It was quite a shock when Damian had asked his brothers for assistance in a project for his advance music theory class.
It was a unspoken knowledge that music was a part of the Wayne family.
If they didn’t have an affinity for an instrument then it was singing and if not singing dancing.
Almost everyone who came into the family had some sort or knack and those who hadn’t picked it up along the way.
Damian was the most uninterested members when he had joined the family so it was quite a shock when he demanded help this morning.
Testing out the drums Jason shared a look with the others before asking,
“So why did you need all of us to begin with? You’re not recording or anything right?”
Damian let out a tch as for himself ready,
“Not right now, but I felt it imperative to go over my composition at least once altogether, in case I felt the need to add.”
The kid continued to tune the ukulele in his hands.
It was a strange choice for the ex assassin but when questioned he merely claimed it was due to it’s size being easier to travel with.
“Well I think it’s an interesting choice in lead instrument baby bird!”
Dick claimed as he played with his maraca while glancing over his sheet music.
“I think it will go nicely with the your lyrics! But I do have to ask-“
“I made the lyrics very clear.”
“And you did! But-“
Damian gave a glare as Dick took a seat.
“I will cut out the maracas, do not test me Richard.”
Tim gave a snort from his place slumped over the piano,
“Just be glad you got to see the vocal sheet music, he just annotated the places he wanted me to harmonize with you.”
“Yeah we’ll you kind of have to be more focused my your hands than anything else.”
Silence fell as they finished their warm ups and Damian began to strum his cords.
The eldest watched as the others raised their eyebrows at the tempo and of the tune but came just the the same.
“I lost my cool, I’m not sure how to act, not even sure how I can keep my pride intact.”
Jason felt his eyebrows raise at the lyrics as Dick and Tim started their backup harmonies.
“No, I'm not falling for you, so please have mercy on me
'Cause it's not romantic, I swear I'm not gasping for air
I want you to be here, but please don't come near
'Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding
I'm not ready for hand holding
It's not love, I swear It might be closer to despair.”
The first interlude began and Jason shot an incredulous look at Dick. Was this the demon brat? Were they sure he hadn’t been replaced in the night with some sappy clone?
Dick for his part tried to convey to younger brother to just keep playing.
“No, I don't want want you to teach me how to dance Get your heart away from me, you'll put me into a trance
And even though I think about you day and night
I'm not sure if this whole love thing sounds quite right”
Tim craned his neck as the chorus started again, to look at Damian and nearly fell off his stool when he realized that there was blush on the younger’s face.
‘Who in god’s name has somehow wiggled their way past the kid’s defenses?!’
Damian, for his part was refusing to look in the other’s direction as he powered through to the last verse.
“Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding
I'm not ready for hand holding
It's not love, I swear
It might be closer to despair”
Crooning the last notes to the song, Damian seemed to take a moment to gather himself before quickly striking last note and letting the room fill with silence.
No one seemed to know how to react after such a performance for a second.
Then Dick tried to clear the frog in his throat and the moment was over.
“Baby bird-“
“Cease your prodding, this was for a school project and nothing more.”
Damian gritted out as he stood from his seat,
“Now if you excuse me I am going to return to my room, I feel that if I were to add a bass to the background it would help with the mixing of sounds.”
And left as quickly as he could without raising suspicions.
“Holy fuck,”
Jason breathed out,
“When did the brat gain his first crush?”
“It has to be new.”
Tim rubbed his temple with his thumb,
“He’s still clearly in denial so he hasn’t really gotten used to the idea.”
“You say that like he doesn’t share his dna with the most emotionally constipated man in the known universe.”
“Guys.”
Dick raised his hands in exasperation,
“We can argue on whether or not he’s conscious about his crush later. Right now I want to do some background checks on this person.”
Before exiting the music room,
Tim gave him a disbelieving look,
“Background checks? Dick we don’t even have a name here.”
“Yeah dickhead, even if we’re assuming that he wrote this song about someone in his school we’re still looking a number in the hundreds.”
“That would be true,”
Dick’s eyes took a mischievous look as the other’s followed him into the office.
“If it wasn’t for the fact that Damian had complained about this assignment beforehand, so I know for a fact that it’s about someone in his Advanced music theory class.”
Jason and Tim shared a similar expression as they joined him in the cave.
