#der Sprung

[sadgurly99]

Jedes Mal, wenn du dich einer Angst stellst, wird sie kleiner und verschwindet schließlich komplett.

[smute]

ekelhaft wie der scheiß für den wahlkampf ausgeschlachtet wird. sogar die spd (schreibt er, als gäbe es noch irgendeinen grund höhere erwartungen in diese partei zu setzen) hat ganz schamlos auf den letzten drücker noch ein paar pathetische archivbildmontagen zum thema "sicheres zuhause in einer sicheren nachbarschaft" zusammengeflickt. es ist so fucking DREIST wie da an die niedersten emotionen appelliert wird: ahh ohh habt ihr auch so große angst in dieser fürchterlichen welt? heute schon brav einen polizisten fellationiert? denkt denn keiner an die lieben kinder? lasst uns eine mauer bauen! es ist zum KOTZEN. billigster opportunismus von einer fucking mitte-links-regierungspartei. soll das jetzt ein versuch sein sich beim rechten lager anzubiedern oder begnügt man sich einfach damit grundlos die letzten stöhnenden überreste der eigenen basis zu quälen? was raucht man so im willy-brandt-haus? einfach null inhalt, kein wort zum programm, nur reißerischer scheißdreck bei dem man erst einmal die luft anhalten und panisch nach einem parteilogo suchen muss, weil er vom schund von jenseits der brandmauer quasi nicht mehr zu unterscheiden ist.

[greenvertumna]

“John Marston has a son, how can he be trans?” Abigail is also trans but also mind ur business

[rhaill]

I got tagged by @stoertebeker! :) Here's my six favorite books (in no particular order)

1. Moby Dick by Herman Melville

2. Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

3. A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin

4. The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

5. Railsea by China Miéville

6. Der Geist der Mirabelle by Siegfried Lenz

I tag @weidli @sorrel-ly @nedwardlittle @macbethwitches and whoever else feels up for it! ♥

[forthesunshineandtherain]

Dass ich das aushalten kann, das tröstet mich. Dass ich stark genug bin, um das alles hier auszuhalten.

[sigalrm]

Mr. J on the deck by Pascal Volk

[machtfertig]

Deine Bedenkzeit ist vorbei. Wer über sein Schicksal grübeln muss, der will gar nicht erst fallen und wird sich nie auf ein neues Leben unter Herrschaft einlassen. Man steht an einer Weggabelung und entscheidet sich. Niemand bleibt stehen und wartet bis in die Nacht. Niemand kommt zurück und entscheidet sich neu. Es ist der Sprung ins Wasser. Dies allein ist schon Deine erste Aufgabe. Verschwende nicht meine Zeit. 

by machtfertig

[schreibenwelt]

Von 2016. Ich frage mich, welches Exposé das wohl war. Sollte mir angewöhnen, die Titel mit aufzuschreiben. So oder so war es nichts, das einen Vertrag bekommen hat. Den Weg hat bisher nur Gentlemen's Game geschafft.

Exposé an Verlag geschickt. Jetzt bin ich hibbelig. Daumen drücken!

[aliyahqtrn]

Unter ihren nackten, sich flüssig bewegenden Füßen, ächzten die vom Nebel durchweichten Planken des Stegs. Der See lag da, bleiern, undurchsichtig, eine Oberfläche aus flüssiger Schwärze und über ihm der mondverhangene, konturloser Himmel, ein Tuch aus samtenem Nichts. Sie hob die Arme langsam, der Blick nicht auf einen Punkt gerichtet, sondern durchdrungen. Ihre von innerer Spannung durchzogenen Glieder bewegten sich nicht wie die eines Menschen, der tanzt, sondern wie eines Wesens, das sich an alles erinnert.

Jeder Sprung war ein Riss im Gewebe des Moments, jede Drehung eine Öffnung, durch die etwas Dunkles, Zartes, Gefährliches drang. Der Saum ihres Kleides, durchweht von einer Brise, umspielte ihre Beine wie ein lebendiger Schatten, und das Mondlicht schien nicht auf sie zu fallen, sondern in sie hineinzugleiten. Die Bewegung wurde schneller, getriebener, nicht in Hast, sondern in Dringlichkeit. Und als sie sich drehte, immer wieder, den Kopf zurückgeworfen, die Arme in einem Bogen geöffnet wie Flügel, die vergessen hatten, wie man fliegt, schien alles, was sie war, was sie gewesen war, was sie nie hatte sein dürfen, in dieser einen Geste zu vergehen. Dann, plötzlich, ohne ein Zucken des Zweifels, verharrte sie. Schwer atmend, die Brust gehoben, die Lippen leicht geöffnet, die Augen nicht sehnsüchtig, sondern klar. Und in dieser Wahrheit … sprang sie hinein.

|| Ob Smalltalk oder Play – ich bin für beides offen und schreibe gern los, wenn dir die Worte fehlen.

