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tushanfoxspirit · 1 year

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YueHong Sweet & Cute moments 💞💞

Since this is my 100th post (I can't believe it is been almost two years since I made this account!!), I decided to make it about YueHong moments :)

(Of course since they have a lot of moments together I will post them in parts)

1. Holding each other closely

He always likes to carry her & hold her close to him💞💞

2. Holding hands

So far, it is rare for them to hold hands with each other but when they do, it is usually a beautiful & warm scene💞💞

The process of holding hands together for the first time💞💞

3. Going out together in causal clothes in modern times

Feeding her & camping together💞💞

4. Gifting each other with special gifts

On the Chinese New Year, he gifted her a cute flowers bouquet with a couple bunny decoration that he especially made for her only💞💞

While in Valentine day, she gifted him a cute bunny-shaped cookies that she had especially made for him only💞💞

5. Enjoying the special scenery together

In the night, they enjoyed looking at the beautiful starry sky peacefully together💞💞

In the morning, they both enjoyed each other company in this beautiful peaceful scenery (her sneaking glances at him blushing shyly while him sneakily went to hold her hand that sadly failed to do so since she somehow noticed it and has withdrawn her hand because of her shyness towards him💞💞)

6. Missing & thinking about each other

After their separation from each other, they always seems to really miss each other so deeply to the point where each one of them will keep thinking about the other for a while💞💞

7. Always cooking for her & deliberately making her extremely cute lunch boxes that makes her blush profusely

Her weak point is cute things so the slight sight of the cute lunch boxes he makes especially for her makes her extremely shy & blush profusely to the point that even her fox ears stood up from just the sight of it💞💞

From the very moment he landed at her clan territory, he became her own chef that has dedicated himself to cook for her & always making what he cooks extremely cute just to see her be happy💞💞

8. Drawing her secretly & her occasional visits to him

He is not only great at cooking but also he is a great artist that likes to draw her (secretly)💞💞

However, the moment she almost finds out that he painted her, he quickly hide the painting and either he runs away with an obviously made up excuse, or if the painting is overboard (the painting where she is sitting on the bed), he will directly put the painting inside his mouth just to hide it from her & camouflaging it by writing or drawing something else quickly just to avoid getting beaten up by her lol

But if the painting is humble, she will just blush shyly💞💞

She always seems to visit him at his occasional places (like the atelier, etc)💞💞

9. Blushing at the thought of each other

Yes, they are a blushing lovable cute sweet power couple💞💞

If just the thought of each other will make them blush just like that…just imagine how will it be with them dating each other (or better, life after marriage)💞💞

10. They are each other salvation and what they seek isn't perfection from each other but just the simple company of each other

They accept each other wholeheartedly & love each other deeply to the point they will risk everything just to protect & save each other💞💞

They are a couple who understands each other the most & their hearts are always connected (they are forever soulmates)💞💞

To be continued💞💞

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chillichats · 3 months

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i have some scattered thoughts about ai, and i wanted to get them out somewhere. figured this was a good place seeing as its literally my blog

there's all this hype about making ai act as close to human as possible. i don't like that. it feels disingenuous. humans are really good at reading emotions onto things that don't have emotions, and i worry about the idea of people doing that to something that can talk back without actually meaning anything. especially when all the stuff ai is spouting is directly getting ripped off of actual humans, which means the stuff people need IS AVAILABLE from fellow humans, people that are made up of more than words and unintelligent servers and databases.

i especially don't like it whenever people use ai to make fan-content. fanart, fanfics, even just using it to get prompts. in my head its almost sacrilege. i have a friend that uses ai to make art of her oc's and blorbos, and uses chatbots to talk to her faves, and i just. it's so. unsettling that she doesn't see something wrong with it.

fandom has always been such a FUNDAMENTALLY human behaviour. everything was run by passion and love. it didn't matter if what you created was good or bad, all that mattered was that you cared enough about something to create. with this advent of people bringing ai into fandom spaces, it feels like a red flag. like fandom has become warped, so that people are caring more about the things fandom produces (and their 'quality') than the passion and intent and people behind it.

newcomers to fandom space (and some older people probably) aren't used to how things are done here. they come from other places on the internet where content is hand fed to them, and they expect the same here. and i suppose at the beginning, when they're new, there's so much content that has been made that it doesn't feel any different. but they burn through and decide that their fave artists of fic writers aren't pumping things out as much as they want, or aren't exploring the ideas they want them to. and where before, the obvious solution to this would be to do it yourself, now they can just... feed a prompt into an ai. and the ai generates something soulless, and the fan reads emotions into it, because that's what humans are good at.

i don't really have a point to this, even just thinking about it for this long upsets me. i heard somewhere that fanfiction sites are now being scraped deliberately for fanfic-generating ai sites, and as a writer that honestly makes me want to cry. i may not be the most prolific writer, i might not even have the most well-thought out plot, but i love my stories with all my heart, and the idea that someone could replace human writers with ai disgusts me to my core, especially since those words would have been TAKEN from human writers, only to be put in a blender and spit out as flavourless mush.

#chillichats #ai #ai critical

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rametarin · 9 months

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On the subject of tankies and blind spots

Tankies often know their "blind spots." It's deliberate, and to really understand how and why they maintain this seeming glib double standard, you just have to observe "Pick Up Artist" culture. Because to be quite frank, tankies and most socialist philosophers just apply being a sex pest to how social activism should work.

The constant guerilla cultural warfare method that was sooooo prevalent in the late 80s and early 90s, when they would be tankies, but pretend not to be, just "start conversations around the water cooler" to spread propaganda or neg things or filibust productive discussions they took personal offense to (and DELIBERATELY disrupt them so conversation they didn't control or the outcome would be the opposite of their desired feelings and thoughts at the end)

With tankies, which in the modern day applies both to people deliberately stanning for Russia or China or insert-socialist-democratic-peoples-harmonious-jubilant-generous-republic here, they come in both the useful idiot form and the deliberately deceptive one. And they're loyal, because to them, the more important part is to destroy competition to their preferred ideology and worry about their preferred ideology after the competition is disqualified.

That's how they work.

To use an allegory of a bunch of men trying to woo a woman. Lets say a bunch of different social systems are would-be suitors for society. The game the way it's meant to be played is you come up, pitch who you are, what you're about, what you can give or offer the lady.

Flowers, chocolate, sweet nothings, dates. Thems the conventional rules of courtship and all that. That's not how tankies/socialists do it.

Oh no. The way they operate is more like predators. They study the book on human relationships, theories on it, how it's "supposed to work" like an alien dissecting the code of an animal, and then with cold hearted audacity, try to deconstruct it and hack it to work for them for their goals. Not to win a heart in a way that respects the recipient and everybody involved, but to win.

So they put on a genuine but phony friendly demeanor, as they're taught to wear as a mask, and rather than try to court who they're interested in, they instead try to be the girl's friend. Become a peer. Pretend and feign they aren't even in the running for courtship and leave things ambiguous and unstated. If accused of trying, they simply go "What? When did I say I wanted that? I'm just standing here." The, "I never said it and you can't prove it" playing coy, anything you can't prove is a baseless accusation game.

From that position, they start playing the role of consultant. Feeding them nice sounding maxims of things to look out for, warning signs, red flags, dire portents. All of them designed to play off key elements of their competition in a game they leave ambiguous if they're even in the running for and give indirect inferences that they aren't. All of them designed to give false positives or warning signs or bad behavior to affect the lady's behavior and make her see threats that aren't there, or assume negative things about a person's character to neutralize the threat of their would-be competition, if they were playing the game honestly.

One by one, competition starts looking worse. "This one looks like an alcoholic. I heard they had a temper, too. You saw the way they angrily responded to Jeffy making a benign statement!" (and now even the slightest bit of aggression from that man looks like the shadow of an angry drunk). "This one seems shifty. I heard he owes debts and is shameless about asking for money." (hard to prove and potentially a long term security risk if true- and so difficult to research and find out if you don't feel like it or don't want the drama.) "That one sleeps around a lot" (probably true in that individual's case. I mean, it's his own fault, but the Tankie Suitor is going to really beat that point like a drum for his own advantage.)

