#he never wanted for anything beyond what he was made for

[waffle-runian]

Not to diverge much, or to hijack the conversation, but I'm gonna write about "translating art" a bit. I hope that it makes sense.

So, this feels like when I first started reading fantasy. Writing is a form of art that I love very much, so I remember a lot about my first impressions and all. I specifically remember reading a book about magic, the first book I bought because I wanted to read and nothing else. It was in a world where magic would be a focal point, get described with care and detail. Then idk, a popular book series about a demigod teenager that could control water, and what do you know? The water was described in full, the friendship, different dialogues, puns, the color of the eyes.

Then I read another series, this one about a boy with a dream and with a reality that made it difficult for him to pursue it, of course, the description of his sadness was longer too, his physical attributes were important, and they got a lot of attention, but not all the time either, and not really that in depth. What got the most attention were the comparisons, where he came short, and where coming short of something was being ahead on other things.

I remember reading a book following the story of a bard. It was art about art itself, in my opinion. Everything was described vividly. Stunning visuals, I could almost hear a song that doesn't even have a melody, I could grasp the process of creation without creating. It was something I was very bad at, after all. The author could make anything look beautiful and magical, even when it was the most ordinary of things.

Then came the magic. Well, part of it. It was logic, almost physics-like, followed hard rules, and you guessed it, the process of creation through it was also interesting. But then came the magic. Again. The magic that was hinted at, the soft kind, the magical kind, the one you have been preparing for up until now. The one that would require you to appreciate the art in order to understand, to appreciate everything as an artist. To see beyond what it is, what it is made of, what it looks like. To see inside, to see what it can be, what it represents and what it wants. In a way, to see it for what it _is_ (a different "is").

From top to bottom

Mage - Raymond E. Feist.

Percy Jackson - Rick Riordan

Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan

The name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss.

Rothfuss' writing isn't for everyone in a different way than the others. I don't know if I could explain it if I tried, but honestly? I feel great that it's something fewer people appreciate. This is, obviously, my take on those books. The actual intent behind it may differ strongly, but I don't think it matters, since art is something normally made to provoke thought and feelings. We hope the audience can get close to what we meant to say, but when they don't, we are happy that they got to experience something positive from our words/drawings/songs, etc.

I see his as the most complex out of these, the one that resonated the most with me, I guess? Probably because of the main character being the most relatable. And if just the eyes that tell the story can change so much about it, shouldn't we put much more thought into what our art could look like for people that can't "see" it the same as us? Like I already said, most of the time, your meaning will be lost, so, if you're "translating" art, how can you get close to this new audience's heart?

I mean, translating is all about that too. You can't just use the best words you think of and be done. Brazilian dubbing is famous for making jokes almost never fall flat.

If you localize the joke, you get a better reaction than when you explain the joke that only works in the original language (even though I am the kind of person that learns a language to appreciate the original material instead, and that's the reason I speak english.)

Anyway, if I got something wrong, just correct me, and if I don't get it, I'll ask.

"In recent years, there has been a rush on the internet to supply image descriptions and to call out those who don’t. This may be an example of community accountability at work, but it’s striking to observe that those doing the most fierce calling out or correcting are sighted people. Such efforts are largely self-defeating. I cannot count the times I’ve stopped reading a video transcript because it started with a dense word picture. Even if a description is short and well done, I often wish there were no description at all. Get to the point, already! How ironic that striving after access can actually create a barrier. When I pointed this out during one of my seminars, a participant made us all laugh by doing a parody: “Mary is wearing a green, blue, and red striped shirt; every fourth stripe also has a purple dot the size of a pea in it, and there are forty-seven stripes—”

“You’re killing me,” I said. “I can’t take any more of that!”

Now serious, she said it was clear to her that none of that stuff about Mary’s clothes mattered, at least if her clothes weren’t the point. What mattered most about the image was that Mary was holding her diploma and smiling. “But,” she wondered, “do I say, Mary has a huge smile on her face as she shows her diploma or Mary has an exuberant smile or showing her teeth in a smile and her eyes are crinkled at the edges?”

It’s simple. Mary has a huge smile on her face is the best one. It’s the don’t-second-guess-yourself option."

--Against Access, by John Lee Clark, a DeafBlind educator

[incognitoblogger]

Call Me Gerald Pt. 1

This hasn't always been my body and my life. To this day I can't help but be a little silly on camera knowing that I'm the one dressing this perfect, mature body in this neon tank while enjoying a boat day with a plethora of new friends. You see, I used to be in my late 20's living a comfortable yet lonely life. I wasn't in despair or anything, but I had already settled into a mundane routine and lost some motivation to keep fit and trim. This was just my new normal, but everything changed when Gerald Turner moved onto my street. I was instantly enamored by him and the ease of his life. Now don't get me wrong, he had worked hard for decades to set himself up for an early retirement, but now his schedule was clear and he lived a life fully on his own terms.

Admittedly, I overcame my shyness because of the intensity of my crush and made chit chat welcoming him to the neighborhood when I saw the moving truck bringing his lifetime of belongings to the nicest house on our street. He was confident, kind, and effortlessly magnetic...qualities I wish I had...but because of his good nature, he did all the heavy lifting in our small talk and made the first neighborly move of inviting me over for a housewarming when he was better settled in. As the months went on, we became friendlier. It wasn't uncommon for us to chat over some beers and BBQ, and I even forced myself to watch some sports with him.

I learned that despite his ability to make rapid connections with people, he was still incredibly lonely in his own way. He had met his wife while they were both in undergrad, and then they both had separate and successful careers. Gerald went on to law school and practiced for about 20 years, starting several successful side businesses that were essentially passive income at this point. He then left his law firm to teach law for almost a decade purely to keep himself intellectually stimulated and to pay it forward to the newest generation of legal minds. Along the way he had had several children with his wife, and in recent years even became a beloved grandfather. But everything changed when his wife had an affair with her yoga instructor. Gerald rightfully filed for a divorce, but his ex wife poisoned their family with lies and manipulations. All of Gerald's children sided with his ex wife and went fully no contact with him. Gerald, this dynamic, sexy, and put-together man literally burst into tears one night telling me how much it hurt him everyday that he would probably never be able to see his children or grandchildren ever again.

I was sympathetic to the best of my ability and tried to reassure him that I appreciated his friendship and that I was here for him when he pulled himself together and started to apologize to me...but I must regretfully admit that this fully-deserved breakdown tainted my view of Gerald. Here was a man who had accumulated wealth beyond what I would ever be able to...who had a natural charisma and magnetism...and undeniable sex appeal...

It might have been the beers clouding my judgement, but a seed was planted in the back of my thoughts: He doesn't know how good he has it. I would do a much better job living the rest of his life.

From then on, it became insufferable to hang out with him. And I fully admit I was the one in the wrong, but forever more I just couldn't look at him without fully believing he was letting his family schism trap him in an optional hell. He doesn't have to feel that way.

If I were him, I certainly wouldn't be held back by some crazy ex-wife and ungrateful children.

I don't want to wear you down with exposition, so let's just say I had a medical tragedy. Gerald was actually the only one who came to visit me in the hospital according to the visitation logs. This softened my tainted view of him and made me regret how I had been fantasizing about replacing him...until my first night back in my house...

See, the docs told me that I had actually profoundly died and they basically performed resuscitative efforts purely out of formality, but somehow my heart jumped back online and then a surgical team was able to get me in fully stable condition. I was still slightly grieving that my new life would entail severe physical mobility limitations. It made me regret wasting my 20s and not being more active when I actually had youth and opportunity on my side. But youth wasn't even the issue because I watched Gerald arrive home from one of his shirtless evening jogs looking amazingly virile over the age of 50...I was envious again and just wanted to call it an evening. But as I closed my eyes, instead of drifting into a state of unconsciousness that I wouldn't remember, I felt my body losing its tangibility...shedding all of my concrete tethers to the world of the living...

I opened my eyes and screamed as my body seemed to have transformed into some sort of spiritual energy form. My visage floated clumsily and helplessly around my bedroom like a rookie astronaut in a space movie until I found that through sheer willpower I could mentally control the direction in which I hovered. I was still in a state of pure panic as I tried to grab my bed to anchor myself and my hands just traveled through all of the solid matter. This was impossible! I couldn't even grab the phone to make a call and my screams failed to activate Alexa, but in my existential terror I convinced myself that maybe I would still be able to communicate with another living person. Even though that theory made no sense, I'm oh so glad that I rushed over to Gerald's house, floating through his walls screaming my spiritual head off until I arrived at his bedroom and went dead quiet.

Despite being significantly older than me, Gerald was literal perfection in my eyes. It was enough to stop me in my tracks until I reminded myself of my existential nightmare and began screaming at him to wake up. Nothing... I tried to pick up a pillow to throw at him and my hands just phased right through it. I tried to use my willpower to influence the electronics in the room to glitch out like on the ghost shows I used to love and nothing happened...Finally, in an act of frustration I pounded on his chest and to my shock his eyes shot open and he instantly woke with a gasp. I wasn't sure if he could see me, so I tried to quickly pull my hands out of his sculpted chest, but to my shock and horror I couldn't remove my hands. It was the opposite, like quicksand or one of those finger trap toys. My effort to pull out my hands actually caused a rebound effect that pulled in more of my energy until I was inside him to the elbow.

Gerald grabbed his chest and obviously thought he was having a heart attack. In his panic he began reaching for his phone to call 911, but I panicked and didn't want him to get so scared over a false alarm so I pulled with all my might until my astral form could not pull for even a second longer, but this, predictably, sent me towards him like a slingshot and I was now inside him up to the shoulders. The force of this actually hurled Gerald back onto his bed away from the nightstand and he just groaned in confusion and fear as he reached towards the nightstand, now too far on his bed to grip anything but soft white sheets.

My mind was in a panic state at this point, so I figured maybe fighting was the issue and I just have to sink into him in order to be able to get out. I really had no suspicion or thought that this would have any consequence other than occupying the same physical space as him, so I stopped fighting and instead positioned my astral form on top of Gerald and allowed myself to start fully melting into him. Gerald seized and winced as this started to happen, but then I'm not sure what transpired. All I know is I could hear him grunting No No No NO and then I couldn't see a thing. I just felt warmer the deeper I got inside him and then I felt myself whip around 180 degrees and fully disappear inside of his form. For a second I just felt darkness and emptiness. I could hear and feel the sound of Gerald's deep labored breathing and then in an instant I felt like I had been destroyed and dispersed in a massive surge of energy before reforming. Little did I know, my astral form had gone from merely occupying the same space as Gerald to fully bonding with every cell of his body.

I suddenly had normal vision, albeit a bit blurrier than my old sight and I gasped with a deeper and huskier voice. I also felt my weight pressing down on a pillow, but this was all different. For a second I thought this whole experience must have been a dream or a hallucination, but this was not my bedroom...this was Gerald's...and that means that this body must be...

Holy Shit, I'm Gerald!

I let off a healthy stream of panicked expletives given these absurd circumstances, but eventually that seemed unproductive. Out of curiosity I rolled back onto my errr Gerald's back and surveyed the room while thinking. Admittedly, my problem-solving brainstorm session did not last long because I was distracted by this fit and sculpted body coated in the ideal amount of masculine hair.

I should call someone.

I grabbed Gerald's phone and got a chill of satisfaction as I bypassed his Face ID, but then I realized that 911, anyone I knew, or any of his other friends would get me committed to an asylum if I called claiming to be Gerald's neighbor who accidentally possessed him...

No no no I've seen too many movies. We're NOT doing that.

Fuckkkk I hated myself slightly for feeling his cock engorge slightly. It was just really erotic for me to hear his sexy voice expressing my own thoughts.

Okay Focus.

Before I got up in a tizzy I convinced myself that the honorable thing to do was to try to phase back out of Gerald's body and let him think he just had a bad dream. The minutes passed as I tried intense willful focusing and muscle clenching as if I could push myself out. When that left me exhausted and covered in a light sheen of sweat I tried more meditative styles to maybe loosen my hold on him and just slip out peacefully, but none of that had any effect. And you might judge me for admitting this, but after making a good college try I rapidly reached the conclusion that maybe this was for the best. Now the logical part of my mind knows that's nonsense, but the carnal, devious side of my mind was able to gaslight myself a bit. I didn't have anything worth going back to...And Gerald here wasn't exactly loving his retirement with all of his family issues...Maybe neither of us could individually thrive, but my spirit controlling his body and identity...at least that could create one fulfilled and happy person...

Oh it was all too easy for me to believe that lie. I don't know how I got here, but I wasn't going to fight to remove myself from this situation. No...this was clearly meant to happen. I am Gerald now.

I am Gerald Turner.

That gave me a devious shiver of delight to hear those words leave my new mouth...

I quickly took some erotic bed selfies showing off this gorgeous body for Grindr...not able to resist the urge to start worshipping myself. The clicks and dings sounded off in the background like my own little homoerotic symphony as I fished my now rock hard and leaking cock out of Gerald's little boxer briefs and gripped it firmly with my new right hand. This was a hand that had lived a full life and this was a girthy and perfectly straight 8 inch cock that had pleasured many women in Gerald's younger years and bred 3 children with his crazy ex-wife.

