly drowning out the yammering want and sluggish and thick, Jon responded in a sleepy hum to Martin’s questions, sinking into a doze when he began to pet through his tangled curls.

Without a dose of second hand fear it only became worse, to the point where his scars screamed out whenever he moved, breathed, and Jon found himself losing large tracts of time even when he wasn’t sleeping. The inside of his skull was stuffed full of candy floss and digging through any of it for a spare thought was far beyond his ken.

Martin didn’t leave anymore.

For very good reason, but Jon couldn’t find a moment alone to, to, to.

Eat.

Even old and stale they would provide a reprieve.

“Martin.” His own voice sounded as though he were hearing it through the walls of a submarine, muffled and strained, and he wasn’t totally certain of his volume. “I. I need to read. To read a statement.”

Please.

The disbelief knitting Martin’s brow almost made him want to cry. It. He’d waited so long. Tried to sneak, be out of the way, to ask.

“The world just ended!” Martin avoided saying just who ended it but it was there in the set of his mouth and Jon winced irrationally at the volume; he wasn’t being yelled at, just about. “And you want to read a bloody statement now?” Incredulous, and at his tone, Jon folded himself into a small origami shape on his spot on the sofa, sharp at all his corners and hopefully harder to hit.

“No! I mean, I--”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was soft now, imploring. "Did you forget what caused this in the first place?" Oh, but he knew the answer to this question. It was good to know.

“M’me?” When Martin sighed, the disappointment captured in it stung.

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s not your fault you were tricked into reading--look, I just think it’d be better if we waited. At least until we have a plan?” That made sense and he said so, words tripping up in a jumble on his tongue. “Jon, are you alright?”

No. He was hurting and upset and couldn't decide which was the greater ache.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“I’m ready for a kip after the staring contest I had with the sky earlier.” That would be nice. Martin was warm and soft and it didn’t all hurt so much when he was asleep.

His scars pulsed with a feverish ache, twisting, burning, smoldering embers in a body crying out for relief, thoughts disconnected, disoriented, disjointed, knotted up past, present.

He hated this. Hated himself, hated how nothing made sense anymore, all a vast landscape of, boiling, melted wax running together in a kaleidoscope of color.

Martin must hate what he is, hate that he ruined the world and want him to know it. Maybe once he’d learned to be more careful, more thoughtful Martin would let him have one. That's all, he just had to be patient. He still held him, kissed him, loved him, this was just a, a lesson. That's all. When he told him the right answers, when he figured them out, he’d be allowed to read and fill the emptiness eating him away from inside out.

He’d rather Martin than a statement any day.

Just a bit longer.

“Jon.” Martin left him in bed this equivalent to morning in hopes it would stave off whatever he’d come down with but enough was enough. “You can’t spend all day sleeping, love. We need to figure this out.” You can’t ignore what you’ve done and leave me to clean up your mess. Uncharitable, the thought came out of nowhere and Martin was thankful he’d kept his frustration to himself. He knew it wasn’t his fault. Breaking it down to blame wouldn’t help anybody, least of all the entire world. Magnus was old and he’d taken the time to plan this, manipulating them all into place, and asking Jon to carry the whole weight of that wasn’t fair. Fading in and out, thick and syrupy, Jon’s unsteady voice rose from the mountain of quilts.

“Nnn...n’feeling...very well.” He looked dreadful, flushed and fevered, and not for the first time Martin wondered if this was a leftover side effect of the ritual. “S’so cold…” Taking pity, Martin curled around his too thin and shivering frame where Jon panted harshly into his neck, the brush of overheated air humid at his throat.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“Hur’s.” Worry flooded Martin’s chest, constricting and tight. There were no doctors here, no ambulance he could call on.

“Where?”

“Ss…” With difficulty he flexed his burned hand.

“Scars?”

“Ah.”

“Alright, I’m here.” Gently Martin ran a light hand along the seam of his spine in the hope it brought Jon some measure of comfort if nothing else.

Idiot.

It took him too long to put the pieces together. How big did a neon sign have to be before he could read it?

Selfish. Foolish. Stupid. And the one paying dearly for it was Jon.

“You need to come awake for me, love.” He’d already heaved him up once only for him to swoon and this time he bullied him to his feet where he stood swaying dangerously but Martin needed him to be awake, to get his blood moving and stay that way.

“Mma’tin…” agonized, breathless, what had he said earlier? About hurting, his scars? God, Martin, you just watched him fall apart in front of you and did nothing. Worse than nothing. “Sstop…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” For so much, for not listening, for thinking ever that Jon would keep seeking out statements for anything other than necessity. “You’re doing so well, so, so well.” To think he nigh accused him of wanting to Know and nothing else; childish and angry. “But you need to wake up, you need to be able to listen.”

“Am...am.” Marble mouthed, dark lashes like strokes of ink fluttered, obscured the unnatural green glow always seeking. “Lis…” he broke off into a low, shaky moan, curling into himself, trying to sink to the floor, and Martin wanted to cry, worried that if he left him alone for even a moment he wouldn’t be able to wake him again. So he swept him into his arms instead, heart shattering when Jon bit off a sharp sob as his palm ghosted over the gap in his ribs, sore and sensitive and even so, he turned his face into Martin’s chest, twisted trembling fingers into wash-worn wool with a keening whine. He'd hurt him, accused him, berated him.

And Jon still turned to him as though he were the sun.

“Shh, soon now.” Shallow and short, Jon’s chest hitched as he pressed his fever hot forehead hard into his shoulder and swallowed with a wet click.

“Mmah…” around another convulsive swallow and it was barely warning enough to get him over the sink where he coughed up the tea Martin forced into him earlier. Strung tight and painfully wound, Jon exhaled in relief when Martin let him slide boneless down the cabinetry to the floor, cheek pillowed on the cool painted wood. Lifting his chin, Martin brushed back sweat soaked curls, pressed a promise into fiery skin.

“I’m going to fix this.” As quick as he could Martin ran to the closet and grabbed the whole box, returning to find Jon sprawled out on his back, limbs twisted and loose where he fell. “Oh, Jon.” There was no time to make him comfortable, not when for all Martin knew he was dying because he’d refused to see what was right in front of him, what Jon had been trying to tell him. Because it meant that Jon truly wasn’t human and clearly part of Martin wanted to ignore that.

And now.

“Jon, darling, please.” In his lap, listless deadweight, face turned unconsciously toward the statements. “Open your eyes, Jon, which ones haven’t you read?” Martin clawed through the folders, skimming titles, trying to remember if he’d heard any snippets, but no. He didn’t like listening to them, didn’t want to hear the horrors of others. If he’d stayed with him would he have been able to stop Magnus’ plan? “Jon!” Listing numbers, names, until the floor around them was tiled in paper. Hitching him higher, Martin kissed his pulsepoint when his head lolled, slow and sluggish. “Jon.” Which one?

“Mmm...”

“This one?” He read the first sentence, shuddering already at the chill running up his spine. “Jon?” Another paragraph and uncoordinated, his arm struck out, reaching blindly. “Okay, alright. Are you listening?” The tiniest nod, Martin wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but began to read, steady as he could, sick with himself when the tremors eased and tight, spasming muscles unspooled under his worried hand. When the tears came he had to force himself to keep on, beside himself that he couldn’t comfort him. With the great gasping breaths of a man half drowned, Jon swung his arms around Martin’s neck when the strength came back to his arms as it all drew to a close.

“Th’thank you.” Damp spread over his skin, his words tinged with desperate relief. “M’sorry, m’s’sorry.”

