#lmao enjoy ig

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Half-Dead and Still Kicking

The thing is, Jason’s been a ghost for a while, okay? Six whole months, and it’s been a goddamn adjustment, being capable of floating through walls and falling through furniture if he’s not careful, if he’s not concentrating. He goes unseen and unheard in a manor too full of grieving to only be residence of two people - Alfred keeps his room tidy and untouched, as if it’s a shrine to keep care of, and Bruce is…

Jason is, was, Robin, so he can’t quite help himself from following in Batman’s shadow as the man patrols, more vicious, more brutal than Jason has ever seen him. He takes more risks, gets injured more often - and it’s terrifying, the way Batman grieves, as if trying to follow him into the grave. So Jason follows, unbeating heart in his throat, and only relaxes again when Bruce is safe in the manor, sleeping off whatever injuries he got during the night.

He can’t interact with the world, but he can watch the shades of past residents going about their lives, and he learns things from doing this even as he fears becoming them one day, mindlessly replaying a life long passed. He can snoop and explore without worry for being caught, and if he ever gets bored he can practice flying (so much harder than it seems - he’s careful never to go too high, too worried that he won’t be able to come back down again, even with the ceaseless curiosity in the back of his mind wondering - just how far can I go? Beyond the sky? Could he touch the stars, if he wanted?) and when everything is terrible, when the memories of his death, his last few hours of life, haunt him, when he is drowning in his own head, he finds distractions; the way the air currents sometimes seem to react to him, trying to move things like ghosts do in those terrible movies, chattering to whoever is around and pretending they can hear him, finding mysteries to solve (what’s up with that camera kid, anyway? He’d never noticed him before…) and trying to read books in the library through sheer force of will, usually ending up just reciting the parts he knows.

(Two months and a bit in to this whole “ghost” thing, he finds out the deal with the camera kid. Jason can only be relieved because, kid’s got a point - and Bruce seems to do better with someone to protect, to teach, to watch over.

He’s not practically tearing people apart with his bare hands anymore. He’s not taking hits he should have been able to avoid anymore. He’s not lurking at the edge of rooftops anymore, staring at the ground as if contemplating how far away it is.)

And Tim… he’s weird, but brilliant, and Jason feels a little protective of him. Follows him whenever he goes out, sharp eyes watching his back regardless of whether he can protect it or not (and maybe it’s his imagination, but the world seems more real when he’s watching over Tim, closer and present in a way he can almost feel, as if he could actually affect the world, if he just tried hard enough - if he just needed to desperately enough).

And then, six months after his-… after this ghost thing started, something… changes.

Something Happens, and he can almost taste the strange Knowing - something, somewhere, has gone wrong, or perhaps right, and the ripples extend beyond the event, slipping into each corner of the universe with the subtlety of a truck, and yet somehow unnoticed.

The ghosts notice. Pale shades lift their heads, existing outside of their own memories for the first time in an age - and Jason, who is new, who is Robin, who lived in Gotham where all things become possible, is hit by the wave of Something Happening Elsewhere Rippling Out and wakes up in a box.

In a coffin.

(But Jason has been a ghost for six months, and the pain of living again is enough to reach for the existence of being a ghost, and by the time he has sorted himself out and half-clawed, half-floated his way out of his grave (again), he doesn’t expect himself to be anything but what he has been for the past six months.)

(And then, of course, he discovers he can interact with the world if he concentrates, if he wants it enough, and he assumes that Whatever That Was made him a stronger ghost.

It’s not an unfair assessment. Incorrect, but not beyond reason.

Why would he think he came back to life, anyway? That’s a bit far-fetched, really.)

[three-headed-monster]

"no!" (offended)

[whilomm]

oh okay heres one:

"sleepaway camp"= you go there for at least a few days, a week, sometimes several weeks, and sleep there, as opposed to a """camp""" where you go for the day and your parents or whoever picks you up afterward (those arent really camps, but like. idk when i went to "space camp" it was a weeklong but not sleepaway). in the U.S. at least, the typical image of a sleepaway camp involves staying in cabins, dunno how common it is/what it looks like in other countries.

for the first few i just mean like. not necessarily a stealth church camp, just like. idk, a camp where theres also an Assumption Of Christianity and just general vibes without being actually church camp. So, there might not be daily services and jesusy dedicatwd activities, but maybe theres still a prayer said over meals and shit. Which i assume might exist...