Just being a helpful supportive friend, Tankie Pick-Up-Artist starts giving her criteria all but designed to take their competition out of the running that coincidentally fits them like gloves, invents context by which to damn them in a game he invented with criteria for the rules he wholesale fabricated that he insists so generally are just basic rules and decency and reality that this gish gallup seems incredibly complicated to question or take apart, and having no reason to assume she's being ensnared in a logical trap because of the not-apparent danger or outcome.

And one by one, all the boys in the running are disqualified because she's using Tanke P.U.A's criteria of what a good boyfriend looks like.

All except him. Oh, wow! The precious prince was under her nose the whole time! What a hallmark romance moment! What a GOOD FRIEND. what a selfless, intelligent, totally unassuming good boy!

Tankies are like that, but for social/political systems. They have an idea of what they want and expect society to be by defining society and how it ought to interact with identity and economy, and then they grade systems that aren't their preferred standard by how well they conform to the platonic ideal of the one they ascribe to, faulting them subjectively.

If you tell them their subjective criteria are bullshit and pie in the sky, and they can't prove anything, they shake their jowels and insist upon the righteousness of morals and civil rights and "being a decent human being." And then go on to talk about how capitalism and not-socialism are all guilty of every premature death due to poverty and starvation solely by not being socialist, and that is "way worse than every death done under things that aren't even real socialism!"

Which as we all know, real socialism is when it works, and fake socialism is when not-socialism in the name of socialism doesn't work- then it's just capitalism's fault, either because it's state capitalism or no states around them will cooperate and spoon feed the socialist state by... giving them labor, industry and intelligence... to compete with capitalism.

So tankies will remove the context by which they neg figures in societies and cultures and economic systems they disagree with for moral and ideological reasons but pretend they're just "giving a critique" of them. You know. Through, "Critical Lenses." WHich if you aren't into the arcane of their mental gymnasium, are just the equivalent of a Christian judging everything using the language of Christianity and declaring things objectively evil because their religion says so. Dude, the stamp, "MY SUBJECTIVE RELIGION SAYS THIS" comes right with the holy book. It is the perspective of your ideology, a dogma borne of your arbitrary subjective beliefs, not facts. A glass house constructed of baseless moralism steered purely by preference. Your ideology is not the arbiter on what's right or not, and we will not treat or respect it as universally applicable, or the defacto logical standard. No matter how much you try to blackbox it and deny people access to touch it and be the rudder of conversation. The same way as Christian moralism doesn't get to be "our" moralism just because you enter the conversation talking like Christianity is baseline correct.

They know the sweatshop labor of China and other countries are wrong, but they insist "they're forced to do it to survive ideologically", because of "pressure from the west abusing and starving them." Whereas they maintain capitalism just does it out of greed for "the elite." And if you point out regulation and law exists specifically to prevent that, they argue, "capitalism rends all laws moot by corruption." Which, again, is prevalent in socialist systems as well by nature of authority dictating where resources go.

It's usually not a question of ignorance on the part of the tankie. Usually. Some don't know any better and only stand by it because it sounds right to them but they don't know. Others are college educated, aware of how the legal and economic systems function- or don't- and will still stan socialism and/or communism, because, "it's the moral thing we ought be doing."

And those ones absolutely will sit there trying to stir your passions by telling you half truths to shape your perceptions and hack your interpretation of how things work to get you on that wavelength, because to them and their psychology, the ends justify the means.

And it is that kind of sociopathy that is what dooms socialists and socialism not to work. Because that psychology becomes its own culture and fraternity. That psychology exists to exploit people for their labor in the short term until it's modus operandi of a structure that can FORCE people to continue participating until monopoly of force and monopoly of resources either deprives them from not participating, or corporeally punishes them for not participating- or delivering quota. Baking redistribution in, even just on principle, not on legitimate physical need, because, "it's the RIGHT thing to do." Even if it's wasteful, even if it results in ruin. But they still stan it, because the ideal reality of if it could just work and if only they could just somehow convince or compel people to participate in their fantasy, it could be MADE reality. If only everybody else donated their time and resources to it! They just need convincing.

It's all the bothersomeness of dealing with religious cult sermonizing and blindsiding/blitzing you with theological basis without fully disclosing their beliefs, without the specific church or specific religion. But insisting it's not a religion because, "it's the truth."

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dustedmagazine · 1 year

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Rrose — Please Touch (Eaux)

Please Touch by Rrose

By now, Londoner-by-way-of-California Seth Horvitz is a known (but trusted) quantity. Right from the jump, their Rrose alias was an avenue to another, stranger realm: What might've read initially on early 12” singles and in sets opening for Sandwell District’s Silent Servant as a kind of gut-churning techno quickly revealed itself to be something less solid, more unsettling and unpredictable. There was the modular synth collaboration with Bob Ostertag; there was the composition for pianos with Charlemagne Palestine; there was the extended frequency experiment of James Tenney’s. All of it deliberately eschewed genre to the point that calling them anything other than a producer seemed ill-fitting. Please Touch follows 2019’s Hymn to Moisture in taking those lessons learned from their more avant experiments and incorporating them seamlessly into these productions. It’s a heady monolith, a work of impeccable sound design.

February’s Tulip Space, a series of “synth oddities,” and an accompanying 143-minute mix that featured artists including Aleksi Perälä, Kali Malone, Matrixxman and Robert Hood presaged what we’d be in for with Please Touch to some degree. Though obviously presented as a compilation foregrounding the synthesizers, Tulip Space had clearly identifiable rhythms, so the idea of abandoning some marriage of melody and percussion was never on the table for this one. The output, however, comes exactly as long-time listeners might expect right from the start of “Joy of the Worm”: queasily, like a synth phased right to the heart of your ear canal. It’s an experience rarely found even among the best producers.

There’s a depth to the production here that’s also hard to find in the contemporary music landscape. Rarely are you stuck with just two or three pieces for your ears to unlock; more often, it’s the microtonal touches at the fringes of your headphones that entice. Hear those scratches that start at the center of “Rib Cage’s” plodding thump before moving off, almost undetectably, to the edges to make way for the deeply submerged kicks and rattlesnake shakes that will take hold in the song’s second half. It’s emblematic of what makes Rrose so good, but it’s not alone: “Spore” circles you like a flush down the drain or a swarm of locusts. “Spines” does this, too, gradually bringing in what sounds like an unending Gregorian chanter at a low drone while unidentifiable alien transmissions gloam inscrutably and unpredictably. “Disappeared” is like the oddest night of crickets on your back porch you’ve ever heard. The deftness of design never ends.

It’s always like this. Something is always happening somewhere even when you think there isn’t, as on the ambient “Pleasure Vessels,” which is perhaps as close to relenting relaxation and even optimism as Rrose has ever come. It’s so startling in tone that its mere presence throws you off, puts you on edge. “Feeding Time” offers similar relief in its ambiance not long after, but while “Turning Blue” starts and ends that way — only just — the majority of its runtime is a discomfiting phasing that sticks with you as the final feeling far more than the actual warmth of the endnote.

Herein lies Rrose’s mastery of their art. You’re never on solid ground with these productions, but the immersive allure (much of their stuff runs north of seven minutes) even after more than a decade behind the anonym remains hard to resist. As Please Touch ably demonstrates, it also remains hard to duplicate.

Patrick Masterson

#rrose #please touch #eaux #patrick masterson #albumreview #dusted magazine #techno #house #ambient #london

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always-andromeda · 2 years

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How Dano Characters Would Play Stardew Valley Part I | Dano!Characters x GN!Reader

Dano!Characters x GN!Reader

Author's Note | I mentioned that I had this idea to the groupchat girlies and they were super encouraging about it; so...this exists now. I just wanted to jot down some wholesome thoughts to give myself a little bit of a break from fulfilling milestone requests. I also just know way too much about this game and it really shows. Part II of this will be posted tomorrow!!

Warnings | spoilers for Stardew Valley? overall, this is pure fluff!

✰ Alex Jones/Barry Milland ✰

Alex gets very fixated on the game. It's just so calming to him. Expect him to be playing it for literally hours on end, completely avoiding any other responsibility he might have.

He likes planting and picking flowers. No matter how much you tell him that they just aren't profitable, he just loves how pretty they are. He also loves planting strawberries in the Spring.

All of his animals are at full friendship levels with him because he is so diligent at keeping them fed and petting them every single day.

Alex choses a cat for his pet and absolutely goes with naming them after some sort of food. Think something along the lines of Peach, Pumpkin, or Blueberry.

