#goopys glop
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me and my friend were talking about butch pauling realness and it changed my brain chemistry. spys only a lesbian ally because of all the beautiful women that will see miss pauling and realize theyre queer.
[image id: a drawing of miss pauling from team fortress two. shes wearing a blazer and a button up with a pair of slacks, and has omitted the lipstick. shes got one hand in a pocket and the other held out, looking at her outfit. shes saying "woah, its WAY easier to hide weapons in a suit. spy, tell your tailor i said thanks! the second iamge has a simple doodle of spy with a smug expression with a thumbs up, an arrow pointing to him labeling him a lesbian ally]
#miss pauling tf2#spy tf2#tf2#goopys glop#people are gong to stare at miss pauling and shes gonna freak out thinkinh theyre planning on killing her#no you just look hot and will be changing the trajectory of their lives forever
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I think characters who sludge are beneficial to society
Just goopy... little gunky glops
#bonus points if theyre like inky or void like in nature#BONUS bonus points if they are creative or do some sort of science#im thinking of at least 5 characters right now they're my sludge team... my goopy little creatures#lunar myth rambles#feel free to tag your goopy sludge glop#i want to know of more
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guys please let charlie slimecicle be president i have reasons
1. imagine how goopy the server will be. good.
2. he will introduce important laws (ethical and for the greater good) (such as gobby glop)
3. i just think he’s neat (he can pull off a suit and tie)
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You seem like the right person to ask. Can you recommend some horror movies that are about women turning into monsters? I saw Bite the other day and there's something incredibly satisfying about seeing the protagonist have all these problems with her personal life and instead of dealing with them like a responsible adult she turns into a giant bug and starts laying eggs in people.
I feel like I'm missing out on some because every time I get an ask about a really niche horror area my mind goes blank.
Anyway, not to state the obvious but Ginger Snaps (and the sequel) is a widely renowned werewolf movie about a teenage girl turned werewolf, which is about on the nail as you can get. If you're feeling adventurous you can also plow your way through the entire Howling series, which is sort of hit or miss on the werewolf makeup but the hits are pretty solid.
Species is also on the nose but, well, it's embarrassingly bad. Like, you'll be in there and thinking it's not so bad, but right around the time the alien hunter team comes in the whole thing nose-dives. Not mention the appalling job converting H.R. Giger's practical designs into CGI. Oddly enough the sequel is tolerable, with a mix of genuine camp, some genre savvy self awareness, and most of all practical effects during some of the more grotesque transformation sequences.
And speaking of grotesque transformation sequences, Bad Blood: The Movie (2017) delivers an impressively goopy and grotesque practical effects drive transformation of a woman into a frog monster. Bad Blood falls in that realm of "this is not good but everyone is trying really hard, they went for broke with the gore and glop, and they're all having a really good time so it's actually fucking great," It's a bit of a hidden gem of low budget horror.
And speaking of a repeated transition phrase, the low budget SheBorg movie feature an evil alien robot lady who goes around transforming people into other alien cyborgs with the plan eating an entire puppy farm and also taking over the world and then the universe. The only people who can stop their evil plan are a bunch of badly organized and not too brilliant Australian punk rockers. If you don't mind the sight of stuffed dog toys covered in fake blood being "eaten" this one is also pretty marvelous.
Traveling all the way back to the 1980s, the giallo classics Demons and Demons 2 feature multiple people transformed into murderous demon zombie creatures and they, y'know, go on rampages like one does. If you know and like or love the giallo genre chances are you saw these already but if not what are you waiting for? If you have no idea what a giallo movie is, these are going to feel very weird and also maybe pretty bad.
And just when you thought you'd seen the last of this transitional phrase, speaking of zombie, the Wormwood series (Road of the Dead, and Apocalypse) feature several women who become a sort of synthesis of zombie and human, developing unique abilities. They're just fantastic movies, bonkers combinations of zombie movies and apocalypse movies and the Mad Max movies. Whenever you hear any kind of accent out of Australia or New Zealand the chance of the movie being completely over the top fun go up by 75%.
Some runner up movies I think worth noting where there is no transformation per se, but the woman involved is for all purposes already a monster would be The Woman, Some Kind of Hate, and of course the obligatory recommendation of She Never Died,
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Could you please do "Goopy" tyvm!
glops
Askbox is currently closed as I work my way through these older asks
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Wally anon: No, it MUST be said that Hooper needed to stay dead. I know he was an important character & all, but the e n t i r e Russian plotline dragged S4 down when we damn well know Joyce could've been doing more important shit elsewhere. So, I'm right there with you on only wanting her to make it from the adults. Winona is the primary reason I started watching the show & they need to stop. sidelining her with the Russians & Hopper & w/e other nonsense they can think up when she was in the thick of shit in 1/2. As for S3, I controversially think the whole goopy, blobby ~consumes everything it touches~ concept is the show's best/scariest monster design & they REALLY dropped the ball not having it cause infinite more damage instead of just using it as an excuse to fully make Billy a villain & kill him off (& still be inconsistent about it cause we get his backstory and. him sacrificing himself, so it's like what do y'all want us to take from him djdgdb). The picking & choosing with characters is just too much to deal with sometimes. 💀
Ya'know, I had not even thought to consider what his full name is so that's a good thing to wonder lollll.
Yupyupyup. It's nice to have that security, but he knows it's very conditional on how well he performs & that's not what he actually wants to do, so it leads to this lonely limbo of kinda sorta contentment. I hope he's able to get a happier outcome as the series goes on (after he finds out more of who he is first) & if not, well, that's what fix-it fics are for. ❤️
In more ways than one, huh? @ inches. 🤫 It's not quite as pronounced for me (I'm 5'10), but 6'+ guys are still huge that it's impossible to not be into the difference on principle.