"Never Again," I cooed as I tightened my grip and slowly started stroking. "This cock is never pleasuring another woman...Ever Again!"

The authority in my voice made my new toes clench as if on autopilot and I shuddered as I bit my lower lip and tossed my head to the side, ravenously inhaling a pillow to take in my new scent before going right to the source. I lifted my new left arm and huffed in the essence of my new pit.

"Fuckkkkkk," I groaned like a reborn slut as my perfect daddy dick pulsated with desire. "I'm never giving this up! Even if I found a way to get out...Never happening!"

I grit my teeth now after aggressively spitting in my hand to lube myself up. My abs looked so shredded as I thrust up into my grip, all while worshipping those abs, pecs, and nipples with my free left hand.

"Jesus, Gerald! These nips are sensitive as hell!" I hollered out as I teased those nips good--alternating back and forth until the combo of this teasing and cock pleasure had me literally kicking my legs out and digging my new big feet into the bedding. My new toes were clenched harder than ever as I tried to get even more leverage to fuck my slick grip. On and on this went for minute after minute...the pleasure reaching new and new peaks all while I got lost in the selfishness of this moment and berated my former friend, unaware if he was gone forever or if he could hear me from some dark corner of his mind.

"I'm Gerald! You hear that Gerald? This is MY body now! You're NEVER getting this back! You're NEVER coming back!!"

And with that my back arched and I instinctively grabbed the bed sheets before quickly scooping up my new balls to jostle them around as the first shot of my load launched out with so much force that it smacked me in the mouth and splashed all over my face. I licked up as much as I could with my tongue, moaning in approval at the deliciousness of my own new essence as I kept going.

I roared in delight with each pump and thrust milking out more and more of this still virile seed--first coating my neck and chest and eventually my new abs as the shots gradually lost intensity. Finally, I was still milking this cock with fully dry shots...still in so much orgasmic pleasure...coated in well over an ounce of hot seed and still helplessly wincing and whining as I desperately tried to get out just one final drop. I finally watched that final droplet crest out of my new cock slit and then I relaxed--crashing back onto the bed in a soaking wet sweaty heap...sighing in euphoria and satisfaction while massaging this copious amount of cum all over my new body.

When my afterglow finally faded, I got back into my new phone with Face ID again...smirking as I scrolled through my dozens of prospectives on Grindr. I wasn't going to be bogged down by Gerald's awful family issues. In fact, it worked to my advantage. It gave the perfect cover and disconnect from his roots for me to truly have a fresh start with this body's wealth and physical beauty. I get to write my own destiny now in a body and life that makes me feel motivated to make the most of every new day. That realization is making me get hard again already...Well hot damn, I better pick one of these Grindr hotties quick so I have some company for round 2...

Be on the lookout for Part 2. I'd love to make this almost a diary style series where I recount my ongoing adventures and developments as Gerald. And let me know what you think! I didn't really think this through--I just kind of got inspired by photos and busted this out in one chaotic burst, so I know the perspective and tense shifts are little crazy. haha I will try to write all future entries from the perspective of a real diary--as if I'm recounting events that have happened that day/week.

[elegantgardenrunaway]

Today, we dance

PreCrash! Captain Curly x reader

A/N: Sorry, I couldn't resist. Haha. Anyways, this is not proofread and English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

(Image found in Pinterest)

Just think about finding captain Curly after the whole birthday ordeal. The room is still decorated while he's just sitting there, with his head down with an unreadable expression on his face.

You don't say anything as you sit next to him, not really knowing what to do, this was beyond your paycheck. Well, your last paycheck, the idea is still making you nauseous. You don't know what you are going to do after this, if you are going to be able to get another job or if this will be it for you. The weight of the news is crushing both of you, suffocating you in its silence.

You glance at him, then look around the room, the room which you hoped to celebrate your captain and decide here and there that this was too somber. This was supposed to be his celebration, his day and you'll be damned if you let it end like this.

Besides, you needed some distraction, maybe he did too.

You are a little ashamed to admit that it took you some time to get the courage to put your idea into motion, worried you may be stepping a boundary or just doing something in a time that wasn't right. Sure, the captain and you were getting close as of late, but you wouldn't say you have that kind of trust, not to mention it wasn't really professional.

But it's not like you have anything to lose now, right?

You turn on the radio, put some music, take his hands, invite him to dance "just one piece", you say, anything to lift his mood. It takes some convincing, a lot of convincing.

"We still have work to do" he says.

"To hell with work" you respond, taking his hands to guide him "Forget the work, the company, everything. Tomorrow we'll drown, today? Today, we dance. If you want to, of course."

He observed you, with those blue eyes with something you had never seen before, something you can't describe.

To be completely honest, you were expecting a refusal.

You were pleasantly surprised when he didn't.

His callused, warm hands awkwardly held you, not exactly knowing what to do.

"... I have to tell you..." He whispered slowly, sounding as if he was confessing a crime "... I'm not a good dancer..."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to say that. Captain Curly? A bad dancer? The idea made you snort.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing, sorry... " you shook your head, giving him an apologetic smile, hoping that you were not being rude. That's the last thing you want to do to him. You guided one of his hands to your waist, the other holding yours "... It's just that... That's very hard to believe coming from you, captain."

He just shrugged. For some reason, the easy smile he usually gives seemed different. You can't help but wish you could see it more often.

"What can I say? Being a captain is not exactly a job where I can really do these kinds of things..."

You chuckled "Don't worry, we are not doing anything complicated of sorts" you reassured "Just follow my lead..."

You started to guide the captain through the music. Nothing difficult, just simple, easy to remember movements. As you progressed with your impromptu dancing clases, you didn't notice when your bodies got so close to each other, to the point he had his chin resting on your head while you were resting on his chest.

The mellow melody taking you to another world, another earth. There were no screens, no pixels, no pony express, no worries about the future. Just the two of you, swaying with the music. This was all you could offer to him.

And you hoped that was a good enough birthday gift.

"You know, you are not as bad a dancer as you said you were"

"Hmm? You think so?"

"Mhm, but if you really feel like it... I can give you some classes..."

"... That..."

"Ah...Sorry-"

"No! Don't be!"

"..."

"... It actually sounds wonderful"

"Really?"

"...Really"

"... Well, we have some time before we arrive at the destination... We can see each other during our breaks..."

"I'm looking forward to it then"

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐈 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

summary: you've always had a thing for JJ, but your relationship with Rafe has always been intense—heated and frustrating. The two of you are bound by similar trauma and can't deny that your hate for each other might not be hate after all.

cw: fem!reader, slightly bitchy!reader, pogue!reader, mentions of alcohol, mentions of parties, mentions of sex, swearing, mean!rafe, jealousy, angst, 1.8k

<3

The morning light filters softly through the blinds, a faint warmth settling over the room, but all you feel is a prickling sense of guilt inching up your spine. Getting involved with Rafe was never a good idea but last night the two of you finally crossed a line. You glance over at Rafe, his breathing even, the rise and fall of his chest calm and steady. His expression is neutral, a harsh contradiction to his usual tense jaw and frustrated scowl. You can’t help but remember the way he was looking at you just hours before—intense, irritated, hungry, like you’d driven him into a maddened haze where he saw nothing else but you. 

You take a deep breath, laying back to stare at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the plaster with your eyes. What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking? You hooked up with Rafe Cameron, the man you who you’ve been tip-toeing around for ages but the same man who fucks any living thing. But this isn’t just a fling, it never could be. You knew he would be trouble from the moment you met him—catching your eye from across the beach with a grin that was way too charming and a polo shirt hugging him in a way that made your head spin.

Fuck.

You feel a knot in your stomach. You aren’t that stupid, you made your own choices and dug your own grave. You hate it though. You hate him. And worse, you hate yourself—for being so reckless, and wanting more. 

Quietly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet hitting the cool floor. The cold jolts up your legs, grounding you to reality as you hastily get dress, heart pounding with every movement—but you can’t even make it to the door. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep. 

“Don’t do that.” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. He can’t say anything when you know he probably regrets it more than you. You’re a Pogue, he’s a Kook, it’s goes beyond that fact that you both gave in, he shouldn’t be with you. 

“Don’t do what?” he shoots back, his brows furrowing as he reaches for his a pair of shorts, “I hope you know last night didn’t mean anything.” He adds, but the way his gaze shifts suggest he’s still thinking about it, though. 

“Wow, charming as always, Rafe.” you retort, sarcasm dripping from your voice. 

“Just calling it like it is.” he says, throwing his shorts on lazily as he stands, towering over you, his presence making you feel small. Though, you have to admit, he’s still a piece of fucking eye candy. 

You clench your jaw, “You’re so fucking difficult.”

“Oh, come on,” he sneers, crossing his arms and giving you a glare, “You needed a distraction, I was here.”

You lips press into a tight line, heart pounding with guilt and regret, “You’re unbelievable.” you fumble to get the rest of your clothes on. You grab your heels and shove them on, wincing as you buckle them up, unsteady on your feet. Rafe takes a step to hold your elbow as you wobble but you yank your arm away with a scoff. He doesn’t say another word as you storm out, not wanting to give him to satisfaction of seeing just how much he’s gotten under your skin this time. Frustration and shame clings to you as you walk out of Tannyhill, feelings that you’re just unable to shake off. 

Gravel crunches under your feet, the sting of discomfort shoots up your legs, and you wince as your shoes pinch against your skin. The remnants of last night cling to you, an unpleasant headache pounds in your skull—you forgot how many drinks you actually had before hate sex sobered you up. Your clothes are sticky and sour, leaving you to search your brain for pieces of the night you can’t remember. You glance at your reflection in a shop window, your hair is a disheveled mess, and your makeup, once artfully applied, now smudges your tired eyes. You feel suffocated as if you’re trapped in your own skin—itchy, irritable. Then, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling you from your spirling thoughts. You pull it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from John B, “Hey, we’re heading out on the boat. Are you coming?” You hesitant to respond, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wants to decline, to wallow in your frustration, JJ and Kie were going to be there—the ones you needed a distraction from in the first place, but now you need a distraction from something else. Someone else. Taking a deep breath, you reply with a quick, “I’ll be there.” before shoving your phone back into your pocket and heading toward the chateau.

When you finally reach the familiar structure, the afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow over the weathered wooden planks and sun-bleached walls. The air is thick with the scent of saltwater and you relish in the gentle breeze that cools your skin. As you draw closer, faint voices drift toward you, along with laughter and clinking cans. You make your way down the worn path that leads to the dock, where you find the group gathered in a loose circle, loading cheap beer and snacks onto the boat. Sarah and Kie are tossing a cooler filled with ice and soda into the boat, their laughter ringing out, while John B and JJ rummage through a bag, pulling out bags of chips and sandwiches. Pope stands to the side, a smile on his face, before JJ joins him against the railing.

When they finally notice you, the chatter fades, and your friends still. Kie’s smile falters for a moment, replaced by an expression of worry. Sarah and John B share and glance and Pope looks uncomfortable, hands shoved in his pockets, head hanging low. JJ’s gaze is sharper though, a flicker of irritation passing over his features as he straightens against the railing, “Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he remarks, his tone harsher than usual. 

You let out a huff, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, I’m here. What’s your point?”

“It means, where have you been lately?” Sarah asks, her brow furrowed with concern. You frown, taken aback, “Y/n, you’ve been distance for days. What’s going on with you?” 

Sure, you hesitated to go to the party last night, but that didn’t mean you were avoiding them. You danced with Sarah, shared laughs—so why was she upset now? A pang of guilt hits you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, glancing away. Disappointing everyone has become a habit lately, and it gnaws at you. Still, you cross your arms defensively, trying to maintain your usual composure, “I’ve just had a lot on my mind, alright.” you mumble, anger simmering beneath the surface. They never seemed to care until now—why was it suddenly your fault?

“You know you can just say if you don’t want to hang out with us anymore,” JJ says, leaning against a weathered post, his arms crossed over his chest. His words strike a nerve. The two of you used to be so close, it hurts to know he doesn’t even realize you’ve grown apart. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but he certainly wasn’t blameless. He’s so focused on Kie now that your friendship has grown more distant, perhaps distance that has make it’s way to the entire group. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not meeting your standards?” you snap, heat rising in your cheeks.

Kie steps closer, her eyes narrowing, the late afternoon light catching the edges of her expression, “You’re acting like a complete bitch.”

“That’s rich coming from you Kie,” you retort, the words dripping with annoyance as you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “You don’t even know who I am anymore!” The words are thick and suffocating, and you can feel the flicker of a memory—a shared laugh, a late-night conversation—slip away, like grains of sand through your fingers.

“Maybe we wouldn’t have to guess if you just talked to us!” she shoots back. You can see the pain in her eyes, longing for the friendship that’s slipping away. 

