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trans-axolotl · 2 months ago

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Hi! I'm currently researching prison abolition, both for the sake of becoming better educated about it and because I plan to write a paper on it for class. Two questions for you:

First— what books/articles/videos/any other resources on the topic would you recommend? I've been doing some research on my own, but I'd love to have some more sources.

Second— what solutions do abolitionists offer for people who pose immediate threats? I'm struggling to find a solid answer on this. I know it's going to vary based on who you ask! Just looking for some possible answers. Mostly, I've seen this question answered by redirecting focus towards prevention of the circumstances that lead to this kind of behavior, and obviously that is important and should be the main focus, but I'm not sure what possible methods there are for people who already exist who are a threat to others' safety.

(I especially have a hard time with this question because I'm coming at it from an anarchist lens and I don't believe there should be any sort of carceral system or any governing power, but I don't know how this sort of problem can be dealt with without there being some sort of power structure).

If you don't have an answer for that second one, or just don't feel like answering, that's alright! Thanks for your time :))

Hi!

I'm going to list out a bunch of random resources--this is a very incomplete list, just with a few things that came to mind first.

Articles:

Journalism from currently incarcerated writers:

Prison Journalism Project

Scalawag Abolition Week

Marshall Prison Project

Prison Writing on Prison Abolition by empty cages collective and incarcerated workers organizing committee

Other articles:

Truthout's Road to Abolition

Reports/infographics/organizations:

Advancing Transgender Justice: Illuminating Trans Lives Behind and Beyond Bars By Vera Institute of Justice and Black and Pink

Critical Resistance.

SWOP behind Bars

HEARD

Books:

Change Everything by Ruth Wilson Gilmore

Assata: An Autobiography by Assata Shakur

Disability Incarcerated by Liat Ben Moshe

We Do This 'Til We Free Us: Abolitionist Organizing and Transforming Justice by Mariame Kaba

Are Prisons Obsolete? By Angela Davis

The New Abolitionists edited by Joy James

Captive Genders: Trans Embodiment and the Prison Industrial Complex by Eric Stanley & Nat Smith

Golden Gulag by Ruth Wilson Gilmore

Beyond Survival: Strategies and Stories from the Transformative Justice Movement edited by Ejeris Dixon and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

In terms of your second question:

short answer, it cannot be a one-size-fits-all solution--any abolitionist future needs to have a wide variety of options for addressing harm that are able to actual address the particular circumstances of harm and meet the needs of the people in that particular context. Harm is an incredibly broad category that can differ so much depending on context. It feels difficult to just give one broad answer for "this is what we do about harm"--it seems necessary to have a different response to someone breaking into your house versus sexual violence versus bigoted physical violence and on and on and on.

Long answer: You're right that a lot of abolitionist thinking focuses on preventing harm and fundamentally changing a lot of the circumstances that are currently causing harm in people's lives. A lot also focusing on rethinking our ideas of safety, violence, harm, and crime, and untangling all the ways a carceral state has shaped our views on those concepts. (this article titled Reclaiming Safety by Mariame Kaba & Andrea J. Ritchie is an important read for thinking about how the concept of safety is constructed in our society). But all that being said, you're right that part of building an abolitionist future requires us to have a way to respond to harm when it does occur, because change doesn't happen overnight and we need those skills now. And these abolitionist responses to harm are something that are already happening now in so many ways in so many different communities and neighborhoods--a lot of people aren't just talking about it using the terminology of prison abolition. For me, it feels really important to start by thinking about what we're already doing and look for ways we can increase our own capacity to respond to harm and to care for our community.

I don't have all the answers, but I'm going to list out some examples of ways that people are already responding to harm without prisons. i don't necessarily think that all of these approaches are applicable to every situation or that they would be the ideal response in a future when we have more options, but i do just want to emphasize that there are things that people are trying right now:

making sure that someone who caused harm isn't able to be in positions of power in organizations/work/community spaces, and making people aware of the harm that was caused.

meeting the material needs of survivors of harm--mutual aid, getting access to housing, resources, etc.

de-escalation training, having people in community equipped to step in to situations where harm is being caused. (i know a few places where this is more-or-less organized--some neighborhoods where people have sort of a neighborhood watch thing going on so people know they can call that group instead of the cops if they need emergency support. )

building up things like peer respite and many other alternatives for supporting people through madness--i have a post discussing the question of alternatives to psych wards for people labeled a "danger to others."

directly intervening in situations where harm is being caused: physically showing up to keep each other safe

financial reparations

community accountability processes focused on creating accountability for bigoted violence, gender based violence, etc.

and a bunch more ideas--I'm not going to list out every possible thing I could think of here.

I'd really recommend reading Beyond Survival, which is a trying to answer some of these questions through looking at examples of things that are already working, and challenges the idea that transformative justice is just community accountability processes where everyone has to sit down at a table together to talk and the survivor just ends up retraumatized. (some authors in the anthology talk in depth about times in which that kind of process would actually increase danger to survivors, in fact.) They also make a lot of room to talk about the experience of being a survivor who has all these complex emotions and feelings towards whoever has caused us harm, and makes a lot of room for messy, complicated feelings of anger or desires for retributive harm.

Some of the examples of transformative justices responses that they share include a public letter campaign to address an abuser who was popular in movement spaces, community created research databases tracking racist violence and murders, community led murder investigations through different tactics including documentary filmmaking, family members stepping in to confront abusers and remove children from unsafe spaces, building up community first aid and medical knowledge to reduce the amount cops get called, a toolkit for transformative justice plans within youth spaces, community defense groups, including groups prepared to do physical defense, and so many more examples of things that people are trying.

I'll also link the creative interventions workbook, which is a really extensive toolkit for thinking of ways to respond to interpersonal violence.

A frequent criticism of prison abolition is that it's not practical--that our suggested responses to harm are impossible and could never work. And I can understand why people respond that way. It can be really frustrating to see people list out a lot of things that wouldn't work yet where you live because your neighbors are bigoted, or you're currently incarcerated, or you live in an inaccessible city with no in person community, etc. That anger feels meaningful, because it highlights just how fucked up it is that those barriers exist and that we don't have more options for community care right now. And at the same time, if we only try ideas based on what is currently practical, we end up just using the same existing frameworks to try to build a new world, and accept the current limits placed on us through the violence of prisons and policing. I think that abolition must be a little impractical to be effective--we need to be able to move beyond what is currently practical within the carceral apparatuses of state violence, and instead work to build in a way that dismantles what the state defines as realistic.

Last thing I'll say is that for me, it is so vital to always remember that prison abolition is a political movement centered in dismantling a white supremacist system that enacts antiblack racist violence on a gigantic scale. It's not just a buzzword to throw around to refer to anything, it's important to stay connected to what this actually about, learn about the radical history and lineage of Black prison abolitionists in the US, instead of misusing and extracting political resources without having reciprocity and solidarity. And also to stay connected to prison resistance movements right now--recognizing that the most important works of abolition are happening in these carceral spaces as we speak.

if any followers have other resources about prison abolition that they want to add on, feel free!

#asks #prison abolition #this is a very incomplete list i sort of just looked around at what books i currently had on my bookshelf #and also: this is my perspective on prison abolition. i don't think it's the only one. i don't think i'm right about everything #my perspectives on prison abolition are shaped by being institutionalized. being arrested. surviving police violence #and from my comrades who are currently incarcerated.#but i do not know everything and do not want to position myself that way

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kushanna · 4 months ago

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finished episode 4 👍🏻 still gotta finish the tea party (dead kinzo YEAH) and the ???? bit but mostly finished it. stuff is getting soo out of hand, i am soo displeased with how downhill the last two chapters after the cause of the tragedy (top 5 chapters so far) went, it was one of the few times i was actually kinda disliking what i was reading. i just really djsgddj dislike when something is stated and then almost immediately taken back or when something is hyped but ends being... not that cool

did we. really need a whole ass new aunt character. omg! if they had to bring eva back from the dead (lol) and summon eva beatrice, if they needed the character of eva there to get the point across anyway, did we REALLY need the whole ass sumadera aunt character... to even exist. maybe that's just me, but if she never shows up again (i'm sure she will) and that was her only role in the story i'm gonna be soo pissed (i guess it's good to know more about kyrie in general too. still, something about that made me pissed). and the way chdkcj we only saw the GRASS of rokkenjima, ange ✨ learned about magic ✨ and that was it, omg fuck OFF. that trip to rokkenjima was SO hyped and then it was just 😐 so we could learn a lesson 😐 smh. so funny how at the end ange was just "see you in hell, eva, need to go kill beatrice ✌🏻" LMAO that seems very aggressive after a whole hour of talking about love and compassion lmaooo but sure, i get it, go off, do what you have to.

UGH the whole "yeah, battler's back. yeah, i just got him back. yeah, he's a bit shaken but he's holding up" omg! bullshit! everyone acted as if that was the GRAVEST thing that could possibly happen and then two seconds later yeah. he's fine. yeah, that was just a scare. AND the whole "no, of course you're battler. it doesn't matter if your mom's not your mom. yeah, sure, you're battler" omg!! bullshit!! the whole thing was presented at first as if it were some WILD revelation that shook the very foundations of everything we know and then two seconds later yeah. you're battler. take ahold of yourself, battler. that's what i mean about presenting something and then immediately taking it back... it's not the thing itself that i dislike, it's just that, structurally speaking, that was a very frustrating way of presenting information. maybe it was on purpose, and if it was it worked because:

anyways. some time ago i saw folks saying that by the end of episode four you should already have a pretty solid idea of things which, well, seems a lot to expect of me at this point lmao. i guess i should reread the previous episodes cause that's also something the voices of the internet tell you...? so i should do that, obviously not through the vn again cause i'm not insane

#that was a rant. but anyways. it's fine lol it was just a mild discontent that was over as soon as the tea party started #oh i liked the golden land! veeeery interesting codependent sort of relationship between maria and beato (mostly beato)#when maria said she could have her nice mama in the golden land and then summoned rosa in a way that seemed as effective #as if she had placed a cardboard cutout of a smiling rosa there LMAO okay maria.#girlies this ain't it... this ain't the way to heal your wounds... whatever they are i don't think this fake ass place is the solution #ways to make yourself feel better: golden land ❌ inflicting your pain on other people ❌#and that's what we learned today. thank you very much #umineko spoilers #umineko liveblog

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noirvette · 2 years ago

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WE NEVER EXISTED

[band smau]

[FOURTEEN - EXTRA]

masterlist.

prev. | next.

Kyle would've normally been on the sidelines and watched the band perform, however he decided to busy himself with making more connections.

His biggest connection laid with the Graveyard Soliders; they were a solid band, and the crowd really did love them. Of course ever since Reify had grown in the short few months, bands had started sprouting behind them, and Kyle felt the need to push them forward.

They had no official manager, as Michael opted as both the front man and the manager, however he did mention they were in the works of finding one.

So here he was, trading information and being added to a groupchat with other band managers here in South Park and with another small band in Denver. Kyle was planning on taking two bands for when Reify goes on a full tour later on.

One of them was the Graveyard Soldiers, if tonight showed Kyle anything, it was that they really knew how to wow a crowd. He wasn't sure about the other band to choose though, Stan wanted The VValters, a band that wasn't so fond of The Graveyard Soldiers and vice versa, however funnily enough Butters was the manager for them.

He had that band's contact info, Pete hesitantly handing their info over. He knew Mike Makowski was the bassist and Annie Gelson was the singer of The VValters but knew essentially nothing about them or any of the others.

"So anyways, just..contact us I guess if you need anything else. Don't contact us too often though.. I'd rather not talk to you." Pete sighed out, a slight scoff being heard at the end.

Kyle learned to not take offense to the goth kids after dealing with them because of Stan in high school, he knew of their hard exterior.

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, "No worries, I'll bug you only if I need too, if anything Stan'll probably contact you more than me."

