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loquaciousquark · 6 months ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

This week has been hell and now that I'm finally coming to the end of it, I'm going to sit down & enjoy this! Sorry in advance for the length.

My favorite fics vacillate wildly depending on my mood, interest, and the time of year, but right now, I think this is what I've got. In no particular order:

Invicta, Invictus (2016)

Magister AU. Hawke ends up owning Fenris while in Minrathous & they fall in love anyway. This fic was difficult to write for a lot of reasons (a main one just being my fear of not doing justice to the premise and underselling the slavery aspect), and it took nearly a year to finish between the writing itself, the rewriting and additional scenes required from @jadesabre301's beta, and final edits. By the time I started posting I felt confident that I'd written something solid, but despite the otherwise positive response, I did end up receiving a series of extremely angry, lengthy critical comments from someone who basically accused me of perpetuating the glorification of rape, the enslavement of people of color, and the entrenchment of cruelty against victims of sexual assault. (I vividly remember a comparison between Thomas Jefferson & Sally Hemings.)

This came out of the blue from someone I knew & had otherwise quite respected; it was a blow that shook my confidence to the core, despite several wonderful people reaching out to me at the time, and while I finished posting the fic, I completely stopped writing otherwise. I ended up not writing anything of significance for three full years afterwards. It wasn't until I got extremely drunk on a work trip (after a personal dinner, no colleagues around) and went back to my hotel to jot down the first lines of the Hawke-is-rescued-from-the-Fade fic that I even entertained the idea of picking the hobby back up.

Now, looking back after almost ten years, I've long come to terms with her criticism. I've decided that I disagree with her, that I'm actually still okay with what I wrote, and that I'm proud of the work I did in that fic. I think the premise is good and the examination of the social and political structures is sound, and I think the fic does what it needs to where the relationship strains against the societal boundaries around it. Not to mention I think it has some of my best Fenris characterization I ever managed, and some of my better Hawke jokes. I think the letter exchange at the end is effectively poignant even after all this time (though I do wish I'd written Danarius's actual death a little differently), and I still find the ending as they approach Kirkwall very satisfying. I'll also never turn down a chance to let Varania have a moment or two.

I'm proud of this one, and I'm glad I wrote it.

A Midwinter's Carol; in Prose; Being a Ghost Story of Baldur's Gate (2023)

I think this fic has some of my best technical mimicry I've ever managed. I've always enjoyed a good stylistic parroting, but this was the first time I'd attempted Dickens, and I genuinely think I did a good job. 😂 I've always been fascinated by the mechanics of language, and I had a great time spoofing his oddly frank addresses to the reader and his serpentine asides.

It's quite short—less than 10k—but I think it does exactly what it's supposed to, and I'm genuinely proud of some of the AU elements. @eponymous-rose gave me Christmases Past and Present, so I can't lay claim to those (aside from execution), but the way Future's demand resolves & the Thayan book standing in for the door knocker were all mine, and I still think they're genius, ahaha. (I also fully acknowledge that I owe Jade big time for helping me clarify the final deal Astarion strikes.)

I think the wordplay throughout of what it means to be redeemed is well written, and I'm genuinely pleased with the turn of the mood during the Future sequence. I can tell my love of flippant characters having stark face-to-face encounters with gods is probably a little strong at the end, but Megan Whalen Turner was a formative influence, and I still love it the way it came out here. This is a fic that did exactly what I wanted it to from start to finish, and I love rereading it.

I also think Astarion refusing to participate in the narrative and Tav's modern voice against the Dickensian backdrop are utterly hilarious.

Iron Bound (2023)

This is the most ambitious project I've ever tackled, even considering Invicta above. I knew this would be a long fic, and while I'd daydreamed about scenes from it for nearly a decade, I genuinely didn't know if I had the technical ability to execute it the way I wanted. Once I finally, finally, finally sat down to write it, the words came out like butter, and I wrote almost 70k words in two weeks.

This fic was interesting because it included a love triangle, which is not something I have ever had the slightest interest in reading or writing, but I felt the relationships were strong enough between all three pillars that I wanted to give it a shot. I love Hawke & Fenris, obviously, but the Fenris + Sebastian brotherhood is likewise vitally important to me, and I've always treasured the Sebastian + Hawke friendship as well. Getting to examine all three of them closely here was wonderful from start to finish, and I loved looking at where the lines strained and grew lax as they got to know each other.

Likewise, I've also adored characters who have to face the conflict between love and duty, and this premise let me marinate in every part of the idea. Knowing that I'd be able to give them all happy endings—knowing that they'd be rewarded for doing the right thing—was very pat and yet very satisfying, and I enjoyed every minute of the tension before the resolution.

This fic was in many ways an homage to Patricia McKillip, one of my favorite authors, and also a frank wish-fulfillment exercise for me. This is the one where everyone lives. This is the one where no one suffers for too long. Malcolm, Carver, Bethany, Leandra—even Varania and Sebastian and Anders and the dog. Everyone lives. Everyone is happy and loved and fed and secure and will remain so for the rest of their lives, and I remain thoroughly unapologetic for it.

I do think (despite Jade's attempts to correct it) that there's some marked narrative clumsiness in the back third, and with a little distance I can see ways I could have revised the Danarius confrontation and the series of epilogues to hang together more cleanly. There are also some heavy-handed sequences regarding the broader world politics which I think stand out against what is otherwise fairly mature writing, and I wish I'd threaded those through a bit more deftly.

That said, I'm still immensely proud of this project, and once I finish this post I'm probably going to reread it start to finish. 😂

This Lethal Light Falls Softly (2023)

I was very passionate about the central conceit of this fic, and I think it shows. It's cleanly written with no wasted time—even rereading it now for this post, there's only one exchange I'd still tweak—and I'm very happy with the way I wrote the Tav & Astarion relationship at this stage. They're a wholly different beast to Fenris & Hawke, who are friends for seven years before they finally embark on a real relationship; Tav & Astarion know each other maybe a few weeks before they sleep together for the first time, and even with the most generous possible interpretation I don't think the game can take more than a handful of months. This meant I was writing lovers with new-to-me insecurities, and with Astarion's own basketful of bugaboos on top of that, everything felt fresh and exciting and a little terrifying. I think you can feel that energy in the prose, and I really like it.

Aside from that, I'm very happy with the solution I came up with to Astarion's vampirism. It was hardly inventive, but I did feel it was both practical and lore-friendly, and I felt like its cost (Tav's absence for Astarion, the exhaustion and battle and injuries for Tav) balanced out the number of boons it provided. It also made negating the vampiric effects an active, ongoing choice for Astarion, which I deeply prefer over more permanent solutions like True Resurrection or a god restoring him to mortality.

I also just honestly think it's just fun to read. I like Astarion being snippy and short-tempered while still being overjoyed to see Tav alive. I like Tav confronting the idea that Astarion loves her as much as she loves him and that her silent absence was an active harm to him. I think I did a pretty good job setting the scenery and conveying the appropriate atmosphere where it was important, and I think there are some turns of phrase throughout that came out quite lovely.

I also think ending on the button of him seeing himself in the mirror is hilarious. (Not pictured: Tav having to ask him to put down the hand mirror for literal weeks.)

ah! this grief like cold bells ringing (2020)

This is probably the most difficult fic I've written in terms of headspace. COVID's forced isolation was particularly awful for me, and I didn't know how to handle it except to try to write it out of me. This, like Iron Bound, contained something I never thought I'd write (rape/rape aftermath), but the gravity of the situation and the world at the time seemed to demand something likewise grave, and I ended up feeling like it was an appropriate choice. Hawke has been a tool of many kinds for me over the years, and I remain both glad and weirdly grateful for her resilience.

This was also the first fic where I felt like I didn't shy away from or veil Tevinter's atrocities (a necessary artifact of the premise). While it was hard to write, it wasn't hard to write, and looking back I'm glad I made the choices I did; I think to hamstring the severity of the moment would have broken the story's teeth and dampened the recovery which came after. The instinct to quit flinching away was the right one, and I think the fic is better for it.

I also think this is some of the most effective writing of catharsis I've ever managed. When I'm having a really difficult time and need to read a moment of recovery, the second chapter of this fic is always my first stop. I've actually only reread the first chapter a few times since I posted (usually the pain's not the part I need), but I've reread the second chapter a hundred times or more.

I also do think that the style of the prose—a little flatter and more direct than I usually write—came out well, especially given the subject matter. While I'd prefer never to go back to that emotional place, I'm glad this came out of it.

Honorable Mention:

Lacrimosa (2011). Still one of the oneshots I'm proudest of. I think it's technically proficient and emotionally very effective, and I love the structure of it.

A Detailed Accounting of the Rigorous and Remarkable Struggles Faced by One Fereldan Refugee in the Singularly Capricious City of Kirkwall, as Experienced by the Illustrious Author (2022). While the writing is not the best I've ever managed (it began life as a warm-up exercise, after all), it took ten years to finish, and I'm deeply proud of both finishing it and of the execution of several sections.

Find Me a Wayward Sun (2023). I like the emotional complexity of this fic very much. This was the first place where I felt like I really started to understand the dynamic between Tav & Astarion, especially in the complicated back half of Act Two, and I've gone back to it several times when I need to recapture that feeling of confused selfishness and nascent, uncertain affection.

#quark replies #wufflesvetinari #baldur's gate 3 #dragon age #fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #tav #astarion #tavstarion #long post

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mrsjellymunson · 8 months ago

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Hey, Boss

A prequel to Hello, Stranger

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jim Hopper, Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington, Mr Kaplan, Dembe Zuma

Pairing: None until the next part (where it becomes Eddie Munson x gn!reader)

AU: Stranger Things AU with elements of The Blacklist

Summary: Eddie falls into a new line of work…

WC: ~3.9k

CW: 18+ MDNI. This miniseries is SFW, depending on your tolerance for dark/violent themes, but most of my blog is 18+ so minors please be aware of this and DNI. Dark humour, black comedy. Allusions to drug use, alcohol consumption, violence, crime and murder. Weapons, bodies and death are discussed. No smut, no reader in this part. This is a Stranger Things AU, the upside down is very briefly alluded to but Eddie doesn’t know about it. No time period mentioned, so if events or technology don’t track that’s why that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The characters don’t know each other like they do in ST.

A/N: This is the prequel to ‘Hello, Stranger’. The two parts can be read in either order. As in the original part, there are some Easter eggs in here, this time from The Blacklist (obvs), Stargate, and a deliciously niche one from John Wick. Let me know if you spot any!

A/N additional: I would never have believed that I’d be revisiting this story a year after publishing it to add a fun little prologue, but here we are! 😃 The original part was written for a Halloween prompt event last year and was the first lengthy thing I’d shared; I was SO ridiculously nervous about posting it, you have no idea 🫣 Reading it again now, would I change things in the original? Yes. But mainly things like punctuation and formatting, because I think over the last year my writing has become clearer, so I’m kinda pleased that I’d leave the story exactly how it is. For anyone discovering this for the first time, I hope you enjoy!! Please let me know with a comment/reblog/feral spewings in my inbox, I’d love it, srsly 😉🖤

I have an Easter egg reveal post planned for this miniseries, if you’d like to hear about it just ask to be added to my general taglist where you can get notified about all my writing posts ☺️🖤

My masterlist

It’s a chilly October night, close to Halloween, and Eddie’s blasted out of his mind. Gareth got hold of some super strong skunk from a cousin who was visiting from out of state, and that combined with a few cool beers has left him even more buzzed than usual.