He deliberates for a very long time before choosing to marry Penny. He just thinks that she's so kind and her home life reminds him a lot of what his own looked like when he was younger. When she asks him what theme he'd like her to renovate the bedroom with, he chooses the strawberry theme, of course.

Alex gets a little intimidated by some of the other characters like the Wizard, Hayley, Kent, and Shane. He just doesn't get why they have to be so cold and never really gets higher than two hearts with them.

His favorite villager ever is Willy. He's not particularly good at fishing, but he makes it part of his routine to fish with Willy whenever he's outside of his fishing store.

✰ Calvin Weir-Fields ✰

Right off the bat, Calvin absolutely spoils the Stardew Valley experience. He's incredibly impatient and skips through most heart events and cutscenes. Within hours of starting the game, he's consulting the wiki.

He has a weird dislike for Elliott. Especially if you have any interest in the character. Calvin will fish just to acquire garbage that he then gifts to Elliott.

Calvin marries Leah. A red headed artist who has a bad ex? Yeah, that sounds pretty familiar. You know Calvin is zeroed in on this poor girl. When Leah paints the portrait of Marnie, Calvin chooses the Classic Country Portrait.

He would be okay with having the two children but gets so annoyed with having them run around his house (it throws off the aesthetic) that he'd turn them into doves and only feels bad about it when Leah asks about having children again.

He's decent with the farming and everyday upkeep of the farm but he doesn't see much of a point in the slice of life narrative. He needs an objective. So he just puts all his focus on making as much money as possible.

He gets really good at making jellies, wines, and caviar that he then sells. He tries to get into caring for the animals so he can make cheese, mayo, oil, and fabric but he's not nearly attentive enough to the animals.

This man goes days without feeding the animals and rarely remembers to pet them. He also goes nuts when he gets to name them. He has theming for basically all of the different types of animals. For example, all of the cows are named after gems.

Calvin gets pretty sick of the game pretty quickly though. He'll get bored with the unending nature and the second he puts it down, there's a good chance that he'll simply never pick it back up again.

✰ Dwayne Hoover ✰

Dwayne mostly prefers mining and combat to farming. He's fairly good at the combat aspect, actually.

Also loves being able to enchant his weapons at the Forge on Ginger Island. He has chests full of various weapons (that he never uses) but he still loves collecting them all.

He's scarily good at navigating the Skull Caverns. He has a fully enchanted Galaxy sword and absolutely kills it with his reflexes, killing monsters left and right and getting all of the best loot.

If Dwayne could insert himself into Sebastian, Sam, and Abigail's friend group, he absolutely would.

He also has such a soft spot for the Junimos and tries his damn best to finish the Community Center so they can be freed. If he could punch Morris the way that Pierre can when the Community Center is finished, he would also do that.

At first he says that he's going to stay single in the game. But Krobus? He absolutely strives to get Krobus to move into his farm. He feels bad that Krobus can't go outside and mostly stays indoors.

On rainy days though, Krobus will tell his character, “Ever since I left my people, I've been searching for a new home...now I belong somewhere. That means everything to me.” This makes Dwayne shed a few tears that he will fervently deny.

✰ Edward Nashton ✰

When he first discovers the game, he thinks he's going to be normal about it. He's just going to try it out. But like with everything else in his life, he gets fixated fast.

He dedicates hundreds of hours into the game and creates a dozen different save files. This is because he wants to explore the game to its fullest potential but doesn't want to get bored by playing on the same save file.

Edward marries basically everyone at some point but he definitely has his favorite storylines. His favorites: Abigail (he gets to be her protector when she starts out in the mines and she literally kills for him; what a queen), Sebastian (maybe he reminds him of a certain emo bat boy but maybe he's thinks it's cool that he's drummer, we'll never know), and Penny (she takes care of children, maybe she'll take care of him).

But the marriages are the least of his interests, to be very honest. He hops from spouse to spouse on different save files anyways. For the most part, he loves the mystery; or he likes uncovering mysteries.

He's not great at combat but he loves exploring the mines and finding new pieces of loot to collect.

He collects all the shiny things he finds; both gems and museum items. He'd make his own museum in a giant shed on the farm even though it doesn't do anything to make him money. He just likes keeping little trinkets!

That being said, he hoards basically everything and has chests full of resources that he can never possibly use all of. He spends hours on this game? Of course he's loaded on resources and mostly broke on the majority of his save files. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

✰ Eli Sunday ✰

Eli has a massive savior complex going into it. Shane and Pam are massive red flags for him. He tries going after Shane until he realizes that it's going into a romantic direction. The internalized homophobia has him reeling away and going straight to saving Pam.

This puts him directly in front of Penny. Penny intrigues him. She's quiet, meek, and cares for the town's children. She's the quiet and submissive wife of his little Christian boy dreams.

Eli absolutely tramples over poor Penny. He just gives her poppies continually until she has enough hearts for him to marry her. The second they're married, he kind of forgets she exists and doesn't really notice that the heart levels can deteriorate.

That doesn't matter though. Father Eli has some money to make! This man wants to maximize his profits in any way that he possibly can.

Starfruit absolutely changed the game for him. He's got his math down exactly right. This is the kind of guy who would write down all of his math and work out the numbers.

He absolutely names his farm Eden and names all of the animals biblical names.

Eli loves having a farm that looks rich and lush. He fills the entire space with barns, coops, fruit trees, and squares of crops all being watered with iridium sprinklers. This farm is his virtual paradise and it really shows.

✰ Hank ✰

Hank has a somewhat normal attachment to this game at first. But it truly is incredibly comforting for him.

Socializing in real life and having his own experiences are kind of difficult for him to manage. So the game is a nice, relaxing reprieve from the anxiety and dread he carries with him every day.

When it comes time to choose a pet, Hank goes with a dog. Specifically the floppy eared brown dog. He’d name it something unbearably sweet like Honey or Chocolate.

Hank finds solace in the story and the intimate moments between the NPCs. He loves the bonds that he can create with each of the townies and finds things that he can like about basically all of them (however, he isn't a huge fan of Pierre, Pam, and Morris, of course).

He loves fishing, foraging, and farming the most. Mining isn't his strongest suit, but he can manage well enough to get rocks and ores. Just don't expect him to go venturing into the Skull Mines more than once or twice.

The greenhouse is his favorite place on the farm. He grows flowers and plants fruit trees along the sides. Sometimes he just likes sitting in there for a few seconds, just to ground himself.

The storylines of each NPC is far more important than money making to Hank.

He dates basically all of the marriage candidates, but he is thoughtful enough to acquire a rabbit's foot so he avoids being slut shamed by the boys and girls.

Hank doesn't get married, though. He loves all of the marriage candidates and their storylines pretty much equally and can't commit to one. But he lets Krobus move in in a heartbeat. It just makes sense to him.

Krobus is a little strange to him and it takes a while for him to warm up to the monster. But as soon as he does, they're thick as thieves.

Hank actually finds it hilarious that he decorates his house in such a classical manner with fireplaces and bookshelves and everything while simultaneously having Krobus' little dungeon room added on to the side of the house.

✰ Jay ✰

Like Alex, Jay adores the animals and keeps them at full friendship levels at all times. He has the most trouble naming them, though, because he'll spend minutes just thinking about what he should call each animal.

He eventually settles on a human name theme. He'll call them just regular people names like Burt, Steve, or some goofy name. This is because he believes it gives them a level of respect that you cannot get from naming an animal after an inanimate object or anything else. Ideally, he wouldn't want to name them at all because, "Who am I to dictate their identity?"

The animals are there purely for a good time. He absolutely doesn't harvest anything from them and actually loses money getting wheat for them so they can eat every day. This man would have no food in his fridge, low energy, no health and he'd still be running to Marnie's to spend his last few gold on getting some wheat.

On many occasions, he has not gotten home on time and passes out at two in the morning at some random place in the forest. This is because he's obsessed with foraging and will explore every outdoor area to find every forage-able good. This is because he never has any money to actually buy food for himself.

Jay ends up marrying Maru. It's almost accidental. He didn't plan on marrying anyone in the game until he saw her heart event where the player looks at the stars with her. It's such an intimate moment that he is instantly smitten.

He completely commits to Maru when she frees her robotic invention, Marilda. It's a sentiment that he applies with every living being in real life, so of course he goes for her.