[rbchild]

Der Wandel-Sträßer mal wieder

Hab grad zum ersten Mal den Trailer zu Daniel Sträßers neuem Film "Die Nichte des Polizisten" gesehen und bin mal wieder von der sträßer'schen optischen Wandelbarkeit überrascht.

Ich bin ja immer noch der festen Meinung, dass er schon in (fast) jedem Tatort komplett anders aussieht. In HdW hab ich ihn beim ersten Mal schauen erst mal gar nicht wiedererkannt. Die Tendenz scheint sich weiter durchzuziehen.

Schnelles Googeln hat ergeben, dass die Dreharbeiten zu "Die Nichte des Polizisten" Ende 2024 zu Ende gegangen sind, also lag das ja doch recht nah an den Dreharbeiten zu EdN.

Ich mach mal 'nen Cut zur Sicherheit, weil ein Screenshot aus dem Trailer kommt:

Aber der Sprung von "verschlafener KHK zum Kuscheln" in EdN hier:

zu "Schmierlappen mittleren Alters, dem ich nicht über den Weg traue" hier:

ist schon eine Hausnummer. 🤣

Ich hab keine Ahnung, ob er in dem Film wirklich einen nicht vertrauenswürdigen Schmierlappen spielt, und der Winkel und die Beleuchtung wären für absolut niemanden vorteilhaft. Aber ich musste doch mal in mich reinlachen, als ich eben den Trailer gesehen habe und wollte das teilen.

Außerdem nehme ich jeden Anlass, doch noch mal Screenshots vom verschlafenen Adam mit Hundeblick zu machen.

That's it. That's the post. Ich hab hier keine große Analyse versprochen. 😄

[blackteastorm]

Der Sprung vom Sofa

Wie eine Schmeissfliege, die sich von Kuhfladen zu Kuhfladen wirft, wechsle ich von Sofa zu Sofa. In meiner Dachwohnung sind es bestimmt so 30 Grad, doch wenigstens knallt mir hier nicht die volle Sonne ins Gesicht.

Um rauszugehen oder sonst etwas Vernünftiges zu machen, fehlt mir sowieso noch die Energie. Ich sage "noch", da ich doch schon stark hoffen will, dass sich das wieder besser wird. Lässt sich nur schwer vorstellen, da das letzte Mal schon so lange her ist.

In den vergangenen Jahren habe ich es mir viel zu leicht gemacht und jetzt zahle ich den Preis dafür. Es ist schon anstrengend wieder etwas für sein Glück tun zu müssen, doch eigentlich gibt es auch nichts Erfüllenderes.

Schön, sein Leben wieder in den eigenen Händen zu halten.

[naturalswimmingspirit]

pennyfox.me

ETAPPE 1 / Am Kuhpool / Wer nicht springen kann muss plumpsen / Was ich beim wandern besonders gut kann ist trödeln und verweilen. Bestimmte Plätze (und Kühe) ziehen mich magisch an und ich verspüre den Drang mich darin aufzulösen. Und da es sich in Wasser besonders gut auflöst, gehört der Sprung in eiskalte Bergseen mittlerweile fix dazu. In Ermangelung einer passenden Sprungstelle, musste ich mich diesmal mit einem Plumps zufrieden geben. Was ich auch noch gut kann sind #schönefüße Hab ich von Heidi gelernt😁@heidiklum

[the-northeast-wind]

Hi, everybody! Hiii!!! Oh my gosh, this place has so many people... give me a bit to adjust, hehe.

My name is Harvey! I've just recently scraped myself back up, as a now jobless- well, I have a job now- as a- wait.

As a former worker of the deceased Lobotomy Corporation, I have once again sprung up with my full dignity to bring wonderful protective fixer services to you all! I specialize in protecting people, like the Zwei association, but I also aid in removing nonhuman threats as well! I've seen enough of those around to know what's up, hehe.

Perhaps I should list my information as well? Just so you know to trust me!

More under the cut.

Name: Harvey Ae (...don't ask about my last name, please! I only remember these two letters.) Grade: 2 (Hehehe! Truly the "mary sue" of all time, aren't I?) Gender/Pronouns: Genderfaun! I use it/he/fi, mostly it/its. (I'm fine with anything, though~) Age: 24 (I don't have a silly comment for this one, sorryyy.)

I hope to be able to get to know everybody~! Glad to know there's a lot of other fixers here, too! Hehe. I think I'll list everybody I know here, just so I can remember all my friends...