Forgoing his van on the insistence of his friends, and wanting to get home to the relative warmth of the trailer sooner rather than later, he’s decided to take a shortcut across Merrill Wright’s fields.

High as all hell, he's staggering as he navigates the pumpkins, managing to avoid most of the obvious orange orbs but forgetting that their tendrils need looking out for too.

He’s already tripped a couple of times, and curses out the vines for both being invisible at night and clearly conspiring with each other to sabotage his journey home. He swears that at least twice he’s seen them move...

Pushing through a thin layer of trees separating one field from the next, he stumbles forwards as an impeding branch snaps and gives way. Moving too quickly to stop himself, he totters forwards, hoping to regain his balance once he’s free of the spindly foliage.

But surprisingly, his feet fail to connect with anything at all, the ground disappears, and Eddie falls face first into… nothing.

Though it doesn’t remain nothing for long, swiftly becoming the harsh smack of hard, and very cold, dirt against his knees, torso and face.

Shocked, confused and more than a little winded, Eddie grunts and rolls onto his side, groaning.

“Oooooohhhhhh fuuuuuuuckk…. What the hell—?”

He spits out a few clods of mud, and possibly part of a worm (sorry, dude), and tries to work out what just happened.

His hair has fallen over his face, and he pushes the waves, now bedecked with a sprinkling of leaves and soil, out of his eyes and looks upwards.

Instead of the expected expanse of the clear night sky, perhaps even a few constellations if he cared to look carefully, his vision seems to have tunnelled, a significant proportion of it now a deep black.

Sitting upright, he briefly wonders whether he’s concussed, or worse, but then the sound of someone speaking garners his undivided attention.

A light, high voice cuts through the night.

“Hey, do you hear something?”

Eddie freezes, eyes wide. He’s not sure whether he’s comforted or more freaked out to discover he’s not the only one in this field at this time of night. This dark, isolated, middle-of-nowhere, nobody-within-screaming-distance field.

Another voice, deeper than the first, replies,

“Like what?”

“I dunno, a grunt maybe?”

“A grunt? Uhh, no.”

“Why am I asking you anyway? Your ears are shot after one too many sportsball encounters…”

“Hey, shut up.”

Eddie hears some shuffling and a chortle, like two people jostling each other, before the deeper voice speaks again, but it’s in no way comforting.

“Uh, this guy’s definitely dead, right?”

There’s a noise that sounds like thick plastic being prodded with something.

“Yeah, yeah, this guy definitely. But I’m sure I heard something from over there.”

“Are you trying to spook me? You know how much I hate Halloween.”

Eddie hears an overly dramatic brrr and the rustling of clothing, and he imagines the guy shivering, like he’s shaking off a covering of non-existent snow.

Eddie, terrified but with a new sense of urgency, and eyes adjusting to the new level of darkness, glances more fully around his environment, figuring out that he’s definitely below ground level and in some kind of a hole. He spreads his arms wide, moving them around, and notices he can feel the edges on two sides, but not all four, meaning it’s a long hole. Long enough for him to lay down in. A hole, long enough to fit a human being in, but not much else. Okay, so…

Wait, this is a fucking grave! Fuck, he’s in a goddamn motherfucking grave!!

Eddie stands, wobbling a little, and notices his eyeline is still below ground level. He reaches up, grabbing at the soil at the edge of the hole, but it’s dry and loose and crumbles in his hands. He tries to jump, grabbing at anything he can find on the ground, but to no avail. It’s tilled earth and there are no branches or roots, not even grass, that he can grab to pull himself out. He mentally takes back everything he said about pumpkin vines…

Suddenly he hears a dull thud, the sound of dragging, muttering, and two people grunting.

Shit, they’re getting closer. And now there’s a large package wrapped in blue plastic at the edge of the hole, and they’ve just dropped two shovels, and—

Feigning nonchalance, Eddie leans a muddy shoulder against the raw earth, one hand on his hip and the other swiping through his hair as two faces, backlit by moonlight, hove into view. His voice cracks with,

“Hee-eeey guys, how’s it goin’?”

What the hell?? He’s literally standing in an open grave, that these two have probably just dug, and that’s the best he can come up with?

The figures regard Eddie, then turn to each other, then look back at Eddie. They both frown and in unison cock their heads sideways in the same direction, and Eddie, stoned and in shock as he is, has to suppress a giggle.

Fuck, that weed really was strong… Damn you, Gareth’s cousin!

One of the figures, the slighter of the two, gestures into the hole with a muddy, gloved hand, asking,

“Is he one of yours?”

The other guy looks both startled and mildly offended.

“What? No! Of course not!”

“Well, there was that one time where you, y’know, missed the mark, and we had to spend an hour chasing the guy before we put him down.”

The taller of the two flaps his arms exasperatedly, trying to point an index finger in the air but failing, the heavy duty gloves he’s wearing making him look more like he’s holding up a fist.

“One time! The one time I miss a goddamn artery and you’ve never let me live it down. Jeez man, gimme a goddamn break!”

“Okay, okay, I’m just sayin’”

“Well don’t! I don’t appreciate it when you criticise my abilities and undermine my self esteem.”

The slimmer figure speaks again, resting the knuckles of one gloved hand against their waist.

“Did your therapist tell you to say that?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. She’s helping me process my intergenerational trauma and internalised lack of self-worth.”

The tall figure says the words like he’s reciting from a book, but he says them with conviction. Eddie briefly wonders whether he should ask the guy for the title. He finishes with,

“Anyway, I don’t know who the fuck this asshole is.”

Hands now on his hips, he turns his attention back to Eddie, who, whilst they’d been talking, had been surreptitiously clawing at the back edge of the hole, trying desperately to lever himself out.

The figure with the higher voice turns to their compatriot, and with a somewhat sardonic tone to their voice remarks,

“Well, I suppose we’d better try and find out who this asshole is, and where he came from, huh?”

They lean forwards into the hole and brace themselves with their hands against their knees.

The skinnier figure begins the interrogation with,

“Did Andrea send you? Was it Annie?”

The taller guy continues,

“Wait, was it Red? Cuz if it was Red you can tell him it’s not fuckin’ funny…”

Eddie stammers,

“N-n-o, man, no. I don’t know who any of those people are. I’m, uh, I’m nobody, literally! I was just stoned, and walkin’ home and I, uh, just kinda, fell into this… whatever this delightful arrangement is.”

He gestures around him, attempting to convey that he neither knows, nor cares, exactly what this is.

Tall guy regards him down his nose.

“So, if nobody sent you, then nobody knows you’re here. But now you know we’re here. And I’m guessing that you’re guessing what we’re about to do here. So, I’m guessing the best thing all the way around is if you, y’know, stay here…”

Eddie, in his inebriated state, didn’t completely follow what this guy just said, but when the guy reaches behind him into his belt, and Eddie hears the unmistakable metallic clink of a gun being retrieved, he gets the message pretty damn quickly.

The shovels, the ‘package’, the gun… oh god!

“Nonononono! Waitwaitwait!!”

He extends his arms and frantically waves his filthy hands in front of him in supplication.

Think, Eddie, think!! What would you encourage the sheep to do in such an impossible campaign situation? Thiiiiiiink!

The guy levels the gun at Eddie’s head. He still can’t see their faces clearly, but he can most certainly make out the end of the barrel as it glints in the moonlight.

Eddie scrunches his eyes up tight, grimacing, every muscle in his body tensing in expectation of the horror to come.

Abruptly, his mind fills with the most bizarre and inspired creative idea that he thinks he’s ever had.

Fuck, that weed really was strong… Thank you, Gareth’s cousin!

“What if I told you I could help make your job easier? Maybe more enjoyable? Or, at the very least, more interesting?”

He sees the barrel of the gun lower ever so slightly.

Oh good, now it’s not aimed at his head. Just at his chest. Progress?

He presses on.

“Your bosses want you to make people disappear, right? Boring, efficient, sure. But not that interesting. Probably doesn’t pay all that well either, huh?”

The two figures look at each other again, frowning, and Eddie’s pretty sure they're deciding whether they should let the guy in the hole keep talking, or just shut him up for good, drop the other package in and cover them both over.

“How about we give ‘em a little something extra first? Like a show? A demonstration. An exhibition, if you will.”

Eddie’s got into his stride now, and is walking up and down the length of the six foot hole waving his arms in wide arcs, as if he’s delivering one of his lunchtime diatribes on a canteen table.

“Say there’s some guy who’s been messin’ with your patch. Goods are goin’ missing, or his funds are coming up short. Sure, you could just pop a cap in him and stick him in the ground,”

He glances nervously at the tarp-wrapped bundle,

“But wouldn’t it be more satisfying to really teach him a lesson. Bury him at the four corners of the state? Spray him all over this field? Dissolve him ‘til there’s nothing left? Now that really sends a message, don’tcha think? Plus, it’d sure be entertaining for your bosses to watch. Must get pretty boring for them. Y’know, pop a guy, wrap a guy, pop a guy, wrap a guy…”

He regards the two heavies carefully, trying to judge whether he’s made any impression on them whatsoever. They’re looking at each other and then back at Eddie.

Eventually the bigger figure speaks.

“Whaddaya think, Rob? Shall we take him back to talk to—“

“Fuckssake Steve, don’t tell him my name! Ah, fuck, Jeez…”

Sighing, the figure turns back towards Eddie.

“Yeah, okay, if this is as revelatory as you say it is, then fine. But it better be. Don’t make us come back out here for a second time tonight.”

Eddie takes this threat very, very seriously.

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, I swear.”

The figure pauses for a moment, contemplative, before puffing out a long breath from between their lips.

“Well, for a start you can help us finish up with this guy. Steve, get him out of that hole and pass him my shovel...”

Eddie’s only thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not right now…

———

An hour later, freezing, muddy, exhausted, still terrified and, incongruously, still a little stoned, Eddie walks between Rob and Steve back to their vehicle, an SUV that he notices has “Buckley & Harrington, Landscaping Services & Specialised Waste Disposal” emblazoned on the side.

‘Specialised waste disposal’ indeed…

They bundle Eddie into the back, Rob grousing the whole way, and make him lie under yet another blue tarp so he can’t see where they’re going. He doesn’t much like being on this side of the plastic, and dearly hopes it’s the only time he has to experience it.

After some time, and a number of bruises acquired from sliding around the truck bed, the truck stops and the two figures start to bundle Eddie out of the back.

Still partially under the tarp, Eddie sees the lower half of a large, heavy set man in military fatigues and combat boots join them outside. Still shaken from the evening’s events and disoriented from the uncomfortable journey, Eddie can’t quite make out their entire conversation. He does hear what the hell and let me explain, plus a lot of grumbling in what could be a West African accent.

Finally freed from the tarp, Eddie is grabbed by the shoulders from behind by a pair of very strong hands, dragged off the truck bed and shoved, stumbling, forwards.