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ossonee777 · 3 years

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Moon through the houses

Moon in the first house: Your feelings are right out there for everyone to see, and you can come across as emotional and impatient, or nurturing and caring (or both). You need emotional stimulation, movement, and freedom to express yourself in order to feel happy and fulfilled. They may try to hide their emotions, but it is difficult. They are on display. First-house moon people are cautious in their interactions and always on guard for fear of getting hurt. Forget about pleasing everyone (it can't be done) and instead focus on doing your best. Develop self-confidence and the courage to be different and don't let it get to you. You can be very sensitive to your environment so do not go to places that might bring up ill feelings or bad memories in you. Your sub-conscious is probably very strong and sometimes quite unmanageable.

Moon in the second house: A constant worry about money and keeping the security it provides is common with a second-house moon. If money is plentiful, the chart holder may easily become complacent until the money dwindles causing a cycle of comfort and worry. Financial security is necessary for a person with their moon in their second house. You tend to hold back and wait before expressing yourself, and when you do it is with deliberation.

Moon in the third house: You are very responsive, communicative, and curious. You can have a talent for imitating others and/or for picking up languages. A third house-moon is at ease with learning and finds it comforting. Like the third-house sun, early schooling is a central issue whether it is positive or negative. This position also inclines a person to communicate their feelings and lends an ability to explain their feelings clearly. it gives a bit of detachment to the moon's emotions because it ads an intellectualism.

Moon in the fourth house: You long for a sense of true belonging, but you may be quite restless in your search. You might change residence frequently, or simply feel the need to make many changes in your home. Home and family are paramount for fourth-house moons as they look to home and family as their sanctuary in the world. Interacting with family members is serious business for fourth-house moons and any disagreements or disputes are taken to heart. Their heritage is experienced on a feeling level rather than as something they learn about as they mature.

Moon in the fifth house: There is a constant need to find ways of expressing themselves. With the moon, there is always a need to fulfill the desires of the house in which it falls, which is so deep it is often unconscious. In the fifth house of self-expression, art, music, performing, home decorating, fashion, dating, and bearing children are examples of activities that fill the need, but the list is endless. Many people with a fifth-house moon are able to express themselves genuinely, and they are satisfied. Easily flowing from one creative endeavor to the next, they feel comfortable with who they are. Romance is second nature rather than awkward.

Moon in the sixth house: With the moon in the sixth house, the focus is on caring rather than perfecting. The sixth-house moon chart holder doesn't lose the desire to live well and perfect their skills, but this need is subdued by the need to care for others and be cared for by others in practical ways. Those with sixth-house moons assume that their loved ones will always provide them with food, money and shelter. Likewise, they are happy to do laundry, clean and cook. As long as the balance is there, these chart holders hum along happily.

Moon in the seventh house: You seem to attract sensitive people as partners, perhaps those who want to "mother" you or be mothered. There can be many changes of partners and many relationships because of the need to find someone who can bring an ultimate security. You desire companionship, hence many relationships. Your feelings are greatly influenced by those with whom you are in close personal contact. You want to be popular with others. You are therefore likely to attract a partner who is kind and domesticated. Both you and your partner may need to be on your guard against moody or fickle behavior. Marriage may be undertaken with the object of establishing a home. More than one marriage is possible.

Moon in eighth house: You desire security and perhaps look for it through other people's possessions or resources. You have self-doubt and worry. You may be subject to jealousy, envy and possessiveness. Psychic sensitivity is noticeable and psychic abilities can be developed, hopefully along positive lines. There may be financial gain through a partnership, business or through marriage. You are intrigued by what motivates others. Preoccupation with sex or death can exist for you.

Moon in ninth house: You are a dreamer and muse often about the higher aspects of life. Since you may not be content with the way your life currently is going, you have the desire to search for fresh fields. This search may take you on many long travels, both physically and mentally. Security may be found in a religious or philosophical ideal. Your philosophy of life is what nurtures you and gives you security. You have a variety of interests, in sports, hobbies, and studies. You make a stimulating teacher because of your personal interest in the subjects you teach. They are really a part of you and that comes across to those who listen to you.

Moon in tenth house: Comfortable in the public eye, the tenth-house moon wants to be out in the world enjoying its natural gift of assumed high status. The public arena is the natural home for these chart holders and the world naturally accepts them. From an early age, these chart holders feel comfortable in the public eye. It is emotionally satisfying for them to feel accepted by the public. Being on stage, in front of a camera or speaking to the public comes naturally to them and feels emotionally natural. In fact, the feeling of being accepted by the public feeds their emotions, and success in the public eye gives them emotional homeostasis. These chart holders will always do well in careers involving caring for the public as the moon is about mutual caring. Think of Mahatma Gandhi whose tenth-house moon wanted to care for the world before himself.

Moon in the eleventh house: Their ability to move society on a large scale comes from a deeply felt need rather than the drive seen with the eleventh-house suns. It is emotionally based and there is comfort in groups. When an eleventh-house moon gives a speech or promotes their social message it has a caring tone to it. These chart holders often use the moon's emotional nature to express their views artistically. A high comfort level in group leadership positions puts people at ease and instills trust in people. They are able to lead people and enact social change by gaining trusting supporters. They also expect society to support them. The moon's caring nature has an equal but opposite need to be cared for in return. Depending on signs and aspects, they may have an expectancy of acceptance which gives them a natural advantage and confidence.

Moon in the twelfth: The twelfth-house moon person is denied the comforting, nurturing childhood the rest us assume is a normal part of childhood. A mother who is preoccupied, distant or absent creates an unnurturing environment for this twelfth-house moon child. Childhood is often painful and lonely. Over time, these chart holders have no choice but to learn how to self nurture. Sometimes this is done with drugs or alcohol, but religion, meditation, philosophy and service to others also satisfies the nurturing need. The ability to find a productive way to self-nurture that isn't self destructive is difficult and often takes years. It's easy for these people to fall into depression and feel lost and alone. It takes a great deal of emotional strength for them to crawl out of the dark loneliness of this planetary position and develop the ability to love themselves enough to compensate for the lack of emotional support they receive from the world. Even when these people are able to get past this, there is a vague feeling of confusion about how to find comfort and nurturing on a daily basis. They don't know what they like or how to really feel satisfied.

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology notes #astro observations #astro notes #astrology aspects #spirituality #learning astrology #transits #astrology mention #moon in 12th house

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humancomedy · 3 years

Text

Human Comedy: Tragedy - 12

Shu: Protecting, loving, and caring for one's family is not quintessentially human; it's a trait shared amongst all animals.

Content Warning!

Mentions of familicide, suicide, and murder in general within.

Location: Fruits Parlour

Shu: Protecting, loving, and caring for one's family is not quintessentially human; it's a trait shared amongst all animals.

Conversely, what is uniquely human is our ability to senselessly massacre those we consider our cherished family.

"There isn't enough food", "We need to reduce the number of mouths to feed"... without even possessing reasons such as those, we're able to kill one another on a whim.

It isn't a matter of whether or not the deed is actually committed—human nature is precisely the capability to deliberate and fulfill that choice.

I have said this before, and I shall say it again: the will to oppose one's instincts is what distinguishes humanity from all else.

The results of choices that defy one's natural tendencies, such as continuing to devote oneself to painting—despite knowing one will die without eating or sleeping—materialize and eventually accumulate; that is what art is.

Tell me, do animals build pyramids to serve as their tombs?

Do they feel fulfilled simply by listening to Mozart's music, reading Shakespeare's stories, or admiring Dalí's paintings?

There are a great many other tasks that must be undertaken to sustain one's life, are there not? Despite that, we, humankind, create art. That is why I love it.

At the same time, I wish from the bottom of my heart to be an artist.

Living merely under the rule of one's instincts can be painful indeed.

Those with more physical prowess monopolize food and all else that is fundamental to survival. They trample on the weak, find a mate, and beget children.

In the animal world, to lose is to face a swift death. Their world, where instinct is law, rapidly culls those who fail to keep up.

However, it isn't as if humans have lost all their instincts; we often behave similarly, particularly in more underdeveloped societies.

We bully the weak and sneer at the stupid, we kick around and ostracize those whom hamper us. Doing so is more conducive to our survival, to the preservation of our progeny.

If you look at the big picture and think holistically, that is how our offspring become more robust and able-bodied.