"Whatever, I have merch to sell." Pete turns away from Kyle and that ends the conversation.

With that out of the way, Kyle sits at a bench, exhaustion hitting him as he does. Today was a tiring day and it wasn't even over. A twitter notification gets Kyle out of his head and he figures that he might as well check his phone waiting for your guys' set to finish.

Turning his phone on he realizes he's received nothing recent; the occasional likes and tags from fans about tonight's show is all he has in his mentions, but that was from a good forty minutes ago when Reify had started their set.

Looking beside him, he finds your phone sitting out, right you were sitting here earlier. Kyle figures you must've just left your phone out and had forgotten to take it. He was about to put your phone on do not disturb and set it in your bag for you when the next notification stops him in his tracks.

Kyle freezes; Kenny?

"He.. isn't he supposed to be here? In the crowd tonight?" Kyle wonders aloud with a whisper.

Kyle's second realization is that he's called you twenty four times. And numerous texts.

Kyle feels bad for seeing your messages, but he can't help but wonder what Kenny is blowing up your phone for. He has half a mind to text Kenny on his phone and tell him the band is playing right now and that you're busy.

It's then that the realization sets in; Twitter. Cartman tagged you and Kenny is telling you to NOT check it.

Kyle puts your phone in your bag and goes on his own for Twitter to check what's happening.

"Jesus.." Kyle is engrossed in his phone, clicking on the Reify tag he starts scrolling through reading fan comments talking.

Fans tweets, things like 'Y/n doesn't deserve that', 'Y/n we're here for you', 'Kenny McCormick is a cheat', and 'Why Kenny McCormick was a terrible boyfriend; a thread' among many others was all in the top tweets for the tag.

Kyle couldn't believe his eyes, Kenny McCormick? A cheater? The guy who preached loyalty and honesty?

Thinking back on it.. "maybe that was a red flag in itself." Kyle thought.

Kyle goes back and clicks on the WKBK18 tag immediately he sees talks about WKBK exposing Kenny with proof, people unable to debunk the truth, and more threads; some being about "why Cartman is actually a good guy." and he even saw one that said "Why Y/n deserves to date me, a thread".

Kyle turns his phone off and takes a glance at you on stage, who is performing with the happiest smile he's seen on your face in a while.

He thinks about the fans who are unaware in the crowd, he thinks about the band, who have been friends with Kenny since elementary school, he thinks about you, Kenny's girlfriend, who is unaware and performing..

And he wonders how he's going to tell you the news.

TAGLIST: @captivq @kimiesstuff @bwljules @the-cooler-kira @1one1person1 @kenny-the-ken @neenieweenie @n0tangeliccc @frogindisguise @revzxn @mirophobic @gonefiishiing @ryenwritess @musiclovebot @bootsieboo @bonez4brainz @s0l4riss @1996kj @sweetadonisbutbetter @scinclaitnoir @okarigold

#we never existed series #kyle broflovski x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #south park x reader

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krispdreemurr · 1 year ago

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I'm not sure if you're still doing fic requests, but maybe you could write one about Kris meeting (or experiencing might be a better term) Gaster? I can only imagine the properties of a man who exists both beyond and interweaved into the fabric of reality would also bend reality itself. I wanna know how messed up it would feel to be in proximity to this guy. Like a warning aura.

[i've done first meetings a few times before so this is a second one lol, hope that's ok]

The first thing they notice is always the words.

IT HAS BEEN

SOME TIME.

He doesn't speak. There is little sound here; the distant howl of wind, the pulse of their own heart. His words cut through that all and leave behind a silence deeper than is possible, a silence that their brain struggles to fill back up with noise, with words, with anything at all but the aching empty spaces.

They open their eyes.

They're standing on level ground in the dark. They have to remind themselves of that, because somehow they feel a sick lurch in their stomach like the ground has given out under them, like the wind is rushing past them, like they're falling on and on without end--

They're standing.

He's facing them.

Bone white against black, a shape defined by cracks and emptiness. Hands - more than make sense, more than they can keep track of. Eyes. A smile.

He was smiling the last time, too.

Their heart pounds in their chest, setting its own time, and they want to turn and run but they know the ground would give out, they know there is nowhere, there cannot be anywhere, they are lost they are gone they are drowning falling falling forever forever forever forever forever

One of the hands lands on their shoulder. It's shockingly cold, and it is burning hot, and it is burning bleeding melting dying, and they yelp and pull away.

"Don't," they hiss.

APOLOGIES

BUT THIS MATTER IS CRITICAL

I REQUIRE YOUR ATTENTION.

"I don't care about--" They shake their head, force themself to step closer on shaking legs. They can feel nothing beneath their feet, sharp and solid. "You've... Where's Dess?"

A pause.

With a thunderous crack that makes no sound at all, the smile splits wider.

YOU ARE TRULY

TRULY

CARING.

SHE IS SAFE. SHE IS PROTECTED.

ESCAPED FROM THE GAZE OF THE ANGEL

Another hand outstretches. It is lightyears away. It is directly in front of them.

WHICH IS WHAT I ALSO

OFFER TO YOU.

They stare for a moment, then manage a bare, "What?"

The shape--the man--straightens. Fingers tap aimlessly on dark air, with sharp clinks coming with each motion.

THERE IS A STORY YOU ARE CALLED TO SERVE.

THERE IS A ROLE YOU ARE CALLED TO FILL.

YOU CANNOT FILL IT.

He looks at them for a moment, cold light shining in broken eyes, and his gaze smells like bone and rust and feels like something cutting through their chest.

THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. YOU ARE AN EXCELLENT CHILD.

THIS IS JUST SOMETHING YOU CANNOT DO.

I SOUGHT TO ASSIST YOU

AND HAVE BEEN TRYING TO ACCUSTOM YOU

BUT IT IS CLEAR MY AID

IS UNWELCOME.

They remember. Finding themself at the bunker again and again, with only dazed half-there memories. People remembering conversations they'd never had. Hours, days, weeks slipping into a gray haze.

The growing weight on their chest, until one night they'd awoken and caught hold and pulled--

Their hand goes to their chest now. Feels a hole cut through, leeching away warmth. Feels something damp and clinging, blood through their fingers. Feels an alien pulse. Feels something that burns them. Feels everything and nothing at all.

"Why me?" they mumble.

BECAUSE IN A WORLD THAT WAS NOT

AND NOW WILL NOT BE

I WAS A FOOL.

They're back in the dark of the bunker, watching with wide eyes as hands in the dark grip the hilt of a blade and tell them to watch closely, because this is something only they can do, and--

They're dressed in armor they've never seen before, blue and silver, his hand firm and real on their shoulder as he gestures at the sky and talks about reaching to heaven, and--

They're holding out their hand, offering mercy, forgiveness, trust, and his own hand pushes it away and he drives a blade into the earth and nothing pours out and nothing happens and nothing and nothing and nothing and--

They shake their head, trying to clear out memories, to sort out what fits in their head and what is something alien to them.

I CANNOT CHANGE THE PATH.

THE KNIGHT

GIFTED KNOWLEDGE OF THE DARK

WILL OPEN THE FOUNTAINS

SEEKING FREEDOM

SEEKING ESCAPE.

THIS IS SET.

BUT.

YOU CANNOT BE THE KNIGHT.

"Because I'm a failure?" they croak, too overwhelmed to try and hide the truth.

BECAUSE YOU ARE KIND.

He gestures with many hands, and--

There's a window, or a door, or a warp in space, or they have been somewhere else all along. There's a body wrapped in gray, floating empty, hair shifting lengths, face missingabsentgonelost. There's more of those soundless words, but they're not meant for Kris, and they cannot make sense of them.

COME WITH ME

I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE IN THE DARK

FOR A TIME.

ANOTHER WILL CARRY THE BURDEN YOU CANNOT.

AND YOU WILL RETURN SAFE AND WELL.

They hesitate, looking at the stark white shape of the hand. It holds itself steady, a fixed point against the ever-falling ever-rising dark.

They don't want to.

But--

But they know. If there's a need for a hero. For someone who can save the world. It can't be them. Not Kris, tired lonely Kris messaging a brother who won't answer again and again, passing through the days in silence. Not Kris, who no one has even noticed as they slowly vanished.

Maybe it would be better to be gone.

Just for a little while, after all.

They're so afraid. They hate it here. They hate the man and his promises and his demands and his conviction that everything is set for them. They hate the dark and the way it clings to them and drips down them and weighs down their feet without touching them at all. They want to wake up tomorrow and eat breakfast with their mom and go to school like normal and live their life like normal and just keep on through the endless days and pretend.

But in the end--

They're so tired.

They reach across the distance, preparing to grab hold

and that's when red light cuts through the world blade-sharp and someone is yelling something at them in a voice they can almost hear and they feel something hooked in their chest snag taut like the other end has caught hold of something far distant and the man reaches across the infinite distance between them but they are

rising

"Kris!"

Something opens their eyes.

#krisp fic #this is probably the most detailed layout ive done of a LOT of my headcanons

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oneatlatime · 2 years ago

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The King of Omashu

I confess I've already taken to skipping through the intro. I wonder what I'll do with the whole 45 seconds that saves me.

Why wear one tie when you could wear three? Actually I learned a couple of days ago (thanks to *gasp* a follower! Never thought I'd have those!) that Katara's hairstyle is an authentically Inuit thing, so maybe Sokka's triple tie is too? Then again, boomerang isn't.

Not subtle. Still gorgeous.

The cart! Maybe the cabbages were rotten, but the cart was fine!

This guard has absolutely massive hands. Also props to Katara for getting that mouthful of a cover name out on the first try. Do you think they rehearsed?

Nice to see bending used for something other than fighting. Also, I would have ridden the hell out of those slides.

It does not take a mad genius to figure out that slides are for sliding.

Are we sure that's the most efficient way to package spears?

Oh my god these poor kids have no tailbones left. Their spines!

This guy restocked fast.

This whole set piece with the slides is really fun. I love the music, and the timing on the jokes is great.

SPINES!

"Malicious destruction of cabbages." The throwaway lines in this show are great. How did they determine intent?

Look, none of you have room to talk. Maybe the king is weird, but you all just went on a city-wide destruction spree. You're lucky his crown is crooked.

I like whoever is the King's voice actor. He reminds me of Dudley Moore. Dating myself a bit there. Also this is totally Aang's friend but old. And I'm not even going to try to spell his name until I've seen the credits, given my previous track record with spelling.

I like the guards' hats. They look cozy.

And the king gets it first try too! Pippinpadolopsicopoulos? My best guess.

I think he can keep you here Katara. You're not the one with spears. And he's also the king.

This king is living his best life. Feasts, mindgames, renovations. And fashion!

All of Momo's noises in this whole sequence are so expressive.

Never before have I seen a butt convey such disappointment and resignation.

So did they leave Momo in the wall?

Creeping crystal is a nifty maguffin.

Does the king just have these challenge chambers for whenever he's bored enough to mess with people? So, daily?

You're right Aang - sabre tooth mega rabbits are way more on brand than fluffy bunnies.

Earthbenders get airbender levels of air when they jump. I guess they make the ground kick them up into the air?

This episode is really a showcase for earthbending.

The king is so unbothered. He also seems to be anticipating every single one of Aang's strategies. Almost like he knows what to expect from an airbender.

This is neat. Turning solid rock to sand or dust. It's like waterbenders and freezing stuff.

Can we call this a tie?

Earthbenders are mole people.

Or maybe you figured out who he was because you talked about him twice at the beginning of this episode and his mannerisms haven't changed in a century.

Every time Sokka or the king make jokes that don't land in this episode, there's this disembodied coughing off screen. But they're all pretty funny! That being said, if you lived in this city with that guy as a ruler you'd probably develop humourlessness as a defence mechanism.

The first part of Aang's world (apart from Appa) that still exists. That's sweet.