“I can take care of myself.” you insist, the statement firm but hollow. You take a half-step back, trying to regain some control, but inside you’re quaking. 

“We just want to help,” John B chimes in, his tone earnest with a hint of desperation. You catch the way he shifts his weight, hands fidgeting in his pockets as if he’s searching for the right words to defuse the situation. 

“Why does it matter so much to you now?” you counter, the heat of your anger flaring again, “You never cared before, so why now?” As you lock eyes with them, you see the flicker of regret in John B’s gaze, the way Kie’s shoulders slump slightly, the hand Pope almost reaches toward you, and for a moment you all realize the once tight friendships that you’ve lost. 

Pogue for life, my ass.

“Because we’re worried,” Sarah interjects, her voice softer but firm. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it scares us.” The words hit you harder than you expected. They were right, usually you were fearless, the kind of person who could waltz into a party and effortlessly capture the attention of everyone. You could take down those Kook girls with a couple snide comments and a smile. You were outgoing, lively, your laughter rang out like music, vibrant and contagious. You were a whirlwind of energy that was an acquired taste. Now you were constantly quiet and insecure, that spark you once had was dimmed. You were hurting and you were finally letting your friends see through you. 

“I don’t need your help.” you finally reply, your voice sharper than you intend, each word tumbling out with an edge that surprises even you. Your heart aches as you watch JJ’s expression shift. 

“Fine. If that’s how you feel, then go.” JJ snaps, the irritation in his voice covering the hurt behind it. He turns away, his back ridgid, and climbs into the boat, “But don’t come crawling back when it all falls apart,” he adds, his words leaving a bitter aftertaste. 

You stand the for a moment and watch the rest of your friends slowly turn away, going on with the rest of their day. You scoff, a swirl of emotions tightening in your chest—regret, anger, and a hint of something else you’re too stubborn to acknowledge. Turning away you pull your phone from your pocket, fingers trembling slightly as you dial the number of the one person you can’t help but want to see.

<3

masterlist . rafe cameron masterlist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[lemoniiiiiii]

sent from above

(kai anderson x reader) in where you try to make your boyfriend's day a little sweeter

content: angst, use of knives (nothing crazy)

a/n: kai brainrot + maternal instincts combo goes crazyyyy

--

You sit on Winter's bed, watching as she sifts through boxes from her closet.

"You really do like my brother, don't you?..." She says with a solemn cadence.

You nod. "I do."

With a sigh, Winter hands you a faded piece of paper. It feels delicate, like it might crumble in your hands. "This is it…"

You trace the faded cursive carefully. "I won't tell him. I'll say I found it while cleaning. Thank you so much Winter."

"Uh- Yeah, no problem. Just… remember that he’s—"

"I know."

For weeks, Kai's paranoia has been ramping up, and you wanted to do something—anything—that might ground him, even briefly. So you'd gone to Winter, asking if she still had one of her mother's old recipes.

As anything was with Kai, this was a risk. This gesture could easily be turned against you; he might even accuse you of using his mother’s memory to manipulate him.

But for some reason you don't care.

--

Later, you're plating the dish when you hear the heavy clomp of combat boots, quickening as they approach, then coming to an abrupt stop.

"Perfect timing." You look up at your boyfriend and smile, holding the dish up slightly. "I made something for you."

Kai slowly walks to you, silent, calculating. He steps close—so close there’s barely space between you, with only the plate in your hands separating you.

"Apple Pie. The all-american dessert." Your words come out in a low murmur.

"Correct." He flicks open his pocket knife, carving off a bite and balancing it on the blade. "Open."

You part your lips instinctively, and he guides the piece to your mouth. As you bite down, the sweetness of the pastry mingles with a faint metallic tang from the knife's edge. Kai pulls it back with a slow precision, leaving a sharp taste lingering amid the warm notes of apple and spice.

Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he turns the knife around, offering the handle to you. His eyes hold yours, dark and watchful, as you take it and mirror his gesture, bringing a piece to his lips. He leans forward, just enough to take the bite. As the familiar taste hits him, there's a shift—a crack in his steely facade. And for a split second, you see the boy he used to be, before everything turned dark.

Without a word, he raises a hand, a silent command for his guards to leave. They exchange glances but obey, slipping out of the kitchen.

Now, it’s just the two of you, alone.

He speaks in a whisper, but each word drips with a mix of wonder and suspicion. “She sent you… didn’t she?”

The words hang in the silence, and for a moment, his intense gaze softens, his brow knitting as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s just said. “I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew she…”

He pauses, staring at you with a vulnerable intensity you've never seen before, like he's fighting to believe in something beyond his hardened reality. It's as if he's convinced that his late mother, somehow, some way, has sent you into his life—an angel, perhaps, to guide him, to protect him from the shadows he can't escape. The idea fills him with a fierce, quiet hope. His mistrust, his paranoia, all of it seems to melt away as he stares at you, searching for some sign, some proof of his mother.

You set the plate carefully on the counter behind you, keeping your movements slow and gentle, as if any sudden motion might startle him. Stepping forward, you raise your arms and slide them around him, feeling the tension that coils through his frame. Your hands find their way to his back, moving in soothing, slow circles, the warmth of your touch grounding him.

At first, he stiffens, caught off-guard by the unexpected embrace, his arms remaining at his sides. But gradually, as your hands continue their gentle rhythm along his back, he softens against you, letting the rigidity melt away. His shoulders drop, and you feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, a steadying rhythm that seems to settle him, little by little. Your touch is careful, maternal—each motion reassuring, as if you’re somehow reaching into the lonely places he’s kept hidden, places starved of comfort.

You press your cheek lightly against his shoulder, and the silence stretches between you, filled with a sense of calm that seems almost foreign to him. You can sense him leaning into the embrace, accepting the warmth you offer, maybe even craving it, though he would never say so.

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

This fic contains non-consensual elements. Please do not read, if such content makes you uncomfortable.

AN: Thank you @nanamiscocksleeve for hosting this event. October or Kinktober is a month that I have always wanted to write for but end up not doing so for lack of time and motivation. But this event made me want to push myself. I'm late but I'm here. Thank you for waiting. (Contd. below)

Tw: non con, dark content

Please use this soundscape generator for the full experience

Growing up near the ocean meant you were always aware of just how powerful and dark it was. 

The strong arms pulled you to the depths, far below the surface of the water. You cursed yourself. Why had you been so arrogant? You knew the ocean was not an entity to be toyed with. You could feel the oxygen slowly leaving your lungs as your captor swam further and further away from the silver-topped waves.

You regretted everything: wearing this frilly new bikini despite it barely covering your voluptuous curves. Wading out with your friends under the moonlight. Drifting too far before realising you weren't close to them anymore and they would never hear your cries for help. 

In the darkness of the night, you were unable to see anything around you but the hand that wrapped itself around your ankle pulling you deep. You were a good swimmer, but this was…

Your lungs started to burn, still the grip on you never loosened. Instead, you felt sharp claws dig into the flesh of your arm. You let out a cry of pain, muffled by the weight of the water, and immediately a pair of cold lips closed over yours, exhaling into you.  An acrid salty flavour filled your mouth, and you tried to push your attacker away, but they were far stronger than you, the shackle on your arm tightening further…

You heard your heartbeat pumping in your ears, louder and louder, lungs struggling to hold on. The world around you dissolved into ink. You wanted to hit out, scream, but instead you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker. Your assaulter felt it too, slackening their grip. It didn't matter why you were the one taken or what would happen next. You weren't ready for death. The darkness closed in on you, and then there was nothing…

*****

When you woke, you were still surrounded by water in all directions, but the lack of light didn’t bother you as much as before. Even through the ultramarine gloom, you could recognise the vague shapes of coral and—

A soft swish of water moving attracted your attention. You whipped your head around and inhaled sharply—you could breathe? How? The water in your lungs should’ve killed you by now.

Still adjusting to the changes in your body, you watched as a strange figure approached you. This must have been the one who took you away from the surface—only, they weren't quite human. 

Legend spoke of the existence of creatures of the deep: not quite man, not quite fish, but something else entirely. Merpeople…a merman.  These were, of course, brushed off as old wives’ tales that did not hold any weight. But swimming before your eyes was the very legend himself.

His long dark hair flowed with the gentle current as he hovered in front of you. A wicked smile was plastered on his face, sharp white teeth gleaming contrastingly. Your breath hitched and you lowered your gaze— as though some force beyond your control was pushing you down.

The merman was adorned in strings of pearls and other precious stones but wore little else. A long sapphire tail swished below your feet, swooping under you and pulling you closer to him. Extending a scaled webbed hand, he caressed your cheek, sharp claws instead of nails trailing down your jaw like a warning. Glinting gold threads ran down his finned back and travelled down to the end of his tail.

Good. A rumbling voice in your head jolted you out of your stupor. I feared you would sleep through this. 

Writhing in the merman’s grasp, you desperately tried to find the source of this strange voice, but there was no other living being in sight. The finger trailing down the side of your face dipped to your collarbone and slid down to the swell of your breasts. You shivered at the touch—in fear or in anticipation?

The hand squeezed your breast, making you jump, and the creature hissed in response: I can smell your fear and you smell divine… 

 He pulled at the strings holding your bikini top together, and it fell away with no effort, your nipples hardening from the chill and the merman’s touch; instinctively, you moved to cover your breasts with your hands and pushed the merman away. 

 In the dark water, the flimsy top floated away, settling on to a rock below. You remembered your friends calling the swimsuit sexy in the shop and insisted on you buying it because what man could resist?

Turns out it was not just human men… 

 SLAP! 

Your cheek stung, the webbed hand held up threateningly:

Behave, human.  

You cowered and cupped your cheek — hot to the touch despite the cold ocean water — trapped in the grip of this merman’s tail. Another set of fingers touched you now, hands running up and down your body, exploring every inch of skin, each fold, given its due diligence. You suppressed the urge to cover up, your smarting cheek the only reminder needed to stop yourself. 

The smile on your abductor's face widened, rows of sharp teeth glittering in a wicked mirth. He used his tail to push between your legs now, rubbing against your thighs. His scales grazed your skin, and for a moment, for one horrible, tempting moment, you wondered what they'd feel like against your core. 

As if he had heard your thoughts, the merman delicately pulled the strings tying the bottom half of your bikini. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the orange strip of fabric fall to the ocean floor, joining the matching top nearby, but you were much more focused on how the merman’s hand had begun to drift between your thighs. 

Unfamiliar territory, but he knew where to touch, slipping his fingers between your folds. A swipe – then a taste, flicking his tongue in excitement. He threw his head back, relishing the flavour. 

Sweet. 

A muffled moan passed your lips. No, you wanted to say. Why? You wanted to cry out. It shouldn’t have felt so good.

There was a chuckle from the merman before he swam down, face right at your cunt, but this was more than you had bargained for. You immediately pulled your legs together and pushed away from him, kicking your feet to swim upwards. Whatever he wanted, he wouldn't get it so easily. 

You had to go up. Up would mean the surface. You would be free. Up would mean… 

The merman watched you swim  away slowly, following without a sound. You swam well, but he was faster. The swell of your ass and bouncing tits made his cock stir. What had once been driven by curiosity was now being driven by…hunger. 

Seeing his silhouette approach, you cried out, but there was nothing to be done. He extended an arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you to him. You struggled and pounded your fists against his firm chest, bubbles escaping your mouth where there should have been sound. Unfortunately for you, it only served to heighten his hunger.

The merman had never held a body like yours: soft, pudgy flesh that dipped into enticing contours, full rounded breasts that hung like the fruits of Eden. Arms thick and muscular, tanned by the warmth of the sun's rays. And petal-like lips that pulled into a frown of disapproval. 

 You continued to struggle, but his grip remained steady. Ignoring your wriggling protests, he flicked his tongue between your breasts, trailing it down your chest and soft tummy till he reached your crotch once again. 

Be good. 

You jolted as his tongue snaked out and rubbed against your clit. He wasn’t—he couldn’t—

Sweet…

Strong arms parted your legs this time, holding you in place by your ass. Trying to escape was futile – all you could do was whimper helplessly. The merman’s tongue lapped at your pussy— slow flicks that took their time to explore you fully. He knew what he was doing. His lips found your clit and closed over the small bud, softly sucking on it. You squeezed the merman’s head between your thighs as your head fell back, soundless moans escaping you and disappearing into the darkness above. You could feel nothing else in this damp, muffled existence. Only him. 

Filled with loathing and pleasure, you reached down, carding your fingers through his silky hair, pushing your hips into his face, further and further as he smiled against your skin, his hunger only growing with each lick and taste. You should have pushed away. You longed to do so still. And yet, you pushed into him more and more as his claws dug into your skin.

 Geto. The voice came once again creeping into your mind soft as a spiders web. Say my name. Say it.

“Geto!” You cried out, almost like a prayer. The name drifted upwards through the sea and towards the sky somewhere far above. Your orgasm drew closer, effectively pulled from your tightening core. The merman felt you squirm and kept going, unwavering: tongue almost flat against your pussy, licking thick stripes from the bottom to your clit. Two webbed fingers found their way to your opening, pushing into you roughly. The fingers curled inside as he sucked on your clit once more.

