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mismatchedtwins · 2 months

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Mismatched Twins - Take Four

“Tell me again why we can’t just teleport?”

The injured turtle clutches at Donnie as he leaps from one floating rock to another, face pressed against his shoulder at the sudden changes in gravity. Like any Leonardo predictably would, he’s doing his best to pretend that each jump isn’t affecting him. Donnie knows that the ribs pressed against his carapace have to be causing some discomfort, even if they do have a solid layer of plastron.

He keeps refusing Donnie’s offers to break, so Donnie presses on.

He’s only a few pounds heavier than April, probably due to the shell, but Donnie’s spent years dragging things around the lab, so he knows his endurance can last far longer than his body believes that it can. Though, it has been driving him nuts, that something about his physique has felt oh-so-remotely off since he… arrived in this prison, but he’s doing his best to think about important things.

Not the small fire burning his ankle or the nail in his shoulder every time Leon moves his arm even lightly. Things like, getting home to the brothers that watched him… transport away at April’s hands and who have probably written him off as dead.

He has to get home. They have to know he’s okay.

“Leonardo.”

Donnie grips the rock as he gets his footing, grateful for the strange pulls of gravity between the masses that occur in Dimension X and this strange, broken dimension. He doesn’t know how long he’s been moving, but the fluid jumps ease the burden.

“Ninpo… batt’ry low.” His companion sounds tired, but he’s still conscious, and that’s really want Donnie cares about. “Can’t re…charge. Need to pre…preserve it.”

“Inconvenient.” Donnie mutters as he finally locates a good area for a pit stop. “Stay with me, Leon. Just a few more bounds.”

“Not sleeping.” Leon mumbles. “Not…asleep.”

“Keep it that way.”

Donnie hurries his pace, only stopping when he stumbles and almost loses his balance. He takes a couple breathes, ignoring the fuzz in his peripheral. Leon notices and offers his continuous, halfhearted, “Put… medown. I can w…walk.”

“Don’t see much of a point.” He states cooly as he soldiers on, “We’re practically there.”

Leon shifts, “Where..?”

“Hopefully, a safe place for you to rest.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’m one word away from dropping you.” Donnie lies as he finally crosses the distance. “You’re not the only turtle who could use a break, you know.”

No snappy reply to that one. Donnie tries not to let that worry him.

He sticks the landing and then carries Leon across the homestretch. There’s a small enclosure a couple feet away, not big enough for two, but wide enough for one of them to curl up in. Theoretically.

Donnie kneels down next to it and the weight drops from his back.

He’s grateful to see an exhausted, but conscious turtle surveying him apprehensively. He looks to the side, face scrunching.

“You don’t expect me to crawl… ‘n there, do you?”

“Once I’m done with your check-up, yeah.” Donnie offers helpfully, pressing hands on both sides of his jaw and checking his pupils in the relative dark. “Because I’m going to look around and I don’t want you to be a sitting duck.”

The turtle yawns and digs his phone from his belt. It’s one of those shiny, smooth, compact phones that can do a million more things than Donnie’s glorified walk-in-talkies can do. Donnie tries not to ogle as he taps the function for the flashlight and then offers it.

He mutters a thanks and pretends like the random burst of jealousy never happened as he confirms that Leon’s pupils are behaving appropriately. He turns it off afterward upon seeing the battery was nearly halfway dead, certain that they should preserve it.

Leo doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. Upon it’s return, he immediately opens an app to flick through it.

Donnie turns off his phone and pockets it.

He earns an indignant squawk and baps the hand that reaches out.

“Too much exposure to screen light awakens the brain.” He recites the private factoid that he has never once told his brothers ever for his own sanity. “I’ll give it back once you rest.”

“If you wanted to ditch me this much, you coulda done it back there.” Leon’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, too laced in pained exhaustion. “Would’ave saved you some time.”

“You need a nap.” He scolds, trying not to think about how much he sounds like his own bossy brother. Oh, Leo. “And I need to confirm that we’re not going to starve here.”

“Dehydration’ll get us first.” Leon points out as Donnie moves on. That’s a morbid thought, but entirely accurate. “Not if I can help it.”

“You gonna pull water from rocks?”

“Don’t exactly have any godly powers on my side.” Donnie states wryly. “So I’ll have to make do with what I do have.”

“Which is…?”

“Science.”

“…Science.”

“Science.”

“What does that even…” Leon shakes his head. “You know what? Don’t care. Not napping.”

“And why not?”

“Cause you like jumping off cliffs for fun.” Leon pokes his face with a smirk. Donnie knocks the invasive hand away, pressing a finger to the vein in his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

Donnie huffs, shoving memories down when three other turtles told him a variety of the exact same thing. “I can take care of myself.”

“You jumped off a cliff.”

“Okay, technically, I only took a few steps.”

“You walked off a cliff.”

“I was testing a reasonable hypothesis.”

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm.” Leon nods patronizingly before he drawls, “Totally get that. And that’s why I’m here. To talk you out of testing dumb theories that could kill you, don’tr-”

He blinks, abruptly, body going stiff. Donnie furrows his brow at the strange slur of words, but lets him stew in his thoughts, appreciative of the new silence that comes with it.

“Okay, nap time.” Donnie proclaims when he decides that Leon isn’t going to die if his body shuts down for a bit. “We’ll keep moving once your body has recouped.”

“You really expect me to sleep here?” He eyes the hidey-hole like he expects it to turn out to be a monster’s mouth.

“Yep.”

Leon doesn’t move. Donnie scowls irritably.

“If you do not rest, you cannot heal.”

“Can and am.” Leon preens, waving a hand down his plastron. “This fine bod was made that way. Goat man says that my body’s always getting better even as I get worse.” His face blanches, “Hey, that sounds less complement-y than I remembered…”

Donnie attempts to process past the blatant ego. “Goat man..?”

“Y’know.” Leon rolls his hand. “Draxum.”

Donnie can’t fathom why this kid thinks he should know that name. “Maybe I should double-check for a concussion.”

“You telling me you’ve never heard of Draxum?” Leon gives him a funny look. “Mad scientist? Ooze wielder? Cafeteria lady? Dad-not-dad? Big part of the Mad Dog backstory?”

“See, now you’re just spitting out words.” Donnie grumbles as he cups his cheeks and lifts his head, more to annoy him than for medical analysis. “Hold still.”

Leon only waves his arms, words mashed like his face. “He t’rew me off a wroof!”

“That’s nice.” Donnie hums with a calculated condescension, smirking when his prisoner attempts to scowl. Leon shoves against his plastron and squirms free, indignant as Donnie releases him and holds up his hands in surrender. “It was awful, actually! It was a really tall building! Really tall!”

The high and whiney tint to his voice reminds him of when Mikey is in serious need of some feeling validation. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he gives him a more solmen nod instead. “Sounds it.”

He eyes him, suspicious. “I could have died. I would have!” His voice drops dramatically. “If Raph hadn’t caught me.”

“Raph catching Leos when they fall off tall buildings is a universal constant.” Donnie notes to show that he’s being very attentive. “This Draxum, scientist, lady, goat man, is not. Got it.”

Leon continues to give him the stink eye. Mikey usually complains a lot longer than this, so Donnie isn’t sure if it’s an appropriate time to move on to what really matters or not. “So…”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

Donnie stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“You want me to go to sleep. I want you to tell me a story.” Leon decides with a bright grin. “A really good one about these brothers that you won’t stop blabbing about.”

Donnie feels like he missed something. “…Why?”

“Limited time offer, guy. Take it or leave it.”

He hesitates. “And then you’ll sleep?”

Leo lays himself down and scoots into the mini cave. With little room left, he gets comfy on his plastron, “Bedtime story. Go!”

“Aren’t you fifteen or something…”

“Less questions, more story, aaaand go!”

“I feel kinda-”

“Guuuuy-”

“Fine!”