The three figures walk him into an old warehouse, the huge shutters open to the night and the entire place brightly lit and remarkably active given the hour. It’s crammed with pallets, shelves, crates, people and machinery. There are forklifts lifting things in and out of trucks and people carrying paperwork and speaking on phones. Many seem to have ominous-looking bulges in their waistbands and jackets that Eddie really doesn’t want to become any more closely acquainted with.

A large man is barking orders and holding a mug that says coffee and contemplation on the side, but judging by the subtle wince that happens each time he takes a swig, Eddie suspects it contains something stronger than his favourite Java. His voice is gruff, and to his great surprise, Eddie recognises it.

“Uh, Hopper, is that you?”

The man turns, frowning at first, but as he clocks Eddie his free hand flaps dejectedly at his side and his eyes roll up into his skull.

“Oh Jeez. What the hell is he doing here? What have you two idiots done now?”

Eddie's new acquaintances look sheepishly at each other. The one named Rob ventures,

“Uh, he has a proposal for Red, something about a novel business idea?”

“Goddamnit, I know this guy! And now, thanks to you two bozos, he knows me too!”

Steve interjects this time,

“Just give him five minutes with Mr Kaplan, boss! Honestly, I think Red’s gonna love this.”

Hopper doesn’t look convinced, but he grabs a guy with a clipboard as he scurries past and asks him to find whoever Mr Kaplan is. Eddie doesn’t like the sound of this. The dude sounds pretty scary.

After no more than a minute, a small, tweed-clad lady appears. She’s older than everyone here, and her face is pinched, but somehow also looks kind. Eddie imagines she’d look far more at home in a library than… whateverthisis. He wonders if she’s Mr Kaplan’s secretary, or something.

“Come on then you two, spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

The two stammer and splutter their way through an explanation, trying to justify why they not only spared this guy, but also brought him back to their base of operations. Eddie finally comprehends that this is Mr Kaplan. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved, or even more terrified.

At various points Mr Kaplan sucks in her cheeks, tilts her head and folds her arms, reminding Eddie of every disapproving teacher he ever had, and more than once he considers how far he might get if he hightailed it through those large doors and made off into the night. But then he remembers how he got here, who he’s with, the amount of hardware everyone appears to be carrying, how often he skipped PT at school, how much he’s smoked this evening (not to mention over the last however many years), and, not least, the fact that he has less than no clue about where he actually is.

Finally, the two cronies stop talking, and Mr Kaplan’s focus turns entirely to Eddie. Despite being significantly taller than she is, he feels about two feet high under her gaze, and that this moment could be about to define his future, his fate.

“Well, dearie, it’s certainly a unique proposition. And one I’m intrigued to see if you can pull off. But ultimately, it’s not my decision. All I can do is get you a meeting with Red, and then you’re on your own.”

Steve seems thrilled by this outcome, his eyes wide and a grin on his lips. He shifts in place excitedly and jovially taps his elbow against Eddie’s upper arm. Eddie side-eyes him, guessing the guy is pleased that he isn’t going to suffer any repercussions for going ‘off script’ by bringing Eddie here like this, but he does wonder what on earth makes him think they’re ever going to be friends.

Mr Kaplan nods to Hopper, who takes this as his cue and disappears out of sight. Mr Kaplan doesn’t see it, but Eddie notices his weary-looking eye roll.

Eddie finally gets a good look at the guy who ‘helped’ him off the truck and brought him inside. He’s tall, huge, shaven-headed and intimidating. Eddie doesn’t look for long.

After a few minutes, the shaven-headed heavy motions for Eddie to step into a somewhat more private area of the warehouse, sectioned off by some disturbing-looking medical curtains on rusting rails that offer visual, if not much auditory, privacy. Eddie figures the noise of vehicles and machinery elsewhere likely drown out any talking that goes on in here anyway.

There’s a screen set up that’s displaying a fuzzy, low quality image of a man sitting in what appears to be a lavish sitting room. There’s a picture of a landscape, or maybe sky, hanging to his left, and the audio quality is marred by a low rumble. Eventually, Eddie’s brain catches up and he realises it’s not a picture at all but a window, and what Eddie can see is clouds and what he can hear is the roar of an engine - the guy’s on a plane. All he can think is, Jeezus, this guy must be loaded.

As the image comes into better focus the figure looks oddly familiar. Eddie’s vaguely reminded of a sci-fi film he saw that had Kirt Russell in it and something about pyramids, but he brushes it aside, more important things on his mind.

The man is clad in a fedora and an exquisitely tailored suit, and as Eddie is positioned in front of what he presumes is a camera the figure removes his hat and lifts a crystal tumbler containing a deep brown liquid to his lips.

Hopper fills Eddie in.

“This is Mr Reddington. You can speak when he says you can.”

The well-dressed man speaks first, in a voice that’s even more imposing than that of the tall heavy who brought Eddie in here.

“I understand you have a business proposition for me, young man. I’d like to hear it directly from you, if I may?”

Eddie thinks quickly, describing possible scenarios that he’s come up with. He reiterates the ideas he had earlier, and adds a few more, getting inspiration from horror movies, comics, and even some of his D&D campaigns.

“That does all sound very interesting. And heaven knows we need some levity in this business. But I do need to confer with my colleagues. Chief, what do you think? Does this kid’s idea have legs?”

Hopper and Red have a moment of eye contact, before Hopper sighs loudly and admits, reluctantly,

“It is kinda novel. And he’s basically a good kid, don’t kill him yet, huh? He can be annoying as fuck, but goddamnit if he goes missing we’d have to do at least some kind of an investigation. The amount of people I’d have to interview, the press… The paperwork alone would be hell…”

He pinches the top of his nose, and Red purses his lips, apparently conceding that Hopper’s time would be much better spent doing whatever it is that he does for him rather than wasting it on unimportant matters such as police work. His expression suddenly brightens, and the formerly imposing figure on the screen turns disconcertingly jovial.

“Well, I think it sounds like fun. I’ll tell you what, we’ll try him out for a couple of months and see how he does.”

Hopper turns to look at Eddie.

“Okay, Munson, we’re gonna give you a try. You’d better keep it interesting though, or so help me…”

He makes a small but unsubtle slicing motion across his neck with his thumb. Eddie takes it at face value, knowing he means it.

Red addresses the whole group now.

“You know, this reminds me of the time I was playing miniature golf in Andalucia with the Sultan of Brunei and Jimmy Hoffer. Richard Pryor walked up and asked if any of us knew anything about llama farming. We all looked at him askance, I mean, do any of us look like we did? But then, to my great surprise and delight, the Sultan said…”

The burly dude holds Eddie around the shoulders again, but more gently than before. At least, Eddie assumes it’s gentle. The guy’s stature suggests significantly more physical ‘prowess’, which Eddie’s grateful he's not been on the receiving end of. He’s steered away from the screen and back towards the main area of the warehouse.

Nervously, just before they leave the curtained off area and afraid this might be seen as an offense, Eddie stammers,

“Where’re we- Shouldn’t I…?”

The man’s deep, caramel voice carries easily to Eddie’s ears, as he remarks,

“Trust me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of any more of Raymond’s epic tales than you absolutely have to be. You can thank me later.”

Eddie looks back over his shoulder, just in time to see Chief Hopper’s brow crinkle and raise in what looks to be a poor facsimile of engagement, and he takes another, deep, swig from his coffee mug. He, apparently, knew he was in it for the duration.

They reach the area where Steve and Rob are still standing, apparently playing some kind of thumb war game. The big guy extends a powerful-looking hand towards Eddie, clasping his own in an iron grip. There’s a soft smile on his face as he looks down and says,

“Welcome to the team. I’m Dembe, by the way.”

Mr Kaplan finishes up a conversation she’s having nearby with another pair of guys with clipboards and conspicuous gun holsters, and as she’s making her way out, she remarks to Eddie,

“You’re in luck, you can start tonight. We’re expecting another package, so you can help these two clowns. God knows they need it.”

Steve frowns, and Rob emits a quiet,

“Hey—”

Mr Kaplan continues,

“No need for anything elaborate right now dearie, save that for next time. But we do need some supplies. Dembe, get him some cash from the office.”

Eddie’s conflicted. He’s confused, excited, relieved, and, yep, still a little wasted.

He does have his typical nervousness about how well he’s actually gonna be able to “perform”, and how long he can keep up the interest in what he’s suggested. Following a brief discussion with Steve and Rob, a few crumpled bills are shoved into his overly-sweaty palm.

Of course, his main thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not tonight…

But his overriding concern soon becomes:

Where the hell is he going to find rope, duct tape and a shovel at this time of night??

Next part, ‘Hello, Stranger’

My masterlist

I really hope you enjoyed this little prologue! Please reblog and leave comments, your support means everything to writers 🖤🙏

Tagging my ‘everything’ list, ILY @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @sassidykassidy @richter-raccoon @1deverland

Also tagging those who commented on/reblogged the first one, just lemme know if you’d rather not be! @bakusquadobsessed @mewchiili @bettyfrommars @pedroschka @transparent-enemy @ali-r3n @fracturedarkness @tinytyphooncloud @alverdekote @elegantkoalapaper @ddaydreamdelusionss @ramona-thorns @vitzi9 @lurkingprincess @cherrysabbath @pullingattheroots

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judesmoonbeauty · 7 months ago

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Update

Hiiii, it's been a a couple months since I've updated about translations.

First, a thanks to everyone for their support of my blog and content! I really enjoy being here and engaging with you all. ♥️

Next, sorry for spamming my blog with random thoughts and about Jude, but please be prepared for more to come.

Now on to the real blog updates. It’s a lot, but please bear with me:

˚☽˚.⋆ As you may know, I've returned to using full-sized screen shots in my translations because there seems to be no further issues, yay! However, CGs will still be watermarked.

˚☽˚.⋆ Originally, I wanted to get back into Prince translations, but this isn’t happening anytime soon. I do have one expo story I may work on, but it’s not a priority right now.

˚☽˚.⋆ All available bond levels on JP server for Jude are still capped for me, but whenever CYBIRD releases new levels, I will start translating those. In the meantime, I’ll continue to translate Nica’s levels that are available as I progress with him.

˚☽˚.⋆ I’m planning to translate all upcoming Jude events in addition to his main story. It obviously will take time, but I will do it....somehow. I do have a plan for now. If others translate his route and/or events as well, that's cool with me, but I’m still planning to translate them also.

˚☽˚.⋆ On my main page I have a Translations WIPs master list. I update this on a regular basis (date included), so if you want to know what I am currently working on then please check it out. This link has been added to Jude’s Main Story Master List.

˚☽˚.⋆ I will be adding a link to his master list for a main story highlights post. This will feature key points of each chapter, his side stories, premiums, epilogues and letters. This will be very pared down, so don't expect full summaries because that's not what this is; but I do hope it will provide a basic understanding of what happens in his route, so that his BD event translation will make sense.

˚☽˚.⋆ Not that any of you have done this, but I kindly ask that you please be patient and not send me asks or DMs about the next update. I know we are excited, and we've had to wait well over a year for him, but Jude is not easy to translate and he takes time. There's literally been times that I've gotten a headache over his lines.

That’s all for now. Sorry, this is a bit more lengthy than my usual updates, but it’s been a while. Thanks again for your support and I hope you're all doing well!