“That does narrow it down a bit, what’s an average class size replacement?”
“Oh about 20 students, but with the fact that this is an non essential elective course, I would bet it to be smaller.”
With a shared nod and grin they started up the bat computer.
Not like they had any other big plans today anyways.
————
The song if you want
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Like Phil, I’d like to think that Jamie and Keeley still go to Brazil, in spite of the boys’ recent fuck-up, but I’d also like to think that Roy comes with them. Not because Jamie and Keeley can’t be friend on their own or wouldn’t have the best time doing Brazil together – they would! – but because I think Jamie might be conscious, given everything that’s gone down recently, of potentially upsetting what he currently perceives as a rather delicate balance.
Maybe he brings it up a few days later before they head over to Keeley’s for a joint apology, or maybe it happens already at the holy kebab place, once they’ve had a few bites and a chance to settle back into their normal; a little worse for wear, but with no lasting harm done.
And Jamie fiddles with his sleeves and makes little faces as he tries to decide what to say (and Roy notices and waits with some trepidation) and in the end he just comes right out and says it, because that’s what Jamie does, isn’t it?
“I asked Keeley to go to Brazil with me, for that Nike thing I’m doing.”
Roy blinks. He hadn’t known Jamie was doing a Nike thing. Jamie might have told him, but Roy usually stops listening whenever he starts blathering on about brands and clothes and shit, so yeah, if told he hadn’t heard.
“What did she say?” he asks after a slightly too long and awkward moment of Jamie looking up at him, almost through his fucking eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction.
“She said yes.” And hastily, as if worried what Roy might say or do if given a moment to, he adds: “I didn’t do it to try to get back together or anything. I mean, I do wanna get back together and she’s my friend and I love her and I thought we’d have a great time, yeah, but also, she’s great at PR and all that stuff, so. Yeah. That’s why I asked her to come. Make sure I don’t fuck it up.”
And because you want her to be your girlfriend. Roy doesn’t say it, though. Neither of them want a repeat of what went down at the bar. This isn’t Jamie trying to goad him or hurt him, he’s pretty fucking sure of that, so he’ll listen carefully to everything Jamie has to say, and then he’ll react like a fucking grown-up.
Probably. Possibly.
“Anyway, I think you should, like, come with us.”
Fucking what now? “What?”
“You should come with me and Keeley to Brazil.” Jamie is nodding his head decisively, as if repeating the statement has fully convinced him of its veracity.
“You want me to come with you and Keeley to fucking Brazil?” Roy is aware of sounding like a demented parrot, but he doesn’t give a fuck, does he, because he doesn’t want there to be any fucking room for misinterpretation here.
Jamie doesn’t seem particularly concerned about Roy’s tone. Too used to it, probably. “Um, yeah. Yeah. I mean, probably can’t get Nike to pay for it, right, but you’re rich, so you can just get your own ticket and you can stay with me and Keeley in this villa they’ll set us up in. Can’t mind that.”
Which all sounds very reasonable, of course, but still doesn’t answer the most pressing question: “Why?”
Jamie makes a face. “What do you mean, why? Because I don’t want shit to be weird between us, mate. And I think it’d be weird if Keeley and I went away and you stayed here after what happened, you know. Besides,” he adds, and suddenly he looks slightly shy; younger than he actually is, and vulnerable, “It’d probably be fun, yeah? All three of us going, together. Because we’re friends and all.”
And there’s something sharp and jagged turning in Roy’s gut at that, because underneath Jamie’s claim there’s a note of uncertainty that Roy had no trouble whatsoever guessing the origin of, and he adds it to the long list of things he hates himself for.
He doesn’t know how to express any of that, so what he says is, “Yeah. I guess. I’ll think about it.”
Jamie’s grin is immediate and wide; relieved and triumphant in equal measure, like he’s already won – like he already knows for a fact that Roy’s going to say yes.
Roy can’t even find it in him to mind that the little prick is right.
And then they all go to Brazil and I’m currently thinking that nothing further really happened between them there, because apparently they all need to do a little more thinking and feeling and figuring themselves out, but I’m sure they still had a grand, grand time of it.