You're absolutely right about the detention. I feel his thoughts would be even more out of control than the norm cause there'd be nothing else to distract him. So he really lucked out being so charming fr. 👍
Oh, I can completely. visualize the finishing/moving to shake with the same hand djfbdb (spot on Wally headcanon). And you know he'd get even more excited by realizing you aren't a ghost & what that even means & trying to understand how it even happened. And, if you can actually touch him, how that would change things completely for his regular routine. Meanwhile, the entire time, you're still trying to wrap your head around the entire thing (double entendre for the situation itself & ~another thing~ cause the size).
I think what they give her to do in 3 and 4 lines up with her character but it really struggles to be tonally consistent. Season 3 in general is much more comedic and bright (which is why I think the Billy and big gloppy glop falls flat cause it’s in a season with more lighthearted themes). It’s just crazy that she was ready to throw hands with the demogorgon and go into the upside down to retrieve her son (which season 1 has the worst upside down, worst in the best sense because i mean it in violent, unknown, and scary.) But in Season 3 and 4 it’s russians, and terminator homages, and just stuff that’s so unserious. I hate it sm. At least the teens got a better story in s4 than the adults (minus Eddie.)
I wonder if it’s sewn into his underwear ugh that’s such a good way to find out what Wally is short for. (lmao it’s just kinda hot to see the name embroidered in there, because you know they’re his)
I hope he gets to be with Maddy but I can see that season 2 is leading into his downfall because if she gets her body back… she’s gonna get with Simon (no hate to him but Wally clears the floor.)
Dayum five ten is still taller than me by a mile😭 my best friend is 5’9” and he towers over me. But yeah, anyone taller than six feet deserved to be classified as a stratospherical disturbance
The ticking clock and the fact that he’s mere feet away from a teacher who would only have to give his attention to him. Wally would be having a field day in his head about it.
Oh totally, you’re trying to understand that ghosts are real and that you can talk to one of them and this ghost is packing some heat. There would definitely be long silences as you tried to pay attention in class, but he’s filling the empty seat next to you (but it still looks empty to everyone else.) If you can touch him, you can guarantee that he’s got you taking a “bathroom break” every class to sneak off and… well, I’ll let you decide the rest on that. Lunch periods are dine and dash type of events where you eat and hurry off with him elsewhere.
If you guys haven’t gotten to a physical relationship yet, it’s probably best to keep an eye out for him after phys. ed in the changing rooms, because he just might be there… (not in a creepy way, just hormonal teen way yk)
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Tell the class about Basil and Walter Hartright please
THEM????? THE ARTISTS???? THE GOOPY GLOPS?!????
I still have yet to draw anything good with the both of them, but BASICALLY. Here’s another prime example of “top ten gothic lit crossovers that JD has even though it probably shouldn’t” 👩❤️💋👩
Basically after the whole Basil stab and the Sibyl/Misses Vain ordeal, Dorian fakes his death and scampers away from the public eye to avoid repercussions. While Vain seeks refuge with Robert Walton and his crew, Basil is left having to recover from both the physical and emotional trauma left behind under the daunting gaze of the public eye.
While he used to be introverted, after he could start moving around again he became downright bitter and untrusting of most, preferring to stay close to just Henry or Lily if forced to have company at all. He stops making art for a while, stops going out, etc.. Eventually Henry gets sick of seeing Basil so miserable, so he one day forces Basil to come to an art show with him in hopes that Basil seeing something related to what he was once so passionate about would help lift his spirits.
It doesn’t, really. At least not immediately. Basil is almost immediately hounded by other attendees pestering him with questions and handing out condolences like candy. To him it feels like coddling, and after getting trapped in a few crowds and pressured into having a few drinks, he manages to slip out into the exhibit’s courtyard. Which is where a worried Walter Hartright spots him and checks to see if he’s lost or feeling well. At first Basil isn’t thrilled at all about this, but after Walter starts discussing actual art with him and not Basil’s personal issues, he loosens up a little bit and ends up having a moderately good time until Henry finds him and offers to take him home 👍 He went to bed that night feeling less anxious than usual.
Basil and Walter do end up meeting again soon after and thus begins another chapter to the journey of healing 😁😁😁👍👍👍 amen
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Porrim scans the crowd as she chows down... Wow, there sure are lots of people here, aren't there? This place is packed! Oh, wait, is that...? Oh, it's the cute busty girl from the inn! She's watching! Didn't she say she was stuck working? Porrim isn't gonna question it. She's just gonna eat... Three contestants can't finish the second pie - it's a goodbye to numbers 8, 2, and 12. And a hello to pie number 3 - it looks like a pumpkin pie, but the MC says it's some other kind of gourd that Porrim hasn't had before.
Ooh, messy. Porrim's mouth is a mess of red glop, now, but she just wipes a wrist over her lips and continues. In the spirit of friendly competition, she keeps her pace ABOUT the same as her rivals', though she's clearly in the lead.
Each bite of goopy gourd pie requires her to lick her fingers after, scooping the puree'd filling to her lips again and again. The pies are large - no wonder her fellow contestants keep dropping out - but Porrim's larger, and up for the challenge. The belt around her waist is getting tight, but that's sort of the point - it wouldn't be any good if her axe hung around her big hips instead.
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HEAVY TF2 TUMMY !! !! !!
AS YOU WISH SIRE!!!!!!!!! i hope this is okay!!! i love to give characters my bodytype heavy i love you you dont have an ass okay?
