#as in all my stories

[annmarcus63]

An ugly, translucent shape opened at the gates of Kaer Morhen. A portal. Mercenaries and a mage, the firefucker.  The witchers defend their home and their cub, but they're too many. Ciri gets badly wounded and Rince is about to drag her through the portal, away from her home, away from her family. Geralt feels terror, they can't take her. The wizards fight with all their might, eliminating them one by one in a matter of second. A defeated Rince mocks them and before fleeing, he reaches into the portal to pull out a person who instantly falls to the ground. 

"This one sang beautifully, witcher. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have found Princess Cirilla. And her blood" the mage's face twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at his blood covered dagger. Blood holds power, especially Ciri’s. But before Rince can escape, Lambert appears out of nowhere, taking him by surprise to cut off his head instantly. 

On the ground there's a shaking figure. 

A pair of frightened eyes looks around. Jaskier. Geralt had not seen the bard for years, he tried not to think about him either. But Ciri is wounded, bleeding and whimpering for Geralt because it hurts too much. The witchers carry the princess inside without looking back, to the shaking man on the ground. Geralt and Eskel heals Ciri as much as they can. She's going to be alright.  

Later, he sees Vesemir, through Ciri's bedroom window, approaching a shrunken figure at the stables and after a few breaths said figure following the aged witcher inside the fortress. 

Jaskier is there the next morning, sitting in the dining hall, shoeless and wearing simple clothes that are too big for him. But he doesn't want to see him, he can't, Ciri almost died because Jaskier was the one who gave the information to Rince. With a shrinking heart, Geralt turns away to find something to occupy his mind while Ciri recovers. 

-

Guilt is eating Jaskier up, even the pain cannot compensate for his heavy conscience. He hides his hands in a pair of thick gloves that rub against his burned skin, but it is worse to have them exposed. He had never been to Kaer Morhen before, but he had never imagined it would be like this. He never imagined he would be an outsider, a traitor. 

He finds a pretty good room, it's small and only has a hole in the wall, so it's not so cold. The wolves are uneasy, uncomfortable with his presence and he totally understands it. Geralt has barely given him a glance. Eskel is kind, he smiles at him whenever they run into each other and even gives him a pair of boots and a cloak.

The day after his arrival he spends the day working on the stables, cleaning and feeding the horses, it's not an easy task due to his damaged hands but he can manage. In the afternoon, Jaskier goes inside and sits down in front of the fire in the hall to warm his freezing bones. Not too close, of course. 

Geralt and Lambert enter speaking in hushed voices, Jaskier makes himself as small as possible so as not to attract attention. He's the prey. They are talking about Ciri, she is apparently well and that is reassuring. And suddenly...

"Shh, It's not safe to talk here." It takes him a few seconds to register what Lamber said.  Jaskier looks up to find two pairs of yellow eyes, predator's eyes, looking down at him with weariness. Something breaks inside him, something essential, it could be his core, his heart at the very least. In a hurried move he stands and leaves the room to find another place to get warm. 

At night the pain is too much to bear. He can't sleep and he's so damn tired so he cries for a while until he decides he’s had enough. He leaves his room barefoot so as not to alert the witchers and a single oil lantern to light the dark corridors of the keep. He wanders around for a while until he finds the lab, surely there must be something here to help ease his pain? he sniffs every jar and bottle whose contents seem familiar when a voice calls "If you smell that one you'll die" Jaskier yelps, turning around. 

Vesemir is at the door 

"I...I...I wasn't doing anything wrong, and maybe that's not the smartest thing to say. I'm sorry, I’ll just...go" 

"...what do you need?" 

"Something for the pain" The witcher approaches a cabinet 

"What kind of pain?" 

Jaskier is biting his lips to decide whether to tell the truth or... "Bard" Vesemir scolds him. 

"...burns" Vesemir stops to turn to look at him, his heavy eyes landing on the gloves on his hands. The witcher resumes his search and in a couple of minutes spent in silence he hands Jaskier a vial full of white stuff.  

"Thank you" Jaskier smiles sincerely. 

"Put shoes on or you'll lose your feet too" 

He cries all the way back to his room. 

The salve helped a little, but he still couldn't sleep. He's so tired and he doesn't want to be here anymore. He wonders if the snow is thick enough to kill him if he leaves in the night. 

It's hard to peel potatoes and Eskel notices upon entering the kitchen. "Are you ok?" says signaling the odd way in which he's holding the knife. Jaskier smiles at Eskel with a nod, afraid that if he speaks he won't be able to stop. The witcher is handsome even with the scar that splits his face. He has a quiet air about him that makes the bard sure that if they had met in different situations they’d surely be good friends. 

"You should go to the springs, the one in the middle will help you heal. Just don't go to the one on the right or you'll be burned alive" Jaskier flinches "Thank you, Eskel. I'll be sure to save you an extra portion of broth." the witcher laughs and pats the bard's shoulder before leaving. Jaskier wants to ask about Ciri but knows he has no right. 