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like, genuinely. taking accountability for your actions in perpetuation of abuse and rape culture is the first step to changing that culture. it doesn’t make you a bad person just because you did a bad thing (unless you were intentionally trying to cause harm) but you have to admit you are not immune to accidentally supporting the bad thing and take accountability for that. if you supported george's statements on sexual harassment, or dream's sexual jokes towards minors, or sapnap getting paid money to stream on a platform which openly harbours rapists and sex abusers, you've been a part of keeping the environment that makes it hard for victims to have come out. if you started believing in anti-victim sentiments and harassed other abuse victims for talking about how it made them uncomfortable, you’ve supported this environment. if you assumed anyone uncomfortable with your streamer or trying to talk out against them was inherently lying solely because it was your streamer, you helped support an enviroment that fostered abusers.
and that sounds harsh, and I’m sorry. but it’s true. and to a degree, I think everyone in this community has done that with people at one point in their lives. it's very easy to be manipulated, but it’s also very easy to be wilfully blind, and that’s not something irredeemable or a permanent stain. you can change, but you need to identify in yourself what caused you to act like that and make a conscious change. it’s healthier for you and it’s healthier for the environment. if we want to avoid this in the future, we need to be proactive in calling out actual potentially harmful behaviour, even if it’s from someone you like. or we will continue to harbour mass amount of abusers.
most content creators are not abusers. most, to be honest, are awkward introverted nerds with social anxiety. at least, that’s what i've got from the ones my brother knows (and that includes some big ccs). but while they’re a huge part of it bc being in front of a camera instead of people is a huge draw, there’s another draw that attracts a less savoury crowd- and that’s the position of power. and unless you’re willing to listen and be kind to genuine, serious criticism of harmful actions, and ccs are willing to do the same, abuse and sexual assault WILL continue to be normalised in these spaces. it is not your sole responsibility, but it IS a responsibility to make sure to avoid that now you know the possibilities aggressively attacking any criticism can hide. caiti had to deal with people with her abusers face threaten her for speaking negatively towards him. do not let that happen again.
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I think quite often of the optional little dialogue tree that one can get about Yaevinn in TW2 with an imported save if one sides with Iorveth, and particularly of just how Iorveth describes Yaevinn
The dialogue prompt "I once knew another Scoia'tael - Yaevinn." will lead to the following exchange:
GERALT: I once met another Scoia'tael leader.
IORVETH: Yaevinn. I knew him. He had beautiful dreams and desperately wanted me to share them. Asked the same of you, I heard.
GERALT: You know a lot about me.
IORVETH: I try to know as much as I can - about everyone.
They'll elaborate a little further in this dialogue about how they both agree with Yaevinn's reasons and the fact that Yaevinn "saw combat and killing as poetry" which Iorveth deems unrealistic because "war is prose, with no place for beauty" (how poetic).
But the interesting part to me is the statement that Yaevinn had "beautiful dreams" and how he was this grand idealist, because this seems to be in contradiction with Yaevinn's characterisation. In his novel appearance, he argues against Toruviel's idealism as he proposes shooting the unarmed messenger. In TW1, Geralt refers to him in his journal as being "disillusioned", as well as being "a cynic and a pragmatist", neither of which seem to hold with Iorveth's account. While this can be credited to the fact that it's possible that Iorveth's past-tense statement of "I knew him" means that he hasn't seen Yaevinn in some time rather than, or at least in addition to, the implied death. He has perhaps not seen him since the Second Northern War, where they were both in the Vrihedd brigade, and Yaevinn could have grown more cynical since the Scoia'tael were betrayed by Dol Blathanna, his earliest characterisation is that of the novel canon, and he does not present a particular idealism that would reflect the notion that he is a dreamer.
It can be taken as a choice of characterisation, because for all that Yaevinn is disillusioned, he does have his hopes and desires for the future and his plans at Vizima, just as Iorveth has his hopes for Saskia and Vergen. He has these dreams, even if he tenders them close to his chest and puts the practical aspects first before he allows himself to have this hope. And I think that is a really interesting interpretation, to have this juxtaposition, that he can be both disillusioned and a dreamer, and that he chose a scant few, Iorveth, and then Geralt, to share in those precious dreams.