He smirks, chin happily settled on fist.

Donnie bites his lip.

“Here, I’ll help! Once upon a- now here’s where you start- tiiime…”

Hoping to shut the turtle up for five minutes, Donnie starts telling the least daunting, embarrassing, or traumatizing recent memory that he can recall: namely, that one time Stockman turned a bunch of bugs into mutants and started robbing banks, giving Donnie the chance to save the day with his harnesses.

Even if no one mentioned that bit.

Which wasn’t important. They all did their part.

Besides, they were really cool. Mikey reassured him of that.

“…And it turns out, Raph apparently learned some super secret phrase from Splinter to help him keep calm in the battle. It really ticked Leo off that he wouldn’t share it with him.”

He chuckles as he recalls his ‘older and maturer’ brother arriving into his lab to slam the door and pathetically snivel to him about it. “Raph was super smug about it until Splin-ter…”

He trails off and his smile fades when he catches the look on Leon’s face. It disappears as he faces away, stretching his arms with a dry smirk. “You are really good at that.”

“Oh, heh-?” Donnie rubs the back of his neck bashfully as heat crawls up it. Usually, it’s Mikey who gets attention for that sort of thing. “G-Good? At-?”

“Lying.” Any humor disappears. The heat drops down and burns in his chest. Donnie narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Spoken like a true fibber.”

“You’re the one who asked me to-!” Donnie starts, hand at his chest, but Leon meets his gaze cooly. “I was waiting for you to slip up.”

“Slip UP?!”

“People usually do. Especially with a lie as detailed as this one.” He squints at him. “You’re almost as good as me.”

Donnie can’t believe the audacity. “What POINT would there be in lying to you?!”

“Make me eat up your sob story so I help you out.” Leon explains simply before he shrugs. “S’what I would do.”

“It is not a sob story, and I don’t need your help!” The blaze spreads, so he wrenches himself to his feet and stomps away. Leon calls after, “Don’t go jumping off any cliffs!”

His fists clench. “I DIDN’T JUMP!”

Donnie expects him to shout after or, shell, even transport beside him since he just admitted to being a liar, but he goes quiet. Donnie gives himself a few minutes to seethe before he drags himself back to his companion. Leon’s carapace is to the entrance, body tense.

Not sleeping. More than likely pouting.

Such a Leo move…

The sudden prodding ache reminds him of his mission.

Right. Back to worrying about important things.

He exhales and shakes off the invisible hand smashing in his chest. It gives some reprieve for him to focus, trying to dig up even the smallest facts that he knew about Mikey’s stories in Dimension X.

They had confirmed that Mikey had only been there several hours, which is good, because Donnie’d had plenty of trouble calming Leo’s irrational crisis over whether or not he was still the oldest. It was way too many hours wasted on an afternoon where he actually wanted to be sleeping. He’d never have made progress if the timeline had been expanded to months. If that had been the case, Leo would have had to fork over his big brother title, as degrading as that sounded.

Donnie can’t imagine what it would have been like to be separated from his family for that long.

Mikey had been all too eager to go into deep specifics about his time in Dimension X. Donnie forgot most of the unimportant things, but he’d estimated that Mikey’d eaten all his pizza reserves with the first hour or two there. Then he’d tried a variety of… Randomly described objects that ‘looked tasty’ before he’d settled on the Squeebles.

Supposedly, they’d had the texture of milkshakes, but not any definite flavor. They were yummy, boosted his “savageness,” and didn’t appear to have any negatives effects.

It would be good information to have if there was a single glimpse of life in this place at all. Is there even a working ecosystem?

He hasn’t even seen any boom rock trees or signs of the familiar silver bases. There didn’t seem to be much of anything. Not that he misses the Scatterpillars or elemental giants or Kraang worms.

Donnie shudders. Definitely not.

Then again, if the Kraang have access to cloaking domes, then what does that mean for these Krang?

Donnie sighs. He’s getting nowhere like this.

Mikey managed to explore and master miles of Kraang territory before they reached him. Sure, Mikey had his photographic memory, but there has to be a way to get similar results. There must be a way to replicate the kind of… Oh. Hm.

Donnie checks on Leon. He remains faced away.

Good. He stretches out his arms, cracking his knuckles. Might as well try. What does he have to lose?

….Other than every trace of his dignity and self-respect.

He exhales in a huff. Okay. Head in the game. Think Mikey.

What would Mikey do?

Or better yet, what would Savage Mikey do?

Climb anything climbable. Swing from anything swingable. Wander around touching absolutely everything that he doesn’t understand. Stick unidentified objects between his toes.

….Yeah, he’s not doing that last one.

Donnie starts walking. His first instinct is to just wander, but Mikey’s more of a moth-to-a-flame kinda of turtle. So he chooses the random piece of curved metal in the distance. He ignores the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss any action that he doesn’t understand, obeying the urge to climb up and leap-frog to the next hunk.

A hollow clang greets him on the fourth landing. Donnie lifts a hand to look at the silent print left behind, brushing away more of the grime that reveals a light pinkish color. He slides down immediately, moving to the next large structure and finding a similar hunk of charred metal. He traces the bottom, where metal merges with rock, and debates how it got there. The metal almost looks seared in by some kind of intense heat. Was it purposeful?

He peeks around it, curious eyes trailing to a high point up ahead; tall but thin metal sheet slotted sideways into the ground. He fires his grapple and launches up to it, pulling himself to a comfortable crouch. His new weight doesn’t budge it, so he stands.

There’s a massive crater taken out of the island. Whatever’s left of the missing spot must be floating in the atmosphere around it. The destruction is mesmerizing. Of course, whatever the history of this dimension was, Donnie gets the feeling that it was not pretty.

He wonders if the Krang knows what it is. Maybe those horrors are part of the reason that he was so furious Leon brought him back.

Donnie’s eyes lock on movement in the distance. His eyes widen with interest and, because it’s definitely something Mikey would look into, he slides down to the ground and takes off in a sprint.

He heads towards the landmark. It’s the only chuck of faded pink with black stripes, so it’s not hard to track. He trips at the spike of pain up his leg when he nears his destination. He ducks behind a smaller rock, down on one knee with a light hiss. He wouldn’t let Leon waste bandages on it when the bleeding had already stopped.

If only the pain would copy.

Rubbing the sore limb, he peeks around with round eyes.

There’s a… creature squeezing through the doorway. It has one foreleg and two hind legs, bright pink tentacle-looking appendages sprouting from its back. The rest of its body is also a color scheme of pinks and purples, a dull yellow eye on the leg underneath the clashing jaw. It appears stuck, wiggling and gurgling and straining to get through the minuscule opening.

Donnie lowers a hand to his belt, startled when he realizes that his t-phone is gone. He knows it’s the right pocket because of the extra padding. Only Leon’s remains. He searches every pocket, horror and fury tight over his chest. How?! When-?! Seriously!?

He’s been here all of five minutes and he’s already lost his t-phone?!

That’s what he gets for harnessing his inner Mikey.

He looks back to the creature. Its struggle is becoming weaker and weaker. It raises its head and makes a high sound, like it’s calling out.

Donnie feels a tug at his heart, but he’s not stupid. He waits until the fight leaves it and it slumps to the ground, panting and gurgling, before he stands up. The half-lided eye locks on him, tentacles turning in his direction, but he keeps a passive hand outstretched. “It’s okay, little… creepy. Alien? Thing. I’m a friend.”

The creature squirms. Donnie moves over to the metal, feeling over it, searching for a way to dislodge it from the ground. He finds a corner to stick his fingers and braces his foot against a spot that’s a different tint of metal. He tenses his posture and yanks.

He cries out as nonexistent barbwire locks down on his shoulder. His vision whites and his hands cut into the metal, but he stands his ground and it eventually gives way.

