#feel nostalgic for nonexistent things

[sidver]

hipsterish polaroid shot with @bonesmarinated and @barbecutie 📸

[storfulsten]

hey uh sorry for disappearing yet again for a couple months. don't have much of an excuse, though things have been more stressful than usual, offline life having involved family and hospitals and stuff, but not gonna go into any details, things are better now either way so ye. my way of coping with things have been mostly to just play games (ffxiv mainly, leveling alts and other grinding can be a good distraction sometimes) and nothing else to keep my mind off things, so haven't been able to focus enough to do much of any art at all. I am hoping to get back into the swing of things, I am back on my meds that I skipped out on for like a year due to various reasons, but they seem to be helping again so yeah, fingers crossed that things will work out and such ha

[wistfulcynic]

a non-izzy-centric reading of the events of season two

i didn't really want to get into this because it's so, so tiresome and i'd rather talk about the things i loved about this season. Poison, positivity, etc. But.

reading this post about people doubting their own judgement due to the overwhelming noise from Izzy stans along with a rewatch of season two from start to finish made me realise that i too had been influenced by a year and a half of being intensely frustrated by people insisting so loudly that OFMD was in fact the Izzy Hands Show. My initial issues with S2 mostly stemmed from overcompensating for that by resenting any development of Izzy on the screen because i did not want it to feed those people. Which meant that i also was centring Izzy in a way that he should not be centred! i was letting their noise lead me to read him as far more important than he actually is.

So i looked back at several points from the season that had me feeling uncomfortable and which, from a cursory browse through the Izzy tag i've concluded his stans see as a contradiction or a betrayal or something and re-evaluated them from the perspective of Izzy not being a main fucking character.

point one: "He's our dick."

When Archie (a newcomer and therefore a fairly effective audience stand-in for anyone not balls deep in fandom bullshit) asks Jim why they're going to so much trouble for Izzy, who she has immediately clocked as "kind of a dick", Jim gives this response. Which, if you think Izzy is important, may read as an expression of reluctant fondness. But then, Jim continues: "There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other, not just to survive." These lines are punctuated by a flashback to the famous Revenge crew found-family Renaissance-painting moment. Jim is nostalgic for the "good old days" of the Revenge under Stede's people-positive management style. It is out of respect for that (seemingly) lost way of life that they take the trouble for Izzy, not for Izzy himself. They'd have done the same for anyone, because they desperately want life to matter again. Izzy, as the person whose gamy leg is a direct result of his threatening Ed and bringing the kraken era down on all of them, is simply the one whose life happens to be on the line.

(honestly, i love this from Jim, who was one of Stede's boldest detractors in season one and still the crew member most likely to call him out on his bullshit. That's your "reluctant fondness" moment right there.)

point two: the new unicorn

apparently Izzy stans see the gift of the unicorn leg prosthetic as a symbol of deep love and respect from the crew to Izzy. Which is an absolutely wild reading when you look at what led up to it.

There's tension on the ship. Divisions. Lucius is chain-smoking and jump-scared by his own shadow. Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang are overcome by guilt over their mutiny and frantically scrubbing nonexistent blood from the deck in what is a fantastically darkly funny Lady Macbeth moment for them. Izzy is sloppy drunk and yelling nonsensical abuse at the unicorn masthead. Roach, Pete, Oluwande, and Wee John make a well-intentioned but ill-conceived attempt to bring everyone back together (i say "everyone" but Izzy, significantly, is not included) which leads to them all being at each other's throats in the sort of mutually-assured-destruction configuration that starts world wars. It's a great scene. Izzy is not a part of it.

until he interrupts them, throws the unicorn legs at them and in his drunken clumsiness breaks his prosthetic. He then pointedly refuses their offers of assistance and drags himself away along the floor by his arms.

my friends. This is peak pathos. The crew do not respect Izzy in this moment, they feel sorry for him. They realise that he's worse off than any of the rest of them and that knowledge brings them back together. Making the unicorn prosthetic is barely about Izzy at all. It's about the crew coming together, repairing the rifts in their found family and as a bonus helping out their grumpy second cousin who doesn't really want to be there but has nowhere else to go. It's also a very generous offer of a new place on the ship--as the new unicorn--and a fresh start. Because that's what life on the Revenge is. For everyone.

point three: la vie en rose

much has been made of Izzy putting on drag makeup and singing at the Calypso birthday party, and fair enough. That's a big character development point for him. i don't hate it, though i wish there'd been more build-up to it, a longer conversation between Izzy and Wee John at least (insert obligatory "fuck Max" here) but regardless, if we accept Izzy's amputated leg as cutting off his old self and replacing it with the unicorn then we can arrive at a place where he's able to participate in a drag performance without too much cognitive gymnastics.

i've written before about the curious choice to have Izzy sing La Vie En Rose in French (after he initially sang it in English) at the very moment when Ed and Stede are having sex for the first time. On first watch i felt viscerally troubled by it, it felt like a validation of the obsessive psychosexual reading of Izzy's feelings for Ed. Looking at the season as a whole, it feels more like a (cringy, creepy, waaaay over the line) attempt on his part to signal approval for Ed and Stede's relationship. Especially when taken in conjunction with his (super creepy, like wtf who greenlit this) interruption of their breakfast in bed the next morning to make a ham-fisted innuendo. Weird but okay i guess, it's not like Izzy and social niceties have ever gone hand in hand.

many people point to the drag scene as the crew embracing Izzy and welcoming him as one of them. Again, i don't disagree. But, also again, this is not specific to Izzy. This is just what they do. They also embraced Archie with her snake-cult stories, they re-embraced Ed (who yes, they do love, refutations of arguments that they don't love Ed are a whole other essay though) and later they embrace Zheng and Auntie and also Jackie who once stole their savings jar and threatened to cut off their noses. That's what they do! They embrace people! That's what the show is about!

point four: the death scene

i have to be honest, i still hate this. i don't hate that Izzy died, i hate that he died in Ed's arms with Ed calling him his only family. That still feels unearned to me, and alas was probably another victim of the shortened season. But even with this extremely kind and forgiving death scene, the stans are not satisfied! They feel that the entire crew should have been gathered round, assuring Izzy of their profound love for him. There should have been weeping at the funeral, wailing and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments etc. It's what he deserves as such a beloved member of the crew!

except he wasn't beloved. He was accepted, yes. Welcomed, even. But acceptance is a far cry from love. Cheering as someone sings a song at a party does not mean you feel ready to weep at their deathbed or proclaim your undying affection for them.

yet even so, the crew are visibly distraught at his death scene. There are tears in many eyes! But effusive declarations of feeling from any one of them other than Ed would have felt (to anyone not convinced Izzy is the main character) completely wrong and very weird. You can headcanon what you like to fill the gaps in canon but on screen we have seen very few meaningful interactions between Izzy and any of the existing crew aside from Fang and Lucius and to a lesser extent Wee John. Izzy's primary relationship with another character is with Ed and so, as much as i still don't like it, Ed is the only one who has any real reason to be at Izzy's side as he dies.

as for the brevity of the funeral and the fact that they went straight from it to Pete and Lucius's wedding instead of having, idk, a prolonged wake at which everyone speaks at length about how important Izzy was to them, i mean. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. More than enough screen time had already been given to a side character who spent most of it either being miserable himself or making others so. It was time for the rest of them to find some moments of joy. As Izzy himself said, not moving on is worse.

in conclusion, i'd like to address the people saying that Izzy should have lived so he could continue his arc of self-discovery and sure, that would have been great--on the Izzy Hands Show. But OFMD is about Ed and Stede and Izzy had served his purpose in their story. i feel certain there will be copious fanfics to soothe anyone who feels Izzy was shortchanged.

on the show, though, he was treated in a very logical and foreseeable way as the antagonist who was able to see the light at the end but not necessarily to thrive in such a well-lit environment. Literature (by which i mean also films and tv) abounds with examples of this sort of character. They see the error of their ways but they are too stuck in them, shaped by them, to exist comfortably in any other way. They help bring about change to benefit others and not for themselves, that is the bittersweet beauty of their endings.

Izzy let Ed go. He embraced the softer parts of himself. He died surrounded by people who may not have loved him but at least accepted him as one of their own and felt genuine sorrow about his passing. That is a satisfying narrative end for a reformed antagonist! If you truly feel that he was shortchanged by it then you have forgotten what show you're watching and what sort of character he was.

Izzy Hands: not the main character, still an interesting one, absolute nightmare, what a guy.

[gh-0-stcup]

Riley failed because the writers didn't understand the archetype they were trying to convey and their audience.

Riley's the all-American boy next door. His character model was so pervasive in other media because it's wholesome, simple, and nostalgic. Calling back to a nebulous time when people were nice, helpful, and virtuous. (Actually a rose tinted view of a nonexistent past - it calls back to the viewers childhood when everything felt that way.)

The most important thing with this character model is the feelings it evokes in the audience. The character must come across to the audience as

A moral paragon

Safe

The problem is that this type of character also has deep associations with heteronormativity, sexism, and racism. They have been used numerous times in media to help uphold and propogate these ideas.

But BTVS' very premise stands in direct opposition to the American values this character model tends to embody. It's more likely that this archetype will evoke the exact opposite feelings it's supposed to in fans of BTVS. They're more likely to have been victimized in their lives by the messaging imbeded into it.

It could have worked extremely well had the writers considered what would evoke the same feelings with their own audience.

Take one of Riley's early scenes - punching Parker for his comments about freshman girls and toilet seats. It's mentioned after that Riley does not take issue with his friends talking about women in "worse" ways. He reacted the way he did because he's got a crush on Buffy.

Imo, this is the moment the character failed. If you want to sell a character like Riley as a love interest to audience like BTVS', you must ensure the line between chivalry and chauvinism is never crossed. Once it is, that character's virtuousness will forever come across as a facade. A way to have control and possession over women under the guise of protecting their honour.