(oh and @reblogforsamplesize if u wanna)

[isjasz]

What happens now? Do we have another go? Do we bow out and take our separate roads?

🌻 Watch the whole video on yt!

For @desert-duo-week day 5 - Allies and Enemies 3 days late LOL o7

[saphushia]

|| part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 coming soon... ||

the update!! is finally!! done!!! holy shit i'm so glad i can finally post this aubdskjg. it was so fun seeing everyone guess what ace was gonna do after the last part! turns out, he can be silly AND pissed! who knew he was so multitalented~ i do wonder though- with the abilities they had when they were 17, who would win in a fight... >:3c

if you're wondering why this update took so much longer to come out than the last one, well... i got halfway through making it and then scrapped everything and started over completely... ah eto... bleh >v<

if you're curious what the initial version looked like, or want to see the pages without speech bubbles, they're both below the cut ^-^

so! first off! the scrapped pages:

the reason that i scrapped it is because... well. it doesn't flow well at all. i tried too hard to cram it to 4 pages which resulted in both the layout and the story flow feeling cramped. for the most part both versions cover the exact same beats but with the dialogue and timing/spacing tweaked. compare page 1 here to the first 2 pages in the final- it's the same exact scene but the final has way more impact because the larger panels give a 'pause' at emotional beats (such as ace's realization) that lets them sink in

my only regret is that i had to scrap sabo's expression in the first panel of page 2 aubsdkjfgb.

here's all the pages textless now ^-^

[containment23]

where are all the stranger things x south park or IT x south park

guys it's right there: 4 elementary kids discover the horrors

[borderlinezero]

First “real” piece I’ve done in a while, as in not fanart or character art (which, is also real art, but, y’know what I mean)

Fucking love coelacanths. I look at them and I see myself, but not in the way one sees the self in a mirror but in the way man sees himself in the stars.

[padmesbox]

You love to bring up our record. Our record is 4 and 1 after you beat me at WrestleDream, and you beat me, I will give you that.

[ttte-in-the-sky-au]

9,5 hours of pain, one (1) ibispaint crash and a stock photo bg later, may i present to you...

GREENDON!!

Young, green and already sleep deprived.

Bonus! Messed around with the shading layers and got this!

[thesorcerersshadow]

the way merlin is firm in trying to put an End to what he sees is a clear abuse of power / "hey, come on that's enough" & "you've had your fun my friend", the careful but decisive way he puts his foot on the shield... but still approaching the situation with an air of friendliness, of the goodhearted approach that this guy in heavy armor with pointy swords who's bullying a servant might not REALLY be that much of dick, he just got a bit carried away... his smile and gentle-but-assertive voice and easy offer of his hand in friendship... and it's only when arthur continues to be a dick and refuses to meet his goodwill with the same attitude that he's like "alright, fuck this guy" lmao. merlin is a good mediator is what i'm saying.

[blu-ish]

Sticks and Stones

LMAO MY FOOTS STILL BROKEN AND IM COPING OKAY-- *throws Sonadow fanfic*

When Sonic ends up with an injury that lands him partially bedridden, Shadow has to come to terms that he's maybe, just maybe, a little annoyed by the self-proclaimed hero's disappearance.

...

..

.

What was he doing?

Shadow stood frighteningly still on top of one of the hundreds of office buildings overlooking Station Square, he could've been easily mistaken for a statue if it wasn't for the nights cold breeze gently swaying his dark quills.

He supposed it was routine. Being released from G.U.Ns clutches at an ungaialy hour, drop off Rouge at her club which may or may not be directly connected to Team Darks apartment; unbeknownst to their landlord, and eventually take a walk that ends up with him on top of a steel structure.

So why did it feel so... off?

The hybrid tightly furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

That's why he came up here; to think, ponder, reflect. It felt, content enough in-between the noises of the city life below him. It reminded him of his first ever conscious moment's on the planet. Even if a little fuzzy, recalling how he could never quite stop looking at the vibrant hues.

But none we're in comparison to the beauty of the Earth itself.