Creeping crystal must be seriously light if you can walk around while encased in it. Also, rock candy is indeed delicious. But you can't bite into it like that without losing a few teeth.

"First of all, it's pretty fun messing with people." Perfect one sentence summary of this guy's entire personality! Also, points for self-awareness.

Some nifty exposition, reassurance & guidance, and a reminder that Aang doesn't have to do it alone. The king knows his stuff.

Poor cabbage man. This is going to become a thing like Sokka getting ragdolled isn't it?

It is spelled BUMI.

Final thoughts

I don't really have much to say about this episode. I think it's for introducing the audience to earthbending. Also for wacky hijinks, of which I am always a fan.

Sokka's voice actor, who has been consistently excellent for me, got his first meh line reading this episode, with the laugh after the kangaroo island joke. It didn't work for me.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the guard who talks to Bumi about the good and bad prisons is the same voice actor as Bumi himself. Just a guess, but I love it when that happens. Both because I get to hear a talent showcase and because I get to picture some random guy in a sound booth somewhere having a whole conversation with himself. I don't know how voice acting works, it's just a funny visual.

There's some serious angst potential in Aang and Bumi meeting again, but I am not feeling angsty today, so that potential will go unexplored. Which is also why I'm happy there was no Zuko this episode.

This episode wasn't as pretty as the Southern Air temple, but it was mostly indoors, so there wasn't a chance to have sweeping clouds and sunsets. And the Southern Air Temple did set a really high bar.

This episode was consistently fun and goofy. I liked it. Would have been nice to have more Appa.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #the king of omashu #avatar the last airbender

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icyrambles · 1 year ago

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malware's not sure how long xey've been sitting next to sideswipe's grave. at least a day, maybe more. time has sort of stopped existed since the lost light's crew arrived on earth.

she never thought she'd be back on the stupid ball of dirt and water. but here xey are, curled up into a little ball near the grave of someone she promised xey'd get back to safely.

malware kept her promise.

sideswipe didn't.

it's been a while since xeir optics stopped producing optical fluid. now a tacky film coats the softer metals of her face plates. it's uncomfortable to sit there, with the gunk on xeir face but she doesn't have the energy or the fucks to give to reach up and scrub away at it.

in front of her sits the grave. it's a simple thing really. just a slab of stone sticking out of the ground with a little inscription carved atop it. sideswipe, the first line reads, beloved brother, solider, and friend, the second describes. it's pitifully primitive but malware supposes that it fits this stupid planet, all organic and soft.

a collection of small flora decorates the base of the memorial. it's mostly stuff native to earth, marigolds, poppies, roses, and strands of queen anne's lace all piled in the grass with little care for presentation. but there's little bits of cybertron there too; a crystal clipping from praxus encased in resin, resting peacefully within a bundle of bright red poppies, the energy core of sideswipe's jetback sitting in the middle of it all, and a photograph that malware added herself.

it's nothing special, just a simple framing of her, sunstreaker, and sideswipe all standing around after the battle for cybertron. the twins stand on both sides of xem, her arms wrapped around their shoulders as they all smile at the camera.

malware doesn't remember who took the picture. just that it brought xem some sense of comfort while out in the vast depths of space, away from her family. xeir kiddos

"hey." sunstreaker settles next to her. he looks better than when xey first got to earth. his finish is brighter, like someone sat down and helped scrub him to a shine and his optics no longer look so dim. "you've been here for a while."

"have i?" malware leans back on xeir servos, staring upward at the orbiting star. it burns brightly above, only halfway through it's daily cycle. "i wouldn't know."

"sunburst was worried about you." sunstreaker produces a cube from his subspace, holding it out to her with an expectant look in his optics. the cube's contents are likely standard energon, maybe with a few added supplements to make up for the lack of proper nutrition on malware's end. "sent me out here to make sure you're still alive."

malware takes the cube. it smells normal and she downs it's contents in a single gulp. it goes down thick as tar, sickly sweet. it makes xem want to purge. "did she now." xeir conjunx was always such a worrier.

"yes." sunstreaker has changed since the last time malware saw him. there's a softness to him that wasn't there before, rounding out his harsher edges and dulling the vitriol so that often tainted his words.

"well." she sets the cube on the ground, waving a servo back at xemself. "as you can see i'm still alive."

sunstreaker shakes his helm, glancing at the memorial. "you're not alive, not really, you've got that dead look in your optics." he hesitates for a klik, the silence all consuming in the empty space of the forest where the memorial sits. "you look like arcee did. this is ripping you apart."

"i should've been here." malware digs xeir digits into the dirt, making little craters in the ground. "you didn't deserve this. sideswipe didn't deserve this."

"no." sunstreaker agrees. "he didn't." he looks conflicted and malware wonders just what exactly is going though his processor.

the twins didn't always have the best relationship with each other, especially not at the end of the war but malware has seen the way they've cared for each other despite it all, despite the fighting and the arguments and the careless words screamed with such hatred.

when the lost light's crew had first landed, malware had spent an unreasonable amount of time searching for the twins, xeir kids, and instead of finding both her boys alive and well, xey had been pointed towards a patch of trees by arcee and found sunstreaker curled up in much the same way xey sit now by a freshly made grave.

malware had felt something in xem die that day, like mortilus himself had ripped a very piece of her spark directly out of xeir chest.

the guilt was by far the worst part of it all. the thoughts normally reserved for nights spent drinking far too much high grade had surged forth and infected everything.

your fault your fault your fault. a mantra repeated back and forth from all the visions of the past xeir processor decided to torment her with.

sideswipe would never see the peace brought about by optimus' sacrifice. would never mend his relationship with sunstreaker. would never develop a true friendship with arcee outside of the battlefield.

life wasn't fair and malware couldn't help but want to rip the universe to star soaked shreds for that injustice.

---------

in the aftermath of the lost light's victory, malware finds it difficult to find any sort of peace after the death of sideswipe.

#transfomers #transformers oc #icy writes

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kiridarling · 4 years ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓.

— 3.0k words

eijirou kirishima | hard dom + dubcon jic + f!reader + exhibitonism + face-fucking + dumbification + car sex + more! minors dni.

"Made me come all this way...it’d be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it."

"No, no, no, no, no—c'mon," you cry as your car engine spits and sputters to a stop in the road, coughing like an old man with asthma before it's dead for good. Jamming your heel on the gas pedal, you twist your key in the ignition, but there's no use. You're fucking stuck.

You sigh, before slamming your forehead against the steering wheel. It's hard enough to sting, and the blaring horn startles all unsuspecting birds in a five-mile radius, but you could care less. Stuck in the middle of the woods at one in the morning, AAA membership-less with nothing but the clothes on your back and the vehicle you came with. Short cuts are a fucking myth.

Mina's the only person you can think of calling—because frankly, she's the only one who'd know a mechanic who could help at this time of night if one exists. Which you doubt. Severely.

"[Y/N]?" Mina answers, semi-urgently. You wonder if you startled her out of a good sleep, but knowing the night owl, her evening is just beginning. "What's up?"

"I'm fucking stuck in the middle of nowhere," you groan, banging your head against the back of the seat though you know she can't see you. "Car's not working."

"Oh no," she coos, and her pity is useless. "Do you have AAA?"

"No. Do you have a mechanic?"

"A mechanic...at one am? I don—wait," she interrupts before you hear something akin to rustling sheets. "I might have a friend who could help! But don't get your hopes up girlie, he's a heavy sleeper."

You shrug, shaking your head. "At this point, I'm desperate."

"Alrighty!" Mina confirms, and now all you can do is fucking hope her friend pulls through. "I'll give him a quick buzz and then send his number over, sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," you breathe, relaxing (somewhat) with your chin against the steering wheel. "Thanks, girl."

"Of course!" she cheers, and you wonder how someone could have so much energy at this time of night. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," you snort. "I might need it."

Riiiing! Riiiing!

Eijirou's had a long day.

A pipe busted at the auto shop today, resulting in an immediate flood—meaning they had to get everything that could possibly rust out as quickly as possible, aka everything in the goddamn shop.

So, yeah. He's had a long day, and when he's finally able to get under the covers and go the fuck to sleep, Mina calls him with this.

"Hey...Eijirou, buddy, best friend—"

"Mina, I love you, but what do you want?" Eijirou grunts into the phone, voice worn and ragged from limited sleep and his terribly long day. One am is never an appropriate time to call anybody, but he figures something has to be up—Mina's not the type to call in the middle of the night.

"Um, well. My homegirl’s kinda stuck in the woods with car troubles—"

"The woods."

It takes Mina a second but she hums in confirmation, and Eijirou can see her head nodding from where he lays. He sighs, rolling on his back to blink up at the ceiling. "Yep!"

"What is she doing in the woods at midnight?"

"I don't know!" Mina exclaims. Eijirou runs a hand over his face. "I just—please, Ei? She doesn't have AAA or anything and it's really, really late. All you have to do is hotwire her car or something, right? It's not like she totaled it or anything."

And dammit. Eijirou hates being a nice person.

"Just give me ten."

Mina practically gasps out a thank you, "You're a lifesaver Ei! Really! I—"

She's interrupted by the buzz of his phone—this time, from an unknown number. Eijirou raises an eyebrow, "That her?"

"Should be!" The pinkette says. Eijirou's feet finally touch the floor and it's painfully cold. His bed has never looked more appealing, and that's counting all those instances in high school. "Thanks again, Ei!"

"Yep," Eijirou says, popping the 'p,' before clearing his voice and switching the line. Customer Service at one am, here he comes.

"Red Riot Auto Repair and Services, how may I help you?"

All he receives is a grunt on the other end of the phone: "My car won't turn on."

Eijirou waits for you to give him a little more to work with, but it's clear that's all you have to say when you ask hello to ensure he's still on the other end of the line. Runs his hands through his hair, he silently prays he won't have to leave the house to get your car to work.

"Did you try jiggling the key?"

"Yes, I'm not stupid," you huff, and Eijirou's eyebrows fold in exasperation. He insists you do it again though, and hears the weak splutter of your engine through the phone with a heavy heart. "'S fucking useless."

"Did you try tapping the battery terminals?"

"The battery whatsitals?" You say, too loud and smart-mouthed for the very thin amount of patience Eijirou harbors. He reaches for his hair tie, satisfied enough with the messy bun he makes on the first try.

"Just send me your location," Eijirou sighs, moving for a jacket before snatching the keys to the shed. He'd rather just get this over with than beat around the bush.

Luckily, you're not far.

"You drive that thing?" is your first comment, and Eijirou can't even appreciate your beauty before your first words shatter your image completely, and he's slamming the door to his truck with rolling eyes, rusted toolbox heavy in his hand. "It looks like Mater from Lightning McQueen."

Eijirou just stares at you for a second, just to see if you're really serious, and resists the urge to scoff when it seems like you are.

"It's a truck," is all he says, before marching around you and to the task at hand—your car. "Pop the hood."

You huff, but you listen, and Eijirou wastes no time in getting to work. You watch with your elbows balanced on the rim, curious but quiet, and that allows him to get in the zone enough to realize there are countless problems with your car.

"When was the last time you took this thing into the shop?" He probes. You click your tongue, eyes tracing the outlines of the trees as you search for an answer. That's never a good sign.

"Um...never?"

"And how long have you had it?"

"A few years," you nod, and Eijirou drops his head.

"It's a miracle you made it this far in the first place," he chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. What the hell is he going to do now? There's no way your car is moving anywhere tonight. You frown, jamming your hands on your hips.

"Well? Are you going to fix it or what?"

"I can fix it," Eijirou says with a shrug, closing your hood. "But not tonight."

"What do you mean not tonight?" You badger, breathing down his neck as he hikes back to his truck to set the toolbox down. There's no reason to carry it if he's not going to need it.

"I mean, your car's going to need a solid six months before it can run again, Sweetheart."