He falls down with it, heavy weight bumping against his knees before hitting the ground. He quickly runs shaky fingers over his shoulder, because with his current string of luck-

He exhales in relief. Not dislocated. Better keep it that way.

Just to confirm, Donnie rolls his shoulder. Immediate pain, but the joint feels stable and nothing is oddly tingling. He flexes his fingers, reaching his arm above his head. Again, pain, but there’s apt motion.

Positives.

He can work with this.

Donnie looks up. Behind the compact metal is a wide tunnel.

Donnie can’t tell how long it is because it descends into an impossible darkness pretty fast. The creature garners his attention when it shifts. It attempts to rise, only to crumble before it can get its footing, flickering eye shutting with a gurgle. The tentacles on its back flail with a lot more life than it seems to have, extending towards Donnie as he watches curiously.

“Oh man.” It doesn’t look hurt. Donnie stands to move closer, yet unsure if he intends to offer comfort or a medical examination.

Can he rightly complete an examination of a creature that he doesn’t grasp the biological make-up of? Would this be one of those times that Leo glares at him and warns about ‘boundaries’?

That usually has something to do with sentience. Interesting query.

How sentient is it? Only one way to find out.

“Are you okay?”

The creature doesn’t answer or even move. The tentacles continue stretching out, getting tangled in one another in futile attempts to get closer to him. It’s cute, in a grotesquely ugly kinda way.

He crouches and reaches out. “Hey, there. I-”

“NINJA SNATCH!”

It’s only Donnie training that allows him to dodge the swift grasp of this entire turtle chucked at him. He gets a glimpse of the shocked expression before he’s crashing into the wall. The turtle peels off like an old sticker and falls back in his carapace as Donnie stomps over, glaring down at him. “WHAT are you DOING here?!”

“Saving you.” He winces before pointing to Donnie’s leering figure. “And, your welcome.”

“Saving me from what?” Donnie gestures to the creature. “This half dead thing that’s in desperate need of help?”

“Yes.” Leon climbs to his feet with a grunt. “That, but say it again more heroically. And with gratitude.”

“I was perfectly fine-” Donnie indignantly turns to head back to the little guy, only to fall face-first when arms lock around his leg. He yelps as he goes down. “‘EY!”

“Don’t touch it!” Leon demands. “It’s evil!”

“It’s dying!” Donnie shoots back. “Helpless and weak and pathetic and would you let go of me!?”

“Not if you’re gonna TOUCH IT!”

If that turtle had been fifty percent less heavily injured, Donnie could have pulled a couple of unsportmanshiply moves that would have set him free. Unfortunately, he has a conscience. “If you insist, then I won’t touch it. Now will you let me go?”

Leo lets go. “No problema.”

“Big problema.” He mocks. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“We made a deal! I kept my end!”

“That does not sound like a deal I’d make, no.”

Donnie bites down a growl. How is this guy a Leo again?

“What do you say we get moving. Yes? Double yes? Oh, wow, Leo, you’re such a genius why didn’t I think of-”

“We can’t leave it.” Donnie looks at the creature. The tentacles are lying flat on its back, and Donnie can’t tell if it’s breathing. Was it breathing before? “It needs help.”

“If Krang wants his pet, he can come help him.”

“Pet?” Donnie repeats urgently. “That’s the Krang’s?”

“What did you think the tentacles were? Decoration?”

Donnie hesitates as his companion sits up. “Krang’s or not, we can’t just leave it to die.”

“What is with you?” Leon groans as if Donnie was being the unreasonable one here. “Do you want to become a mindless freak?!”

“Firstly, rude. Secondly, it’s not its fault it has different sentience!”

Leon pats his legs, expression bored. “Okay, there’s no way you don’t know about the Krang infection.”

“No! I don’t!” Donnie’s heart races. “What is a Krang infection?”

Leon narrows his eyes. “The Krang stick their tentacles in you and you transform into a zombie slave. Then those guys stick their tentacles in other people. Or rip them to shreds. They probably did it to most of New York. How did you miss that?”

“Because I wasn’t in your New York?!”

Leon only frowns at him. Donnie looks back at the creature. “So- so if I had touched that…”

“You’d be infected. And I’d probably have to kill you.”

Donnie stares at him. He doesn’t smile.

“So… Are you gonna kill it?”

Leon leans to the side to squint. “Seems kinda dead already.”

“Yeah.” Donnie admits quietly. He gets to his feet and goes over, careful to keep distance between him and the limp creature.

Leon trails after him and pulls out his sword to poke it. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look injured.” Donnie’s hand goes to his belt again, only to come up empty. “Urgh, right, no t-phone.”

“T-phone? Is that what this is?”

Donnie’s head whips around. Leon tosses his t-phone in his hand. “What’s the T stand for?” He snickers. “Turtle?”

Donnie hurriedly swipes it back. He taps the screen, only to get greeted with a countdown. “You locked me out?!”

Leon shrugs carelessly. “I’m really bad at guessing passwords.”

“You-?!” Donnie spits out a frustration sound and spins to stomp away. He ends up inside the entrance, glaring at this surroundings. The heat fades as he approaches the wall.

Leon remains outside. “Um, guy? Where… You going?”

The wall is cool metal. The entire tunnel could very likely be man, er, Krang-made. The grim on his palms says that no one has been in there for a while. “It came out of here.”

“Sounds like a good reason to head the opposite direction.”

Leon has a point. But, would Savage Mikey head back?

The dark is making his skin crawl. Especially with the knowledge that a Krang creature came out. Could there be more?

Would Savage Mikey want to know? Maybe.

Donnie doesn’t. It’s illogical. And dangerous.

And yet. And yet.

It could be beneficial. It could be part of a base or ship. It could be something else entirely. If there’s some abandoned tech in there that could answer some of his questions... That could get him home.

Should he risk passing it up?

No. He can’t. Savage Mikey wasn’t willing to let anything stop him from reaching Leatherhead.

Donnie can’t let his uncertainty stop him from reaching his brothers.

He resumes his examination and touches the black stripe. It is, in fact, not paint. “Look at this. It’s some kind of… vine.”

Leon stays in the entrance. “I have bad experiences with vines.”

“It’s a sign of life.” Donnie looks deep into the tunnel. “I want to see where it goes.”

“Just a suggestion… What if we… Didn’t? Do that?”

“We don’t have to do anything.” Donnie moves forward, switching out the phones. “You do whatever you want. We both know it’s what you’ll do anyway.”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t be like that!”

Donnie’s confident that he has every reason to act however he pleases. Unfortunately, common sense has him hesitating.

“…What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared.” Leon whines, but the way he looks at the vines, fingers scratching lightly over skin, Donnie begs to differ.

He might have believed him, one broken agreement ago, but he’s tired and pained and his patience has already worn thin.

Leon’s first mistake was admitting that he was a situational manipulator. He could easily be drafting an lie or excuse right now. It could be trick, and he was not about to get played.

He was too smart for that.

Besides, he had things to do. More important things.

“You’re welcome to wait.”

Donnie glares at him, pointedly clicking on the flashlight that’s thankfully accessible from the Lock Screen, and then starts his trek into the tunnel. Leon calls after him, but since his name is not and never will be “Guy,” Donnie confidently heads into the dark.

With a soft, “eugh boi,” Donnie hears padded steps follow him.