(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝) -Cici

#JMB updates #blog updates #translation update #c’s corner

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honeydisiacc · 1 year ago

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nerd talk: how i did the riso thingy

the riso effect is achieved through riso printing, printing by layer with CMYK. a lovechild of screen printing/photocopying. it starts with the lightest color to darkest, in this case; yellow (Y), magenta (M), cyan (C), and lastly black (K). the same principle even applies to markers and watercolors

somewhat fun fact from what I've learned so far: while CMYK is subtractive, replicating riso digitally works best with ADDITIVE blending modes (darken, multiply, color burn, linear burn, etc)

crazy (i was crazy once—), right :D ? obviously there's no "correct way" to do it, so i suggest experimenting to fit your preferences <3

here's the separate layers. i cheated a little since i wasn't sure what i was doing (or if it would even WORK), the lineart isn't layered but hey ! the coloring sure is 😅😅

here's the colors together without the lineart. riso prints tend to look "misaligned" so i did the same thing (kinda looks like chromatic aberration 😬😬😬 whatever !!!)

psst.... color palette is from this post!

opacity matters as well ! to get the desired color, i had to experiment and constantly adjust the opacity of each layer 💀💀 (i did say "the workflow is deffo slowing me down atm" thats because i intended to make a color chart FIRST AND FOREMOST !!! GRRR)

(an example of a color chart would be like this. i'd like to make one with my chosen color palette but noooo instead I eyeballed everything 💀💀 i was excited. sue me)

anyways ! sorry not sorry for infodumping. and im not an expert. however, riso is one of my recent favorite things to learn about. its a lengthy process to do it with illustrations imo. for my graphic design projects however? i might use this technique :D

#rambling #my art

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ravelsquadespresso · 1 month ago

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WIP Title Ask Game: Emelina (yes).

@avas-poltergeist said:

Thanks for the ask :)). You may remember writing a post about how Emelina is sorry she’d forgotten merciful Heinrix, but no such thing for the ultra-dogmatic Heinrix? That post set me off to start writing on the game from the middle of the story and it’s fun 😊. Added some additional cataclysmic activity (I mean, she pushed for the phase transition with all four limbs and the sun already is about to explode when we show up in our ship, so some ceiling crashing is the right thing to do). Also, I was a partition recovery software in my previous life, so I write in patches.

Finally, made her to become a warp ghost after she is dead. That allows her to recover her in-life memories and provide some dramatic commentary!

Some snippets here:

[[Possibly lengthy not yet written Phton stuff ending with in-game mercy killing]]

Above me the argument lingers.

“But why? I’d given her shelter, we could have saved…”

“And you know a few places that could use a new sun, isn’t that right?”

“What?!”

“I am sparing you the fate of Winterscale. He got lucky—thanks to the faithful sod in his retinue.”

“That’s not what I— You…” Her voice cracks and stumbles.

Holding back tears? Yes.

“She was your… friend. Your teacher. You said—”

“She was an unrepentant, stubborn heretic who defended her pact with the Ruinous Powers till the very end. Giving her shelter was never an option. Or did you want to take part in the interrogation, Lord Captain?”

A key player in the Expanse and still confused about who calls the shots. We never relinquish prisoners. We never consult anyone on what is to be done—be they the Emperor himself. But then, in the Imperium, delusional nobles are more of a rule than an exception. More so when they’re let loose on the fringes of civilization with an Emperor-signed leave note.

“All your Inquisition are just a bunch of sick blood-thirsty freaks. All of you.”

A brief charged stillness follows, broken only by the shuffling of the navis imperialis elder and the Drukhari dog he holds on the leash. The elder fears what the inquisitorial response to the insults might be. The dog is greedy for a bloodbath.

Instead of a rebuke, Heinrix laughs. Stifled and forced at first, but freer and freer as it builds—until nothing holds it back. He laughs and laughs, and the air around him grows leaden.

“You’re so very right, Lord Captain,” he says finally, catching his breath, wiping tears from his eyes. “That’s exactly who we are.”

Of course. Monsters make the best monster-hunters. That’s what it means to keep the Imperium safe from the curse of mutants, xenos, and heretics. And who better to kill a witch… than another witch? What better instrument than one forged from the same filth?

“Well,” she says, voice brittle, turning away to hide her face, “if you’ve filled your murder quota for today, we’re leaving. Abelard—take Marazhai. Clear out the mandrakes. We’ll need the shuttle for survivors. Or do you want to incinerate them too, Heinrix?”

“These are technically your subjects, Lord Captain,” he pretends to ignore the barb. “I know you won’t let me incinerate them. I will have them watched.”

Meaning: they will mysteriously vanish when no one is looking.

“Word of advice,” he murmurs once the navis imperialis and the xenos are out of earshot, his voice like a hand around the throat. “Most inquisitors would not tolerate such speech. Even from a peer of the Imperium. You don’t get to call the Emperor’s servants monsters and freaks. Luckily for you, I am a very patient inquisitor. But you, you should control yourself, lest you commit the worst kind of heresy in public”.

“Of course,” she snaps, seizing the opportunity. “Because calling you what you really are—a bunch of murderous fanatics—is obviously the most horrible thing about this situation.”

“Amanar,” his voice softens, rife with fear now. “I… I want you to survive. I only want you to remain well.”

He steals a glance at what used to be my body. A crooked, broken husk—more metal inlays and cogitator interfaces than flesh. Disfigured by memory banks. A husk, a discarded cocoon.

He means:

I want you to remain. For me. With me.

Everything I was denied—I want to keep.

Obsessive devotion.

“Survival is not life,” Amanar says simply, and hits a pile of rubble in frustration. “Seems we’ll have to go back to the Webway if we want to live.”

Webway.

They’ve been places together. She may have once believed him human—seen the spark of sentimentality that hindered his career since the day he came to my tutelage, a broken youth of twenty-something. The same thing that stopped him from ripping out contents of my banks through Eighth’s action.

Whatever he wants to say, there is no time.

The avalanche is a small, quiet thing at first—microcracks running through the stones, the blocks, the carrier wires of the dome. It creeps into the caverns, the archeofactorums, the cemeteries—crashing into the planet’s warped crust.

Catastrophes are as sure as the universe itself.

The diviner witch feels it first. Noradrenaline surges on the crest of insight. Pupils eat up the irises. She looks up in awe, her gaze meeting the falling plinth and stone blocks—and she can’t even scream.

[[some not yet written action here, after which our somewhat stoned heroes and heroines manage to escape to some deep caverns where they need to take some rest and have an adult talk about wtf just happened. There is a cool campsite with an interesting cave bear-proof flaming food storages and wall graffiti by Chaos Banksy]]

“You’re afraid of me”, he says, resigned.

It was inevitable. Expected. Whatever she’d seen in him—a boy who loved riding with his sisters through the Guisornian fields of dandelions, a regicide dork, a battle-brother at her back—all of it would melt away, revealing the terror within, a cursed blade in the hand of the Ordo. A weapon, implacable against the Emperor’s enemies, be they the creatures of the Immaterium or the traitors within. Cold steel and stone, unmoved, unfeeling, striking with precision.

An acolyte of the Holy Ordos is not anyone’s friend, but a friend-shaped surgical tool.

I would know - after all I was the one who brainwashed him, broke him, rebuilt him and made him into this.

In saturnine silence, he dips his hand in the pale copper of her hair, letting the strands run between his fingers. The mind knows itself to be a monster, but the body refuses to surrender the memories of embrace and warmth and comfort. Of acceptance and recognition.

When she speaks into the stifled stillness, it’s but a hushed murmur.

“Of you. For you. For the choices that are dealt you, where mercy killing your mother is your best option.”

That is not fear, but anger she is describing, tired, barely smoldering. Wearing her down.

His mother. Sweet child of whatever pleasure resort for noble debutants you are, his mother was I not. More like his evil step-aunt—the kind that shows up at the door with veritas-laced apples and a warped loom of eternal data-dreams.

[and on, and on this continues, but ends happily (relatively speaking), I promise. All will be well.]

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #rogue trader crpg #heinrix van calox #wh40k rogue trader #von valancius #idira tlass #emelina #oc: amanar von valancius #rogue trader oc #wip title game #writing wip #writing instead of working

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paynomindtotheinsanity · 9 months ago

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I’ve been trying to view your pictures from ao3 but it legit hasn’t been working, I even tried on all my devices lol! I was wondering if you would upload your art elsewhere cuz I wanna see it so bad 😭 sorry this is lengthy! Have a good one

I’m not sure what other platforms I should use for posting the art, so for now, I made a Dropbox folder linked here. <3

I thought about making a free Patreon and posting the art on there for the people who’ve been having issues viewing it on AO3, but if anyone has other suggestions for an additional site to use, let me know!

#invader zim au #your eyes are red #invader zim fanfiction #zadr

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chorizoa · 2 years ago

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Entrail of faith — König x f!reader

part 2!!!!!!!! part 2 part 2 part 2!!!

pt.1 is here

I would like to state that I'm literally just throwing myself into this and letting the thoughts blurb; so if it seems messy, loose, or unorganized its bc I am trying my best :) sorry in advance for anything that may seem plot-holey, geographically incorrect, etc. please feel free to comment on my use of language, setting, wtv— I love feedback and want you guys to enjoy it!!!

this one is also a bit longer tee-hee, and also more revoling around you!

cw: more of konig being a stalker, more talk of kidnap and the like, very brief mention of a daddy kink/use of daddy as a title (its more of a sugar baby kinda way, but hes also just gross), he wants to take full advantage of you, he is very nasty but he loves you so :3

no sex.. yet.

You were a smart girl, but maybe if you were a smarter girl, you wouldn't find yourself staring at an empty message log— thumbs dancing over the screen while you gnaw, and gnaw, and gnaw at that pretty lower lip.

It's insane of you, you think. Giving salt to the interest of a stranger, a man who was clearly dangerous— could so obviously kill you given the chance— one you'd caught glances of during your shifts, always seeming to show up only when you work.. But— Christ.

The years had not been kind, and being a girl settling into her early twenties, a totally foreign land to start a new life in— not a single soul to keep her warm— well, it embeds a certain sense of desperation. Perfect for men like König. Who, of course, could barely handle a woman under any legitimate means.

Inexperience dripped off of you like a waning ooze, glistening with incompetence for what you could be experiencing— a misted perfume that engulfed you, an aura that "spooked" most anyone anywhere near your age. It kept you at lengthy reach from others, and plastic toys had become your only solace in the pariah'ed life you've lived.

Not him, though, it drew him in— and he could taste it on his tongue, swirl it against his gums and swallow like the loveliest shot of Jager. You would be his favorite spirit to indulge in, and all you needed to do was speak.

He already knew your name, of course he did; so when you texted him— confirming that, yes, this was the cute girl from the diner, and frivolously providing your sweet name in your fluster— it didn't surprise him, but it did make him purr with satisfaction. You were so much closer now, so much easier to bend to his will than you could imagine.

Retirement wouldn't be too bad, it seemed.

Perfect, actually, when he really thought about it. Enough savings in the bank to keep him comfortable until he died of old age, or took an unexpected bullet in the neck; and with the added addition of you? Oh, he was going to bask in heaven's light every night. God had sent him his very own angel— maybe he'd pray, just to say thanks.