[image id: the first image shows a drawing of heavy from team fortress two. he is a trans man with breasts and is naked, taking a shower. he has a pink shower cap on patterned with hearts. hes holding a loofah scrubber in one hand like a microphone and singing into it with a pleased expression, and a bar of blue soap in the other. he is covered in scars and stretch marks, and has several suds covering him, including one censoring his crotch. he has been edited into a pixelated stock photo of a shower. the second image shows the same but without the shower.
the last image is a small doodle, showing the artist as a person with a curly ponytail, tied to a chair. in front of him is another pixelated image of billy the puppet on his bike, but the head has been drawn over to be medic. he is saying "if you do not draw heavy tf2 tummy.. well... i will simply have to change your blood to the evil one... ohoho..... comply with my demands." end image id]
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Horrorly Quinn
“She’s around here somewhere, Mistah J~!” you can hear... her voice? your voice? except its definitely not yours. there’s some fucked up goopy burbly choking sound mixed in. like how you imagine the ghost of a person who drowned would sound like, or maybe someone with a broken neFOCUS HARLEEN.
this not-you, dripping with the nightmare fluid that’s sprung up along with your baby’s disappearance, is otherwise everything that the video games and merchandise portray and then some. you glance out from your hiding place agaYOU HAVE TO RUN
perfect skin, glop only coming out of her ears so as to not mar the artfully running makeup. shiny thick hair, in high pigtails to stay nice and clean. what can be seen of her clothing from under the wounds leaking thick ink is a skimpy crop top that has Joker’s face stretched across enormous jugs, a tiny waist looking ready to snap and a dummy thicc ass (STOP MEMEING HARLEEN) with daisy dukes that could almost qualify as panties. the limbs are encased in the glop, its impossible to tell if she’s wearing ridiculous heels or if that’s just her feet. long strings of ooze stretch behind her, gathering into a single strand held tight in your ex lover’s hanD THEY’RE GOING TO FIND YOU
you slink back and away, keeping low to the ground, almost on all fours, watching carefully where you place your feet. for your part, you’re in torn muddy PJ pants and a baggy teeshirt. you can feel your phone in one pocket, mercifully on silent, and a baggy of beef jerky in the other. you don’t even have shoes, forget a weapon. and nobody is going to be making any jokes to pull you out of this, which is, in itself, the biggest joke of all.
you always end up powerless and alone, Harleen. you always end up crawling through the refuse to try and escape the man who made you, but this time there is no appealing to him, as he’s replaced you twice over. a new girlfriend, trailing behind him with the smuggest expression, and a new pet harlequin.
"if she’s here, she’s awfully quiet my dear.” his voice is like nails on a chalkboard, except the chalkboard is your bones.
"really outta character, ain’it?” she replied, before gasping in delight. “Ooooh, I gotta fun idea~” she then let out... its not a whistle. its high pitched, but its not a whistle at all. you cringe against the fallen leaves, watching a bit of blood drip down. was it your ears, or your face? you’re far too cold toSOMETHING IS SNIFFING YOU HARLEEN.
“did my babies find something?” why is her voice closer
don’t panic
R U N
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I mean its the least you could do for me. I mean after all I did just take off my hood and that is only a privluege only the highest and my utmost respect *he then hid his right hand in his pocket* *they both heard a glop noise as if something goopy fell of*-C
[Their eyes narrow under their "hair"] Yeah, SURE little dude... What are you hiding in there?! I know you have something hiding!!
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Chapter 3 of my modern AU holiday fic series is up, and this one is the much-anticipated Jewish!Ciri chapter.
Hanukkah 2018, or The One Where Jaskier Conquers Judaism (A Year in Review): When Jaskier discovers Ciri's birth mother is Jewish, he's determined to help her keep in touch with her heritage. He tries - and oftentimes fails - throughout the year to provide her this connection. Maybe he'll finally get it right for Hanukkah.
Find it on my ao3, or keep reading below the cut:
It all began with an offhand comment from Geralt not long before the new year. It was burger night, one of the few nights Geralt was actually around to cook. Most evenings Yennefer prepared dinner, or else they were left with one of the handful of dishes Jaskier could reliably not burn. And when he called into the living room for everyone's cheese preference - cheddar for Jaskier, pepper jack for Yen - Ciri had asked for a slice of American on hers. And Geralt had huffed a laugh, bemusedly muttered,
"That's not kosher." And for whatever reason, the statement attracted Jaskier like a moth to light. Before Geralt knew what was happening he'd flitted into the kitchen, pressed his elbows on the island counter and leaned forward.
"What's not kosher?" It sounded like an innocent enough question, but the shit-eating smirk on Jaskier's face said otherwise.
"Cheeseburgers," Geralt shrugged, returning his attention to the stove. Jaskier raised an eyebrow, dropped his chin into his hands. "Her mother was Jewish. Clearly not that Jewish, though."
"Huh." And that was the end of the conversation, except the wheels were already spinning in Jaskier's head. He knew very little about Judaism, but he did know it was matrilineal, making Ciri, by birth, a Jew. And, just like that, Jaskier had found his new year's resolution.
Jaskier was by no means a religious man. He loved his Hallmark holiday Christmas, but that was about the extent of it. He was certainly not a Jew. But how hard could it be, he figured. If he found a way to celebrate Christmas and Easter without really knowing what he was doing, he could surely find a way to give Ciri a slice of her heritage.
Shabbat seemed like a reasonable place to start. Light some candles on Friday night, take a much-needed break from tech, have some challah. Except, Jaskier was no ordinary parent; he was going to go above and beyond for his lion cub and bake his own challah.