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insidemymind19 · 1 year

Note

I understand if you say no to this as your a new writer but telling matty your pregnant and have really bad symptoms so you take a test

I’m totally up for this pregnancy trope is literally my favourite so thank you for the request ❤️

Tw mentions of nausea sickness and pregnancy

Waking up in a dazed sweat for the third day in a row is not how you expect your week to go rolling over with a groan to try settle your churning stomach you reach for your phone seeing a message from matty

‘morning my angel hope you’re feeling a bit better this morning if not PHONE THE DOCTOR!!! Sorry I had to leave George needed me in the studio something he needed help with. I’ll be home as soon as I can but call if you need me!! Love you baby get plenty of rest❤️’ you giggle at his sternness and start to type a reply when suddenly you’re overwhelmed with nausea running to the toilet and throwing up all of last nights food. Exhausted lifting your aching body you open the bathroom cabinet in search of something to relive your sickness when your eyes land on a tampon box. An unopened tampon box instantly overtaken with worry you grab your phone check your period tracking app and to your shock you see it in bold with your own eyes 6 weeks since your last period. In a whole state of panic you call Charli explaining the situation as best you can in your state of worry. She talks you down from your panicked state and tells you to take a test. the test you were gifted as a joke from a friend shoved in the back of a drawer thinking it won’t be needed soon, So you do. You’ve never been so nervous as you were in those 5 minutes. Lifting the test with shaking hands you see it pregnant and before you can think you’re in tears again, but this time happy tears placing your shaking hands on your still flat stomach feeling an indescribable love.

Hours later hours of you sitting in your bedroom thinking of your future you matty and your baby here in this spot in a matter of months, pulled out of your daydream by the sounds of matty pouncing up the stairs and through your shared bedroom door “are you ok baby” he quickly says surveying you for any signs your sickness is still there. Slowly rising from your spot muttering a soft “yeah I’m ok, more than ok” as you make your way to your bathroom, Matty following behind in a confused state you lift the test and hand it over to him. He looks confused for a few seconds before breaking Into the biggest smile asking “wait seriously you’re pregnant” you hear the joy in his voice calming your nerves, you nod timidly as he suddenly gives you the biggest hug placing a fiery kiss on your lips. You can feel his smile. His hands moving to your stomach before he states “you have no idea how happy I am baby IM going to be a dad YOUR going to be a mum” in disbelief before placing a soft kiss on your stomach

Thank you for reading ❤️

#matty healy x reader #dad!matty #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 x reader

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hbosucc · 10 months

Text

Greg Hirsch x Reader

Ok being brave and posting the first chapter!! It's an x Reader fic (I used Y/N, so much nostalgia lol) with few descriptions of the reader insert, besides afab/uses female pronouns, works as a tutor, and is mid-20's in age.

First up, Content Warnings: This fic is for readers 18+ only. The first two chapters aren't explicitly NSFW, but later chapters will be.

Content Warnings for:

Sexual Content: consensual, protected sex between two adult characters, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), p in v, slight power play (choking, one partner holding the other's wrists down, all consensual).

Swearing

Alcohol & (in one of the later chapters, I will put another warning at the top when I post it) drug use

The Roy family & their whole mess lmao

If I can think of anything else I'll make sure to add it!

A few other things:

I found out about the allegations against Nicholas Braun (Greg's actor) after I'd already written most of this fic, and I do not condone his alleged actions at all. This fic is only about the character he played.

Greg is kind of a pathetic, goofy little man. I really can't explain my attraction to him!! I simply had to write this fic to get all that out so I can go on with my life lmao.

Chapter 1: First Date

I took a seat at the bar, anxiously checking my phone again. I’d met people from dating apps before, but was still always a bit nervous beforehand. First dates, in general, freaked me out. But the man I’d arranged to meet was really cute—in his pictures, at least—and the bar he’d suggested was fancy and well-populated, so I decided to brave my nerves and wait a while longer for him to show.

Taking a slow sip of my gin and tonic, I surveyed the room, narrowing my eyes. Usually, I would’ve waited for my date to arrive before ordering, but he was late, and I was hoping the drink would settle my nerves.

Was that him? His bio had listed his height as 6’5”, which I’d initially thought must’ve been an exaggeration. If that was him, he certainly hadn’t been lying. I watched as he glanced around, looking almost panicked, until his eyes landed on me. He visibly relaxed, his lips turning up into a smile as he headed towards me.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked, and I nodded, looking him up and down. He was late, after all; I couldn’t go too easy on him. He slid onto the stool next to mine, unwinding a scarf from around his neck. I couldn’t help but notice his hands: large and long fingered. With his height, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t seriously packing below the belt. I snuck a look down at his shoes, clocking their size while he ordered himself a drink.

“Would you like another?” He asked. My gaze snapped back up to meet his.

“That would be great, thanks. Gin and tonic.”

He turned back to the bartender to order for me and open a tab. I finished my first drink and the second appeared almost immediately.

“I’m like, so, so sorry I’m late. I should’ve messaged to let you know, I just, work was literally insane today.” He blew out a long breath, and I felt bad for him for a moment. Unless he was a fantastic actor, he seemed genuinely frazzled.

“Well, I suppose I can forgive you, as long as you keep the drinks coming.” I smiled to let him know I was joking—well, mostly—and was rewarded with a nervous laugh. “What do you do for work? It wasn’t in your bio.”

“I—well, I work for a media company.”

“This is New York, Greg, you’ve got to be more specific than that.” I rolled my eyes, but stopped when I saw how apprehensive he looked. “Unless you’re under an NDA or something, of course. If you tell me, you’d have to kill me, and all that?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He ran a hand over his dark hair and gave another nervous chuckle.

“That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about work. Mine’s pretty boring, anyways.”

“Oh, what do you do?” He asked, straightening up.

“I’m a tutor at one of the private schools on the upper-east side. English, mostly, though I can do most other subjects in a pinch.”

“That’s impressive, you work at one of those rich people schools?” He raised his eyebrows. “You have to be, like, really smart to work at one of those.”

“I suppose so.” I laughed, almost choking on my drink. I liked his bluntness. Most people use bluntness as an excuse to be an absolute dick, but he was blunt in a nice way. It seemed as though he was incapable of pretense; he just said whatever came to mind, even if it didn’t come out in the most eloquent way.

There was a beat of silence, and I stirred the lime wedges around in my glass. I knew I needed to slow down; my limit was typically three drinks. Less than ten minutes into the date and I was halfway there already. I was supposed to be pacing myself so I wouldn’t end up drunkenly throwing myself at him. Not that I was completely opposed to taking someone to bed on the first date, but I had to admit that was beginning to feel juvenile to me. If I liked someone enough, I preferred to let the tension build up for a bit first.

“So,” I started, having realized that so far, he’d been asking all the questions. “Did you grow up here, in New York?”

We went over the usual first-date questions, and I began to feel more comfortable as the date went on. I’m sure this was partially due to the gin loosening my nerves, but Greg also just seemed so harmless. There was an initial timidity to him, but I could see the beginning of something else underneath that. Something in him wanted to break out, and I could feel myself growing intrigued by the idea of opening him up.

“So, what are you, like—what brings you to the app? The one where we met, I mean.” He swiveled to angle his stool towards me, finishing off his first drink and catching the bartender’s eye to nod for another.

“Well,” I tried to choose my words carefully. This was the part where I knew some guys would get scared off, and I liked Greg so far, so I hoped that wouldn’t happen. “I’d like to find something long-term, to be honest. I’ve dated people over the years, done the whole casual thing, but I’ve grown tired of it. What about you?”

“Yeah, same, actually,” He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s just, like, so hard to find cool people, you know? People are so, like, fake nowadays.”

“I suppose so. I think people have always been fake, to some degree, but now it’s just easier to see. Social media, and all that. Broadcasting every thought you have out into the world.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” His eyes widened in a nearly comical way, though I could tell he was being sincere. “but you’re absolutely right. People can just, like, send all their opinions out there, no matter how crazy.”

“Exactly. I mean, I use social media, don’t get me wrong, but not to that extent.” I hastily added, “And I don’t think I’m better than other people for using it less often, or more discreetly, it’s just a preference.”

“I feel like…I hope this isn’t too much, okay, but your voice is really nice. I feel like I could listen to you talk, like, all day. And you have all these smart things to say, too.”