You squeezed your eyes shut. This was wrong. It was so wrong. But it felt so good. How? It didn’t make any sense! You’d never felt such ecstasy in your life, falling apart in the arms of this monster known only in legend, your legs spread wide as the creature made sure his teeth didn't pierce the soft flesh, pleasure heightening with each continued touch. 

Without warning, your climax hit you, wracking through your body and making you spasm and quiver in the merman’s hold. Hips bucking into his face, you rode out your desperate orgasm, feeling every touch Geto made with his tongue and fingers. The water rippled around you, scaring away a school of small fish. 

Geto swam up to your eye level once again, examining you carefully as you twitched and shuddered through your orgasm. He gently placed your arms around his neck, waiting for you to finish. 

Good? 

You nodded in response; it wasn't like you could hide your glazed-over eyes, still coming down from the involuntary high. It had been the merman who had drawn the arrow, and made sure of its well-aimed release, the same merman who now pulled you in for a searing kiss. 

His lips were icy-cold - a striking contrast against yours. Yet he kissed with a ferociousness that threatened to consume you whole. “Geto…” You moaned against his mouth, the vibrations of sound the only other sensation you could feel apart from his lips. He only responded with a hum: a rumbling melody that cut through the waters. His hips pushed up against you and you looked down. Through a small slit in his tail, his cock stood at attention. Unlike any human anatomy, it seemed the ocean had had its way here. In spite of yourself, you studied the appendage, observing it just long enough for Geto to notice. It was longer than any you had seen before, but not very thick. The tip was pointed and not round, but didn't seem like it'd be painful. It matched the colour of his scales,  gold threads running all the way around it like veins. 

A hand encircled your throat, drawing your gaze back to his face: a beautiful prince of the ocean draped in glittering jewels, silky black hair that the current played with, dark amethyst eyes that did not leave you even once. What was there to fear, to doubt? Any apprehensions you might have had drifted into the impenetrable waters, carried away by the waves. You laced your fingers behind his head, and he pressed against your body, scales rubbing against your skin. His cock-head prodded at your fat thighs and you spread your legs of your own accord this time, allowing it to slip in. The water helped, almost as though a living being itself, allowing him to pull you further onto his length. 

His lips met your throat now, gently pressing soft kisses against the thin skin. 

Warm…You are beautiful. And you are mine. 

You nodded. His. You would be his. There was no denying it. 

Geto’s cock now bottomed out in you. Still raw from your climax, your insides twitched at the sensation. It was so new. So different. It was as if someone else had taken over your body, making you react in ways that you’d never imagined. Who was this person inside you, moaning and pushing yourself closer to him? Who had you become?

His broad chest pressed against your breasts, and you moaned at the sensation of him grazing your nipples ever so slightly. Your fingers found the fin on the merman’s back and you ran the top down its arch, drawing out a hiss from his lips. He thrust up in response,  and you cried out at the sudden feeling of his cock hitting your cervix. He grinned at you again with those rows of shark-like teeth – threatening despite his smile. His arms around your waist, he manoeuvred your body according to his will, slamming you onto his cock repeatedly, each thrust sending you further and further into blissful stupor. Your head dropped into the crook of his neck, hair tangling with his. But he did not stop, thrusting faster and harder. He could feel the jiggle of your body against his, and it drove him insane with need. Fat flesh, full tits, thick ass — you had been the perfect choice. Everything he could ever dream of. He never wanted to let you go. 

Geto chased his release, desperate to fill your cunt with his seed. The effect of the potion he had slipped into you earlier would wear off soon, and he had to get you back to the surface before it was too late. His thrusts grew sloppier, more erratic, as he continued pumping in you, fingers tangled in your hair as another hand held your waist. Your soft mewls and moans - which he could hear, even if you couldn’t - spurred him on further, and with a deep groan he spilled into you, pressing you as close to him as possible. He would not waste a single drop.

When he was finished, Geto pulled your head close to his, kissing you again. Good human. You did so well. 

You smiled at his praise. You did well for him, and it filled your heart with joy and relief. But a nagging feeling told you it wasn't right. You shouldn't have. You didn't belong here. 

Geto held your arm once again and swam, this time towards the surface. “Geto…?” You carefully called out, your body feeling heavier by the second. He hummed once again, but you couldn't think of something to say. 

The water rushed past the two of you as he swam faster with you in his arms, the current of the ocean almost passing through you. Your chest began to burn, and it was so much harder to breathe. Around you, the ocean darkened, the burning sensation spreading through your lungs. “No,” you gasped, but nothing came out. You grabbed onto the merman’s arm, desperate to tell him somehow, but he only swam faster. Whatever little you could see of him was blurry, the ocean calling you back down despite how close you were to the sky again. Your surroundings faded from sight and you kicked at the water in a futile attempt to reach air. The last thing you felt before blacking out was Geto pulling you into his embrace as he continued the climb to the surface.

******

You came to on a secluded patch of your hometown beach. The sun had just started to rise above the horizon, the sky turning lighter and lighter as you coughed up salt water onto the wet sand. It burned in your throat, and you had never been more thankful for the oxygen that filled your lungs now. You were wearing your bikini again, but you remembered it drifting away in the deep. Had it all been a dream? Had you just drowned under a wave and been regurgitated back by the sea? 

You sat up slowly, looking out at the grey morning waves. In the distance there was a flash of a brilliant blue. Your heart jumped in your chest, and you clutched at the pearls around your throat…pearls around your throat…

A reminder. A promise. A warning. 

MINE. 

AN: This fic would not have seen the light of day if it wasn't for @ominouslywritinginmyhead. Not only did she rewrite whole chunks of garbled prose, she also encouraged me gently to overcome my blocks and finally finish the bastard. Thank you for taking the time to look over it with such haste even giving up your Halloween party with Toji cosplayers to help my smutty literature. Thank you for your support and your love. I couldn't have done it without you Saber.

[lara-cairncross]

i noticed in one of your tags on a post a bit ago about fairy au you mentioned Shelldon. is there anything you wanna tell about him? and/or anything you posted earlier i may have missed? even if you dont want to share that right now, thank you for sharing other parts of your au, its really cool!

HSHFJSF Shelldon is Donnie’s emotional support pet rock!!! Bc he hates bugs and most animals lmao. I did a bunch of silly doodles of them in this post, if that’s what you’re looking for? :D

I don’t have much to share about Shelldon beyond. like. stupid shit I made up bc it made me laugh. Including but not limited to:

Leo, Raph, and Mikey all have beef with Shelldon for various reasons and in various ways

Donnie believes Shelldon is sentient. This infuriates Leo to a degree that scares the rest of the family

Raph also believes Shelldon is sentient but bc Shelldon has never spoken to him, he just assumes that Shelldon hates him personally

Kendra ALSO believes Shelldon is sentient and is constantly trying to steal him from Donnie and/or lure Shelldon to her side with promises of better benefits and a higher pay rate for his job as “emotional support pet rock”

Shelldon. May or may not actually be sentient.

Shelldon has been the victim of three attempted murders (thanks Leo), 17 attempted kidnappings (thanks Kendra), and has been implicated in a single instance of breaking-and-entering as the rock used to smash through the window. Donnie sat at Shelldon's bedside for three days while he recovered. I would like to reiterate that he may or may not actually be sentient.

Shelldon has only survived all this abuse bc he's literally indestructible and nobody can figure out why

Shelldon has his own, smaller, cuter emotional support pet rock called Shelldonite

[saintsenara]

How do you think Sirius felt about Lupin not reaching out to Harry before POA? Would he be angry or would he understand that Lupin’s condition (plus extreme poverty) would have made that difficult (along with his guilt and self loathing ofc)?

controversially... i don't think he gave a shit.

before i have the timeline up in arms, let me say that i'm an enormous fan of harry and sirius' canon relationship. the muddy paw-print good luck card - and the fact that sirius is the only person harry ever seems even vaguely child-like with, and the fact that harry knows that sirius is dead because he'd never disappear from his sight otherwise - lives rent-free in my head, and i understand completely why so many fans hate seeing the depth of their relationship devalued in service of a characterisation of sirius which is stupid, prissy, flaky, and fickle. because i'm one of them.

however... i must also be frank that there are some things which have emerged in reaction to this fanon devaluation of sirius' commitment to harry which i think are a little overblown. [and which have moved beyond "good godfather sirius black" to "flawless godfather sirius black".]

the reaction sirius is often written as having - within the canon timeline [alternate universes are alternate universes] - to harry's pre-hogwarts experience is one of them.

sirius is often taken as someone who's ready to murder the dursleys and whisk harry away from them at the slightest provocation. within such a characterisation, lupin's failure to check in on harry during his childhood - and, therefore, his failure to do anything about the neglect and abuse harry was experiencing - could be presumed to have sirius ready to tear his old friend limb-from-limb.

in prisoner of azkaban, sirius invites harry to live with him - not because he wants to rescue him, but because he's harry's legal guardian according to james and lily's wishes, and he wants to fulfil those wishes - but by order of the phoenix he takes the same view of harry living with the dursleys as everyone else does: that it isn't nice by any means, but that it is necessary.

that is, once sirius knows about the blood protection - which we can presume happens fairly shortly after prisoner of azkaban, since we know he and dumbledore write to each other - he's completely on board with harry staying where he is.

and this connects to something else i think the fandom has a tendency to overstate: the extent to which sirius intervenes in harry's favour against the rest of the order.

because - yes - sirius is absolutely right to say - on harry's first night in grimmauld place - that he should be updated on what the order have been doing while he's been in little whinging.

this is correct from an operational standpoint - and the primary flaw in molly weasley's argument is, as lupin points out, that excluding the children in the house only stops them learning accurate information about the order's mission, rather than information full stop.

and it also shows sirius' understanding of and respect for who harry is as a person. he's the only adult character in the book who explicitly recognises that harry objects to being infantilised, is frustrated with the information blackout to which he's subjected, and feels that his own contribution and usefulness to the anti-voldemort cause is being overlooked for no good reason.

but... even as we acknowledge this, we also have to acknowledge that - while he recognises that harry's feelings are valid - sirius never suggests that the order's treatment of harry is inappropriate, unnecessary, or unreasonable.

throughout order of the phoenix sirius takes exactly the same view as everyone else:

that harry should be subjected to an information blackout that he should remain in little whinging until told otherwise that he shouldn't be told he's being surveilled that he shouldn't be told about the prophecy and its contents that he shouldn't be made privy to the detail of the order's plans that he shouldn't be informed that he might be possessed and - above all - that dumbledore's decisions when it comes to harry are the right ones and dumbledore's interpretation of events which involve harry is correct

clearly, there's some tension in sirius and dumbledore's relationship in order of the phoenix. but this relates to sirius' view of his own experience - in particular, his struggles with seeing any non-active contribution to the order as valuable. when it comes to harry, he defers - like all the other adults in the order - to dumbledore.

and this is obviously going to affect how sirius understands harry's experience while he was in azkaban.

dumbledore explains to harry - at the end of order of the phoenix - that he was placed with the dursleys for his own protection. not only does the blood protection keep him safe from voldemort - indeed, it is the only thing [as both dumbledore and voldemort acknowledge] that does - but his separation from the wizarding world keeps him safe from voldemort's supporters. and while - yes - dumbledore is withholding certain, horcrux-related bits of the truth from harry here, the broader truth remains... harry is placed with the dursleys because it's the only way to keep him alive, and - regardless of whether the reader thinks this justifies what happens to him - canon is clear that sirius, whose only motivation is to keep harry safe, would.

which means that lupin wouldn't need to offer any explanation for not attempting to seek harry out beyond "dumbledore said not to".

i also think, as a post-script, that the fact that harry doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by his distant relationship with lupin - while sirius is alive, that is - is another reason why sirius wouldn't care about it.

sirius' priority - which i say not as a wolfstar-versus-prongsfoot thing but as a "these are the group dynamics in the canon text" thing - is james. lupin and pettigrew are both clearly his secondary friends while james is alive.

and so, while i reject the idea that he sees harry as indistinguishable from james - this is nonsense the films invented - sirius does nonetheless see harry as someone who takes the same role in society as james did [notice, for example, that he always imagines harry as a leader and the other child characters as followers]. this is the thing he perceives as the same across his relationship with harry and his relationship with james: that he is the only person seen as a peer or co-leader, rather than a follower. he can't envision harry feeling let down by lupin, because in this context lupin would have to have had power over harry to let him down.

if harry was angry at lupin himself - especially if harry framed this as being betrayed or shown insufficient loyalty - i think there's grounds to claim that sirius would share this anger. but i don't think he'd ever be inclined to manufacture it for himself.

[katerinaaqu]

Have you seen my posts? I do read the Odyssey in its original language. Yes I have read the Odyssey and no he didn't do "all that shit" in the Odyssey. For starters define "all that shit"

What the fleet destruction? That was done by the Laestrygonians. Odysseus sailed to Aeaea and yes we know the storms were generated by Poseidon. Odysseus shipwrecking to Ogygia was a natural continuation to the hubris his men did. It was the final storm that made him fall to Scheria that was done by Poseidon for not being pleased that Odysseus was released.

