#this was not supposed to become a ditty and it did

[wu-kongs]

This has to be giving macaque an identity crisis. Macaque knew that making wukong suffer would heal his broken pieces. But it just makes everything worse. He has always defined himself through wukong, but making wukong lose everything, getting his revenge, isn't satisfying; and the times of being wukong's faithful warrior, his beloved moon are long gone and impossible to get back. But if he can't be wukong's partner or his doom, then who is he? what purpose does he even have now?

when the codependency goes too far...

this just makes me think he needs Time to himself. in that case, fuck the eye. he can come back for it later when he's in a better place. he needs to figure out who he is without wukong instead of defining himself as some kinda fucked up extension of wukong. maybe then seeing wukong hurt wouldn't hurt him so much.

he considers disappearing without a trace but the smallest voice urges him to leave a note or something. he doesn't want to leave it for wukong because then wukong will think he cares. maybe he does. maybe he doesn't. he does. so he leaves it for bai he instead. she's not nosy like MK but she's bound to find it if he leaves in a place they meet in enough. she'll tell MK, and it'll get to wukong somehow.

not that wukong cares, he's sure. if anything, that ass will probably be glad to rid of him. he can think macaque's eyball is his for now, but rest assured than when he comes back...

wukong is careful not to mention his... feud... with macaque around bai he, but she ends up bringing it up herself. wukong sheepishly plays it off like it's just a silly game between them when it is in fact based on one of the most traumatic events of wukong's life. he off-handedly mentions that he hasn't seen macaque for a while and knows that bastard is somewhere schemin', but then bai he gets quiet.

she doesn't know if she should tell wukong that macaque won't be back for a while, but she does anyway. wukong laughs at first, "yeah right." and then bai he shows him the note.

be back. i need some time.

some time for what? plotting a more successful way to steal the eye? maybe a method that will get rid of wukong for good?

"he's been acting weird ever since he said MK-gege interfered too much..."

wukong repeats that to himself, and then immediately thinks of MK hiding the pendant—he automatically feels for it under his robes. the very minor bump of it soothes him just a little. he inhales a shaky little breath.

so macaque is gone... again. not... gone-gone, but gone. theoretically, wukong knows he could find him in a heartbeat if he needed, but he shouldn't. if macaque is gone, then... good. good. wukong doesn't need to worry about him making a play for the eye. at least for now.

good.

good.

"wukong-shushu, are you okay?"

creaky, quivery laugh. "yeah! yeah, i'm good, little one."

her next question is quiet, but it punches him in the gut. "...are you glad he's gone?"

he looks at her looking back at him, her gaze soft but her eyes hard with determination. heat floods his cheeks because he can't lie to her.

which is why he doesn't answer. which is as good an answer anyway because then she says, "he'll be back. maybe this is okay?"

wukong tries not to mention his feud with macaque about the eye around bai he. she knows about it anyway.

she says he'll be back. he presses his paw against the bump of the pendant again, feeling even slightly more steady.

maybe he just has to believe that.

#ask #anonymous #shadowpeach #bai he #lmk sun wukong #emotional support eye saga #this was not supposed to become a ditty and it did #this may throw a wrench in canon? who knows. they can still swap eyeballs at the wedding ceremony! promise! i'd prefer it! #maq comes back with clarity of mind and still wants to. or maybe he DISCOVERS that he wants to #sun did offer after all. who is he to say no? #mickey writes #i should relabel my writer's tag #mickey's ditties #that sounds close to... another word. maybe not

[scotianostra]

The Pirate station, Radio Scotland began broadcasting in the dying embers of Hogmanay, 1965.

Radio Scotland was a Scottish pirate radio station which broadcast at various points off the Scottish coast between 1965 and 1967, with a mix of pop music and programmes of Scottish interest. It was conceived of and run by publicity and advertising executive Tommy Shields onboard a former Irish lightship, built on the Clyde, named The Comet. Radio Scotland's first broadcast was at 11:50pm on Hogmanay, 31st December 1965, on 1241 kilohertz, 242 metres.

After refitting for her new role in the Channel Islands she had been towed to a position four miles off Dunbar, in the Firth of Forth. Because of delays during the journey north, the ship didn't arrive at the anchorage until early on 30th December, giving the engineers only a few hours to set up the equipment. It was a frantic race against time but the station just made it on air before midnight, albeit at reduced power and with no opportunity to run tests. The first voice on the new station belonged to DJ Paul Young a former presenter of Scottish Television's Roundup programme who welcomed the listeners. He introduced the managing director Tommy Shields, who went on to detail their plans. Radio Scotland was on the air and open for business. The station also broadcast from water near Troon and Northern Ireland over its one-and-a-half years.

While navigating and planting the boat, crew had to be careful to avoid territorial waters, primarily due to the strict laws imposed on the pirate stations by the government of the day. Featuring everything from “modern” rock’n’roll to ceilidh favourites, the station soon became a sensation across Scotland as well as Ireland and northern England, where the signal was also picked up.

With its audience of one million listeners a week in its prime, Radio Scotland was very close to realising Shield’s dream of becoming a successful independent Scottish station.

Joining English stations such as Radio Caroline, Radio Scotland was the only pirate radio station to be formed north of the Border, and soon took its place amongst the big six pirate stations.

People could join the membership of the station and become Radio Scotland “Clan Members”. As a reward, the Clan had their own show every Saturday where they could send in requests, which, alongside Jack McLaughlin’s ceilidh slot, was one of the most popular programmes broadcast.

The station even had its own fanzine called “242” – named after its frequency. The 242 magazine featured interviews with the biggest stars of the day, including The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Tina Turner, but station managers never quite tempted any of the stars on board the infamous boat.

The pirate station’s theme song was a jaunty wee number sung by folk band The Carrick Folk Four. Finishing off the upbeat ditty were the lines: “Oh Radio Scotland’s playing just for you/So beat the ban, and join the Clan, on station 242.”

Although they received many a plaudit, Radio Scotland was plagued with troubles from the very beginning. A poor signal and periods off-air led to a steep decline in advertising revenue and a frustrated fanbase, while fires on board the vessel and the hazardous North Sea conditions did little to help ease its problems.

In a piece in the Edinburgh Weekly just days after the station was laid to rest, Tony Mark wrote: “The death penalty in this country is supposed to have been abolished, yet here we are mourning the execution of what was surely the sound sensation of both 66’ and 67’ as far as Scotland is concerned.”

Although the station had a short life, as is often the case with such ventures, and was taken off the air in the 60s, Radio Scotland inspired a tribute station, which began broadcasting in the mid 70s.

Radio Scotland International, an independently run pirate station broadcasting to Europe from its base in Holland, started in 1975 and has been going ever since.

http://www.radioscotland.nl/

For around 20 months his modest little boat made huge waves and pulled Scotland into the "swinging sixties".

The first pic is Tommy Shields unveiling his pirate ship , the last is the stations first DJ Paul Young then, and as "Shug" in the BBC's Still Game

#scotland #scottish #history #pirate radio #radio

[tabacat]

Welcome Home (Dib x Zim) (Smut)

Ten years after Enter the Florpus, Zim has grown as an invader on planet irk, somehow becoming the tallest due to his growth rate from eating human foods. He could not shake the thought of one human. Dib Membrane. Zim pulled on a new invader outfit, tailored to his new height and slim build. He smoothed down his antennae and stepped to face the irkens which escorted him. 

"You are not to bother me. The home ship will remain in the atmosphere, not to land. Does Zim make himself clear?"

 The lot of them nodded and muttered, worried for his great tallest's safety. Zim smirked and tapped a microphone.

 "You knew I was coming last time somehow, so maybe you can pick up this frequency. Did you miss me, Membrane?" 

He set off into his voot pod and charted his course down to where he once lived with Gir, who he still, surprisingly, kept by his side. Dib froze hearing the audio coming from his laptop. no way. Despite the preparation, he had taken since the disappearance of the mangy alien he couldn't believe that his voice still gave a chill down the spine of his now plush back 

"Holy shit..... Holy crap. What do I do???"

The message passed as soon as it started, and Dib forgot to try and respond. He sat there dumbfounded atop his roof. Jumping down into his window, he rushes to his front door, hoping with all of his beings that he'll see Zim there just like all those years ago. The voot blasted through the atmosphere, it sent a meteor-type flash through the night sky as it plummeted to where it had once been. Gir sang a little ditty and Zim stroked his head with his now two claws, grinning at the voot slammed into the house that had once been his. He stepped out in one piece, strutting out to the street, rubbing his claws where he had felt once before. He didn't bother to disguise himself, bending over slightly to exit the home, and walking on his overgrown lawn. 

"Oh dear, we've grown quite messy down here, yes Gir?" he cackled "What will the neighbors think of the mighty Zim!?" 

Ignoring the destruction of the perusing crash, Dib takes in the new structured form of Zim. Analyzing the alien up and down, he can't help but feel warmth start to creep through his body. From the round of his cheeks to the growing "member" below the belt.

"Zim." he reaches out to him, taking small steps. "Where--when--Why did you leave?" 

He raised a brow "Excuse me? How do you know the great Zim's name?" he seemed taken aback, moving a nervous foot backward to step away. He didn't seem to notice dib, but he moved gracefully as a leader would. Then something flickered across his pale green face, met with a blush to the sides of it, his left antenna giving a twitch. 

"This may sound funny, but are you Dib Membrane?" He sized him up and down, locking to his.. member.. for a moment, before flicking away. 

“You know that, have I really gained that much weight?” 

he tries to lighten the mood, scratching the back of his head. He took the small detail of Zim looking down. Realizing what he saw he heated up even more. Even to the point it started to twitch in his boxers. 

“ANYWAY— you’re definitely, uh, taller?” god his social skills hadn’t changed. He was as awkward as ever

 ��I missed you”. 

Zim smirked "It is.. not the weight. You've grown taller. It's a sign of power, good lucks, and hard work in irken culture."

 He cupped Dib's face with his two claws, moving them up and down and side to side to study his face 

"You have hair on your chin now. I didn't think the Dib stink was capable of such things. What a surprise. Have you become the leader of this FILTHY planet yet or are you still... well. A loser?~ Dib stink is too smart to just be a loser. You're powerful such as I! The mighty Zim!" he cocked his hip to the side 

"I'll suppose you're excited to see my excellence back in your presence?~"

 he set Gir down, playing with Dib's long ahoge in a sensual manner. He rests one hand on the claws cupping his face, the other on the thin hip of his lover 

"God you had no idea how much I needed you" 

He pulls on the small of Zim's back, bringing him closer. Resting his mouth on Zim's skinny neck, breathing lowly, he licks up to the alien's collarbone.

 "Tell me oh mighty Zim."

 Dib kisses where a human ear should be, then continues to press his hips closer to Zim's 

"Did you miss me too?".

Zim shuddered "Is this one of your gross dirty human tricks Dib thing? I don't remember you having such an interest in me like this!"

 he blushed an intense amount, tilting his head to the side

 "I suppose I missed you... stinky.. dirty.. human.. thingy. Despite your grossness, I shall reward you with affection back." 

He licked Dib's face, saliva rolling down the side of his face 

"It's an irken g-greeting. Yes. Greeting." he'd stutter briefly 'UUUUHM NOOOO! YOU JUST KISSED HIMMM! THAT'S AN IRKEN KISSSSSY KISS! MWAAAH!' "QUIET GIR!" he kicked Gir across the lawn. 

"Yes. I missed you Dibby.. my missions are oh-so-boring without a genius like you! Zim is so borrrreddd.."

Dib shakes off the fact that a 6"6 alien just drop-kicked a small robot across his lawn

 "Oh I bet they were, I like that shade of purple on you." 

The hand on Zim's hip lowers slightly, going in the direction of the inner thigh "If you're that bored doing nothing out here. I can invite you inside. We can catch up on each other." 

Dib rests his forehead on Zim's, moaning lightly as he feels the man in Infront of him accidentally brush up against his crotch 

"W-was that also an irken greeting?"