“Greg,” I was taken aback and quite flattered. He’d managed to fluster me. “I’m not that smart, I promise—and I say plenty of nonsensical things. If you’re around me enough, you’ll see lots of that. I’m just on my best behavior at the moment.”

“Well, I’d be interested to see you on your worst behavior.” He said, then seemed to realize what he’d implied, and chuckled nervously. I could see his wheels turning, formulating an apology, and I cut him off.

“Likewise.” I drained my drink through the straw, the toe of my boot nudging his leg as I turned to order another.

---

“Are you sure you’ll be able to get home okay?” He asked. We were out in front of the now-closed bar, waiting for my ride.

“I’m sure. It’s just an Uber, Greg, I’ve taken them hundreds of times.” I smiled up at him. It was freezing, and we were both bundled up in our coats, scarves, and gloves. I really did have to look up at him now that we were standing. He was nearly a foot taller than me, even in my heeled boots. “Are you sure you’ll get home okay?”

“Yeah, okay, yeah I’m sure.” He sighed with a grin. “I do appreciate the concern, though.”

“Well, you paid for all of our expensive-ass drinks, so it’s the least I can do.” I said. “Thank you for that, by the way. I’ll get the check next time, if you’d like.”

“It’s no problem, really. I, um…I used to be really broke, not too long ago, actually, and it feels really nice to be able to pay for stuff now.”

“I know that feeling.” I nodded. I squinted as a car pulled up to the curb across the street, barely able to make out the license number in the dark, and compared it against the one on my phone screen.

“Well, that’s my ride,” I said, looking back up at him. “I would like to do this again, if you’d be interested.”

“Yes, I would. I’d be…very interested,” He said, his breath seeming to catch in his throat.

“That’s great to hear,” I stepped closer, pausing for a moment, wondering if he’d make a move. When he didn’t bend down to kiss me, I had to admit that I was disappointed, my stomach sinking, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment at my presumption. I stepped back, giving him a wave instead. “Well, I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat, and he called after me as I crossed the street. “Let me know when you get home!”

“I will. Goodnight, Greg.” I gave one last wave before shutting myself into the backseat of my Uber. The driver played music on a low volume the whole drive, and it began to snow lightly as we approached my apartment building. I got out and stood in the cold for a moment before heading upstairs, trying to wind myself down. It had been a good date, and I had thought I’d felt some chemistry between us. Though without the kiss that tended to punctuate a good first date, it was hard to tell for sure. I knew I would overthink it all if I let myself, so I got ready for bed, taking a sleeping pill so I wouldn’t stay awake and replay the date over and over in my mind, wondering if and where it’d gone wrong.

#hbo succession #succession #succession imagine #succession fanfic #greg hirsch #gregory hirsch #succession x reader #greg hirsch x reader

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survivingcapitalism · 1 year

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“The threats of data colonialism are real,” says Tahu Kukutai, a professor at New Zealand’s University of Waikato and a founding member of Te Mana Raraunga, the Māori Data Sovereignty Network. “They’re a continuation of old processes of extraction and exploitation of our land—the same is being done to our information.” To shore up their defenses, some Indigenous groups are developing new privacy-first storage systems that give users control and agency over all aspects of this information: what is collected and by whom, where it’s stored, how it’s used and, crucially, who has access to it. Storing data in a user’s device—rather than in the cloud or in centralized servers controlled by a tech company—is an essential privacy feature of these technologies. Rudo Kemper is founder of Terrastories, a free and open-source app co-created with Indigenous communities to map their land and share stories about it. He recalls a community in Guyana that was emphatic about having an offline, on-premise installation of the Terrastories app. To members of this group, the issue was more than just the lack of Internet access in the remote region where they live. “To them, the idea of data existing in the cloud is almost like the knowledge is leaving the territory because it’s not physically present,” Kemper says. Likewise, creators of Our Data Indigenous, a digital survey app designed by academic researchers in collaboration with First Nations communities across Canada, chose to store their database in local servers in the country rather than in the cloud. (Canada has strict regulations on disclosing personal information without prior consent.) In order to access this information on the go, the app’s developers also created a portable backpack kit that acts as a local area network without connections to the broader Internet. The kit includes a laptop, battery pack and router, with data stored on the laptop. This allows users to fill out surveys in remote locations and back up the data immediately without relying on cloud storage.

#Data Sovereignty

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topekadsa · 4 months

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What is DSA?

Democratic Socialists of America both national and local, have multiple campaigns going at any given time in pursuit of the goals of their platform. These include but are not limited to:

An end to deportations. Free movement of people, not capital

Ending discrimination based on race, sex, gender identity, sexuality, religion, disability or class

Tuition free public education at all levels

Healthcare as a human right

Complete reproductive freedom in all forms

Safe affordable housing for all

The end to military aggression

Equality in and democratization of the workplace and economy

Abolish of the police and prison industrial complex people and the environment over profit

How do I become a member?

You can apply for a card through the DSA website and get connected to your local chapter that way but it is not required. Your local chapter should be able to explain the specific needs they have for card carrying members, but you do not need a card to attend meetings.

Why should I pay attention to DSA?

DSA works as a central hub for leftist organizing. Even if your local chapter is not the right fit, you may find people or organizations in your local area that you did not know existed.

National DSA News and Resources

Class: Democratic Socialists of America (spotify)

Topeka DSA

We are a relatively new Kansas chapter of DSA, looking to reach potential members where our Facebook and Instagram are lacking.

If you are interested in attending meetings, or joining the discussion via our discord feel free to reach out to us at [email protected]

Kansas News and Resources

KS Legislature live (youtube)

Watch state legislature review bills

House Roster Senate Roster

Follow along with ks legislature and put names to faces

Loud Light (tiktok) (youtube) (website)

Highlighting state legislation topics to pay attention to

Kansas Reflector (spotify) (website)

Kansas podcast covering a variety political topics and promoting current events

Topeka City Council (youtube)

Watch City council livestreamed

Topeka Jump (website)

A Topeka Justice Unity & ministry project

LGBTQKS (website)

Directory for Kansas queer resources

SeeClickFix (app)

An app for reporting negligent maintenance for apartments/potholes/etc

BuyNothing (app)

App Resource for low income kansans looking to barter

Kansas Landlord Tenant Rights (website)

A quick FAQ guide for tenants rights in kansas

Kansas Tenant's Rights Quiz

Uquiz to test your knowledge of your rights

Topeka Tenants Survey

Share your level satisfaction with renting in topeka and sign up for updates on Topeka Tenants future events

Braided Haven (website)

A new LGBTQ+ shelter in Topeka

Whose land am I on?

Find out what indigenous communities your area in kansas is the traditional territory of.

LGBTQKS

TopekaPride

Shawnee County Democrats

Kansas Reflector

#kansas #topeka #topeka kansas #democratic socialists of america #DSA #socialism #socialist #leftist politics

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cinnamonshaybackup · 2 years

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All The Wrong Actions— Aemond Targaryen

aemond targaryen x f!targaryen reader, reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter

Reader lands in kings landing and things take a turn (Rhaenys I’s dragon never died in this, so reader rides Meraxes)

part two to All The Wrong Reasons, intending to write at least one more part to this.

TRIGGER WARNING: There is a duel in this part, violence, toxic relationship,

word count: 775

ñuha dārilaros— my prince/princess

ñuha ābrazȳrys— my wife

(All High Valyrian is through a translation app)

@xcharlottemikaelsonx not sure if this is what you had in mind, but here you go

You landed in the dragon pit, not expecting Aemond to be waiting, the smug look on his face when you dismounted Vhagar made you simmer in fury yet again, your anger boiling under your skin, feeling as if dragon fire raced through your veins instead of blood.