The fauna, flora, each individual ecosystems fascinated him. The one's he and Maria would read about on the ARK didn't do it any justice. So much so that he would occasionally lose himself staring at a bird feeding their family, or the ripples of a nearby stream. It seemed forbidden, like a treasure he didn't deserve to see, but did anyways.

There we're always new places to discover, places Sonic would drag him too in the dead of night--

oh.

Sonic.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sonic grumbled, lazily tossing his controller off to one side. Not even video games could entertain him anymore, all the character did was run around collecting things... it was like it was making fun of him.

It was late, but he couldn't sleep. How could he? He's been in his room for days. His left leg propped up on the pillow Tails got him, wrapped in itchy bandages that were taking all of his willpower not to rip off.

Bouncing his good leg up and down, Sonic felt so much pent up energy it nearly drove him mad. He needed to do something, anything besides just sitting laying here.

It's not like it hurt that bad anyways, he's been hit way harder than this--he figures. Besides, he had natural chaos energy running through his veins, he'd be back up and at it soon.

Not soon enough for him though...

....

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but any sort of injuries Sonic got delivered to his legs freaked him out. Maybe next to water but, everyone kinda knew that.. and tight spaces.

But this? This is different. It wasn't like he was being "contained" per say. He was physically unable to run. To escape. To just ENJOY the feeling, he felt...

vulnerable...

He shook his head, rubbing his temple. He really could use some fresh air, and to touch grass.

Sonic took a mental gamble in his head, figuring that if he was quick enough he could technically try going for a midnight walk, just for a bit.

Emerald eyes peered over to the foot of his racecar bed, where a boot made by a certain two Tailed fox laid. It was technically for waddling around the house with but he's sure it would function like a normal shoe--probably.

Doing the straps, and then redoing them again. He was satisfied, good enough he guessed. Gripping onto his sheets, he carefully set his foot down, trying to ignore the sudden pressure that shot up.

Sonic took a sharp breath.

He's fine... he's fine.

It was a long journey to the front door, he opted for that instead of his window escape due to a certain foot not cooperating with his master plan. Cringing at the loud creak the door made, he sighed, stepping outside.

His nose was greeted with the nights fresh breeze, instead of the cheeto puffs he's been smelling forever.

A smile escaped his lips, trying to suppress the urge to giggle too loud at how stupid of an idea this was. Too late to turn back now, and he wasn't looking back.

Besides it would probably take him until morning to waddle back to bed anyways. Night time adventure it is!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He must've really lost his mind now.

The agent couldn't tell you why he ended up skating into Green Hills, he wasn't too sure himself. But he supposed it was a nice change of scenery.

Shadow opted to sit next to a flower bed, examining each flower carefully, being sure not to crush any of them. There were so many different diverse species, they smelled lovely as well.

It must've been pretty shocking for any living organisms who observed the hedgehog from their nests or burrows, the Ultimate Life Form, stopping to smell the flowers.

His hand stopped near a blue orchid, it's bright blue petals curved behind it like a waterfall. While it's face pointed up towards the moon.

Shadow joined the flower, gazing up toward the heavenly rock.

"Did you know, they say the moon might have came from the very Earth?" He told the flower, that swayed in response.

"It reflects the light from our star, the sun, and watches over the Earth. ...Like it's shadow."

The flower might have lost interest, because it momentarily swayed away, Shadow huffed but without any real venom. "Well, excuse me."

"Are you talking to a flower?"

Shadows quills shot up, he quickly turned around to see a familiar blue hedgehog. Who was weirdly leaning his weight against a tree. Puzzled--and a bit embarrassed, Shadow stood up, dusting himself off. Trying to ignore the fact this is the first time he's seen Sonic in literal weeks.

"Sonic? what could you possibly want at this hour?" The hybrid crossed his arms, slowly regaining his usual composure, especially around Sonic of all people.

"To annoy you, obviously." Sonic winked, awkwardly shifting. Shadow tilted his head, gesturing to the other.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Tch, do not play games with me, your practically laying on that poor tree." Shadow stepped closer, attempting to figure this out himself. He noticed Sonics eyes grow wide, hiding himself behind the tree further. What on mobius?

"aH, UH-- I just really love nature ya know? Just showing it some appreciation!" He patted the tree for safe measure, maneuvering his way out of Shadow's sight.

If there's one thing that frustrated the hybrid to no end, was not being told the truth, being deceived, he was not a fool.