“For what?” He clutched him back, the sound of paper crumpling in his fist sharp in his ears and punctuated by Jon’s frantic apologies, his uneasy gratefulness.

“Th’thank you, Martin, thank y’you. Won’ a’a’ask again.”

“Jon.”

“Can wait.” The quake in his voice was shivery and small and devastation pooled in Martin’ stomach.

It sounded too much as though--

“Oh darling, oh no, no. I.” He had to pause, to swallow the tangle of emotion clotting up his throat and gathered him closer. “I didn’t understand. That’s all. I would. Jon.” Gently he shifted him to get a look at his tear streaked and exhausted face, swiping at his own eyes before cupping his cheek and drawing his thumb over the too-prominent bone there. “Never, I would never h’hurt, or punish--I didn’t know. I didn’t listen.” The first statement’s reprieve was wearing thin and Martin settled Jon against his chest where he laid still, head resting on his shoulder as he reached for another envelope.

The light never changed, no matter the time, but it was softer now. Here.

Pastel behind his eyelids as if swimming through a twilight consciousness into the soft sensations of waking. The knit strands of Martin’s cardigan threaded between his tangled fingers and he shifted closer, so warm, the fever chills he’d suffered for days a thing of the not too distant past. Jon wanted to collect this feeling, this safety, bottle it up for when Martin finally figured out that the only thing he knew how to do was take. Holding his breath, he tried to stay in this moment and absorb the feeling of Martin’s body pressed against his own, slotted perfectly together like a pair of puzzle pieces, the heat generated beneath the quilt comforting, intoxicating.

Even though Jon could tell you more than most that stealing scraps of affection never amounted to enough.

Soft kisses rained over his skin, over every scar, because he’d been unable to cry quietly enough to leave Martin undisturbed. He pulled away, scrubbed his face with the heel of his scarred hands.

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” And he wanted to believe him, that he could have this even with what he was. That he wouldn’t ruin Martin like he’d already ruined so much. “Come here, love.” Patient. Martin was so patient with him even when the uncertainty had to show in his face. “It’s alright.” And Jon dove back in, hands not so much brushing against each other as colliding when he reached for more, more, more, taking, taking, taking. Hiccuping with sobs, burrowing close, closer, the closest he could be, where Martin’s kiss was a soft promise pressed between them, told to his mouth rather than his ear but a message of love and protection and tenderness all the same. Tears he forgot he’d been crying were thumbed gently away, so carefully it was as though Martin worried he would break under the weight of his touch.

Sated, the Beholding a murmur lost in the rhythm of Martin’s heart, Jon allowed himself to be lost, to let someone else, someone he loved and who loved him in return, carry it all just for a little while.

“How’re you feeling?” He approached with a cup of tea, inadequate though it was for an apology, passing it off to Jon’s eager, steady hands. His color was better, the flush faded, and he’d stopped moving like there were needles wedged in every joint.

“Much better, thank you, Martin.” Whyever would he thank him? But here he was, eyes closed in appreciation of the first sip, patting the cushion next to him in open invitation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” After a beat of silence Jon set aside the mug and folded his hands in his lap.

“I thought you knew.” His fingers flexed and Jon forced himself to look Martin in the eye. “I thought it was what you, what you wanted.” And the confusion in his expression, that he had possibly miscalculated, was painful. But isn’t that what he’d learned time and time again? Tim, Basira, Melanie, Daisy, even Martin himself! That when he made mistakes, made wrong choices, when he’d done something they didn’t approve of he’d been yelled at, ridiculed, threatened, terrified, hurt, abandoned. He laughed, a bitter, deprecating huff. "I did end the world after all. You've a right to be upset."

“Wha--no! Jon, no! If I’d--” speechless, that Jon just accepted so easily being hurt this way, accepted that Martin, even accidentally, wanted to see him punished for his part in bringing about Magnus’ plan.

“When I, I asked. I. It made you so angry.”

"Jon. No matter how angry I am, I never want to hurt you or punish you. That’s not okay."

"But--"

“I should have never made you feel--” He grit his teeth, calmed his voice. There was no part of him that wanted Jon to interpret his anger at himself as anger pointed towards him. “Please, if I do this again. Please, love.” For a moment Jon looked like he wanted to argue and Martin tugged him into an embrace, overjoyed when it was returned, his response muffled in his jumper.

“Alright.”

#I'm still working on prompts #don't worry!#tma #the magnus archives #hurt comfort #jmart #jonmartin #statement sick #statement hunger #starvation #miscommunication #unreliable narrator #sickfic #sick jon #guilt #pain #scars #jon's grandma sucked

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steve0discusses · 3 years ago

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Yugioh Season Zero: The Yo-yo Crimes of Jounouchi Pt 2

OK, last we left off, we were in a different Youtube video. This one I grabbed off of 2 different videos (you’ll see their watermark in the corner change) and it makes me appreciate the quality that our other episodes have been, honestly. A little bit of compression going on in these, just to give you even more of that nostalgic feel of watching a bootleg anime from the 90′s your brother got from his weird high school friend’s Napster account.

Because this is done with subtitles on, it takes more caps to cover it. Part of why I rewrite the dialogue in these recaps is to help abridge stuff, and so consider yourself warned...there’s a lot of caps in this one. For most of you, that’s probably not much of a problem. But I’m just letting you know because...I sure wasn’t expecting it to be over 40 caps for half an episode, and I’ll probably just type less to make up for that. (Tumblr keeps Erasing All My Words anyway, so this is for the best, but that’s a tech issue I already went into in another post.)

(read more under the cut)

So, to start off, Yugioh and co. walk up to a bar like a really weird version of a bar joke and are like “do you know where we can find the yo-yo gang?” And, much like a video game npc, the bartender was like “I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about, and I heard every part of their intimate conversation. Let me give you all the details, children.”

Hey, PS, there’s an entire Wikipedia entry about the bar joke. And that is wild. Apparently the first bar joke was from Ancient Sumeria, and Wikipedia was like “Here is the Sumerian joke, but we Do Not Get it. Please don’t try to get it.”

The joke being: "A dog walked into a tavern and said, 'I can't see a thing. I'll open this one'."

Damn. I can’t believe the Sumerians were onto meme humor before we ever invented memes. They were in the Galaxy brain over there in the land before time, holy crap. Depositing their memes knowing that 7,000 years later mankind would look at the world’s first joke and be like “I don’t get it!” while all the millennials and zoomers with our MB of nonsense memes on our phones are like “No. I get it.” Good on you Sumerians, that is freakin the best joke ever made. 7000 years to get to the punch line of confusing the hell out of all us. Bless.

They promptly tell Miho that everything was resolved and that she should go to bed and she was like “Cool!” and exited stage left. Bye, I guess. Anzu also went home, but she didn’t have to be tricked into doing it, she just went the hell to bed.

(PS, I just realized that if I want to write less...I should probably not look up Wikipedia articles about the world’s first ever bar joke. But y’all, habits die so freakin hard, and I just feel like it’s very pertinent to this Yugioh recap, although I know it’s really not.)

Yuugi and Honda decide to visit the warehouse and harass Jounouchi. In the context of the show, they’re going out of their way to pull their best friend out of society’s systemic downward pull of a life of crime and most likely turning into exactly like his Father. But, the way that it’s storyboarded makes it look a lot like these kids just show up out of the corner and this gang was like “Damn it, again? OMG small children, please leave us alone!”

Honda hands over the symbolism sash, to which Jounouchi symbolically says “Nyeh.”

And Honda didn’t take it very well.

After tending to his kidneys for a little while, Honda decided to go back at it again at the Krispy Cream and do some sort of insane parkour over this completely ordinary fence.

