#this was a really good learning experience

[lilaccatholic]

I think I'm a pretty good writer. I got to *be* a good writer by being a really terrible writer, then a mediocre writer, then an average writer, *then* a good writer. Yes, ai probably could spit out something that hits all the plot points that my work does and it would be done *far* faster than I ever could be, but not only would I have missed out on all the struggling and learning and trying and bleeding, I *also* would have missed out on all the friends I've made through writing. There would be no chats with the brainrot trust gushing over each other's work, no making my high school writing partner shriek at me from across the state over what I put our characters through, no time spent scrolling through comments on the latest chapter of my fic. Nothing. Oh my goodness, how terrible that would be! Without the struggle, I'd have missed out on some of my most treasured experiences.

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Can’t stop thinking about Reghabi saying Gemma was alive “the last time I saw her.”

She saw her? Saw her how? Did she just see her Lumon colleagues carting Gemma inside the building? Did she somehow participate in Gemma’s torture, or is that just a Dr. Mauer thing? And, since we know she’s a Severance surgeon… was she the one who put the chip in Gemma’s brain?

Either way, her severing Mark has been wildly recontextualized. Imagine being Reghabi and knowing there’s a woman down there, trapped in your company basement, being experimented on in the worst way possible. Imagine having fought off deep reservations for years about what you do, every day a moral debate, feeling yourself edging closer and closer to a dangerous tipping point. Quitting a job that you know won’t take “no” for an answer.

And now imagine a guy walks in. Hearing his name is Mark — Mark Scout. Reading his file and learning that he’s only getting his brain split in half to cope with the overwhelming pain of his wife’s death through microdosing suicide. Grief got to him. Apparently, he’s “choking on her ghost.” Can you imagine?

Except… you can.

And now you’re drilling a hole in the back of his skull knowing dang well the woman he loves — who he thinks died between flames, crushed against a tree — is only a couple basement floors beneath his feet. And maybe, you helped put her there.

Or what if it was the reverse? What if Reghabi severed Mark and found out later that his so-called “dead wife” was alive and suffering all along? A suspicious paging through forbidden files, a passing mention of her name in the hall. The sickening slap of dots connecting and a sudden, horrible sinking realization of what she’s done.

Did she blame herself? Should she have blamed herself? Whose thoughts were she really appeasing when she responded to Mark’s “Are they hurting her?” with that curt, quiet “I don’t know”?

I wouldn’t be surprised if Gemma and Mark’s situation was the last straw that pushed Reghabi over the edge and convinced her to betray Lumon. Because if that didn’t cut it… then good Lord, what did?

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out??

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[girl-lostconnection]

I'm so sorry you have to deal with people being so demanding, and I hope that they actually listen to your post and stop, cause it's just really rude in general.

On the other hand, I, for some reason, keep thinking about your story of reader dying and the 141 grieving and how, for me personally, when it comes to one of my loved ones, no matter how much time passes, I just can't stop thinking about them, craving their love, the way that they loved, and how you can see the similarities in others but it isn't quite right, it still doesn't feel the same, and you're just never left satisfied when you want their love again and no one else can do that, because it's not them. You're still loved, yes, but it's not the same.

Idk. I just was thinking about that and was wondering if that's what they might feel. They still have each other and love each other, but I wonder if there are times when they want or feel like they need it to be like reader's way to feel better on some days, where little things that upset them were originally made better by something reader did, but now that they're gone they're just left with that feeling to simmer.

You know one of the things I had to learn while dealing with grief — it doesn’t become smaller. You just get bigger, you get more experiences the older you get and all of that grief is still there. But grief is just what is left of your love for the person who is no longer there.

I think for them it would manifest differently but I can definitely see Johnny trying his best to keep going because he knows he has three more partners and they have to keep going and they have to keep living. Because Reader wouldn’t be happy with them just ending it all, because there is so much more time left, so many things they haven’t done. I think for him it would be one of the things that would eventually result in early retirement. He already lost a quarter of his heart when he lost Reader, he doesn’t want it happening again. And as much as he loves being demolitions expert, he knows there is a different type of life out there. One that can give him and his partners stability and safety.