This was mistake number one.
The challah caught fire in the oven. He only had a split second to react before that godforsaken fire alarm went blaring, sending Yennefer trudging down the stairs to inspect the situation. Thank god Ciri's school let out later than the high school. He yanked the charred bread from the oven, sustaining a neat little burn on the inside of his wrist that he'd have to find an excuse to explain away later.
"I'm going to try again," he declared, more to himself than anyone else, his wrist held under the running faucet. Yennefer shook her head, busying herself rummaging through their first-aid kit.
"You're no cook, Jask." She turned the faucet, dabbed carefully at his arm with a paper towel. "Just go to the store and buy one. Ciri won't know the difference." His face fell, and he rubbed at his jaw with his free hand.
"But I will." She spread a glop of antibiotic ointment over the wound, trying her best not to scratch him with vampire-red nails.
"You better not burn the house down," was all she had left to add, smoothing the band-aid over his skin.
The second challah (mistake number two), thankfully, did not catch fire. It did, however, refuse to rise, remaining a goopy mess in the bottom of the pan. Yennefer shuffled back through the kitchen again, presumably just to tease him further. A quick glance at the clock informed him he had just enough time for a third try before Ciri came careening in from the bus. Yennefer not-so-subtly recommended he go to the store yet again.
The third challah (mistake number three) did not catch fire. It didn't refuse to rise, either. Instead, it simply exploded, sending half-baked shards of bread splattering all over the interior of their oven. Geralt was going to kill him. Hell, he still didn't have a challah to show for his labors, and Ciri was going to kill him. With a beleaguered sigh, he shuffled on his coat, yanked his keys from their hook in the foyer, and called up to Yennefer that he was running to the store.
After nearly wrecking his car in a race against the school bus and almost cracking his head open on the counter in a dash to make it to the kitchen, Jaskier finally had a beautiful, golden-brown challah waiting on the table. Well, actually, two challahs. He wasn't sure if he should get the regular one or the kind with raisins and, not wanting to mess up any more than he already had, he bought both just to be safe.
He wasn't sure the hug Ciri flung herself into when she caught sight of the rolls waiting for her was well-deserved, but he found his voice wavering with the threat of tears anyway as he stumbled through the blessings over the candles. On the bright side, Kiddush was a fantastic excuse for a glass of wine. With a joyful b'tayavon, they tore into the challah. Yen was right; Ciri didn't know the difference.
Purim was early in 2018, on the first of March. This was, admittedly, something he knew very little about. But he did know that there were services for Purim, so he perused Google until he found a nearby synagogue that welcomed non-members. Perhaps it would've been better advised to reach out ahead of time, but Jaskier was never really one to plan in advance.
This was mistake number four.
He dug out one of the suits he reserved for parent-teacher conferences, enlisted Yennefer's help in wrestling Ciri into a sparkly yellow dress with more ties and zippers than Jaskier knew what to do with (mistake number five), and loaded her into the car before heading off. The first thing he noticed upon crossing the threshold was the costumes. A Batman sprinted past him, followed by an Optimus Prime, while a Princess Anna shouted after them. He glanced from the costumed children, down to his dolled up lion cub, and then back up. Fuck. A sympathetic father wriggled away from his wife and approached him, sticking out a hand for Jaskier to shake.
"You're new, aren't you?" He asked, and Jaskier nodded slowly.
"She, uh… her mom's Jewish," he muttered, tilting his head towards Ciri. She beamed up at the man.
"Papa is learning how to be Jewish for me because Momma celebrates Diwali and Daddy doesn't like holidays," she declared, and Jaskier tightened his grip on her hand. He was humiliated enough as it was; the last thing he needed was to explain his unusual family arrangement to a total stranger. The man quirked an eyebrow at her before returning his attention to Jaskier.
"She's a charmer, isn't she?" He laughed before gesturing towards a redheaded little girl around Ciri's age in a Wonder Woman costume. "That's my little girl, Eliana." Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief.
"This is Ciri." She waved up at them with her free hand. "And I'm Jaskier."
"David." Jaskier shook his hand again, not really certain whether he'd already done so. "Well, I think it's awfully sweet that you're trying to learn for her. But for future reference, the kids usually wear costumes." Jaskier wanted to ask whether that applied strictly to Purim or services in general, but didn't care to embarrass himself further.
The service itself was not terribly long, which was a blessing, because it was entirely in Hebrew. Ciri, for what it's worth, seemed more entertained than him, enraptured by the opportunity to make as much noise as possible at the antagonist, Haman's, name. On the bright side, they got plenty of hamantaschen afterwards, and Jaskier was very grateful that he hadn't had the thought to try to bake them on his own.
Jaskier didn't know much about Jewish holidays, but he did know that Passover was pretty important, and that it was his opportunity to really test his mettle. It was perfect; he loved to entertain, and what was a Seder but one big dinner party. Valdo Marx, his distressingly put-together PTA arch-nemesis/band director of his biggest rival high school, had extended him an invitation to his massive yearly Seder, because "it's tradition to invite literally anyone ." Jaskier refused.
This was mistake number six.
The occasion started to unravel when he found out his parents couldn't make it, but he pressed on anyway (mistake number seven). He decided to cook for the occasion (mistakes number eight through twelve), but the matzo balls came out soggy and underdone, he cut himself slicing apples for charoset, the brisket ended up overcooked and rubbery, his potato kugel was a bland, tasteless mess, and he even managed to mess up hard-boiled eggs. No matter, he could surely just go to the store. But then Yennefer texted that she'd gotten caught up in City Hall and wouldn't make it back in time, and Geralt had work that night, and two did not a Seder make.