 Zim waved his hands around frantically 

"A-ah! No! I didn't- well- I didn't mean to- you- aah!" 

he blushed deeper, his whole face turning purplish. 

"Y-yes. I'd be interested in.. erm. Seeing your home base! Take Zim to your base NOWWWW! Do not.. do not play with Zim's feelings." 

he haughtily danced over to Gir, excited to.. converse... with dib. Closing the door behind the pair, both steadily make their way up the stairs. Once in a mildly clean room, Dib's breathing began to get heavier. Slowly, but surely he moved behind the green creature. Hands exploring the body of the man in front of him.

 "Tell me you want me to. Tell me you waited for me just as I waited for you" 

Dib's glasses are fogged from the proximity of the two. 

"You became my everything when you left...I missed the way we used to banter..." embarrassed dib averts his eyes "God I can't believe I'm saying this...but I don't want to stop...I can't stop." he moves in closer. 

"Oh, I want you, Dib. I want you so much. I rule everything, but what is the point of I don't rule your stinky.. stink head."

 He hiked up his dress, revealing his thighs to Dib, where the fabric bit into the fat of his long legs making for a pretty great 'absolute territory'. He smirked at him as he went to remove his arm cuffs, tossing them aside 

"I was your first alien, I'm pretty important... aren't I?~" Zim nervously stepped back, falling onto the bed with a strangled cry "A-a-ah!" He wrapped his arms around Dib as he fell, bringing him on top of himself

 Without a second thought, Dib pins the alien's claws above his head. Watching him slightly wriggle in his grasp, he kisses down the body of the green boy. He can feel the breathing pattern, his chest expanding and compressing. Feeling his struggle to cope with the pleasure just riles him up even more

 "You'll be my first and only" continue kissing the lower torso, dangerously close to the 'special' part of the groin. "Those red eyes better not look anywhere but here got that?" Dib takes his shirt off, revealing his stocky build. Zim panted, not fully understanding the situation. Zim was not accustomed to human mating practices, but he certainly could tell it was the human's version of a heat. He removed his dress, the shoulder pads coming off with it.

 "O-Only? Is that so? Well, Dib thing… you shall be my only humans."

 he removed a shoe, rubbing a knee-high socked foot on Dib's bulging pants. He bit his lip lightly "You are so wonderful-looking... so so wonderful looking." Dib hung his head low, the shock of pleasure shooting through his spine 

"A-ah... Fuck Zim do you know what you're doing to me"

 he grabs the alien's chin, tilting his head up towards him. With no time for Zim to react, he kisses him. His tongue explored the inside of his mouth. Zim's moans vibrate through their connected jaws. Dib can't stop, the unknown territory and mysterious texture of the interior of Zim's mouth makes him want to ravish him. 

"I waited" he continued to pull away briefly to speak "I waited years for you." It's getting hotter by the second "Sitting on my roof, on that stupid computer." "Did you think of me too? Did you play with yourself thinking of all the ways I could fuck you?" 

"F-fuck..? I am not so familiar with th-the term. I s-suppose I did miss you... I felt my body grow hotter during my heats with the thought of you. We.. use pods on planet irk in order to not trans..transm..m-mit disease... I... I wanted you so much. I missed your smelliness. You're... so interesting to me~" 

he panted at Dib, not understanding what this feeling was "What... what is this.. what are you doing to me..? Did you poison me..?" 

He locked eyes nervously with dib, shifting to remove his other shoe. He felt his crotch grow wet and begin to slither, his knees closed together with a jolt. A low chuckle emitted from Dib's chest, it came out crackly and with a rasp.

"You're aDORable." oh fuck. Seriously? Did he seriously just voice crack at a time like this? He blushes with embarrassment and coughs to try and cover up what little dignity he had left. Zim starts to giggle, which turns into a laugh. "Y-You-hehe-You--ah!" 

Dib puts one of his thick fingers dangerously close to this entrance. The tip is so tantalizingly close, he can feel the wetness and heat radiating off him.  

"H-hagh.. d-don't touch that..~ Zim isn't so sure it's safe for you to do this." He throbbed inside, his clawed toes digging into the bed.

 "That i-is besides the point! You feeble, dirty, thingy! HUUUUMAAANNN!! Your voice crackling was rather... I will say, attractive." He grinned "My tallest before me voice cracked quite a bit, it's charming. You are charming, dib-stink."

 he began to play with dib's crotch with his foot once more 

"What have you got hidden in those pants Dib thing? Show me now human scum~". Dib grabs his ankle as well as the other, pushing his legs upward towards his head Dib exposes Zim's holes.

 "Oh baby, all this for me?" He brings his face closer to the irken's ass, feeling his legs twitching in anticipation. 

"I want you to beg for me" 

"U-Unff~" dib's breath on his body made him moan in anticipation 

"Th-The mighty Zim d-does not beg!" Zim grunted and bit his lip "Please mate with me dib thing..~ put your smelly body into mine.. gross thing. You stink and it's so hot~"

 Something snapped in Dib's mind, he pulls down his boxers. His 7-inch member slapped his stomach then laying on Zim's hot body. It's red at the tip, cut with a long vein running on the left of his shaft. He takes note of the small whimper that emits from Zim. They've gone this far, no point in stopping now. With a deep breath, he pushes himself into him. Zim went to protest and gasped loudly

 "A-AaUngH!~" Zim moaned aloud, pressing his body against Dib "D-Dib! D-DIB THING! S-STOP~ OH IT'S TOO MUCH DIB!"

 he crumpled, whimpering and whining. It gripped onto dib, attempting to pull him deeper, it was tighter than anything Dib could possibly imagine. The fluids it secreted coated Dib's member and made the pleasure even more desirable 

"W-Whaahuh.. w-why is I so.. SO BIG! A-Are all humans built with a large one like th-this!?"

 he grunted, grinding up against Dib and stuttering out a few more incomprehensible syllables.

 "f-fuCK Zim... You're s-so fucki-ing tight"

 His hips didn't seem to falter, it was as if they had a mind of their own. 

"look at you... fuck..A-Auuhh...it's pulling me in~ " 

Dib's hands went to Zim's antenna, slightly pulling on them enough to make the irken's back curl. At the angle they were doing, a bulge would be seen occasionally popping in and out of Zim's stomach. His hands needed more to grab onto, they moved on from the antenna to the neck. Grabbing him by the chin and pulling him close, this breath hot on Zim's back. 

"a-auughh...Zim~ ". Zim grappled the bed, clawing at the mattress to hold steady "H-Haaa~! W-Why are- why is it so big- why.. aah.. you stink.. s-so bad. H-Human.. d-destroy me pleassse!!~"

 he slammed his hips backward into Dib with his motions, his antennae straightening out

 "Oh, my tallest.. ohhh~ goodness. Y-You're so powerful.. how could a disgusting human be s0-sssoOOO GOOD!?!?!~" 

his moans trailed off into grunts and panting like an animal, uttering in irken tongue "I love you Dib thing!! ohhhh I love youuu...~" Gir is still at the window. 

Hearing Zim moaning only made his dick throb harder. He can feel him get tighter with each thrust, his body bounces in sync with each sweet noise that comes from his vocal cords. The more force he put into it the needier he felt as if there was no limit to how much ecstasy he could feel in a moment. Then, an idea popped into Dib's head. He halted his movements.

 "h-haH!? DIB THING!? W-WHY DO YOU STOP!?" 

he looked over his shoulder, tears in his eyes from the aggressive pounding "W-what is the meaning of this!?" 

he grinded on dib, squirming needily as if he were back ten years ago under Dib's grasp, he growled at him under his breath. Without a word, Dib flipped Zim onto his back. His stomach now exposed to him. 

"I want you to spread your legs for me." 

"W-WHAT--You dISRESPECT the TALLEST IRKEN????"

 Despite his protest, Zim opened his legs, oh how vulnerable he felt, but oh how hot was it to see the Dib's towering figure pinning him down. Zim's upper hole was now replaced with a prolapsed tentacle. Confused, but not deterred. Dib continues by slamming himself back inside Zim 

"a-AUUNNNGGG~ "

 God, every sound he makes just feeds more into Dib's desires. As he thrusts one hand follows the edges of Zim's body and reaches the appendage (tentacle) sliding his hand up and down the shaft. Zim gasped loudly, feeling his tentacle push back against his body

 "G-GHuah?! D-DIB THING~ R-RELEASE IT THIS INSTANT! Ooh~!" he whined and thrust into the hands of Dib, sweating against the touch of his loving enemy. 

"oh... D-DIB THING PLEASE DESTROY ME! PUT THE GREAT ZIM IN HIS PLACE~" he noticed Gir at the window, covering his face with one hand and looking aside from the window 

"S-Stupid faulty Sir unit.. not now.."Dib's gaze softens, and his hips slow but do not stop. Which catches the attention of Zim 

"Why-hu?" Zim's sentence was cut short with a gentle but passionate kiss from Dib. His surprised eyes slowly blink closed. Falling deep into the warmth of the two, together.

 "I love you Zim" Zim put his arms around Dib, whining

 "I... I love you as well Dib." he smiled, the first time saying dib's name softly. he kissed Dib again, his tongue sliding into the back of Dib's throat, enough to make him gag

 "mwah!~" he'd pull back, a large strand of saliva connecting them. The line of saliva reminded Dib of the position they were currently in. Looking back into one another's eyes Dib thrusts, and hard. This time, a tight coil kept growing inside of Dib's abdomen, he's felt it before but it was never this enticing or nearly as good

 "0-0h God~ Do you feel that too?" he tries to maintain a sentence. \

"F-ffaah.. y-yes~ Oooh yes~ Dib- f-finish inside of me.. m-my body. It yearns dib thing!~" he dug his claws into Dib's back

 "It's too good Dib thing... Ah... I must.. have all of you~". no words were needed. Dib buried his head in his neck of Zim. Both their breathing getting uneven and louder, it became tighter, and tighter, and tighter.

 "AnnNg~ " Thick white ropes coated the inside of Zim, overflowing and seeping out of him. They stayed in that position. Processing what they had done. Waves of pleasure ran through them, the adrenaline pumping but slowly halting. Zim came too, a clear pink slime covering the hands of dib

 "Dib w-what is this.. what is.. inside me..?" he cringed, nervously adjusting his body 

"wait... WAIIIIIITTT! What have we done!? No.. NOOOO! This has at least violated multiple crimes... A-ARE YOU OF HUMAN AGE OF CONSENT!? A-ARE WE BREEDING COMPATIBLE!? WE USED NO PROTECTION! OOOHHH GIR! GIR COME HERE, RUN A DIAGNOSTIC GIR!" A crashing was heard in the distance.

 "Holy shit we... we oh fuck. I did it with an alien" 

"I had intercourse with a HUUUUMAAANN!!! aAAGH! THIS CANNOT BE GOOD! GIR! GIR COPY. DO YOU COPYYYY!?" he pulled away from Dib, pulling his dress over himself, hugging Dib, and nuzzling his head in his chest "Ohh... I hope my people don't ostracize me.. the great Zim.. for this. Dib-Love, d-do not let any human know of this! If it gets to other planets- ahhh my head could be on quite the platter-" 

"GIR"

#zim #dib #zadr #zadr fanfiction #invader zim #smut #zim x dib #invader zim fanfiction #invader zim fandom #invader zim zadr #dib x zim #invaderzimsmut #invaderzim

[just-barrow]

day 14 of @almost-a-class-act's War Is Helloween prompts!

SAS: Rogue Heroes - ensemble cast (& some pre-relationship Johnny Cooper/Reg Seekings)

BUFFY FREE SPACE. If it happened in an episode of Buffy, it's fair game. Did everyone turn into their Halloween costume? Maybe someone was resurrected and is none too pleased about it? Has Character A just found out that Character B is the Slayer?

At first he didn't think anything was different.

He hummed a tune about his breakfast to himself as he made his way to the mess, which was odd, but he was very hungry so he didn't give it much thought.