I think Johnny would be the person that despite it all still sometimes talks about Reader like they are still there. He mentions references to movies and music and books, he draws them in his sketchbooks, he mentions that “this is the dessert they always wanted to try”. With time it turns into a warm kind of nostalgia, the love that he carries with him, his grief manifesting in trying to compensate for everything Reader wouldn’t experience by living through it himself. And by living on. When his time comes he hopes to see Reader again and say “see? I did well, didnae i? It was a good life. A long life, like you wanted. Bet you are proud of me”

Like i mentioned before Kyle took it in one of the worst hits, he’d keep holding onto Reader’s clothes and mementos as long as he can. He googles obsessively brands of clothes, he finds exactly the same articles because even if these get ruined or good forbid someone throws them out — he will know what to order. It won’t be the same, but he could pretend that it is. He already pretends that he’s alright, he already pretends that the hoodies he’s wearing with Reader’s name and rank are just part of his standard uniform.

I feel like Kyle is a person who has never experienced a loss this big before. He never lost someone who was this close, someone who’s still in his head, someone whose voice he keeps hearing when he talks to himself. Kyle likes to imagine that Reader never passes on. That they are still there, maybe noncorporeal, maybe he can’t see them, but at this point he’d settle for anything.

I think Kyle was never one for religion but whenever he passes church he’d get in to light a candle and say a quick not even a prayer but sort of a wish. Like that’s the only way he can chat with you, like something holy could really pass his “I’m okay, love, I’m eating well. Last mission was shite, but you know how it is. You no longer come to me when i dream. Are you upset, baby? I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time, i know you don’t like me getting injured. Just please, come back. I can’t sleep well without you.”

Simon would probably have the hardest times adjusting to the absence of Reader, because he takes the longest time to accept their death. He tries so hard to pull away from the moment where he would need to actually process the notion that it finds him itself and hits him with the force of minivan.

There is aching that he can’t relief, there is itch he can scratch — there is a person who he could tell any of his jokes and who’d not just joke in return but laugh at it and this person is gone. They are not coming back, he can’t even find them somewhere to watch out of the shadows, he can’t stalk them.

Losing people like that is always the hardest because with living people you at least can call/text/send a letter with a carrier pigeon. You can come back and open old wounds, you can pick up the fight, you can look them in the eyes and get some closure. Simon is not getting any. He fights every step of the way, he drags his feet. He’s easily agitated, he feels like hitting his head on the wall every time something stabs him from inside reminding that you are gone.

He comes up with a joke and yeah, of course he can tell it to anyone out of 141, but he wants to tell it to Reader. He wants to tell it to them specifically because they’d have a funny response which they’d choke out of themselves by laughing so hard he actually starts laughing. He misses it. He misses them. He misses their smell, the feel of them, the way he could talk to them and they would just get him so well like no one else would. He doesn’t just lose a partner when Reader dies — he loses a friend.

Price is…Price is complicated. He’s one to bottle it all up and throw it so deep down it may never come up other in his subconscious habits. He makes tea for five people and not four, he shops for five, he still buys the snacks Reader liked, he starts planning celebration for their birthday just on the back of his mind until he catches himself doing it and just forces it all down deeper.

Price would be a high functioning alcoholic in his grief, but still an alcoholic. He drinks a little more than he should, he forces down a drink he’d previously wouldn’t because he knows his limits. But it burns and it numbs and for a few hours he can breathe again. Alcohol allows himself to loosen a lid on everything he feels, it puts safe distance between his feeling and him and he actually allows himself to process some of them.

He cries, he ruins his office, he punches through the wall, he routinely throws up. Once he gets so drunk he actually starts having hallucinations, intoxication so severe he almost chokes on his own vomit. Soap finds him just in time to get him help. After this he gets out on suicide watch for 72 hours and the team would start actually guard him in shifts.

Price still drinks but now next to him there is always someone who also remembers his limits and doesn’t let him overstep them. John hates it at times. He hates himself much more though. He hates Reader sometimes too, because that’s not fair that they are gone. Because look what a fucking mess he is, love, bloody disgrace to drink himself under the fucking table.

Price has the fastest adjustment to Reader staying deceased but at the same time he can’t fully process his grief. Part of him is scared that he will drive himself mad if he does, another part just doesn’t want to. It’s stubborn and unhealthy but so what. He’s a captain, he lost soldiers before, he’s gonna deal with it this way.