-

Geralt is watching over his cub when he hears a door opening outside followed by unsure steps. Jaskier. He still hasn't decided if having the bard here is a good idea, he doesn't trust him, not quite. Eskel says he is too hard on him, also says he's injured to some extent. Geralt makes sure that Ciri is completely asleep before he follows the bard. He's in the springs. It is too late at night for another witcher to be there too, so Geralt decides that this may be the perfect opportunity to finally talk to him. To question him about his betrayal, even if it pains Geralt to know the answer. But he stands frozen in the entrance, Jaskier's back is turned to him, naked.  Hand marks decorate the bard's back, ugly burns across his arms that have not fully healed. 

Something breaks in Geralt and he is overcome by an unbearable grief and anger towards himself, towards Rince. The witcher watches as Jaskier removes one of the gloves. How had he not noticed the gloves? To reveal a completely burned hand, missing pieces of flesh and blackened areas beyond repair. The bard is weeping quietly, even the touch of the air causes him immense pain. Geralt gulps, wishing he could rewind the time, lift Jaskier off the ground and ask him if he was all right. He wants to turn back time to never shout those cruel words at him on the mountain.  

[river--ghost]

work all night on a drink of rum

daylight come and me wan go home

stack banana til the morning come

daylight come and me wan go home

come mr tallyman tally me banana

daylight come and me wan go home

come mr tallyman tally me banana

daylight come and me wan go home

lift six foot seven foot eight foot bunch

daylight come and me wan go home

six foot seven foot eight foot bunch

daylight come and me wan go home

day

me say dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

day

me say day

me say day

me say dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

a beautiful bunch of ripe banana

daylight come and me wan go home

hide the deadly black tarantula

daylight come and me wan go home

lift six foot seven foot eight foot bunch

daylight come and me wan go home

six foot seven foot eight foot bunch

daylight come and me wan go home

day

me say dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

day

me say day

me say day

me say dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

come mr tallyman tally me banana

daylight come and me wan go home

come mr tallyman tally me banana

daylight come and me wan go home

dayo

dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

day

me say day

me say day

me say dayo

daylight come and me wan go home

[ered]

Here’s my take on the whole audio books vs. reading:

Oral tradition of storytelling predates written ones by millennias, and honestly, which one you like is just a personal preference.

The actual difference is

when listening, you have no idea how to write characters’ names

when reading, you have no idea how to pronounce characters’ names

hope this helps!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

License to Kitty.

[liquidstar]

If my mom sees a significant amount of blood she gets lightheaded, and has fainted on some occasions. Once it happened when we were kids, I wasn't there to witness it but I heard the story from my dad. Basically my brothers, around 7 or 8 at the time, were playing outside while my mom was making their lunch, and she accidentally cut her finger. It wasn't anything serious, but it drew a fair bit of blood and she passed out. My dad saw this and rushed over, but he didn't really know what to do so he just sort of started slapping her to wake her up (not recommended, but he had no idea and panicked)

At that exact moment my brothers both came in from playing, and all they saw was our mom unconscious on the floor and our dad slapping her. So, like, without even saying a word to each other they both just INSTANTLY start whaling on him, like, full blown attack mode to defend our mom. Which obviously didn't help the situation, but she did wake up and everything was fine.

Now our dad says that he's actually really glad they attacked him over what they thought was going on, because it means he raised good boys. And I still think that's true, they're very good boys.

[aesethewitch]

When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.

Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.

So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.

Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.

One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.

It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."

The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.

Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.

It missed my lilac by inches.

The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.

I think next year, I'll see flowers.

[crowkip]

yeehaw, baby!

[runawaymarbles]

Reading Mockingjay as an adult is extra devastating because. Of course the plucky teenager and her ragtag friends aren't going to sneak into a government building to kill the president with a bow and arrow. That's absolutely ridiculous. It's the kind of thing that's only possible in the kind of propaganda that Coin developed. But she's so good at it that in some ways she tricks the reader into thinking that's the kind of story this is, too--even after 3 books reminding us that pretty much everything that Katniss does the second she volunteers is manipulated by adults pulling strings to make propaganda in some form or another.

[stargirl230]

you’re my hero!

bnha doomed yuri was not on my 2024 bingo card

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[quibbs]

just had SO much fun with the fallout tv show... i love you missus okey dokey

[transassdemon]

[My art, don't steal, tag if reposting]

[iwasbored777]

We're not appreciating the Weird Barbie enough. It's said in the movie that she helps everyone who need help while they always see her as someone who's not as good as them. She was friends with all dismissed Barbies and Kens, was there to offer support and safe shelter for everyone who needed it in Kendom, without her nothing in the movie would've been alright. When Stereotypical Barbie calls her "ugly and unwanted" she still helps her.

She was representing a woman in women's world who was pushed aside by other women because she didn't fit in but still had more wisdom and kindness than everyone who thought they're better than her.

[morningsaidthemoon]

streamer au ??????? video game au ???

[chloesimaginationthings]

Purple Michael is the best FNAF Michael

[stars-obsession-pit]

“Mom, why do you think ghosts are intrinsically evil?”

“It’s what the science says, of course!”

“No, I mean like, what were the studies? What did they actually observe”

“Ohh, I get what you mean, Danny! Well across all reputable reports of encounters with the ghosts strong enough to matter, they’ve always attacked first and never responded to attempts at communication! There’s no reason for them to do that if they’re not evil!”

“Huh…”

…

Danny, learning about Ghost Speak and how humans can’t understand it: hmm.

Danny, learning that ghosts greet each other and bond by fighting: hmmm.