Do you know what else Poseidon DIDN'T do in the Odyssey? He never wished to kill Odysseus. Odysseus was cursed by Polyphemus never to see his home again or if he does to he without his companions and find misery:

Poseidon was clearly stated he never wanted to kill Odysseus. Just detain him. And do you know what else he DIDN'T do? He never wanted to punish Odysseus because he was a villain who hated him. He did it as a natural consequence of Odysseus committing hubris (very similar to the excuse used in religious texts that "God was not vindictive against children of Egypt. It was a natural consequence for the Pharaoh's cruelty") the very essence of the Odyssey was "never mess with the gods or else you are screwed" it was never about "yes the gods are there to he beaten".

Poseidon is not the representation of just the sea. He is the representation of the entirety of physical world and nature. He is also called "earth shaker" or "earth holder" literally the earthquakes that shape the earth. And also again by antiquity so far humans never beaten nature. Nature is where we live and we try to navigate ourselves in it but nature always fights back. Which is why Poseidon and Zeus and Hades are the three gods that are never overpowered by humans. Because they are heavens nature and death. The forces that common humans never overcome. And yes he is devastating and unpredictable. Not a final boss villain to win. He is devastating and unpredictable like nature is

Gods have human weaknesses and human desires. Yes they were not meant to be perfect but also they are not meant to be humans either. Which is why everyday humans don't beat gods into a pulp. Only a select few heroes usually demigods are said to have fought Olympian gods usually with the blessing or help of another Olympian and never the big three Olympians. Those three are generally taken down only by each other or creatures of equal power (see Titan Tylphoon)

Okay so only if someone is a pagan has the right to see detrimation of culture? Also me being Greek is not enough? I somehow need to identify as pagan.

Also yeah allow me to return the question of did you read the Odyssey? Odysseus in the Odyssey never did terrible things to return to his wife. We see terrible things occurring like Ismarus but apart from that in the Odyssey he was just a guy pushed around by the forces of nature because he committed hubris and him was fighting with all he had to go back home. It was never a story about a guy being monstrous and trying into a psycho to go back to his wife. Even when he slaughtered the suitors he admitted it was a sad deed and he tried to avoid it.

And again even if that is what we wanna show the way it happened it was atrocious in my opinion. Mangled the story beyond recognition missed all the important points and changed the most iconic moments to the point of creating literally anything but an Odyssey adaptation. If you wanna believe that is up to you. I do not believe that. I think epic mangled Odyssey without mercy and I dislike the plot of it. And I find it disrespectful to the original material. If you disagree of course you can.

People who criticize others for disliking the changes of Greek mythology when gods are twisted to look like some sort or final villain boss fight video game I honestly wanna see how the reactions would be if someone created a biblical musical where the Pharaoh of Egypt takes revenge against God of Israelites for killing the first born of Egypt by smiting him with his own sword or justice and claim he does it for his people while God begs for mercy.

Food for thought

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Naruto Uzumaki x GN!Reader,

GENRE : fluff

WC : 1.3k

SUMMARY : Naruto starts noticing a shift in his feelings, a warmth that goes beyond friendship. As memories resurface and new emotions grow, he realizes there’s one person who’s always seen him for who he truly is—and means more to him than he ever expected.

CONTENT/WARNINGS : mild violence, heartfelt moments, a soft transition from friendship to romance, no use of y/n, just lmk if I missed anything…!

The first time he’d seen you again after three years, he was stunned.

It wasn’t just that you’d grown taller, or that your smile was brighter, or even that you seemed to carry yourself with a confidence he hadn’t seen before. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. As he stood in front of you, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, he felt this pang in his chest—a feeling he’d never experienced before.

You greeted him with that same warmth you’d had since you were kids, the same smile that had always welcomed him on his toughest days. Naruto realized, with a mix of awe and confusion, that he hadn’t been able to forget that smile during his training with Jiraiya, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his new jutsus or pushing past his limits. Somewhere, deep down, he’d been waiting to come home to that familiar face.

In the days following his return, Naruto noticed that things felt both the same and completely different between you. You laughed together, like you always had. You joked, shared memories, and talked for hours. But every now and then, Naruto would catch himself watching you just a bit too long, feeling his heart pound in a way that made him fumble over his words.

“What’s going on with me?” he’d mutter to himself, lying on his bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. You’d always been his best friend, his first friend—the one person who’d never seen him as just the Nine-Tails kid. You had seen him, truly seen him, when no one else had.

For weeks, he wrestled with this strange, growing feeling. He didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t even know if it was something he could handle. But each time he saw you smile, each time you reached out to support him, Naruto felt that tug in his chest, and he realized that he didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand you.

Months passed, and Naruto grew stronger, as did his bond with you. Then came the attack on the village. When Pain tore through Konoha, Naruto fought harder than he ever had before, not just for the village, but for everyone he cared about—and you were at the top of that list. Through each punch, each jutsu, he held onto the thought of protecting the people he loved.

The village hailed him as a hero after that battle. People who had once looked down on him now cheered for him. They clapped him on the shoulder, they smiled, they praised him. It felt… good, but also strange. Naruto had always dreamed of being acknowledged by the village, but now that he had it, he realized something important.

All this time, when people hadn’t cared, when they’d treated him like an outcast, you had been the one standing by his side. You had seen him for who he was, and your support had never wavered. Naruto had always thought he’d wanted the approval of the entire village, but now he realized that your belief in him meant more than anything else.

And that’s when it hit him. You’d been there for him, always. Through every failure, every triumph, every moment of doubt and every rare victory, you’d been his rock. And in the middle of that realization, Naruto finally understood the feeling he’d been carrying since he came back from training.

He was in love with you.

A few months after the battle, Naruto invited you over to his apartment one evening. He didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe he was tired of keeping this feeling to himself, or maybe he just needed to be near you, to remind himself of everything you’d been through together. But tonight, he felt different. He felt ready.

You were sprawled on his couch, laughing about some memory from your childhood. Naruto watched you, a fond smile playing at his lips. It amazed him how easily you could talk to him, how you seemed to know exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. For a moment, he got lost in the way you looked—comfortable, at home. The way you always looked around him.

“So, Naruto,” you said, breaking his train of thought, “what are you going to do now that the whole village loves you?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Guess I’ll have to get used to sharing you.”

He felt his heart skip at that. “I don’t… want to be shared,” he replied quietly, surprising even himself with how serious he sounded.

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Naruto took a deep breath. He’d been practicing how he would say this for weeks, running through scenarios in his mind. But now that he was sitting here, looking at you, he realized that words wouldn’t come easily. Still, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I mean… I don’t want anyone else,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to share what I have with you. I want it to just… be us.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. Naruto’s hands were trembling as he reached out and took your hand in his, a gesture he’d never dared to make before. The warmth of your skin against his sent a wave of courage through him.

“When I was training with Jiraiya-sensei, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed. “No matter how hard I tried, you were always there. In my mind, I mean. And when I came back, I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I thought maybe it would go away. But it didn’t. And then… after the fight with Pain, when everyone started caring, I realized something. I realized that no one’s ever cared about me the way you have. No one’s ever seen me like you do.”

Naruto took a deep breath, his blue eyes searching yours. “You’ve been there for me, through everything. You didn’t care about the Nine-Tails, or how everyone else looked at me. You just… cared about me. And now… now I think I know why that matters so much to me.”

He paused, his heart pounding, every nerve in his body on edge. “I think… no, I know… that I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, and Naruto felt his face go warm as he finally, finally said it. For the first time in his life, he was vulnerable, baring his heart to the one person he knew would never hurt it.

You looked at him, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn’t read your expression. Then, slowly, a smile spread across your face—a smile that melted every ounce of anxiety inside him.

“Oh, Naruto…” You squeezed his hand, your voice soft. “I’ve always been here because I love you, too. I don’t think there’s been a day where I haven’t wanted to be by your side.”

The relief and joy that washed over him was overwhelming. He felt like his chest would burst, like he’d found something he didn’t even know he’d been searching for.

Without thinking, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. Your lips met, soft and warm, and for that brief moment, nothing else existed. The village, the battles, the world—they all faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that was perfect, that was everything he’d ever wanted.

When he pulled back, Naruto looked at you, his heart still racing, his hand still holding yours tightly. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “But I know that whatever happens… I want you with me. Always.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Always,” you echoed, your voice filled with the same promise.

And for the first time in his life, Naruto felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. Right there, with you, the person who’d always been there, the one who had seen him at his worst and stayed. The person he loved.

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 12

“Ah,” Barricade moaned in his recharge. Prowl squeezed his servo. It had been an orn since Ricochet had flown him to Iacon and Prowl had not left his cousin’s side, apart from joors long surgeries.

Ratchet had not been able to make any repairs yet, beyond patching leaks. Until Barricade had beaten the infection, repairs were impossible. The surgeries so far had been to control leaks and to remove or to debride wounds. Though Ratchet had been cautious to avoid giving Prowl too much hope for Barricade’s recovering, he had seemed more hopeful during his last exams. The fever had finally started dropping late the last dark-cycle. This light-cycle, it had finally broken. So long as Barricade’s spark remained strong, the first repairs were set for the next mega-cycle. Time would only tell if his frame would accept the repairs. If the infections were not completely resolved, the repairs might reject and the infections might spread frame wide.

“Mm,” Barricade’s optics flickered and Prowl covered his cousins servo with both of his.

“I am here,” Prowl told him. “You are safe.”

“Prowl,” Barricade groaned. “Lockdown...”

“Jazz will attend to Lockdown,” Prowl assured him.

“He wants you,” Barricade moaned. “He wanted to make you watch.”

“I am safe, Barricade,” Prowl said. “We are in the medbay on the Autobot base. Lockdown is no match for Ratchet, Ironhide or Prime.”

“Nightstalker...” Barricade hissed.

“Is dead,” Prowl said. “They were saying it was you.”

“It was,” Barricade replied. “He ambushed me with Lockdown. I think he was the one that paid Lockdown to botnap you.”

“That... fits,” Prowl blanched, remembering Nightstalker covering him when that heat had crept up on him. Thank Primus he had not kindled in that heat.

“Lockdown...” Barricade groaned.

“Ricochet put a tracker on the Death’s Head before he got you to safety,” Prowl assured him. “He and Jazz are hunting him now. He will not escape. There is nowhere in the universe he can hide.”

“Won’t hide,” Barricade said. “He wants you. He’ll kill your bitties.”

“He will not get the opportunity.”

Prowl never left the medbay. Like Ricochet had given him a holster to magnetize to his leg. He did not need to reach into his subspace for a weapon, it was always at servo. If Lockdown got this far, Prowl was Barricade’s last line of defence, and he would not let his cousin down. Ricochet had told him what Barricade had said before he had lost consciousness and Prowl knew without a doubt Barricade had goaded Lockdown, encouraging the torture in order to distract Lockdown from search of him. Barricade had sacrificed so much for Prowl’s sake and Prowl wished he had not. He wished Barricade had stayed in Iacon, out of Nightstalker’s and Lockdown’s reach. He even wished he had begged, if that might have convinced Lockdown to leave him alone. It might not have but could it have been worse than it had been?

“How is he?” Punch joined him.

“Resting,” Prowl replied. “Ratchet performed the first grafts. It will be quartexes before we know if Barricade will have any kind of normal function.”

“He’ll be fine,” Punch told him. “He’s a strong mech. He’ll adapt how he gotta, if he gotta. Ratchet’s the best, o’ the best ‘n he’s got more experience fixing Omega ‘n Beta victims o’ Alpha abuse. I hate to think it, but he’s seen scrap, maybe not quite like this, but close enough ‘n horrible all the same.”

“I have not heard anything for Jazz,” Prowl worried out loud.

“He’s fine,” Punch assured him. “Both o’em are. They’ll be in touch when they’ve taken his helm.”

“I am glad to have you here,” Prowl told him. “I wish I just... knew. I cannot stand I have that mech’s mark on me.”

“Even if ya don’t got Jazz’s bite on ya, yer mated in the only way that counts,” Punch told him. “Yer mates o’ the spark.”

***

Lockdown did not take kindly to Ricochet stealing his prize. Rage made him more reckless than normal and they took advantage. While Lockdown was distracted in the drug den, Jazz sabotaged the Death’s Head fuel tanks. If the bounty hunter escaped them on the ground, when he turned on the engines, the fuel tanks would blow. It would have been easy enough to leave it at that, and left the explosion do him in but Lockdown did not deserve an easy death. He might have left it to his twin, he had a good claim for Lockdown’s helm but Ricochet could not just stand back and watch. What he had seen, what he had felt when he had explored Barricade’s mutilated array to try and find the source of the major leak that had been threatening to cause him to bleed out, Ricochet needed to make Lockdown hurt. He needed to make him feel humiliation and shame.