But i think he’s also the second person who retires straight after Soap because he finds a new almost obsessively-desperate purpose in keeping his boys alive and well. He may be a fucked up man but his boys already lost one of their own, he doesn’t want to drag them through his death as well

[softpascalito]

Comfort I Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It is summer in Austin and you long for an uneventful day with Joel. Your diabetes has other plans.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Non-Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.6k Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort , Fluff, Diabetes, Health Issues, Diabetic Reader, (reader wears a dexcom and uses insulin pens), Guilt, Soft Joel Miller, Hypoglycemia, Forehead Kisses, Comfort

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: a huge, huge thank you to the wonderful @Rainybee17 for allowing me to learn more about diabetes and patiently answering all my questions. i have tried my best to make this oneshot a good representation and even though everyone's experience is different, i hope that someone can find themselves between these lines. smooches and happy sunday! ♡

this fic is not medical advice. if you or someone else is struggling with diabetes or if you'd like to learn more please visit the international diabetes federation or speak to your doctor.

Comfort

True to the weather forecast that you watched on TV with Joel last night, the temperatures in Austin have shot up overnight. The sun has barely risen, only a few thin streaks of light falling through the blinds that cover the window of your bedroom. Which is Joel's bedroom, really. But during the summer, it has evolved into something that feels more like yours rather than his.

You blink groggily, feeling the mattress dip beside you as Joel reaches over to shut his alarm clock off, the beeping noise that woke you dying down the moment his hand touches the button. A small noise leaves your throat in protest, your left leg still tangled between his and Joel turns back to face you. “Not today, darlin’. I gotta start goin’.”

Some days, your pouting works, keeping him in bed for a few minutes longer. But he takes his jobs seriously and you don’t blame him for wanting the heavy lifting done before the temperatures peak around lunchtime.

Joel’s beard scratches against your skin as he leans over to press a kiss to your face before he begins to carefully disentangle himself from you. His arm slides out from below you, his embrace that you were so peacefully resting in until a moment ago gone. He makes sure not to brush over the dexcom that is currently attached to your upper left arm, the white device peeking out from below the sheets. You can see him pause at the sight, his gears already turning. “Why don’t you get up too? Think I’ve got enough time to have a coffee.”

“Fine,” you groan, only reluctantly agreeing to his peace offer. It's not as good as staying in bed with him but you can always take a nap later and enjoy his presence while you have it. You peel the sheets off your body, padding over to the bathroom while you listen to Joel pull on jeans and a shirt that already has so many holes in it you don't bother to count them anymore.

You’ve settled into a comfortable routine during the summer months, even with him leaving early and coming home late. With Sarah at football camp, you have the house all to yourself, a luxury you enjoy more than you’d like to admit. You’ve spent countless days lounging in the backyard or swimming a few laps around the pool, occasionally preparing a fancy dinner for Joel or making yourself useful in any other way. He drinks coffee by his kitchen window every morning, unless he’s running late. Today, you join him, hopping up onto the counter as the sun steadily rises and the first cars are started up outside, bringing people to work.

You remind him to give you a kiss every day, despite knowing that he’d never forget. No matter if you’re in the kitchen with him or still in bed or already nose-deep in a book. Without fail, Joel Miller finds you before he leaves.

“We’re finally getting that delivery today,” Joel hums, swirling the last sips of his coffee around in his mug. “If the load ‘s good, I could get off early.”

“That would be nice,” you agree softly, rubbing the last bit of sleep out of the corners of your eyes. “Think I’ll take a dip in the pool later.”

“Then I better be home to see that,” Joel teases as he turns his back to you, washing his mug out in the sink. Then, he leans over to kiss you again and it only makes you long for him more. You’re certain he feels the same.

“You check your levels?” He hums into your neck and oh, he’s gotten smart, asking when he knows you won’t push him away.

“All good,” you reassure him. Some days, you think he is more occupied with your condition than you are, fussing over you and reminding you to track your sugar and insulin constantly. It’s gotten annoying occasionally, but you know he only does it because he cares. And if you’re being honest with yourself, that is a big part of why he has become your favorite person rather quickly.

You watch as Joel grabs his tool belt and heads out the door, giving you one little last wave. Then, you listen to the truck start up outside and the sound of the engine that slowly fades away into the distance.

“Fine,” you mutter to yourself, jumping off the kitchen counter to reach for your phone. You prefer tracking with the dexcom sensor, the device making it so easy to check your levels at all times. Today, you’re in the clear. The number inside the small circle in the app reads 110.