If the foolish and weak live long enough to produce descendants, they would only face a fate of certain ruin by the elements of the world around them.

And, just like that, those shamelessly strong ones are given a sense of legitimacy through their successors and instincts.

They speak about love, dreams, and righteousness, all while hypocritically disregarding and abusing those weaker than themselves.

Animals don't express any complaints about that reality. They merely die. It's only humans that protest.

The ones that are trampled upon create art to comfort their hearts, bringing forth value on an axis completely separate from instinct.

Even if they're unable to fight, even if they're weak, even if they're not loved by anyone at all... They can continue living.

When life is too painful, the paintings and music made by virtuosos of past and present can give us solace.

When I was younger, I was weak; all I would do was cry. However, those creations saved me.

The dolls my grandfather gave me, the embroidery Kiryuu's mother taught me, the songs performed by idols on TV—

Every single piece of art I encountered preserved my life and my heart. I found salvation through them.

Even at this very moment, I want to impart that same experience to those being crushed by the concept of instinct.

That is why I create art. I am trying to bestow blessings upon those who were raised according to reason.

Kagehira. This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but that is what the humanity I speak of is like.

It's not all beautiful... On the contrary, it's also repulsive and illogical.

However, I plan on sacrificing myself to move towards that ideal, and I want you to do the same. I expect that you'll aspire to become a "human" in that same vein.

Yes, I want you to become a human, an artist...

Banish those fanciful lies found in fiction from your mind; a dullard like you most likely won't be able to interpret whether they're the product of instinct or reason.

What you're experiencing and thinking now is everything. If you obey the voice of your heart and mindlessly act in accordance with it, you're nothing more than a fool enslaved by his instincts.

We are human precisely because we can consider doing the opposite and making our own choices, because we can exercise our free will.

Mika: Umm. I ain't got a single clue 'bout whatcha sayin'... Oshi-san?

Shu: As I expected. Well, then, I shall explain more concretely.

Kagehira, you will unconditionally obey my orders, correct? If I told you to die, you would, wouldn't you?

Mika: Y-Yeah. I'm yer doll, after all. I'll do whatever ya want me to...

Uhm, so if ya order me to drop dead an' I do, does that mean I'm human too..?

Shu: It appears you've understood absolutely nothing, Kagehira. You're no more than an animal if you truly think you want to yield to my every order.

You can't even become a human, much less one of my beloved artists.

Kagehira. I order this of you... Kill me right this instant.

Mika: ...?

Shu: Kill me. As brutally as you can.

Mika: Um, uh... Why? What's goin' on?

Shu: Are you not able to do it?

Mika: I-It ain't about whether I can or can't—I don't get whatcha sayin' in the first place!

Why do I gotta k-ki... I don't even wanna say it! There ain't no way I could do that!

Shu: You're a strange boy. You're willing to throw your own life away, but you're unable to kill me. Do you adore me that much...? However, this is precisely what marks you as a failure.

I should have told you this sooner... Return to your hometown, Kagehira.

Mika: W-Wh...?

Shu: I don't need a doll that merely follows orders; I can make as many of those as I wish.

From here on out, the unknown awaits me, so I need someone who will give me inspiration—a fellow artist whose growth will spur my own.

You cannot become an artist, nor even a human. A puppet like you... is not qualified to be by my side.

You don't have the right to remain in my life; you're nothing but a nuisance.

Any time I spend on you is a waste, so pack your bags and leave my house as soon as possible. Disappear, and don't ever dare to stand before me again.

Mika: ......

...Are ya throwin' me away after all, Oshi-san?

Shu: "Throwing you away"? That's incorrect; I never owned you in the first place... I'm going to erase your name from my memories and forget you ever existed.

I'll drown you in darkness, without leaving behind a single trace of your existence.

Isn't that an apt destiny for a failure? You'll disappear for all eternity, not even remaining in my memories. You're fine with that, aren't you, Kagehira?

Mika: ......

Shu: Where's your reply? You're my unconditionally obedient doll, aren't you?

← prev ❖ all ❖ next →

#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars translation #mika kagehira #shu itsuki

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ojcobsessed · 2 years

Note

Sorry about this mini-rant but I'm getting so tired of seeing Oliver being the "bad guy". Sure, he does a nice guy role once on a blue moon, but everytime I've tried to get my friends into this gorgeous creature they make comments like: "his playing an arsehole partner AGAIN?!"

I didn't really realise that his been typecast (a lot) until they said it. You should've saw my face when I saw the first episode of Surface haha, I had no idea he would play another "dark" character! Then again, I didn't do my homework on that show.

I would quite like him to do a MCU movie—in that retrospect—just because we'll see a more light hearted side to him (like when filming Malcolm's List). IMAGINE A NON-PERIOD/DARK MOVIE STARRING OJC LASTING LONGER THAN 2 MINUTES! Even if he is eyeing up a villian role, they still aren't that serious in nature compared to his other works (everyone was pleasantly suprised with Jake Gyllenhaal in the Spider-Man movie). I know that not everyone likes those movies, and series', but they are really great for promotion and becoming a bigger star! It would be nice to see Oliver getting recognition (in that retrospect again).

Sorry about the rant, I'm sitting here watching The Lost Daughter again and wondering why the f*ck movies and shows would waste his FULL potential.

hello, so i actually have 5 other inboxes from people about the oliver/mcu discussion that i want to round up in a single post because i realise people have very strong opinions on this and i kind of don't want to clog up everyone's feeds with post after post of me blogging my thoughts about oliver jackson-cohen and superhero movies : )

i get a fair amount of "why does oliver always play an asshole" messages. i don't mind them don't get me wrong! and it's validating to hear that other people want to see more of oliver tbh. i would also love to see him in a leading role playing someone who isn't, to quote oliver, "a toxic piece of shit." like most ollie fans, i would in fact love to see him in any leading role, period.

the good news is that several major reviews for mr. malcolm's list called his performance "a revelation" and said they hoped he'd do more comedy. and he does play the romantic lead in emily which comes out in a few weeks and has very good early buzz. depending on how well its reception is in a couple of weeks at the toronto international film festival premiere, it could even start to get oscar buzz. so even though he is apparently playing yet another toxic partner in wilderness, who knows what the future holds once people see more of his very broad range.

having said that, i think it's important to note that oliver himself does not seem unhappy about or disinterested in "asshole" roles per se. he has said repeatedly that he's picky about his projects, and has found all of his roles that were post-emerald city/the healer personally interesting as an actor/artist because they allow him to explore themes of trauma, identity, power, and toxic masculinity from a variety of angles and intersections - and of course that is okay!

he has also said in recent interviews that he actually doesn't agree that adrian griffin, peter quint, toni in the lost daughter and james ellis in surface are one kind of character. they are all very different people with different backgrounds and motives.

it's also luke crain and michael berryman erasure and those are probably the 2 things he's most known for aside from adrian! : )

finally, of course i also wish there had been more of oliver in the lost daughter but it was a story where the male characters were deliberately in the background/supporting roles in order to centre the female narratives within the film. however, while oliver's role was a hostile thug, he recently said that he originally tried out for the role of jessie buckley's character's husband. . . talk about having dodged the toxic husband bullet!

#the lost daughter #peter quint #adrian griffin #the invisible man #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of hill house

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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years

Text

comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #how tag???#anyway orpheus!jaskier and eurydice!geralt deserves to be a real fic #not like whatever the fuck this is #i humbly invite someone to write it and nourish me #my fic

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Nude

Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?

He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.

So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.

Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying

“Cap must be getting some”

To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.

With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'

When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.

When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.

He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.

“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.

When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.

“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”

He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.

“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.

“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.

“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.

He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.

You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.

You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?

You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.

Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.

Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.

Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.

You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.

You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.

You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.

“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”

“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.

“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.

“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”

“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...

“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.

“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.

You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.

“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.

He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”

“You’re a great artist” you gushed

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.

You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.

“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.

“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.

You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or send me an ask!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve x reader #steve Rogers x you #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel x reader

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gureishi · 4 years

Note

Hello! Hope you are well! I love the new prompt list! I was hoping to ask for Zen with “You left your mark on me” thank you so much and have a good day 🤗

Thank you for this wonderful request, my dear!