When Eijirou turns, you're much too in his face for his liking. He can practically feel your breath against his chest, and it has him rolling his eyes, leaning against his truck with arms crossed.

"Yeah, okay, but I need it to run tonight," you explain, gesticulating so wildly Eijirou fears his own chest may fall in the cross-fire. "Like, I need to get home tonight."

"I can't—" the redhead sighs, running his hand over his face. You're terribly difficult, and if Mina had given him a proper warning he probably wouldn't be here in the fucking first place. "Listen. My shop is out of commission for the next few days 'cause of a flood. I can work on your car or whatever, but it'll take a sec, so the most I can do is drop you at a hotel down the road or somethin'. Sound like a plan?"

"No," you growl, claws and all, and Eijirou wishes for nothing but death. "That doesn't sound like a plan! I don't know you, what makes you think I'll get in a car with you?"

Oh. My. God.

"Then you can spend the night in your car and have Mina come get you in the morning," he huffs, stomping over to the driver's side of his truck. "So it's either you're gettin' in, or I'm leaving ya."

With that, he slams the car door shut, shoves his key in the ignition, and counts to fucking ten, and on nine and a half you're flinging open the passenger door and bouncing in the seat, arms crossed over your chest in indignance. You don't even look him in the eye.

"Seatbelt," he warns. You tut.

"I don't need a fucki—"

"Put on the goddamn seatbelt."

You don't say anything, but he's satisfied by the click that follows. Eijirou shifts into drive and you two take off.

"The seat's so uncomfortable."

Not even twenty feet.

"Suck it up," is all the pity Eijirou has to offer. He's preoccupied with trying to get from this side road to a main road with, you know, actual civilization. The road is unsteady—unsteady enough that a bump sends the both of you flying towards the roof of his car, and naturally, you have something to say about it.

"Y'know, for a mechanic, you're not a very good driver," you say, and it has Eijirou's fists tightening around his steering wheel. His patience wears down until it has the height of a penny, and Eijirou worries for when it shatters because he has no clue what he'll do if it does.

"And it smells a little funky," you continue anyway, eyes wandering around the cabin aimlessly."Kinda like cheese. No offense."

Eijirou pulls over at that, teeth grinding. Is he really going to snap over cheese comment?

“Is this a condom?”

Yes. Yes, the fuck he is.

"Get out."

"Um—excuse me?" You blink, eyebrows raising in offense. "You're kicking me out. Because I found a fucking rubber?”

Eijirou glares your way and he's sure you can feel him radiating fury, and that's enough to convince you to hop out of the car without another word. He follows, slamming the door behind him.

"Okay? Now what?" You growl, and Eijirou loves it—the false display of confidence. Because he knows it won't take much to break you once he gets you under his thumb, and you'll look so pretty once he does. Cocking his head to his side, he tells you to come here without having to open his mouth. You follow.

"Now, on your knees."

You splutter at his request, rolling your eyes as if he wasn't being serious. Though you shut up once you hear the clink of his belt, lips widening in revelation, and Eijirou thinks you'd look much prettier with your mouth full.

"You made me come all this way—it'd be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it," Eijirou says, and the way you shiver implies that you like this more than you let on. He coos when you say nothing, "And for the first time today she's got nothin' to say. See? You're improving already."

He gives you a second to move. When you don't, he lifts an eyebrow. "Knees, Princess."

You do and Eijirou groans at the view, palming his hardening cock at the sight of your bambi eyes blinking up at him—and it's a pretty one, at that. Leaning against the door of his truck, he grunts, "Take it out."

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers and Eijirou shivers upon contact with the cool air, but the warmth of your palm makes up for it. You spit on his cock with a curled lip and it's nothing short of crude, before you're swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as far as you can possibly go.

"Uh-uh," Eijirou tuts, grabbing you by the hair to pull your mouth off his cock. "We got at my pace, Sweetheart."

"Why?" You pout with a curled lip. Eijirou scowls.

"Because," he says, before stuffing half of his cock down your throat, "I'm gonna put that big fuckin' mouth to use at my pace."

With that, Eijirou thrusts into your mouth, using the grip he has around your hair as leverage. Your throat is impossibly warm and the way you choke has him keening, and that's enough for his hips to start picking up mindlessly.

"Shit—what a dirty fuckin' girl," he says, smirking when you moan around his cock. "You like this? You like sucking off a guy you just met?"

Your eyes flutter at that, nails digging into his thighs, and it nearly has him cooing. When you swallow around him Eijirou's hips stutter and he grunts, "In public, no less. Anyone could drive by and see you taking my dick down your throat...but you'd like that, wouldn't you? You want the world to know how much of a slut you are."

Your hand falls between your thighs and Eijirou grins like the devil as he watches you touch yourself on the dirty road, desperate just because knows how to push the right buttons. That's enough to have him caving, demanding you rise to your feet and get in the backseat of his car.

"Hands and knees," Eijirou urges, his body towering over yours from behind. It's not long before he's pinning your wrists to the windshield with one hand and using the other to land a harsh slap on your ass; harsh enough to make you jolt forwards from the force.

"Such a pretty ass," he coos before slapping it again, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to muffle the sound. "And it's all for me, ain't it, Princess?"

You nod, but Eijirou spanks you again—he's looking for an answer.

"Y-Yeah, yes, all yours just—" your hips wiggle in search of his cock. Eijirou chuckles, leveling his lips with your ear.

"Want me to fill you up, Princess?"

You gasp out a yes, nodding vehemently. The redhead finds he likes you like this much better, chest rumbling with arousal. "Yeah? How bad?"

"B-Bad, please, I need t—fuck!"

Eijirou stuffs you full with one thrust, and even he needs a moment, freehand searching to hold onto your hip while his grip tightens around your wrists. You quiver under him, and he swears he can feel your gut contract around his cock, eyelids fluttering when you grind against him.

"Holy shit," Eijirou finds himself wheezing, not expecting you to be so tight. You drop your head against the cool windshield, whimpering like the pretty little thing you are, shuddering as he pulls out before ramming himself in again until he's balls deep. You scream, back arching from the angle.

And fuck. It's impossible for him to stop after that.

"Fuckin' look at you," Eijirou chuckles, body practically caging you against the seat, "Drooling all over my window like a slut. Fuck, you really know how to get a guy goin' huh?"

“Pull—pull my hair,” you request, words from his pistoning hips. Eijirou tuts and rips your hands off the window in favor of pushing your head into the seat, not making a move to yank on your hair once.

“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making demands, Princess," he growls before his hot palm cracks against your ass, hissing from the way you tighten around him when he does.

You whine at that, pushing into him the best you can. It only spurs his hips on faster, and Eijirou lets go of your hands in favor of grabbing your face instead, groaning at the sight of the tears shining silver from the moonlight. He likes the fact that you can't do much but gasp and rock against him, your hands falling to clit to finally push yourself off the edge.

He looks at you and all he sees is his dumb little thing, who can't do anything, let alone get her car to work, and that's when Eijirou realizes he doesn't want this to be as much of a one-time thing as he initially thought.

"Gonna...gonna cum," you slur, cheek mashed flat against his window. Eijirou fucks you into the door of his truck, pace quick and bruising, as his mind thinks of all the fun you two could have together—all the fun he wants to have with you.

"Cum, Sweetheart. Make a mess of my cock and my leather seats, yeah? Show me how good I make you feel."

You tighten around his cock, tight, and that's enough to send him spiraling into an orgasm of his own, hips stuttering to a stop as he fills you up. Though his hips never stop, not until you're coming around his cock with a broken moan, curled toes digging into his car floor. He watches you catch your breath, splayed across the seat, with a sudden realization that he feels much lighter, but doubts it was the sex that did the trick.

"You fucked your anger out now?" You wheeze, breaking the silence, and Eijirou snorts.

"I—yes," he says before his eyes trail to the scratch marks around your hips and thighs. "Are you...okay?"

"Never been better," you toss your arms in the air like you're on a rollercoaster but lack the energy to scream. It's cute and it had the redhead re-evaluating everything, wondering how the day could start so shitty and yet, end so well. "Are you okay?"

His eyebrows furrow, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you shrug, and Eijirou finds it hard to stay focused when you look like that. "You asked me, so. Everyone needs a post-sex check-in, ya know?"

Fuck.

Fuck, yeah he's definitely keeping you.

#— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #tw.dubcon #kirishima smut #bnha smut #mha smut #kirishima x reader

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niobiumao3 · 5 months ago

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@orbitalmirror

So it turns out it's actually quite simple if you have a line on a print shop which will print the decals with a white underlayer. Like with t-shirt designs going onto dark fabric, they'll print down a layer of white (except on black) to make sure the colors are visible against a dark surface. This is, is turns out, the only real problem when printing from a personal printer, because most consumer models will print in a half-tone dot which makes use of the colors of the printed surface (usually white) to produce the final color. Obviously with a transparent decal this doesn't work, and typical consumer printers don't print white either. White (solid) decal paper does exist but IME at these sizes it really doesn't look as good; you want any excess, unprinted decal to be well and truly invisible.

Assuming you've found a way to get your decals printed though, the rest is really not difficult. You mist the decals with water from a spray bottle while they rest on a damp paper towel, and after a few seconds they'll be mobile. You put a little bit of decal setter solution on the Lego piece, literally just a drop for those small armband decals or a light brush for the torso, then slide the decal onto the spot.

At this point you gently misting it as you nudge it into place, then once you have it where you want it, you carefully use a cotton q-tip or a makeup sponge to absorb the extra moisture off. Wipe a coat of decal softener over it to make it conform to the surface more closely (this is how the top of Phee's arm decal sits nice and smooth), then let it dry.

After that it's a good idea to put on a mist layer of acrylic clear coat, let that dry, then a final proper coat. This is honestly the only hard or annoying part because you need to mask anything relevant to part assembly (or they won't fit anymore) and you need a dry enough day outside if you're using a spray can. Brush-on coats do work but on lighter colors you can see the brush strokes.

And voila, custom decal'd Lego! The print at home sheets, acrylic clear coat, setter and softener are all available on Amazon or from most hobby stores (model stores carry ALL this stuff and will also probably know a printer who can do the decals, tbh ditto army building game stores because ultimately it's the same thing, customizing a plastic model).

Decal Day! So I made a rookie mistake (my former publishing self would be so embarrassed) and sent my file rasterized instead of vector which fucked up the colors. So, only some of my decals were usable.

However! That did mean I got to decal all the cadet arms, plus an extra cadet torso (found a spare light blue gray), and try out the Phee torso decals (even though they were too dark) and the Punk Tech visor decal (which was okay).

The detail on the visor is SO GOOD!

And although the Phee torso decal is too dark, it still looks quite decent once on the torso:

Trying to decide if I want to more fully wrap the arms. On the up side it would look fancier but on the down side the more wrapped the arm is the bigger pain in the ass it is to work with. I may print a test sheet with my own printer to try it out, see how I like it.

The print shop's work was great as was their turn-around time so I should have a new sheet next week some time, then I can compare the torsos.

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 4 years ago

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We Met Within This Screen (chapt. 2)

[Donnie x fem reader]

Sfw, part 1 here

Intellectually, Donnie was the best matchup for their leader as today was sparring day. He'd gone against his oldest brother many times, sometimes even coming out the victor himself, but today was just not his day.

He held his staff with that iron grip of his and waited for Leo to come at him. Donnie was more on the defensive than any of his brothers; he had to be. Out of all he was weakest physically but superior in calculations, but he was missing range in this matchup. Leo had a hard time disarming him as his katana could sometimes get lodged in the solid wood staff, giving Donnie leverage to perform the finisher in the short time it took him to dislodge his sword. He thought this time would be how that would happen.

"You're slow today, Donnie," Leo said as he lunged at his brother with a swing of his katana, forcing Donnie to step back. He was too focused on blocking Leo's rapid succession of attacks to respond.