The blue insulin pen is waiting for you beside the fridge, placed on a small wooden tray that conveniently showed up there the first time you slept over. It holds a few small juice boxes, glucose tablets and your trusted pen.

You stare at it for a few moments, weighing it in your hands as you calculate how much you’ll need for your breakfast. Then, with practiced ease, you poke yourself with the needle, allowing the chosen amount of liquid to flow into your body.

“Ten minute warning…” You hum, putting the pen back into its place and reaching for the kitchen shelf instead. You’ve gotten much better at timing your breakfast properly, making sure that the insulin doesn’t act too fast nor too slow.

Once you’re done eating, you check the number again. 160. All fine, just like you promised Joel. Good.

It’s still early but you don’t feel like going back to bed. Thursday means the farmer’s market is happening at the local community center and for once you may be early enough to have the first pick. The fresh fruits and vegetables have a tendency to bring mouth-watering recipe ideas for dinner to your mind so you lock the front door behind you and head out.

Indeed, the stands are not yet picked over and you take your time, enjoying the nice weather and chatting with a few familiar faces. The short trip turns into a few hours and it’s only when the heat starts to press down on you below the plastic tents that you make your way back. The groceries are unloaded rather quickly and you fetch your current read, a book about a spontaneous summer love in Italy, from upstairs.

It’s been exactly the kind of uneventful day you enjoy in the summer, the one that leaves you feeling warm and tanned and thankful for pools and cool drinks. The way it should be. You have no idea that this is about to change.

The deck at the back of the Miller’s house is shaded so that you don’t feel like you’ll immediately burn up in the sun. A soft groan of relief escapes you as you stretch out on the lounge chair, opening your book to where you left off. You read about cicadas and pine trees and steady waves rolling ashore and slowly but surely, your eyes begin to droop.

***

Something is wrong. The sun is much lower than it was a few minutes ago. The front door opens and closes. Joel can’t be back yet. It’s still lunchtime.

For a moment, you think you are just too sleepy, that you are still in some kind of dream. Then, you think you’ve spent too much time in the sun. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the way you’re feeling, a bit hazy, a bit like you’re floating– it’s low sugar.

You blindly reach to your right, onto the wooden table beside you but your phone isn’t in reach. When you turn your head, you realize why. You never brought it outside. It’s still on the kitchen counter, where you left it after unloading the groceries.

Slowly, you stand, looking down to see that your legs are trembling slightly. You force them to take one step after another, coaxing your body in an attempt to stay upright. You can already hear the soft beeping noise from inside the house that alerts you to a number outside the safe range. You push past the screen door– but before you can reach the kitchen, and with it your phone, Joel reaches you.

His eyes are wide, the panic clear on his face as he holds your phone in his right hand, the alert on the display blinking in a steady rhythm, displaying a too low 63. “Did you eat?” He presses out, his free hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, steadying you. The worry in his voice is palpable and you shake your head at his question.

“Okay, okay–” The gears are turning in his head and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself. “Okay. We need– Do you need me to get the emergency pen?”

“No,” you quickly decline. “No, it’s okay, it’s not that bad.”

You can see him weighing his options, his eyes raking over your face and your body for a moment, no doubt trying to assess your state. You know you’re shaking and that your face likely looks drained, a thin sheen of sweat covering it. His gaze turns to the kitchen next and you can see him fight with himself. Ultimately, Joel steps forward, wrapping an arm around you and leading you into the living room, his grasp not leaving you until you’re securely seated on the couch. “Can’t have you passing out now. Don’t try and stand, alright? Just … sit tight.”

He puts your phone down and rushes to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the low number on the display that almost seems to laugh at you. What were you thinking, dozing off like that?

Joel is back after mere seconds, holding up a juice box in one hand and the package of glucose tablets in the other, silently letting you choose. You point at the juice and he nods, kneeling in front of you and sticking the thin plastic straw into the pre-punched hole. “One apple juice, coming right up.” You can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood but you can’t bring yourself to give him more than a weak smile in return.

He nudges the box into your hands and then sits patiently as you begin to drink, one of his hands coming to rest on your thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles into your skin. “15 – 15 rule, right?” Joel asks and at the look of surprise on your face, he adds; “15 grams of carbs, wait for 15 minutes. Then see if it helped?”