A minor adjustment to this one scene would help reframe Riley's motivations. He doesn't take kindly to men speaking that way about women, but it is odd for him to react violently.

In this version, he's someone who respects women in general but has more rash reaction than normal because his crush on Buffy is shaking him up. It also suggests he's not a man who's typically quick to violence.

Another important scene is when Riley finds Buffy outside at night and insists on walking her home. She puts up a fight, commenting on the sexism of assuming boys can take care of themselves but girls need to be walked home. Riley's response is that yes, this is absolutely what he believes.

Now, Riley is a trained soldier who knows there's very serious danger lurking around at night and does not know that Buffy is anything other than a tiny civilian. It's understandable that he would insist upon protecting her. The issue is entirely with how the dialogue is framed.

A better answer to Buffy's question would be "You shouldn't have to." Set him up as a man who understands many women can protect themselves, but believes his role is ensuring they never have to.

It shifts these gender roles from "woman weak, man strong" to Riley's sense of honour. Focuses on how he derives meaning from protecting civilians and those he cares about. Helps shed light on the mentality that led him to becoming a soldier and suggests that being a soldier is tied to his sense of identity and personal values.

It also more firmly shifts being a soldier from a day job to a duty for Riley. It gives him a connection with Buffy, who also believes it is her responsibility to use her strength to protect people.

Just two very simple shifts in dialogue and Riley's a much better character. Amazing how they got it so wrong without even understanding what mistakes they made.

[queserasora]

Nanami Kento x Reader | JJK Series | Fem! Reader, She/Her Part 2 WORD COUNT: 4,658 words (too many) CW: NSFW / bad driving do NOT attempt in real life, a bratty y/n is bratty, slightly sadistic nanami?, dom nanami, bondage lite, groping, oral female receiving, fire, explosions, a little bit of public nudity, smoking A BAD SUMMARY: The one where y/n sets the rental car on fire, nanami gets choked with his own tie, and both end up smoking by the fire.

You and your infinite patience were at your limit. 

the heat was insubordinate. the uniform was unnecessarily restrictive. this pairing? simply the worst case scenario. 

brown eyes reflect back at you through the rear view mirror; you look away from your own to stare at the knitted brows of the driver. he hasn't said a word since he started driving twenty minutes ago. part of you is thankful for the quiet; a nice little reprieve for gojo satoru constantly reminding you how much he loves the sound of his own voice. 

nanami’s voice; however—low, and thick like raw honey—always oozes around you when he speaks. for his words, no matter how curt or succinct, you never minded getting sticky.

the only problem was that the air in the moving car was bone dry. 

you swallow a sigh and roll your eyes away from the reflection of his forehead in the mirror. you focus instead on the moving cars flying past you, the blurry trees and buildings in the distance; buildings full of people living their quiet mundane lives unaware of the evils you and your comrades face regularly. perhaps if you focus your bitter feelings on them, and not on the electrifying presence of the person next you, you can muster enough courage to start a conversation yourself.

words purr like a starting engine in the back of your mouth, and falter there, sputtering back into nonexistence.

you were starting to wonder if you were an idiot. A massive one at that.

the weight of your blush crushes your cheeks. The heat inside the car intensifies; drops of sweat slide down the back of your neck, and down your chest where they lay down to die between your breasts. without thinking further, you undo the top two buttons of your white dress shirt. once again you were reminded of how unreasonable the uniform was. in whose right mind did they think this kind of business attire was appropriate or even efficient?

a thirst gnaws at you with dull teeth; not sharp enough to draw blood but enough to bruise. you lick your lips at the discomfort, anything for some kind of reprieve. 

“Nanamin!” you sing, turning your torso to place an elbow on the headrest of the passenger seat. lips stretch into a mischievous grin. 

Nanami Kento looks at you sideways behind his dark glasses; not that you notice. he finds your facial expression absolutely predatory; a hyena waiting for scraps. 

“Nanamin?” he repeats tilting his head slightly as he focuses on the road ahead of them. “You’ve been spending too much time with Gojo.”

you sigh before you can help it. your body instinctively moves away, and turns to face the front of the car once more. “Ehh,” you whine with a shrug. “I can’t say you’re wrong but it’s not like I have a choice. Nobody else wants to partner with me.”

pitiful, that's what you were. Not strong enough to go on solo missions, but too intolerable to have a steady partner. you prop your elbow on the passenger door and cradle your chin on a closed fist. Once again the quickly passing scenery makes you feel a tiny bit nostalgic.

“That’s because you don’t know how to follow orders,” Nanami responds hotly. this was the reason he had moaned when given the mission details, and the knowledge that you had been assigned as his partner. “If you would just listen and think before you–”

“What's the point?” you cut him off, dark eyes still cast on the distant buildings. “You told me yourself once. All of us in this line of business will die one way or the other. It’s not a choice. The only thing we can choose, the only thing we have control over, is how we die. So let me die how I want.”

“Did I say that?” he retorts. he feels his jaw tense as he bites down. he doesn't recall and he usually remembers everything he says, but with you, every meeting was always a heated blurr of strange occurrences. he would feel dizzy for days after, thinking of you in the middle of work. it annoyed him almost as much as working over time did. why would he have to preoccupy himself with you off duty? it was simply unacceptable.

“Didn’t you?” you spit back, and look over at him with raised brows. your head tilts, almost mockingly and he glances at you briefly. his fingers flex and grasp the wheel tighter. it was all he could do to keep himself from smacking the back of your head. he grunts in response if only to get you to stop staring at him.

you consider this a little victory and smile to yourself as you kick off your kitten heels. you stop to think about his reaction for only a split second before you put your feet up in the dash. you hear him start to protest.

“Oh, come on!” you beg. your hands clap together once and remain there to pray for a miracle. “It’s so hot, it’s so hot. They’re just feet!”

what you really wanted was to take off your blazer and button down shirt but that was inadvisable. Nanami would most definitely be uncomfortable with that and in turn that would only excite you more. just thinking about his flushed face forces you to take a deep breath; anything to slow down your racing heart. 

appearances were everything so you place your folded hands behind your back, feet still on the dash. your eyes search for any crack in nanami’s facade. It was hard to find anything from his profile; all you saw was a sharp jawline and a fleshy bottom lip.

You stare a breath too long, and he looks over at you briefly.

“What is it?” he asks, a  brow high on his forehead, challenging you. your tongue darts out to moisten dry lips. it barely helps. you still feel parched and you were still, last you checked,  a feen for challenges, impossible and possible alike.

“I’m really hot,” you state in an uneven tone. breathing suddenly felt complicated. how the hell did that happen? “Do you mind?” you don't wait for his answer and take off your blazer, stretching white fabric moistened with sweat against your chest as you move.

Nanami didn’t often curse but he felt this time would be appropriate. still, he refrains, glancing desperately between you and the road. knuckles turn white with worry as he grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter.

“What are you doing?” Nanami spits between clenched teeth, every syllable forced and controlled. “Put it back on.”

“I refuse,” you say, throwing the blazer towards the backseat with one hand. Your other hand found more buttons to undo, at least two more. Cleavage exposed now, you breathe a sigh. The cold air coming from the air conditioning vent caressing the top of your breasts felt as if heaven sent. You could only think of very few things better than this.

as if possessed, your eyes glance at nanami’s face, and his mouth—the divinity of which you only wish you knew from personal experience. His face was covered in pink splotches. your eyes dart from his cheeks to his neck. you can’t help but wonder if his chest is the type to become splotchy as well. you desperately want to find out. the longer you stare, the more you see the vein on his forehead bulge. you try to bite back a chuckle but it doesn’t work very well. you hope he didn’t hear but you know he did. You can tell by the way his shoulders tense further.

He moans your name like a curse, like a burden. You feel your stomach dip uncomfortable. Guilt wades through the mess of emotions filling you, trying to ruin your bit of fun. You try to squash it, stomp it out, chewing desperately on the inside of your cheek until you draw blood.

“Tell me something,” he finally says in a guttural whisper. 

“Mmm?” you’re distracted by the taste of iron in your mouth, by your own thoughts. perhaps you had gone too far–again. perhaps this will be the last time. the real last time. 

“Do you not see me as a man?”

“Huh?” 

the question was unexpected. you find yourself unable to respond. Static noise fills your brain. there's a vague sense of urgency. You feel as if you need to say something, quickly, before he is offended.

“An old man, maybe,” you finally say with a crooked grin.

“Am I a joke to you?” 

no. absolutely not is what you wish to say but once again the words remain stagnant in your throat, choking you and depriving you from air. It was all you could do to blame your sudden stupidity on. 

“You’re a man, Nanami Kento,” you sigh and glance out the window. It is your attempt at ignoring the blazing heat scorching the skin of your cheeks. “Do you really have to make me say it out loud?” you mutter, drawing nonsense circles on the passenger door window with your finger. “So embarrassing.”

there was silence after the confession. your heart plummets to freezing depths. you wish you could take the words back. you try to think of a solution. maybe you can jump out of the moving car and pretend nothing happened. maybe die? both situations seem infinitely more favorable than staying in this steel ton death trap with a silent and pensive nanami kento.

“Good,” his voice cuts through the silence, deadly and icy. “Since you’re aware,” he drags his vowels. Your eyes dart from his face to the road, to his hand sliding towards your knee. “You understand the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you question quickly. it was in your nature to question, debate, to doubt even now as Nanami’s warm hand, large and calloused, grips your knee.

the car swerves, cutting from one lane to the next. your head snaps to glance at the rear view mirror, and to look behind you. fortunately, there was no traffic to be seen.