Leo reeled back to swing his blade again but Donnie parried and struck his arm with his staff, shoving it aside. For a split second, Leo actually thought he was fixing to go down by this move if Donnie could hit him again quick enough. But his brother hesitated in thought, and without any reluctance himself, he used his other katana to put him in a compromising position. The match was over and Donnie was forced to stand down.

"Why did you hesitate?" Leo questioned him, lowering his blade. Raph watched from the sidelines with Mikey as they prepared to go up next. Since Leo was the winner, it was Raph's turn next to spar in his younger brother's place.

Donnie huffed and dropped his stance, putting his staff away. "It's just an off day," he replied. Splinter wasn't there to dictate today's training session and tournament, so Donnie was already on his way out to go to his lab by the time Raph stepped up to spar. But Leo sheathed his sword and put a hand on Donnie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"You've been pretty eager to run back to your lab lately," Leo said matter-of-factly. He was wondering what was going on, why Donnie seemed weirdly distant the last couple of weeks. He had gone through a very withdrawn phase in earlier times upon entering his teenage years, but now, he was legitimately making everyone guess. He didn't snap at his brothers, and he wasn't any more impatient than usual. But something was different. He'd been spending a lot more time holed up in his lab, which everyone began to notice. Leo wanted to know what was wrong.

Donnie shifted and shrugged, "Like I said, I've been busy with some projects. Also, it's not like I have much to do out here beside training and patrol."

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Mikey jumped on between them. "You missed game night last week! You never miss it," he butted in. Both Donnie and Leo gave him a look as if to say really? and he added in, "Well, uh...not usually."

Gently moving Mikey aside, Leo wanted to continue, but he saw Donnie staring at him expecting a follow-up when he didn't really have one. Whatever this was, Leo knew that coming at Donnie with questions was not the way to go about it. So he stepped back and gave his brother some space.

"We all have off days," Leo said finally after an awkward moment of silence. "Just work on your speed, Don."

"Got it."

With that, Donnie turned to leave, and Raph entered the ring to go against Leo in the last match of the night.

Once Donnie was gone, Leo got ready to spar with Raph. As they got into position, he contemplated bringing this recent development up with the other two, but decided against it in the end. He didn't want to incriminate Donnie, especially with Raph's assertive approach to handling things. Donnie could be somewhat flighty at times when it came to resolving matters of emotion, at times a little too introspective, but Leo couldn't fault him—he had his own struggles with that very thing, too.

Done, finally, Donnie thought as he skirted into his lab and started up the game. He was late to the party quite literally; training lasted longer than he'd thought, and he was disappointed to see that his newest friend was online, but not responding to his invite. Did everyone get together and play without him? After a few minutes, he almost decided on giving up. The instance made him contemplate whether he even wanted to continue this. Perhaps he'd been too eager.

He sighed. And then the menu pinged, and he was there reading the message in an instant.

Hey, sorry I partied up without you, I just didn't know if you were gonna be on or not :/

Without even thinking, he licked his lips typed back, repeatedly deleting and retyping his message to make sure it was casual but not too casual, apologetic but not desperate—

It's okay, don't worry about it

Likewise sorry it took me so long to get here.

That would do. He'd be lying to say he wasn't feeling that flutter in his stomach; the excitement of something new got to him in a way that only a discovery in his research did, or how he felt when he mastered a new technique in his training.

Let's get started then :)

They started the game, and this time he kept the mic on, as she did. They talked back and forth as they fought creatures and enemies and looted things, eventually coming to learn that she herself was in New York City. He was surprised; suddenly, the world felt a lot smaller, and he couldn't concentrate on just playing after that. The time they spent became more of an opportunity to converse than to play a mundane game for hours on end.

At some point, she switched the topic to his whereabouts. Donnie's breath hitched.

"I'm...not anywhere near. So it doesn't really matter," he told her, cringing. If the guys found out—if Splinter found out—he would be in such trouble.

"Oh," she paused for a moment, trying to find something to say. "That's alright, I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me, you know?"

He'd muted his mic to release a deep breath. He got lost in thought thinking about how in that moment, he wanted to be human. If he weren't a giant mutant turtle, he could actually form a connection with someone. It was a very "Mikey" thing to think, he reckoned, but at times he wanted friends just like his brother did.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"It's really no problem, dude."

He felt as though he could hear the smile in her voice. What did she look like, he wondered. He wanted to see her, but he couldn't ask for that when he could never do the same. If he could get her name, he'd be in the clear to do some preliminary lookups on this person, but so far, she'd been dodgy about sharing info about herself as well. He couldn't blame her. They were two strangers online, one with a huge secret and the other completely in the dark about who he truly was. For all she knew, he could have been a creep, looking to stalk her online and perhaps do even worse. The thought made him feel almost nauseous, how she could be considering that about him as a possibility as they spoke. But she seemed comfortable enough. Unlike him, who was still slightly skeptical of the entire thing, because after spending his whole life in practical isolation, he was at a loss as to what to say or do after a certain point. The conversation died off and both of them thought simultaneously about how weird the sudden silence between them felt.

She hummed, as if searching for something to bring up. When she spoke, he was taken aback—"Hey, I'm gonna be honest, I really like talking to you but this game is getting boring. Do you wanna chat somewhere else?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, mind shooting blanks. Oh, was it just a horrible idea. He couldn't keep the jig up forever; the truth was bound to get revealed somewhere down the line. He was fixing to reject the proposition, tell her that he didn't want to take it that far. She could be anyone. The likelihood of it being a clever ruse on account of the Foot Clan was slim, but the paranoia still worked ambiently in the background noise of his mind. But his other doubt stopped him—when would he ever have a chance at this again? He wanted to have the strength to say no and leave it at that. The loneliness that crept up on him from time to time had something else to say.

"Yeah," he answered after a terribly long pause of mumbling, fighting with himself all the way as she told him where to add her. He could have kicked himself had it not been for the fact that he knew how to encrypt data, and that as long as he didn't leak a word about his inner circle or life, it would be okay. It didn't feel okay, though.

"Nice! I'll text you, see you later, Bo. I had a lot of fun tonight," she chirped.

Before he could respond, she was gone from the party, and the mic went silent. It happened so fast. He was barely caught up with the fact that he was now receiving messages and prompts to talk, but he couldn't bring himself to answer right away. He had to refocus his logic; how could this be used by the enemy as a way to get to them? Could they have somehow anticipated he'd download this game and find this random on there? The more the thought about it, the more glaringly obvious it was that it was not the case. It was just too improbable.

"The probability of the Foot being able to simulate such a specific scenario in order to get intel on us is so slim, it is practically non-existent," he told himself as he finally pulled up the messages. He read through them. "Approximately a zero-point-zero-zero-zero..."

My name is (Y/N), by the way :)

Well, that was easier than expected. He figured that somehow, the name suited you—a fitting name for such a personality. But it also gave him a glimmer of hope. It made him want to ask why you appeared to trust him, as he could be anyone on the Earth over the screen, not his benevolent self. Which she had no way of proving, technically. But he soon came to realize the screen painted him in a whole new light that it casted on him. It hit then that he could be anyone. He didn't have to be himself; not necessarily. She'd never have to know, as he could wear a human mask and she'd be none the wiser. Problem was, the lying made him feel guilty, and slowly would develop to be the thorn in his side.

Donnie thoughtfully stared at the screen. Now that he was here, some of his anxiety began to fade. He found himself actually able to talk, someone to listen to his tangents and even build upon them. They spent hours texting back and forth about anything and everything until it was almost time for him to put the phone down to leave for patrol. He felt giddy, like a kid, all over again.

________________________________________

Had you ever been able to talk to someone this easily?

You asked yourself that question as you exchanged with the faceless and nameless stranger over your screen, chatting from afternoon to night. Time flew by in an instant, with him, and you loved every minute. He was someone intellectual, but funny and so easy to talk to that it was as though the conversation carried itself. After some time he came out about his age after you revealed yours. Oftentimes, he'd just present to you a random question when the subject tapered off and run with it, like now:

What do you think of reptiles?

Puzzled, you took a second to reply. Odd question.

Why do you ask? Do you have one?

I was just curious

What do you think of them?

The chat indicator flip-flopped between "typing" and "idle" a few times before a message finally popped up, and you smiled. You'd learned over this short time that he was a dork in a cute way.

Well...I think they're pretty cool.

They've got natural armor and you would be surprised to know just how fast a turtle can be

You laughed a little to yourself. It was such a random thing to bring up, yet you were endeared. Deciding you'd go along with it, you asked him what else he knew about turtles.

Well...

__________________________________________________

Donnie was wondering what he was talking about just as much as she probably was. Stupid, he thought, facepalming. His first time really speaking with a human as an equal and he starts talking about turtles. Of course he knew a lot about them, he was one himself—but for some reason he found himself wanting to dispel myths and misunderstandings about turtles as if they reflected on him, when as far as she knew, he was just a human guy like herself.

He groaned lightly and typed, thinking up a fact that wasn't too conspicuous.

Red eared sliders are semi-aquatic.

As he typed the next part, he caught himself writing "we" instead of "they", to his dismay. He quickly fixed the error and continued, feeling weirdly exposed as it was almost as though in sharing this information, he was putting himself under a microscope for her to inspect.

They can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes, usually

Holding his breath was something he'd tested numerous times before. He and his brothers had actually made a game out of it on a few occasions, with Leo leading at thirty-three minutes, Donnie in second at thirty-one. Raph broke at twenty-nine minutes and Mikey followed behind in last at just twenty-seven. The ability could be trained, nonetheless.

That's interesting, I wonder what it's like to be able to go underwater so long?

It's kind of cool, you should try sometime

For THIRTY MINUTES?

Shit. He promptly replied:

No—not like I can hold my breath that long, I just mean you should try to see sometime I guess

I tested it just for the fun of it.

Looking up how long humans could hold their breath on average (between thirty seconds and two minutes), he bumped the number up a little bit and added:

Personally, I'm at two minutes and forty-five seconds

He was embarrassed, partially covering his face as he waited for a response. Such a foolish slip-up; he couldn't afford to say anything cryptic. But he still was fairly sure that he had recovered that alright. He couldn't help but think about how awkward or weird he seemed to her. Who talked about this?

I don't think I could hold my breath for more than a minute, kudos to you haha

Anyway, sorry to switch gears all of a sudden but if you don't mind me asking, what's up with your family? You have any siblings?

He told her no. He would not bring his brothers into this, lest it be the slim chance of a ploy, after all. He said his family situation was unconventional and left it at that.

With that, he said to her goodnight and put his phone away, getting up to go get geared for patrol. It was only then he noticed the figure leaning against the doorway.

Chapter 3

#tmnt #donatello #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fanfiction #sfw #fanfiction #romance #writing

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survivorraccooncity2 · 3 years ago

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Tribal Council #14 - S.T.A.R.S.

Welcome S.T.A.R.S. to the fourteenth tribal council of the game where one of you will become the final member of the jury.

Ariel: The most enjoyable moment for me is meeting new people from different culture and trying to figure out everyone's timezone. Lol. I also did enjoy the challenges. Making it to final 4 for me means that maybe I actually deserve more credit than I am giving to myself. I know some of the players perceive me as someone who was just a sheep being lead to ftc if I make it to the end (throwback to the touchy subjects), but hey I still made it here, and for once. just right now, I would like to claim that and be proud of myself for making it to Final 4. It was such a fun game to play with you all and I am so happy to be part of this season's cast cause we slaaaay!

QUESTION: Let’s take this time to reflect on our journey here together. What has been the most enjoyable moments or memorable moments in this game for you? What does it mean to each of you that you managed to get to Final 4?

Clefford: I think it's working with the people that understand me. I was able to really connect with some people here. It's a great feeling because I believe that every relationship is special. Working with people that I trust and trust me back made me get to this point of the game.