But as the day progressed, Reg realized that something was definitely wrong.

It started small, with quick little ditties like the one about Reg's breakfast. Then he started noticing that some of the men had more of a spring in their step than usual. Someone did something Reg thought was supposed to be the Charleston whilst holding a Lewes bomb, and Dave nearly knocked him over doing an awkward pirouette as he exited one of the tents, singing an earnest solo about sand in his shorts.

Mildly disturbed, Reg quickly made his way over to the jeeps to ask Mike if he needed any more supplies.

Mike was tinkering with a jeep as Reg approached. He was just about to yell his name to announce himself when Mike dramatically leapt up onto the hood of the jeep he was working on and belted out a passionate number about a missing wrench.

Reg turned on his heels and marched his way back to camp.

He passed the Free French doing a surprisingly well-executed synchronized dance whilst unloading supplies.

David had retreated to his tent, but when Reg moved closer he could hear him starting a song–he thought he heard him sing something about his father–before going "FUCK" at the top of his lungs. It happened four times before Reg decided he had heard enough.

All throughout the camp, people had now burst into song. Some of the men looked terrified, but others seemed strangely accepting of the situation; Jim and Pat were singing a duet about parachutes, looking bemused but otherwise going along with it with pizzazz. Reg suspected they had danced as a couple before, judging by how perfectly synchronized they were.

Paddy, on the other hand, was doing an emotional solo on top of a sand dune and looking absolutely furious about it, sweating profusely. Everyone around him pretended they couldn't hear anything out of fear of reprisal.

"I'm not fucking singing, I'm not fucking singing" Reg growled to himself, though his grumbling had a certain melody to it. The urge to sing about his feelings was the strongest when he was around Johnny, so he tried to avoid him as best he could.

Johnny, for his part, did a beautiful, heartfelt song-and-dance lamenting how everyone always underestimated him right in the middle of camp. He was twirling faster and faster, and smoke started curling up from his feet.

Suddenly, a strange man with pointy features and a bright colored suit materialized next to Johnny in a spectacular whirlwind of dust and grit, stopping Johnny from spinning out of control by firmly grabbing his shoulders. He grinned toothily and thanked him for summoning him with a velvety voice, taking his hand and making him twirl prettily.

"You will make me a lovely bride, sweetheart."

The men had all stopped singing, gathering around the strange scene. He seemed to have a hypnotizing effect on most of them.

Reg was fuming. No way in hell was this twat going to take Johnny away from them to become his bride. He elbowed his way to the front of the crowd, the urge to start singing growing with every step, and yanked the amulet he had been hiding underneath his shirt from around his neck. Holding it out, he stood in front of the man. Demon. Creature.

"Stay away from him. It was me." He swallowed. "I'm your…bride."

Johnny gaped at him.

The demon looked utterly perplexed.

"Seekings, what the bloody hell is going on?"

Reg turned to face David. "I'm sorry, sir. I found this thing in a shop in Cairo." His eyes darted from David to his own feet, embarrassed. "I just…a lot's happened these past few months and I thought it might cheer some people up."

David just stared at him, at a loss for words. Reg noticed Paddy's fingers tightening on his gun from the corner of his eye and hastily turned back towards the demon.

"Alright, what do I do now? To become your, er, bride?"

The demon smiled uncomfortably, letting go of Johnny and stepping towards Reg. "Let's skip that part this time, shall we?"

Reg nodded curtly. "Think this belongs to you." He handed the amulet back to the demon.

With a final, impressive tap dance, hindered only slightly by the uneven surface of the desert, the demon gave a mock salute, singing "see you all in hell" before disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.

Sand went flying everywhere, the men coughing and covering their faces. Once the dust had settled they all glanced around at each other, still a little befuddled.

"You're just a big softie, aren't you," Johnny sing-songed, gently touching Reg's arm. He was standing very close.

Reg huffed, making sure to press his lips together before he started singing something horribly soppy for Johnny. He settled for bumping his shoulder with his own in reply.

"Seekings, you're on admin duty," came David's disgruntled voice.

"Fair enough, sir."

Johnny took Reg's hand and squeezed. "I'll help."

"Thank you," Reg sang quietly, heart swelling.

David looked around at the gathering of men. "And we are never talking about this again."

From somewhere in the back, Dave chimed in, singing "never ever, never ever," eyes wide and head shaking with increasing panic.

The rest of the men struggled against the urge, but as they tried to cover their mouths with their hands, their feet gained a life of their own and they started forming a chorus line behind David.

"♫ Oh, for fuck's sake ♫"

#this is so dumb and i enjoyed writing this so much #it was either this or everyone getting possessed by hyenas #war is helloween #my fic #sas rogue heroes

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

[kikis-writing-world]

The Reason

The Reason

Summary: You can’t sleep as you near Moff Gideon’s ship, but neither can Din. He wants to tell you about what happened on Morak.

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating/Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15!!!! Other than the spoilers, it’s all fluff and no editing lol. But seriously, if you’re avoiding finding out what happens in Season 2, Episode 7 / Chapter 15 of The Mandalorian, don’t read this yet. It takes place after, and there’s talk of what happened during the episode.

A/N: It seems like every freaking week I watch the episode and tell myself “don’t write something. Everyone will be writing something, you don’t need to add in your silly fic too.” (Not to say I don’t enjoy reading them, but I just always feel like I won’t be adding anything new.) Well, this week I said fuck it and cranked this little ditty out this morning after the new episode. I hope y’all like it.

Edit: Follow-up drabble here

You sat silently beside Din as the ship - not the Razor Crest that had become your home over the past months, but Boba Fett’s ship Slave I - travelled through space. If the coordinates were right, you were heading into what was sure to be a hard-fought battle but it would be worth it. It was all to get Grogu back.

You willed yourself not to cry as you thought of the little green child you’d come to think of as your own. What he must be feeling right now. Alone and scared while they did unthinkable experiments to him. You’d cried several times since he’d been taken from your care, sick with worry over him. You were sick of crying. Soon would be the time for action, for getting him back.

Fennec and Dune were both sleeping on the opposite side of the bay. You tried to sleep, knowing you’d need your wits about you when you reached Moff Gideon’s ship, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sleep was hard to come by lately.

A whisper to your left surprised you. The low, modulated voice speaking your name. You had thought he was also asleep, reserving his strength for the battle to come. You should have known he’d be struggling to sleep too.

He nodded his head to the side as he unbuckled the harness keeping him secure in the seat. You nodded as you unbuckled your own and followed him to the darkened corner of the hold. You waited for him to sit in the corner, knowing he liked to have his back secured and a view of the room. Instead, he gently led you into the corner and sat with his back to the others. You were too surprised to ask, you followed his lead and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

He hadn’t said much of what happened on Morak, but you hadn’t been expecting him to. You’d learned long ago he wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter. There were times he tried, for you and the kid, helping to fill the silences as time passed on the ship. Hearing him strain, pushing the boundaries of his usual comforts to ease the minds of you and his foundling, was one of the ways he snuck into your heart.

It wasn’t easy loving The Mandalorian. He was so used to being alone, both physically alone and having few people to trust. It took a while, but you earned that trust. You knew you had. You also knew he cared about you in his own special way. He would take your hand in his larger gloved hand to avoid losing you in a crowd. His hand would squeeze yours when you were visibly anxious. A hand on your shoulder, your back, or your hip as he passed you in tight quarters. Leaning his forehead against yours anytime the two of you parted.

To most these fleeting moments wouldn’t look like much, but you knew the stoic Mandalorian didn’t give these touches lightly. That his keldabe kiss was just as precious as any lip-to-lip contact.

You didn’t fully understand his creed. He answered questions when you asked, but a lot of it didn’t make sense to you, an outsider. Even so, you never pushed him to break it or put him in a position that made him feel like the creed was in danger.

“I know you’re worried,” his voice was quiet. The crackling of the modulator even more prominent as it tried to broadcast his hushed tone. “We’ll get him back.”

“I know.” You nodded, looking down at your crossed legs. If anyone could rescue Grogu, it was the man sitting across from you.

That large gloved hand entered your vision, resting lightly on your knee. A small smile broke through your worry at the man’s attempt at comfort. You placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of him through the smooth leather.

“I-” He started to speak before stopping himself. While it wasn’t unusual for him to search for his words, he usually did so before starting to speak. By the time he spoke, he was confident and sure in what he had to say. That short, clipped syllable caught your attention in how different it was. He was trying to tell you something, but still wasn’t sure how.

“What is it?” You gently prompted, squeezing his hand with your own.

“On Morak…” He sighed.

“What happened on Morak?” You asked after a beat.

“I did what had to be done.”

His answer confused you. You knew that already of course, but it also sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as you.

“I know that. You got the coordinates. We’re going to find the kid because of you and Mayfield.” You smiled at him, praising him for the success. It was easy to overlook the triumph when it was just a stepping stone to a much larger problem.

“I had to…” He looked away from you as he once again searched for the words. Your smile dropped a fraction with his unease. “I had to take off the helmet.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to reveal, but it hadn’t been that. You knew that he had taken the helmet off months ago, but that had been a life or death situation. No one had been around, just the IG droid who had treated his wounds and saved him. This was a mining refinery full of people. Full of imps.

“Are you okay?” You asked, moving your hand from where it was resting on top of his so you could grip his hand fully. “What happened?”

“I-I had to.” He stuttered. “The terminal had to scan my face to get the coordinates.”

“Mando,” you didn’t dare speak his name - something he had shared with you in confidence - with others around. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once. Relief filled your body. You foremost worry had been for him, and how he would have felt to have broken his life-long creed. You supposed with the explosions, anyone who would have seen his face was likely dead. Unless Mayfield had seen him.

His hand slipped from yours as he brought both of his hands up to the sides of his helmet. He started pushing it up and your eyes widened as a sliver of skin was revealed. You surged forward, covering his hands in your own to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to. To show you.” He explained. His voice came in this awkward mix of his natural timber through the bottom of his helmet and the modulator still trying to pick up his voice. You could see his chin move as he spoke. Your heart was racing. It was the most you’d ever seen of his face.

“You don’t have to.” You told him firmly.

“I think… I think there are reasons to keep it on, and reasons to take it off.” He spoke slowly, like it was something he had been thinking about. You thought of the Mandalorians on Trask who claimed the creed was outdated. You thought of Boba Fett in the cockpit, who wore his newly-polished armor with the pride of a mandalorian despite being without it for years. Thought about him revealing his face for the information needed to save his foundling.

“I want to show you my face.” He told you, his voice unwavering. It was the surety, the confidence you had grown used to from him. “I want to show who I am to the one I love.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. You knew it in your heart, but he’d never said the words aloud to you before. You bit your lip as you felt the tears welling in your eyes again, this time from happiness instead of grief and worry.

“Okay.” You breathed, barely able to find your voice.

With your hands still on his, he lifted the helmet, revealing his face inch by inch. You held your breath as he was slowly revealed to you.

The scruff covering his jaw. His plush lips. The mustache over his mouth. His aquiline nose. His deep brown eyes. His shaggy dark brown hair. He set his helmet in his lap as your eyes scanned his face.

Wow.

You hadn’t realized you had said that out loud until his eyebrows furrowed. That was new. You were used to guessing his emotions through his body language, his tone of voice. Now you had facial expressions to read. He was waiting for your reaction and you hadn’t given him much to go by.

“You’re gorgeous.” You told him. It was the only way you could think to describe the ridiculously handsome man sitting in front of you. You were almost mad at him for hiding his face away for this long.

His lips quirked up in a lopsided grin, a single dimple appearing in his cheek. Maker, you thought he’d already taken your breath away and then this-

“Come here.” He ordered. His natural voice was deep. Rich. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Huh?” Your brain wasn’t processing. It was in some kind of overloaded state. Din’s face. Din’s voice. Din’s beautiful brown eyes that you could simply drown in.