Ah, the very first instance of real duel law where you duel over a relationship. In later seasons duel law is invoked for things like Mai’s marriage and the right to date Tea (and then just kind of forgetting you ever won the right to date Tea twice). But to think the very first time was Honda dueling for the right of Jounouchi to be part of nerd gang because Jounouchi had fallen to the dark side yo-yo gang across the street run by some 40 year old man with blue hair.

How many times is Honda gonna fight with a broom? Like are they just magnetized to his location? where are they even coming from?

Freakin janitor powers over here, put him in a Final Fantasy style RPG. I want to see what his limit break would be.

Not like it matters, because Hirotani very quickly explains why these yo-yo’s are at all a threat.

Which honestly shouldn’t be...so lethal? Seems like the weight is all you need, not really the spikes. But it’s at least stronger than Honda’s janitor stuff.

Unfortunate for Honda that he just destroyed an antique.

So with lightning reflexes, Yuugi does what he does most:

The death yo-yo ricochets back and does this little itty bitty scrape to this guy’s face and he’s real bothered by it. Although it’s like...well dude, you’re a 50 year old high schooler, I don’t think people will notice the scrape compared to everything else falling apart in your life.

And so then the Yugioh Season Zero team was like “oh shoot is it time to torture Yuugi???” and they got hella excited.

Like I thought it was just Yuugi’s class that were a bunch of disturbing criminal disasters, but I guess it’s the whole city. Like...was Yuugi’s class the good school?

I mean, it can’t be, there’s no way...

but like...is there a good school in this universe? How does anyone survive till graduation? If you so much as disgrace a yo-yo, you will get the torture treatment that I sure did expect in Yakuza games, but not so much in Yugioh, tbh.

Just a reminder: This is the third time we’ve beat up Yuugi this episode. Within the first meeting of Yuugi and Hirotani, he beat the tar out of Yuugi within eye shot of Jounouchi. So like...Jounouchi was reallllllllllllllllly lax on that deal, right? Like...he took his toot sweet time to realize “yeah this just ain’t ever gonna happen.”

And then the yo-yo wars begin.

Just like Solid Snake crawling through the radiation chamber.

Hirotani throws his Fyper-yoyo, Jounouchi intercepts with his Eireboy, and Hirotani’s completely terrible yo-yo just flies off the string again because Hirotani should have just sticked to using his fists. No wonder they wanted to recruit Jounouchi so badly, their yo-yo game is so off.

We never get a door to darkness in this episode, dipping our enemies into mind horrors. Instead, we get home-alone style traps. But, this makes sense. Not only do the show makers have to make Yuugi avoid solving problems with magic in front of Jounouchi, they also have to make it Jounouchi’s choice to leave Hirotani behind. If Yuugi did it for him in like...some sort of duel law situation...then that sort of leaves out Jounouchi’s choice in the equation.

Not like this ever really comes up in later seasons, since who even follows through with duel law and marries Mai? But like, it does feel like Season Zero calls out the later Seasons a bit in this regard. Honda got beat up because he tried to win Jounouchi back by force (or game, I guess.) That was just another form of coercion on the heels of Hirotani’s. What Jounouchi actually needed was to make his own decision to leave.

...most other anime I’d be like “I’m sure that’s just a translation error” but not this one.

So Yuugi runs to the roof where Jounouchi will never see this.

My audible sigh reading this line about fight club roof.

These stupid gang members went into Yuugi’s native territory, not just a fight club roof, but on a warehouse? They were dead before they arrived.

This was like maybe 3 frames of animation in just rapid succession, it was pretty silly and good.

Reminder that like 4 minutes ago, Yuugi was about to get like executed on a meat hook.

Speaking of getting executed on a meathook:

Hope you like the idea of glass in your eyes, because this anime’s got it.

They chase Yuugi around, in a sequence that was done mostly to conserve frames, so you rarely saw the ground until this shot:

Lots of falling down this episode, but unlike Tea, who fell from a warehouse ceiling once and just kind of rubbed her ass after and was like “ah damn it.” these guys won’t come out of it virtually unscathed.

Also, Honda is here now:

Jumping off of his symbolic sash trapeze, he decides to do in Hirotani for good.

Hey so like...walk the dog is a fairly gentle walk that a yo-yo does slowly on the ground right?

Just pointing out how sensitive Hirotani’s fingies are.

And he...didn’t appear to be dead, so I don’t have to add to the bodycount...but it’s gonna be a real long road for recovery.

And now, with the gang back together Jounouchi is back at school knee deep in make up assignments he’ll probably completely ignore since we know that in a years time, these fools are going to be trapped on Pegasus’ island, and at that point school will be just that place you talk about when you try to remember why you’re friends with Bakura.

---hey aren’t those chairs attached to the desks?

Because...holy crap, Anzu.

Honestly this is what you see before you die, but I guess Jounouchi died off screen after the episode ended, so I don’t have to add him to the deathcount (again). RIP.

Alright! That took like...8 tries to get Tumblr to save this one, but it managed! (well...I guess “managed” isn’t the word you’d use for a typing program that takes 8 tries to save)

Next time, we’ll be back to S5, for an arc I’ve heard is kind of boring. We’ll see. If it truly is, I can condense episodes into fewer posts. Or maybe it’s a secret gem? I guess we shall see.

And if you just got here this is a link to read all the Season Zero recaps from the start:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yuugi-muto/chrono

(there’s also a link to read all the Yugioh posts we wrote from the start in chrono order but straight up, this file won’t freakin save, and I just can’t even will myself to look up that link again. It’s on the home page of this blog on the right.)

#YGO #yugioh #yu gi oh #Yuugi Muto #Jounouchi #Honda #Anzu #Miho #yo yo gang #Hirotani #Yuugi and the gang do serious property damage

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crxwes · 5 years ago

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Art thief!

Hello, earlier today I discovered a Instagram account that had stolen my art. Not long ago, it got taken down.

I’m not making this post to put them on blast but to warn other artists about them and people like them. They were commissioning me a lot (more than I usually get being a small account.) and rapidly, and I had suspicions but I chose to believe otherwise,

I believe they targeted me because I under price myself (so its easy to get art from me) and I often forget to put a watermark on my art and when I do, its easily croppable (which makes it EVEN EASIER to get art from me)

So be careful :-)! I’m not worried about myself, I’m more worried about other artists.... And especially younger ones :/ I was lucky to get a LOT of support from all my friends which i’m very grateful for! As I believe the amount of report is what got their account down. (Update on that at the end of the read more)

They go by lovegently on tumblr! So be careful if this person commissions you.

I found out about the account ONLY because they had a sponsored post on my timeline with my oc on it:

Which had me do a double take. At first, I thought it was just a glitch on insta or something, no way someone would steal my art right?

This is what I was greeted by when I went on their profile:

Sure enough, it was ALL my art. Some very old so they had to dig deep for it (The pink one in the middle of the second screenshot is from 2017) They claimed some my ocs as theirs (and some of my friends because I also drew them)

(Mine and @gaydemogorgon oc)

(On their facebook page, that my friend found)

They were ‘‘doing’‘‘ commissions too;

Modifying the CAD to USD quite obviously. They used two of my commission post and even used my giveaway post that I held not long ago. They had commissioned me for the first prize but , my tablet cable is causing me problems so I had to refund them but I believe they would have continued. I don’t know why they would offer commissions when they have to pay me to do it, but the fact remains that they were still selling my art to another party.

They even changed their name to match mine (which I changed recently)

And before this, on instagram they had change their name 25 times. I wondered if they had been caught for art theft before this?