Aemond’s smirk faded from his face as you pointed your sword at him, he slowed his stride towards you to a halt, staring at you in disbelief,

“Would you truly harm me, ñuha dārilaros? Are you truly capable?” He mocked, his fingers twisting around his own sword, you could feel something in him release as he wrapped his hand around the hilt, the look in his eye unrecognizable to you, unbridled anger, each felt betrayed, leaving the two lovers at an impasse, until you spoke, a sharp tone, cutting through the silence in the area, “For my brothers? Without hesitation.” Your words cut him as he waved one hand and tilted his head at you, raising his eyebrow as he withdrew his blade, “If a battle is what my lady wishes, then so be it,” He stated in a way akin to the growl of a dragon itself.

He circled you, forcing you to move, you knew your husband’s skill with a blade, and did not wish to be forced on defense, so you swung first, his blade locked with yours as his face contorted viciously, you spun away to avoid your wrist be slashed, and he pressed forward his advantage, effectively holding you on defense as your blades met again, the shrill resounding screech of steel on steel echoing. “Yield, Y/N! We may put away our blades and forget this lack of thought!” The way he spoke was taunting, you saw no familiarity in your husband’s face, his normally calm, loving demeanor towards you missing in a clash of steel. He looked as if he might take your life this moment.

Stalking around you as if a predator to his prey, he got under your guard and you felt the gash open on your side before you saw the blood, he hesitated for a second before you raised your blade again, swinging it wildly towards him, he seemed to enjoy your fire as he rolled his shoulders back and laughed, managing to hit your wrist with his blade making you drop your sword in pain, before smacking your knees out from you with the flat of his sword, you crawled backwards in the dirt until you hit the wall, pulling yourself up as he advanced upon you, your back pressed against the wall as he reached you, he slammed you back against the wall as you went to move, holding his blade at your throat, making no move to end the match.. to end you.

His eye flicked between both of yours, as he dropped his sword in favor of holding his dagger to your exposed throat, he lifted the chain of your necklace with it, surveying it, a gift from him on the anniversary of your wedding.

“You have betrayed me, ñuha ābrazȳrys. And yet I do not wish to see you come to further harm. Why must you torture me so.. to have love for you and still feel the sting of your betrayal?” He murmured, his eye flashing at you and the fire flickering in his sapphire eye, and his mouth twisted darkly in turn, he looked menacing, a vengeful god with the firelight making his hair shine like molten silver.

Your breath was caught in your throat, fearful to breathe fully lest you be nicked by the blade he held so tightly to your skin. And yet your recklessness led you to speak further against him, “You have frozen my love to you, by threatening my blood, an act against me in itself.” you spat, meeting his gaze as well as you could. He grabbed your shoulders roughly, slamming you against the wall again, your head hit the stone harshly, clouding your vision with darkness, the loss of blood making you weak in the knees as you collapsed, you heard the rage in his voice as he spoke, “You only had to love me, I will have your love again, for I am eternally yours as you are mine. It is the only choice.”

You gave into the darkness clouding your head, and he picked you up as you fainted, carrying you back to the keep, tear stained cheeks as he glared ahead, nobody dared speak to him as he brought you to your chambers, summoning maesters as he instructed the guards that you were not to leave your apartment after you woke.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine

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cinnamonshay · 2 years

Text

All The Wrong Actions— Aemond Targaryen

aemond targaryen x f!targaryen reader, reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter

Reader lands in kings landing and things take a turn (Rhaenys I’s dragon never died in this, so reader rides Meraxes)

part two to All The Wrong Reasons, intending to write at least one more part to this.

TRIGGER WARNING: There is a duel in this part, violence, toxic relationship,

word count: 775

ñuha dārilaros— my prince/princess

ñuha ābrazȳrys— my wife

(All High Valyrian is through a translation app)

@xcharlottemikaelsonx not sure if this is what you had in mind, but here you go

Aemond’s smirk faded from his face as you pointed your sword at him, he slowed his stride towards you to a halt, staring at you in disbelief,

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd #aemond vs reader #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst

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bee-tee-rus · 7 months

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MML AU where King Pistachion is a single dad going on a T/indr date with you and Derek keeps fucking shit up:

(press "Keep Reading" for the fic)

Your legs bounce with anticipation. You tie the 50th knot out of the paper sheath that your straw came in, now noticing how strong it-- oh! Nope, it finally tore. Broken out of your daze now, you take a look around the little sandwich shop that you sit alone in, wondering when your date will show.

Online dating isn't really your thing, due to the countless articles and stories you've sunken time into reading, giving your paranoia a whole 'nother level of paranoia. But it really can't be that bad, right? You are hyper aware or any potential danger, so it all should be fine.

Some minutes pass, and you just got back to your seat with a Pistachio latte. You laugh to yourself, remembering that the guy's screename who you are supposed to meet was... "King Pistachion". He didn't look like your typical human. In fact, dude didn't look human in the slightest. Like some hot sexy monstrous treeman. Hey, there's a first time for everything! You pat your pocket to be sure you brought tweezers-- in case of any splinters.

RING! The door opens after what seemed like an eternity and you are 99% sure that the being who came through is him. I mean, how many men made of wood really live around here... Actually, that's a great question and you'll look into that later.

The tree man swivels his head and squints his eyes as he looks around the room. I lock my eyes onto him, yet remain silent as he surveys the room. I can't help but feel a bit intimidated. Once he turns my way and meets my gaze, I flash a weak smile and wave. He straightens up, nearly missing the ceiling as a huge smile forms across his face. The man comes forward and then I realize just how much taller he is than I. If this date gets far enough... I wonder how THAT will play out? I shake those unwanted thoughts away.

"H-hi, I'm Anon. Um from the uh... The app." God, why are you nervous?

"I know, as soon as those gems glistened my way, they drew me in... Anon~" the man says with smoothness as he kneels down and grabs your hand, his large stick thumb caressing the top of your hand in a seductive way.

Oh God, he is laying it on a little too thick.

"Uh..." You pull your hand away, feeling awkward from the sudden gesture. "Here, let's sit down and maybe talk some first, kinda get to know each other?"

"Ha ha yes, my little berry. Here... Let me--"

"AH!"

Suddenly, you are light on your feet. In fact, you aren't even on your feet anymore! This man had the audacity to pick you up and carry you bridal style to your seat. Sir, this is a Jimmy John's. He pulls out your chair with one hand and gently sits you down, then goes over to his seat and plops down in it. He leans his chin on his clasped hands as he leans forward to give you his undivided attention. What is with this guy? It seems like he is wanting to get to the good part already, like slow down!

"Haha... " You chuckle nervously, not knowing how to react to his chivalrous antics. "So... Is 'King Pistachion' your real name?"

"Yes."

"Really? No really?"

"Well I suppose if I had a human identity, I would go by 'Pcarl'. The 'P' is silent."

His face looks proud of his swift answer to you. The gears in your brain start turning and churning. There's not a single 'P' in 'Carl', what is he... ? Whatever, you won't question his logic for now.

"Okay, Pcarl..." You look the strange man up and down, not really feeling the name. You get the strong feeling that he just made that up on the spot. "Can I call you KP?"

"If that's what your heart desires, little berry~" he purrs out as he flashes a wink in your general direction.

You let out a sigh and try your best to reel the tree man back to square one with you.

"Anyways, KP, tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for fun? What sorta job do you do?"

"Oh you know. Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."

A smirk forms on his face as he leans back with his arms crossed.

With a strained poker face, you can only bring yourself to respond with a repeated question.

"... And for work?"

"Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."

Hm, so he's pretty much a Line A to Line B guy. You are uncertain whether you should feel threatened or not. Your thoughts get cut off when you hear an adult male voice boom through the restaurant.

"DAAAAAD! DAAAAAD WHERE ARE YOU?"

The whiny voice feels as though it is being focused towards us. KP lets out a grumble, face palming and muttering something under his breath. You can only make out a, "Not now" due to the Ed Sheeran music drowning out miniscule sounds. King Pistachion lifts up a finger to you as though he is motioning you to hold on, stands up and turns to face the door where the voice came from. He inhales as his eyes close and brows furrow, then responds.