Did I take this prompt too literally? Perhaps. But boy did I GRIN the whole time i was writing about it. I really hope this brings you a lil joy today~

thirteen: left your mark on me

Zen X Reader, T, words: 1928

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

He’s already long gone when you wake up. You have a vague, sleepy memory of him kissing you goodbye when it was still dark out—now, the sun pours through the window and your alarm jolts you violently from a dream.

It’s 8 am on a Sunday—in other words, a wildly inappropriate time to be awake, in your opinion. You rub your tired eyes with one balled fist. Why on earth did you even set an alarm today?

You’re yawning and considering just curling back up under the covers when you remember: the interview! Of course.

You stumble out of bed, dragging your blanket with you, and make your way into the living room. There are several shirts draped over the back of the couch; you can picture him so easily, with his languid early-morning eyes and his hair untied, trying on each shirt in turn and peering into the mirror—anxiously twisting to see himself from every angle, agonizing over the choice.

You turn on the TV and flop onto the couch, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. You check your phone: it’s only 8:05, so they should still be doing the intro.

The TV’s already on the right channel, and you smile, certain he set it that way before leaving this morning. He doesn’t always tell you how important it is to him that you watch—“Nothing would make me happier,” he says, “but I don’t want you to feel any pressure”—but you know what it means to him. And this is a big national news program, the kind millions of people will watch. He’ll be checking his phone right now, pacing in the studio, looking for a message from you.

You swipe to your first contact and send him a text. “I’m watching, babe,” you write. “Can’t wait.”

Just as you’re weighing whether or not you have time to make some coffee before he’s on, you hear his name; as usual, and even after all this time, your stomach does a little somersault.

He strides on screen, positively resplendent in a corduroy double-breasted blazer (good choice, you think), his hair tossed over his shoulder, glistening under the studio lights. He reaches for the host’s hand and shakes it gently. He’s got it down, you think: the amiable manner, the cool handshake, the half-smile.

The host makes a joke and he laughs lightheartedly, tossing his head back in way that’s somehow as natural as it is artful. And that’s when you see it.

Your mouth falls open. You shoot up off the couch, automatically moving closer to the screen for a better look. You rub your eyes; try rubbing the spot on the TV screen, too. But it’s undeniable

There is, without a doubt, a small, circular bruise on the side of his neck—just the size and shape of your mouth.

You lift a shaking hand to your face. No way. NO WAY.

You fall back onto the couch; he’s saying something now, answering a question about his transition from stage to film, but you barely hear him. If he was anyone else, this would be meaningless—he’s an adult living with his partner, after all, and there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about a little love bite. But he’s him. And he’s on national TV.

Your phone is already buzzing. Nervously, you swipe away the new notifications and return to your thread with him.

“Zen,” you text him. And again. “Zen. Zen. Zen.”

He doesn’t answer, of course; on screen, he’s grinning, nodding as the host makes a comment about his last movie. Reluctantly, you swipe back to your notifications.

There are several text from his publicist, of course. The first one says “Are you serious?!” and the second says “How did you let this happen?” You don’t look at the third or fourth.

There are texts from his agent and her assistant, too. His agent’s text just says “Why????” and her assistant has followed up with a longer and more formally-worded message.

You groan. This is tricky territory: as his manager, it’s at least partly your responsibility to keep him from going on TV with a freaking hickey on his neck. And as his partner, it’s certainly up to you to not bite him.

You set your phone down, deciding to give everyone a few minutes to calm down before you answer. What can you even say? You honestly have no memory of leaving the bruise on his neck, but you imagine (blushing a little) that it must have happened the previous night, or you would’ve noticed sooner. If you’d just woken up when he was leaving this morning, maybe you would have seen it, would have warned him…?

Your phone is still buzzing and you glance down at it, hoping—inexplicably—that it’s him, though you can see clearly that he’s still live on air. It’s his publicist again.

“Check twitter,” she says. Oh no.

With a mixture of dread and an almost masochistic fascination, you open the twitter app. You’re already following his hashtag, of course, and—oh no—you see his name again and again on your feed.

You scan the top tweets, your heart thudding hollowly in your chest. The tone is generally amused—“Zen on tv with giant hickey lolololol”—but still, you’re horrified. He’s trending.

Begrudgingly, you start to answer the texts from his team. No, you didn’t notice it; yes, you would have told him if you had; no, you haven’t heard from him yet—he’s literally still on live TV.

You try to focus on the interview. He’s talking about his new movie now, gesturing with those long, beautiful hands. If you squint, you can’t really see the mark on his neck, and you wonder if it’s really that noticeable. Based on your twitter feed: yes.

He’s standing now, shaking the host’s hand again, and the studio audience is clapping, and oh, you’re so relieved it’s over. You twist the blanket nervously between your fingers as the screen goes to a commercial. You mute it, let your eyes drift shut. Maybe this was all a dream.

Your phone buzzing again startles you—not a dream. It’s him, calling you mere seconds after stepping off camera, and you answer right away, nervous fingers slipping over your phone screen.

“Hi, babe!” he chirps, full of energy. It’s his just-got-off-stage voice.

You hate to burst his bubble, but: “Did you, by any chance, look at your texts, hun?” you ask him.

“Nope! I wanted to call you right away! How was it? How was I?”

“Zen…” It’s not like him to be so oblivious; is it possible that, nervous as he was this morning, he really just didn’t notice? “Um, you didn’t happen to…that is, the makeup artist didn’t say anything to you, did they?”

“Makeup artist?” He hums in confusion. He’s going to make you say it.

“There’s a huge hickey on your neck and everyone is talking about it,” you blurt out in one breath. He pauses and you think he’s going to react with surprise, shock, concern.

Instead, he laughs. Laughs.

“You saw it, huh?” He’s talking quietly, probably now in the dressing room, but there’s no anxiety in his voice. He sounds almost…pleased.

“Yes, baby. Everyone saw it.”

He’s still laughing, a kind of satisfied chuckle.. “Good,” he says.

You don’t know what to do with him. You feel your phone continuing to buzz even as you’re talking to him—it’s got to be the publicist, the agent, all the assistants.

“So just so we’re clear,” you say slowly. “You knew it was there and you intentionally didn’t try to cover it.”

“Yep!” You hear people chattering behind him; you can picture him smiling to himself as he strolls through the dressing room, packed with people, colorful and chaotic. Inexplicably, in the midst of all this, he sounds so very calm.

“Babe, everyone on the internet is panicking. Your publicist is panicking. You know she wants you to be more private, wants you to stop, like…throwing my name around in interviews.”

“I never said your name,” he says proudly.

“Zen…”

“Listen,” he says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. He’s practically whispering now; you suppose he’s hidden himself away in a back corner of the dressing room to talk to you. “I know how my publicist feels, and I don’t want to upset her or anything. But I can’t stand it anymore.”

That’s a private voice, a “just us” voice—one you’re used to hearing murmured into your shoulder as he lays in bed beside you at night.

“Can’t stand what?” You don’t know why, but now you’re whispering, too.

“All this secrecy,” he says. “Babe, I want to…I want to run through the streets shouting about you. I want to tell everyone in the world how desperately I adore you.”

You can’t help it: you smile.

“You just want to break the rules,” you tease, and he laughs again, more quietly.

“No,” he says. “I just want to make sure everyone knows who I belong to.”

“Babe…” You know you should argue; you’re his manager, for god’s sake. You should scold him, apologize for leaving the mark in the first place, make him promise not to pull something like this again. But you don’t have it in you.

“I’ll take the blame,” he says. “I’ll tell my publicist and my agent and anyone else who asks that it was just a silly mistake, that I didn’t even notice it. I’ll tell them whatever I have to, and it’ll blow over. But I just…I needed to do this. Do you understand?”

And you do. How could you not?

Much as you’d like to, you can’t deny the twinge you feel in your gut when interviewers ask him about his on-screen chemistry with some glamorous co-star or other and he has to laugh and smile politely and give them a vague response; you can’t deny, either, the sinking feeling you get when you read speculations online about whether he looked at so-and-so for a moment too long in whatever behind-the-scenes footage. It makes you want to scream.

But this…

Today, a huge percentage of the country saw him live with the imprint of your teeth on his skin. And they can wonder and deliberate about who gave him that mark all they want; it doesn’t matter, because you know. You were the one who grazed his sensitive skin with your teeth, making him squirm, moaning your name.

“I do,” you tell him. “And you did look very cute.

“Just cute?” he whines.

“Beautiful, and charming, and clever, and captivating. As always.”