“Yeah,” you agree in between small sips. “Yeah, how do you know about 15 – 15?” You watch as a faint blush spreads over his cheeks but he shakes his head, dismissing the question.

“Just do. It doesn’t matter.” His motions on your leg pause as you finish your juice, allowing him to take the empty carton from you and place it on the floor behind him. “You feelin’ any better, darlin’?” You can tell by his voice that he is still anxious, his entire attention zoned in on you. You lean back into the cushions, taking a deep breath, slowly calming down. You’ve been there before, you’ve gone into low numbers. But it never gets less scary.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him because you can still feel his gaze on you. “Not like this hasn’t happened before.” The dry comment is aimed to brush him off but it seems to do the opposite.

“No. I mean, yes, but it shouldn't be happening at all,” Joel shakes his head and ow. You know you messed up but hearing it from him stings more than you thought it would.

“You try tracking every meal every day and living with this– this–” You can feel you working yourself up, anger bubbling inside you, anger more than happy to find an outlet. But then your eyes fall onto Joel's face. And you see the moment his eyes widen in sheer panic.

“No, no, god no, that is not what I meant–” He stumbles over his words in an attempt to get them out. “I wasn't blaming you, I was saying that– that it's not fair. I just hate to see you suffer, that's all.” His brown eyes remind you so much of a kicked puppy that you almost want to cry.

A soft hoot from your phone makes you both turn your heads, the number 107 popping up. Back in range. Joel sighs in relief.

“Good. This is good.” He stretches slightly, one hand pressed against his lower back. “You want a nap?”

“Just had one,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Right,” he hums, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few moments and you know he’s thinking again, trying to figure out what to do with you. Because of course you have to make a lovely summer’s day so difficult.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying and failing to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening, I know you had work–”

He cuts you off by squeezing your thigh once, shaking his head as he maneuvers himself onto the couch beside you. “Look at me, baby,” he coaxes you to shift towards him, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I never ever want to hear you apologizing for this again. It ain’t your fault, darlin’. Never was and never will be. And I’ve told you before, we’re in this together. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and he catches it with his thumb, tutting quietly. His arms find their way around you and he pulls you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair, whispering sweet nothings into the otherwise silent room.

“How ‘bout we watch one of them movies you like so much?” Joel offers when he pulls back after a few minutes, his hand still intertwined with yours. You have movie night more often than not, but usually, he doesn’t let you pick. Nor you him. It's a middle ground, one that is found after quite a bit of discussion.

“You hate them,” you argue weakly, a small laughter slipping out. You’ve tried introducing Joel to Rom-Coms, the classics, the modern ones, those that he may not at first glance recognize as such. But so far, you haven’t hit his taste.

“Not today,” he hums with a small smile. “Today I promise I’ll love them.” You both chuckle quietly and he does let you pick, not once complaining as he kneels in front of the TV to start the movie. He keeps a watchful eye on you throughout the next roughly 90 minutes, getting you a glass of water and another snack when you need it, his arm comfortably wrapped around your shoulder like he’s not quite willing to let go.

“How did you know?” You ask into the near-silence when the credits are flickering over the screen, some love song quietly playing over them. “About the rule I mean.”

“Uh, let’s see–” Joel makes a face. “Might’ve read a book or two.”

You squeeze him a bit tighter at that. Because you know that people who see Joel in his truck or at the construction site may think he’s gruff and cold. You had similar worries when your eyes first landed on him. But you know how much he cares. About Sarah and about you, about being there in whatever way he can. No matter if it’s stocking up on juice or kissing you every morning or secretly reading books so he can understand you better. He’s here for it all. And so are you. Together.

Notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment or a follow ♡

[moonybelgug]

warnings: fem!reader, children lmao, not much really, being referred to as 'mother', no smut, some drunken flirting. building relationships with the kids. i took so long to do this part...... sorries.,, part 1 part 2

After a month of getting your affairs in order, you’d like to think you’ve made some semblance of a job out of your situation. You started with watching Arlecchino, figuring out what it was that she did that made her the “Father.” It turns out, that was simply not showing emotion to the children and holding them to high expectations. But trying to convince them to open up to you was aimless, seeing as most of them had been taught that emotions were weakness, (you’re going to work on that later,) and do not even trust you to begin with. So you began in the kitchen. As much as you are not a cook, you know your way around some beloved childhood recipes, and so you helped the kitchen staff learn more homely food. Rather than something bland and fancy for breakfast, you give them the recipe to pancakes and you visit each child to ask what they would like their’s topped with. Lunches became a build your own sandwich buffet, which was met with more excitement that you anticipated and dinners stayed the same for the most part- protein and veggies. However, your presence alone comforted scared and picky kids to try new and scary foods they wouldn’t have before (and you snuck them something you knew they’d like afterward.)