"What now, Derek? Daddy's busy with 'business'!" KP holds out his hands towards you. So you are a business matter now? You would feel offended, yet the curiosity of this situation keeps you quiet as you become the onlooker of whatever is about to transpire.

This "Derek" was smaller in size compared to his father, being the size of a human adult male. He kinda had a BioShock thing going on with his fashion, with the top hat and tailcoat combo. He stuck some resemblance to his dad, except for the chiseled features of his face. You would think this guy could be a model or something.

"You said you would be quick and it's been 5 hours already!" Derek says with exasperation.

"Derek, stop being so dramatic. I've only been in here for 10 minutes and was this close you getting you a mommy" KP hisses as he presses his index finger against his thumb to emphasize how close he was to--

"What? I never agreed to anything like-- Is that why you have been so flirtatious from the get-go?" You can't believe that this guy really thought that it would take a mere day of cheesy romantic antics to get someone to just marry him.

"It was going so well, I could see in your eyes that your heart began to call out to me." He turns his head to you and looks a little smug, as though he truly believed this date was going great.

"I don't want a new mom! I'm happy with the one we got at home" Derek stomps his foot to assert his belief.

"Your 'mom' is a heat lamp, that's not a mother. That's a machine that aids. We need the touch and love of a real being, especially for when I'm busy with my plans."

"Her name is 'Laura' and you would know that if you ever came home and spent time with us!"

You are assuming that the heat lamp 's name is Laura. It's a bit hard to follow this conversation, yet you try your best since it involves you in the mix. Derek begins to walk towards the table and stands in front of you, rubbing his chin as he thinks.

"How old are you?" He asks as he narrows his eyes, making sure that you do not lie to him.

"30?"

He huffs as he throws his arms up and spins around to walk away. Derek begins to become as boisterous as he was before.

"Really, Dad? They're not much older from me or your other kids! That's like you're dating my siblings or something!"

"Don't be disgusting, Derek. It's not like that at all, get over it!" King Pistachion 's tone is now becoming more impatient at how his son is publically judging him around strangers. Something flat and green grows from the bush on his head, he reaches and picks it off. Wait, is that... Did he just illegally grow cash?

"Here's $50, just-- PLEASE, go find some entertainment and let Daddy finish business."

The steamed tree man towers over his son, holding out the totally legal cash for Derek to accept. A few seconds pass and Derek silently snatches the cash and leaves. Kind Pistachion lets out a heavy sigh of relief and dusts his hands, sitting back down and his face quickly transforms from anger to... Oh he's gonna keep trying, isn't he?

"So... Anyways, have you ever lay with a man of lumber?" His eyebrow raises as he leans forward, doing his best (and failing) to woo you.

"Uhh... "

"YOU KNOW I SPRINKLED WEED KILLER ON YOU IN YOUR SLEEP SO YOU CAN'T MAKE BABIES!"

This time, you did not hear the door open but you recognize the voice. It's Derek once more, only this time he is holding a yellow dog. You hear the chair scoot and look to find King Pistachion looking horrified. Is this man afraid of dogs?

"D-Derek, put that thing away now! You don't know what you're doing!" KP shakily says as he presses his back against the wall.

Derek chuckles as he pets the blissfully unaware dog that he carries.

"Oh I do know what I am doing, father..."

He puts his hands under the dog's arms and holds it up and far from him, Lion King style. The smile of Derek fades, his head tilted down with his brows furrowed, causing dramatic shadows on his face.

"I just gave this dog a full bowl of water and cranberries... He hasn't relieved himself yet. Now if you don't piss off from this pointless date and take me home..." Derek pats the dog's belly and a swoosh of fluids can be heard. "Then I'll have no choice but to piss you out of here."

What the hell is going on? Without a peep, King Pistachion stands up and heads towards the door. He seems cautious as he passes the airborne pup, squeezing his large frame by his son and through the exit. Derek has a prideful grin, puts the dog down and goes to follow his dad into the parking lot.

You are now out of your seat and rush to the window. You want to see what sort of vehicle these two travelled in. What exactly are these beings? Are they aliens? A science experiment gone wrong? Surely, something like them wouldn't be driving something so basic, right?

Wrong.

Why are you surprised? KP and his son enter a dual colored PT Cruiser, the top half being a pale green while the bottom half is a pale yellow. Ha, it's a PisTachio Cruiser. From here, you can vaguely make out both of their expressions from the car. King Pistachion wears a look of irked defeat and Derek has the smile of someone who got their way. The car drives off and now you are just sitting alone in the shop, not wanting to even finish your pistachio coffee.

"I don't think I like pistachios anymore."

#my writing #one shot #this was really dumb #i just imagined it and decided to write it out #milo murphy's law #king pistachion #derek #mml #mml fanfic #the drawing is crappy since I sketched it on my phone #my art

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nestforms · 11 days

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#land survey app #offline survey app #quality control app #survey mobile app #mobile form app #offline surveys #collect mobile data #health and safety audits #quality control checklist app #forms mobile app #Market Research Surveys

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silverjetsystm · 3 months

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cont'd with @themckaytriarchy from x

Smile round and small over Steven’s red Solo cup of Jack and Coke, a recently manicured and softer hand offers Tess a slice of paper towel with the same grace he would with a handkerchief. Aha. Gottem. He surveys the golden-orange brown casserole, cheesy and greasy, with raised eyebrows. "I see. Maybe I should venture outside my usual. Anything can be a casserole," he says quietly, laying on his fanciest radio show announcer voice.

He hardly has time to get the last word out, mouth opening to accept the airplaned bite. Manners. Curiosity. It never lands; he shuts his mouth just as quickly. Playing the straight man.

“Mmm. Yes.” Steven bites the inside of his cheek. Every skill he’s learned for board meeting and business leaned on. Midwest returns to color, “A party for Moon Knight.” Black and white balloons in the corners, twinkle lights glowing softly. Cupcakes with the phases of the moon iced on top on the dessert table. Someone’s playlist on the Bluetooth speakers accompanying the energetic conversations. What deeds Moon Knight had done for them. Who scrounged crescent darts from crime scenes. The best picture competition of blurred white and glowing turquoise.

One day soon, he intends to fill Tess in on the joke that isn’t.

“It’s very thoughtful.” Jake would be better suited for a party thrown by one of their neighbors. Vaguely aware, Marc is perched in the back, lines in the Mr. Knight suit stretched and shadowed. Spirals of appreciation chasing guilt.

In the meantime, Steven glances at the kosher and halal table. “Also appreciated.” Everyone deserved to be included. They were all travelers of the night. “I think….” Fingers pinch to straighten a tie that isn’t on his light blue Oxford button down shirt, staring vaguely out the window. Divided. Jake pulling hard one way. Flush with opinions on having Grant try potluck food from the kosher table.

Thousand watt smile graces his face when he faces Tess again. “I’ll try it.” He brushes her shoulder with his own when he visits the apps and mains table.

#themckaytriarchy #v: welcome to the midnight mission | 616 #grant | gentle dr jones

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ambiguouspuzuma · 11 months

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Constructive feedback

I'm a compulsive feed-backer. At least, I think that's the right word. It feels like the verb might be in the wrong place - one who backs feeds, perhaps, like a supporter of TV channels - but I'm not sure of the alternative. Back-feeder? Or does that make me sound like one of those oxpeckers - you know, the birds that ride around on kudu or wildebeest - or something else entirely? You can let me know, if you like. I certainly would.

I mean that I give feedback. Any chance I get, really - and you'd be surprised how many there are. The pop-up that you'd usually swipe away; the installation screens you scramble through. Am I willing to spare two minutes for a quick survey? You bet. Rate us in the app store? Don't mind if I do.