He growled, but stepped back. Resorting to rolling his eyes instead. "You are singlehandedly the strangest--"

Sonic screamed.

Shadow dashed behind the tree to swiftly catch him by the waist.

Shadow met Sonics teary green eyes, Shadow followed them until he was met with Sonic foot. Dirty ripped bandages covered it, and what seemed to be left of a boot was limply hanging off in straps.

"Sonic what the hell?!"

Sonic grinned, or tried to at least. He wrapped his arms around Shadow for support. "It's kinda a.." he winced "..long story.."

"So instead of telling me your injured right away you hide behind a fucking tree?" Shadow hesitantly lifted Sonic, he didn't think much about it in the moment. But lifting Sonic into a bridal carry was relatively easy.

"Dude, I don't know.. I just--" he was cut off by a growl, he could feel it rumbling in the others chest. "Shads I--"

Shadow didn't understand why he was so upset, there were most likely a whole list of reasons, he didn't really care, he just needed to get this stupid ass hedgehog home.

"I don't want to hear it, not now at least, I'm taking you back to Miles."

Sonic groaned, "He's gonna kill me Shads.."

"Better him than me."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wouldn't be morning for a few more hours, the hedgehogs came to an agreement that Shadow would help Sonic patch himself up before the fox woke up. But only if Sonic agreed to tell him what happened.

How could he refuse?

Being carried by Shadow wasn't so bad, in fact, it was kinda nice. He could feel the wind in his quills just as if he was the one running. Closing his eyes, he let out a soft sigh. Gaia he was tired.

He could feel Shadows head tilt down to look at him, Sonic opened his eyes slightly to look. The moon shined brightly on him, the soft rays glimmering on darker quills. Sonic couldn't help but stare, just a little.

When they arrived, Sonic leaned forward to unlock the door. The pair stepped in, Shadows heavy air-shoes clicking slightly against the wooden floor.

After directing him to his room, Sonic was gingerly laid down on his bed. He could momentarily see Shadows confusion when they first walked into his room, his racecar bed was pretty cool.

"Bandages?"

"Drawer."

The agent searched Sonics messy drawers, voicing a mumbled complaint about the others organization skills. He returned from the kitchen shortly after with a washcloth, handing it to Sonic.

"I draw the line at cleaning your foot."

Sonic snorted, trying so hard not to wheeze out loud. "Gee, remind me to rate this doctors visit one star."

Rolling his eyes, Shadow worked on undoing the dirty bandages for Sonic. His brow furrowing at the wound.

"You broke your foot..."

Sonic stayed silent, humming in agreement as he gently pressed the washcloth on his foot, cleaning any debris. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, only letting out a breath when it really hurt. Shadow's ears fell a bit in concern.

"When did it...?"

"Five-ish weeks ago.. I think?" The hero sighed, grumbling. "It's stupid.."

Shadow leaned forward, as a sign for Sonic to continue as he started to rewrap his foot.

"Got into a rough fight with some of Eggman's bots.." he started, playing with the fabric on his glove. "After I wasted them all--naturally," he added with a smirk, it was short lived due to Shadows unimpressed look. "A huge chunk of robo butt fell on my left foot, I tried to walk it off but.. it hurt, really bad."

The other hummed, making sure the bandages were nice and neat before looking back at Sonic.

"And that's why you we're here?"

The blue blur shrugged, nodding. "Pretty much."

Shadow held a piece of Sonics boot, raising a brow. "And this is?"

"The remains of my dear friend, boot brace, it shall be missed." he sighed dramatically, "Tails is not gonna let me hear the end of that.."

The agent didn't even want to try to comprehend how careless the hedgehogs been.

Shadow sat on the foot of the bed, "You still didn't tell me what you were doing out, especially if your supposed to be healing."

Before Sonic could open his mouth Shadow cut him off, "don't even think about saying you were coming to visit me--"

"But what if I was--"

"Sonic."

Sonic raised his peach arms in surrender, "Alright, alright, I was getting SUPER bored, like MEGA ULTRA bored, so I planned a grand escape and just wanted to go on a walk..." his voice got quieter with every word, turning a bit away from the other hedgehog. He then mumbled the last part, and even with his advanced hearing, Shadow couldn't understand.

"What?"