So be on the look out for variations of those usernames! (Screenshot from my friend @kornyo )

They were wondering about selling other pieces of my art (using a piece I made for @cryingforthecryptids too.) :

It seems they didn’t go through with it though (which I’m really glad, I would have been livid otherwise)

They had 1563 followers on FB and as you can see on their profile screenshot, they had 2k followers on instagram. I don’t have a FB page as it is not a platform I enjoy being on, but on instagram, I have 400 followers. The difference is A LOT, which makes me sad, because I’ve read the comments of some of these people, and they genuinely seemed to enjoy MY content. It frustrates me that they could have this much reach piggy backing my art. So when artists tells you that reposting hurts them, yes it does. I could have had a lot more exposition and a lot more clients even!

All in all, be careful :-)! (And look out for artists! If you see someone do this, don’t ignore it, inform the artist!)

UPDATE : I wrote this post yesterday March 8th 2020, and today (March 9th) two of my friends have informed me that this person is still active, using my art.

I had messaged them on instagram to ask them to take my art down and I hadn’t reported their account because I wanted to give them a chance:

And they have since blocked me! So I can’t access their account anymore. I’ll try to find a way to report them now since they’ve chosen to ignore me.

This is their account now:

(Screenshot from @kornyo)

If you could report it, I would really appreciate it!

#Mochi speaks #art theft #long post

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puppy-phum · 4 years ago

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pingxie thoughts (and prayers) bonus 2/2

continuation for this post where i try to make sense of all the visuals offered to us in the amazing bazaar photoshoot. had to divide the bonus part of this series into two bc of the amount of photos and my own tendency to write novels (even while excluding the video clips). hopefully these can offer you all at least something (more than just an eyeroll at my pretentious poetry).

side note: the photos from the digital magazine (the ones without a watermark) belong to @/thosch3i who i very much want to thank you for all the updates and translations ♥

The Bazaar Photoshoot – Future Dream

As stated in the first part of this “analysis”, the theme of this photoshoot was the Pingxie ten years reunion. I already managed to get through the “ideal reality” photos, so now it’s time to delve into the “future dream” in the remaining ones. These seem to offer a deeper look into Pingxie’s actual relationship during the reunion and how their past and future meet in that moment.

(placing under cut bc this gets long with all the photos!)

These photos really challenged me to think outside the box. Bc the obvious answer would’ve just been me screaming “Pingxie married!” on top of my lungs but that’s not really something I’m aiming at quite yet. So I decided to call this pile of photos “the (future) dream” instead, which I think suits it quite well. Just let me try to explain why.

Beginning with these two teaser photos where we first see their matching rings and then their matching necklaces. A lot of eternal promises and unbreakable bonds and soulmate symbolism here (my left brain: but Pingxie married!!! me: shush, not now). I feel like these photos in general show many of those themes, try to catch their bond and the deepest essence of their relationship. This is some type of core, them in their purest form, far outside of actual reality now.

The black and white colors make these photos feel even more like they’re part of a dream or a fantasy or a memory almost. Maybe it is about the things they now have and the things they have lost. Maybe it’s black and white bc things have changed but they still want the same things; they still have their bond and things still make sense. (Maybe I sob about this bc I’m just so weak and Pingxie soulmates, it’s confirmed now!)

Also gotta mention here – bc I will allow myself this one moment of gushing – that Pingxie in black and white, ZSX and XYL in these suits (both suits), is sinful. Absolutely sinful. But also stunning. And so soft. And well, what else could be more symbolic than making Wu Xie wear white and Xiaoge wear black? Tho I think that together, they have always been turning a bit gray. (And how many times did I read that as “gay”? Which,,, still true but. Not the point here.)

At this point am also fighting against my urge to talk about the video clip that dropped with the weibo update on the 1st of March and all the hand action we got in that. Bc I just loved how they played with each other’s hands and the snow and kept looking at their hands together in that clip. It felt like an inaudible love confession. And maybe these photos are just that; a voiceless, wordless way to say “I love you”. Neither of them is good with words anyway and the love is so loud am going deaf. I hope they’re happy.

But if we forget that video, I want to pay attention to the poses in these photos. They are sitting or lying down together, Wu Xie’s head on Xiaoge’s shoulder, Xiaoge’s face almost buried in Wu Xie’s hair or at least turned his way. It feels domestic. There is nothing but them. There is nothing else to care about in this world than them being together and this closeness they share after all the time without it. It’s what they want; this very intense focus on each other (and if that doesn’t scream love to you then I don’t know what to say). It’s a little bit like the ideal reality I talked about in the previous post but even more intense and somehow so much more open which makes me think about this as a “dream” or at least a fantasy of sorts.

Then in the two photos above, we again have Wu Xie looking at the camera while Xiaoge is focusing on him. It feels almost like Xiaoge is a prop here, all the focus placed on Wu Xie who is, unlike in that intense photo in the previous post, smiling. Slightly, but still. He looks soft, content, happy. He’s okay to be the center of all this attention bc he knows that it will take it away from Xiaoge (and omg I know yall whine now that such a thing is impossible with XYL’s beauty but just humor me for a bit). He’s so relaxed bc he knows that Xiaoge is content right next to him. (He might also be a bit smug bc he has a man like that but can anyone blame him?)

I have to note then that, after gushing about their outfits and how good they look in them, there also seems to be a deeper meaning to these suits. Because I don’t think it’s an accident (or a thirst trap) that in these whole-body pictures where they lie in the snow, we see their chests and they’re bare-footed. It feels like this is them being bare in general, open. Their chests show bc their hearts are open, feet are bare bc they are vulnerable (and when you google symbolism for being bare-footed, Wikipedia hits you with childhood and innocence so yes, they are innocent here, pure, like they wish to be). This is them being true and honest with each other, offering all those parts of themselves to the other to look at which they never previously had the courage to show.

At least that’s true in this dream, in this future they hope will become reality one day. In this future that, for now, ignores all the difficulties and obstacles between them (bc they have a lot of stuff to sort out and then Reboot happens and. Yeah well, the future never goes as you planned anyway).

Sitting and shoes on now, we then have Wu Xie offering this almost angry look to the viewer. He might be sitting slightly behind Xiaoge and lower than him but he’s the one who seems powerful here. Xiaoge looks almost childish (which might be just XYL’s personality showing through lol) and is focused on his own hands, the ground, and his shoes/legs. It feels like this is Wu Xie being the one aware for once, being the one who carries their worries, the one who sits there protecting Xiaoge so that Xiaoge can finally focus on something else. So that Xiaoge can be free and a little careless. That he can focus on himself and what he wants after giving so many years away for Wu Xie and his (at this moment non-existent or at least tainted) innocence. This is their dream; or at least Wu Xie’s dream bc somehow this whole photoshoot seems to focus on him instead of Xiaoge (like I stated before, he seems like a prop sometimes haha).

In contrast to that thought and the previous photos, this one actually puts Xiaoge on display tho. He’s at the front, in the middle of the photo, and if you don’t get distracted by Wu Xie’s eyes (hard, I know), then you most likely focus on Xiaoge and get stuck there. It feels intentional, like Wu Xie’s strong protective instinct is somehow left a bit hidden? Behind Xiaoge? Who is usually seen as the protector? Which is interesting imo bc at this point Wu Xie has learned to be very brutal, and in Ultimate Note (and before that), we see him being very fierce when it comes to him protecting those he loves. So this setting between them feels a bit like a dream too, a dream where Wu Xie has been able to pull away a little bc Xiaoge is alright while facing the world again. Xiaoge is not as vulnerable as someone who doesn’t know who he is and who to trust. He has found his place to be.