Dom: I loved having the opportunity to play this game and get to know other people from around the world. We all share one common factor--a love for the game of survivor. That in and of itself is something special. We've had the opportunity to make new friends, make alliances, trust others, work together and against eachother; An experience I'm truly grateful for. My first experiences on a tribe and my immunity win will for sure be the most memorable for me. Getting to final 4 is something awesome, and I thankful to have made it this far.

MJ: To think Survivor 42 was my first official survivor watch 😅😅 ever heard of love at first sight? Yea right! That was exactly what happened and then the love grew. Few weeks down the line, I found myself in my first ORG 😅 that pretty much summarizes my entire feeling in this game. Surreal!! My most enjoyable moments aren’t the times I was sleeping knowing fully well that my name wasn’t going to be mentioned at tribal. Rather, they were the culmination of the seemingly little things that happened. From the tribal tension, to the plot twists, to the immunity hustle 😅, the view of the merchants store of lavish goods and curses 🤣 I hated going there. To the alliance at every point, the friends I made, the Timezone calculations 😆 the greatest threat announcement 😅omg!! Each moment was priceless. And I’m so grateful I came this far with every surviving member of the game. What does it mean to me that I got to Final 4? 😃 it means a lot! But Out of the many things, if means trustworthiness & Unity 😊 the bedrock of my existence in the final four was as a result of a solid alliance of 3 that was shaken, but that still has a potential of solidly moving forward with our core values: trust & unity ♥️

I’ll read the votes. The person voted out will be asked to say their last words and leave the game.

First Vote

This is long overdue, Queen. But now that we have manage to take out all your protective gear (i.e. allies, possible advantages, and immunity necklace) I think this is our only chance to take a good shot on you to give ourselves a chance to win this game. You making to ftc, would mean you make it to the end purely out of strategy and social game. If that happens indeed, please accept and wear this (crown) on your way to FTC. You're a Queen, and still will be no matter what.

Second Vote

Ariel

Goodluck ♥️

Third Vote

you are a mastermind when it comes to this game and this is my one and only opportunity to take you out. If this doesn't go as planned congratulations, you have truly done it and deceived everyone in the game. You'll have my vote if I sit on the jury.

Fourth Vote

And the final member of the jury is…

Hey, MJ. I really value the friendship that formed between us. We've been working together since day 1 and that's the reason why I'm doing this. It would be hard for me to separate my game from you if we both sit in FTC. People see you as a threat and getting all the credits for the moves that we collaborative done along with Zuki. So I just hope that you understand why I'm doing this. You're so great and I know that you're aware of that. PLEASE UNDERSTAND ME.

MJ’s Last Words: OMG!!!! This is surreal and this is how to win!!!! I won y’all 😅 I’m a queen 👸 Ariel I’m rooting for you ♥️ take it all!! ♥️♥️♥️

Finalists, it is now time for Final Tribal Council proceedings. You will have until 6 PM EST tomorrow July 3rd to write or record yourself giving an opening statement. There is no word limit or time limit to these opening statements. Take this time to showcase to the jury as to why you should win the season.

At 6 PM EST tomorrow, I will post your opening statements to the jury. I will also post the jury questions. You will have another 24 hours to answer these questions. More information on that tomorrow.

Good luck!

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goldendivinewrath · 10 months ago

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@forgivenpunishment

A part of him that wants to argue, wants to insist that there's no way Wolfwood can completely mean what he says, but-- Maybe it's just the mood, or maybe it's the shared desire in the room, the electricity between them, but Vash wants to believe it's the truth. A simple, easy truth, nodding instead of trusting his voice. Much as he's sure he's going to be nearly physically stricken by a cruller reality, he really really wants to think it's all... okay. That he's okay, desired, as much as he desires for himself.

The other man offering himself just as easily helps, somehow. Not as much as a distraction but as a reminder that this need and want and craving for each other is just that: shared. Whatever worried tension might have kept his jaw tightly clenched before, Vash lets out a soft breath of a laugh, gaze warming. "Don't mind if I do--"

Geez, he's going to get a whole different reputation if Wolfwood keeps successfully shutting him up with a kiss. As if he minds. The urge to laugh through it exists, of course, but Vash prefers to indulge both in the meeting of lips and in absolute acceptance of the invitation, both hands moving to really, finally, get hold of the other man's chest and squeeze. Not too hard! Just... firm. Maybe a little extra fondling and rolling his thumbs over hard nipples and--

It's not that he's interrupted, exactly. When his pants are simply gone and there's nothing he can feel against him but open air... he can't help but tense up and hold his breath. Maybe it is a mistake, maybe Wolfwood just found the thing he very much minds finding and the stillness between them along with the silence throws Vash into trying to come up with a joke or an apology before he figures out how he's going to scramble away and fix this--

It takes a few seconds for the "beautiful" to actually work its way into his mind. Past panicked thoughts and an ache in his chest he refuses to name. He's pretty sure even as the touch registers that he's going to say something, that he has something to say, one last little permission for Wolfwood to back out if he really wants to, but... huh. The only thing that actually makes it out of his mouth is a warbling, surprised little noise that quickly turns into something approving. Encouraging, even.

Okay, yeah, he's-- That's good. Thoughts kinda got scattered like worms to the wind, but who needs to think anyway? He's a little lost for a moment, good-lost, the way the other man is looking and touching, and he can almost feel that gaze as an echo of physical touch. "I'm-- Yeah." Not a complete sentence. Not a complete thought, but it's more permission and encouragement and there's a little tilt-shift in his reality when Wolfwood's solid warmth is on top of him again.

Good. It's good. He has no idea if he manages to say that out loud or if his mouth is completely occupied by kissing, but he hopes his leg returning to wrap loosely around one of Wolfwood's own is signal enough until he can breathe again. Definitely not priority, not like the way he needs to guide his hands down the smooth, muscled shoulders of the man over and against him, more nonverbal invitation in the way he doesn't stop until he's reached the definitively satisfying curves of an ass that's usually hidden in pants that do it little justice, and squeezes. Pulls. Encourages the grind, the friction, the moisture he already feels on his thigh--

Ah, some of that might be his. Maybe more than some, but it feels like he's readjusting to his own body. Distracting. It's been a while since he indulged, and he never thought they'd get... here. "'Sgood." Vash is quick to assure once he gets his thoughts and words in sync again. There's a little something extra in his voice, at the edges of it, not a sound exactly...

Vibration. Pleased. Something he doesn't even notice himself in the moment, grasping for any ability to communicate. "You're doing-- S-sooo good." He can't help the little jump in his hips, pressing Wolfwood's fingers even harder against the sensitive bundle of nerves that serves as his clit and that is definitely mostly wetness and slick from him now.

Right, right, focus. "I w-want you to feel good too..." What can I do? is what he means to ask. It gets lost in another jump of his hips and a surprisingly delicate drag of fingernails, organic and not, against the solid flesh of Wolfwood's upper thighs. Gentle. Testing.

@goldendivinewrath

Wolfwood cocks his head, trying to decipher what Vash is telling him. He doesn't really mind what parts he might have under those pants—though, admittedly, he is far more experienced with those that match his own rather than the opposite...

"I don't mind whatever you got down there," he settles with saying in a soothing tone, "Got no preference one way or the other. Just tell me what feels good, alright?" Wolfwood provides a reassuring pat on Vash's thigh and a soft smile.

He's trying to hide the twinge of anxiety he feels with the concept of satisfying another person. Yeah, he's gotten close enough to people to kiss, to feel, but as far as sex is concerned... all he really knows is what he's packing and what he sees in public. Usually that's art, or jokes, or whatever—and maybe he did pick up a saucy magazine just to look, but they never really did anything for him, so—

Focus.

Wolfwood wants this now. Wants Vash, wants them, wants whatever happens after—and all he can do is pray that the blond, in all century and a half of his lifespan, wants him back even if...

"You can touch and look at me too, if the urge hits you. Not saying you have to—just... you know. Permission and all that."

In order to stop his mouth from spouting anymore nonsense, he dives in for another kiss, then another, then backs away to remove Vash's pants and underwear—

When Wolfwood looks up after throwing the garments aside, his eyes practically sparkle with wonder. It's not—well, he can't say it's what he was expecting—but maybe he should've been expecting it? Of course Vash isn't human, but this...

"This is—you're beautiful," he tries not to stare, but he can't help it as he gently rubs one of the bright fuchsia petals that are bloomed open for him between his index finger and thumb. Gently. He is positively transfixed as his gaze shifts from petal, to golden fronds, to blushing pink tendrils... Curious fingers slide through the center of the flower, discovering Vash's opening, then pet at the tendrils that seem to take the place of a clit. "I... think I understand. Yeah, I—wow..."

He returns to his position lying on top of the blond, but he keeps his hand down below, stroking the feathery fronds as he kisses Vash intensely. This time he sighs into the meeting of their lips, then nips Vash's bottom lip. Taunting, tantalizing, Wolfwood's middle and ring fingers dip barely into his entrance then out, and he grins against bruised lips.

"Is this right? Am I touchin' the right spots?" Wolfwood purrs as he grinds against Vash's thigh, instinctually searching for some sort of friction.

#IC #forgivenpunishment #TriStamp-ish!Vash - Refuge and Joy #spicy #not safe for whatever #((the plan: focus on getting the words to work with me and finally finish this tonight))#((the reality: it has decided to run away from me at high speed))#lookitmequeue

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brasskier · 4 years ago

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@badthingshappenbingo trope #3 (and this one was actually requested!)

Thank you to the incredible @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for reading this one over for me!

Trope: Suicide attempt

Summary: Yennefer's just running a few errands, and doesn't expect to end up talking Geralt's bard down from a rooftop. Jaskier is ready to leap, and doesn't expect a certain mage to interrupt his grand finale. Both of them might just walk away with a better understanding of one another. (Or, a character study in borderline personality disorder.)

TW for suicidal ideation/threats/gestures and reference to self-harm. The descriptions aren’t graphic and he doesn’t actually jump, but this whole fic deals with suicide and mental illness. Be safe y’all <3

Read it on my ao3 or below the cut:

The trip to Tretogor wasn’t supposed to last long. Replenish her stock after the utter disaster that was the dragon hunt, some odds and ends as she came upon them, maybe get absolutely shitfaced and forget the whole thing happened. That was all. And it looked like, for a pleasant change of pace, there weren’t going to be any complications. Errands finished, Yennefer was enjoying a hearty roast at one of the better taverns in the city when she noticed the early warnings of a brewing commotion. First murmurs, then the voices grew louder and more persistent, and then people were pushing outside. She ignored them; a petty barfight was not something she particularly wanted or needed to get involved with. The bar was still stirring, and eventually when she finally shifted her focus off her roast, the tavern was near-empty, only the drunkest of patrons remaining. Even the barkeep was shuffling outside. Clearly, something was happening. Something big. With a beleaguered sigh, she pushed up from her chair and headed out the door.

A surprisingly large crowd greeted her outside, more expansive than the usual clamor around a simple drunken brawl. She approached the barkeep, standing on the outskirts of the mob, and she didn’t even have to speak before the barkeep jerked his head skyward. She traced his gaze to the roof of a towering building casting its shadow over them.

“Poor sod’s gonna jump, I reckon,” the barkeep ruminated, eyes still fixed upwards. In place of the massive beast she fully expected to be perched atop the building stood the figure of a man, trembling at the very edge of the roof. She squinted, an uncanny familiarity settling into her gut.

She mumbled her half-hearted thanks, already pushing through a portal to the rooftop. The man, still frozen in place on the opposite edge, didn’t seem to notice the sudden company, and her uneasiness grew into a sinking dread.

“Jaskier?” she called, tentatively, afraid to startle him. Any last shred of hope that she was mistaken (though the intricately embroidered doublet was hard to mistake) was gone when he jerked his head back to face her. His mouth was agape, an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and disappointment drawn across his features. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like?” He snapped back. There was more than his usual sarcasm or mock-incredulity in his voice, real and deep-felt anger coloring his tone.