“You’re driving kind of–” you don’t finish your sentence. Nanami’s hand is sliding higher up your leg. his thumb is drawing slow large circles on the outside of your clothed thigh.

the car comes to a stop at the side of the road. Behind Nanami you can see the stormy sea, brewing, thrashing and deadly–so was the look in his eyes.

your instincts scream; they kick their legs and draw their claws. your throat seizes as you swallow back the smart remarks, the funny quips threatening to bubble out; your defensive shield at whoever dares to intrude on your vulnerability. intimacy was a forbidden subject; taboo. you always skittered around it, chasing highs while they were uncomplicated and moved on to the next victim without a goodbye. the last person you wanted to become entangled with, despite what your night fantasies would say, was Nanami Kento.

you felt safe with him. it would be too easy to stay.

he moves slowly. you can see the muscles of his shoulders rippling under his shirt; lethal and lithe, like a large feline. you want to smile at the realization but his hands start treacherous fires where he touches your thighs. he grips them and pulls you towards him—in a quick move—he turns you and your back slams against the passenger door. You’re not sure when he had the time to unbuckle himself, or to measure the distance between you and. All you know is you can’t move from where he has you—trapped between the blistering heat of his body and the passenger door.

“Should we–Should we talk about this?” you stammer, lightly placing one hand on his chest. Your fingers fiddle with his tie; ever so formal. You smile and pull at it with both hands, tightening it just enough to cross the edge of reason. Nanami’s eyes narrow at the tightness around his neck, gagging and choking slightly. He groans after clearing his throat and  slaps your hands away only to seize your wrists with thick fingers.

“No,” he says in a disbelieving tone; one hand keeps your wrists at his mercy, the other undoes his tie. “You’re already breaking rules.” You frown, confused more at these supposed rules than at the fact that he was tying your wrists together with the tie he had removed.

“What rules? You didn’t tell me there were rules,” you complain petulantly. Your bottom lip sticks out in a dramatic pout. You feel nanami’s  eyes landing on it. Heat pools at the bottom of your belly. You shift your weight in your seat, feeling a pleasurable wetness starting between your legs. Your thighs rub together in anticipation. If he didn't kiss you soon you thought you might just catch fire. He must have read your thoughts. His mouth clashes with yours in a tight lipped kiss; a little clumsy and more forceful than you expected. He pulled away enough to punish your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Must I spell everything out for you?” he asks, nipping at the corners of your mouth, dropping soft feathery kisses on your cheek. His hands had found your neck and they held you in place, as if you would run away from his affections. you smile derisively at your thoughts, even as goosebumps rush up and down your arms at the feel of his hot open mouth on your neck. 

he fights intoxication. The taste of salt on your skin becomes his newfound obsession. Tongue pressed flush against your pulse. His eyes flutter as he feels your heartbeat getting quicker and quicker. Lashes flutter at the feel of your breasts under his hands. He had dreamed of this. He wasn’t proud of it. Not at all. In fact he was quite disappointed in himself.

How could he lack such imagination? 

Not a moment of his dreams could compare to the weight of your breasts as he palmed them under your bra. They couldn’t compare to the warmth and softness he felt as he kneaded them. You mewl gently, wriggling underneath him. His mouth becomes hungrier, he devours what’s near it, biting and sucking. Fingers are adept at finding your weaknesses, pinching hardened sensitive nipples between thumb and index fingers. He twirls his fingers gently, and sometimes with a little more force.

Your legs move in an attempt to get closer. It's all you can do. Your hands are tied, and you begin to hate it. You hate the way his face is buried in your neck, sucking and biting and  you can’t bring him closer to you; can’t run your fingers through his thick dark blond hair the way you’ve always imagined. You can’t run your palms down the length of his back, feel the muscles that keep him alive. Want piles and piles inside of you in a perilous tower, tilting and swaying, waiting for the least opportune moment to collapse.

“Nanami,” you hiss, as he rips what’s left of your shirt. You wanted to tell him he owed you a uniform but you loathed it anyway. He pushes your bra up to expose your breasts. Whatever you had wanted to say is already forgotten. You are entranced by the way his eyes darken at the sight of your breasts, the way his tongue dips out to moisten his bottom lip as if preparing for an unexpected feast. Pleasure gnaws at you again, pulling at your navel making you feel as if you could plummet to whatever darkness hid behind Nanami’s eyes.

Whatever it was, however dark, you wanted to follow him through.

His mouth met your breast like a long lost lover. Your back arches at the feel of his tongue pressing and sucking against your nipple. Moans leave you before you can even think to hold them. Fire burns between your legs, and you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You crave him. This is not enough, he holds one breast with one, opening wide to suck in as much as he can. His free hand holds you up, pressing against the small of your back, trying to bring you even closer to him, as if he could devour you whole if he tried enough.

Your fingers curl and close trying to clutch and hold, but they grasp nothing.

“This isn’t fair,” you whine, tossing your head as he rips another olundating moan from you. He releases your breast with a pop and looks up at you through blond lashes. His face is flushed, eyes dark with lust, lips moistened by his own saliva.

He couldn’t look more delicious if he tried.

“I told you there are consequences,” he says, rubbing one scruffy cheek against your sensitive breast. The prickly sensation makes you squirm, and you swallow a gasp, trying to keep your composure.  He kisses the bruise he left on his current favorite breast, and moves on to the other one, leaving a wet trail behind him. “If you had been good, things would be different.”

You roll your eyes. Just as well, since he takes your attention deprived nipple between his teeth and tugs. “Ah!” you yell, and your back snaps. You feel him smile against your breast before he kisses around it, leaving your nipple alone. He bites, and sucks, using a hand to expose the underside where he becomes stubbornly obsessed with leaving a hickey. “Don’t just—” why would he stop? 

Nanami sucks his teeth. His hands are under you as he sucks on your breast, he finds the curve of your ass and grips. He mumbles against you. His words don’t register, you’re just trying to keep him where he is, hands tied, pressing against his back.

His hand is fumbling with your back pockets and for a moment you wonder what he is up to. Was this some other trick of his? He releases your breast, drool hanging off his chin. He lifts up the hand that had been in your back pocket and he holds up a lighter.

You feel slightly embarrassed but find it impossible to care for long. After all, you were itching for him to continue. You rub your legs together and whine.

“Yes, yes I know,” you say, aware of the inflection in your voice; petulant and childish. “Smoking is bad. Can we get on with it?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says, not so eager to let it go, as he wiggles the lighter in the air, dotting the I’s and crossing the t’s in his sentence. You watch as he tosses it unceremoniously on the dashboard. You quickly grow distracted. His mouth is back on your breasts and you shudder, feeling the heated coil within you tightening and tightening. At this rate, you were about to plummet into ecstasy before you could lay a single finger on Nanami. His fingers slip under your waistband and he pulls down your pants, roughly tugging until you are free.

You see him toss them to the back of the car where your blazer had disappeared earlier. Heated fingers dance over the skin of your thighs. They press against the inside of them, pushing your legs apart. You try to hide your face, somehow finding the energy to feel embarrassed. You want to beg. You want to ask him not to say anything about how wet you are but his fingers are reaching out, pushing against the wet stain on your panties. You bite down a whimper. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, using his thumb to draw a line up and down on your covered slit. “So wet and I’ve barely started.”

You gasp as he presses against your clit. He rubs lazy circles over your panties with his thumb, his free hand teasing, following the wet slick trail your cunt left on your underwear. You try swallowing your moans but it’s no use. He takes them from you with little effort, and you choose to stop fighting. 

He leans forward and presses his mouth against the inner side of your right knee, then left. He kisses sloppily up your inner thigh with a hot open mouth. You feel him leaving his scent on your skin and the thought somehow makes you hornier. You want to feel him everywhere. You want to go home and smell him on your skin, in your hair. Hot mouth finds  the space where your hip meets your thigh and he licks up and down before sucking, eager to leave his mark there as well.

After having his fill, he pulls your panties to the side, and dives into your heated pussy. Another moan, louder than before, forces you to arch your back. You hook your tied hands over his head as he laps at your pussy, tasting your wetness, taking in your musky scent. Your fingers aren’t long enough to reach where you want them so you grasp at bits of hair in hopes of grounding yourself. He slips his tongue between your lips, teasing your entrance, and your hips buck. You want him more than anything at the moment. You want to feel him inside you. You gyrate your hips as he works his tongue up and down your slit, wanting to take control. He laughs and grasps one hip to push you down.

“That’s enough,” he whispers to your clit before sucking it. You scream out at the sensation. You can feel it throbbing, aching. You’re so close. Your fingers tug on his hair and pull as you push your hips up, chasing the high of your orgasm. You cry out, his name a song on your lips. He smiles against your pussy and hums.

“Good girl, I’ll give you what you want now.” His voice is a low growl and it brushes your skin. You are aflame. You hold your breath as he unties your wrist. You remind yourself to breathe in as he unbutton his shirt. His smile is crooked and wicked as he leans forward, guiding your hands to his chest. You are beside yourself. The warmth under your palms makes you shiver. You feel the quivering in your thighs as your hands draw down, fingertips rolling over chiseled abs. You trail the sharpness of his muscles with both hands,  that form together to create a villainous V. 

Oh how you despised it and the way it made you want him more and more.

You look up in time to see his dark gaze on you. There is a soft smile dancing on his lips. He leans forward and captures your bottom lip, sucking it in, grazing his tongue across it.

You melt under the heat. He is on you, feverishly leaving kisses all over your face as he gathers you in his arms. He pulls you on his lap and helps you straddle him. Your hands are grasping everything in sight, everything they saw and wanted but could not have. You grip his biceps, admiring the thickness of them. Your hands comb through his hair as you kiss him, tongues clashing, teeth clumsily biting and scratching lips. You allow fingertips to dance around his jawline, committing it to memory. 

He tries to catch your fingers, nibbling at them when they get close to his mouth.