Then the two photos that confused me the most bc at first they felt like they didn't fit at all? They just felt... weird, even if they look absolutely stunning. Here we have Wu Xie and Xiaoge dressed in their second pair of suits (if these can be called suits?) with Xiaoge in this long cape thing and his arms half bare. Wu Xie’s outfit seems almost too simple compared to everything else he’s worn, and they are both now facing towards the same direction while previously they were either looking at each other, away from each other or, in Wu Xie’s case, the viewer.

Maybe these pictures were why I finally came to think about these as “the future” instead of just some type of “dream”.

Because in these pictures it feels like they are actually looking towards the future. Especially in this last photo they are both facing the light, side by side, in these clothes that feel almost like they’re… I don’t even know. Purified? Divine? Heavenly? Please excuse my lack of words but this just feels like that, like some kind of final peace where even their clothes are somehow on a higher level. It’s a dream-like future where they both can stand strong and be together forever, finally. (Also makes me think about how we see their rings in these pictures, like a sign of the bond they have formed and the bond they want to form (my left brain again: Pingxie married!!!! and this time am tired of arguing against that).)

And if we add the other photo up there, where they are slightly turned towards each other, sharing a look almost, it feels like they have decided to go. Like this is a mutual choice of walking forward, some kind of turning point like the last photo was in the previous post. They are going and the future is at their reach and it’s going to be amazing (or at least I believe so, once again, bc they deserve their happy ending).

What are we then left with? With a future that includes them being at peace, being content with each other and the surrounding world. A future that is, probably, more from Wu Xie’s point of view than Xiaoge’s but still so utterly loving for the both of them (bc what else would Wu Xie want than happiness for Xiaoge?). And then if we connect this to the other photos in the first part, this feels almost like that ideal reality coming to life in their future, that closeness and joy and basking in the other’s presence stretched to cover an eternity. It’s so soft and gentle and sweet. Just like Pingxie are always. And I’m not even surprised that their future includes all of this bc what else could they wish for than the final relief of being together?

#dmbj #ultimate note #pingxie #oh jesus this is a novel #i still hope any of this makes any sense #i lack words and a brain #but also just #this is my love letter to this photoshoot #bc bazaar is doing amazing #and i just have so many thoughts #and i realized so many things #while doing this #pls hit me with your thoughts #if you have anything to add or another view on this #am so curious #pingxiethoughtsandprayers

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #336

"get back, you’re never gonna leave him / get back, you’re always gonna please him”