“If you say so.” You can hear the kind of face he’s making—soft smile, eyes sparkling. “And don’t worry about twitter or whatever, darling. What’s that saying? Any press is good press.”

He’s not wrong, you think—trending on twitter can only help him, in the long run; his publicist will come around sometime tomorrow when she sees the inevitable bump in ad revenue. It’s not like he’s caused any harm.

Suddenly, you want to see him. You want to throw yourself against his chest and feel those long fingers on the exposed skin at the back of your neck.

“When will you be home?” you ask him.

“Maybe an hour. You need something, babe?”

You clutch your phone with buzzing fingers, anticipation pooling in the pit of your stomach. “Yes,” you say. “You.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

Text

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!! 🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well.

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.”

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile.

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?”

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

#birthdayplotbunnies #bagginshield #thilbo #starterdrabbles #i've been binging a lot of 99 and blacklist #that's not terribly obvious #right?

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the-bjd-community-confess · 3 years

Text

Big TW: mental health, si/sh, suicide mentions/discussion

Mod: Compiling all the anon responses to one post from last week into this one, so anyone who is sensitive to this topic can scroll happily by.

This might be particularly intense reading for the Anon it’s in reply to, so only open the post if you feel like it Anon. They replied/updated on the original confession also (I think it’s the same Anon), and imo they were just venting in their original post and it was not made with bad intentions.

Thank you Anons for submitting your varied perspectives and insight on this topic. ❤️

are you fucking kidding me? if your cope is a bjd that's fine, but here's the thing, buy a cheap legit!!! Or buy your fucking recast and enjoy it in silence instead of trying to legitimize it! Having a mental illness does NOT give you a free pass to be a asshole nor absolve you of the consequences of your own actions. Signed, someone who actually acted out on their suicidal ideation but thankfully didn't succeed.

~Anonymous

Mod: I’m glad you’re ok now Anon ❤️

"Don't be mean to anti artists because they might unalive themselves?" Ok. Now make the post saying "don't spit in the face of the artists who make this hobby possible and support the theft of their work because crushing their spirit and breaking their heart might make them unalive themselves." Or maybe you're just playing favorites in your suicide narrative?

~Anonymous

https://true-bjd-confessions.tumblr.com/post/649109294780907520/tw-suicidal-ideation-before-you-bash-someone-or I hope you realize that you are committing actual gaslighting with that. And just to be sure that people don’t think I’m just claiming this to deflect. In this specific case, I’d say it’s the: Gasligthing of someone spreading information, in an attempt to make someone doubt their own judgement (of a situation, or their own morals). There are other additions to the definition, like, over time gaslighting, or questioning ones own sanity, and memories, but I was just going to point out this one, or one part of gaslighting. Since it really sounds like it wants the reader to doubt their own morale judgement, about a situation, by inserting a very emotional, and serious topic, and pushing the idea of the persons opinion is going to cause someone’s death. Basically: What you are doing is gaslighting people into questioning their own judgments, and deliberately pushing them into the idea they might cause someone’s self harm, and subsequent death, if they dare, openly, hold a bad opinion, about recasters, and recast buyers. I would also like to just openly say that I find it incredibly gross to use topics of suicide, to guilt trip people, and it really sounds like a way to play the oppression game. You could just have mentioned how bullying people is wrong for owning recasts, something that is known of, and even frowned on by many, but instead, you used suicide as a tool, and even clearly use it, with no actual situation backing it, just to guilt trip, and make sure to try and make the person into being a bad person, just for holding an anti-recast stance, just because someone owning a recast might be suicidal. With this point: “ Your words might be that one drop that… ” you are literally shifting the blame to the anti-recaster, or a much larger issue a person suffer. Which isn’t only ridiculous, but also incredibly damaging to people who might suffer this mental state. Honestly, I’ll just say it again, using serious stuff, ranging from abuse, verbal-physical-sexual, to self harm, and in this case: suicide, just to make people feel bad, because they disapprove of your fake doll, is incredibly manipulative, and disgusting, because you’re using the specific topic of suicide, to just further a personal agenda. I’m not really sure what else to say. Using suicide to push this agenda, is incredibly disgusting, and even if you suffer from thoughts of self harm, it’s not the way to go, to pull strangers into this, and basically blame them for these actions. You also clearly didn’t seem to think, what implying blame to another person, or group of people, might do to their mental state. If you suffer from thoughts of self-harm, please call the suicide hotline, or try contacting, or receiving help. This links has a FEW numbers for suicide hotlines, and if you ever think you might need it, one call can help you find help. https://ibpf.org/resource/list-of-international-suicide-hotlines/

~Anonymous

I want to rebound on the confession with a suicide ideation. As others pointed out, it's not because you are unwell (as in clinically depressed) that you cannot be called out for your bad behavior. However, bullying is never acceptable in my book. Never. Being called out isn't harassment. Cyber bullying and threats, however, are harassment and are more illegal as, let's say, owning a counterfeit. Two wrongs doesn't make a right and some people must remember this. I've seen it too much.

~Anonymous

It's SO nice to see that Shit-posts and Vic3mage are pro-suicide. Yes recasts are theft but that should NEVER be an excuse to verbally abuse someone to the point of wanting to commit suicide or self-harm. "That's on YOU." So what you're saying it that this type of behavior is okay? It's disgusting.

~Anonymous

Ok, so, I’ll just say it straight, or gay for those who need that. If you use suicide to guilt trip people about disliking recasts, you’re an asshole, like, goatse levels of asshole size. What is it with people, and using the most extreme examples, to try and make others the villains? It sounds really fucky, to put recasts, and the dislike of them, in the same situation suicide blaming. If someone said that for the opposite side of things, would you, or other recasters agree with the sentiment of: “You as recasters, and pro recasters, are to blame, for sculptors, and artists not being able to feed themselves, and considering suicide. Your actions, might be the last drop for them to do it.” This is just an example to show how fucked up it is to say that by the way, if it was the other way around as well. Would you agree with this? Would you think it’s fair? Would you accept the blame if that happened? Would you say that recasters, and pro recasters, are the reason someone is “at the brink”? Oh you do mention that people should get help, sure, but it in no ways justifies the absolutely 1 guy, 1 jar level of butthurt you show, when pushing the idea that anti recast people might cause someone to end it, just because they’re vocally against recasts.

~Anonymous

Anon from the depressed recast confession from earlier. Thanks to the mod for the kind words and support. And thank you for the comments. I understand your point. But you don't seem to understand mine. I've owned this recast for a few years. I bought it second hand from a friend that got me into the hobby and didn't really understand the whole recast legit thing back then. I just really loved her collection and wanted to be part of her hobby, so I was more than happy when she offered me one of her dolls. I have changed her face-up and built a story around the doll. I put a lot of own effort in.

It wasn't like "Oops, I feel depressed. Guess I'm gonna buy a recast on the internet to piss people off and harm artists. My depression justifies this action", no. I just think telling someone they ain't worth shit, telling them "kys" and witch hunting them aren't the right way to go. You don't know anything about that person except "they own recast. bad person". For exactly that reason I think it might be good to just block them, or explain to them without any hard feelings if they don't know anything about recasts. They're still human beings worth of life. Maybe talk to them on a respectful level to understand each other better. Sorry for the long confession or if it upsets anyone, that's not my intention.

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #TrueBJDCounterfeits #Health #Mental Health

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pi-cat000 · 4 years

Text

FMA:B/BNHA Crossover (1)

Summary: Ed gets stuck in the BNHA world after the end of brotherhood. He starts trying to find a way home and ends up inadvertently working for the league of villains.

(fic I started writing a while back. I just like the image of Ed getting increasingly frustrated with how illogical quirks are)

Part 2: here

Edward notices tall, dark and suspicious the moment he enters through the rickety front door into his poor excuse of an office. It wasn’t just the way his entire head was covered in a low hood, though that was mighty suspicious, no, this dude gave off some of those dangerous vibes that he would usually associate with a homunculus. The stranger's movements were slightly off, as if not quite human. Only, there was no such thing as a homunculus in this weird word. Well, not that he knew of.

“Brat! Are you listening to me!”

Ed begrudgingly turns his attention back to his irate landlord. The older man is leaning over Ed’s desk, close enough that Ed can see the numerous wrinkles pulling down his face. “You better not be skimping on our arrangement.”