“Are you almost done?” he asks impatiently, pushing up against your crotch. You hum, feeling yourself bush. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder. You can feel him, hot and hard, ready. This isn’t your first time. Far from it, yet why did anxiety flutter in your chest?

“N-not yet,” you stall, grinding your hips as if to keep him satisfied. He moans, holding your head closer to him. You drop kisses on his collarbone and allow your hands to roam around his lower back. You’re busily suckling on the hollow of his clavicle when you hear him hum and sniff. You lick your way up his neck and to his pulse, where you suck greedily. You too are eager to leave your mark. His hand is in your hair and he tugs at it.

“Smell that?” he asks. 

Your sniff, unsure if this was a trick question. You pause and smell it: smoke.

“What’s that?” you ask, sitting straight up. Nanami moans as he holds your thighs and gives you a look that reads–don’t do that if you plan on stopping. “I’m serious.”

You glance behind you and see a tiny gray trail of smoke growing bigger and bigger on the dashboard. Your mind is foggy. Your lips are swollen, and your sensitive vagina is throbbing, aching for release but there was smoke in the car. Your brain couldn’t click the thoughts together to form the complete puzzle.

“Get out,” you hear Nanami say close to your ear. He is reaching behind the driver’s seat. He grasps a black blazer and opens the driver’s door with his other hand. You’re pushed out of the vehicle and stumble forward braless, in soiled panties on to the road. You run towards the side, hoping no traffic comes.

“Nanami!” you hiss, covering your tits. “What the fuck?”

He is following you, putting the blazer around your shoulders. He gives no answers as he speeds up, and drags you along, a quick sprint.

“Move. Fast,” he says with urgency and your legs, weak and trembling, carry you as best as you can. The smell of smoke intensifies and you dare to look over your shoulder.

The rental was on fire.

Your eyes widen even as Nanami urges you to keep going. Your legs pick up the pace. A resounding boom fills the open space by the sea, and you can hear the ocean pushing back. You lose your balance, and Nanami is quick to hold you, pulling you up by your arms. You look past him, and see the sad remains of the rental vehicle, still on fire.

“How much do you think that costs?” you ask him with a sour taste in your mouth. He looks down at you and takes in your downturned lips, and wide eyes.

“I don’t know, several thousand?”

“There goes my whole paycheck,” you whine, covering your face. “Was it even worth it?” A split second after speaking you realize you might have misspoke. An apology is about to fly out of your mouth but Nanami’s still face suddenly changes. His lips split and he laughed, a hearty belly laugh. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Your hands found his chest and let them rest there, feeling the rumbling underneath them. You allow warmth to spread through you.

“Oh,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. “Nobody’s ever made a laugh like that in a long,” he pauses to brush his nose against yours ever so lightly. “Long time.”

His hand rests on your cheek and you take it in between yours. You have no funny words, no smart remarks. No defensive tactic is left to hold him back.

“That’s still coming out of our paycheck.”

You groan and reach inside the pocket of your blazer. You pull out a pack of smokes and smack it on your hand repeatedly. Nanami’s eyes are heavy on you. You glance at the ground as you pull out a cigarette.

“Might as well,” you suggest with a shrug, tilting your head back to appeal to Nanami. You grab another cigarette and offer it to him. “You blew up my lighter so…” You walk towards the fire and reach out to light your cigarette. Nanami sighs beside you and plucks the other cigarette from you.

“Just this one time,” he says with a pointed stare.

Cigarettes lit, you both stare at the fire. 

“So, absolutely no chance in writing this off as a business expense?” you ask Nanami, cigarette hanging from the corner of your mouth.

“Am I a joke to you?”

[quitealotofsodapop]

Honestly if it were up to Macaque he'd adopt Bai Zhe right then and there. Dame with Wukong. The problem is, Macaque is technically legally dead. Or at least, he legally doesn't exist at all since he died in the Tang dynasty so there wouldn't be records for him at all. Wukong is not much better because while he does have a lawyer for things like copyright and such... he still spent 500+ years in near isolation and doesn't technically exist in the legal system either outside if being represented by a lawyer of some sort. Not ideal for adopting a child, especially since adoption would include things like home visits, employment, a shit ton of paperwork. Luckily PIF cab get him in contact with Fire Star and Gold Star owes him for the whole... Mountain thing. Between those two he's able to at least legally adopt her in the eyes of the gods, but the eyes of mortals are a little different. It ends up being this weird situation where Bai He is being fostered by Pigsy and Tang while Wukong goes through the legal BS that is trying to get custody of a human girl when he is effectively a myth as far as mortals are concerned.

Then there's the matter of Bai He's possession. Possession of a demon is, sadly, not as uncommon in the LMK universe as you'd think it is, and it has lingering effects beyond just the trauma if done for an extended amount of time. The LBD had, effectively, turned Bai He half ice demon by possessing her for nearly a year. This means someone is going to need to tea h this little girl how to control her previously nonexistent magic.

Wukong's and Macaque's earth-legal situation is like that one joke in SU:

Especially seeing how Bai He has been declared Missing for the last few months - I'm not sure if the Metropolis CPS has a protocol for dealing with possession victims. Just walking up to anywhere and saying "Yeah, she's my kid now." wouldn't fly in the mortal realm.

I feel like Pigsy and Tang wouldn't mind fostering Bai He while the monkey duo sort out all the legal nonsense. It kinda makes the two nostalgic for when MK was smaller. I feel like they already got used to the kid showing up almost every day to eat noodles (a new comfort food for her since it was the first thing she ate after LBD left her body) and pet Mo.

I also love ideas where Bai He's possesion leave her with demonic abilities - mainly ice powers and maybe some bony markings on her body. Beyond the usual hurdles of adapting to become something other than human, Bai He takes it in her stride.

Bai He, making her eyes glow blue with power: "You're gonna have a Bad Time." Macaque (is training her): "...Is that a pre-battle call you've been working on?" Bai He, now embarassed: "No... its from Undertale." Macaque (knows she means a video games): "Oh. What does the character do after saying that?" Bai He, excitedly: "He grabs your soul and destroys you with magic bones and giant skull lazers for hurting his family!" Macaque: "Wicked."

Despite being opposite elements, I could see Redson and Nezha helping Bai He out with her new powers. They remember having an element they can't control. Plus the little girl is like a sister they never had.

[sinning-23]

Mona Lisa

Warnings; none(yet)

Updates: Introduction found here

Chapter 2 found here

Chapter 1

The house was alive with guests and music. Of course, you were on the clock, taking time to paint the scene in front of you. Natalie was sweet enough to offer you some wine but you declined, needing the utmost attention in order to paint. So instead you were graced with a glass of water that rested beside you. The pleasant and savory aroma of spices filled the air. You felt at ease as the smells ignited nostalgic Memories of home.

You’d been painting for hours now, the once blank faces now taking shape as your background was completed. Needing to place your focus elsewhere for a minute, you looked out the window. The sky was a gorgeous purple and the lush clouds scattered around it was breathtaking. The trees outside were darkening as shadows cast over the house and a breeze gently shook the leaves. It’d make a beautiful landscape. 

You sigh, finally placing your brush down on your canvas after holding it for so long. Despite your work taking form in a culmination of calculated paint strokes and colors, your wrist was ready to betray you, the cramp beginning to form and your arm beginning to give out. Reluctantly leaving your station, you stand and stretch, deciding that you most definitely needed a break. 

Squeezing past partygoers, you find your way to the kitchen, hoping it’d be empty. But like always, your hopes were crushed when you spotted someone. A man with curled blonde locks falling over his face stood in front of a stove. His eyebrows lowered and knit together with a scowl on his lips.

He was just as into his craft as you were.

What was he cooking? That must’ve been what you were smelling when you were painting before. Maybe you shouldn’t hover over him. You take a step back, silently backing against the countertop, watching how his eyes darted from bowl to bowl of mixed ingredients but never to your figure standing across the room. Every movement made the muscles in his arms flex.

“I didn't know Nat had a personal chef.” You murmur, the rings on your fingers feeling uncomfortable with how tightly you were squeezing the countertop.

Damn Nerves. 

You must have startled him because he flinched at your voice and was just now taking the time to make quick eye contact with you.

“She uh- she doesn’t, just watching this for her…but she has a personal painter?” His icy blue eyes scan you. He’s analyzing and his focus lingers on your frame.

 What was he looking at? You averted your gaze, the coldness of his baby blue’s clashing with the warmth of your chocolate brown eyes. Since he decided to stare you took it upon yourself to return the favor. His arms are flexed, and the fabric of his simple long sleeve is rolled up enough to have them exposed. Black ink contrasts with his porcelain skin and his face has noticeable splotches of red, most likely from the heat of the stove. You allowed your eyes to trail down the middle of his face. His lips remained pressed into a line still awaiting your answer with his head tilted to the side. 

He’s pretty, really pretty. But you’d be a fool to say it aloud. 

“I wouldn't say personal. It's a favor for a friend.” You finally answer, turning to wash your hands and break the seemingly awkward stare-off you were having. His attention returns to the food. 

—-

The party had died down quite a bit. Your station clean up went better than you expected, the only thing left of your area was the canvas was on display. You return to the kitchen for the second time this evening to clean your brushes hoping to run into the ‘personal chef again’. Unfortunately, the blonde from before was nowhere to be seen.  The smell of spices was almost nonexistent now, every few minutes you’d turn around expecting to see him appear, even if it was just for a second. Judging on how spotless the kitchen looked, he must have cleaned up for Nat and left after he was done ‘watching’ whatever food for her. Speaking of which-

“The painting looks amazing.” She compliments with a smile.

You smile back, taking time to get between the bristles with your fingers, the clear water mixing in a sea of browns when your brushes made contact. 

“Thanks, I was starting to panic though, I got a cramp halfway through.” You chuckle, setting the brushes into your apron once they are rinsed. 