He wasn't worried about you not liking him— no, not a bit. It wasn't a choice in his mind, either you liked him, or you didn't… and what he had in mind for if you didn't — well.. it was a particularly nasty thing, and he certainly wasn't bringing it up in therapy. Lest he enjoy the comfort of a solitary, padded room with a jacket to match his confinement— maybe even a damp cell, if they felt so generous.

He was going to have you, whether he had to chain you up in his basement, chain you to his bed post, adorn you with a proximity collar— it didn't. matter.

He was going to have you, and you would have him— a smart girl like you would understand, right? He only wants what's best for you.

That's why he followed you home tonight. Silly girl, don't you know you should take the trolley? There's so many bad, scary men out here— you're lucky he watches your every step, and memorizes the direct path to your home from the shadows, someone could hurt you, sweet girl— and he'd have to make a mess, just for you.

He even watched as you poised your fingers to text him, that sharp sight was a blessing— and observing you as you gnaw at your bottom lip until it swelled was stored into a deep, dark part of his mind for later. Ever still, he found it so amusing how oblivious you were— you should really scan your surroundings more.

Though, when he made it to your home— he found a deep frown tugging at him. Oh, this simply would not do. This was not the place to be for his princess, his darling girl— no, not at all.

This rundown complex was much too grimy for one as stunning as you, everything paled in comparison to you— of course it did, nothing mattered like you— but this was just.. sad, nobody as lovely as you deserved to be so impoverished. The dappled foundation, the assumed stench of cigarettes that must cling to the walls within— he had to get you out of there, and fast.

He almost considered marching in right then, ripping you from the safety of your supposed "home"— but he knew better of it. You needed to be won delicately, you were so sweet, but wracked with nerves like a stumbling fawn— one wrong move, a step too quick, and you'd bolt— he could smell fear, and you held it like a cross to bear. That didn't keep him from feeling angry, however.

He was going to pray, offer thanks, but not anymore. No gracious lord would allow such divinity to suffer like this— no self-proclaimed "God of Man" would allow their subject to wallow in such filth. His sweet girl, he was going to give you much more— so much more than this. He would do what God had failed to. He would help you to understand the divinity of man— and what he had to offer. Father was roiling in his grave at the sacrilege.

That was a nice piece to chew on as he walked back to his car— of course he parked elsewhere, home was much too far to walk from— stuck in a wish-washy daydream of you worshipping him, kneeled at his feet and devoted just as you should be. He'd make it better, he'd make it all better, you need only give him time.

— What are you doing tomorrow night, maus?

He texts, already churning with ideas. Most of them are to capture you, of course, but we've established this— we can't do this. However, he is on the more mundane side of things, wondering how he can somehow pay your rent for a few months— or atleast until he can coax you out of that fucking hellscape in the worst part of town. Regardless, totally normal, gentleman-like, things.

— I work a shift from 17:30-21:00 tmrw night :( but I'll be free after work!!

You're even cute with the way you text, so fitting of you— it makes him chuckle, especially with how quickly you'd replied. In his mind, you're hovering over the phone, jumping at every notification in hopes of it being him.

— No worries, little one, I'd like for you to get your rest. Maybe I could walk you home tomorrow, get to know each other?

He's as articulate as ever, feeling as if you'd appreciate his use of grammar and pronunciation— he hopes you read books, he'd buy you a million books, make you read to him while he bounced you on his knee— maybe you'd call him daddy, if he spoiled you enough. He had so many plans for you, it almost made his head hurt, though his cock absorbed most of his rushing blood.

— That would be lovely :)

It would be, wouldn't it? He'd already walked you home now, you just hadn't known it (you'd never know,) and he'd be able to spend tomorrow evening staring at you the whole time— hence why he memorized the path, and for.. other reasons; but those weren't currently relevant, now were they?

— Good. See you then, Engel.

He could see you now, punching these little nicknames into a poorly guided translator— the blush smattering across your soft little cheeks, your eyes creasing as you couldn't help that smile— God, even the small things about you made his palms itch. He was so excited to have you, hold you, touch and use you when he got close enough. It wouldn't be long now.

He was always so good at planning things.

The following evening was a rampage. A festival, perhaps, had ripped through the small town— something about music, either way, the streets were eruptive with fervor.

You, just starting out here, are not well accustomed to this area's cultures— and when the café becomes swamped? Well, you're definitely fritzing for some form of substance. Anything to keep a smile on your face while grown adults trash your place of work, and the surrounding area, in a drunken wake. For crying out loud, you barely knew the language here, and people tend to forget any English instruction they've had once a fiery drink hits their system.

Austria. It'd be the death of you.

Forced to close early due to the mess— much to the dismay of drunk, middle-aged men looking for something greasy to fill their maws— the last hour of your day was spent putting a rag to the wall, the floors, the windows; anything your mind could think of, it had to be cleaned. Tired was an understatement, and 'aching' could not be a severe enough adjective for the sensation settling in your joints.

Maybe if you were a more aggressive person, you'd take it out on your manager. Take a bottle of bleach and splash it in his eyes, maybe a bit of strangulation— that was always on the forefront of your concious— and especially now, as he stood outside and lackadaisically sweeped at the "dirty" corner the building sat on. The lazy fuck, can't even make a proper payroll— the bleach sounded a bit more enticing.

You of course shove these thoughts into the supply closet, along with all the other cleaning products that had been collected from their strewn about positions across the diner. It was almost time to go home, maybe ten minutes or so— and you were getting paid for your last hour, come hell or high water. Rent didn't pay itself, and you almost wish you hadn't treated yourself last night to delivery with that tip König slipped to you— could've been handy.

If only you knew how he was itching to have you practically keep his wallet, you'd find out soon anyways.

You stood behind the bar, leaned into it with a placid expression on your face— slumped and tired, and there was no taming your hair. You partially wanted to cancel the little walk you had so eagerly agreed too, but thought better of it— exhaustion ate at you, however, almost in an irritable sense. The urge to cancel just got stronger, and stronger.

Until he was spotted down the street, that almost completely soured your mood— had not the very sight of him set your pulse to palpitate uncomfortably quick. You took a minute to really observe him, at least from a far. He was giant, no doubt about it— regardless of your size or shape, he dwarfed you, and he didn't have to be up close and personal to tell.

His face was mostly obscured, little black mask hanging across his features— this time around though, no sunglasses to hide his eyes— you were fluttering with excitement at the thought of someone's eyes, Jesus, you're kinda weird. Desperate girl, aren't you?

Regardless, he seemed a bit more.. exposing of himself— and, he was here before the agreed time, like an actual fucking man would do.

Huh, maybe the big giant wasn't a bad choice.

Maybe you just didn't know him well enough.

— Schatz! Nice to see you..

He was warm, inviting. If you didn't have sense in your head, you'd climb into his strong-looking arms, beg him to carry you home like a whiny child— of course, you didn't. Only offering him a smile, and taking his arm as he offered it— the sight making your heart stir a little more.

— Nice to see you too, König. I hope it wasn't too much trouble getting here, I know it's a mess out here right now.

You laugh, but you feel almost guilty for making him come all this way. Yes, he offered, yes, he came here anyways— but Innsbruck during a music festival wasn't exactly.. controlled, and he didn't seem to be the type to like crowds. Something you understood, and sensed very quickly.

— Nonsense, even more of a reason for me to accompany you, little one. Keep you safe.

He gives your arm a squeeze with his free hand, it's soft, gentle— so unexpected from hands that looked as if they could rip your throat out. A frisson of heat creeped it's way up your spine. You'd never been the type to depend on someone, or need someone— but hearing him speak that way.. it was definitely flipping some form of switch inside you.

— You're very kind.

You hum in response, taking a step closer to him as you walked— and he kept his eyes on you the whole time, the route burned into his mind. Though, your phrase did not fall on deaf ears— and he had to keep himself from shoving his tongue down your throat right there— you cannot say things like that to him, you are too good and pure.

— To you, at the very least.

— Why's that?

— Why not?

Banter could be good for the soul, and you almost felt desperate when he looked down to you— eyes creasing from what could only be a smirk. You felt flustered under his gaze, small and compact, but.. safe. Watched over, and protected.

Something about his eyes, his demeanor— the way he so graciously walked you along and made sure you didn't step on a single crack or bump in the sidewalk— it tip, tip, tipped you over into a fuzzy headspace you hadn't felt before. Something small, something compact, something malleable.

— Dunno. Men aren't usually kind.

— Boys, then. You are much too beautiful to be handled by a boy.

You cocked a brow at his statement, an amused chuckle leaving your tired lips. He was a strange man, no doubt caring, but even you could tell he harbored things— kept himself from saying and doing things that might be taken incorrectly, or be downright abhorrent. You should be afraid of him, you should run for the hills and scream for help, you should sense the predator who already has his claws dug deep into your skin.

But you don't, and you don't think you ever would.

Call it string theory, call it hope, call it desperation or an offered entrail— but you placed faith in him, praying that he wouldn't make decorations of your guts— because something more spoke to you, something outside of the two of you held you together steadfast. Mother had always told you to heed universal implications.

— Are you from around here, König?

— Nein, places like this..? eh, not my style. The mountains are much quieter, prettier.

Just how far had this guy traveled? Innsbruck had mountains, yeah, but it wasn't the most secluded of places— quiet didnt exist here. You had to gauge that maybe he blew in from Salzburg, it got less noisy and more rocky the further you went along the North chain. Either way, it was clear to you now that he wasn't just strolling about, he definitely had an agenda.

— Mm. Quite right, starting to regret settling down in such a busy area. I've always enjoyed the quiet.

— Agreed.. What brings you to Austria, Maus?

A good question, a fine one. You didn't know, you got a lump sum from a dead relative— and took off running. America never suited you, and the country was falling to ruins; what would you have stayed for?

— Something refreshing.

— ..And that is..?

— Sights, sounds, self-recognition- I'm unsure, but it's better than home.

He seemed to understand that, a knowing hum vibrating through the berth of his chest. He curled your arm closer to his body, your hip brushing against him as he took an even, slow pace— clearly difficult for him, but you could only move so fast.

The closeness felt nice in that moment, like it was unnecessary to share words— just enough had been said. It was a different sensation flowing through you. Yes, to be frank, you'd been lusting over him since he gave you his number— a little attention can go a long way— but it was different. That feeling of safety was blanketed with another— familiarity.

— Any family, libeling?

— Estranged, haven't spoken to them in years.

Another knowing hum, but it was followed by an amused sound— a chuckle. If the melancholy of the fact hadn't been refreshed, the sound would've made you pounce like a starved animal. He was attractive as all hell— and you didn't even need to see his full face.

— What's funny?

You try not to sound offended, you aren't, not really. Though, his amusement is of interest to you.

— Nothing, I assure you. It just seems that you and I are very similar. You are an interesting little thing.

— Ha! I'm as face value as they come, I promise you that.

— Don't be so humble, it's unnecessary for a lovely girl like you. I'll be the judge of that.

It was almost as if he was scolding you, but you brushed it off with an amused huff of air— leaning into his shoulder as he walked you along. You could stop his heart with such a thing, you saw him so much differently than others, didn't you? What a rare girl you were.

He wound an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. He was surprised by his own boldness, but the energy you held was so.. comforting, something in his core shook at the sensation— like a blockage finally being relieved. It could only get sweeter when you returned the gentle grasp, slipping an arm over his slender back.