His hand was on your cheek, pulling you into him. You gasped, holding your breath as his lips brushed against yours. You had dreamed of this, but not a single one of those dreams lived up to the real thing.

He was hesitant, clumsy even as he kissed you. His lips were chapped against your own, the stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. He smelt of sweat and blaster fire, of fresh air and leather. Maker, you could melt into the floor of the ship never to be seen again and you would have been happy with the life you had lived.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips. You felt him smile in response.

You brought your hand up to his cheek. Feeling the lines of his face with your hand, you trailed your hand to his hair. It was damp with sweat but so soft. It felt amazing between your fingers.

“Where’s Mando?” A voice across the bay shocked both of you, the two of you shooting away from each other as if you’d been burned. You felt like a teenager who had been caught making out by your parents. You looked over Din’s shoulder as he pulled the helmet back into place - his strategic placement of the two of you making sense now. Not only did he not want them to see his face, but he trusted you to have his back. That thought made your heart speed up even more than it already was.

You saw Fennec shaking Cara awake. Luckily she hadn’t looked in this direction yet. Had Cara woken first, she likely would have seen the two of you.

“Sorry, we’re over here.” You admitted, trying to calm the heat in your face. It was dim in the hold, hopefully they couldn’t tell. “We were talking, didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should be sleeping.” Fennec told you,  leveling you with a gaze that truly did make you feel like you’d been caught doing something wrong by a parent.

“I should be sleeping.” Cara grumbled, cranky for having been woken up for no reason.

“Come on. We’re all gonna need to be at our best.” Fennec said, ignoring Cara.

“She’s right.” Din admitted, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, letting him help you to stand. “Let’s try to get some sleep, cyar'ika.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​ @din-damn-djarin​ @thisisthe-wayson​ @insideafictionaluniverse​

#The Mandalorian spoilers #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x GN!Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #Din Djarin drabble #The Mandalorian drabble #Din Djarin imagine #The Mandalorian imagine #Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction #WookieTales

[disneylanddilettante]

The Disney Renaissance Killed the Disneyland Star

This post has been brewing and stewing in my brain for some time.

We here in the Disney theme park fandom are prone to lament the modern attraction design philosophy that says everything must be based on a movie. Aside from spectacularly clueless comments about “a random mountain in India or whatever” and misuse of the term “barrier to entry,” the reason behind it seems to boil down to: That’s what guests want. On the one hand, this is very clearly an excuse to do what Marketing wants (because film IPs are proprietary in a way that broad concepts are not, and can be merchandised accordingly), but on the other hand…it seems to be…kind of…true? The vast majority of the public, in my experience, does think of Disneyland (which I am going to use as synecdoche for all Disney parks, because it’s the one I grew up with, it’s easy to say, and because I can) as a place where you see Disney characters walking around as if they were real, and go on rides based on Disney movies, and anything else there is just to, idk, fill space until they can think of a cool movie makeover for it.

I have spoken to people online who quite enjoy Disneyland, but also think the Enchanted Tiki Room should become a Moana attraction, Tom Sawyer Island should be something to do with The Princess and the Frog, and the Matterhorn should be turned into Frozen. When I challenged them as to why, they didn’t seem to understand the question—what did I mean, “why?” Isn’t it self-evident? A couple years ago, one of the Super Carlin Brothers (I don’t remember which one; anyway I couldn’t tell them apart if you put a gun to my head) made a video expressing bafflement over the use of Figment as a mascot in Epcot because “He’s not from anything.” As if a ride in that very parkwere nothing.

So there is something to the assertion that film IP tie-ins are what regular guests expect and want. But the question remains as to why they want that—after all, it didn’t used to be that way. Costumed characters and rides based on movies have always been part of Disneyland, of course, but in past decades, the most elaborate and promoted attractions were the ones based on unique concepts that had nothing to do with the movies. The reasons to love Disneyland were things like the Haunted Mansion and the Mark Twain and Space Mountain…not so much the chance to meet Mickey Mouse. So what gave the public the idea that it was all about movies and characters? I’m sure there are several reasons, but I’m going to focus on one that I don’t see brought up that often.

I’m going to blame the Disney Renaissance.

Let me give you some personal background. I’m a young Gen-Xer, born in 1977. I was a child of the 80s…and in the 80s, Disney wasn’t doing so hot. Feature Animation had dropped to a cinematic release about once every four years, the live-action division was even less productive, and the corporate raiders were pawing at the door. In those days, when I saw a Disney movie in theaters, probably four times out of five it was a re-release of an older classic. (Anyone else remember when that was a thing?) There wasn’t much new at Disneyland either. The biggest thing to happen in the first half of the decade was the remodel of Fantasyland, which added one new ride—based on Pinocchio, a 43-year-old film—and otherwise just rearranged and refined what had always been there. On the other hand, the big Imagineering projects of the 60s and 70s were mostly still going strong.

The upshot is that if you were a Disney fan in those days (there weren’t many of us, even in my age cohort), you were a fan of the older movies and/or the parks. And for all its genuine quality, that stuff was showing its age. It was made in decades past, and there was a corniness and a quaintness to much of it. Most of the kids my age considered Disney “baby stuff” and were eager to put it behind them. It seems to have been a widespread phenomenon, because I don’t remember the park being very crowded when I was a young kid. Queues for even the roller coasters tended to top out around 45 minutes and it was very rare that we didn’t have time to do everything we wanted on a given visit.

And then, the year I turned 12—the year my age bracket hit puberty and could definitively be said to have outgrown cartoons altogether (except for the weirdos like me)—The Little Mermaid hit theaters.

Two years later, we got Beauty and the Beast.

And the hits kept coming. Suddenly, Disney was the hottest thing in entertainment again. Not just kids—by this time the generation that would come to be known as Millennials—but their parents watched these movies and went wow, this is really good. Disney is better than I thought. Maybe we should rent some of those older movies that I remember from when I was a kid. Maybe we should go to Disneyland… Unlike in the past, when families went to Disneyland because it was advertised and known as a family destination, families went to Disneyland because the kids were going gaga over the new Disney movies and the parents wanted to make them happy.

So a whole new generation of fans flocked to the parks, most probably never having been before, or not recently. They didn’t know what to expect. They just knew they loved these new movies with their endearing lead characters (so much more full of personality than Snow White or Alice or Pinocchio) and their big bombastic Broadway-style musical numbers (so much more in line with current musical tastes than the Tin Pan Alley ditties from Cinderella or Peter Pan or The Jungle Book). That’s what they wanted from Disney, whether they were paying six bucks a head plus popcorn, or fifty bucks a head plus lodging.

And that would have been fine but for the fact that endearing characters and big bombastic musical numbers are really hard to build traditional dark rides around. What you can do, though, for people who want to meet their favorite characters, is build dedicated character meet-and-greet spots. What you can do for people who want to sing along with Academy Award-winning songs is create huge colorful parades and stage shows that feature those songs. Best of all, if you are certain people who shall go unnamed, these sorts of things are much cheaper to create and operate than rides. Corporate was more than happy to meet, rather than try to exceed, the expectations of this new wave of fans.

The newer guests got used to seeing more-or-less verbatim (condensed) film content in the form of these shows and parades. The classic dark rides began to look decidedly odd to them—why are the movie events out of order? Why doesn’t the main character show up more? Why don’t we get to hear all the songs? And no one was there to explain it to them, because the older generations of fans had largely drifted away and the internet wasn’t quite a household staple yet. Rides that weren’t even based on a movie seemed even odder—what does a Wild West roller coaster have to do with Disney? What does a submarine ride have to do with Disney? I thought this park was supposed to be for kids, but my kids don’t recognize this stuff! They should build a Lion King ride! They should build a Toy Story ride! That Snow White ride isn’t suitable for kids; they should do something about that! I didn’t pay all this money to stand in line for an hour and a half and go on a ride that my kids don’t get!

The pattern was set. IP tie-ins were what the people wanted, and they closer they hewed to their source material, the more guest approval they got, simply because people didn’t know any different. And it has snowballed from there. The Disney Renaissance was amazing for the art of animation, but I think it was a net negative for the art of theme parks.

Tl;dr The Disney Renaissance changed guest expectations for Disney entertainment products in ways that were incompatible with classic Imagineering principles.

#disneyland #disney theme parks #walt disney world #disney #disney renaissance #theme parks

[jam-is-my-food]

never gonna give you up (a scythe astley fic)

when scythe curie was just a junior scythe, the beloved scythe rick astley—the only scythe who was ever allowed to communicate with the thunderhead—self-gleaned. marie will never forget her childhood idol—but he may be closer than she thinks.

takes place mid-thunderhead; spoilers for thunderhead.

word count: 1,295

dedicated to @i-love-side-characters for her incredible 5am drabble. thank you akki. truly a service to humankind.

Takes place in the middle of the scene in Thunderhead where Goddard reveals that he is still kiCkiN' at conclave. This is very crack. And a fix-it fic. I hope you enjoy.

“I wish to nominate Honorable Scythe Robert Goddard for High Blade of MidMerica.”

Silence for a moment … then a few chuckles, but they weren’t derisive. They were nervous.

“Brahms,” said Xenocrates slowly, “in case you’ve forgotten, Scythe Goddard has been dead for over a year now.”

And then the heavy bronze doors of the conclave chamber slowly began to open.

Scythe Curie drew in a sharp breath, willing her heart rate to slow. This was ridiculous, clearly some sort of diversion tactic planned by the new order. To even react in the slightest was preposterous; her body was showing its age, another reminder she needed to turn a corner soon.

But then in strode the incinerated scythe, and Marie knew even the frailest of bodies wasn’t capable of a hallucination so horrible.

Rumors began to trickle through the room. Gasps. Whispers. Cheers. The man who could not be Scythe Goddard moved down the center aisle, gait looser than Marie remembered. The worries of becoming High Blade, of being placed in the position only because of her past actions, slipped suddenly into the furthest thing on Curie’s mind. This was impossible. She was supposed to be watching out for Scythe Nietzsche, and Nietzsche didn’t have the votes. This could not be.

And yet it was. They had entered the worst of all possible worlds.

Entering the chamber in Goddard’s wake was a familiar figure in bright green. Scythe Rand was alive, too? Eyes now looked to the open bronze doors, expecting that Scythes Chomsky and Volta might also return from the dead today, but that was not who next entered the chamber.

No, this was another figure. A figure even more impossible.

In the years before Curie was born, the world was chock-full of turmoil. Although the Thunderhead had revealed itself some time ago, humans were still clinging on to government and power. The scythedom, only in its founding years, was still mistrusted. And black market revivals for those who had been gleaned—a problem all but forgotten to history now—were all the rage.

It had been becoming a bigger and bigger issue, from what Marie knew; the Thunderhead believed it was under the scythedom’s jurisdiction to deal with, while the fledgling scythedom was relying on the Thunderhead to solve it. What was essentially breathing life back into the gleaned single-handedly rendered the entire scythedom useless. And though the Thunderhead was beginning to engineer safe space travel solutions, it needed a backup in case of failure.

So the first (and, to date, only) scythe-Thunderhead ambassador was chosen.

Marie had idolized Scythe Astley throughout her childhood. Apprenticed under Scythe Sappho herself, Astley—whose Patron Historic was a largely-forgotten mortal-age musician—was a man not only of the scythedom and the Thunderhead but of the people. And not in the phony, self-serving way of the current new order, but honestly, genuinely. After helping the Thunderhead and founding scythes engineer a solution to the black-market problem—which, once they’d found a means of communication, was relatively simple; the Thunderhead would shut down all operations and the scythedom glean anyone who dared involve themself—he stayed wildly well-known. The Thunderhead continued to speak to him and only him, and once he self-gleaned refused to choose another ambassador. The scythedom and the Thunderhead would remain separate entities, it declared, this time for good. Nobody could replace Astley, one of the few truly-beloved scythes.

Scythe Curie could remember the day he self-gleaned. It felt tragic, doubly so knowing now that the scythedom had so thoroughly shoved his memory under the rug. Prominent scythes didn’t want anyone new to know conversing with the Thunderhead was anything short of impossible, and somehow he had just been … forgotten.