The two of you joke back and forth for a bit, discussing whatever subject came to mind. You’d gotten close enough to her for that type of thing now. She insists on paying you but you decline and reassure her this is simply a favor amongst friends. Of course, you just had to open your mouth and mention the stranger. 

“Who was that by the way? He said he was watching your food for you but I saw him add some stuff. He was kind of… I don't know. Anyway, who was he?” You question, clearing your throat a bit.

“Who, Carmy?” She questions, voice raising an octave as her brows raise. 

“So that's his name. I was kind of disappointed that I didn't see him again. He moves quickly. Whatever he was helping cook it smelled great.” You grin, the memory making you giddy. 

“Y/n, he’s my brother.” She explains making your eyes widen. 

“Really? Huh, he’s not much of a talker is he? I mean I was just- we just- I didn't want to interrupt him. I came in for a sec to take a break and…Well he was here but..” You try to explain, but Nat sees right through you. 

“Mhm, Well here’s his number. Give him a call sometime, he never talks to me anyway. Maybe he’ll talk if he has some extra company like you around.” She explains, handing you a freshly written Post-it note. 

—

The sun had long set, stars sprinkling the sky here and there while the cold nips at wherever it can get a hold on. Early spring still felt like winter. You decided to leave your paint supplies in your car and draw a few landscapes in your sketchbook. Maybe you'd even pull the stuff out in the park if you were feeling spontaneous. 

The apartment is warm and the whirr of your appliances is the first thing you hear upon entry. Bubbles, your fish is inside the castle of his own little fishbowl apartment and your lights are dim. To anyone else, this would be messy. But your studio was calculated chaos in your eyes. There was a system and in your mind, you knew where everything was and where it should be. 

Hot water runs from the shower head and onto your skin, soaking off the day's dirt with ease. You're sure not to wet your braids, the humidity from the steam already doing enough damage to make them fuzzy. It was time for fresh ones anyway. Your mind trails thoughtlessly over to-do lists and possibilities for tomorrow, but the person you’d least expect to cross your mind was the stranger you knew as, Carmen.

Natalie did say they were siblings and the more you think about the two of them the easier it gets to see the resemblance. Speaking of which, you knew of her older brother. Michael? Yeah, Michael. That's who you did the portrait for that day she requested…well it was a portrait for her of course. It's been months since you touched it but she was so understanding.

You lower your sleep mask and tuck into the warmth of your comforters, turning off your phone for the night after drafting your message.

To: ***-***-****

Personal painter to personal chef. What are the odds of us meeting again?

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

SYNOPSIS: They lost you years ago in Border Springs, but now, they have their second chance to get you back to them.

TW/S: Yandere behavior, major character death/s, delusional thinking/mindset, non-canon to original Coviello, train conductor! Coviello is insane here actually, gore, forced cannibalism of certain parts, drugs (heavily implied to be used), Sweet Dreams AU (plot is basically nonexistent because I thought of writing this as an imagines... At 1 AM lol. God help me), unreliable narrator (that's me)

NOTE: Please keep in mind that Coviello is not my oc, but my good friend, Mei (@zhongrin/@meimeimeirin)! I teased to her and a few others about this so I hope this is enough lol.

████████ didn't understood the concept of love.

Ever since they were a kid, they have never grasped the matter of love. They've red books about it, and even asked others their own views on the matter, but nothing stuck.

████████ didn't understand why... And it frustrated them.

Just what was it that made them lost? What is it about love that made people so pathetic over it?

Despite their grievances, things did change when they encountered you. Little 9 year old ████████, frustrated by the events that made them struggle to grasp emotions, had met someone that evoked and expressed them so seamlessly.

Their blue eyes caught sight of you.

You were a bit younger than them— maybe 2 years younger?— but ████████ couldn't help to think on approaching you first. You were folding a few papers while sitting under the shade, and they couldn't help but be curious.

"... Hey."

Your head moved over to look at them.

They look... A little dirty. But they're happy.

Why is that?

"Hm? What is it?"

...

"What are you doing?" ████████ couldn't help but ask, their eyes fixated on you folding the paper a few times.

They tilted their head when you laughed at their question, this time grabbing their sleeve to pull them down to sit beside you.

"I'm folding a paper crane! Mama taught me how!"

...

████████'s eyes softened. Your speech needed a bit of work, but they can let it slide. Not everyone can learn how to speak, let alone make cranes.

"Do you want me to teach you?"

"Huh?

It was their turn to be caught by surprise, just like how ████████ did to you.

"To make paper cranes, duh!" you said, giggling. "Do you wanna learn how?"

... It's not worth it.

".. alright. I guess that's fine."

There were certain days that Coviello cherished.

Despite having such a rough life, the conductor can still remember the sweet memories they had. That was the first time they remembered meeting you— the one that opened their stubborn mind to the world.

They couldn't help but wonder... Was it because they're drawn to you? Like a moth to a flame?

Or was it because, at the time, you were lonely?

Like me?

...

Tsk. They wouldn't be.

Still, Coviello reached over to brush at the worn paper, the crane still standing tall. They could even see the pencil written on it's wings. It was your chicken handwriting— they knew that well, since they've seen it so often when you were both kids— but it made them feel nostalgic.

Despite the words being smudged and faded, their eyes can still make out what was written from the dirtied, yellow paper:

[ H█p██ ██r██day ████████! — January 22, 20XX ]

The name of the recipient was smudged, but it was fine. They did the best they could to preserve it, but sometimes, there may be things that is inevitable.

And one such thing is how they were separated, torn from the one they cherished as their friend.

Recalling how it went, Coviello scoffed. They hated remembering it, for it felt like they didn't knew the truth behind the incident. So what if they hurt you? They reasoned that it was an accident— a fluke!

You even reasoned with them, so how—

The train's whistle cut off their thoughts.

Ah. We reached our stop.

Putting on their hat and uniform, they adjusted the vest and gloves, just so they'd look... Decent. Even if that won't change, they felt as though they needed to do it out of habit.

It's the only 'normal' they had.

"Ah, excuse me."

Coviello's eyes shifted when they noticed you dozing off. Although they were shocked to see you at first, they were pleased. Finally, you were here on the train, leaving Midport, too.

Although, you were tired... How strange. That's not good, mused the conductor.

"You seem tired," Coviello commented, putting on their familiar smile as they pulled out their pen and notepad. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

They watched you eye them carefully, seeing the cogs in your brain work as it tries to think if they were familiar to your memories before.

...

Alas, they could tell that you gave up on it, considering you gave them a sorry excuse of a smile and nodded.

"I'd like a cup of coffee, please," you told them, making them write down what you requested.

"Alright—"

"Huh? Is the conductor takin' drinks now?" hollered one voice. A man, Coviello presumed.

"Heyyy conductor! Can we get free drinks, too?"

Coviello's smile twitched for a second, but they turned to the man— ah, of course. They should've known that it would be a tourist... And a couple.

Hmph. They're married, judging by those rings.

"Of course. What would you like?" they asked, remaining that professional smile amidst the icy tone and stare.

Unperturbed by their subtle shift of attitude, the man laughed, amused at the thought. He turned to his newly married wife, a grin on his face.

"What do you want, babe?"

"Oh, I just want a sweet drink with lots of love, hehe!"

"Aww, you always say that. You're so cute, darling!"

"Noooo, you're cuter than me!"

...

Disgusting.

Coviello had tuned out of most of their... 'conversation', only nodding and taking notes when its necessary. They've dealt with annoyances like them in the past, but it was never to this degree.

Still, they wished it'd be done now. They have your drink to brew.

One that they would take their sweet time with, of course.

They knew that, morally speaking, they were in the wrong to have messed with your head like that. But what were they supposed to do?

The train conductor was a simple person. They only wanted one thing that'd make them happy, and they weren't one to ask for anything else. Hell, they never asked for anything to change— so as long they'd get to have it, of course.

They wanted their friend.

... Or, rather, the one who opened their eyes to the world.

Their friend had been the one that stuck by them, but even they couldn't help and think that they were too good for everyone else. Maybe even for them, too.

The irony of wanting something... And also pushing it away out of spite.

Such is the fault of humanity.

Though, during both of your separation, you've grown stronger. Wiser, even. You were naive back when they were your only friend as a child, but now in the train, you were cautious.

Coviello didn't knew if that is something they should praise you for, or to loathe, considering how difficult it has been just to get you to settle in place. Alas, they have to digress.

Walking past the empty halls of the train, they couldn't help but spare a glance to the windows. They were still the same as they saw it, but if one looked closely, they'd see some odd patches on the window panes and fabric, like it wasn't cleaned and got stuck.

They knew what that was.

Whoever can see it would understand that very well.

"... Hm? What's wrong?"

Coviello crouched down in front of the married woman, their eyes remaining dead as they were as they watched her quiver and shake. Gasping, they pushed themselves away from the conductor, the sight of the cup scaring them.

"Didn't you say you wanted a drink that is filled with love?"

Snatching the cup, they grabbed her chin and firmly kept it in place, stained gloves gripping on her head to turn her as they raised it.

Oh, they knew what they made. The contents inside it can scare someone, but not them.

"Drink it," they ordered, placing the thumb of their hand to part her lips. Placing the rim of the cup in her mouth, they could hear her choke out sobs.

"Drink it. You asked for it, didn't you?"

She couldn't shake her head when she could feel the crimson liquid stain her mouth, some spilling out at the sides and below, letting it stain her attire. It was even worse when Coviello tilted it higher, letting the eye slip in her mouth.

How unhygienic, mused Coviello. But that's alright.

They're quite used to cleaning things up themselves.

Shoving every last drop of the unholiest drinks known to man, they could hear the soft shuffling from outside. Pausing, they lowered the cup, their eyes darting from the doorway.

It was left ajar.

Coviello knew what that meant.

If there is something they're quite proud of, it'd be that they can always find you.