“Don’t do it,” she urged, surprising herself with the tenderness in her own words. “Come on now. Just come down.” Why did she care? The question gnawed in the back of her mind, and she did her damndest to push it aside. She’s a good person, after all, right? She’d do it for anyone, surely. None of Geralt’s not-getting-involved nonsense.

“Fuck off, Yennefer.” He let out a barking laugh, thin and breathy, pitching forward ever so slightly with the force of it. She felt her whole body tense, hands reaching out reflexively.

“Where’s Geralt? What happened?” This was, apparently, the single worst line of conversation she could’ve settled on, because he dropped abruptly to a squat and for a split second she was certain she was about to witness the man’s death.

“I’m not his fucking keeper.” He was nearly at a roar now, a fever-pitch that sent a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. “Haven’t seen him in a week. Not since— not since—” Though she couldn’t see his face, his eyes fixed resolvedly on the ground below, she could hear the tears cut through his words, his breath hiccuping.

“Shh,” she hushed him. Clearly, something had happened after she stormed off. What, precisely, could wait until later, when he was back on solid ground. “I know. It’s not fair.”

“The fuck do you know about fair?” he scoffed, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around his abdomen against the biting wind.

“He fucked me over, too.” She should’ve been offended, and she would’ve been if she wasn’t far more concerned with making sure the bard didn’t fling himself into an early demise, which would be decidedly unfair. That sentiment did little to ease him, and withdrew no response. “Fuck Geralt,” she declared, trying again. “Damn brute thinks he can just take as he pleases.”

“And— and then discard you once he’s had his fill,” he mumbled, offering her the slightest glance back, tears glistening against the pink of his cheeks.

“You’re better than that,” she set forth like a thesis. “You’re — loathe as I am to admit it — talented, bard. People like you. You’ll find plenty of material to write about.” Perhaps an appeal to both logos and pathos would be sufficient, at least enough to get him off the ledge.

“It won’t be the same.” He frowned tragically over his shoulder at her. “I've lost it all, Yen. Look at me— I'm just a silhouette.”

“That's nonsense. He… you're more than him. He's not everything.” It felt ridiculous to her, throwing yourself off a roof over an argument with a friend. After all, Jaskier had always managed to exist in the spaces between Geralt before; teaching, or penning his next obnoxious ballad, or bedding married women, or whatever it is overgrown manchild bards do. But, then, she'd almost killed herself to restore something she knew she could never get back. So perhaps they were even.

“Look, this is awfully sweet of you, but—” he swept his arm, gesturing vaguely at nothing in particular. “Just let me go. I’m doing everyone a favor.” He turned his attention back to the ground, wind rippling through his hair. “Should’ve done this a long time ago.” She felt her heart skip — a long time ago? This wasn’t just a histrionic reaction to whatever might’ve occurred between him and Geralt; gods knew how long he’d felt like this.

“You know I can’t do that,” she retorted, drawing tentatively closer. “Don’t make me portal you down.” He huffed, waving her off with a trembling hand.

“Please, Yen.” Realistically, she knew it would be easy to oblige his request. Walk away, pretend not to hear the sickening thud, and carry on. He was only her ex-witcher’s ex-bard, after all. “I always knew it'd end like this. I’m just… I’m glad I even made it past thirty, really.”

“That’s— I’m not— no, Jaskier. I’m not letting you throw yourself off a roof, for the love of the gods. That’s insane.” She wasn’t sure what was more insane, letting him go, or standing here arguing with him. “You’re going to be real glad when you make it to forty, bard.”

“Am I though, really? This isn’t my first time, believe it or not. And every time I live, or I back out, or I let someone talk me out of it. And I always regret it in the end.” Her mind reeled again — every time? How many had there been? She pushed the thought back.

“You won’t find out unless you get down,” she argued, drawing closer still. He tensed, sensing her presence, hands balling and unfurling repetitively. “Come on. Go to the tavern with me, get something to eat, have a—” she was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath now “—more drink. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, and if you still regret it, well…”

“Fine,” he finally agreed on the tail end of a sigh, turning to fully face her. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” She didn’t like the resolve with which he said those words, but he was agreeing to come down, which at least was a small victory. She’d handle tomorrow when it came around. In the meantime she needed to get them both down. “Or eventually,” he tacked on as she held her hands out, forming a portal back to solid ground. “Inevitably.” The word rang in her mind as she looped an arm around him and led him through the portal. As an afterthought, she summoned a blanket with a flick of her fingers; it was one of those cheap, thin blankets they kept at the inn, but it would do. She tossed it over his shoulders and he dug his fingers into the fabric, drawing it closer around himself.

Once they were back in the tavern, that thin blanket still draped over Jaskier's shoulders and mug of ale held in shaking hands, it was time to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, dragging his thumb up and down the cool tankard, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs. “I’ve caused such a fuss. You must be anxious to get out of here.” He finally glanced in her direction when he felt a hand land on his forearm.

“It’s fine, really,” she insisted, and he couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes. “Now are you going to tell me what that was all about?” He huffed a laugh, looked away again.

“It’s just, you know. Me and my theatrics.” He shrugged, running a hand along his jaw.

“Bullshit.” When, exactly, Yennefer had gotten so good at seeing right through him, he wasn’t sure. But he did know he definitely didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry. I just, I… I get like that, I guess,” he muttered finally, dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Suicidal, you mean? You just get… suicidal?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, moving her hand up to his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” He reached blindly, dropped a hand over hers. “When something goes wrong. Someone leaves me again. I just, I fuck up a lot, and I’m no good at dealing with the concequences.”

“That’s— gods, I know you’re an idiot, but that’s really worth killing yourself over?” She tried to keep her tone light, clipped, maybe a little detached. He was uneasy with the attention, it was obvious, and she was also certainly not ready to admit that maybe, just a tiny bit, she sort of cared about him.

“Geralt, he ran me off,” he mumbled, sinking further into the blanket. “After the hunt, after your fight, he blamed me. For everything, the entire two decades of our, well. I guess it wasn’t friendship.” He chewed at his lip, a nervous habit, anger bubbling below the surface at the thought of that day. “Told me the greatest gift life could give him would be to take me off his hands.” Yennefer balked at him, finally hearing the context of his despair, and she was just about ready to portal right over to wherever Geralt had fucked off to and give him a piece of her mind.

“That’s terrible,” she told him, the best she could really offer. Nothing she could say would undo what’d happened, and nothing could change how much it hurt him. “He really is a bastard.” Jaskier nodded slowly, raised his tankard up in toast. “When’s the last time you ate? You must be starving.”

“Stew would be nice,” he replied quietly, meekly. She haled one of the barkeeps, ordered him a stew, and requested another round of drinks. “It’s not just the fight, though,” he added once the server was gone. “I don’t know how to explain it, Yen. Why I do the things I do, or feel the way I feel. It’s just, it’s all too much sometimes, you know?” She knew. All too well, she knew. She was only just beginning to understand herself, just beginning to feel some semblance of control. He was so young — perhaps not by human standards, but comparatively.

“I know. It’s hard.” They felt like empty platitudes, like she had no idea how to truly connect with him, and it was frustrating. She wanted to help him, but she wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure he wanted it.

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head, picked at the wood of the table. They drifted into silence, neither sure how to fill it, neither sure this was a conversation either wanted to have. The stew arrived, and he picked at it rather than devouring it like he usually did his rations.

“You know I’m sterile, right?” she finally broke the silence once he’d finished his food and pushed the bowl aside, leaning closer, her voice pitched in a conspiratorial whisper. He nodded solemnly, averting his gaze, watching the light catch in his amber ale. “And you know I’ve gone to great lengths to rectify that, correct?” Another slow nod.

“I know, Yen. I’m sorry, I know you have far more right to be miserable than I do. And here I am, wallowing like a toddler—” She waved a hand to cut him off.

“No, listen, stupid bard. It’s really not about being able to have kids. It’s about the fact that I don’t have a choice, that I’ve never had a choice,” she elaborated, hiking the blanket further up his shoulders as it started to slip.

“I know. And here I am, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. I got to choose; running away, going to Oxenfurt, becoming a bard, traveling. Gods, I followed Geralt to the ends of the bloody Continent for two decades of my life I’ll never get back — but that was my choice.”

“Would you please let me finish my point, instead of interrupting me to wallow in guilt?” He gnawed at his lip, finally turning to face her. “It wasn’t about being a mother, it was about choice. So this—” she waved her arm dramatically, wondering for a moment when exactly she’d started picking up his mannerisms. “This isn’t about Geralt at all, is it?” After a moment of contemplation, he carefully shook his head. “Then what is it about?”

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he muttered at the tail end of a swig from his tankard. “I’ve just always been like this,” he said with a sweep of his hand, palm upturned, string-callused fingers twitching aimlessly. Her violet eyes bore into him expectantly, and he felt angry for a flicker of a moment — she was a witch, right? He should be able to just sit back while she delves into the darkest crevices of his psyche, let her root around and not have to struggle to put his life into context and language. “Can’t you just, y’know…” He tugged at his fingers, tilted his head.

“Read your mind?” she finished the question, scooting closer to him, and he felt the hair on his arms rise. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He nodded, and she pressed her forehead against his, pulling him in close, enveloping him in the lilac and gooseberries he knew Geralt loved so much. He understood why; he felt inexplicably safe, even as the logical half of his brain urged him to pull back. This was all for show, and he knew that— she didn’t need to touch him to read him. Either way, he was grateful to not have to give language to the nameless, that she could just see.

See Jaskier at seventeen, screaming at Valdo from across the courtyard, "if you leave me I swear the fuck to melitile I'll kill myself," knowing he's made this exact threat verbatim so many times Valdo can't believe him, unable to recall what they were even arguing about anymore. When they break up, his mother tells him the first heartbreak always hurts the worst; it hurts all the same every time thereafter.

Jaskier at twenty, slicing thin lines into his thigh for what had to be the millionth time, running out of unmarred skin, witcher/tentative friend asleep somewhere beside him in the darkness. If asked, he’s not sure he’d have an excuse. Sometimes to feel something, sometimes to feel nothing. Either way, this uncertainty is what keeps his wrists clean.

Jaskier at twenty-three, wailing great, hiccuping sobs, shoulders rattling, blind beyond teary eyes. Geralt, gods bless him, doesn’t know what to do, stands arm’s-length away, regards him with uncertainty and pity. They’d fought about something that didn’t matter and he couldn’t remember, and that rage washed over him, red-hot, balled fists trembling at his side. “Get out! Gods, are you thick? Leave, Geralt; I fucking hate you.” But then Geralt listened, because Geralt didn’t play Jaskier’s games, and now there he was, sobbing, babbling, “don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’ll be better, I can’t lose you, it’ll kill me, don’t go.” Geralt stays; they pretend nothing ever happened.

Jaskier at twenty-seven, at the ashes of his latest burnt bridge, just another failed relationship that feels altogether more like death than separation. Grieving it more like death, too; sobbing until he could do little more than stare at the ceiling and try to breathe, mourning a cemetery of mistakes and a lifetime of failure.

Jaskier at thirty-two, depression blanketing him with the fresh snow, the man he'd tangled up his entire identity in fucked off to the mountains for the winter while he sludged through classes, distracting himself from having to confront the fact that he doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror. Jaskier does exist in the spaces between Geralt, but, sometimes, that Jaskier is a husk.

Jaskier a few days ago, marching back to Oxenfurt because that's all he knows, doubtful Jaskier even exists anymore, the emptiness in his mind unbearable and somehow terminal, altogether certain he's been incompatible with life from the very moment he entered it and resolved to rectify nature's mistake himself.