The bounty hunter had raped the Beta so violently that he had effectively destroyed both his valve casing and aft tubing and further ruptured his waste and fuel systems. Ricochet did not know if he had caused him some permanent loss of function by cauterizing the leaks he had found but if he had not cauterized them, Barricade would have bled out. If he Beta needed to vent on him for his choices later, Ricochet could accept that. The mech had the right to be angry about what had been done to him. There was no question in Ricochet’s processor that he would survive, though he had never seen Ratchet go paler when he saw a patient, Barricade had been strong enough to challenge Lockdown and to keep challenging him to protect his gravid cousin. He would be strong enough to survive to be gifted with a trophy.

“Did he always hit Syk this hard?” Ricochet asked.

“He was a casual user,” Jazz replied. “Probably got hooked on scrap in Garrus-9. Even thought they’re in solitary, they weld Alpha’s panels shut so they can’t even jack-off.”

“Shoulda gelded’m for what he did to Prowl,” Ricochet said.

“Agreed,” Jazz said. “Didn’t even charge’m for it. Too afraid to let it get out it could happen to one o’ theirs? Don’t make sense to me. I wouldn’t let it slide if it happened to one o’ my ops.”

“Even the Cons don’t do it,” Ricochet said.

“Right?” Jazz replied. “Probably afraid we’d do it back.”

“He’s comin’ out,” Ricochet said.

“Go Hound, lure’m o’er,” Jazz ordered.

They watched a hologram materialize. It was identical to Barricade. Hidden by the hologram, Hound moved towards the alley, mimicking a heavy limp. Lockdown made a guttural sound that echoed down the empty street. Both Ricochet and Jazz were ready. Hound was just a few steps ahead of the hologram he had deployed. If Lockdown got within a breath of reaching him, he would be shot where he stood. Jazz was constantly doing the math in his helm. Vengeance, for anyone, was not enough for him to risk his friend and subordinate. What was important, to all of them, was that Lockdown died this dark-cycle. There would be no trial, Spec Ops did not work that way, not for a monster like Lockdown. If they ever got their servos on Vortex, there would be no trial, no prisoner exchange, for him either. Lockdown followed the hologram into the alley. He screeched as the snare, triggered by his heavy ped, swallowed him up. The hologram vanished and Hound, a Beta, gave him a smirk. Ricochet and Jazz walked over and shared a look. They had caught him with his spike hanging out, his knot already about to pop. Jazz gave Ricochet a knife.

“Barricade said he’d cut yer spike of,” Ricochet told him as he knelt next to the bounty hunter. He wrench Lockdown’s spike out of the netting and held the borrowed blade to it. “Ya weren’t mech enough to face ‘m fair.”

Lockdown screamed as Ricochet severed his spike at the base. Hound stood in the entrance of alley, hologram deployed, showing just an empty, dirty alley. It was a rough part of town, no one came to the wretched scream, no one wanted to be the next victim. Lockdown shrieked curses. Jazz seized his jaw and cut out his glossa. The glyphs he had used against Prowl had wounded him. He would not speak again. They did not have time to clinger on vengeance, unfortunately. Jazz carved a knife through his abdominal plating and ripped out his internals, showing them to Lockdown. Ricochet watched his twin lean in close, glaring into the dying Alpha’s optics.

“I always knew ya was gutless.”

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 56 Karasu Posting

Hooooooly moly dear void. I will de-feral this as much as possible before posting, but full disclosure: I am not hiding my Hakuri bias at all this time. Thank you once again for tolerating my bullshit.

Now that I have access to the JP version, I can try to TL the editor's notes that are left out of the EN version! They're not super important or anything, but it's still an unnecessary corner to cut IMO. Other languages like Spanish keep them in...

(Please consider this and all other TLs practice for myself and not an actual competent interpretation, kind void.)

First page: 代償と覚悟- [taishou to kakugo-, "Cost and resolve..."]; I think a better, less literal translation would be along the lines of "The cost of one's resolve...", but again, not in any way competent at this. Last page: 妖刀振るう者の実力戦況が動く-!! [youtou furuu mono no jitsuryoku senkyou ga ugoku-!!, "The tide of battle shifts as the Bearer shows his true abilities through his enchanted blade...!!"]; 戦況 (senkyou) literally means "progress of a battle" or "war situation" but I think it's equivalent enough to the phrase "tide of battle" to translate it as such. It sounds a lot less stiff that way anyway... and yeah, 妖刀 (youtou, bewitched/magical/demon sword) is what the enchanted blades are called in Japanese, just like 振るう者 (furuu mono, wielder) are the Bearers. This one's honestly a toughie for me since it's hard to keep all the connotations without the sentence getting clunky or too far off from the original. Welp, that's why I'm just a total amateur still!

Also, putting this here in case it's left untranslated in the EN version: In regards to Samura's command when he draws Tobimune, karasu (鴉) means "crow" or "raven"- hence all the feathers. What an awesome reuse of the theme from Roku no Meiyaku!

Someone save this one-shot from MTL hell pretty please

Crows can represent good omens in Japan- they're associated with gratitude, guidance, and good luck in addition to the usual things like cleverness and trickery. Pretty fitting for Samura, I'd say! Especially with the backstory we got about him and the Makizumi this chapter.

On Respect for Life

I love Hokazono-sensei's chibi style. Look at Samura scolding his guards like Shiba scolded Hakuri and Chihiro!

This manga seriously never misses on the found family wholesomeness. I know we're getting this backstory to make the potential upcoming deaths hurt so much more- the only question I'm asking right now is how many of them will live through whatever the Hishaku's trump card is. I just love seeing characters care deeply for each other beyond the sake of duty, y'know? No mater how they meet, they connect and come to value each other's lives as much as or more than their own. That's peak shounen!

Samura's so passionate about saving the lives that others are willing to give up for his sake that he can't bear to leave them behind even when it's for the best. It takes Uruha's intervention to get him the hell out of there but he immediately wants to charge back in. He wants to save no matter how much it conflicts with his personal beliefs or how much it will cost him personally- no matter how much it will cost the whole nation if he dies (sounds like someone else we know).

What about Uruha, though? He's not quite like his (former) master- he's been tempered differently and I can't wait to find out why. He seems to be very accepting of letting other people die for his sake again.

Uruha has the same abundant respect for life and the desire to protect that Samura does but it manifests completely differently. He still recklessly jumps in to save the day, but he's far more prudent about strategy despite being younger. To Uruha, valuing the lives of the guards means acknowledging the importance they place on his own. He respects their devotion by staying alive to ensure their sacrifices aren't in vain. It's about honoring the choice they made, even if it hurts him to do so. (And possibly another thing, but that'll be near the end since it's kind of a reach on my part.)

Master and disciple of the same style with completely different outlooks on how to emphasize the importance of life. Which one will be given credence by the story here, though? Depends on a technically unrelated third party.

Hakuri, the Makizumi, and Samura

Hmmmmmmmmm who does this sound like.

If there were any doubts about what this part of the arc is for, let them be forever cast aside: this is for Hakuri's growth. The Makizumi, Uruha, and even Samura are here to focus on key aspects of Hakuri's character, namely his two biggest flaws: "freakishly devoted" and "not valuing himself enough or in the right way".

The obsessive devotion of the Sazanami clan was cast in a negative light- seeing themselves as tools, tradition over humanity, Soya's entire character. Now we have the Makizumi, a clan who also see themselves as tools to live for a master's sake. They're being shown in a positive way though: they're lovingly devoted to Samura's well-being, and the sacrifice they plan to make is noble instead of terribly pointless. But it's not because of their mindset- that's way too close to the Sazanami's for comfort. It's because they were humanized by being with Samura.

He rejected their protection and utility despite the air-tight logic of their argument. He absolutely refuses to let them die for his sake even though they essentially exist to do so. He's not a guy who trivializes life even if he's given full license to do so because it goes against his sincerely held beliefs. Instead, Samura sees them as people to care for and protect in return- that's how he values life (who else does that sound like?).

Now look at Hakuri.

Like the Makizumi, he lives to be useful. Working with Chihiro means making the world a better place so there will never be another Ice Lady. His life has no value other than how useful he is and what Chihiro sets it to (hence all the allusions to Hakuri being Chihiro's dog in the Japanese version).

Like Samura, he absolutely will not let others die for his sake. Even disregarding his own inherent value as a person, it doesn't matter to him that he's a key part of the plan for national stability. Whatever happens to him is of no consequence if it means others are safe. He will not let another life slip through his hands again.

So yes, this part of the arc at Senkutsuji is (almost) all for Hakuri. Uruha was an obvious parallel to him from the start, and now Samura's a mirror of his ardent savior complex while the Makizumi reflect the mindset that fuels it.

Sazanami Hakuri: #1 enabler of recklessly suicidal behavior.

What happens next depends on where Hakuri's character growth is intended to go. If he's supposed to be more like Samura, his actions will save the day and everything will be fine even if he himself is out of commission for a while. But if he's supposed to be more like Uruha, then this victory will be fleeting. I think the latter is the more compelling development, personally. There's nothing new or exciting about a character exceeding their limits to achieve an upset victory here. Hakuri's done it three times now, in fact. But I'll have more to say on this later. For now...

Shameless Hakuri Praising

I am absolutely insane over the colour page. It's the first one for a solo character that isn't Chihiro and it's just to show off Hakuri looking absolutely incredible!

Normally don't post the full thing but LOOK AT HIM. HE'S SO COOL!

//NOTE: May as well mark it in the off-chance it isn't removed: the kanji in the blue box is just the title of the series (神楽鉢, Kagurabachi).

I should have been more confident and not let someone talk me out of the "I'm the only one" connection to Kyora's willpower last week. I won't go back to edit it- that mistake will stay forever. But holy shit. I am in love with this colour page and all it represents. I've been waiting for ages for us to get reminders that Hakuri is still a Sazanami! He only destroyed his family about 24 hours ago, so their ideals are still very much present in him and core to who he is.

It's even down to the suit he's wearing! It's the same as his younger appearance in the Ch. 20 flashback panel, just with Kyoura's ugly tie from the Ch. 31 colour page:

Apologies yet again for my shitty MSPaint skills.

This is everything I wanted! Repudiating his family's ideals, taking them down, and leaving them behind to make the world a better place didn't undo everything that he was trained to do for his deeply-held beliefs. Hakuri still carries the legacy of his family with him in how he devotes his entire being to a cause. He's still his father's son.

There's his name, too! 伯理 [Hakuri] means "logical chief". It implies that the person is due respect as the family's role model, among other interesting things. So dressing him up in a suit and giving him his dad's tie makes me go just a skosh feral. He's the true Sazanami ideal that Kyoura could never be- living up to his name despite everything that happened between him and his family. Call it reaching if you want! I won't deny that it's a tenuous implication at best. But I love this kind of shit so I'm going to hold it close and gnaw on it in delulu land.

One last possible interpretation (and my personal favourite)- if the JP text is removed as usual from the EN version, the caption on it is: 胸に秘めたその信念- [mune ni hi meta sono shinen-; "The conviction(s) hidden in his heart..."] (curse Japanese for being vague about singular vs. plural so often) .

Hm. What could such an exuberant character like Hakuri be hiding? This guy is completely open about what he's thinking and feeling at all times- there's no mystery about what's going on with him.

Unless, of course, it has to do with his whole raison d'être.

Ice Lady is a complete unknown to Chihiro, Shiba, and everyone else. He only mentioned her as "someone who set [him] on the right path" in a flash back panel in chapter 34. He keeps what he did to her close to his heart, hidden away from the world. I hope this part of his backstory comes into play this arc or in the future. Her suicide completely changed his mentality but it got mixed into his slavish devotion mindset. He just shifted the focus of that resolve from the Rakuzaichi to saving lives.

But there's something else too. Something much more fundamental affects how Hakuri sees the world and himself that he doesn't talk about, much less acknowledge.

Most people would not frame this kind of physical harm as "love" in any way, shape, or form.

I made a separate post to go way too-depth about this facet of his character but here's the gist: Hakuri's deeply held belief in his own lack of worth is a key factor in his suicidal recklessness when it comes to acting on his other convictions.

He's used to thinking of himself as completely disposable just from the indoctrination he received as a Sazanami, but shovel a heaping helping of abusive, manipulative "love" on top of that? Hoo boy. Hakuri's got some harmful beliefs about his self-worth that he's not ready to face yet, much yet talk about. There's a reason why he's still got those Visual Metaphor Tools still hidden in his warehouse.

Hakuri's true reasons for acting the way he does are hidden alongside the beliefs about himself that he's yet to address, the combination of which are sending him into a self-destructive spiral. Deprogramming arc when?! I've always got my clown suit ready but come on...! Mentioning it so prominently means it's important, right? I'll get to see him talk about his past and trauma with Chihiro (or someone else he comes to trust) to start healing for real, right? RIGHT?!

Nice delusional rant, bro. But what about the chapter itself? Well, there's this deliberate artistic choice:

Chs. 42 & 56

Like father, like son.