Wherever you are, whatever place you ended up in, Coviello always knows where to look first. In fact, it had been something they held their pride on, in a sick and twisted way.

It simply shows that even if you were separated from them, you'll always find yourself back in their arms, one way or another.

Still... Coviello couldn't deny that your escape was futile. It had been fueled by survival instincts, and they remembered just how fearful you got when they caught you.

They may enjoy your company, but they don't enjoy being abandoned without an explanation.

Stepping to the second cart, they checked one of the rooms inside to see if you were there. Their lips seem to stretch to a smile upon seeing that yes, you were.

Maybe they were harsh to have your legs be bound like a mermaid's tail, or to have you consume such a lethal drink from misbehaving the last time. Though, they ignored that now.

To them, they got what they wanted.

It's such a shame that no one will find out where they went, though. Especially to the ones who had received the kiss of death.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

[outspirk]

HOW DO YOU GET THAT VINTAGE LOOK I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR AGES I don't want to buy a polaroid

Doesn't show but I'm actually excited as fuck about it. I've been a photographer for like, what, six years? maybe seven? I have a trusty DSLR that might be old by today's standards but still takes beautiful, professional quality pictures. I've tried all kinds of flashes and filters to get this sort of look but you know what did it? My mom's early 2000s camera. Yeah, one of these

that picture was taken with the camera on the left, a Samsung ST66, I would consider it a midrange 2010s digital camera in regards to the quality and liberty of adjustments. the camera on the right is my backup for the day, a Kodak Easyshare C142, your average economic family camera (everyone knows someone who owns one of these I believe)

Highest chances are, you probably have someone in your family with a digicam abandoned on some drawer because people don't use these anymore, they've abandoned them in favor of their phones. If this isn't the case, you can probably get one on a secondhand store or eBay, for pretty cheap!

(I don't have many recommendations, other than probably get one that's over 12mp, with at least 3x zoom, preferably from 2010 or newer. As to brands, it's a lottery. People recommend the Nikon Coolpix a lot (I love Nikon sensors so I can vouch for that much) or Olympus and Canon cameras. Despite what you may believe, Kodak hasn't made a good digital sensor since, well, never, so I wouldn't personally recommend it a lot)

Why a digicam?

why not!! here's two features of your digicam that your phone doesn't have:

- analog zoom: you know when you're zooming in on one of these and the lens starts making noises and moving around? that's the multiple individual lenses in your camera moving around so that you can zoom in three, five, or even ten times the size of your picture without losing any quality. what your phone does when you zoom in, in opposition, is basically cropping the picture you're taking. digital zoom is inherently lossy — not to mention the angular graduation of phone lenses causes the image to have some distortion in comparison to the way we see (yeah, this is why you look ugly on your pictures but pretty in the mirror)

- big, harsh, blinding flash: this is THE MAIN THING, the main element of that "polaroid look". These types of cameras have a limited or nonexistent aperture range, so they overcompensate by turning on auto flash. This overcompensation results in a very characteristic look that makes us feel nostalgic. when taking night pictures, turn that flash on!!!

and, here are two features of your digicam that a professional camera doesn't have:

- small, harsh, crappy flash: see: above. DSLR's built in flashes... They do the job. Everyone knows if you need the real deal you gotta get one of those big fancy fixtures, but also, Nikon doesn't want you taking crappy pictures with their camera so they put some work into defusing the flash and shit so it's not as crappy and harsh. Joke's on them, we kinda like that!!

- smaller, cheaper, limited, overall CRAPPIER: and you know what? That's good. A point and shoot cam is good actually!! we get lost in features and lenses and sometimes it's a bit much. A small portable camera with its so many limitations can help us focus on composition and storytelling, and mainly just... Having fun!!! photography used to be about having fun, remember? whether you're out on your own or with friends, you and other people will take your crappy digicam wayyy less seriously than they would your professional cam. And that takes a lot of pressure away.

Anyways this is your sign to dust off your crappy digicam and go shoot some pictures.

[cryptidsurveys]

Thursday, August 29th, 2024.

Will you answer these questions as personally as you can? Yeah, sure, I'll give it a shot.

Why are you happy? I have so many reasons to be happy. All the way from the "big stuff" like having a safe place to live, enough food to eat and clean water to drink, people who love me, a job that gives me a sense of passion and purpose, etc; to things like the fact that it's cloudy today, I'm eating a yummy breakfast as I take this, I don't have a migraine, autumn is soon approaching, and so on and so forth. Sometimes I lose sight of the good because I'm too focused on things that are going wrong or stressing me out, but I try to routinely remind myself of everything that's going right or that does make me happy.

Who’s the last person you hugged? Nan. I mentioned her in a recent survey. She's a volunteer at the shelter who does heaps of our dirty laundry. I don't know where we would be without her…probably suffocating beneath a mountain of stinky blankets and towels. Anyway, I went out to greet her the other day and she was like, "You're always smiling!" and gave me a hug. :')

Would you pay someone to kill the person who hurt you a lot? I would never do something like that. I wouldn't even wish death on any of the people who have hurt me. However, if there was some magical way to guarantee that I would never encounter those people again…I might take it.

Do you like the song ‘Sick Little Games’ by All Time Low? I've never heard it before; lemme go take a listen… It's alright, but it probably wouldn't make it onto my nonexistent playlist.

Last night you felt? Grateful for the day. I went to the Mountain Park with my dad and it was such a relaxing and nostalgic time. You know when the weather has a certain quality to it and it brings up all kinds of memories? Well, it was like that. I was also relieved that I didn't have to go to the shelter the following morning. My last few "weekends" were busy and exhausting and I spent the last one with an on/off headache, so it's just been nice to have two full days of chillin' and feelin' good.

How are you feeling right now? Tired but relaxed. Introspective. Twinges of dread/nervousness about tomorrow, but for no real reason (everything should be fine). Loving this cool and cloudy weather with its promise of fall.

Are you drifting away from someone you were close with? No.

Is there someone you’d like to fix things with? Yeah.

Have you ever liked someone that treated you like crap? Ehhh.

What are you listening to? Esther purring. She's curled up behind me on the computer chair.

Have you ever stayed in a hotel? Plenty of times.

What is in your pocket? My pockets are empty.

Have a best friend? I do.

Does it bother you when your best friend does stuff without you? My best friend lives in California, so they're always doing things without me.

Do you keep any secrets from your best friend? They know most of my biggest secrets.

What were you doing 60 minutes ago? I had just arrived home from grocery shopping, made myself breakfast, and started browsing for a survey to take.

Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? My dad knows pretty much everything. There are a lot of things I haven't told my mom and probably never will.

What’s something that can always make you feel better? Aside from partaking in my favorite hobbies and doing things I enjoy, it's usually time that does the trick.

What do you want right now? Ugh. I just realized that one of my kitties might have another UTI. She gets them occasionally, so she's going to have to go to the vet later. :'(

What would you name your future son? I don't want children.

If you had to eat 1 thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? Oatmeal.

How’s your life lately? Busy.

Last person to send you a text? My dad. I texted him on Tuesday to let him know I was on my way home from the shelter and he sent me a brief reply.

What were you doing at 8:00 this morning? Eating breakfast while taking this survey.

Did you have a good birthday this year? Yeah. It was snowy, I spent the morning at the shelter, then went out to lunch with my parents.

Have you done anything embarrassing lately? I'm embarrassed by it, but was it actually embarrassing…? Idk. When I see other people get upset or vent about Diane, I don't think, "Oh my God, how embarrassing." I'm more like, "FVCKING SAMEEE!!!" Talking to Iris (manager) about it was excruciatingly awkward, but it's probably all in my head. As a manager, she's probably used to dealing with issues like that.

Do you trust easily? No. But like I've been saying - I don't know how much of that is a "me thing" versus the fact that I spend a lot of time around people I find to be untrustworthy. Maybe I would open up a lot more in a different environment.

Do you like cookies n’ cream ice cream? Yeah.

How often do you raise your hand in class and answer a question? I'm not in school anymore, but in the past, almost never.

Ever been mistaken for someone else, and took it as an insult? No.

Would you get a mega bag of skittles, or three regular ones? I'm not a big fan of Skittles.

What color shirt are you wearing? I've got on a black t-shirt, a sort of slate gray/blue long-sleeve shirt, and a pine green sweater.

Is there a boy that would do absolutely everything for you? Not in a romantic sense, but my dad is always there for me.

Did you ever think you had the Swine flu? Possibly.

Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence? I smoke, but aside from myself, I'm not sure.

Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night? My dad.

Are you a mean person? No. I can be mean (selfish, thoughtless, etc), but I don't think I exhibit those qualities to the extent that I would be considered a "mean person."

Does anyone hate you? Idk.

Do you usually tell people when you’re mad at them? I really only feel comfortable expressing anger with my dad and my therapist. When it comes to other people, I tend to stuff it down until I inevitably explode - which was what happened with the Diane situation. It probably took everyone by surprise, including me! It's not like I woke up that day planning to go all scorched earth.

This time last year, can you remember who you liked? No one.

Will this weekend be a good one? I hope so.

Have you ever liked someone older than you? Yeah.

Are you mad at someone right now? Ehhh.

[scribblestatic]

It's the evening of the day something or someone caused part of U.A.'s gate to decay.

Of course, the teachers are already working on repairs by the end of the day, and the sun is setting. All Might, already out of juice, walks along the halls inside, tiredly wondering what could've done such a thing. After all, U.A.'s walls are incredibly strong, but they were crumbled with ease.

As he wonders this, he looks up toward one of the windows facing the gate.

There's someone standing there, watching the repairs.

They're cloaked in pale, wispy white, staring outside. The sun's retreating rays almost seem to run right through the figure.

When All Might's gaze trails down toward the figure's feet, he realizes it's quite possible the sun really is going through them. Everything from the ankles down is gone, faded into nonexistence.