— I.. this made my night better. Thank you.

You blushy little angel, of course, of course, anything for you. Oh, he needed to give you the world. He'd start a war for you— his very own Helen of Troy.

— Of course, sweet girl. Need to make sure you get home safe and happy, ja?

You laugh and squeeze his side, and he's pushing down another round of nasty thoughts like burning tequila. You have him chomping at the bit for every artifice of your affection.

— Such a gentleman..

— As I was raised to be, Schatz.

It burns him when he has to drop you off at that complex.. again. He wants nothing more than to take you home, invite you to a bed much-too-big, suffocate you in thread counts your wallet couldn't fathom— but it was much too soon, and you were much too angelic for him to ever want to spook you.

It burns you in turn, looking up at him with a shy smile. You want to invite him in, have him over for the night— but it seems you both agree on the terms of "much too soon", and you can't help but feel insecure at the.. state.. of your livingspace. It's nothing lavish, and it's moorish— maybe some other time.

— We should do this again.. I enjoyed this.

— I agree, liebling. Let me know when you work next, hm? Or maybe when you're free, I'll come visit you.

He made you feel as blushy as a school-girl, like you were a gift wrapped in fine bows just for him.

— I'll send you my schedule.

— Guten Mädchen.. I'll see you later then.

And, as if the gods had their hands on your shoulders, he leaned in— pulling his mask down just enough to kiss the top of your head before swiftly moving it back into place, and giving your cheek a quick brush with his thumb. Your skin was on fire, that cheek was never getting washed again.

Good fucking God, coming undone at the smallest touch, are we?

— Goodnight-! Get home safe..

He was already halfway down the block, damn, he's fast.

You're already getting obsessed, damn, he's good.

#konig x reader #könig cod #cod mwii #Cod #könig mw2 #könig modern warfare #König my beloved #My nasty man #the only guy ever #chorizoaspeaks #f!reader #reooreewww I want him

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olderthannetfic · 11 months ago

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Ok, wow, this is NOT the type of ask you seem to get usually, but this appears to be my best option...

I'm seeking out a post that is not particularly fandom-y in nature, but I was reminded of it after reading the earlier anon who was burned out from AI discourse - I totally feel the same way, and there was a really great lengthy textpost I reblogged a few months ago (read: "I read it any time from, like, April 2024 to almost a year ago......sorry") that I cannot find on my blog nor on tumblr in general - either because the post has been completely nuked from the internet OR because I'm just bad at SEO searches and remembering the keywords that were actually IN the post. I'm hoping it's a me issue or, if the post IS nuked, at the very least someone here remembers it and has an internet archive link or screenshot or something????

to get to the point, there was a post that was like (paraphrased, quote marks are not literal quotes):

"When it comes to the anti-AI crowd on tumblr, there's basically two schools of thought: people who completely hate AI and everything about it and are opposed to all forms of AI without even learning what AI really is. These people are stuck in their ways and generally can't be reasoned with.

Then there's a second group who are against AI for pretty good reasons - they really are worried that AI is gonna completely take over and steal artists' livelihoods, those who criticize it for environmental activist reasons, etc. These people generally can be reasoned with as they're truly misinformed, and in fact they would be - or already are - receptive to a less harmful AI."

The post then went on to compare AI to other forms of automation and made some really great parallels; such as bringing up the fact that stores that have both self checkout AND cashiers tend to be the best business models, because people who have their preferences can choose how they want to shop, AND we can utilize automated checkouts without completely getting rid of cashiers, which is obviously good for a lot of reasons.

It also debunked a lot of common fearmonger-y arguments against AI, i.e. explaining what "training AI" really entails, with some general copyright-critical philosophy in general. (I don't know the actual, like, political term, if one even exists, but basically they were talking about flaws with "intellectual property" as a concept - or at least how IP works today and why it works the way it does.)

There was also a really good addition to the OP's thoughts that I liked, with another user talking about: Essentially people who are gonna use AI would likely have done something else sketchy anyway, even if AI as it stands today didn't exist. For example, chatGPT isn't to blame for plagiarism. The people who use chatGPT to do their homework would, in an earlier time, likely go on Chegg / pay someone to write an essay / reuse their old work / etc. Likewise, the people who tell open AI to make artwork for them likely wouldn't make (or try to make) their own artwork anyway, nor would they even commission someone. They talked about how since fandom is so damn divided on the topic of AI, that the artists who DO feel as if their commissions are being taken away from them, or the writers who DO fear AI taking over fanfic.......well, to put it nicely, those people likely wouldn't really be losing many fans in the first place. You didn't lose a commission to AI - that person never would've commissioned you in the first place, and the people that do commission you hate AI as much as you do. You're not losing readers to AI - people who choose AI fics over yours are likely already the impatient type who can't handle waiting more than a week for an update, so they just make AI feed them 10k in one sitting! And the people who DO comment and read on your stuff, also hate AI!

I definitely did not agree with every single point made on the post (ie i dont think the self checkout metaphor was a great direct parallel logistically, but I def picked up what they were trying to put out and overall agreed with the general sentiment), overall it made a lot of really, really, really good points about the AI debate that I'd truly never considered before.

I know I've damn near rewritten the whole post myself now at this point but I also know there's a lot of stuff that I'm missing or that I just can't word and I'd love to know if anyone else has seen this post or has it on their blog in some capacity.

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castlebyersafterdark · 10 months ago

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raaah vinny I'm still thinking about that part of your drinking hc post where mike has a little group of more local friends, and the detail that he's the more subdued one but gets chatty once he loosens up makes me so giddy 🥹 we can see elements of that already when he's with the party

I also enjoy the idea that of course they have some circles of friends that are their own and not mutual! So on that note - do you think those friends have met will or seen pics? Is mike able to be out to them? Or they just know all about him in general because of course mike is gushing about him any chance he gets. I wonder if they ever had a night in drinking and mike hosted it so they got to see will's gorgeous self all cozy padding around his home, or if will ever does go say hi at the bar one time. so many thoughts, sorry I'm having hc's of your hc now 🙈

Yessss HCs of HCs is the joy of fandom, inspiration flowing. I really love and need to bask in the idea of Mike having a little group of new friends in his post-Hawkins, adult life. Because he's the type who could easily slip into solitude, or cling to just their partner, but I don't want that for him. Gotta envision a Mike with a support group and a friend group with the Party now split to different cities, etc. Still in touch, but it's different now. I like Mike because he's not easy to shove into a this-or-that, not everyone is so easily "introverted or extroverted" and he's a fun one to think about it. Comfortable, he's so charismatic!! Are these college friends, work friends? Maybe both. I like to envisioned he got an entry level kinda shit job at some publishing company right outta college, maybe a pal from school also got hired there, too, and they form a little group with some guys.

This got out of hand, the rest of this lengthy ramble under the cut:

Nerdy go-getter writer types, vastly differing personalities but it's a squad. Young twenty somethings in the city. Will has his art friends, Mike has this group. Mutual friends in common, too, but it's super healthy to also maintain your own things. I think they do eventually meet Will though, as time goes on. The college buddy already knows about Will, but with the new group? Mike's gotta test the waters, subtly discover vibes. Saying partner is still such a flag. It's the 90s but it's still only the 90s. He really likes these guys. I like to think in some way the college buddy makes some gay-positive comment at one point, which makes Mike's blood run cold at first, initial panic over the group's reaction, he meets his friend's eyes first out of fear but appreciation for taking the initiative and burden. But it's fine. Nothing makes it seem like the others are unsafe. Mike eventually jokes when one of the guys is trying to pick up girls at a bar, confirming he's spoken for. References his partner. Boyfriend is one of his favorite words but it's a terrifying word. But the implication is made, the groundwork laid.

Drinking one night, they're all a little lit up, laughing and venting about work. Hanging at the pool table, beer bottles filling the high top nearby. Mike on some ramble, slipping into waxing poetic about Will this, Will that. "Who's Will?" "His partner. Will's the best. Oh." His college buddy wants to sink into the floor, he fucked up, he fucked up big time. Mike breezes by with a dreamy "Yeah, Will's the best, the other day yap yap yap..." and all is fine, it's a natural addition to the conversation. Floodgates opened. The weight has left his shoulders. When they hang out and one of the guys talks about his girl, Mike adds an anecdote about his boy. Mike talks about Will's art expo, Mike mentions some movie he and Will saw together, Mike invites the guys over to watch some sports thing at his place one Saturday night. He could care less about the game, what sport is it again?

But he and Will have a really nice TV they splurged on for video gaming, and everyone gathers at their apartment for the first time instead of elbowing into drunks at the shitty sports bar they typically prefer. At home, totally comfortable. Mike initially the tiniest bit hesitant, but Will was so excited to finally meet Mike's friends. He'd been invited out to their drinking nights a few times, but Will hadn't yet taken Mike up on the offer, not wanting to intrude despite Mike insisting he'd want him there. That's Mike's thing. It's ok. But this is their apartment, their home. Will's having fun playing bartender, he mixes a mean drink, impresses one of the guys when he goes shot for shot with him at one point. Mike giggling and bright and beaming at the scene as Will makes tossing back liquor look graceful rather than sloppy like his pal. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand with a wink towards Mike, such a weak man when it comes to the sort of expression Will is sending him. Something exciting happens in the game. The group's raucous attention turns back to the screen. Will feigns interest but Mike's draped over him, hugging him from behind with his chin on Will's shoulder as Will braces to watch with palms gripping the couch, also pretending to care about sports.

They're both a little unsteady on their feet. Secure with each other even just feet away from the display of macho jubilation in the living room, funny to them because these guys are also all just such nerds too for the most part - young and hungry writers vying for a promotion or a big break, trying to make it in the industry, in the city, searching for connections and love and companionship all the same. Geeking out over the gaming systems neatly organized under the TV console, eager to dig into that once the football game is over. Including Will in conversation all the while and Mike really, really likes his friends.

Mike leads Will over to the big plush armchair diagonal in the living room, pushed up against the wall. It's so unhesitant and natural to fall into the chair like they often do, Mike half up on the armrest while Will curls up next to him, head tucked up under Mike's neck while Mike's got one arm loose around his waist, the other hand brandishing a beer. He's gesturing wildly with his hand as he rambles on about something in the game that he does not fucking understand while the other guys banter back. Will steadies his arm when the beer threatens to spill over them both. They're all laughing. One of the guys bemoans missing his girlfriend, says maybe he'll bring her next game since she kinda digs football, too, and their TV at home is garbage and she hates going to the bar. Will tells him to definitely bring her, tells everyone they should bring their partners if they have someone, they'll make it a whole thing in a few weeks for the Superbowl. His voice stutters on partner, despite the fact that he's currently sitting in a man's lap, unable to hide or deny. It's still an adjustment when unfamiliar eyes and ears are on him, after all this time. But, he has to be brave. He likes being brave when he can.

Everyone's down for the plan. He looks up at Mike, wincing a little, hoping he didn't overstep. He gets one of Mike's stunning, soft smiles that abates his worry. Mike hugs him closer, kisses the top of Will's soft brown hair that's tickling his nose. He's so damn happy. Both of them are. ❤️

#Finally getting around to messages from when I was away!!#This vision just struck me I don't know!!! Nineties NYC Byler are so very dear to me. So sappy. Love them ❤️❤️❤️#HC #drabble

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visinox · 2 years ago

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What is your favorite ship and why?👀👀👀

Ehehe what a question :) I'll answer this for iterator ships! I do have favorite slugcat ships as well but those will come with my slugcat design post.