Grumbling even more Sonic raised his voice, "I fell, okay?!" Coming out a little louder than he meant, but he didn't care at the moment, all of his emotions he's been suppressing for the past few weeks were rising whether he liked it or not.

"I tripped! ON A STICK! A stick took out Sonic the Hedgehog, hero of Mobius!" Shadow blinked, failing to understand why something like that warranted an outburst.

"But how did the boot--?"

"Slipped off and fell down into some stones at a bottom of a cliff.."

He regret asking. Why is he not suprised.

Sonic groaned, holding his head in his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking.. I probably hurt my foot even more now and I'm never gonna run again."

Now this surprised Shadow, he knew it was late, he knew the hedgehog was tired, but he's never heard the hedgehog feel so.. defeated?

Sonic smiled through everything, even in the face of certain death at times. It frustrated Shadow to no end, but fascinated him at the same time. Sonic was a never ending wild force that could never contained, as gentle as a breeze or as fierce as a tornado.

He couldn't stand him acting like this, it, annoyed him.

"Sonic, you broke a bone. It happens, it's not the end of the world." He wasn't the best at this whole, comfort, thing. But he'd try, anything to get Sonic back on his literal "feet".

"You don't understand.." Sonic bit back a hiss. "If I can't run, I can't help anybody.. If I'm not there, who knows what could happen. Running is who I am, Shadow, I cant--" he stopped, taking a breath while holding back the hot tears that wanted to run down his face. Like a dam about to break.

"It scares me..."

He paused.

"That you'd lose your purpose?"

Sonic hugged his good leg into himself, burying his face away from his rival. He nods.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Shadow asks, now a bit closer to the blue hedgehog.

The other doesn't respond, so the hybrid continues.

"You don't need me to remind you Sonic, if fact, I'm probably the last person who should remind you." He hesitates putting his hand on the others shoulder, but he does anyways. Sonic looks up, ears still pinned to the back of his head. Shadow noticed how his quills fell back like waterfalls.

"You are a protector, a leader, a guardian, and.. a friend. To so many different people. You make connections even when they seem, impossible." He glances toward the window, the moon greeted him like an old friend, he couldn't help but smile. "Your speed is just an extension of that, it's something you enjoy, something you choose to use to help others."

Sonic uncurled himself, sniffling. He let himself fall into Shadows shoulder, holding his rival-- "friend", close. The darker hedgehog stiffened, but allowed it.

"I don't mind if we can't race or spar for a while, I will only compete against you at 100%. No less. Breaking your foot like a dumbass doesn't change that."

Sonic chuckled, "Your acting weirdly nice today Shads. You like me or something?"

Shadow grumbled, gently forcing the hedgehog off of him. "Goodnight."

"Wait," Sonic wheezed, "Aw dude, come on I'm teasing--"

Shadow stopped climbing outta the window half way, he scowled, looking back at the hedgehog on his stupid racecar bed.

Sonic smiled, a genuine one. "Thanks. For everything by the way."

Shadow felt a flush flood his face, but looked away and cleared his throat. "Of course, goodnight."

"Night."

Shadow, almost hesitated closing the window, he didn't know why. He peered through it once it was closed, to find a sleeping hedgehog on the other side. He smiled, and skated his way back to the city.

The moon, still high in the sky, continued to watch the Earth. And will always until the Earth is no more.

[fuumiku]

Happy new year!!

Some doodles I did today to unwind + test a lineart brush

[boopshoops]

The Watcher of the Great Pine Tree

TW!!! this is fucked up- warnings for child death/injury, descriptions of decomposition with bugs- and just bugs in general. srsly gross I warned you. Also unreliable narrator. I do my best to handle these topics with respect!

Let's see... what year was it? Ah, yes.

I died in the late 1830s. A few years after, locomotive trains finally made their way to the Land of Dawning. I was a considered a lucky charm prior to that, all of my parent's other children had died. Now now, settle- that wasn't uncommon back then. Even up till the 1870s, half of the amount of children birthed died prior to the age of five. At least those from families without magic.

Lucky me, I made it to six.

Quite the oddity compared to today, no? Nonetheless, as you can see, I have long since made up for it.