"Hello, young one," All Might greets, getting closer. "School's already let out, so you can't be on campus right now."

The person doesn't respond, not turning to look at him. Their poncho sways loosely around their calves, the hood pulled up and over their head. All Might frowns, starting to slow down. After all, it doesn't appear like the person is wearing the school uniform.

What if they aren't a student?

"...Perhaps you're lost? I know it's not easy for kids during the first few days. Which class are you a student of?"

They don't answer.

All Might checks his body for even the slightest hint of power in his veins. He finds an empty keg, dried and dusty. There's nothing in the tank for him to use.

Just like that day.

...He hadn't actually talked to anyone about that day. The day he failed to find the sludge villain fast enough. The day he couldn't muster his power. The day that young boy, still able to live for a little while, even with his jaw torn open, lost and abandoned in a nearby alleyway until he died a pointless death.

Instead, he learned the boy's name, learned he was quirkless, and decided to nestle his name alongside the many others he hadn't been able to save in his long heroics career.

He tried to be careful since then. To have something in the tank for a moment's notice. But there were so many incidents that popped up--so many people who needed saving at any given moment. He couldn't just abandon them.

So he let his power dry out, day after day. Today was one such day as well.

Quietly, he tries to think of what to do or say next. If he sent a message to any of the other heroes, would they arrive in time to help? Should he even call them, when he doesn't actually know what quirk this person has? Despite his currently decrepit state, he's still a hero in his own right.

"...Did you hear me?"

"Oh. I heard you."

The stranger's voice sounds eerie. A whisper that, despite said so quietly, echoes in his ears, like two to three soft voices overlapping each other.

However, though eerie...there was an unnatural sense of ease that came over him.

Whoever this was meant no harm.

Although the air felt colder now that the other was speaking, it wasn't with danger. More like the feeling of a steady spring breeze. His nose twitched, and he just very slightly noticed the scent of cherry blossoms.

It was a nostalgic smell, one that had faded with the start of the new school semester. But it still clings to this strange person standing here.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

The stranger turns toward him, their body simply shifting without the movement of their feet, as though standing on a rotating tile on the floor. All Might blinks when he sees their face.

Mostly because it's entirely concealed in an unnatural blackness under the hood. He can't even see the person's eyes or mouth, nothing of their face at all.

"I was just listening."

"Listening? To what?"

"To the voices. I'm following a very thin trail."

Well, that made no sense. However, the person's disarming, whispering nature still didn't set off any alarms. He probably should've found that alarming, and yet, he only slightly did. Though, the feeling was more out of curiosity than fear. Even so, he has enough wits about him to not mindlessly approach the strange person.

"A thin trail, you say? Is there a way I or anyone else can help you?"

"Hmm... It's possible, perhaps. But I'm not sure it is right now. It's an almost imperceptible trail, surrounding this school and the students in it."

All Might's gaze narrows. "...I can't say I know what to make of that. Or rather, what to make of why you've said that."

But the figure just shrugs, their shoulders shifting under the poncho.

"I mean no ill will. I suppose it's just a warning to look out for them."

The person moves again, though, again, without moving their legs. They simply float forward unnaturally, and in an instant, they're passing by All Might's side.

A chill shudders its way down his spine.

"Be watchful. I sense malice toward Class 1-A."

And then they pass.

When All Might quickly turns around, intending to ask more, there's...

Nothing.

No one.

The chill is gone, as is the whispered scent of cherry blossoms.

[dream-meister-translations]

DREAM MEISTER & THE RECOLLECTED BLACK FAIRY

MIKAGE PAST #2

━

After spending much of my childhood at Asahi’s home, I would eventually return my village at the age of ten with my mother.

The reason? To begin my full time training as a member of the Shadow Clan.

Honestly… I wasn't looking forward to it...

MIKAGE : (Is this village really safe?)

Perhaps it was simply because I had lived so peacefully in the kingdom of Kobai for so long…

…But even as a child, I somehow knew... that this village was falling behind the times…

MIKAGE : (Sure, the war is still going on but... every nation was getting… what was the word? Weary?)

MIKAGE : (Whatever comes next, especially with someone like Asahi leading, seems likely to be more peaceful than now, at least.)

When that happens, what will become of those who can only live in the shadows of the village?

MIKAGE : (Me included, perhaps.)

Feeling too lazy to think, I reluctantly gave myself to my training. Even as my motivation remained… practically nonexistent…

Unfortunately… It seemed I had a talent for all these shadow techniques…

VILLAGE HEAD : A talent indeed.

MIKAGE : Huh?

VILLAGE HEAD : Strive forward in your training, child. The future of the village rests upon you.

MIKAGE : (This is bad...)

Call it a hunch but I suddenly had the feeling that if things continued like this… I’d be stuck living a chore-filled life thanks to the head of the village very, very soon…

MIKAGE : (I’m not for dealing with all that crap… So what do I do about it...)

After some time thinking about how to get out of my duties to the village, I decided that, when I was about 15 or so, I needed to go on a… “journey of enlightenment” so to speak. Citing the need to hone my skills further or whatever convenient reason would actually get me out of the village.

Persuading the head of the clan was tough, but with my father's support, I managed to obtain permission. And so, I set out on my journey alone.

MIKAGE : (Ahh… Nothing like an undisturbed nap... Pure bliss…)

This was definitely the life. While I was still expected to respond to my village’s summons, it was much more easygoing than being stuck in the village itself.

MIKAGE : (I am kinda hungry though… But there's no way around that…)

I spent much of my days in this blissful stupor.

━

And then one day… As I was having my usual midday nap, a carrier pigeon arrived.

MIKAGE : (Oh, so this must be a report from the village?)

I untied the message attached to its leg and read its contents.

MIKAGE : (They want me to help in the war... Ugh, what a pain. Wait, what…?)

MIKAGE : (Kobai Kingdom has been invaded by the neighboring regions!?)

And it sounded like they were in dire straits, too… Many of their more prominent nobles, renowned warriors, even our own clan were under attack...

I arrived to Kobai Kingdom as swiftly as I could...

But my journeys had taken me far… Far too far… And by the time I’d finally arrived… The war was already over…

━

ASAHI : ..................

As I approached the estate where I spent most of my childhood, I saw a figure that brought back nostalgic memories.

But something was… Different… His eyes… They were vacant… And his body was… Too small for his frame... There wasn’t a single trace left of the vitality he once had in his youth...

MIKAGE : (Asahi? Is that really him…?)

He sat by the window, entirely lost in a reverie of his own thoughts, and remained entirely unaware of my presence…

MIKAGE : (If only I had arrived sooner...)

MIKAGE : (No… That's conceited of me. It's not like my presence would have changed anything…)

MIKAGE : (Not if they still lost even with Asahi to guide them...)

Despite this my heart felt anchored down in my chest….

Clasping my trembling hands to suppress these overwhelming emotions, I turned my back on Asahi without a word...

And so it was, that I returned to my former life…

Wandering around alone… Engaging it my midday bouts of rest... And occasionally fulfilling missions sent from the village…

But… But each new horrific scene I bore witness to… Asahi's broken and emaciated figure haunted my thoughts...

Was there truly no easy way to life?

If only there was, then everyone could live a better life. The kingdom, and all those who perished...

To live a life where you can't enjoy what you love, and can't freely laugh in the company of others—

Its absurd, isn't it…?

[neodiji]

Wow, life.

Work is a mess, but I still don't see myself doing anything else. There is a teacher shortage FOR A REASON (well, several reasons...) and it is well-documented, yet nobody actually does anything about it. More duties are added to our plates that we need to complete on our own time, and it just isn't manageable. We don't have planning time anymore because we have meetings and other tasks to do. Teaching has always been like this to some extent, but it just keeps getting worse. Additionally, due to aforementioned teacher shortage, class sizes are larger so that makes the workload heavier just by itself (more students to take into account, assess, track data on, communicate with families about, learn their styles, etc.) We're also not really allowed to give consequences for misbehavior anymore, which makes classroom management harder -- but then we're evaluated on keeping the kids "controlled" during our official observations, so there is a huge disconnect there. To be fair, the system itself has been failing for decades. It just. Keeps. Getting. Worse.

Yet...YET...I live for the moments when my kids' eyes light up about reading, or when they master something that was originally difficult for them. I love when they beg to do more math in their "free time" and when they ask me to play learning games at recess. I love teaching them to celebrate themselves and take pride in working hard. I love when my shy students finally find their voices, or when my impulsive kids use their calm-down strategies and words instead of their hands to solve problems. I adore hearing from families, "Wow, you are making such a difference in my child's life. He comes home now and he WANTS to read..." I love that I have four or five of my kids from my class last year who make it a point to come give me a hug every morning before the day starts, even though their new classroom this year is on a different hallway.

Teaching is so hard, but it's worth it to me. I absolutely could not handle this job if I was married with kids though. It's a good thing I'm aroace and have no desire for the "traditional lifestyle."

Personal-life-wise, my parents' health have been declining. They are in hospitals or skilled nursing facilities more than anywhere else. When they are home, they need around-the-clock care. It is so draining to be a caregiver. I feel depleted. My daily schedule for the past 7 months has been "teach all day (which is already a demanding job) and then go to the hospital/SNF/home and see to their extensive needs all evening and night." I taught summer school too, because I am in desperate need of money. I'm so lucky my sister takes over during the day, so I can keep working and I don't lose my job. This lifestyle is B R E A K I N G me though. I am so exhausted. I am not my best teacher self when I'm so tired and emotionally drained. I am not my best self, period, when I'm trying to take care of so many other people that "self-care" is basically nonexistent.