But Marie remembered him. His love of ice cream. His iconic robe, fashioned to look as though it were a suit. His studded, intricately-designed dark leather dress shoes.

The same shoes that were tapping their way through the conclave chamber now.

It couldn’t be.

“Astley!” Marie breathed, words sticking in her throat. She saw Anastasia shoot her a confused glance, completely unaware as to the identity of this new key player. She’d never told her about Scythe Astley.

Around the room, similar gasps of shock were passing around. Many scythes, however, were like Anastasia; they ignored this new man and focused their attentions back on Goddard—who looked positively furious at being overshadowed. “What is this?” he shouted, a vein in his neck pulsing.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Scythe Astley responded smoothly. He reached his hand into a pocket and pulled out a large pin with his own face on it. Scythe Astley isn’t ghastly! it read in garishly cartoonish print.

And now Goddard’s face had truly paled. “Scythe Astley? But—but you self-gleaned, years ago!”

“Yeah, no I didn’t.” Astley smirked, drawing his fingers through his impeccably styled ginger hair. “Anyway, you’re one to talk.”

The entire scythedom tittered. Xenocrates, having lost all semblance at control in the room, slowly backed away.

“Who’s this?” Anastasia hissed to Curie, and the Granddame of Death saw her moment.

“Everyone!” she shouted, voice commanding. “This man is Honorable Ambassador-Scythe Rick Astley, apprentice to founding scythe Sappho herself. Show him the respect he deserves.”

“Thank you, Scythe Curie,” Astley said, and Marie blushed as though she were a little girl again. He knew her name!

He stood tall, and the entire scythedom—even Goddard—found themselves bending to accommodate him. “It’s true. I, Scythe Rick Astley, did not truly self-glean. I meant it when I said I was never gonna give you up. No, I’ve simply been waiting for the perfect time to rejoin the scythedom—and that time has come today.”

Astley looked around the conclave chamber thoughtfully, before continuing on. “You see, I and I alone have access to the Thunderhead. I am the single exception to the schism between organizations. With me and the Thunderhead by your sides, I can solemnly swear we’re never gonna let you down.”

He smiled kindly, before giving a disapproving stink-eye. “The Thunderhead and I pronounce Robert Goddard illegible for the position of High Blade, so don’t even try it. We have some problems with that man.”

Scythe Goddard sank to his knees, distraught. “Scythe Astley? You don’t like me? What have I done?”

Astley ignored him, instead moving on to Curie herself. “Therefore, by process of elimination plus nobody cares about that other contestant, I hereby pronounce Honorable Scythe Marie Curie High Blade of MidMerica.”

Marie let in a shocked gasp, tears coming to her eyes. Rick Astley believed in her. “Is this true?”

“I don’t know what’s going on so I guess,” Xenocrates called from the back. “Ima go hop on over to Endura now anyway. I will live a happy and fulfilling life as Grandslayer and hopefully learn to become more than competent. Scythe Goddard will never come for a vacation.”

“Sounds good!” everyone called.

Rowan Damisch and Scythe Volta tiptoed in from the back. The mere presence of the near-god Astley had brought Volta back to life and caused Rowan to escape his bonds. Speaking of, he caught Anastasia’s eye and they started making out passionately. Scythe Curie decided to forgive him because if he was truly bad he too would have been smited by the wrath of Scythe Astley.

“Thank you, Rick,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” he cried, and then repeated, “I’m never gonna give you up!” There was cheering from the crowd, all divisions in the scythedom forgotten. Someone started singing his theme song, the popular mortal-age ditty of his Patron Historic. It was very catchy. He tapped his dress shoes some more.

All was good. At long last, Curie felt herself truly relax. The scythedom was in good hands.

“Now who wants to go grab some ice cream?”

#arc of a scythe #scythe #thunderhead spoilers #scythe astley #scythe astley fic #i'm Not Sorry #if you're wondering about this............ #mini-scythe discord #that's all i have to say #ref writes stuff #ref writes fanfic #scythe fic

[welcometomy20s]

April 15, 2022

A Little Ditty About the Merger

So, the merger has officially occured. All the KR and ID members are now part of the Nijisanji proper. Once again, I ask myself if the endeavor would be all right. I wrote way too much on the reddit post, although the forum is somewhat self-selecting so it would be okay.

But back to the subject at hand - what might happen? I actually did some data analysis looking back at the '19 Merger and HoloEN and I will do a 'full' write-up when I get the next month's data. But let's say this is a preview.

The language problem is ascendant. The reason HoloEN had trouble transfer subs but Luxiem did not was that barrier. Unlike the '19 merger, there is that barrier for ID/EN... of course most people in ID can speak English and quite a few speak Japanese, while the opposite is true for KR. And language situation has been somewhat accommodated although ID still has time for Bahasa Indonesian and KR with Korean. New language ultimately requires a new base.

I have an unofficial four to five part series about the Next Hololive, the first part was a long tortured post about the Five English Sisters, second was a comment that was supposed to be a ground to a post about VSpo, but that was one of worse post I have ever received, and I still don't know why, because when I say VSpo seems to be the next Hololive, people usually like the assertion, but when I explain why VSpo could be the next Hololive, people think I am off-base.

I went into an argument (out of boredom) regarding musical ability of VSpo. I say musical abilities in VSpo are good (I was being gracious, but using Ichinose as an example was akin to using Luna as an example for Hololive. Ichinose is clearly the weaker member of VSpo in terms of singing.) but I don't think most of the downvotes were from that. There were a bit of complaint about clipping structure...

I did add a note regarding that VSpo actually did not want a quick clipping culture precisely to create an everlasting atmosphere. When the threat of trying to keep up to date on the player's activities is gone, the clippers usually present a narrative, which is what VSpo does want. Hololive also has this, but by going the opposite way. Since the market is overcrowded, there is already enough clipping news and so others would market towards narrative making.

(Ooh, I have a topic I want to talk about but I'll save it for tomorrow)

And this is also me transitioning out of a pretty long tangent. The destination I was going for in that section was that I had a post about Isegye Idols and why they were able to breakthrough the Korean market. To simply put, there are several correlating factors.

A transparent process done by a trusted YouTuber, which means we already have a baked in audience, and a laser focus on music/entertainment went a really long way in building the grounds for a successful market. Along things like Revolution Heart and of course the whole host of utaite/streamers turned VTubers meant Korea is kind of reinventing the wheel... but it was necessary because the culture couldn't have been transplanted.

That was a biggest downfall in NijiKR, and indeed in everything in society. Poor management. GOVERNING IS HARD, PEOPLE! It takes time and effort to argue and think up a good solution and work out actual compromises and present different priority plans.

Management ultimately is a trial and error effort, and one must be graceful with error, but not to the point leaders will start to slack.

Okay, that's too much tangent. I'll get to the conclusion and... crap, I forgot the thing I wanted to write about tomorrow, and the recovery is partial, and I have become run out of time. Conclusion is two good news. First is that Gamers and SEEDs overwhelming rose, paving the way for 2019 being the Year of Nijisanji and that Luxiem surge did saw a tiny uptick in JP liver's growth, which meant there was much more crossover... this makes a tiny bit of sense since Luxiem tapped in the Asian market, which means they are already jumping hoops.

So, it will probably be the case that ID and KR will grow substantially in the next couple of years. May's APEX tourney will be another one, because I'm pretty sure Gwelu will invite international members.

#virtual youtuber #web talk #society

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

A Display Of Twue Dumbinance

I am going to start with this, I know I spelled true wrong in the title. Calm your britches trolls because “twue” is lifestyle slang for balderdash. Now that is out of the way, I want to talk about this guide to finding a true/real dominant that I bumbled upon the other day. This little ditty has zoomed around Tumblr and I am sure many of you reading this have read it and maybe even liked/reblogged it because on the surface some of it sounds great. As I read through it, I found myself cringing, facepalming, and the more I read of this supposed guide to finding “twue” dominance I knew I would be talking about this here on my blog.

As I read through this list the very first time, I was convinced that I wanted to do something I very rarely do and address the hogwash point by point by linking back to the original post and blog. However, when I reached the end of the drivel came a surprising statement that this post was not this “master’s” but he liked it, copied, and pasted it to his blog without ever crediting the person who originally concocted this nonsense. I did discover some great news upon reading Master Cox’s (name changed to protect the guilty) about me section for the ladies of Tumblr, please feel free to submit a nude and/or boobie selfie because he will be happy to post and comment about your body and boobs. It does come with the disclaimer that you may not like what he has to say about your body. This is pure Tumblr gold! Send him a picture, he will body shame those he wishes and as a bonus, he saves all photo submissions for his personal use. Ding, Ding, Ding, ladies we have a twue wiener! So as much as I want to quote this craptastic masterpiece of malarkey, I will paraphrase since crediting the original dumbinant is sadly not an option.

Submissives, did you know that a twue dominant will never approach you demanding your submission, naked pictures, and/or gangbangs? I know, this is a huge news flash and we better call the news networks to get this unfair and unbalanced revelation out to the masses (This is such big news for the masses that I bet we could get the Pope to talk about it at mass!). In all seriousness, a respectable d-type will not contact a submissive with incredulous demands, and a dominant worth their salt will be respectful in all communications. This is cynical but if you believe that this lifestyle works by dumbinants making crass demands and then following them, please change your self-identifier from submissive to stupidmissive. Sorry, this is not news but is simply common sense.

Hey submissive ladies, did you know that a twue dominant man can get laid anytime he wants? Oh, you betcha (said in my best Fargo accent). The reason for a twue d-type’s ability to bow-chicka-wow-wow three hundred and sixty-five days a year with an equal amount of different women is because all women just cannot resist dominance. All a d-type has to do is approach a lady in the produce section, show her his kumquats, and they will be shagging in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot five minutes later. Okay back to reality, this goes to the crap-o-la that dumbinance preaches about all women naturally desiring a dominant man. If you are submissive, single, attracted to humans with penises, then you may want a dominant man as a partner but sorry Master Malarkey, not all women want a dominant man. There are women to want a submissive man because they are dominant and there are other women who are vanilla and do not want a dominant or take-charge guy (in vanilla terms). Now, this one blows the minds of the twue dumbinant, but not all women want, need, or are attracted to people with penises. As shocking as this news is, the twue dumbinant never grasps that all women do not want him, and there are women who are not attracted to humans that have baloney ponies and are involved in the lifestyle. Being dominant does not suddenly make someone so sexy that all the ladies of the world swoon when he passes near.

It is time to get into a bit of shady business and it is whatI call the Christian Grey effect since this has become fake news fodder since Fifty Shades of Hay descended upon the lifestyle. This twue dumbinance theory goes like this, all real dominant men are successful, wealthy, white-collar professionals and all a submissive needs to do is check the brand of cars driven, logos on clothes, and bank account balances to find out if a d-type is the real deal. So college students, construction workers, mechanics, HVAC techs, those who work in the trades, or an enlisted person in the military are all excluded from being d-types. This twue myth links career to the lifestyle and is simply rubbish because how anyone earns their living has nothing to do with the lifestyle or their role within it.

I would like to dedicate this tale to the submissive ladies out there. Okay, ladies, the reason why you have never had a successful relationship in the vanilla world is that men who are not dominant are scared of sex. Yes, ladies, it is twue, Vinny Vanilla is just soooo scared of sex that when you asked to be spanked, he ran home and cried to his momma. This tale tells that all vanilla men are scared of sex, sexuality and thus this lifestyle leaves them cowering in fear. The simple truth here is that if a person needs, wants, and desires to have this lifestyle be part of their relationship then engaging in a relationship with someone who is a vanilla bean is going to leave some things unfulfilled no matter if you are a dominant, submissive, switch, or any other lifestyle role.Once again, it is time to cause Master Malarkey’s mind to blow, vanillas can have sex, even kinky as heck swinging from the chandeliers sex, enjoy the living hell out of it, and some vanilla folks are even more sexually adventurous that lifestyle people. Sex is just sex and sex does not make a relationship nor does it mean that someone who is vanilla is scared of it.