I have two favorites actually, that would be trafficlight and lilypad! Both of which are present with my version of the iterators.

Trafficlight is appealing to me in a way I haven't really found a way to articulate ahah. I just think Hara and Suns' personalities provide excellent contrast, I always am a sucker for the charismatic bold type and shy nervous type falling for each other. With the added layers of Suns making mistakes at times and Hara having the guts to tell them how it is.

With how I portray trafficlight, they realize their feelings at the exact same time but have absolutely opposite responses. Hara accepts it and begins to watch if Suns feels the same, while Suns is absolutely petrified AAHAH.

My version of Suns is quite cynical and tends to overthink, they also feel obligated to not go against the ancient's wishes lest something terrible happen (at least they think something might). They feel if they were to love Hara they would become tethered to life, which obviously they aren't supposed to be. So they fear angering the ancients spirits or whatever.

They are also aware they are absolutely head over heels for Hara, and they also fear loving him too much- Like they won't know how to move on when something bad inevitably happens.

Meanwhile, Hara has none of this existential dread LMAO. He doesn't care what the ancients think, and he has accepted they will all meet an end at some point, so they might as well enjoy things while it lasts. It takes Suns time to calm their anxieties, but they do eventually.

My version of Lilypad, meanwhile, is queerplatonic! That's why I kind of struggle tagging it as specifically lilypad- But y'know AHHWFUIIHFW. I will probably in the future though just with the addition of queerplatonic tags :) I'm still a bit new at this Tumblr buidness

But mine at least, they have an incredibly intimate friendship, they love each other very much, they know each other better then anyone else, they are besties 5 ever

If Suns is Hara's romantic soulmate, Moon is Hara's platonic soulmate. They are the oldest in their local group so they have a very particular "old friend" dynamic, something they call each other frequently. They're just a couple of geezers, they've always been a constant for each other through thick and thin.

I love this because they're just two goobers who love each other and I love that for them! They're mellow, like to have a good laugh, a very comfortable ship indeed. When things aren't going to hell that is.

And that's the post!

So sorry it was a bit lengthy, but thank you for asking this, and thank you for reading! It was very fun to answer aha. And both include Hara, alas he has two hands for a reason <3.

#my art #vis answers #trafficlights #trafficlight #srs x nsh #rw lilypad #lilypad #lttm x nsh #queerplatonic #qpr #no significant harassment #looks to the moon #seven red suns #rw nsh #rw lttm #rw srs #rw #rain world #rain world downpour

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scrawnym4 · 6 months ago

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I'm literally so incredibly insane about your Glados design please tell me about your thought process and ideas pleaseeeeeeeee

I would read a whole novel just about your process behind character designs

HI! HELLO! i made a post excitedly going on about how i wanted to talk about my thought process behind my portal designs, only to never answer asks like these afterward... sorry!! im on it now, since im not too busy. something really interesting about the designs behind glados and wheatley in the original game is that they're not only polar opposites in terms of personality, but appearance as well. both give you incredibly strong first impressions with their looks. wheatley is presented to you as a charming, harmless companion, therefore his design is round, small, and friendly looking. this is in stark contrast to glados. she has some rounder shapes, sure. but in context with the rest of her presence it comes off as more hostile and sterile. she looms over you, smoothly swinging from the ceiling and closing in on you like a spider would look at its prey. shes this large, industrial machine, wires tangling around her nearly human silhouette. you're led to believe that wheatley is a spark of light in this corporate, uncaring setting housed by a million things that want you dead, but hes just a different type of corporate disinterest. im getting off topic... these kind of traits i wanted to incorporate into my own designs in order to give off the same feeling. and so, in my more humanoid versions of them, wheatley is a short, fat man dressed in casual button-ups and fun, almost gaudy hawaiian shirts, and glados is a tall, wilting, intimidating figure entirely garbed by office attire. i often draw glados with a fucked up posture, and thats mainly because i really want to lean into her kind of mysterious, inhuman vibe. she often has to hang her head low due to the way shes hung up, and i wanted to capture that in the same way. this is an additional thing, but i feel like in a human body, glados would speak more with her head, while wheatley speaks more in his hands. you know what i mean?

another thing with wheatley is his height. i didnt only make him shorter because it was funny, i got good reasons. wheatley has a lot of weird complexes, among them a lot of insecurity and hatred for feeling insignificant. ive seen a lot of designs where wheatley is this tall, lengthy figure... but that doesnt fit him at all. he feels small compared to others, this being literally in the game as he has to be carried around for most of it. i think this also adds to the whole chassis thing, where it wouldve been the first time he was looking down upon someone else for a change. additionally, im unsure if ive ever posted potato glados here, but i find her potato form interesting too. its kind of like a swap of their designs if you will, with glados taking up the more smaller harmless appearance. wheatley almost has glados' intimidation factor in his chassis design, but it kind of clashes. hes a king in an unfitting throne. this is taken kind of literally in my object head design, as the chassis is just like... a little chair attached to some wires. their heads can detach, with their android bodies serving more as a vessel for which cores can control, so like im unsure why that design choice is there but whatever. i love shapes and colours

#ask #scrawny rambles #i have a mild cold sorry if this sounds like nonsense

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unhetalia · 9 months ago

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I’m the anon who was ranting about Americas body issues. Hi! Thank you for the go ahead, and sorry that I’m about to use your inbox as my own personal mcdonalds play place for my thoughts! Again content warning for food issue things.

I’ve never done this before actually. I have a 12 page note in my notes app that’s just various ideas, concepts, and headcanons about god knows what. It’s like, a serious problem. Unfortunately I think a lot, and then I write a lot, and that writing is utterly disorganized and lengthy so I figure this is the easiest way to go about this? Blah blah blah whatever basically I’m going to be rewriting my hcs to be more coherent and I’m just gonna… slowly introduce my related thought clumps in their own little asks. Like an endangered fish to a pond. I figure I’ll get some of the facts and things that influenced my opinion about this out of the way first

You wouldn’t know it by looking at modern stats. When people think of the US and weight concerns, obesity is the first thing that comes to mind for most. This is, in the grand scheme of its history, a pretty recent phenomena for the United States. The truth of the matter is the United States has a long history of starvation. Famines happened frequently, from the second settlers made their homes in the 1600s to the beginnings of the 1900s. America was brutal during the industrial rev, and expansion never seemed to cease. Food safety didn’t exist as a federal right to the people until the 1900s. Often you’d find that the food you could get your hands on wasn’t necessarily food you’d want to eat. And of course, constant rationing. An estimated 223 years at war. An actively growing population with not enough decent food to go around. It paints an ugly picture. Because, yeah, it’s ugly. The US is a country built on food insecurity. All this to say, America has been hungry for a very, very long time.

Hello! Once again, I have to apologise for the late reply. Work and also my desire to really give this ask some attention!

I'm with you on having a million headcanons. That's actually how this blog was born! Hetalia just breeds headcanons. I look at a lamp and my brain goes 'I bet Matthew doesn't own any lamps. He doesn't believe in lamp owning. The house comes with lights, there's no need for additional lights'.

I did a little bit of research on hunger in America and found that 1 in 7 households experience food insecurity in the U.S. - which is around 47 million people. In a shocking turn of events, this still has the U.S. as the 13th most 'food secure' nation in the world. I need a lot more time to look up anything historically, but am really interested in your sources and also how America's relationship with food insecurity in the past impacts Alfred in the now.

(I really wanted to talk about fatphobia as well but I didn't want to derail you, so I'll put that in a separate post.)

#reply.#re: america #.txt

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potahun · 15 days ago

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Ilysm you've been doing God's work 🙏🏽 translating a LOT OF BUNCH of furukaza's stuffs. Wanted to ask though, I don't mean this in a rude way or trying to breach over your privacy but is Japanese your native language? Because if you aren't, how long did it take you to understand enough to translate things? I want to understand Japanese myself because a lot of furukaza shippers are Japanese, but Japanese is a pretty challenging language already 😭 This got too lengthy, I'm sorry lol PLEASE KEEP THE LOVE FOR FURUKAZA BECAUSE WE BARELY EVEN HAVE ENOUGH 💔 stay healthy

Hi anon!!

Thank you for liking furukaza as well TT and no need to apologize cuz this going to be an even longer answer >///<

I'm not a native Japanese speaker. So do take all my translations with a grain of salt and i am ALWAYS super open for better speakers to correct me. Wish I could have a native furukaza fan to cross-check with in fact TT

I have a fairly specific combination of personal circumstances that make my passive level of Japanese much higher than my active level, especially when combining hearing + reading. My progress with Japanese is hugely non-linear, with some classes but also a huge amount of osmosis. It's difficult for me to explain what exactly makes it this way for me, but that's the end result...

So before I say how long it took me, I first have to put a disclaimer that I DO feel I am not good enough to be a proper translator. I DO steer away from anything I feel is too complex or have serious doubts about. If i have doubts, i will also flag it. But if I think I understood the text, I will post a rough translation to the best of my ability, because I want to talk about those moments that give me feels. And when I do, I will very much:

search the kanji I am unclear about (i use two Japanese keyboards on my phone) for both its reading and definitions so i can compare the sound in the context of the sentence and the meanings, particularly different nuances in them

use different machine translations of sentences I'm not sure about, to compare the translations i make with the machine's, thereby seeing where to tweak, etc.

use different machine translations but not for the translation, just to get the SOUND/the pronunciation (i just do hearing better and want to get the vibe correctly)

search specific terms for their meaning in japanese both in english, and in japanese (as in, i will google search [term] 意味 or [term] は何ですか？and read the results of that in japanese too, to see how it compares with english sources/if it adds anything

steer away from translating things that i have serious doubts about and consider too complicated.

now as to how long it took me to feel more or less confident to do that: to be honest, i would say it's only since starting to really like furukaza in 2023 that I began to delve seriously into this. Before that, i had a looong background of osmosis. But i'd forgotten most of my hiragana and katakana, until like you I realised the japanese side of the fandom had absolute GOLDMINES of incredible frkz fanworks and god i wanted to read them.