But...BUT...I have been writing more. Writing SuzaLulu is helping me cope, and it's what I'm choosing to do in my moments of Me Time (usually Saturday evenings, when my brother can come over and take over Parent Duty). It's so different from writing Blackmail. I am not planning or agonizing over my writing. I just type what I want, and it's just for fun so there are no expectations. I can't fail. Plot doesn't make sense? Whatever, it's just fanfic. It's amazing. I am enjoying writing these idiots again. I do feel nostalgic for the Code Geass fandom experience from years ago, but I'm also loving starting to make new connections and embracing how things currently are. Fandom is a wonderful escape from the pressures of daily life. So in that respect, I am choosing to write for self-care. So that's what I call personal progress.

Also, as much as I hate this care-giving lifestyle, I am more appreciative than ever for my siblings. I also am proud of myself for rising to the occasion and doing my part. I'm glad I have learned so much about cancer and my parents' other health conditions that I might be able to help someone else in the future going through a similar situation. I am also appreciative of my colleagues, who have been understanding and supportive of what I'm going through at home. Sometimes life is dark, but it helps to actively think about the light shining through. And there are several stars in the night sky.

And, one of my biggest positives is that I'm buying my first home. We're trying to get my parents into assisted living because it's high time, which means I can then focus more on my own life. And when they sell the family home, I'll need somewhere to go. And I'm lucky enough that I've been able to save enough over the years to make this move possible. Even with all the stress, I am very, very, VERY excited about the little townhouse I'm about to own.

Seriously. If someone wants to come squee with me about my new home and help me plan/decorate, I would love it. My siblings are so drained that they're really not up for it, and my parents aren't always in their right minds anyway. My colleagues are happy for me, but they are spending time with their own families over winter break. I would love to talk about color scheme and buying used furniture and possible room arrangement and finally, finally, FINALLY making a safe place of my own.

My absolute biggest positive? With my mom away in the hospital so often, Nimbus has discovered that I exist. Even when my mom is home, Nimbus chooses to follow me, to cuddle me, to purr at me. There were a few years there where even though he was officially my cat, it didn't feel like it because he didn't care about me. Now, he does. It's nice that my cat had a change of heart for the better. It's amazing to be cuddled. I need the love.

[x-tracuddlycactus]

S.quilliam X S.quidward feedism drabble

Don't like? DON'T READ!

TW: gay octopi ex-lovers

Ah... B.ikini B.ottom. The place where all sorts of fascinating sea creatures and even non sea creatures live. A truly fantastical wonderland of fish and wetness beyond what the mind can comprehend. Let us check up on one of our favorites, shall we?

There he is, our favorite cephalopod. There's a name for such specimin like this, but we'll just call him "S.quidward." S.quidward seems to be upset today. Let's take a closer look.

Inside his stone home, S.quidward is sitting on his bed with a depressed frown. It seems he is having some nostalgic memories about a special someone from years ago, and he can't seem to get over him. How could he? After all, the picture of the octopus in his hand (tentacle? Arm?) was his first real lover and quite possibly his last.

In the vast mind of that bald headed, big nosed fellow, he was contemplating on calling his ex one last time. S.quidward needed to hear his voice. He craved it like how he craved for S.pongebob to have exploded after eating that bomb. But who was he kidding? Why would he of all sea creatures decide to pick up the phone for him?

Just as S.quidward was about to pussy out, a ring was heard from the phone... All three of his hearts leaped in anticipation.

Could it be??

S.quidward instantly threw out all of his dignity and leaped for the phone, picking it up in an instant. His breath caught in his throat as soon as he recognized the voice on the other end.

"Were you thinking about me just now, S.quiddy?~" A short nasally laugh, belonging only to him, rang out like music to S.quidward's nonexistent ears. There was that petname again. Only he was allowed to call him such a devious little petname...

"S-S.quilliam... How did you know?" Was it possible that S.quilliam was thinking of him too? At this very moment?? No. That could have been too big of a coincidence- "I can sense it, S.quiddy. That emotional bond we had was too strong to fade away."

A long pause..............................

"... The truth is, S.quiddy... I miss what we had."

This can not be happening right now. S.quilliam never admitted his true feelings. Was he finally being open? Vulnerable for once? S.quidward paused and swallowed hard, sweat rolling down his shiny head. "S.quilliam... I... I'm not sure we should-.... I mean... I can't go through this again. I don't even know why I thought we could."

Another long pause................... and a sigh from the other end.

"You're really going to make me say this, aren't you? I miss the things we used to do. Remember? Surely you do?"

What they used to do... How could S.quidward forget? It was possibly the best time of his life. His hand (again... tentacle? Arm?) subconsciously slithered up his brown shirt and squished the folds of fat with nostalgia. Fond memories of going on multiple dinner dates in one night, the tender touch of suction cups on his filled out belly... He could practically feel his touch once more.

"S.quiddy? I know you're still there. I can hear you breathing."

Another gulp, this time, it was one of excitement. "Y-yes, I'm still here."

More silence.......................... (third time is the charm)

"Go to the kitchen, S.quiddy." A command. Something S.quidward was more than willing to do. Immediately, he stood from his bed and walked downstairs, his feet (... tentacles? Legs? ARMS???) making their signature farting sounds as he stepped to the fridge. "Okay... I'm there."

He could almost feel the seductive grin forming on his ex-lover's blue face. "Tell me, S.quiddy... what do you have in your ice box? Don't skip over anything."

With a quick and eager glance inside, he began to list off everything. "There's my imported cheese, an assortment of yams, summer sausage, milk, and some kelp salad." His stomach was already growling up a storm.

"Excellent. Your taste in food never disappoints. Go ahead... Let me hear you chew up those yams first. I'm not hanging up until I know my S.quiddy is well fed~"

This was certainly going to be a long night...

[sheirukitriesfandom]

WIP Whenever

@miraakulous-cloud-district tagged me to share some of my writing (Thank you 😀).

Since I don't want to spoil ACoS and don't have any worthwhile excerpts from my active WIPs I haven't posted already, have something from ye olde "Ideas I will get to someday, I swear" folder.

Tagging (writing or artwork): @elavoria @nostalgic-breton-girl @friend-of-giants @alma-amentet @katastronoot @the-sunlit-earth @skyrim-forever

Spoilers for my version of the CoW questline. Also, there's a placeholder left in there because I still couldn't be bothered. Sorry 😬

With muffled steps, Rethul snuck in through the door, past the garden and around the wall behind which the archmage's bed was located.

In a chair next to it, Rashkan sat motionless except for his thumb stroking the back of archmage Aren's hand. He was mummified with blankets, sleeping, his head and neck wrapped in bandages and stabilized by some ungodly healer's contraption. 

"Good evening," Rethul whispered, feeling as though his voice could do even more damage.

"What do you want?" Rashkan hissed, granting him not a single glance. 

Rethul moved closer and carefully sat down at the foot of the bed—that did earn him a glare, one that would have made Alduin himself quiver with fear.

"How's he doing?" Rethul nodded at the archmage. "Not gonna croak, I hope."

[Something something if looks could kill] 

"Part of his neck cracked when he hit the ground. Colette fused and stabilized the bones as best as she could but… The brain, nerves—such complex things; even the most skilled of healers are likely to do more harm than good should they choose to meddle with them. And if there is internal bleeding…" Rashkan sighed. He looked tired—regardless of whether the undead felt tiredness at all; that was a question Rethul would ask at a later time. "If he ever wakes," Rashkan continued, "there is a good chance he will suffer lasting damage. Alas, Do not pretend you are asking for his sake."

Rethul flicked his tongue. Of course he was not here for the archmage's sake; the man had caused him more trouble than the damn Imperial Legion.

"Rude and sharp as always, I see. You're correct though, I've come to ask for help."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask."

"Yet my answer persists."

"But—But someone needs to help me survive Mzulft. Mirabelle's request, ya know. Gotta track down the Synod. Can't do that if I die to a bear or bandit on the way. C'mon we were a good team at Fellglow Keep."

"If you are too weak to handle miniscule distractions such as wolves or bears on your own, ask the students or one of the erudites. I am going nowhere and that decision is final."

Rashkan's gaze wandered back to the sleeping archmage. There was a fondness in his eyes, a desperate plea that transcended words. Prickly as the grumpy vampire was, at least one person avoided getting stung. Somewhere in the back of Rethul's head, a voice demanded 100 Septims for winning a nonexistent bet.

[catflowerqueen]

Bearing in mind that I am unfamiliar with the greater body of work of this particular poet, and have only seen this piece, which is a translation...

(Amateur literary analysis with my own personal opinions below)

The interesting thing about this, to me, is that Rabindranath Tagore is making the assumption that things would still be the same/similar enough in a hundred years that people could "gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before" from their own gardens. An assumption that things would still be the same after all that time.

Which itself could be taken as a sad statement, sure--that the reason people aren't doing so is because they don't have gardens because they, say, live in an apartment building without a balcony. Or maybe climate change and drought mean they can't grow gardens that way.

On the other hand... it could also speak something of... not "hope," exactly, but... underestimation, perhaps? In that maybe the reason why someone might turn to the poem, rather than going out and experiencing such themselves is that they can't... because the world is so much wider, now. Things are so much grander.

The reader lives in an apartment that can't host a garden, but they are doing so happily because said apartment is in their dream city where they work their dream job.

Or the reader moved to another country where the flowers being written about a hundred years ago simply aren't native, even if other flowers are, and they are nostalgic for the homeland of their ancestors.

Or, perhaps, in even further future times, maybe people will live on other planets, or on a space station or something, simply because technology, ingenuity, and human wanderlust has pushed us to explore the stars. And, obviously, trying to open up the airlock to look at or smell a nonexistent space garden is an extremely bad idea.

It's a good message... but also a look at things like human limitations, values, and different thought processes. Also maybe the impact of tone, and how words can be read and understood in different ways based on how the reader themselves are feeling at the moment.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), poem 85 from “The Gardener”, 1914 Translated by the author from the original Bengali. New York: The Macmillan Company.