Guess what readers, our guide to twue dominance is still hung up on sex, and get ready for some more sexciting news. Ladies, the good news is here! Your domly dream man is already god’s sexual gift because twue dumbinants are great in the sack, skilled in the art of making women orgasm, and will never engage in vanilla sex. I bet all the single, submissive women seeking d-type men and reading this are super excited to learn that he dominant of their dreams will never make love because whenever the bedroom boom-boom happens it will be of the kinky fuckery variety. A twue d-type must have had many sexual partners (seriously this part of the malarkey manifesto), so if you are a young man or a more life experienced man without a plethora of sexual partners, you better get out there, fornicate with as many willing women as you can find because until you have, you ineligible to be dominant. Did anyone else besides me facepalm here? Being male and dominant does not mean the guy has had many sexual partners nor does the role of dominant transform anyone into a sexual dynamo.

The menu of twue d-types is now moving a bit away from sex and into the realm of kinkicious play. The chef who created this dumbinant menu requires the man who wishes to attain twue dumbinance statues to acquire, have, and own accouterment of the lifestyle. If a dominant fails to have whips, chains, floggers, and the toy de jour then sorry Sir Charlie, a dominant you are not. I hope there is a collective of heads shaking because toys do not make a person, let alone a dominant. Maybe this ties back into the part of the myth about being Richie Rich and by having thousands of dollars in toys it is another symbol of wealth, success, and therefore dumbinance?

Whew, we are finally away from sex and toys (at least for now) but we do need to pause for a moment. Readers, please take this brief pause, to put your boots on because we are about to step into a few large piles of poops. Seriously, it is about to get worse…

Submissives, a twue dumbinant will select you. It does sound sort of nice and maybe a bit romantic to be selected by a dominant but there is a huge BUT here. Just like any relationship, a lifestyle relationship requires two people, or more if you are poly, to say I like you and want to be with you. Now it is time for that big but (Am I the only one here singing Sir Mix-A-Lot’s Baby Got Back now?). One of the most basic things in this lifestyle is that the submissive must offer their submission to the dominant of their choice. A dominant does not select, choose, or demand submission but it must be freely given by the submissive partner. So it may sound romantic to be selected by a d-type but this is rubbish. In my opinion, this is nothing more than a ploy to make it sound okay for a dumbinant to demand submission from a submissive.    

Everyone knows that humans are mistake-prone creatures and this mythology plays upon this. Remember a few points back when a twue d-type needed to be fabulously fornicating with many partners? Well, it is expected that one who follows this how-to guide would come from a background of many failed lifestyle relationships because the twue dumbinant will make mistakes along the way to the submissive they select. The thing here is that failed relationships might be labeled as mistakes sometimes but they are always life lessons. A broken relationship from the past is not something to chuck in the fuck-it-bucket and move forward. It is a lesson to learn as you move forward in life. What this myth is doing, I believe, is making people disposable as the twue d-type must fuck many, gain experience, before they “seize” the submission of who they select. This bit is just a way to justify the sordid past of a fuck boy. No more, no less.

So the break from sexy stuff did not last too long and this should give everyone a great laugh. The twue dumbinant will never, ever, never ask a submissive for nude or naughty pictures because d-types will “never beg” for anything. The twue man is soooooooo irresistible that a submissive who has conversations with him will just not be able to control themselves and will be “dying” to send him naked photos. Anyone else laughing out loud with me? So guys, if your inbox is not crammed with pictures of naughty bits every morning, the twue dumbinants are coming to take your dominant id card.

Remember when I warned about the poop level getting deep, well, here are the last two bits of the hit parade and it is going to get deep. I hope that everyone reading these words would agree with me that trust and honesty are hallmarks of a solid relationship and are even more important in a lifestyle relationship. So without further ado, it is time to get to the twue truth and it might hurt.

It is fairly common online to encounter a blog post from a submissive who discovered their dominant is actually in a relationship with someone else and they are simply the submissive side piece. Not to worry though because the twue dumbinant will never lie about being in a relationship because he will come right out and state he needs you to be his subbie side action, on the down-low. We should all applaud Mr. Twue for being honest with Subbie Susie, right? I am sorry but that is just crap. This lifestyle is all about being trustworthy and honest. So that is great that Twue has told Susie she is number two in his life, he still is being dishonest with number one in life (his wife) and is trying to build as well as lead a relationship that has a lie at its foundation. It is not going to work and Susie, you may think you are number two behind the wife, but depending on Mr. Twue’s day, you are number five or six.  

So, here is the last bit of twue d-type poppycock from this guide. It once again circles back to honesty. It has been established that it is acceptable for a twue dumbinant to be honest about being dishonest. Not only is that okay, but it is expected for the d-type to lie about somethings (Serious, a twue dumbinant will lie and it is supposedly okay). To paraphrase the twue example given (sorry this may gross a few of you out) but it is okay for a twuebie to say they agree with a submissive’s hard limit of no water sports but believe that swallowing a golden shower is right up that s-types alley (thus they are going to do it anyway). Relationships require honesty. It is that simple. Even hard questions such as does this make me look fat or aren’t you excited my mom is coming to stay with us for a month, can be answered with tact and honesty. There should never be a reason to disrespect a submissive by saying that you agree with a hard limit while plotting to make her swallow pee. It is simple, just be honest and say that you will respect the limit but also express if that is your thing, that it is a thing for you. Maybe someday the submissive will want to do to for you if you find yourself in a relationship with them. Be honest because if you are not your relationship will fail.

Okay, this concludes the busting of this twue dumbinant discovery guide. I know that it can sound amazing, especially if you are new, to have certain things to look for and/or lookout for. If you are new to the lifestyle, get to know people, ask questions, and learn from their experiences rather than read a blog post and think “oh that sounds good, I will go with this as a guide”. This guide about twue dumbinance has parts that sound great but when you dig closer, it is nothing but a document that excuses the behavior of fuck boys masquerading around the lifestyle as d-types. The thing about this lifestyle is that things may look amazing at first glance but you must always read between the lines as well as every bit of the fine print.

As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2021

[scotianostra]

 The Pirate station,  Radio Scotland began broadcasting in the dying embers of  Hogmanay, 1965.

Radio Scotland was a Scottish pirate radio station which broadcast at various points off the Scottish coast between 1965 and 1967, with a mix of pop music and programmes of Scottish interest. It was conceived of and run by publicity and advertising executive Tommy Shields onboard  a former Irish lightship, built on the Clyde, named The Comet.  Radio Scotland's first broadcast was at 11:50pm on Hogmanay, 31st December 1965, on 1241 kilohertz, 242 metres.

After refitting for her new role in the Channel Islands  she had been towed to a position four miles off Dunbar, in the Firth of Forth. Because of delays during the journey north, the ship didn't arrive at the anchorage until early on 30th December, giving the engineers only a few hours to set up the equipment. It was a frantic race against time but the station just made it on air before midnight, albeit at reduced power and with no opportunity to run tests. The first voice on the new station belonged to DJ Paul Young  a former presenter of Scottish Television's Roundup programme who welcomed the listeners, Young became an actor later in his life. He introduced the managing director  Tommy Shields, who went on to detail their plans. Radio Scotland was on the air and open for business. The station also broadcast from  water near Troon and Northern Ireland over its one-and-a-half years.

Paul Young as a pirate DJ, and as "Shug" in the BBC's Still Game

While navigating and planting the boat, crew had to be careful to avoid territorial waters, primarily due to the strict laws imposed on the pirate stations by the government of the day. Featuring everything from “modern” rock’n’roll to ceilidh favourites, the station soon became a sensation across Scotland as well as Ireland and northern England, where the signal was also picked up.

With its audience of one million listeners a week in its prime, Radio Scotland was very close to realising Shield’s dream of becoming a successful independent Scottish station.

Joining English stations such as Radio Caroline, Radio Scotland was the only pirate radio station to be formed north of the Border, and soon took its place amongst the big six pirate stations.

Tommy Shields unveiling his pirate ship

People could join the membership of the station and become Radio Scotland “Clan Members”. As a reward, the Clan had their own show every Saturday where they could send in requests, which, alongside Jack McLaughlin’s ceilidh slot, was one of the most popular programmes broadcast.

The station even had its own fanzine called “242” – named after its frequency. The 242 magazine featured interviews with the biggest stars of the day, including The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Tina Turner, but station managers never quite tempted any of the stars on board the infamous boat.

The pirate station’s theme song was a jaunty wee number sung by folk band The Carrick Folk Four. Finishing off the upbeat ditty were the lines: “Oh Radio Scotland’s playing just for you/So beat the ban, and join the Clan, on station 242.”

Although they received many a plaudit, Radio Scotland was plagued with troubles from the very beginning. A poor signal and periods off-air led to a steep decline in advertising revenue and a frustrated fanbase, while fires on board the vessel and the hazardous North Sea conditions did little to help ease its problems.

In a piece in the Edinburgh Weekly just days after the station was laid to rest, Tony Mark wrote: “The death penalty in this country is supposed to have been abolished, yet here we are mourning the execution of what was surely the sound sensation of both 66’ and 67’ as far as Scotland is concerned.”

Although the station had a short life, as is often the case with such ventures, and was taken off the air in the 60s, Radio Scotland inspired a tribute station, which began broadcasting in the mid 70s.   Radio Scotland International, an independently run pirate station broadcasting to Europe from its base in Holland, started in 1975 and has been going ever since.

 http://www.radioscotland.nl/

For around  20 months Tommy Shields modest little boat made huge waves and pulled Scotland into the "swinging sixties".

#Scotland #scottish #pirate radio #broadcasting #radio station #history

[jeoseungsaja]

“ i promise that there’s beauty and hope inside you. ” - SABRIEL @ SAJA!!!!!!!!!!

@mythvoiced ♚ from x.

♔ -----------

  They’re usually filled with giggles, along with words that tend to make the grim reaper glare and scowl. But this time, what leaves their lips and echoes through the room sounds very different. Different than any mischievous surprise, different than any attempt to prod at him until gaining a shade of frustration. It sounds honest; it sounds...gentle, like a ditty hanging from vowels and consonants. It sounds so oddly reassuring, as if there’s some sort of knowledge Sabriel gets the opportunity to hold onto, even if he cannot, even if he doesn’t remember.

   Lips that resemble color of cherry red make a sound, something akin to a long sigh as he adjusts himself upon seat. His index finger idly makes a crooked line against the plastic cup; green straw being forgotten for a moment as he takes his companion’s words in. The semblance of a promise, how can they be so sure? 

  “What if there isn’t? Beauty. Or hope.”

   Is he supposed to be any of those things? Hope, perhaps. That he can vaguely see. Not in himself, but in the people he guides. He’s able to witness that glint of dream upon their eyes, the silver lining which makes them realize that death isn’t exactly so bad after all; that is not that scary as they once thought. Some tend to think the bridge to the afterlife is filled with thorns and uneasiness; an obscure forest where you can get lost. 

    Who would’ve thought you’re welcomed by a cup of tea served with pale hands instead.      Who would’ve thought there’s a comforting speech before you reach those high stairs. 

    This notion placed in such light, well, it makes him believe that perhaps there is beauty and hope. In what he does. But in him? Inside him? Sometimes he doubts, sometimes he’s hesitant; sometimes he’s not so sure. Not because there’s the solid wish to knock himself down, but because there are certain notions that trap his mind into a million of what if’s.

     It’s even harder when you don’t even know who you used to be. 

    “What if...there’s so much darkness you can’t see anything inside? What if...I’m not made of the things you and others think I’m made of? What if I turn out to be someone who...someone bad? I didn’t...I’m not here because I did something good, am I?” 