It was a long day, but you had managed to lead the last group of kids to eat, the rest of them were either in the showers or in bed. You stood in the doorway of the dining hall, arms crossed as you watch them eat and chatter. A warm presence sidled up next to you, your arms brushing against each other. You saw less of Arlecchino than you had expected. She was also less involved with the children, or at least, from what you could see. You truly had no idea what she really did, you knew she was a harbinger and very strong but you couldn’t begin to fathom what she did outside these walls. You didn’t really want to. 

“Good evening, Father, are you joining us for dinner?” You ask her as she brushes against you. 

She hums thoughtfully, as though considering it as she always does. “Not tonight. But thank you for the invitation, Mother.”

You can’t help but blush and hope she didn’t see it. The way she says your title.. it feels as though she is purring it, tasting it in her mouth before speaking it. Arlecchino looks down at you from the visage of her children eating. “They are happier since you had arrived. How did you manage that in only a month?” 

“I’m not sure myself,” you say, feeling warm under her gaze. “I just.. I tried to live up to my name. I can’t help but want to know them all, even if a few of them scare me.” Though, none have threatened your life, seeing such young people with weapons is never a reassuring sight.

Arlecchino laughs and turns to walk into the main entrance room, away from the dining hall. You cast another glance at the children before following her.

She’s walking into the foyer, reaching for her coat. “Did I not scare you when we first met?” She asks, pulling her hair from the back of the gray jacket.

“Maybe a tad. But that’s because of how I was raised, you know that,” you say, pouting a little. She tuts, reaching for your cheek to pinch before she thinks about it and pulls away.. 

“Still so cute. You scared me too, you know. All bright eyed and excited, talking my ear off about things I couldn’t give a damn about. Reaching through that fence to try and touch me…” she sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll be gone for a while. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

Before she gets too far out of the entrance, she hears you sigh disapprovingly. “Playing the absent father, are we?” It makes her chuckle. 

Thunder sounds all around you, shaking the Hearth and startling you from your sleep. Thunder was never a pleasant experience, but you wouldn’t say you feared it. But that was just your experience. There was a gentle knock at the your bedroom door. 

You wrap a robe around yourself, wondering who could be knocking at this hour and open the door a crack to see who was there and were met with tens of other eyes, all stricken with fear. You open your door all the way, unsure what to say at first in the face of these frightened children. Many of them were younger, but there were a few older ones among them, looking sheepish. 

“Well.. come along, if you’re coming,” you say, watching seven children file in.

It’s not long before you’re kicked out of bed by squirming children. You don’t mind so much, it was getting to hot to even sleep, much less with a bunch of squirming limbs poking you in the side this way and that. You take a trip to the bathroom, then out the window you see the rain has loosened up a bit, it’s still coming down but less so than before, and the thunder is all but distant rumbles.

You rub on the window, removing some of the fog and just happen to see a tall figure approaching the Hearth. Who on Teyvat could be visiting at this hour? You move to look at the clock ticking in the hallway. It’s midnight. Nobody in their right mind would journey all the way through the storm just to make an unplanned visit… unless they were attempting to enter without permission. 

You race downstairs in bare feet, your nightgown and making you appear threatening as ever. You make it to the door before they do, so you grab an iron poker from the fireplace as your weapon. Stealthily, you move beside the door, waiting quietly for it to click open so you can bash in whoever is trying to get in. This moment leads you to think about how there’s little to no security and it makes you shake your head. Perhaps the Fatui’s reputation doesn’t scare everyone away.

The doorknob clicks and then turns, opening slowly. You raise the fire poker above your head and prepare to bludgeon this person, but as you bring it down, the intruder catches it and pins you against the wall beside the door. She laughs, covering in water from the rain, shaking her head unceremoniously. You squint as a few drops land on your cheek.