So 2023 is when i did start to slowly work my way through comics and doujins. i'd basically look up almost every kanji for their pronunciation. for ZTT, we are also super lucky that tumblr has eng text translations with the original scans! as with conan, those scans even put the reading of kanjis in hiragana/katakana for easier reading. So I would compare the eng translations with the original text and see the vibe. I would consciously make myself read a LOT of furukaza fandom tweets, to get better with hiragana/katakana, and also learn new words in kanji. i would research a lot a lot a lot a looooot of terms and words to get the context they tend to be used in, see examples etc. sometimes, i also realised that just getting the reading of a word was enough to understand, because of the osmosis, but i had to learn how to READ the word from scratch

In addition, DetCo (and frkz) has its set of recurring jargon, and promos also have their jargon, which makes things easier. words like 怪我、警察、刑事、公安、捜査、関係、組織、差し入れ、右腕、弁当、支える　etc etc after a while, you just accumulate words that reappear and no longer have to look them up. having basic grammar rules down helps a LOT to learn faster, and then you build on it by looking up new rules

Other times i'd be reading a whole sentence and have the words down but still not understand shit, only to realise i was reading japanese omegaverse which probably have its own sets of rules (which i'm not well-versed on)

It's a slow accumulation, but you can start anytime and the more you do it, the easier it becomes! and personally, furukaza WAS a huge motivation for me to improve, and i do feel like my level improved a lot since taking it more actively, so ...all of this long, long ramble to say: never too late to start :')

#furukaza #replies #anon #i'm still nowhere near comfortable #and would never translate a big chunk of text with lots of technical terms #there are some TCG cards where im like um. not deciphering that #but there are increasing numbers of sentences and structures i do understand #and with furukaza #there is simply a LOT of material only available in japanese so #TT #gotta improve #i do have facility with kanji #and their meanings #and many times #getting the pronunciation / hearing a sentence spoken #is very helpful for me

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jgnico · 2 years ago

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hi!! i'm stumbling into your ask box again, hope you don't mind

i wonder,, what are your thoughts on Geto's upbringing? i've seen quite a few takes on what his childhood could've been like, but as long as the story itself is not particularly generous with answers in this regard, the topic stays controversial -- at least for me. i personally tend to think that there were some issues in the household, and the environment he grew up in was not exactly a safe space for a child. because we have to assume that, being that strong at the age of sixteen, chances are he was familiar with his technique for long enough already, probably having started consuming curses pretty early on. so what does that say about his parents? thinking of the prospect of forced eating makes me feel unwell. and what about the fact he was a sorcerer born to a non-sorcerers family? how frightening and unclear and lonely must that have been? were his parents aware of their child's exact whereabouts after he enrolled into Jujutsu High? how much did they know? also, taking in consideration all the problems inherent in Japan's educational system, is there a chance that Geto's gift was a sort of convenience to them? because sorcerers are usually pretty well-off due to high demand and low supply and their son's abilities could solve financial problems related to getting him educated? could they have some inner motifs while also being genuinely concerned about Geto's well-being? might it be a reason why they encouraged their son, a literal child, to absorb those foul, god-awful beings? could they fully understand what they're asking him to do, lacking the ability to even see those creatures? but then again, i find it hard to imagine somebody coming out of an abusive household and still having a strict moral codex and a concrete sense of justice like Geto's. and when he says that the sorcerers have a responsibility to protect the weak, doesn't he think about his parents first? what if he's clinging so determinedly to his ideas because he needs them to somehow rationalize his childhood experience? and what if those ideas stem from his parents guilt tripping him in the past? and what's up with his distinctly traditional clothes? might he come from a religious background?

so what's your opinion on *vaguely gestures at everything above* all of that? apologies for such a lengthy ask, i obsess over thinking about geto and just needed to share it with somebody more competent and knowing than me,, and i would genuinely love to hear your thoughts!! thank you! 🧡

I don't mind at all! Welcome back to the askbox.

I was looking around for some posts where I speculated about Geto's upbringing that had some lovely additions to it by @lulubaii where they share their thoughts as well, but I couldn't find them, sorry.

That being said, I go one of two ways on Geto's upbringing where I either think his childhood and relationship with his parents was fine, normal even. Or where he didn't have a stellar upbringing at all.

I lean more toward the latter, for reasons that I'll get into in a second, but I do appreciate how sad him having a normal boring childhood would be when you add the context of him feeling like he had to kill them to cement his own ideas. Where killing them wasn't born out of any specific negativity toward them, but rather what they were -- non-sorcerers. If there was love there, then that makes Geto's actions all the more heartbreaking and awful, and adds to the idea that there was no going back for him once he committed to the path he wanted to take. If he ever had his doubts about his actions (and I like to think he did, no matter how much he didn't want to): How do you forgive yourself for that? How do you reconcile that with anything other than overwhelming grief and regret? You can't. So you don't. So you press forward and insist, even to yourself -especially to yourself- that you're doing what's necessary.

All of that being said, I actually think that Geto had a troubled upbringing, or at least one that was neglectful if not outright abusive. There are two reasons for this; the first being the question of how he even knew that he could eat curses, and the second being the fact that his immediate next step after rescuing Mimiko and Nanako (two sorcerers -children- that were abused by non-sorcerers that didn't understand what they were and used the excuse of fear to hate/harm them for it) was to kill his own parents.

Edit: I found two of the posts I was looking for. [xx]

There's so much immediacy to him going after his parents that I never really articulated before. Assuming that the report of his actions reached the higher-ups --and his subsequent execution order was issued-- the day after, and he met with Shoko in Shinjuku in the late afternoon/early evening, that leaves him that single night/morning to find a place for the girls, travel to his home, kill his parents, and then travel to Shinjuku.

And sure, you could argue that he was operating on the 'high' of what happened in the village, but I find it hard to believe that the adrenaline carried him through the entire journey to kill them unless he had something to be angry at them specifically for. My question would be: Was he upset over something they did or something they didn't do? Is it a case of them using his technique for their own gain until he was scouted and that income could be supplemented through his missions instead? Or did they fail to protect him from the same kind of people that set him off in the village?

The answer that I've landed on after lots (and lots) of thinking is that Geto's parents were probably just extremely poor, and him figuring out his technique was the result of hunger. He most likely found out soon after eating one that Curses weren't a viable food source, but until he tried one, they would have been one that only he had access to. It would've doubled as a secret only he knew and a way to lessen the burden of providing for him, which is exactly the kind of thinking that I could see a young child falling into. Then, as he and his collection of curses grew over the years, it's possible that he (through the urging or actions of his parents) started using his technique to get money for their household from the people around them, which would have alienated him from the people in his town and might have inspired a less extreme but equally hurtful version of the fear and hate that he saw mirrored with the girls.

I could also see how this would be something that solidified Geto's stance on protecting non-sorcerers while putting them in a lesser position than himself (i.e. him seeing them as 'the weak;' a concept that you can tie to both parents that he was providing for -protecing from poverty- and townsfolk that he was exorcising curses for -protection from curses), on top of adding some interesting context to his reaction and response when Gojo asks if he should kill the members of the SPVA. Specifically, him saying "Forget it. It's pointless" makes me wonder if he's been in a similar situation where he had to talk himself out of using his abilities against non-sorcerers after their actions caused him pain and he was falling back into that mindset when talking to Gojo. That they can't act against them, regardless of if they want to, so there's no reason to dwell on it.

Additionally, Geto exorcising Curses for money would have more than likely drawn the attention of a Window, seeing as it's their job to scout for curses. (Therefore, providing Sorcerers a way to make money.)

If Geto was getting rid of Curses around his village frequently enough or for long enough --like the nine years between his Technique manifesting and his being admitted to the school-- it would have probably created an anomaly where there weren't any Curses (or any strong enough Curses to require a Sorcerer) where there should be, prompting an investigation into why that was happening.

My (loose) supporting evidence for this idea would be the issues with food that Geto develops after the Star Plasma Vessel incident (a habit that he could have broken and then fallen back into once he was under enough stress, which isn't at all unheard of, especially with people that grew up food insecure) and the role he falls into once he starts his cult, i.e. using his technique to "cure" people to collect curses and money. He seems perfectly comfortable doing so if you don't count his general dislike of dealing with non-sorcerers, so it isn't unrealistic to me that he'd be operating under prior experience. Same as the struggles with eating, it'd be like falling back into a bad habit of sorts.

Side Note: I heard a quote the other day that went something along the lines of "One year of consistency can change the trajectory of a person's life, regardless of what stage of life they're in" and while this was speaking toward stable, consistent support and positive relationships changing someone's life for the better, it stands that the opposite is true as well. One year without adequate support and negative or absent relationships can very much turn someone for the worse, whether that represents itself internally or externally. And I think it's safe to say that Geto was very much lacking in consistent support and friendship (him and Gojo going on so many missions alone, away from each other, Shoko, and their kohai) in the year between Riko's death and Geto's defection.

All of this isn't to say that Geto's parents are to be blamed for their own deaths or that his actions weren't inexcusable, but it does add important context, I think.

Trauma, especially the kind that he and Gojo went through, fundamentally changes a person, and not just emotionally.

A topic that I've always found interesting and highly recommmend further reading on if you want is how trauma physically affects our brains and the rest of our body. Specifically, when our brain is still developing throughout our childhoods and teenage years, significant trauma (Toji) and repeated triggering of fight or flight (the influx of missions) can cause the brain put itself into survival mode even when danger isn't actually present. (This is partly where we get things like extreme anxiety, ptsd, c-ptsd, and other stress disorders.) The problem with this is that when your brain goes into suvival mode it pushes blood away from itself and your vital organs and out to your extremities (arms, legs, etc) so that you can get away from whatever the danger is. This, in turn, can cause issues with memory formation, emotion regulation, our ability to reflect and respond to issues we have with moral flexibility, and our ability to feel empathy (etc, the list goes on) on top of having long term effects on our bodies itself like lack of appetite, persistent anger and irritation, disassociation and confusion, faster heart-rate, issues with over- or under-sleeping, susceptibility to chronic illness, etc.

But let's get back on topic and answer your other questions:

I imagine Geto was very lonely before he went to Tokyo; no one in his family were sorcerers and I doubt that anyone else in his village was either, since he was scouted to be a sorcerer (probably by a Window) instead of referred by one. I highly doubt he had anyone that he could relate to about the whole issue of seeing curses and the inherent disgust involved with using his technique. I also think the isolation concerning the latter probably didn't go away even after he moved to the high school, seeing as he points out he's the only one that truly knows what a curse tastes like. It's something that sets him apart from both sorceres and non-sorcerers, something that others him.

I don't think that his parents had much of an idea of what his time at Jujutsu Tech was like. I highly doubt the school gives an accurate report to their students' families on what their kids are doing, and if Geto's parents truly viewed him/his technique in a negative light, I'd think that they were most likely just happy that he wasn't around while also getting a free education from a religious private school,* plus an allowance from the school for his missions and rank as a sorcerer. (If I remember correctly, Special Grades get a decent amount of money based on their rank alone, even before adding the payouts involved with exorcising higher-level Curses.)

I actually don't find it all that hard to see Geto coming away from an abusive or negligent household with a high moral code and a strong sense of justice. Plenty of people do all the time, and the idea that they don't is more of a myth than a fact. Yes, some people grow up and continue to perpetuate cycles of abuse, but correlation doesn't at all equal causation. In fact, the opposite is more common; where someone escapes their initial unhealthy environment only to end up in another one because they have no other frame of reference that allows them to recognize the ways in which it was unhealthy in the first place.

As for why he chose monk robes to wear after defecting, I'll reference Gege here, and say that Geto picked the Gojo-kesa simply because it had Gojo in the name and it helped him hold on to what he had given up. (Now that I think about it, it also probably served as a reminder of why he was doing what he was doing in the first place. Kinda like the "Do it for her" meme, but with clothes that have your best friend's name.)

*In chapter 3 it's stated that the Jujutsu Technical College operates under the facade of a religious private school.

#sorry for the lack of supporting manga panels!#i'm lazy and this is already almost 2k words long #i dont think anyone wants it to be longer😭#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #meta answers #🧡 anon #answers #jjk meta #nicos meta

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