    Reality slaps him in the face once more.      Grim reapers are there to atone for their sins.      Horrible sins, according to a legend he cannot confirm, for he doesn’t remember what he did.      He doesn’t remember, he just can feel, from time to time, that sting.

    “Sabriel, perhaps you shouldn’t think too nicely of me.” 

     A small smile appears; telling them he’s grateful for that bright promise of theirs. Unknowingly so, they’ve become someone important. Yes, there’s banter here and there; Reaper even scolds them as if he’s the oldest when they’ve actually been around for far longer than him. There’s been discussions, both in a superficial and deep level; all these moments leading up to the thought of considering their presence as one he’d like to keep around. 

     A rascal, but a good one. One who cares about humanity and is curious about their surroundings, one who uses their powers based on their principles and what they believe in, even if that might break some rules along the process. Their way of thinking is peculiar, or so Reaper thinks. 

     “I wouldn’t like...to disappoint you.” 

----------- ♔

#♔ || every rascal is not a thief ; sometimes a rascal's an archangel (sabriel). #It's sad hours with your local Reaper I'M SORRY WIEHDKAJHDIEWUHD #I cry at how Reaper could...easily detach himself from...caring? #As in 'it doesn't matter what anyone thinks // as long as I keep doing my job correctly I'll be fine and lead another life where I'll forget #everyone here' #BUT HE CARES A LOT #He cares about all these people and all these lovely creatures he's met along the way #Sabriel and Kaeden and Goblin and Eun-Tak and jUST---- #He just doesn't want to...be someone negative in their lives after all #He's grown so fond of all of them #pls send help #I HOPE THIS IS OKAY #I'm sorry if it's sort of...a lil' sad IWHEIDUWHD #If you'd like me to change something DO LET ME KNOW and I will <3 #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN :3c in this house we love and stan Sabriel (AND YOU UwU) #P.S. - I see that new icon (EYES EMOJI) IT'S!!!!!!!! UwU!!!!!!!!!!!!! IUWHEIDUWHD--- #Very lovely icon very nice--- #♔ || queue.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Lucifer/Satan

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Please allow me to introduce this villain. He’s a man of wealth and taste...

Satan, or Lucifer, or whatever of the hundreds of names across multiple religions, folk tales, urban legends, movies, books, songs, video games, and more that you choose to call him, is without a doubt the biggest bad of them all. He is not just a villain; he is the villain, the bad guy your other bad guys answer to, the lord of Hell. If there’s a bad deed, he’s done it, if there’s a problem, he’s behind it. There’s nothing beneath him, and that’s not just because he’s at the very bottom of Hell. He is the root cause of all the misery in the entire world.

And if we’re talking about Satan, we gotta talk about Lucifer too. They weren’t always supposed to be one and the same, but over centuries of artistic depictions and reimaginings they’ve been conflated into one being, a being that is a lot more layered and interesting than just a simple adversary for the good to overcome when handled properly.

Motivation/Goals: Look, it’s Satan. His main goal is to be as evil as possible, do bad things, cause mischief and mayhem. Rarely does anything good come from Satan being around. If he is one and the same as Lucifer, expect there to be some sort of plot about him rebelling against God, as according to modern interpretations Lucifer fought against God in battle and was then cast out, falling from grace like lightning. When the Lucifer persona is front and center, raging against the heavens tends to be a big part of his schemes, but when the big red devil persona is out and about, expect temptations to sin, birthing the Antichrist, or tempting people to sell their souls.

Performance: Satan has been portrayed by far too many people over the years to even consider keeping count of, though some notable performances of the character or at least characters who are clearly meant to be Satan include the nuanced anti-villain take of the character Viggo Mortensen portrayed in The Prophecy; the sympathetic homosexual man portrayed by Trey Parker in South Park and its film; the hard-rocking badass Dave Grohl portrayed in Tencaious D’s movie; Robin Hughes as a sneaky, double-crossing bastard in “The Howling Man” episode of The Twilight Zone; the big red devil from Legend known as Darkness, played by Tim Curry; the shapeshifting angel named Satan from The Adventures of Mark Train who will make you crap your pants; and while not portrayed by anyone due to being entirely voiceless, Chernabog from Disney’s Fantasia is definitely noteworthy in regards to cinematic depictions of the devil.

Final Thoughts & Score: Satan is a villain whose sheer scope dwarfs almost every other villain in history. It’s not even remotely close, either; Satan pops up in stories all around the world, is the greater-scope villain of most varieties of three major religions, and his very name is shorthand for “really, really evil.” Every other villain I have ever discussed and reviewed wishes they could be a byword for being bad to the bone. Even Dracula, one of the single most important villains in fiction, looks puny in comparison to Satans villainous accomplishments.

Satan in old religious texts tended to be an utterly horrifying force of nature, until Medieval times began portray him as a dopey demon trying to tempt the faithful (and failing). Folklore and media have gone back and forth, portraying both in equal measure – you have the desperate, fiddle-playing devil from “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and the unseen, unfathomable Satan who may or may not exist in the Marvel comics universe who other demons live in fear of the return of. Satan is just a very interesting and malleable antagonist, one who is defined just enough that he can make a massive, formidable force while still being enough of a blank slate that you can project any sort of personality traits onto him to build an intriguing foe.

One of the most famous examples of this in action is the common depiction of Satan as the king of hell. This doesn’t really have much basis in religion; he’s as much a prisoner as anyone else, though considering how impressive a prisoner he is, he’d be like the big guy at the top of the pecking order in any jail for sure. But still, the idea of Satan as the ruler of hell was clearly conceived by someone and proved such an intriguing concept that so many decided to run with it.

I think that’s what truly makes Satan such an interesting villain, in that he’s almost a community-built antagonist. People over the ages have added so much lore, personality, and power to him that is only vaguely alluded to in old religions to the point where they have all become commonplace in depictions of the big guy, and there really isn’t any other villain to have quite this magnitude on culture as a whole. It shouldn’t be any shock that Satan is an 11/10; rating him any lower would be a heinous crime only he is capable of.

But see, the true sign of how amazing he is is the sheer number of ways one can interpret him. You have versions that are just vague embodiments of all that is bad and unholy, such as Chernabog from Fantasia, you have more nuanced portrayals like the one Viggo Mortensen played in The Prophecy, you have outright sympathetic ones like the one from South Park… Satan is just a villain who can be reshaped and reworked as a creator sees fit and molded into something that fits the narrative they want. I guess what I’m trying to say is that not only is Lucifer/Satan one of the greatest villains of all, he’s also one of the single greatest characters of all time.  

Now, there are far too many depictions of Satan for me to have seen them all, but I have seen quite a lot. Here’s how Old Scratch has fared over the millennia in media of various forms, though keep in mind this is by no means a comprehensive or exhaustive lsit:

“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” Devil: 

I think this is one of my favorite devils in any fiction ever, simply because of what a good sport he is. Like, there is really no denying that Johnny’s stupid little fiddle ditty about chickens or whatever sucks major ass, and yet Satan (who had moments before summoned up demonic hordes to rip out some Doom-esque metal for the contest) gave him the win and the golden fiddle. What a gracious guy! He’s a 9/10 for sure, though I still wish we knew how his rematch ended…

Chernabog: 

Chernabog technically doesn’t do anything evil, and he never says a word, and yet everything about him is framed as inherently sinister. It’s really no wonder Chernabog has become one of the most famous and beloved parts of Fantasia alongside Yen Sid and Sorcerer Mickey; he’s infinitely memorable, and really, how can he not be? He’s the devil in a Disney film, not played for laughs and instead made as nightmarishly terrifying as an ancient demon god should be. Everything about him oozes style, and every movement and gesture begets a personality that goes beyond words. Chernabog doesn’t need to speak to tell you that he is evil incarnate; you just know, on sight, that he is up to no good.

Quite frankly, the implications of Chernabog’s existence in the Disney canon are rather terrifying. Is he the one Maleficent called upon for power? Is he the one all the villains answer to? Do you think Frollo saw him after God smote him? And what exactly did he gain by attacking Sora at the end of Kingdom Hearts? All I know for sure is that Chernabog is a 10/10.

Lucifer (The Prophecy): 

Viggo Mortensen has limited screentime, but in that time he manages to be incredibly creepy, misanthropic… and yet, also, on the side of good. Of course, he’s doing it entirely for self-serving reasons (he wants humanity around so he can make them suffer), but credit where credit is due. The man manages to steal a scene from under Christopher Walken, I think that’s worth a 10/10.

Satan (South Park): 

Portraying Satan as a sympathetic gay man was a pretty bold choice, and while he certainly does fall into some stereotypes, he’s not really painted as bad or morally wrong for being gay, and ends up more often than not being a good (if sometimes misguided) guy who just wants to live his life. Plus he gets a pretty sweet villain song, though technically it’s more of an “I want” song than anything. Ah well, a solid 8/10 for him is good.

Satan (Tenacious D):

It’s Dave Grohl as Satan competing in a rock-off against JB and KG. Literally everything about this is perfect, even if he’s only in the one scene. 10/10 for sure.

Robot Devil:

Futurama’s take on the devil is pretty hilarious and hammy, but then Futurama was always pretty on point. He’s a solid 8/10, because much like South Park’s devil he gets a fun little villain song with a guest apearance by the Beastie Boys, not to mention his numerous scams like when he stole Fry’s hands. He’s just a fun, hilarious asshole.

The Howling Man: 

The Twilight Zone has many iconic episodes, and this one is absolutely one of them. While the devil is the big twist, that scene of him transforming as he walks between the pillars is absolutely iconic, and was even used by real-life villain Kevin Spacey in the big reveal of The Usual Suspects. This one is a 9/10 for sure, especially given the ending that implies this will all happen again (as per usual with the show).

The Darkness:

While he’s more devil-adjacent than anything and is more likely to be the son of Satan rather than the actual man himself, it’s hard not to give a shout-out to the big, buff demon played by Tim Curry in some of the most fantastic prosthetics and makeup you will ever see. He gets a 9/10 for the design alone, the facty he’s Tim Curry is icing on the cake.

#Psycho Analysis #Satan #Lucifer

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

37?

“Babe I need a pairing to go with the number.” “I don’t know! Geraskier?” “Geraskier works.”

From the September prompt list, found here!

Geralt lives in a world of self-denial.

It’s different from the worlds that Jaskier and Yennefer and many others he knows of inhabit. Jaskier and Yen live in worlds of decadence. Worlds of the finest, the most, the best.

But Witchers don’t get any of that. Vesemir has told him many a time: expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. Witchers get their food and ale spat in at taverns before it’s served to them. They get the worst rooms at the inns. They get mud slung at them, get cursed at, get ignored and distrusted and shortchanged. Geralt camps more often than not for a reason.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed.

And then along comes this scamp. This wastrel. This idiot without the good sense to feel fear when he sees a man twice his breadth with glowing cat eyes and hair white like death. Jaskier sees Geralt and gives him the worst pickup line Geralt’s ever heard (and Geralt’s heard a lot). Jaskier makes up a song about him and turns the Continent upside-down changing their minds about Witchers. Jaskier shares his bed and his clothes and his shampoo with Geralt, as if Geralt is his friend, someone trusted, someone valued.

Geralt hardly knows what to do with himself.

So he pushes. He denies. Jaskier will leave eventually. Jaskier will grow scared of him in time. Jaskier will become bored. Any number of things will happen, and Jaskier will not be there, and so Geralt shoves the bard away so that he won’t feel that sharp thorn-prick in his heart.

Yet Jaskier stays.

Sometimes… sometimes, when they’re sharing a bed at yet another cramped inn, and Jaskier’s dead asleep, Geralt will press his nose into the bard’s hair. Jaskier keeps it impossibly soft, and Geralt would run his fingers through it if he didn’t think Jaskier would wake from the touch. Instead he just… inhales softly.

Underneath the perfumes and shampoos, Jaskier smells like summer.