Jaskier tucked his tail between his legs and texted Valdo to belatedly take up his invitation. Along the way he ran in for a bottle of Manischewitz (mistake number thirteen). At least he'd checked the internet to make sure Ciri didn't need to be in costume for this holiday. Valdo leered at the bottle of wine he shoved into his hands as he shuffled through the door with Ciri in tow. Go figure, on the table sat an array of much more expensive (and tasty) wines.
When it came time to recite the Ma Nishtana , Valdo scanned the room before his gaze settled on Jaskier and Ciri tucked away in the corner.
"Cirilla," he asked, "how old are you?"
"Seven!" She provided eagerly, and Jaskier decided he needed to have a conversation with her when they got home about how it's sometimes okay to lie, actually.
"That makes you the youngest child," Valdo continued. "Go for it." Ciri, very clearly, wasn't all too sure what exactly she was supposed to be going for, and Jaskier's heart sank. "The four questions?" Valdo elaborated, as if that would be of any help. At her continued and increasingly distressed silence, Valdo set his sights on Jaskier. "Tell me you didn't forget to teach her the four questions." (Mistake number fourteen.) Jaskier shrunk back in his seat, guilt drawn across his face. He leaned to the side and whispered into Ciri's ear.
"I'll do it with you, okay?" She rubbed at the tears forming in her eyes with a small fist.
"You're not a kid," she argued back.
"Your Dad begs to differ," he laughed, tracing the transliterated text with his finger. "Come on. Let's do it together." She nodded meekly, and let her voice fall under his as they stiltedly recited the four questions.
Valdo was onto him and his abject failure as a parent, and if he hadn't been already, Jaskier was sure of it when Valdo interrupted himself just towards the end of the Seder and gestured to him.
"My dearest Jaskier here is an esteemed colleague of mine." His words dripped with sarcasm, and Jaskier felt very small. "A fellow music educator." He raised his glass as if making a toast. "Jaskier, why don't you treat us to that impeccable voice of yours and lead us in Dayenu?" He tried to escape, he really did.
"My concentration was in trombone, you know. Not choir, like our marvelous host." Oh, but Valdo insists he has a beautiful voice (which he does , thank you very much.) "I haven't gotten to warm up." No matter, Valdo assures him. Take your time. "I think I might be coming down with something." Well then he should be in bed, shouldn't he, the poor dear, Valdo interjects. Finally, Valdo's uncanny ability to shoot down every last excuse outpaces his capacity to wrack his brain for them. Thank god for the musical notation printed with both Hebrew and transliteration, and thank god for years of sight-reading practice. He hobbles his way through it, and Ciri buries her head in his side.
The Seder is not a total bust. For one, if someone had told Jaskier a minimum of four glasses of wine were in order, he would've converted a long time ago. Second, Valdo is actually a good cook ( damn him ), and his matzo balls are round and fluffy. Third, Ciri found the afikomen and all of Jaskier's transgressions were swiftly forgotten. She was asleep in her car seat before he'd even pulled out of Valdo's driveway. He decides to write the evening off as a wash and vows to do better next year.
Rosh Hashanah is the next holiday to roll around that he thinks is significant enough to bother with. And it's simple enough, right? Some challah, apples and honey, a few blessings? He can surely do that. Hell, how could he mess it up?
He entirely writes off the prospect of baking his own challah and picks up one of those beautiful, braided loaves the day before. Unfortunately, no one at the kosher bakery thought to warn him that Rosh Hashanah challah should be round, so he has to run back to the store and get another one the next morning (mistake number fifteen).
He cuts himself slicing the apples. Again. (Mistake number sixteen.) Perhaps, Geralt warns him, his knife privileges should be revoked. Except, this time, the cut won't stop bleeding. Spending Rosh Hashanah in the ER with Yennefer mercilessly teasing him the whole way through had not been part of his plans. Six stitches later, Yen swings by the grocery store and picks up a pack of pre-sliced apples on their way home while Jaskier slips in and out of sleep in the passenger's seat, and prays Geralt hasn't put Ciri to bed yet.
Ciri is wide awake when he sheepishly steps through the front door, curled up with Geralt on the couch and already in her pajamas. He leans over the two, plants a kiss on each of their foreheads.
"Sorry, princess," he muttered, slumping onto the couch next to her. She smiled, wriggled free from Geralt's arm and pressed against his chest. "So much for Rosh Hashanah."
"It's okay." She tugged at his hand. "Can I see it?" She asked, gesturing towards the bulky bandage wrapped around his left hand. He held it out for her to inspect while Geralt reminded her to be gentle. "Did it hurt?" He couldn't help but laugh.
"It did. Which is why we don't let you use the big knife." And why Jaskier also probably shouldn't be allowed to use it either.
"Who said Rosh Hashanah had to be cancelled?" Yennefer emerged from the kitchen with a plate full of sliced apples, round challah, and honey, shifting onto the couch next to Geralt. Ciri leapt up, elbowing both Geralt and Jaskier in the process, and devoured the plate eagerly. Maybe it wasn't entirely a bust, after all. Just no more apple slicing moving forward.
Yom Kippur is a big deal. Like, a really big deal, and very serious. Jaskier knows it's not exactly the holiday Ciri is looking forward to, but he has to prove he's serious. It's very important. So, he decides they're going to services.
This was mistake number seventeen.