Note the cracked mask and double lines that give a sort of distorted pulsing impression for them both. It's a cool as hell way to show them working against enormous mental strain, and they're the only characters to have this effect in the series so far. We're truly meant to see Kyora in Hakuri this chapter.

Of course he passes out right after. But never, ever doubt a Sazanami's capability to defend to the death.

[incoherent screeching]

God I love Hakuri so much. He responds to Samura's will resonating with his own and gives him exactly what he needs to save everyone like he's the Lady of the Lake: Kagurabachi edition.

Hakuri's resolve is the stuff of legends, no doubt about that. Chihiro was right to feel like he couldn't measure up to this guy's sheer tenacity; he's got a will of adamant, just like Kyora.

It's also leading him down the same path of self-destruction. So this moment is clutch as hell and I am cheering for him, yes... but I'm also wondering how the narrative will punish him.

Again, he's not dying despite that being noted as a possible outcome. So the question becomes: how dire was Healer Lady's "you'll lose your sorcery" warning in truth? I'm still 50/50 on him losing access at all, much less permanently. Might lean closer to losing access now than before, but it's not changed much.

Instead, I'm waiting to see how much I should keep glazing the writing.

Death Tangent (Hakuri Edition)

I lost a lot of faith in shounen series in general after I realized that "stop, you'll die!" is just a flat-out lie 99% of the time. Yeah, I know, death doesn't have to be the end result just because a character yelled about it. But the consequences of risking death should make me believe that it really was a possible outcome. It's almost insulting for a writer to try and convince me that the stakes really are that high before having everything be fine after a short bed rest.

Hm, that sounds familiar...

The stakes (chapter 42).

The consequences (chapter 45).

Shiba already committed this sin in chapter 42 and I let it slide because it was the only time so far it'd been invoked. And yeah, Chihiro probably would have went poof without recourse if he couldn't get out of the storehouse in time. But he's the main character so of course he wasn't going to die. Hakuri was the only one truly in danger there.

Char's existence also negates the worst outcomes. It's pretty safe to assume that she can heal any physical wounds our heroes incur- she can even regrow missing limbs with enough time after all! So the default stakes of "stop, you'll die!" are zilch unless the character is killed on the spot or succumbs before they can get to her (which is also undermined by Shiba's teleportation abilities).

...Or if they injure themselves in a way that Char can't help with. Which is why Chihiro's fine, but Hakuri's still struggling.

So, I might be giving the author too much credit with what I'm going to say here. I fully and freely admit it- it wouldn't be the first time I've done this. Yet I feel like the "deadly outcome" scenario here in chapter 56 isn't purely to create tension through cheap tactics. Neither, in fact, was Shiba's line in chapter 42 despite me writing it off as such. Instead, they're mentioned to highlight how self-destructive Hakuri is and set him up for changing that. Reasons being:

Healer lady mentioned death as a worst-case scenario alongside the more plausible consequence of losing his sorcery.

2. This is a direct continuation of the consequences from Shiba's exclamation in Ch. 42 instead of another one-off moment for dramatic tension.

Hakuri is mostly OK after Char's help and a good night's sleep. But he can't use his sorcery without passing out and looks like he's got a bit of a headache too. And what's this? He'll be fine in a few days but he keeps straining himself over and over? He's KOed by the pain with a nosebleed when he keeps pushing? Would you look at that- consequences. And he keeps making them worse!

Hakuri is trying to do that shounen protagonist thing of bashing his head against the wall until it crumbles from his sheer persistence. He got off almost scot-free the first time but he won't wait the few days it'll take to recover. He won't even let himself be taken elsewhere to shorten the time to 30 minutes. That's why we see him in the same state as Kyora when he was fighting off Magatsumi's influence in his death throes- Hakuri's actually risking his life using his abilities now. He's going to genuinely invite death over and over until he's forced not to somehow.

So what'll it be for him? Losing all his sorcery forever- or maybe only temporarily? Shoved offscreen in a coma? Another good night's sleep and actual rest for a week or two to be right as rain? Still running on fumes until the end of the arc? I'll be (unfairly) using the outcome of this situation to decide whether or not to take my sky-high evaluation of the series' writing down a notch. I have no problem putting on a rainbow wig and squeaky shoes if this all turns out to be me making delusional excuses. God knows I've done that plenty as a long-time KH fan and SoRiku shipper. I just want to know what to expect in return for trusting the author with my emotional investment. I can forgive a lot of things, but not having proper consequences for invoking death as an outcome really sticks in my craw.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

Samura and Uruha's argument also ties into the larger themes that I'm hoping get explored when it's time to focus on the Kamunabi as an org: the greatest good vs. the greater good for all. There are strong cases to be made on both sides of the divide and it's possible that some of them will be explored through Chihiro and Hiyuki when we get to them.

In Samura and Uruha's case, Samura is going against the government's well-justified interest in keeping him alive at all costs to act on his personal beliefs. It's noble and heroic- no one can deny that saving lives is an immensely good deed. But it's also a selfish act that exposes the nation to risk. Uruha is the voice of the other side of that philosophical argument saying that it's justifiable to sacrifice a few for the benefit of the many. He loathes that people are dying for him just as much as Samura does. But like Hakuri noted, he understands his own value in the grand scheme of things and acts according to what's best for the majority. In this case, he prioritizes his own life so that the Hishaku can't use a magical nuke in the event of his death.

This could just be reaching on my part, but I feel like it's a prelude to the eventual values conflict between Chihiro and Hiyuki. Chihiro acts in his own interests to do the greatest good he can while Hiyuki (so far) aligns with the Kamunabi's views that power of that level should be controlled for the good of the nation. Her view of Chihiro as a person shifted after the Rakuzaichi- she's willing to help him make his case to her superiors. But we haven't seen a hint of change in this mindset yet:

Ch. 20

Not to mention Kazane and Ikuto still (barely) hanging around after the Sojo debacle.

Chihiro's position hasn't budged at all either. He's got his dad's words about not letting the Kamunabi have access to the blades front and center in his mind, right next to the Hishaku wanting the Kamunabi to have exactly that. They're gonna clash over this for sure. I'm just waiting for the time to come.

On character writing...

I know it's just basic storytelling and Hokazono-sensei's not the first or only author to do it so well, but I truly admire how intricately he writes characters to compliment and bounce off of each other. There are never polar opposites who are simple contrasts. Hakuri and Chihiro, Uruha and Samura- each foil pair is a pleasing blend of shared and opposing ideology and expressions that highlight each other's defining traits, bringing out both the best and worst in each other.

Also, I love all the passionate men in this series. It's so awesome to have a cast whose ages skew heavily into the 30's and 40's still be so damn fiery and hot-headed. Even more temperate ones like Kyora are so full of conviction that they put the younger generation to shame in some respects! They aren't there to just dispense sage wisdom and remind the youngsters to keep the bigger picture in mind. They're flawed people burdened with trauma living life and guiding the younger cast with the best they have. There are some major fuck-ups along the way too- like everything Kyora did to his sons, and Samura accidentally influencing Chihiro to think he's a monster. They have issues that are unconsciously passed along to keep amplifying the manga's core theme of "legacy"- how it's made and echoes through generations. I LOVE STRONG THEMATIC STORYTELLING AT EVERY LEVEL.

Guess I had a lot to yap about this time after a few lighter weeks in a row. Sorry about that, void. Thank you as always if you made it this far. Do a small act of kindness for yourself today, okay?

[kyokutsu-sama]

Beyond Appearances

Haganezuka x f!reader| fluff

A/n: A scenario where our most handsome swordsmith shows his insecurities when he feels in love with a very kind hashira who managed to soften his heart❤️

Sorry for the delay, I thought I had already written the ending but it turns out I didn't have one yet🥲

□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆□☆

In all his years as a short-tempered swordsmith, Haganezuka had never found himself in such trouble after he met a young woman hashira who had been visiting the swordsmith village recently. He thought that loving someone was harder than forging a sword.

Kanamori had already teased him about the subject, but he just deny it, saying it was a lie and that he just was confusing things, but the friend knew he was lying. And Hotaru also knew he was deceiving himself.

"Come on, admit it, you like her!" Kanamori said, and his friend hit the blade of the hot sword harder, almost breaking it

"Can you shut up for a moment? I'm sick of this talk! Damn!" He replied, already upset

"You know I'm right, don't you? She's pretty, isn't she?" The friend teased him further to see if he would reveal anything, and he just showed more and more signs

"Listen up, you asshole! Don't you dare make any comments about her, do you hear me?" Haganezuka threatened, with one of his knives pointed at his friend

"If you don't like her, why do you act like that ? Come on, tell me."

"Like what?" Haganezuka put the blade he had on the table and looked at his friend

"I just said she was beautiful and you already look like you're about to grab a knife to kill me. What do you want me to think?"

Haganezuka gave a long snort and put his hands to his covered face for a moment. He was fed up with that conversation even though he knew his friend was telling the truth. He might seem all explosive and hot-headed but when he remembered how kind you were and the sparkle in your eyes, he calmed down. It was like the calming sound of bells moving when the wind blew them.

"Kanamori, I have work to do. Don't bother me with this anymore, or I'll test the blade on you to see if it's sharp enough." Haganezuka said before returning to work, and his friend just shook his head with a giggle

"You really are shy to admit how things are, aren't you?" His friend teased him for the last time, and it was then that Haganezuka prepared to throw one of his knives at him, but stopped when the smithy door opened.

Your presence made him hide the knife behind his back. He didn't want to scare you in any way.

"Good morning!" You greeted them. "Is my sword ready yet?" You asked, pointing to the blade that was on the workbench

"No, not yet. Maybe tomorrow." Haganezuka said, lowering his gaze and gently placing the knife on the table behind him so that you wouldn't suspect anything

"Well, then, I'll come by tomorrow morning. I'm going on a mission in two days and I'll need it." You warned

"I know, I'm already taking care of it."

"I see. Have a good day then!" You smiled and left

When you closed the door, Kanamori looked at his friend and saw him narrowing his eyes at him.

"Don't you dare to open that mouth, got it?" Haganezuka warned even before his friend say something

"Fine, I won't, but I'll tell you that you should face the truth. I see how you look at her, how you've been following her for months to find out how she is and what she's doing. Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what? What would a woman like her see in a man like me? A dirty, rough man, full of calluses on his hands and wounds. Don't you think she deserves better?" The blacksmith looked at his friend and Kanamori couldn't help but laugh at his words

"Oh, so that was your problem, wasn't it? Insecurities about yourself. You know, I honestly don't think Y/n is a person who judges by appearances. If she were, she probably would have made countless comments about you since she met you and besides, she never treated you badly or offended you." The friend pointed out

"I don't care, I won't talk about it. I'm done with that conversation, I'm going back to work now." Haganezuka turned his back on his friend and focused on what he was doing before

"It's up to you, but look, if you don't say it, someone else 'better' will. Think about it." Kanamori said before leaving

The first rays of sunlight slowly entered through the window and illuminated Haganezuka's sleeping figure who was sitting on the floor leaning against the counter where he forged swords.

He was exhausted after spending the whole night preparing your sword, knowing that you would come to get it that morning.

He was breathing slowly and inaudibly, not even sounding like the heavy breathing and long, tired sighs from the busy night he had spent.

"I need to finish it, Y/n needs it. I need to hurry." He said as he sharpened the blade

Many could say he was short-tempered, but he was without a doubt one of the most dedicated blacksmiths to his post. Many blacksmiths took at least one to two weeks to finish a sword, he did it in a matter of days.

You approached the smithy's door and knocked. Normally, what you expected was to hear Hotaru's screams from the other side asking you to leave, but today you didn't hear it and found it strange.

"Isn't he here? Did he go somewhere?" You thought, with a doubtful expression

"Haganezuka-san?!" You called. "Are you there?"

No answer came from the other side, he was sound asleep.

"I'm coming in, okay?" You warned, opening the door slowly and peeking inside

Your eyes immediately fell on Haganezuka sitting on the floor, sleeping. You smiled a little when you saw him and then you went in, closing the door behind you.

You walked slowly towards him, kneeling beside his figure. He wasn't wearing his mask and you thought he was very handsome even with some dirt stains on his skin and sweat. He looked so young even though he was almost forty.

You held one of his hands and saw the hardness of the calluses and some still open cuts.

"He's an incredibly dedicated swordsmith." You thought, seeing his condition

You had him in high regard even when he yelled at you when you broke his sword. You knew he was hot-blooded, but you also knew he wasn't all he seemed.

You looked at his other hand and there was a sword, you immediately assumed it was yours and that he had been working on it all night.

"No wonder he's so sweaty and dirty...working after hours." You looked at his sleeping face and gave a little smile

You moved your hand from his face to the hand where the sword was and grabbed the hilt slowly and pulled it out slowly but his grip tightened as if he was trying to stop you from taking it from him.

"Don't touch it." He whispered with his eyes still closed

You pulled away and looked at him seeing his eyelids flutter a little, he had already realized that someone was there but he didn't know it was you.