And sometimes… sometimes when they’re on the road and he’s riding Roach, and Jaskier’s prancing along, making up nonsense lyrics, lyrics with horrifically bad puns, lyrics that only Geralt hears because these are just first drafts, filled with curses and flat notes and sudden key changes… he’ll turn, and he’ll look at Jaskier, who has his eyes closed and a big, sunny smile on his face, and his heart will ache.

And very, very rarely, sometimes, when Geralt’s injured and in pain and they’re lying in front of the campfire, his wound all bandaged up, and he’s half-asleep and semi-delirious… Jaskier will sit next to him, and hum softly, and Geralt will fit his hand around Jaskier’s, and marvel at how their fingers interlock and how, despite the differences between monster hunting and barding, the calluses on the pads of them feel the same.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed.

But oh, it’s so hard, when Jaskier smells like summer and smiles so wide and his hands fit into Geralt’s. It’s so hard when Jaskier stays, and stays, and stays.

The winter, after the dragon, after Ciri… he brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen. It’s not safe anywhere else, he’s already nearly lost Yen and his Child Surprise both, and even if Jaskier hates him for the rest of his days, he refuses to come back in the spring to find the bard dead of the pox or a raiding refugee party or because he was at one of the courts to fall to Nilfgaard’s advancing army.

The other Witchers, inexplicably, take a liking to him. Even Lambert, although he pretends Jaskier annoys him. Ciri is delighted by him, and even Yennefer says he’s useful for trading barbs with when she’s bored, which is high praise coming from the still-healing sorceress.

“How did you manage to land such a shadow?” Vesemir asks him at one juncture.

Jaskier’s darting around, avoiding Lambert, who’s trying to yank the bard’s lute away from him so Jaskier will stop singing some ditty he made up about the Witcher. Eskel is laughing, and Ciri is too, and technically they’re supposed to be teaching their little princess swordplay but Geralt doesn’t have the heart to stop them, not when they’re all fucking laughing for once.

“Trust me, I did everything I could to get rid of him.”

Vesemir looks… surprised? Disappointed? Geralt can’t parse out his expression. “Why?”

Geralt blinks. “I… He’d… He’d leave. So. I made him leave. Before. Before it hurt.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier says in that tone that clearly means help I’m in trouble come save me, and then the bard’s darting behind Geralt like he’s a human shield.

“Lay off,” Geralt tells Lambert, who huffs and goes back to pick up his wooden sword, yelling at Ciri to attack him again and watch your flank this time, girl.

“Ah, thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier slides back around to Geralt’s front, beaming at him. Geralt’s stomach does an odd flip. It took weeks for Jaskier to smile at him again. “Always my knight in, ah, not so shining armor, eh? I’m going to go warm up in front of the fire.”

He pats Geralt’s cheek, and it must be Geralt’s imagination but it feels like the touch lingers (Jaskier’s touches always linger, it’s just Jaskier’s way, it doesn’t mean–) and then the bard is slipping back inside.

Vesemir’s eyebrow is raised so high up it looks like his face froze that way. “Looks like you did a spectacular job of that.”

“Fuck off.”

Vesemir just shakes his head. “Geralt. There are few certain things in this world. But one of them is… Stay close to the ones who feel like sunlight.”

That night, when Ciri requests a ballad, something soft, and Jaskier obliges her, Geralt lets himself look. Lets himself take in the way Jaskier’s fingers curl over the strings, the curve of his face in the fire, the way the light gets caught in his hair.

And when Jaskier glances up, and catches him looking… Geralt holds his gaze.

And Jaskier smiles.

#mads answers things #mads writes stuff #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt/jaskier #geralt/dandelion #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt/jaskier fanfic #geralt/dandelion fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geralt x jaskier fanfic #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier fic #lettersdeeplyworn

[mirroralchemist]

October 2021 Writing Update

Word Count: 534 Notes: Even though I didn’t participate in FFXIVWrites I liked the prompt “Heady” enough to do a little ditty on it. It’s still an incomplete WIP. I got inspired to write in Thancred’s PoV of him watching Ami dance in Bound by Fate

Totally didn’t get inspired from the scene where Tidus watches Yuna dance.

He was supposed to be a better person for Ryne's sake. And for that sake, he would at least make an earnest attempt to behave himself. So he politely turned down those drinks and more than platonic company. Thus he walked through the increasing sea of people. He stopped at an open section to just take in the moment. Hazel eyes bound skyward to the moon, a sight he had rarely seen for the five years since his arrival.

The proof of their victory. Well… more so the victory of one particular woman.

Thancred chuckled to himself, already hearing the way she would sputter and insist on the night's return being more of a team effort. As it was her wont. But those who witnessed the feats first hand would too agree on his observation. The faint sounds of music interrupt the man from his thoughts. He quickly scans the grounds for the source, finding a group forming further down. He soon finds himself in the midst of the crowd. The closer he gets to the epicenter, the louder the music becomes. The sight of dancers greets him. Some paired, some solo he appreciates the people's forms as they move along the tempo of the music that fills the air. He couldn't decide if such a sight reminds him of the days of Limsa Lominsa or Ul'dah. Either way, nostalgia courses through him.

"Oof."

He focuses on the small sound of discomfort as a woman was suddenly brought towards the dancers as well. The bewildered look upon her flushed face wants to make him spring into action. He'd like to think that he could discern the expressions of his dear friend. As she tended to be quite shy at public acts that didn't involve her combat prowess. Surely the Warrior of Darkness would want rest after her ordeals? Ready to step in to lead her away from the growing crowd, he paused.

She seemingly gave a nod to herself before she moved to the music as well.

Curiosity rooted him in his spot as he witnessed her moving along. There was that awkward stiffness he expected. Still ready to offer her an out before she feels overwhelmed, he watches. Almost too soon, he watched as she relaxed and moved with more fluidity. Those eyes widen as he sees a side to her that he's pretty sure no one else has seen before. It becomes all too clear that she actually indulged.

(It honestly relieved him that Ami did. Always having been the kind to have to be told to actually enjoy herself.)

Even while inebriated, she moves with such grace. Pleasant tingles spread in his body as he's transfixed on her dancing. Each sway her lithe body moves, he follows. The other dancers play second to Ami's increasing confidence in her dance. He commits every detail to memory: how her blue hair whips around in the air at her twirls, her light blue eyes that seem to twinkle in mischief. The way she purposely moves to show hints of that feminine form she tends to hide.

She has to know the alluring aura she was bringing towards the crowd.

At least to him specifically.

#shit writing #writing things #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic #october 2021 #writing update #writing snippet

[runrundoyourstuff]

Creature of Earth 

(a Steven Universe fic, 1205 words)

It’s halfway through the War when they finally manage it, in about as inconspicuous a moment as any. The base buzzes with the type as elation that only seems to come after a victory, so something of an impromptu party seems to have taken root throughout the ranks, and the two of them are eager to join their compatriots.

“And we will, my—Rose,” Pearl promises. “As soon as we settle the details of how we—how you—are going to make your next check-in with Yellow and Blue—”

“Yes, yes, I know, Pearl, but—”

But then Rose stops short. In the center of their encampment, someone—Snowflake, perhaps?—starts singing, and the music wafts into Rose’s quarters. It’s a different type of song than the ones that Pearl sang on Homeworld, nothing like those dainty little ditties praising the Empire, or the Diamond Authority, or individual Diamonds themselves. No, those were melodies meant to be performed, for glory, for homage—and this is not that. This more resembles that ritual they’d witnessed when they’d happened upon that human settlement several sun-cycles ago: a group of individuals all singing together, not to pay homage to anyone in particular, but rather as though the song itself was something to share collectively, and share it they all did.

And they’d danced too, those humans. Again, in such a wildly different way than anything they’d ever seen, something that seemed so much like the Earth itself. There had been no choreography. Just people swaying together to music, responding to it organically like the organics they were, sometimes on their own, sometimes in large groups, and sometimes in pairs of two, each holding the other close…

And then before Pearl is aware of what’s happening, Rose reaches for her hand, and all the solemnity fades from Pearl’s face. She grips Rose’s hand back, and they each pull the other close, spin to Snowflake’s distant voice, Rose grins, starry-eyed, and Pearl blushes, and then laughs, and then for an instant nothing matters—not the check-in, not the War, not their histories or former lives—nothing but this, the music, this moment, these movements, them together, right here on this planet…and then…

And suddenly there’s only one person spinning where only an instant previously two Gems had been.

“What…” she says, reaching for her hair, her waist, her face. “Did we…Rose, I think we…Pearl, we did it! I…? I did it…? I did it.”

The last words are whispers, something else borrowed from humans, this understanding that some reverent quiet is owed to holy ground, and that is what this has become. And then she falls wholly silent, not because she doesn’t have anything to say, nor because she feels ashamed to say it, but rather because she doesn’t need to give voice to anything for it to be comprehended. Both—all parts of her already understand everything she would utter before she articulates it well enough for it to reach her lips.

And one such notion is that she suddenly wants, needs, to be outside with all that is constantly changing on the planet. She paces out the back of Rose’s quarters into the cool pre-dawn air, and no one sees her. Her gait is as gossamer as those of her two component parts, and she’s far enough away from the center of the base where the rest of the troops are entrenched in their party. Not even Larimar, presently on guard duty, notices as she wanders into the forest.

Around her, things bloom, grow, flower—roses and hibiscus and so many countless others—grass, trees, they all burst into being in real time, changing in every instant as the planet turns. Insects and birds—more of the whimsical creatures who live and grow here—buzz and chirp around her. The planet spinning on its axes also creates the illusion that the sun swings across the sky, and as it does, it changes too. Its color transforms from pink to orange to yellow, to finally bright white, and all the creatures of earth that surround her seem to change their appearance—or at least their shades—in response to it.

She thinks: I don’t want anyone to see us—me?—like this.

Because I’m ashamed?

No. Because we’re at war. Because I don’t want this, us, us together, me, to become a weapon. I want this always to be beautiful.

I’m beautiful.

It’s a novel thought. She blinks at it.

Eventually, she settles by a lake, folds her legs delicately to sit next to it and peers inside. As the sun streaks across the sky, the colors change in the water, and there’s a moment when some creature—is that a frog?—skips across, splashing little droplets into the air. They catch the sunlight, and when they do create little ephemeral bursts of color, which change before they dissipate.

It’s beautiful.

So much on Earth is beautiful.

One day, she will no longer hide. One day, she will even flaunt her existence. In thousands of years, after the War is over, or at least transformed into an ongoing containment mission, when her army is dwindled down to just four of them, when she’s dealt with more loss than she ever expected to (though for part of her, there will be more to come) when the Diamonds have withdrawn from Earth for what she thought was for good, she will appear in the mouth of their temple base outside of Beach City. She will once again move to the music, and Greg’s jaw will drop. In a way, she will suppose that that is itself a type of weaponization.

But it will be different. It won’t because she is subversive. No one will bat an eyelash at the caste differences between her component parts—Greg will have no idea, and Amethyst will hardly have any idea, and Garnet will have some idea but not of how drastic a class division she actually contains—and regardless such things will have long since ceased to matter. She will flaunt herself with pride, and she will be nothing more and nothing less than exactly who she is in that moment.

That won’t be the first time she shows herself, though. Amethyst will meet her before that, the first time they teach her about fusion. And even prior, millennia before, just a few years from now, she’ll show herself to Garnet, who will beam. Garnet will tell her to provide a name, and she will find she already has an answer to give.

For now, she gazes into the lake. The changing sun with its changing colors catches her gemstones in her reflection, and her eyes fall on them for the first time. They’re both iridescent like Pearl’s, casting multitudes of different hues off in different moments, changing like water that splashes into the air, like the frogs, the birds, the trees, like the humans, like so much on Earth…

Rainbow, she thinks.

Rainbow Diamond?

But she knows before she formulates the thought that that’s wrong. Pink Diamond tried, but she could never form her. No, she’s made up of Pearl, and of someone else entirely.

“No,” she says aloud. “Rainbow Quartz.”

[ao3]

#my fic #su #rainbow quartz #pearl #rose quartz