Step one is waking up at the crack of dawn, dragging himself out of bed, and making an entire pot of coffee before he remembers he's supposed to be fasting (mistake number eighteen) and can't actually drink it. Step two requires digging the suit up again and stopping Yen on her way out the door so she can fix his tie. Step three is to rouse Ciri, singlehandedly deal with the inevitable meltdown that accompanies waking an eight-year-old early on a day off from school (mistake number nineteen), and enviously watch her devour breakfast before the inevitable battle of getting her into a dress.
The service is long . It is boring. It is entirely in Hebrew. And it is certainly not designed with hyperactive elementary schoolers (or their starving, restless parents) in mind. After the third time he thinks it's finally ending, only for the Rabbi to launch back into prayer again, Ciri starts to get especially antsy.
"I need to use the potty," she tells him urgently in that whisper-shout that is a trademark of youth. Fine, he can handle that. He shimmies her through rows of enraptured attendees, waits like a sentinel outside the door to the women's room, and then tiptoes back in.
"Papa, I'm hungry." Not exactly something to announce to a room full of people who can't eat, but so be it. Another hushed escape, a quick munch on the Goldfish he'd been smart enough to pack, and then their cautious reentry.
"Papa, I'm bored." There's not exactly much he can do about that, so he shuffled his phone out of his pocket as discretely as possible, makes absolutely certain the volume is off, and passes it off to her. Unfortunately, this is only a temporary solution, and she's squirming in her seat before long. "Papaaa, I'm reeeally bored."
"Just a little longer, lion cub," he assures her. He should've fled while he still had the chance to do so with dignity and grace, but he's sure it must nearly be done, and they can brave it out (mistake number twenty). This is, apparently, the very worst decision he could make. It is not, in fact, nearly done.
"Papaaa!" She's getting increasingly louder, wriggling around with increasing intensity. That heart-melting, will-bending pout of hers is drawn on her lips. This is decidedly not good. "I wanna go home!" That one was loud enough to turn a few heads, which means it's definitely time to go.
"Okay, okay," he attempts to placate her, "we're going now." But it's too late. The tears are coming.
"Now!" That one's nearly enough to grind the whole service to a halt. He does the only thing he can think to do: tuck her under his arm, scurry through the aisle, and run.
He feels dizzy and especially winded by the time they reach the car, and he's not exactly sure why. All he knows is that Ciri needs to please stop crying for a moment so he can catch his breath. It must be a Yom Kippur miracle (do those exist?) when she relents, jerking a hand free and placing it against his cheek.
"Are you okay?" Her voice is so tiny he nearly doesn't hear it.
"I'm fine, kiddo, just gimme a sec." He leans heavily back against the car, Ciri still clung around his chest. The dizziness passes just as quickly as it came on, and he hurries home eagerly, relieved when Ciri dozes in the back seat.
They cozy up on the couch while Geralt mows the lawn outside, and spend the rest of their day off watching a movie - Ciri's choice, which is Moana, no surprise. He's sick to death of the movie but he sings along with every last song anyway. Damn that Lin-Manuel Miranda can write a catchy tune.
Jaskier has all but forgotten about the earlier dizzy spell when the front door clicks open and a very sweaty Geralt parades inside, Yennefer, fresh home from work, on his heel. Which is why he really doesn't understand what's happening when he rises to greet them and the whole room tilts with him. He wavers, eyes squeezed shut and hand pressed against his face in a desperate attempt to will his head to stop spinning. It's no use, and before he can even go to sit back down he's careening forwards.
His eyes fluttered open to a sharp prick on his hand, a high-pitched beep, and a total stranger hovering over him. He startled, fighting to prop himself up in a sitting position, but a firm hand he recognized could only be Geralt's forced him back to the ground.
"The fuck's going on?" He managed to ask, and his own voice sounded oddly far away. He scanned the room for clues as to what could possibly be happening and settled on Yennefer's face just as she shot him a glare that he knew translated to watch your language.
"You passed out, Jask." Geralt, somewhere overhead and out of view. "Hit your head good on the coffee table." Well, that would explain the pounding headache.
"And he is…?" He gestured vaguely at the stranger only visible in his peripheral.
"An EMT, sir," the man supplied, shifting back into view and shining a flashlight in his eyes.
"Ah." He blinked reflexively, wincing at the fingers that firmly held his eye open. "You didn't have to call an ambulance, you know."
"I didn't." Of course Geralt didn't, the man would probably gladly perform an appendectomy in the back of the bar at which he worked. It had to be Yennefer.
"Wasn't me." He considered for a moment if she could read his mind or if he was accidentally saying everything aloud before shakily remembering that he had a betrayingly expressive face. Well, if it wasn't Geralt, and it wasn't Yennefer…
"They taught us at school to call 911 if there's ever an emergency," Ciri casually explained. He couldn't help but smile. His little lion cub looking out for him, it made him feel warm.
"Alright," the paramedic commandeered his attention, helping shift him upright and propping him against the couch. "You're not diabetic, correct?" He nodded, which was a mistake, because silver stars erupted in his vision. "Your blood pressure is a little on the low side and you're pretty hypoglycemic. When did you last eat?" Oh, yeah. Fuck .
"Last night? It's Yom Kippur, I'm fasting…" He felt thoroughly, indescribably humiliated. He tries to be a good dad/surrogate Jew, and this is what he gets. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished.
"Happy new year," the EMT offered earnestly. A bottle was pressed into his hand, and he shakily raised it to his lips and drank without even questioning it. Whatever it was, it was incredibly sweet. "Some fast-acting carbs and a good meal should sort that out, but I'd still recommend you go in, just to rule out a concussion." He sipped some more on the mystery beverage and was fully prepared to politely decline when he felt small arms wrap around his shoulder.