People! Yes, people! Truly the wonder ever: - @/camellia-office - @/liu-after-hours-ss2 - @/reflections-cinq - @/hermits-greenery - @/jianfeng-liu-ss3-director

// ooc:

yo what is good!!!! this is my. third rp account actually lmao. i just wanted to hop on the fixer train /silly

i'll have a better pfp that i've actually drawn soon. this one's just picrew, though, here's the link:

just please don't be excessively rude! anything and everything else unhinged is more than welcome i'd be glad to hear some of your thoughts that usually wouldn't leave your head

i also run @der-musketmainn and @caffeine-creature-chesed though those are a little bit of a thing for my newfound plurality lmaoooo

thanks to @cafekitsune for the separator things

k i think thats all hope i get asks

[edutainer2022]

A little thing riffing off the concept of Scott, probably, getting mistaken for Alan’s father quite often. It turned out sadder than I hoped.

DAD

The loose end of his scarf got tugged lightly and he swiped his hand low to catch baby brother's palm, without shifting attention from the rows of pasta on a stall. Allie had hop-skipped away to the end of the aisle, mumbling something about waffles for dinner, and now probably demanded his immediate input. His hand grasped nothing but thin air. A scarf, however, got another insistent tug.

The scarf was not an eye-wateringly expensive brand-name cashmere that would usually go with his coat and the "Tracy Industries appropriate" look, but was infinitely more precious. Long, blue, hand-knitted and a bit loopholed, it was a gift from Virgil his last Christmas on leave from WAF. It was rediscovered in one of Dad's drawers on the island, apparently a keepsake of the things the GDF returned to the family after Scott himself was lost in That Place. Now it was Scott's keepsake after Dad... A full circle.

Scott peripheral vision detected a movement of blond and skinny far down the aisle, as Allie was, it appeared, reaching up for his waffles. They were in NYC together. Not only the Tracy Industries Board demanded a piece of him for one reason or other, but Tracy Legal and the family private solicitor required tweaks in the custody documentation. Scott took the opportunity to show pre-Christmas NYC to Alan. The boy was only seven when they visited the last time, bar Dad's massive public memorial service Allie barely remembered, wrought with grief. Scott hardly remembered much of it himself through the blur of shock, pain, doubt, and a kind of fatalistic determination. Anyhow, it wasn't a ten years old Alan demanding his attention now. Scott looked down.

A pair of huge grey eyes regarded him from under a gigantic pink bow. A small hand was tugging his scarf again, like a doorbell string. Up from Scott's height the little girl seemed positively tiny. He folded himself down, not to intimidate the child. Even crouching, Scott was still towering over her.

"Hey, sweetheart! Are you lost?"

Attentive eyes regarded him, then a pink clad arm shot out to point at the general expance of the rest of the supermarket.

"Mommy 'der!"

In between Gordy and Allie, Scott was proficient enough in three year old speak. Johnny, it seemed, was communicating at AP English level all the way back at two, or not at all.

The little girl's mom was, obviously, "there" - but nowhere to be seen down the aisle and behind the shelves. Out of a years ingrained habit Scott kept half and eye on Alan, engrossed in comparative analysis of the various boxes of waffle mix. The prudent thing to do wound be to call a store employee - Scott was aware it would send an alarm if he, all of the imposing 6'4, Armani coat and a Young Jeff Tracy face of him, walked away with a little girl. But the nook of the store was empty of anyone in telltale uniform. Huge grey eyes kept regarding him in expectation of some effective Mom-finding action. An idea occurred. Scott bent down some more and made sure to smile.

"Is it okay if I pick you up, sweetie?"

The child gave it a moment's thought and nodded. Scott sprung up easily, the girl securely in his hold, and propped her up on his shoulder. Tiny pink shoes kicked the air (and his ribs a bit) excitedly. There was some enthusiastic waving going on above Scott's head, well above the shelves, and even more delighted squeeing:

"Mommy! Mommy! Look'er! Mommy!"

That produced a young woman with a shopping basket AND Alan, running to him from the opposite side of the isle. He transferred the eager girl into her mother's arms in a fluid motion and reached out without looking again, to stop Allie from colliding with him full force. Alan bounced in place and looked up at him quizzically. Scott put an arm around the boy's shoulders. He saw the mother's eyes widen in surprise, once she was done thanking him for helping out a lost Polly.

"Oh, is he yours? So big already!"

Scott's hand tightened on Alan’s skinny shoulder on instinct. He could see the boy's face shift from curiosity to confusion. And it could be a matter of seconds before confusion gave way to anger or worse - tears.

Scott himself was used to that. He was getting those questions ever since Mom was gone and he had to pick Allie up from nursery after his own classes. Tall for his age, athletic and marred by grief and way too many worries - he was definitely spawning a "teen Dad" rumor among the pick up line Moms and babysitters more than once. He didn't have the energy to explain to anyone not in the know back then, no more than he had the energy to explain their whole situation now.

"Um... Alan is ten. You have a Merry Christmas, Polly! Don't get lost again!"