Sometimes they don't even ask for it. There's just a company email address on the leaflet, a pause in the spiel, and suddenly I'm giving more feedback than a microphone within an inch of its own speaker. I write letters to global corporations; I phone back their call centres; I scribble on marketing flyers and return them to sender. A compulsion, as I said. It's a problem, except that I'm not sure that it is.

I like to feel that, in my own small way, I'm improving the world. Most people don't have the patience for all of that work, and so it's down to the likes of me, the back-feeders, to spot the errors; to suggest the improvements; to do the silent work that makes everything we use a little bit better. I identify bugs, and I swat them away before they have the chance to land on your salad. You're welcome.

By and large, I find myself ignored, and that's okay. I'll occasionally feed that back in turn, for important stuff - when the council take too long to acknowledge my letters about potholes, for instance - but otherwise I'm happy to work in the shadows, offering up my free advice without the hope of recognition or reward.

They don't all have to heed my words. I know that I can be pernickety, a pedant, a perfectionist. Not all of my suggested improvements can be prioritised, and I appreciate that resources might be better spent elsewhere. I just give them the information, and leave the best course of action for them to decide.

That is, I used to. Until the start of this month, when I left a restaurant a two star review, and walked past later to find it had closed down. I felt guilty, wondering if I was responsible, although I hadn't thought my words too harsh; perhaps the proprietor had thinner skin than that which lay across the surface of his soup, I thought.

But then I called the local pet store's attention to the uneven drawing of its parking bays, and they vanished too: not even the shop, just the car park. I tried it with a park I visited, which needed more benches in the shade, and suddenly there weren't any benches, or even any shade. It felt like a petulant response, co-ordinated across the various powers that be, sick and tired of my complaining. It was like I was provoking them, or they were trying to provoke me.

I tried to cut back, of course, but you can't just quit the habit of a lifetime. I decided to redirect my energies elsewhere, starting a blog to vent my thoughts about life more generally, rather than risk upsetting any more people: I moaned about the way it always seemed to rain on the weekend, or how quickly my knees and back had gone with age, and suggested flaws in natural systems, like the strange way that animals and plants with warning colours now looked more attractive to humans, particularly young children.

One day I received a parcel in the post. I hadn't been expecting anything, and my immediate thought was that the postal service had delivered to the wrong address, despite my previous corrections, but it was my name on the label. Inside the box, I found another note addressed to me, atop a set of neatly folded golden robes.

"Go on, then," it read, in a language I shouldn't have been able to read, and therefore couldn't check for typos. "Let's see you do any better."

#writing #short story #writeblr #creative writing #original fiction

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willcodehtmlforfood · 1 year

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The quickest way to second-guess a decision to major in English is this: have an extended family full of Salvadoran immigrants and pragmatic midwesterners. The ability to recite Chaucer in the original Middle English was unlikely to land me a job that would pay off my student loans and help me save for retirement, they suggested when I was a college freshman still figuring out my future. I stuck with English, but when my B.A. eventually spat me out into the thick of the Great Recession, I worried that they’d been right.

After all, computer-science degrees, and certainly not English, have long been sold to college students as among the safest paths toward 21st-century job security. Coding jobs are plentiful across industries, and the pay is good—even after the tech layoffs of the past year. The average starting salary for someone with a computer-science degree is significantly higher than that of a mid-career English graduate, according to the Federal Reserve; at Google, an entry-level software engineer reportedly makes $184,000, and that doesn’t include the free meals, massages, and other perks. Perhaps nothing has defined higher education over the past two decades more than the rise of computer science and STEM. Since 2016, enrollment in undergraduate computer-science programs has increased nearly 49 percent. Meanwhile, humanities enrollments across the United States have withered at a clip—in some cases, shrinking entire departments to nonexistence.

But that was before the age of generative AI. ChatGPT and other chatbots can do more than compose full essays in an instant; they can also write lines of code in any number of programming languages. You can’t just type make me a video game into ChatGPT and get something that’s playable on the other end, but many programmers have now developed rudimentary smartphone apps coded by AI. In the ultimate irony, software engineers helped create AI, and now they are the American workers who think it will have the biggest impact on their livelihoods, according to a new survey from Pew Research Center. So much for learning to code.

ChatGPT cannot yet write a better essay than a human author can, nor can it code better than a garden-variety developer, but something has changed even in the 10 months since its introduction. Coders are now using AI as a sort of souped-up Clippy to accelerate the more routine parts of their job, such as debugging lines of code. In one study, software developers with access to GitHub’s Copilot chatbot were able to finish a coding task 56 percent faster than those who did it solo. In 10 years, or maybe five, coding bots may be able to do so much more.

People will still get jobs, though they may not be as lucrative, says Matt Welsh, a former Harvard computer-science professor and entrepreneur. He hypothesizes that automation will lower the barrier to entry into the field: More people might get more jobs in software, guiding the machines toward ever-faster production. This development could make highly skilled developers even more essential in the tech ecosystem. But Welsh also says that an expanded talent pool “may change the economics of the situation,” possibly leading to lower pay and diminished job security.

If mid-career developers have to fret about what automation might soon do to their job, students are in the especially tough spot of anticipating the long-term implications before they even start their career. “The question of what it will look like for a student to go through an undergraduate program in computer science, graduate with that degree, and go on into the industry … That is something I do worry about,” Timothy Richards, a computer-science professor at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, told me. Not only do teachers like Richards have to wrestle with just how worthwhile learning to code is anymore, but even teaching students to code has become a tougher task. ChatGPT and other chatbots can handle some of the basic tasks in any introductory class, such as finding problems with blocks of code. Some students might habitually use ChatGPT to cheat on their assignments, eventually collecting their diploma without having learned how to do the work themselves.

Richards has already started to tweak his approach. He now tells his introductory-programming students to use AI the way a math student would use a calculator, asking that they disclose the exact prompts they fed into the machine, and explain their reasoning. Instead of taking assignments home, Richards’s students now do the bulk of their work in the classroom, under his supervision. “I don’t think we can really teach students in the way that we’ve been teaching them for a long time, at least not in computer science,” he said.

Fiddling with the computer-science curriculum still might not be enough to maintain coding’s spot at the top of the higher-education hierarchy. “Prompt engineering,” which entails feeding phrases to large language models to make their responses more human-sounding, has already surfaced as a lucrative job option—and one perhaps better suited to English majors than computer-science grads. “Machines can’t be creative; at best, they’re very elaborate derivatives,” says Ben Royce, an AI lecturer at Columbia University. Chatbots don’t know what to do with a novel coding problem. They sputter and choke. They make stuff up. As AI becomes more sophisticated and better able to code, programmers may be tasked with leaning into the parts of their job that draw on conceptual ingenuity as opposed to sheer technical know-how. Those who are able to think more entrepreneurially—the tinkerers and the question-askers—will be the ones who tend to be almost immune to automation in the workforce.

The potential decline of “learn to code” doesn’t mean that the technologists are doomed to become the authors of their own obsolescence, nor that the English majors were right all along (I wish). Rather, the turmoil presented by AI could signal that exactly what students decide to major in is less important than an ability to think conceptually about the various problems that technology could help us solve. The next great Silicon Valley juggernaut might be seeded by a humanities grad with no coding expertise or a computer-science grad with lots of it. After all, the discipline has always been about more than just learning the ropes of Python and C++. Identifying patterns and piecing them together is its essence.

In that way, the answer to the question of what happens next in higher education may lie in what the machines can’t do. Royce pointed me toward Moravec’s paradox, the observation that AI shines at high-level reasoning and the kinds of skills that are generally considered to reflect cognitive aptitude (think: playing chess), but fumbles with the basic ones. The curiosity-driven instincts that have always been at the root of how humans create things are not just sticking around in an AI world; they are now more important than ever. Thankfully, students have plenty of ways to get there.

#rise of the ai #szamitozos melokak

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