"Fine." The second Jewish holiday in a row spent in the ER, just what he wanted . He was going to start racking up frequent flier miles if he kept it up. And all three of them accompanied him, evidence enough that he'd clearly rattled them. At least the doctor was sympathetic, suggesting he eat a bigger meal later at night next year. (Which was giving Jaskier a lot of credit, assuming there would be a next time.) He typed out sub plans on his phone while he waited for the discharge paperwork, knowing full well he wasn't making it to work the next morning. On the bright side, he didn't have a concussion after all.
Hanukkah was his chance to finally get it right. It was Jewish Christmas, right? And he'd always been pretty good at Christmas, so surely he'd nail this one. He dug around a few shops until he found a menorah he was fond of - cast in gold and decorated with music notes and a big treble clef - and proudly set it on the kitchen counter. He even bothered to watch a few YouTube videos of the blessings over the candles, so he'd nail the melody. Finally, he had to buy gifts. Eight of them. For three people. So, twenty-four gifts. He perused the dollar store, the budget section at Target, and every clearance section he came upon until he'd collected every last gift. Even wrapped them in paper adorned with little menorahs and dreidels.
The first night finally rolled along, and he could hardly contain himself. Ciri, too, was bursting with excitement; apparently Hanukkah was the one holiday her mother ever really bothered to celebrate with her. He wedged the first candle in place, carefully lit the shamash candle, and managed to return it to its spot without burning the house down. He led them in the two blessings without so much as a crack in his voice - plus shehecheyanu, which was reserved for the first night only (if reformjudaism.org was to be trusted, which he was sure it was) - and breathed a sigh of relief when even Geralt knew better than to blow out the candles.
Gift-giving was always one of his favorite aspects of Christmas, so watching his family tear into his tiny presents and enjoying a warm embrace from each was easily his favorite part of the evening. They played a rousing few rounds of dreidel, in which Ciri inevitably won every last piece of gelt. The latkes he'd picked up at the kosher market were delicious, and this time it didn't even take Yennefer to convince him not to try cooking them from scratch. The final piece of the puzzle was the box of jelly donuts he'd hidden away from Geralt all day.
And yet. Something was wrong, he felt like something had to be missing. It made him uneasy. So he finally did what he probably should've done to begin with; he reached out to a Rabbi.
"Are you looking to convert?" He was not prepared for the first question from the Rabbi - an older fellow named Levi with a gentle smile and kind eyes.
"I don't think so. I'm not really sure what I'm looking for. Just to give my daughter a connection to her heritage, I guess." He'd been caught up in the personal mission of it all, but that was truly all that mattered. "We've always kind of been the spiritual-not-religious type, Christmas-Easter only. I was hoping there was something like that in Judaism, but there's so much history. It's hard to keep track." Levi nodded sympathetically.
"Judaism is beautiful because we are more than a religion - we are a people." He smiled fondly. "If you ask me, I don't think there's a wrong way to be a Jew."
"Then how do I know I'm doing enough?" That's all he really ever wanted, was to be enough. For Ciri, for Geralt and Yennefer, for his parents, for his students. "Which holidays do I celebrate? Is it okay if I can't bake my own challah? Do I really need to drag her to Yom Kippur services? Should she be Bat Mitzvah'd?"
"You ask a lot of questions, young man," he chuckled, and Jaskier felt his cheeks flush. "Is she happy?"
"Yes." That was at least an easy question to answer. Every step of the way, as overwhelmed and harried as he was, she was always a constant source of joy (or, at least, most of the time).
"Then there's your answer." There's his answer. Ciri is happy, and that's all that matters. Hanukkah 2018, it seems, was a success.
#the witcher#the witcher netflix#the witcher fanfic#the witcher fanfiction#the witcher modern au#geralt#geralt of rivia#yennefer#yennefer of vengerberg#jaskier#dandelion#julian alfred pankratz#ciri#princess cirilla#geraskefer#holiday fic#fanfiction#found family#jewish!ciri
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Book 79 of 2019: Escaping Exodus by Nicky Drayden
My only complaint about this book is I wanted more of it. I mean, I love to see a fast-paced standalone spec-fic novel in general, but the worldbuilding here was so incredible that I just would have loved to luxuriate in it a bit more. This is a goopy, messy, gutsy world, where spacefaring humans live inside massive vacuum-dwelling beasts, farming in their stomachs and hacking giant moth-like ‘murmurs’ out of their hearts. We follow two main characters - one the heir to the ruling matriarchal dynasty, and the other a worker who aspires to a promotion to high-status heart duty. They’re young, impulsive, passionate, and ready, for their own different reasons, to challenge the status quo that has held for generations. But it’s the world that’s the real standout here - the guts and glop of it, the formalized polyamorous family structures, the rituals, the power dynamics. I really would be happy to spend an epic trilogy’s worth of time in it.
What to read next: An Unkindness of Ghosts, by Rivers Solomon, for another suspenseful story set on a thoroughly imagined generation ship.
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felt like posting a completely context-free excerpt from the idle street sightings
basic plot: two teenagers have to deal with a UFO crash in the space between their backyards. they also have to do teenage things like attend high school and navigate its many social nightmares, all with the knowledge that they have an alien to babysit at home
Jane and Twyla’s goopy little secret was admiring itself in the mirror when the girls walked into Jane’s room. It had stretched pieces of its blob-like body into humanoid appendages: two arms and two legs appeared to be the default, though some of the movies it had watched with Jane depicted humans missing one or two. Perhaps a defect or an accident, it half-reasoned.