What were your favorite things to draw when you were a lil kid? When I was a very little kid, idk. But once I got into meerkats... I drew them like crazy. Do you think there is something with or around you, like a spirit, angel, ghost or something else? How does this make you feel? No. Imagine you’re a stranger looking at yourself. What things would immediately catch your eye? Ugh, let's not. When did you feel the most confident in your life? Probably my senior year of high school. I was happy with Jason with plans for the future together, I was doing excellently in school... I thought I was really going to go somewhere. Do you think love is needed to have good sex? For some people, no. For me, loving one another is an absolute must. Do you think, or want to, die in the city you currently live in? Fuuuuuuuck no, I hate it here. What is the strangest thing you have ever encountered? Probably when I was otw home from my doctor appointment and we passed a random guy in drag walking on the side of the street... That guy is an icon. Favourite soft drink? It's really strawberry Sunkist, but I love it to a degree I don't even allow myself to drink it, because I will fucking destroy that shit so quick. So I tend to just say Mountain Dew Voltage is my fave. What do you like to put gravy on? I hate gravy, period. Have you ever gone canoeing/kayaking? No, but it sounds fun. What is one thing you know about your family history you’re proud of? Uhhhh idk. Who depends on you the most? My snake. Are you related to anyone famous or historical, if so who? Yes; William Clark and Queen Victoria or Queen Elizabeth, idr which. Would you ever donate a kidney to anyone, and who? Mom. She only has one kidney, so, y'know. She kinda needs at least one. I wouldn't even hesitate. What is the main quality you think makes a great parent? Unconditional love. What three things do you think of most of each day? My weight is #1. Every second of every day, it, as well as Jason, are somewhere towards the front of my mind. The final is financial and job-oriented stuff. Does/did your high school have pop machines? It did. Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? No. Have you ever slept in a water bed? Yeah. How often do you use Flickr? I pretty much abandoned my account; nowadays I only occasional check my friend's profile who works at the Kalahari Meerkat Project because she uploads wonderful pictures of the 'kats as well as gives interesting info about them! Who is the last child that you took a photo with? Mom took a picture of me holding my youngest niece Emerson because it surprised everyone; I NEVER hold babies. She crawled over to me and reached up though, so of course I was going to pick her up. How often do you wear hats? Never. Would you ever get a nature tattoo? Sure! Idk what, but I'm rather sure I'll get at leaast one. Is anyone in your family sick at the moment? No. Where do your siblings work, if anywhere? My older sister is a mammographer, and my younger sis is a social worker. Where is your favorite place to buy groceries? Wal-Mart, I guess. Who do you generally talk to the most? My mom. Is anyone saved in your phone under a nickname? Mom is "Mama Bear," and then my siblings are "Little Sister" and "Big Sister." Whose birthday is coming up? My lil sister has her birthday in April. Have you ever ordered from an informercial? No. When, where, and why did a needle last pierce your skin? I needed to get blood drawn for some testing. It was drawn from my inner elbow, obviously at the doctor. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? I never have, but it'd be fun. I enjoy puzzles. How many followers do you have on Instagram? I don't feel like checking. What’s the most recent music video you watched? Thoughts? "Mutter" by Rammstein. I picked a screenshot from it to draw, so I rewatched it to select one. It's a beautiful video, but also strange, which Rammstein is great at. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. What makeup products are your go-tos? If I wear makeup, the bare minimum is black eyeliner. Are you going to school this year? No. I gave college as many shots as I could handle both sanity-wise and with finances in mind. I do NOT want to even ATTEMPT to imagine the debt I have after going to three different colleges and dropping out each time. What is your favorite water activity? I enjoy just kinda swimming around aimlessly, relaxing. What are your favorite video games? Okay, I talk about SH2 and SotC enough on questions like this, so I'll mention some others I really enjoy as well: the Silent Hill franchise in general, Spyro games, The Last Guardian, both The Evil Withins, The Last of Us, some Resident Evil games (the 4th in particular), etc. etc. I just love video games. Do you like jello? I enjoy the flavor, but the texture makes me squirm. When was the last time you gave someone "the finger?" Probably while riding in the car with Mom when a dumb motherfucker swerved into our lane. Or something like that, idr the exact occasion. Have you ever held a snake? Yesssss, I want to hold all the snakes. ;_; Most unique place you’ve ever been to? Uh. I guess maybe the Whirligig Park/"Acid Park" nearby us? It's just this large expanse of unique architecture that are mostly, as you guessed it, extravagant whirligigs. You've got to see it if you come to the town. I have some pictures on my deviantART if you wanna see a few pieces. If you were a superhero, what color would your cape be? NO CAPES! Have you ever slept out on your porch all night? Oh fuck no. I'd feel way, way too unsafe. Do you like horror movies? Yeah! What’s your favorite Coke product? Just normal Coke. Watergun or water-balloon war? Watergun. I don't like being hit with stuff. Do you know anyone that’s afraid of elevators? I kind of am. Is there anything in your room that belongs to a boyfriend, or a friend of the opposite sex? I have three plushies from Jason, Tyler, and Girt. My Marilyn Manson poster is also from Juan. Who’s your favorite Beatle? I don't know; I was never a big fan, so I don't know any of them as people well at all. Have you ever texted an ex whilst drunk? How’d that go? I've never been drunk, but no, I've never texted an ex because I was drinking. Do you have to stand on your tip-toes to kiss your boyfriend? I don't have one. The only instance where I had to do that was with Girt. Tall motherfucker. Have you ever been tackle-hugged? Yes. Those are the best. Have you ever rejected someone’s kiss before? Girt once tried to make out with me and I noped the fuck outta that situation. It was so fucking awkward. Is your mood or the overall tone of your day often affected by the dreams you had the night before? My nightmares definitely can. Do you think that there are any positive aspects or outcomes of suffering from a mental illness? If you have a mental illness, do you think it has changed you for the better in any way? I definitely believe my mental illnesses forced me to mature faster and also instilled a great sense of empathy in me. And don't forget emotional endurance. What is your opinion on celebrity culture and celebrity worship? Have you ever been guilty of putting a celebrity on a pedestal? Do you think it’s somehow more acceptable/understandable to obsess over certain types of celebrities (musicians over YouTubers, say) than others? At what point do you think an obsession like that crosses the line? It's dangerous and can be very blinding. An outsider could say I put Mark on a pedestal, but I've always been very aware that he's not perfect and really just another human, I just happen to love him a lot for the human he is, haha. As time's passed, my vision of him has become healthier though (not to say it ever reached the "unhealthy" threshold); it's gotten easier for me to judge him and stuff like that. I think an obsession crosses the line when you put on rose-tinted glasses to look upon someone and entirely ignore their flaws, or if you try to invade their personal lives, ex. being one of those creeps that loiter outside their houses and stuff. If you were to pursue a career in photography and had the opportunity and means to photograph whatever you wanted, what would most like to photograph? Ah, livin' the dream. If I had to choice and would be paid well regardless of focus, I would absolutely travel and photograph the local nature/wildlife. Is there a certain type of clothing (outerwear, activewear, loungewear, etc.) that you enjoy shopping for more than others? Shirts, 100%. Are you ever afraid to post your ideas, artwork, photography, etc. online for fear that they will get stolen or not credited? When it comes to OCs, yes, given that things have been stolen from me before. Photography doesn't worry me much because I don't think I'm good enough for someone to possibly want to steal it (and besides, I use a watermark), and I do the same for drawings. It's the unique characters I make I worry about being stolen if I share them. When is the last time you did something sexual? A few years back. Who is the last person you showered with, if anyone? I haven't showered with someone since I was a little kid and my younger sister and I would to conserve water. What do you think when you see roadkill on the side of the road? It really makes me genuinely sad, and I always wonder if it could have been avoided if the driver was more alert, slower, and thinking about more than the damage it could cause to their car... I enjoy photographing roadkill, brutal as it may be, out of respect for them and the desire to make their individual stories known and just kind of like, raise awareness of it. Too many people are just annoyed by hitting an animal versus more concerned. "Stupid deer," stuff like that. I sometimes worry that doing so can be interpreted as disrespect, to photograph and publish pictures of their corpses online, but I sure hope not. It's the least of my intentions. I just want people to see and care. Have you ever had an ex that just didn’t understand that it was over? Biiiitch I was that ex, 120%. But besides my situation with Jason, this was how Tyler was. I had to tell him about five thousand times to stop texting me. Are your fingernails currently short or long? They're always pretty short. Would you rather have big or small dogs? I like medium-sized dogs most. I'd have to pick large dogs between the two, though. What is your favorite sports drink? I'm not a fan of sports drinks. What was the last compliment you gave a guy? Yesterday, a guy in PHP shared two poems he wrote while hospitalized, and they were wonderful, so full of passion and emotion. I sure as hell told him they were amazing. He's going for his Master's for poetry, so he knows what he's doing for real. Does your jaw ever crack, pop, or lock? It's popped on very, very few occasions. Have you ever thought of how you would give your kids “the talk”? I don't want kids, so no, I've never thought of this. I certainly wouldn't wait for sex ed in school, though. I feel like it's a bit late. I feel children need to know what it's about at a younger age with how disgusting some people are... I want them to be informed on what consent and molestation are so they know to let Mama know so I can punch someone's face into a whole new galaxy if they're ever violated. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something? Oh, always. Do you ever write/draw on windows that are fogged up? I did as a kid, sure. Not so much now. If you were married, and your spouse’s parents became ill, would you let them move into your home? If they were truly sick enough to need assistance but not actual hospitalization, yes. I'd want my spouse to do the same for me. Have you screamed in a pillow before? Yyyyep. What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Electric. Did you actually have a cookie jar? We have a Santa one, though I don't even know if we ever used it versus just having it as a decoration. What’s worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed. What do you bite on more, your tongue, lip, or nails? Bottom lip. Do you think that knowing when and how you’re going to die would ruin your life? "Ruin" it seems a bit extreme, but I definitely wouldn't like it. Do you have a favorite bromance? From TV or a movie. Not really, if we're only talking those two options. Do you find flea markets and thrift stores enjoyable? Yeah, you really can find the coolest shit for great prices. What color is your wallet? Mostly red and white; it's a Harley Quinn design. Have you ever been somebody's photography subject? No. Nicki Minaj fan? I believe she's a very talented rapper, but I don't enjoy her actual music. I just don't like rap. Have you ever seen the Niagara Falls? No, I wish tho.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''angel with the scabbed wings'' by marilyn manson

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amityfluir · 4 years ago

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English:

icon requests: I only accept icon requests with "please". asks without "please" will be ignored!

order specification: I place orders for everyone, but focus more on k-idols. so don't forget to specify the name of the idol and what group he is from!

be kind and patient! I will place your order as soon as I have time.

do not repost my icons in other places as if it were yours, do not remove my watermark, do not plage my icons!

if you save the icon, don't forget to like or reblog! ♥︎

I don't share the recipe for my icons.

enjoy! ♥︎

Português:

pedidos de icons: só aceito pedidos de icons com "por favor". asks sem "por favor" serão ignoradas!

especificação de pedido: eu faço pedidos de todas as pessoas, mas foco mais em k-idols. então nao esqueçam de especficarem o nome do idol e de que grupo ele é!

seja gentil e paciente! eu farei o seu pedido assim que eu tiver tempo.

não repostem os meus icons em outros lugares como se fossem seu, não remova a minha marca d'água, não plageie os meus icons!

caso salvem o icon, não esqueçam de curtir ou reblogar! ♥︎

não compartilho a receita dos meus icons.

aproveite! ♥︎

Observação/Notes

eu tenho um blog de psds, aqui está @mitypsds 💗

usarei meus psds nos meus icons, então se quiserem, estarei disponibilizando a todos que seguirem as regras.

também disponibilizo psds no deviantart : mitypsds

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josiebelladonna · 4 years ago

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@nirvhannahcornell i am beginning the process of watermarking my drawings, beginning from two months ago, i.e., my mermay drawings and the ones you stole from me. i have blocked you from viewing my art blog - i’m sacrificing reblogging art from there onto here and i also am not posting any more art on main here because it’s blatantly obvious to me that you don’t give two fucks about an artist’s well-being.

if you seriously believe that i’m doing all of this because of “guilty conscious”, to say you are sorely mistaken is an understatement.

i’m doing this to protect myself. my craft. my life’s work. protecting myself from people like you who like to manipulate and play the victim and believe your own petty squabble for absolutely no reason.

i’ve talked about ignoring trolls and cyberbullies in the past but i can’t ignore you. it’s directly threatening me, my livelihood, and my reputation, while taking other souls down with it as collateral damage.