The notion of Yaevinn having these "beautiful dreams" is also very pertinent to his TW1 characterisation, I think, because there are optional dialogues in which Yaevinn tells the accounts of how he once lived among humans and believed in assimilation, that the humans would accept the elves if given enough time, only to be persecuted and harassed at length until he finally accepted that there was no place for him there, that there could be no assimilation, only annihilation. And even though he knows it is a hopeless fight, he still proceeds onward. He knows his people are dying, and he knows that if they do not act quickly, they will be well and truly doomed to extinction, but he is still trying to fight. That is, in and of itself, an expression of a dream for a better future, even if he thinks it hopeless, or, as Iorveth criticises, unrealistic.
Serious character analysis aside, I think that the absolute funniest interpretation of this dialogue is that it is not to be taken literally about Yaevinn's idealism or lack thereof, but rather as a euphemism -- taking "beautiful dreams" as a euphemism for queer romantic interest; hence "he had beautiful dreams and desperately wanted me to share them" is something like "he likes men and asked me to be his lover", "I hear he asked the same of you" thenceforth meaning something like "were you also his lover/do you also like men" (and the response "you know a lot about me" therefore indicating that he is correct in his judgement). There's like a whole rebellion going on but Iorveth is just checking out his options, y'know.
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for the drabble spotify wrapped game, if you want: i rolled my rainbow d10 twice and we have a 75 🌈
❤️ 🌈
75: America's Sweetheart by Elle King
uh. I don't know where this came from. i apologise, my partner-in-fluff 🫡
Also I am obviously not abiding by the technical 100-word definition of drabble here, but instead the much looser 'short piece of writing'.
spotify wrapped drabbles!
Steve doesn't know when he stopped caring about killing people. It didn't bother him until he started caring again.
It's not anyone unusual, is the thing that gets him. It's a nameless, almost-faceless drug smuggler that he didn't even mean to kill, but he shot with intent to disable and a little too much carelessness in a rush to stop the ship they came in on, and when he finally loops back around there's a pool of blood and a corpse with a busted femoral artery.
He's kneeling down, checking a pulse even though it's clearly absent, removing weapons even though he'll clearly have no use for them, when his fingers brush against a thin edge in the inside pocket of the off-the-rack grey suit jacket the guy's wearing.
When he pulls it out, it's a photo. He has to look down to check that it's the same guy in it, partially because death rictus changes a face, especially when your comparison is smiling and happy, and partially because he just hasn't looked at his face properly. It's the same guy, his arm around a similarly smiling woman shoulder-height to him and so close in features she has to be his sister, with a chubby-cheeked frizzy-haired kid straddling his shoulders and holding onto the woman's hand.
One of the first things the military teaches you, explicitly or not, is to erase personhood. Your own, and your enemy's. Numbers, statistics, body parts and targets and usefulness.
He puts the photo back into the dead man's jacket and moves away. A tech comes at some point, body-bags him, and Duke is there and the rest of his team have it well in hand, so he goes back to where their cars are parked, boosts himself onto the hood of the truck, and waits.
Kono walks past at some point, but they're still in the midst of cleanup and HPD handover, so even though she does slow and ask, "You okay, boss?", when he replies in the affirmative she nods and keeps moving.
He remembers himself before. He remembers when it would never would have occurred to him not to think that every person with a bullet in them is a person with a family. A person with a life, at least before they were a person with a death.
He doesn't bother trying to count. The impulse washes over him, but it would take hours with military records and Five-0 reports to calculate anything even close to accuracy.
Himself before was decades ago, but also not that long ago. It was target practice at the Academy and work behind computers in Military Intelligence and crawling through mud with a similarly young Freddie by his side.
Himself after, apparently, is sitting on his own truck at the edge of his own city watching his family and his family's family and his friends and his friends' friends move efficiently through shipping containers and body bags.
Eventually, Danny finds him. He takes one look at Steve's face; he doesn't say anything, just leans against the hood next to Steve and waits.
Eventually, Steve finds the words. "I don't think the military would like me anymore, Danny."
It's not all that new a state of affairs; he got driven by revenge and tattoos in non-regulation places and too many personal attachments and he remembered how to have fun in quiet spaces and how to love in loud ones. He started caring again.
"Good," Danny says, harsh and definite, and Steve realises with a start that the things that would debase him in the eyes of his country are probably exactly the same reasons Danny - not just Danny, his whole family - would cite for loving him. Except the tattoos, maybe.
He can't bring himself to be upset about it in the face of that.
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