“Hey,” Ed taps a finger against the wood, leaning forward so the old man is forced back at the risk of butting heads, “This whole building needs new wires …do I look like an electrician?”

That enlists an expression of acute irritation and more annoyed huffing, “Don’t get smart with me. I’ll evict your freeloading ass so fast that…”

“Oi! Our deal was that I fix the roof, get rid of that mould up on the third floor, and you set me up for the next month.”

“The deal was that you handle the building’s upkeep and I put a roof over your ungrateful head.”

“Just because I can fix up some rotting floorboards doesn’t mean I’m an expert electrician… how about you go hire a person with qualifications while I get on with my day job.” He smacks his hand on the table for emphasis, motioning at tall, dark, and mysterious waiting a few steps behind the older man. Technically, he could probably figure out how to fix the building’s faulty wiring with alchemy but there was no way he was getting suckered into helping his grumpy scam artists of a landlord any more than was promised.

To his credit, the old coot takes one look at the shadowy figure and decides to put any further complaints on hold.

“I’ll be back. This ain't over,” is grumbled at Ed as the man makes his exit, skirting around the larger stranger with a healthy amount of apprehension.

“Don’t do me any favours!” Ed snaps after him, rubbing his forehead before eyeing his potential customer. The location where he has set up shop isn’t the most affluent or safe so, for all he knew, this weirdo was about to rob him. Not that he had much to steal. He had arrived in this world with nothing and, four months later, he still has barely enough to feed himself on the regular. Not when he is pumping any money he earns into his search to get home.

“Ah…sorry about that,” He squints, trying to see under the stranger’s hood and is met with only darkness. It almost looks like the other man is made of purple smoke. It’s unsettling. No doubt the by-product of some more weird quirk bullshit. Ed tries to keep his tone as polite as possible. “You came to get something fixed right?”

“It has been reported that you can repair anything?” The question is asked with little inflection. Almost toneless. Hopefully, this is a customer and not a cop trying to bust him for illegal quirk usage…great.

“Sure,” He puts on his fakest of smiles, channels his inner Ling, and launches into his best sales pitch, “I have a reconstruction quirk…as long as most of the pieces are present, I can put it back together.”

“…and does that extend to construction and building work?”

“Ah,” The stranger didn’t appear to be carrying anything substantial on him so the object in need of fixing was probably located elsewhere, “what the hell do you need fixed?”

There’s no response to his question and Ed crosses his arms, “I can’t do anything high-tech, too many intricate moving parts, but building construction is fine as long as the materials are all there and I have time to plan. Might take me a few goes depending on the scale. It will cost you extra as well. I’ll have to see it to be sure of the exact price.” He rattles off his fake quirk limitations with practised ease. In a world filled with nonsensical abilities, his alchemy fit right in.

The tall man thinks for a moment, leaving Ed to ponder the strange nature of the request. This is the first time he has been asked to do building work, usually, people wanted more mundane repairs like fixing furniture or jewellery.

“Acceptable,” comes the abrupt response, “My employer requires some discrete building installation and repair, basic reconstruction, shelving, wall-fittings, construction. All onsite work.”

“That’ll be pretty expensive….” Ed answers slowly, “and time-consuming.”

“All materials will be provided. The price will not be an issue.”

“Okay…” Ed narrows his eyes, examining the figure, but the shadows give nothing away. “Where exactly is this job?”

“Transport to the site will be arranged.”

As if to emphasis the statement, Tall-Dark-And-Smokey raises a hand and an inky black circle appears on the wall. The sudden action has Ed half rising from his seat, preparing to attack or defend. A beat passes and nothing happens.

“The mode of transport,” Tall-Dark-And-Smokey explains, motioning to the black circle. It is a quirk effect, obviously something to do with travel. Ed relaxes but remains standing. Is it just him or does the guy sound partly amused as his obvious unease? He carefully extracts himself from behind his crowded desk to step around and take a closer look.

“So I just step in that and hope you’re not about to screw me over.” He folds his arms, more irritated now.

“Your caution is understandable,” The purple circle fluctuates, undulating, and Tall-Dark-And-Smokey puts a hand inside his jacket pocket. Ed tenses again, ready to clap his hands together, relaxing only when he sees the stranger produce a white envelope. In a deliberately slow movement, the envelope is placed atop the uneven stack of books Ed has piled near the door. Ed once again gets the sense that the other man is amused.

“Consider this a sign of goodwill and proof of our willingness to pay whatever needed,” The man tugs his hood, so it further hides his non-existent face. “Think it over. I will come by later for a response.”

Tall-Dark-And-Smokey steps into the swirling circle which shrinks, disappearing completely.

“Later? When the hell is later supposed to be?” Ed snaps at the empty room.

“Tch,” He glares at the wall and its peeling white paint. What a weird unsettling guy. Suspicious as all hell.

So far Ed’s stay in this universe hadn’t exactly been smooth. He had arrived in a building collapsing around him, later revealed to be a fight between one of this world's 'heroes’ and ‘villains,’ mentally and physically exhausted from his sudden trip through the Truth’s Gate. From there it had been touch and go as he tried to find his footing, not get accidentally killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and avoid getting himself arrested for not having identification or a quirk licence which was apparently a pretty big deal in this word. With his poor track record, he is tempted to just pack up and not get involved with Tall-Dark-And-Smokey.

Only…

“A teleportation quirk…” He mutters, examining the wall more thoroughly and finding nothing out of place. It is the first time he has come across an ability like this. Against his better judgment, curiosity takes root. How far could it teleport? What were the conditions? Did it consume energy? What sort of energy and how much? What were the limitations? A lot of these weird abilities, quirks, had just as weird limitations.

Maybe this was the breakthrough he needed.

Ed’s alchemical research into escaping this world had long been stalled upon the realisation that the only way back to Amestris would be the same way he had left. Through the Gate of Truth. It would require an alchemy array the size of a small city and a sacrifice akin to a thousand human souls…possibly more…He hadn’t had the heart to make the exact calculations. There was no point in calculating the exact number of deaths required for him see his brother again. It wasn’t an option so he wasn't entertaining it. However, if he could somehow bypass the Gate, maybe by using some sort of quirk, then perhaps there was still hope for him. Teleportation had been one of the ones he had been on the lookout for.

Ed clenches his metal fist, reaching for the envelope with the other, hoping for a distraction. He almost expects it to be some sort of scam. Instead, he is meant with a stack of the place’s currency, neatly bound together.

It is a lot of money.

He stares in disbelief, slowly pulling out the bills and running his finger over them. It is more money than all his repair jobs and his periodic pawning of ‘family heirlooms’ have made him since coming here. With this, he would be able to pay actual rent and any other bills for the next month and then the month after. Heck, he’d be able to buy himself some decent meals, a new computer and a better phone on top of that.

Ed shoves the money back in the envelope and lets out a long, frustrated breath. There had to be a catch. No one just gave away this sort of money without reason. Not in the shithole of an area he’d set himself up in. Who the hell was willing to just throw money at someone to build goodwill? It sounded like the sort of suspicious behaviour that, had he encountered it on one of his missions, he would have reported it back to Mustang for further investigation. Not like he can just report stuff here, not without bringing unwanted scrutiny.

Ordinarily, Ed would have scoffed and refused the obviously illegal work. However, a quirk was one of his best chances of getting home. Maybe, if he accepted this work, he could bargain for information on the guy's teleportation ability. Not like he hadn’t done other illegal things since arriving here.

What would Alphonse say? Al was always better at reading people. Maybe he would tell him not to get involved with shady types? Or maybe he would say that Ed was too paranoid and he should give them a chance. Then again, his brother might caution him against it and tell him it was his duty to send in an anonymous tip to the nearest police station. Probably the last one. God damnit he misses Al. Ed stuffs the envelope into his shoulder bag, the one containing a portable automail maintenance kit and encoded alchemy notebooks.

Next, he is pulling on his signature coat, coloured grey instead of bright red because red stood out and as much as he hated it, he needed to keep a low profile. Ed shuffles out of his makeshift shop, turning to lock the door. He needed more information and his four months in this world hadn’t left him entirely without contacts.

Part 2: here

#fma brotherhood #bnha #crossover #fanfication #edward elric #Kurogiri #dimension travel au #end of year WIPs #fanfiction #Baku no hero academia #fullmetal alchemist

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