i mean, it’s bad enough that i’m having to go out of my way to make an uproar about art theft when all everyone seems to talk about is anti-bullying (while being inexplicably passive-aggressive about it, what the fuck?), when art theft in this day and age is a very specific form of bullying. but as far as i can tell, the only one i have to make a stink about is you.

i gave you every opportunity to stop this by going quiet and watching to see what you would do in the future, because i’m not going to lie... this terrified me a bit. i started experiencing anxiety this morning because i started wondering what you might do with me and my art. but since you’re choosing to be a complete broken record about everything and spreading lies and cheating by knocking all the pawns over to go after my king and queen, i’m going to make the most out of every bit of this because you are robbing me of what’s rightfully mine all because of my desire to change my main url to something i love with a passion.

like i said, i have a weird respect for people who keep me on my toes. i really do. want an example that doesn’t involve you (unless you really are that deaf)?

last night, almost out of the blue at around the eight o’clock hour, the hit counter in my blog description showed me something... rather interesting: 3 people (not counting myself) viewing my blog in the wake of everything and my talking about it on instagram the other night. someone viewing from the l.a. area, someone from upstate new york, and someone from around the new york city area.

it could only lead me to assume one thing and one thing only, especially in the wake of a certain someone liking my drawings and his following the instagram tag of his own name. if you know anything about them, and i’m assuming you don’t...

i have anthrax on my side. you don’t.

don’t believe me? click on that link and check out the graphs and map trackers for yourself. obviously i don’t direct proof but it’s easy to come to that conclusion given the events that went down this spring and knowing a little about them in the process.

also, don’t forget: you’re making that url name a thing whether you like it or not. it’s a pseud on my ao3. it’s my registered name on the sketchbook project.

that was a name i made up for myself and you took it away like it was nothing. it’s obvious that i mean nothing to you seeing as you have absolutely no remorse for what you’ve done to me.

you want to pose as me and call me a liar, but look at what you’ve done to me. look at what you’ve done to that name. you made it into an interesting subject to talk about over a dinner party!

you could continue to do all these things but bear in mind that the joke’s on you. everyone knows me as both nirvhannah as well as josie.

you forced my hand. you’re not getting away with this. you’re not burying me alive and getting away with it. you’re not giving me a fit of anxiety so intense that i feel psychosomatic pains in my chest. i don’t deserve to lose almost 14 years of cartooning and i don’t deserve to feel pain to a melodramatic, angry person who feels the need to screw me over out of unwarranted spite.

no remorse or not.

look at what you have done to me.

now do me a huge solid and

get the hell away from me and leave my friends alone.

#art theft #art thieves #bullying #artists on tumblr #text #who framed nirvhannah

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aroworlds · 5 years ago

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When Quiver Meets Quill, Part One

Alida Quill is just fine spending hir holidays alone with a book if it means freedom from hir family's continued expectation to court and wed. When hir co-worker Ede sets hir up with a friend and won't take no for an answer, Alida plots an extravagant, public refusal scene to show everyone once and for all that ze will not date. Ever.

Ze doesn't expect to meet Antonius Quiver, a man with his own abrupt, startling declarations on the subject of romance.

It isn't courting if he schemes with hir to pay back Ede ... is it?

Contains: One autistic, aromantic organiser extraordinaire armed with coloured ink; one autistic, aromantic officer a little too prone to interrupting; and an allistic friend in want of better ways to go about introductions.

Content Advisory: Aromantic characters pressed into dating along with casual references to general amatonormativity and ableism.

Length: 2, 261 words (part one of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.

“Do you ever do anything but work, write and read?” Ede Thimble leans across the counter and stares at Alida with intent brown eyes, ignoring the crate of straw-packed ink bottles at her feet. Ten minutes ago, she offered to shelve them. “You come here, you spend the day looking things up and writing things down, and then you go home and do the same!” She sighs before waving her arms and the trailing sleeves of her dress with extravagant enthusiasm. “Yesterday was a holiday! You could have spent it dancing, drinking or gaming! Anything involving another person!”

Alida Quill sets down hir pencil, working to hold back a frown. Hir family owns the business—the name Quill is a byword in Elsten for fine stationery—but as the youngest of the three Quill siblings, hir thoughts on matters of hiring go ignored.

Did Jan select Ede because her inquisitiveness gets under Alida’s skin?

“I didn’t just read. I went to morning service, I baked...”

Spiced apple cakes, the sultanas conveniently “forgotten”. After which ze curled up by the fire, book in hand, and spent a glorious, undisturbed afternoon flipping through a collection of fairy tales for hir catalogue of stories that don’t end in marriage. Hir siblings and their wives patronised dance halls and gaming houses, granting Alida a rare half day with nobody to annoy hir about avoiding friends and family.

“Temple!” Ede rolls her eyes and leans against the glass counter, putting fingerprints over a surface Alida just finished polishing. “You’re not even pious! Do you go anywhere not home, here or services—”

The door opens, admitting a blast of chill air and a pair of damp student mages in brown robes, and Alida grits hir teeth at the thud as the taller lets it slam closed. Both carry empty string bags and a folded piece of cream paper—good cotton rag watermarked with the Academy’s crossed-wand seal. Why the Academy wastes expensive paper on yearly materials lists, ze’ll never know.

Ede straightens and gifts the students her warmest smile. “Good morning, sirs! I see you’re looking to get ahead of the winter’s commencement class. Smart! Can I first tempt you with our newest brushes, or would you prefer me to work through your lists?”

Alida permits hirself a sigh of relief and returns to inventorying the shelf of journals and ledgers.

Ze considers Ede no small trial, between her questions and a lackadaisical attitude to cleanliness. Yet Ede’s ability to charm and flatter, a gift Alida doesn’t wish to possess, frees hir to manage stock orders, shelving and the accounts book. Ze answers questions and handles sales when needed, but Alida prefers to leave the art of convincing customers to Ede and Jette. As if either will think to dust the shelf or turn the bottles labels-outwards when displaying!

By the time Ede sends the students back out into the weather, bulging parcels wrapped in spelled wood-pulp paper, Alida stands on a stool behind the counter, positioning the last of the new inks. Ze doesn’t know how to answer people asking, for the umpteenth time, about hir prospects; ze always knows how many nibs, pens and brushes are contained within the store’s array of redwood drawers and shelves. Hir hands give the glass counters their sparkle, the wood its gleaming richness, the leather chairs by the window their waxy softness and scent. Ze laid the fire warming the shop against the cold outside. What’s wrong with finding contentment in hir work? Why isn’t this a worthy life, hir days spent in labour enough for bed, food, clothing and a reasonable number of books?

Alida wonders, not for the first time, if ze should have tried to pretend belief and gender enough to join the Sisterhood.

“Rain!” Ede declares in the smug tones of a woman who charged an extra ten cents for the protective paper. That fewer people dare the streets in a worsening squall doesn’t diminish her joy; she claps her hands, swathes of blue wool and white lace shrouding her fingers. “I love when I can make rich mages pay for something extra!”

Alida takes up hir duster, steps down off the stool, doesn’t fall when hir toes catch the hem of hir skirt and moves to hir nook by the counter. Hir small desk, hidden from customers by a display case of envelopes, holds a ledger, a brass cup of pencils, a wad of cat fur and a tin of wax polish above a drawer that doesn’t quite close. Spell more wrapping paper sheets, ze writes at the bottom of the day’s list, nodding at Ede so she doesn’t think herself ignored. “Not all the students are rich. The Academy is expensive, but that doesn’t mean some people don’t save up. Or that those people can afford to replace a soaked journal.”