He could see the math recalculated in an instant behind the young woman's eyes, as she counted silver threads at his temples, stark in supermarket lights, and dark circles under his eyes towards a higher age bracket she thought he was. He wasn't. Dad's explosion in Zero-X and everything that followed added to the silver That Place wove into his hair. And he hadn't been doing much sleeping anymore. He didn't think he ever would again. Before the conversation could lead any further down those lines, he offered another polite smile and steered Alan away toward the exit.

Scott managed to order a hovercab without breaking a stride. The original plan was to walk back to Tracy Tower, maybe look at some Christmas window exhibits. They spent the afternoon gift shopping for everyone back at home and Scott could tell Alan was getting tired. But the boy seemed exited for their special time together, even if part of it was spent in the boring opulence of the family law-firm. Scott promised to cook dinner, not wanting to foster with baby brother his own habit of take-away Tai and more work crunched through the night.

Now, pressed to the window of the cab, small frame leaning away from Scott (a fact that was sending sharp pangs through his chest), Allie was quiet and listless.

"Are you my Dad now?"

Alan was still looking outside the window.

Scott was seriously dreading that conversation, but the incident at the store, apparently, accelerated the inevitable.

He reached a hand to ruffle soft blond hair. Then landed his palm between hunched little shoulderblades. Alan didn't flinch, which was maybe a good sign.

"Allie! Dad is always Dad. But I am your guardian now, and I will do EVERYTHING to protect you! Just as always!"

Small bony shoulders shifted in a sigh. Alan was puffing fog on the glass and drawing shapes with his finger. The hovercab stopped by the entrance to Tracy Tower, but Scott made no move to break the moment and leave just yet.

"Can I call you Dad sometimes? I told Nikky you were my Dad, back in Kansas. Mom didn't come to pick me up, so I didn't want to not have Dad pick me up too, so I told him you were Dad. Is it okay?"

The words came out a bit jumbled and interlaced with pending tears. Huge blue eyes turned to look at Scott finally, anxious and glistening. His own eyes were burning. So was his heart. His very soul.

"Oh, Allie... Of course it's okay! Always!"

His arms opened invitingly and were instantly filled with a crying child. He leaned down to press a kiss on the top of blond head and hug the boy closer, wrapping his coat around a little trembling body. It took a moment to conquer his own heaving sobs, but he still didn't trust his voice at full volume.

"I love you so much, kiddo! I've got you!"

Scott ended up just carrying Alan, quiet by then, but firmly clinging to him, to the penthouse, while a concerned head of security shift helped out with the shopping bags. Allie was probably feigning sleep - Scott didn't care. He toed off his own shoes, shrugged off the coat, settled against his headrest, the child still in his arms, and shifted to tighten his hold. There would be no sleep for him that night either, but that was just as well. He had been watching over little Allie (and little Gordy) since he was born and a tenfold that after they lost Mom. No name or legal capacity could change much about that, till Scott was breathing.

He wasn't anyone's son, though. Not anymore. Not ever. And that made breathing so much harder.

[inhvshedwhispers]

yk smth i just realized?? during the "blessed are the peacemakers" mission, arthur had told micah & dutch where to meet up if things went south w the deal w colm odriscoll. he told them & things did go south as hosea thought it would... but neither micah nor dutch nor anyone in that camp had ever thought to search for arthur after a dangerous plan that went wrong—

he was gone from the camp for three (3) days... & no one looked for him after such a bad mission but when trelawney told dutch that he thought sean was captured by bounty hunters dutch immediately sprung into action—he left his son to potentially die for three fucking days at the hands of his sworn enemy when he could have done something...

arthur's last words to him were quite literally a fucking warning—"let us meet up at this exact place at the exact time after throwing the o'driscolls off of our trails" more or less—and yet... dutch did nothing. didnt even search for him. while yeah arthur is a wanderer who loves to stay out of the camp for long periods of time... he doesnt do that after bad plans (or at least i dont think so—my memory is shitty so correct me on this). he doesnt do that after missions go south fast.

and he certainly doesnt do it after a bad plan involving a notoriously vicious gang.

AND THIS IS ALL HAPPENED IN FUCKING. CHAPTER TWO. THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME... dutch had stopped caring abt arthur as a person (not as a weapon tho, theres a distinction between those two—he wants arthur as a gun, as an enforcer, not as a person w his own thoughts) since the beginning of the fucking game or else he would have sent ppl or even just trelawney to search for him the same way he did with sean.

but no. he just left him to the o'driscolls to torture... for three fucking days—(head in hands) (deep breaths) he never even thought about arthur... meanwhile arthur dragged his dehydrated, starved, broken, bruised, beaten body across miles on bare horseback just to warn dutch... & he never cared to search for the man he raised since he took him in at 14yo. he never tried to.

hell i'll even say that dutch van der linde stopped caring abt the gang since blackwater. since micah joined.