Jaskier who, his entire life, has felt everything, too much, all at once. Who's always been led by his heart — and not in the beautiful, Romantic way, but messy, tragic, and uniquely Jaskier. A man so utterly at the mercy of his own mind, drowning in feelings he doesn't have the language to name, his entire being defined not by who he is but what he does and who he loves.

Jaskier, on a rooftop in Tretogor, itchy feet ready to fling him off the ledge. He'd told Valdo once, in the in-between hours not quite night or morning when everything seems strange and far away, that he knew how he was destined to die. Pressed on, even as Valdo chuckled and called him presumptive, “I'm going to kill myself.” Not today, or tomorrow, but inevitably. He said it not with the certainty of someone who's seen into the future but the cynical resignation of a man who knows no other escape. And Valdo punched his arm, told him not to talk like that, promised it would get easier one day. He hates Valdo now, not that he remembers why, and that day has yet to come.

She pulled back eventually— finally — and swept a shaky thumb over his cheek. He chewed on his lip, staring expectantly with hauntingly wide eyes.

“Jaskier.” It was barely a whisper, uttered at the end of a sharp exhale, and when violet eyes met his they shone with an uncanny recognition. He wasn't sure what, precisely, she'd seen, but he knew whatever it was had been enough. He'd invited her to the bleakest corners of his mind, and now she regarded him like a lame horse. He ducked his head, but she caught him with a hand on his chin. “You know that's not how destiny works.”

“Hmm?” He wracked his brain to figure what she might be referring to, coming up empty-handed. He didn't have a big, grand destiny like she or Geralt did. He was just Jaskier the bard, Jaskier the one-night stand, Jaskier the disappointment.

“It doesn't have to end like that. You have a choice,” she elaborated, still painfully vague, but he understood.

“This isn't the first time, Yen, I—”

“I know. I saw.” Right, she saw, probably everything, and he had the wherewithal to feel humiliated for it.

“I've cheated it enough times. I can't outrun it forever.” It felt nice, at least, to let his walls down a little, stop playing the perpetual naive optimist. Almost a relief, even, a weight off his shoulders.

“I know. But you're strong, Jask.” She moved her hand from his chin to the back of his head, guiding it to rest against her shoulder. “We have more in common than I thought, you know.” He laughed, thin and heady, but with a little more conviction this time, and pressed his face against her neck.

“Is that your way of telling me you're fucked up, too?” He asked, and, despite the levity in his tone, he truly was curious.

“Yes, bard,” she hummed, reaching out to sip at her tankard.

“You're not going to give me any more than that?” He fought off a yawn, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “I just told you everything.”

“Maybe someday,” she replied, setting the mug back on the table. “But right now I think you could use some rest. We both could.” She slipped out of the booth and he let his head tilt back against the wall, mourning the absence of her warmth.

She returned a few minutes later, room procured, and hiked the blanket back over his shoulders as he reached for his lute and followed after her. It was a nice enough room, two beds on opposite sides, a bath he had no intention of utilizing. Exhausted, he kicked off his boots, shrugged off his doublet, and dropped onto the bed. He let his mind wander, dozing as Yennefer readied herself for bed, eyelids heavy by the time she blew out the candles.

“You won't try again?” Yen asked from across the room after a while, barely a silhouette in the faint moonlight. Jaskier rolled over to face her, finding her staring distantly out the window.

“You, uh, you have to be more specific,” he muttered, tugging the blanket closer to his chin. It smelled of lilac and ale.

“How am I supposed to make that more specific?” It came out sharp, like her usual tone with him, but he could still feel an uneasy twinge to her words.

“I mean, I don't know.” He felt stupid for reasons beyond his grasp. “Not today, or tomorrow. But I can't promise never.” There was a long pause, and Jaskier barely breathed, wondering if he'd managed to upset her as sleep crept up on him.

“Not today is enough,” she said finally, sounding almost far away, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice thick with impending sleep. “When are you leaving?” The me he omitted at the tail end rang in his mind, unspoken but understood, heavy in the nighttime silence. She was supposed to leave in the morning, so he could either move on or finish what he’d set out to do; he wasn’t sure he wanted her to uphold that promise anymore.

“Not today.” He exhaled slowly. Not today is enough. And maybe, just maybe, enough not today's would add up to never.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #tw suicide #jaskier whump #bad things happen bingo #brasskier does bthb

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doyelikehaggis · 4 years ago

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Luke Patterson x Willie (Julie and the Phantoms)

Requested by @phoenixfidelity

Luke can't help but be distracted every so often. He can tell that it's starting to get on the rest of the bands nerves every time he misses a chord or he accidentally glances away from the lyrics so he misses a word and then the whole thing is forced to an abrupt halt. He's really trying to stay focused.

Usually it's a piece of cake! He loves the band and he loves playing, because he gets so lost in the music that he forgets the rest of the world exists half the time.

He catches sight of Willie out of the corner of his eye again as they're building up to the chorus of the new song they've been working on. Luke resists the urge to look away from the notebook in front of him.

His fingers keep moving determinedly... while his eyes dart off to the side. It's just a split second, then they're right back on the page, and he hasn't missed anything!

But his mind is quickly taken over by the brief glimpse of Willie that he got. He's just sitting cross-legged on the studio floor, hair tied up in a messy bun, nodding along to their music while he paints. While wearing one of Luke's hoodies. He found it lying on the back of the couch when they came in and he said he was cold, and so he asked if he could borrow it, and Luke wasn't going to say no, was he? That would be rude!

Besides, the orange actually really suits him. It matches the streaks of yellow paint on his cheeks--

Luke quickly glances back over. Sure enough, there is actually paint smeared across Willie's face. And a paintbrush in his mouth while he carefully paints with a different one. He's so focused, his eyebrows scrunched, his foot tapping to the beat on his knee--

Luke catches the mess up in his chords but not before he can stop it. He abruptly stops playing, the rest of the band once again halting along with him.

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to--" He takes a deep breath and looks determinedly down at his guitar. "Let's just go again, yeah? I'll get it this time, I promise."

"Yeah, I don't think you will," Julie says, and Luke's surprised to find her smiling rather than being mad about it. She and the rest of the band share a look.

"Probably better if we take a break for now," Reggie agrees, clearly trying to suppress a smile of his own and failing miserably as he lifts his bass strap over his head.

"I'm... getting kinda hungry anyway," Alex lies, nodding way too eagerly.

Willie looks up for the first time since their last brief pause. "Are you guys done?"

Another look is shared. Luke shakes his head vigorously, staring at them all in disbelief.

"No! No, we're not! Come on, we still have to practice this song or else we're not gonna have it ready for tomorrow!"

"You'll be fine!" Flynn assures him, hooking an arm around Julie's shoulders. "You guys sounded great! Well... most of the time."

"Yeah, you were really good," Willie agrees, beaming at them with such sincerity that Luke's heart melts under the rays of sunshine he radiates when he turns it on him.

He barely notices Reggie muttering, "And that's our cue..." and the four of them scattering around the studio, and practically leaving the two of them alone.

Luke doesn't know why they're acting like this. So, yeah, he keeps getting distracted from the music. But he's trying to stay focused! It's not exactly going to help if the rest of them just decide to give up!

He sighs and decides he may as well put his own guitar aside for the moment.

"You okay?" Willie asks with a slight laugh, but his eyes are concerned when Luke glances up at him.

His stomach flips over like a pancake. It's weird but it's been doing that a lot lately and he can't seem to figure out why. Maybe he's coming down with something? That would be super inconvenient timing considering they have a gig tomorrow!

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Luke says, but even he feels like he's somehow lying even as he tries for a grin.

Willie isn't buying it either. He takes a moment to think, his eyebrows only creasing the tiniest bit this time as his thumb rubs a circle into the crease of his elbow. Luke finds the movement strangely calming to watch.

Then it stops, and Willie lights up. "Well, since you guys are... taking a break for the time being, do you wanna help me with this?"

Luke finally tries to take a proper look at what he has actually been doing this entire time as Willie moves over to sit beside him on the couch.

There's a poster -- multiple, actually, as well as what Luke swears is a pile of what were once his guitar picks. He doesn't really play his acoustic too much anymore because it never sounds right with any of their songs, and his fingers just got used to the feel of the strings on his electric, so there wasn't ever really a use for them anymore.

Willie notices him picking up one of the plectrums and turns sheepish. "I found them lying about in here and thought they could use a little... sprucing up." He shrugs. "I didn't think anyone would really mind."

Luke shakes his head and grins as he picks up another in amazement. Each one is painted, and not just a solid colour, but a whole piece of art is painted onto each one. Scenes of bridges with the sunset behind them, fields full of vibrant plants, a starry night sky, a gh--

Luke raises his eyebrows at him. "Is this meant to be me?"

Willie peers at the one he's holding up which features a ghost silhouette wearing an orange beanie with a guitar strapped around its translucent little body.

"Yep," Willie confirms, then breaks out into another sheepish laugh. "I got a little bored of the fancy designs, and I thought that it would be funny, seeing as how you're, you know, Julie and the Phantoms."

"So," Luke glances at the pile of plectrums, "did you do one for all of us?"

"I haven't gotten around to it yet. I wanted to start with you 'cause I figured you'd make the cutest ghost. With the beanie and all."

Luke's stomach does the thing again. And he swears his face is burning up. He better not be getting a fever, because the thought of getting sick right before a gig is giving him a little too much deja vu.

"Does that mean you don't think I'm a cute ghost when I'm not wearing the beanie?" Luke teases, mock serious.

Willie laughs, caught in surprise by the question. But he shakes his head, gazing at Luke with creases around his eyes and a soft smile.

"No way. It's, like, totally impossible for you to not be cute."

Luke laughs as well now and gives him a gentle push, his hand lingering on Willie's arm. "Shut up."

"I got you smiling, at least," Willie points out.

"Yeah, well." Luke doesn't really have anything else to say because he's right.

He looks at him for a second as Willie shifts his attention back down to the posters and plectrums. Luke doesn't mean to stare, but there's something about watching his fingers move that feels... comforting, even when they're just moving a stray bit of hair behind his ear.

"Have you ever played guitar?" Luke blurts out without thinking.

Willie looks back up in surprise but shakes his head. "No. I like listening to music and sometimes performing with Caleb was fun but that was only ever singing. I've never really gotten the hang of an instrument. Takes too long to figure it all out."

"What if I helped?" Luke asks, not fully sure why he's offering. "I'm not saying perform with us. I'm just saying it could be a fun hobby, if you had someone helping you figure it all out."

Willie considers it then shrugs, beaming at him again. Luke's beginning to think he needs sunglasses just to be around him because he finds himself grinning back before Willie's even answered.

"Yeah, okay. Let's do it! But I will warn you, I'm not the most patient person."

"Good thing I am then," Luke says.

"No he's not!" Reggie shouts over to them from the other couch in the corner.

Luke glares at him but Reggie just raises his hands with a confused expression as if to say, what did I do?!

Rolling his eyes as Willie laughs, Luke says, "Don't listen to him. We can practice later and use my old acoustic, that way it'll be a bit easier and you can use one of your awesome designer picks."

He gestures to the pile and Willie scans over them, looking for one to use. Then he picks up the one with the ghost version of Luke on it.

"A great choice, if I do say so myself," Luke says, grinning. "Now, what are we painting?"

Willie hands him a paintbrush and one of the posters. He explains the design and they both start working on them. At some point in between Luke finishing one and Willie just adding a few last touches to his own, Luke tries experimenting on one of the blank picks himself.

When he shows it to Willie, his eyebrows raise and he almost doesn't seem to know what to say for a second. Then his face splits into a smile of pure joy and Luke doesn't think he's ever felt so pleased with himself as he does watching Willie gush over the little ghost hovering over a skateboard like it's the best thing he's seen.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke x willie #willie x luke #luke patterson #willie #willie jatp #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedit*#phoenixfidelity #this is such a cute pairing though??#they would be disaster dorks together and I love that for them

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