Hir parents sent hir, back when the family thought Alida to make something grander of hir life through magic.

“They’re richer than me.” Ede sighs again; Alida represses the urge to mention that Jette pays Ede wage enough to support her mother and fund a penchant for lace. “I tell you what—I’ve got a friend who makes those annoying corrections, and I can’t get his nose out of the newspaper, either. I bet you two’d get on like anything. Instead of temple and reading, how about I introduce you next Endday lunch?”

Alida twists the folds of hir skirt through hir white fingers, watching the wind hurl rain against the front windowpane. Didn’t Ede understand Alida the first time ze explained this? “I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.”

“You’re just like Antonius, Alida. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before now!” Ede opens her mouth as the door admits a regular gentlewoman in a long coat, a sopping newspaper held above her head in a vain attempt to protect her dyed suede. “Good morning, good sir! Such dreadful weather out, and so early in the season! Should I help you now, or would you like to first stand before the fireplace a minute?”

Wet newspaper, coat and boots, along with the door the customer struggles to close, create puddles enough that Alida darts into the stockroom for a mop and bucket.

Please, ze prays as ze works the mop over the floorboards, let Ede forget this plan as easily as she forgot about the crate of ink bottles.

***

“You need to meet Antonius,” Ede says the next morning, entering the shop without a greeting or by-your-leave while Alida places two small logs above the flaming kindling in the fireplace. “My cousin brought him around last night, and I swear he said five words—and most of those were contradictions! Things he read about!”

Alida takes the poker and shifts one of the logs to get more air underneath, biting hir lip. If this Antonius discussed books or articles, he likely said more than five words.

“See? You’d get on like ducks on a pond!” Ede bustles towards the fire, peeling her gloves off her hands and tucking them into her belt before unbuttoning her cloak and hanging it on the hook beside Alida’s. “Like priestesses in the vestiary!”

“Like priestesses in a room for storing clothes?” Alida asks, returning the poker to the rack beside the grate. Is this an absurd double-entendre? If so, why the vestiary? Surely there’s better places for those goings-on than the religious equivalent of a cloakroom? “And what did I say to make you think that?”

“You had that look where you’re bursting to correct me.” Ede sighs and turns to warm her back, hiking up her skirts and inching as close to the fire as is safe. “You think I don’t know that look? Alida, you must meet Antonius. He’s perfect for you.”

Ze glances around the shop in search of distraction. The counter gleams, the table with scrap for testing pens sits cleared of yesterday’s samples and the shop cat, Miep, lies asleep on the armchair closest to the fire. The floor doesn’t look dirty, but Alida will sweep while Ede double-checks the paper inventory. That should redirect her from this horrible conversation.

“I don’t date, court, woo—”

“I know! Please, Alida, please. Just once.” Ede crooks her head, fluttering her long eyelashes. She’s pretty in an artistic, skilful way, never in want of admirers: this morning she pinned her myriad black braids into labyrinthine coils and knots adorned with white lace and ribbon. “You need to talk to people! Do something on a holiday that isn’t a book!”

Alida shaves hir brown hair to avoid prolonged morning ablutions. Ze’s always wondered, but never dared ask, how early Ede rises to groom, dress, eat and walk the ten blocks along the Wine Canal.

“You’re people!” Alida jerks hir hands in frustration. “This is talking!”

“Talking talking. Talking because you want to, because it’s fun, not because we’re stuck in a shop together six days a week. Please.” Ede drops her skirts, setting thick layers of wool and cotton to rustling, and turns to face Alida, her narrow hands outstretched. The fire gifts the underside of her dark fingers, protruding from their wreaths of lace, a rich, reddish shine. “Antonius needs someone, and you need someone. You’d get on so perfectly if you wet blankets dried out enough to try!”

“I don’t—”

“Think about it. Please!” Ede whirls away from the fire and heads to the counter, perhaps surmising that she’s pushed Alida past general annoyance into I-can’t-bear-to-look-at-you anger. “Do you want me to wipe the counters?”

Alida, fighting to calm hir voice, darts into the stockroom for the broom. “No. I need you to double-check my counts on the paper inventory. All of them.”

Even Ede’s strangled curse isn’t enough to make Alida feel pleasure in revenge—not after the stabbing betrayal of one more person failing to understand hir.

***

Over the next three days, Ede finds a wealth of excuses to mention her cousin’s cousin. He was top in penmanship at school, is an amateur historian, and once rescued a drowning kitten. Alida has to admit, past Ede’s tendency to deliver criticism as an enticement, that Antonius sounds more interesting than most. Similarity holds no meaning, however, when one partner wants what the other can’t offer. If Ede can’t accept Alida, how will anyone else?

“Please, Alida!” Ede leans over the desk, buttoning her green cloak. “Just talk with him! Just once!”

Alida, counting out the cashbox and checking the total against the day’s purchases while Miep rubs his grey cheek against hir boot, looks up, tired. If ze agrees, Ede will have learnt that she can badger Alida into anything with enough time and repetition. Just the thought makes hir shudder, given Alida’s struggle to correct that error with hir siblings.

“If you don’t like him or never want to see him again, I won’t say a word. Not one. Just once. Endday lunch. By the time we walk there and back, it won’t even be an hour!”

“Ede—”

Ede looks right at Alida, her brow furrowed, her hands fisted and raised to her chin in a gesture resembling praying or begging. “Meet him once and I’ll never ask anything of you again. And I’ll come early and shovel the ash from the fireplace for the next week.”

Miep yowls, looking up at Alida. Every evening, ze checks the books, counts out the money and feeds the cat, in that order. Never has their routine stopped Miep from demanding that Alida disregard human tasks in favour of his fish or mince.

“You’re supposed to also catch mice,” ze mutters. A cat’s badgering bears no unexpected consequences. Alida need not struggle to realise what will happen if ze feeds Miep when he requests. Acquiescing to Ede, though? Meeting someone Alida doesn’t know and can’t predict?

In the shop, strangers rarely deviate from standard forms of communication and intent. They ask questions about stock, prices, quality, delivery. At temple, services provide memorisable, rote shapes of interaction. Outside those worlds, where people new to hir can and do say anything? Ede, Jan and Jette desire the unexpected; Alida doesn’t understand why.

“Alida!” Ede waves her hand in front of Alida’s face. “Don’t just ignore me!”

Can ze agree in a way that means Ede won’t again harass hir? A public refusal, perhaps? A bold, dramatic declaration of Alida’s unwillingness to engage in romance, in front of Ede and this Antonius? One announced in such a way that embarrassment will keep Ede from thinking Alida suitable for anyone? Word will come back to hir siblings, but they already think Alida prone to shameful outbursts. Why not?

Alida writes down hir last total, releases a sigh of relief at the matching numbers and carefully returns the stacks of coins to the box. “Never ask anything of me again and shovel the ash for a fortnight.”

Miep meows as the lid clicks shut, butting his head against Alida’s skirts.

Ede bounces upright in a cascade of fabric, her sleeves flapping underneath her cloak. “Done! By blood and name and craft! Oh—please wear your blue, white and red skirt tomorrow! And your red coat with the long tails and brass buttons! And your good cloak with the satin lining, because the hood looks so pretty with your eyes, and...”

Alida will feed the cat and lock the shop behind Ede, but before ze goes go home, ze has some planning to do.

And a few signs to make in coloured inks.

#aggressivelyarospectacular #aromantic #aro writing #arospec creations #actuallyautistic #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #fantasy #aromantic and autistic #autism #amatonormativity #romance mention #ableism #k. a. cook #long post #very long post #extremely long post

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