I loved to watch the trains. They astonished my little mind. I wasn't a very smart one by any means, but I wanted to know everything about them. How the wheels turned, and the whistle blew... how something that big was able to move at all. In a way, I wanted to BE the train, hah! Me and the other children would always play by the tracks whenever we were free from our studies. Every time the train went past, I was there.

Then, I fell.

What, were you expecting something more climactic?

No. I got a concussion while playing by the railroad tracks like the wreckless scamp I was. It took me awhile to learn the terms to understand- as well as most medicinal studies at the time, but fluid pressed on my brain more as the days went by, and I had a stroke.

That was when I first became a spirit, but I was not dead yet. My brain was practically nonfunctional. I could see it all like it was from the eyes of another, tethered closely to my body.

My father put me out of my misery with a mallet.

I watched him bury my body by the railroad, and I remained tethered there as all the life in the surrounding woods hummed a tune.

How did I feel? Oh, why of course I was absolutely beside myself. I feel anyone would be, but I was lucky- I had a comfort:

The crickets.

Their lovely song thrummed through my spirit along with the whistle of the train. They were there the entire time, soothing me. Family and friends visited, of course, but the bugs... the bugs were the only ones who truly spoke to me.

So when they began to consume my body, I felt betrayed. However- I learned that this was yet another blessing in disguise.

They all carried parts of my flesh. I was valuable to them. I was such a divine blessing for them. To feed the hoard. The masses. To continue to hear them sing. To untether me from my grave. I was free. I had done something. For the first time in my life, I was something greater than myself. There was nothing left of me there, but I was more than I ever had been. Yet, foolishly, I still grieved.

I followed those bugs out into the woods, to the tree. The old pine tree- I believe it was later called the Great Pine in the years to come. With magic buried deep in its roots. I practically raised myself out there in an abandoned old cottage, a place where I could keep an eye on my nests of friends where my body sustained them.

Despite what I had done for them, as years went by, I knew I wanted to live.

I wanted to live more than anyone else who had ever visited that pine tree.

More than anyone who was already alive.

So I watched. And I learned about that tree. For decades.

At the time, I was quite a sentimental fool- I got very wrapped up in it all. In how I felt, so much so that I forgot completely the feelings of others. Not that I ever had much experience with it in the first place, having passed on so young. I truly only ever thought of myself or my small critter friends. I used to excuse what I did with my death. Now I don't bother. In truth, I don't regret what I did either way.

Because I get to live.

I get to live a life no one else can.

A life of feeling. A life of being more than simply myself. I get to repay the generations and generations of creatures that fed from me. Now I can care for them forever.

So, no, I don't regret taking that girl's wooden frame.

Because now, that exact frame is home to so much more.

Wouldn't she be grateful? To have your very being become an ecosystem?

To be reunited with the very being that once bit into you? To become a part of their lives?

Maybe not. Either way, I am happy. I did feel guilty, mind you, I wasn't completely out of my wits yet, haha! It did eventually happen, though. Wits have been loss, I'm aware by how you are staring at me. Feel free to hate me, I've long since moved on to bigger things.

Suppose around two hundred years will do that to you. I almost miss the guilt.

I almost miss the feeling.

*(sorta) prequel to "The Dolls of the Great Pine Tree" from the pov of that mysterious pal.

tags!

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @justm3di0cr3 @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere

@beneathsakurashade @qsoap @prince-kallisto @kathxrat-01 @twsted-canvas

@scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @techno-danger

@sillyslipperybananapeel @gimmeurmoneyagh @tixdixl @twstinginthewind

[bat-luun]

woof

[ponyguru]

If you're like me and not really on Tw!tter, you might not have seen the news that 1) G5 is probably coming to a close due to the fact that Hasbro cancelled the remaining episodes of Tell Your Tale (apparently they had a planned 100 episodes and we only got 25???), and 2) that people actually publicly booed Misty's voice actor at a Brny convention, to the point where she declined to appear for closing ceremonies.

So like, if you thought that Bruhnies couldn't continue to get worse since their show ended... eugh.

I also can't help but wonder if there's any correlation between the distinctly multicultural voice cast for G5, the G4 fandom dislike/certain vocal pockets of hate for it, and the noted issue with white supremac!sts in said G4 fandom? Like, I'm not seeing anyone connect the dots yet, or all we just keeping quiet on that because it's like a 2+2=4 thing?

[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.