It was the head that was tricky! All were shaped differently and had strange non-living growths hanging from them. Some short and prickly, some long and twisty. And the front of the head! So detailed! Each protrusion, each cavern, served a unique purpose. The bottom bit was for sound. It opened and closed accordingly after some practice. The middle piece also looked strange and different on every human. A sticking-out thing with two holes, yes, yes. With the arms it had crafted out of opalescent slime, it prodded at its proto-face and created a nose.
Twyla startled when she saw it. “My God!” she whispered through a half-covered mouth.
“Hey there,” Jane said as she approached it, hand outstretched to pat its newly-sculpted shoulder. “You look… nice. Nice job.”
It struggled to form its lips around sound; it had been practicing all day, but its voice still sounded like cracked glass.
“Affable and amiable,” it replied, gently reaching back to touch Jane. “You. All thanks.”
“I noticed you like my textbooks,” said Jane, sitting on her bed and hoping Twyla would do the same. “Have you been reading?”
A flash of dark purple ran down its body, like a deep blush. “Learning, always.”
Twyla curled up on Jane’s bed and stared at the thing in abject amazement. The puddle of goop that Jane had scraped off that weird craft, the amorphous glop that had spent its first days on Earth writhing in a bucket, now stood on homemade legs and spoke with a handcrafted mouth. It had learned all of this from… movies? School books from twenty years ago? It took second-language speakers years to learn English and all its oddities, and this interplanetary weirdo had mustered up passable sentences and its form grew recognizable as human in less than a week. This thing must be a brain on legs.
“You speak well,” Twyla said at last. “I’m—we’re proud of you.”
#writeblr#writblr#original fiction#writing#talking pineapple#writing pineapple#this has nothing to do with my nano project but it's from a draft i finished#so i'm proud of having another finished manuscript and yall are just gonna live with it#wip: the idle street sightings
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Steve sat his sore body down on the step next to Billy and glanced behind him where Hopper was carrying Max inside where the rest of the kids were just now collapsing on couches or digging out First-Aid. He couldn’t understand how Billy’d had the strength to carry Max through the woods with her injured leg but then adrenaline could do a lot for a person.
The quiet of Hop’s cabin and the woods was somehow louder than the screams of monsters and ninth-graders still ringing in his ears. He leaned heavily against Billy, who didn’t seem to mind, and put his hand out for smoke.
Billy turned his head, his pretty face bruised and bloodied and dirty with mud and monster goop, just as Steve’s was.
Steve thought Billy looked more beautiful than he’d ever see him. But that was probably because Billy had just come from throwing himself into danger, saving the kids and Steve a few times over like it was his job.
“Why’d you do it?” Steve said, before taking a drag. “Fight with us. You could’ve been killed, ya know.”
“I dunno, it was kinda fun, huh?” Billy attempted a weak smile but Steve didn’t buy it. His voice was raw and husky. Steve leaned harder against him, nudging his elbow.
“C’mon,” Steve said. “Why’d you do it? Really. You were having fun for a minute there but you could’ve bolted when the shit hit the fan.”
Billy licked his chapped up cracking lips. “I’m supposed to say like uh... I’m makin’ it up to you, right? You, Max, Sinclair...for bein’ such a shit. Beating your ass. Trying to repent, be noble. All that. Right?”
Steve only smiled and gave him a little shrug in response. “Is that why?”
“Maybe a lil bit,” Billy muttered.
“That’s good,” Steve said, nodding. He took one more drag and passed the cigarette back over. “Did you do it because...you wanted me to like you?”
He felt Billy freeze as he stared out into the forest, the cigarette gripped tight between his fingers. “Uh,” Billy said intelligently.
Steve closed his eyes just for a second, felt the beating of his own heart and Billy’s next to him. They were alive, they’d made it. And Billy had proven himself just like Steve had been hoping he would for the last several months. He’d actually proven himself over and over the closer they’d become. Which was nice, Steve thought, because it meant he wasn’t completely insane and horribly masochistic. He’d had a crush all this time for a reason.
Steve took a breath and said, “You know what... Fuck all that noble stuff. I want you to say you did it because you wanted me to like you.”
Billy turned, blinking at him, looking stupid and cute. “Uh...”
“This isn’t how I pictured it,” Steve said, chuckling. “Thought we’d be sitting in your car by the quarry or something. For sure I thought we’d be a little more cleaned up. Definitely smell nicer.”
Billy had a big glop of monster goop right next to his eye but his lashes fluttered and Steve thought again: Beautiful.
“This isn’t how you pictured what exactly?” Billy said.
“Our first kiss,” Steve whispered. He took one more second of pleasure in seeing Billy’s astonished expression and then he leaned in and ever so softly kissed Billy’s wrecked lips with his own dry and ravaged mouth, pausing because the tender pleasure of it was more than he’d expected in their state, and he reached up touch Billy’s cheek with his calloused fingers before leaning back again. Billy’s eyes fluttered open and he wasn’t frowning or smiling, rather he looked awed, as if the shock of something so good was more than he could process. “Come stay at my place tonight,” Steve said, and absently stroked Billy’s fucked up goopy hair. “’Cause our second kiss is gonna be awesome.”
He stood and stretched to go inside and talk to Hop and debrief whatever needed debriefing, with one last pat on Billy’s head.
“Harrington!” Billy said when Steve was at the door.
Steve spun around, feeling suddenly light as air even after a particularly terrifying night. “Yep?”
“That is...mostly why I did it,” Billy said, the corner of his mouth turning up, his glittering blue eyes bright in the dark.
Steve nodded and gave him a little salute. “It worked. Good job.” He laughed to himself and went inside and everyone looked at him funny because he was smiling so big.
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