"Haganezuka? Are you awake?" You ask and he shifts a little."It's me, Y/n. I came in because you didn't answer me before and--"

"Your sword is ready." He nodded and you looked at him, seeing his eyes slowly open, revealing a bright orange hue

"Yeah, I see it..." You said as he stretched and straightened his posture. "I can also see that you took the night off to make it for me. I'm sorry for giving you so work." You looked down and he looked at you, blinking slowly before looking away

"I love forging swords, I put all my dedication into them."

"I know, I see that your hands are full of calluses and your sweat is wetting your clothes." You said, holding his hand and he quickly removed it from yours, turning his face away from yours, which was blushing."Come on, let's get up, okay?" You said, holding him and trying to lift him up

He didn't push you away or say anything, he just gave in to your arms around him as he stood up.

He staggered back a little but you held him steady again. He was tired all over and needed some proper rest, something he hadn't had.

"You should get some sleep, you're getting dark circles under your eyes. And it looks like they've been going on for a few days. Do you have that much work?"

"I stayed awake for three days to make it for you. Here it is." He said, holding out the sword to you and you took it carefully as if it were glass. "You need to go on that mission, right? Your sword is ready, now go." He said and you looked from the sword to him, seeing him a little downcast and sleepy

You put the sword back in its sheath and brought a hand to his face and looked at him. That was the first time you saw his face, he had gone to take a nap that ended up lasting until morning.

"You're going to get your hands dirty." He said, watching you touch his face to clean the dirt

"They're already dirty from all the missions I've been on, so I don't think it matters to me anymore." You smiled and he blushed even more

He looked into your eyes for a moment without saying anything. All those insecurities of his seemed to be leaving his mind and that made him more confident.

"You've been forging the swords for all the missions I go on, so I can't leave here today without thanking you."

"Thank me for making something for you to break it later, is that it?" He bite back and you smiled

"That's more or less it."

You looked at each other for a moment while you were still cleaning his skin. His eyes couldn't leave yours and the fact that your face was so close that it almost touched his was only making him even more nervous.

You, on the other hand, were also feeling a little embarrassed even though you tried to look normal. You had a bit of a crush on him since the first day, always wondering what his face would be like under the mask and wondering if he had a soft side and not just a rough side. At that moment, you discovered both things.

You stared at him for a moment, holding his face with both hands. You thought about pulling back but you couldn't, you had to show your feelings for him and without hesitating any longer, you kissed him, taking the man completely by surprise.

It was at that moment that he could have sworn he was going to faint, because not even the heat from the forge's fire made him sweat as much as that sudden act.

He didn't know what was going on and you just wanted it to be reciprocated. You felt good with him and even with that rough and tough way, you could find a soft and shy side of him. A side where he wasn't stubborn or shouty. One where he just let himself be carried away by you and the love you had to give him.

He put an arm around your waist, hugging your body and pulling you closer while you held on to his strong arms to keep yourself standing since your knees were weak.

After a moment like that he pulled away and you noticed that his cheeks were so red it looked like they were burning.

"You're blushing, you look so cute!" You joked and he immediately turned his face to hide it from you

"Shut up, I'm not blushing!"He said, moving away from you and putting the mask back on to hide his blushing face

"Oh come on, it's normal. You probably never fall in love before."You giggled

"I'm sorry if this was a little sudden, but I really like you, you know? You're not all that people say you are, and I think you're a very talented swordsmith. Your work is incredible and you always do your best. Thank you, Haganezuka-san." You smiled at him and he looked at you, removing his mask to kiss you again, taking you by surprise this time.

He was also never seen as a good person in the swordsmith village, but deep down he was misunderstood, and seeing someone with a good heart like you praising him and the work he loved so much only made his heart melt.

"I really like you too, but I won't mix things up. If you break it, I'll break you later." He warned and you giggled, hugging him

"No, you love me. You wouldn't do that, would you?" You whispered next to his ear Haganezuka narrowed his eyes and took a long breath. You were really getting on his nerves.

[bosspigeon]

what was the relationship between gortash and your durges pre-lobotomy? how do they feel when they meet him again?

:3 soooo originally i thought it would be REALLY funny if Gortash was shooting his shot so hard but Maw (pre-lobo Moss~) was just So Autistic he just didn't get it

but then i realized i could go deeper and much more painful :3c

i stand by Moss being a Big Ol' Virgin before Astarion, bc i, personally, think that makes for a very fun(ny) dynamic and also fits in with the character i've already established for Maw, and that was that he was so single-mindedly focused on his duty to Bhaal and his destiny that he didn't really bother with seeking out any sort of bond with anyone, much less enough for him to start feeling sexual attraction towards them. his duty was Murder and he was very, very, very good at it, and that came from a lifetime of dedication

but i think, meeting Gortash, someone he saw as more of an equal than even Orin (who he saw as his lesser by virtue of him being made by Bhaal from his own flesh and her being a second-generation spawn from a first-generation spawn that he still considered imperfect as well as misguided wrt his ideas about Blood Purity) and eventually befriending him over their shared passions and dedication to their respective patron gods, opening him up to actually making his own adult bond with someone else for the first time in his entire life

his relationship with Gortash started as a business deal and eventually turned into companionship and his first genuine friendship. and from there, feelings began to emerge on both sides, but seeing as Maw had a lot of practice shoving down any Softer Feelings he may have had (and an adolescence of Firm Guidance into perfection overseen by Sceleritas, who served Bhaal first and foremost) so before Orin betrayed him, they never got further than a very heavy, very dangerous Almost.

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[sparky-is-spiders]

Jonelias Week Day 1 (Which is definitely today I swear), for the prompt "No Powers AU"

This one... maybe got away from me. This is actually only the first half of what I've written so far, and probably the first third overall! I do plan to post this to Ao3 at some point (although I suspect I'll need to do a lengthy round of editing first lmao). It's some very self-indulgent nonsense, which is a lot of what I write, but now it's getting put in the main tags of a ship during said ship's event week. So. It may also be a little bit "aromantic dude tries to figure out what having a crush is supposed to be like." Also a lot of "dude who took Principals of Accounting once pretending it knows what office work is like." Anyway, quick warning before we begin, and the rest will be under the read-more:

Stalking (played for laughs) for most of the fic.

Just. A weird amount of obsession.

Ok that should be it I think. Fic under the cut.

Jon's new boss was, quite possibly, the most boring man in the world. He wore the same outfit every day (pale dress shirt with dark unpatterned tie and gray slacks and matching suit jacket). The only personal effect in his entire office was a potted plant on the windowsill (some sort of succulent, and definitely fake). He always arrived to work exactly half an hour early and left exactly half an hour late. The only hobby he appeared to show any interest in was scheduling, which he seemed to find both deeply engaging and remarkably irritating. In fact, he was apparently so opposed to the idea of mixing his work with his personal life that he might as well not have existed beyond the walls of their office. Jon had never been more fascinated by anyone else in his entire life.

It stared with the transfer to the accounting department. Elias had met with him personally to get him acclimated to his new role. He had been blandly polite, and blandly handsome, and Jon had stopped listening to him about five minutes into their conversation. It was probably bad form, really. The software Elias was droning on and on about sounded like it was about to become a central feature of his days. He really should've been paying attention to it. Instead, he pretended to make eye contact while zeroing in on the top of Bouchard's forehead (a very useful trick, really) and became inordinately focused on the small lock of hair that had fallen across it. It was terribly distracting, and Jon had wondered how he hadn't noticed it. And then he wondered how it had come to be there. And then he had built up an entire story involving a murder, an illicit affair with the assistant director of marketing, and the potted succulent. And then he had noticed Bouchard eying him with what could've been suspicion or amusement or irritation or nothing whatsoever, and had been forced to rapidly pretend to care about their company's bad debt expense policy. Bouchard had indulged him, and had spoken with the calm authority of someone who knew what they were talking about, and had even managed to avoid being overtly condescending (a feat forever out of Jon's reach). At the end he had shaken Jon's hand (with a nice, firm grip), and had told him "I'm looking forward to working with you, I'm sure you'll make a wonderful member of our team." Jon had left that meeting with a mind shrouded in a fog of boredom and a faint sensation of warmth which he decided was best attributed to curiosity and left otherwise unexamined. Over the next few weeks, Jon had tried to subtly inquire into Bouchard's life. At the time, he had been naively under the impression that surely he must have let slip something about his life; some odd quirk or funny story or harmless bit of information which could justify Jon's blooming curiosity. Unfortunately; "He lives in Chelsea, I'm pretty sure?" (Sasha) "He's currently in a meeting. Honestly Jon, you'll be better off just sending an email. Now can I please get back to work?" (Rosie, probably lying about the meeting) "He actually lives here in the office. Set up a cozy little home away from home in one of the storage closets and sneaks out at night to raid the canteen. And he's having an affair with the assistant director of marketing." (Tim, definitely lying (but maybe a mind reader? Also, full of brilliant ideas for places Jon could maybe set up a cot whenever he needs to stay overnight)) Clearly, Jon would have to take matters into his own hands if he wanted answers. That was fine. It could be his own private little research project.

Jon liked to think that the entire thing had actually been quite reasonable, and that he had acted within the bounds of their pre-established relationship as employee and supervisor. Surely any rational person had to realize that nobody could possibly be that uninteresting. Anyone would be curious as to what dark secrets Bouchard his behind his well-tailored suits and polite, professional demeanor. … perhaps most rational persons would not meticulously record the movements, behavior, and daily appearance of their colleague in a discreet notebook (with annotations, color-coding, and graphs where appropriate), but Jon had always prided himself on his dedication to research and understanding. So far Jon had collected frustratingly little data. If Bouchard was hiding anything, it wasn't apparent from his schedule (see pages 8-13, figure 2.b), his eating habits (see page 22), or his lone plant (see page five, figure 1.c). His breaks did seem specially timed to avoid other people (and he appeared not to engage in many social behaviors generally), but he never acted irritated or otherwise unhappy to encounter one of his subordinates, so Jon wasn't entirely sure if it was deliberate avoidance or simple coincidence. Really, the only truly odd thing about him was his inexplicable interest in Jon. That very morning, for example, Bouchard had stopped by his cubicle for a fifteen minute discussion on the upcoming Annual Team Luncheon, an event Jon had never attended before (due to an annual migraine which coincidentally always happened to occur on the exact date of the luncheon), which Jon did not plan to attend, and which honestly sounded like some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. The topic itself was not especially odd (small talk was an archaic tradition which had stubbornly clung on in every workplace Jon had ever set foot in), but Bouchard's low propensity for inter-office socialization combined with the fact that he had both chosen Jon specifically as his conversational partner was… highly suspicious. Most people who encountered Jon inevitably concluded that he was more effort than he was worth (an attitude Jon mostly appreciated).

And of course, there had also been their interaction two days ago, when Elias had paused briefly to inquire as to whether Jon would be staying late, and what he was working on, and if he might perhaps consider heading home soon because there was only so much overtime they could pay him. Or on Friday, when he had managed to hold two separate conversations with Jon where very little was said. Honestly, Jon somewhat suspected that Elias had spoken to him more in the past few weeks than he had spoken to any of their colleagues for the entire time Jon had been there to observe him. Most of Jon's notes were now dedicated to their interactions. From his cot in the unused storage room (which was indeed a good place to stay overnight, thank you Tim), he could jot down everything he recalled about their interaction; it had begun at 8:32 and had concluded at 8:47; the weather was warm and slightly humid, although the office interior remained at a comfortable 21 °C. Bouchard's shirt had been a nice, cool gray, which complemented the silver of his eyes. Jon (who had been busy digging for his favorite pen (the ink was a lovely deep green color, and it was usually kept on the left side of the top desk drawer, and Jon had no idea where else it could have possibly gone)) had settled on "irritation" as his tone, which Bouchard either had not noticed or had not cared enough to acknowledge. He had easily dominated the conversation, and Jon could admit in the sanctity of his research journal that his voice had been soothing enough to cool away some of Jon's annoyance. He wrote his conclusion: Subject behaved near-identically in tone, posture, body language, and apparent mood as he has in all previous communications. Subject displayed no strong thoughts or opinions on subject of discussion nor conversational partner. Interaction was pleasant but slightly dull, no new information discovered. It was almost exactly the same as every previous conclusion. Jon had to admit, so many months with so little progress was… discouraging. He shifted on the narrow mattress and winced when his movements aggravated his backache (which was surely unrelated to his frequent occupancy of the cot). It was becoming more and more apparent that the only possible solution was to do some actual, direct investigation. His first idea (break into Bouchard's office) seemed a tad far (also, he didn't know how to pick locks). His second idea (follow him home) seemed a stretch further than the previous one, and was perhaps best saved as a last resort. His third idea (something something computers? (perhaps "idea" was a bit generous)) would almost certainly require Sasha, who would have questions Jon couldn't answer. He flipped idly through his notes, half-skimming, half-thinking. It was only when his gaze landed on figure 2.b, Weekly Schedule of E. Bouchard, that he actually came up with something reasonable. Something actionable.