“Per- What are you doing!?” You all but yell, remembering there are people sleeping.

Arlecchino kicks the door shut with her boot. “If I let you go, promise you won’t stab me?”

You roll your eyes and she lets you go. “I had to return to retrieve something. Didn’t think I’d bother anybody coming at night, but it seems I was mistaken.” 

Arlecchino stands up straight. She’s wearing something completely different from when you saw her only five hours ago, her cheeks are even flushed as though she had been drinking.

“What did you forget? I can fetch it for you,” you offer, lowering you weapon to hold by your hips. 

Arlecchino taps on her bottom lip, as though considering her options. “Dinner? Or maybe a spar, since you seem so apt to attack unknown trespassers. Or, maybe some of those kisses you used to give.” She grins, leaning into the juncture of your neck and jaw, running the tip of her nose down to your collar bone. 

She was definitely drunk. If that line didn’t tell you, the wine on her breath did. 

“Father, perhaps you should lie down-“ 

“Doooon’t call me that,” she groans, her palm coming to her forehead as if it gave her an instant migraine. “Call me anything but not that. In fact, call me Peruere again, hm?”

Her arms encircle your waist before her hands settle on your hips. She gives your nightie a passing glance before lifting her eyes to yours. “So? What’ll it be?” She asks with a smirk. You assume she’s talking about the options of what she wants from you. The kitchens are closed down and you’re definitely not fighting her, so it seems you’re left with one option.

“If I kiss you, will you cooperate and tell me what you’re doing here?”

“I swear, on my title as a harbinger,” she grins. 

You sigh, looking at her rosy complexion  and then you lean in, kissing her gently on the cheek. She tilts her head leaning into it, closing her eyes. Her head turns slightly, your lips glancing over each other. You can’t help your blush as you pull away but her arms tug you closer. You brace yourself at her shoulders and create some distance. She’s clearly wasted and far be it from you to allow this to go further than it already has. You catch her inhaling the scent of your hair. 

“Peruere, what is it you came here for?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, her eyes avoiding yours. You never could read those dark eyes, and you never notice how they pull you in, like a magnet. Standing up straight, she takes your left hand, running her thumb across your knuckles before stilling at your ring finger. Her nail digs into the diamond before she releases your hand, leaving you warm. “Apologies, Mother,” she says coldly. Suddenly sober, she lets you go, adjusting her clothes. “I should see you soon. Don’t forget your duties.”

Before you can argue with her about that retort, she leaves, shutting the door firmly. 

The next morning you wake up feeling hot with a heavy weight on your chest, before you remember what happened last night. It’s still raining outside, but it seems that Celestia had calmed down. 

But you jump all the same when your door suddenly flies open. A maid stands there, holding a case, but her eyes widen at the sight of four children laying on your bed and three laying underneath and your helpless face being the only part of you she can see. 

“Your… finacè is here to see you,” she says softly. 

[cece693]

Personal Bodyguard

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: you can't tell me Tony isn't bi or at least experimented in his youth, you become his personal bodyguard after the cave fiasco and iron man revelation, enemies-to-friends-to lovers, Tony really needs a hug, reader is set to become his friend (and more), military background

You’re used to working in tense environments. The military taught you that complacency is death and that vigilance is survival. You’ve seen your fair share of conflict, learned to read people and situations at a glance. That’s probably why Pepper Potts sought you out after Tony Stark’s dramatic return from Afghanistan. She looked you up and down with calculating eyes, recognized a bit of herself in your “don’t mess with me” attitude, and decided on the spot—you were the best candidate to protect Tony Stark from himself, and from the new, dangerous world he was plunging into.

Tony’s penthouse overlooks the Malibu coastline, the sun reflecting off the ocean waves and onto polished floors. There he stands—fresh from the workshop, grease on his tank top and that lopsided grin that only half-masks the shadows under his eyes. He spots you, sizes you up, and crosses his arms. “Pep, this is the solution you found?” Tony gestures at you dismissively. “A glorified babysitter?”

Pepper forces a polite smile. “A bodyguard, Tony.” You don’t rise to his bait. The best reaction here is none at all—just a stony expression. Let him get it out of his system. He cocks an eyebrow at your silence, clearly expecting some snark in return.

“Fine,” he says, turning on his heel. “Follow me. Or don’t. Whatever." Pepper shakes her head apologetically as she goes to leave. Before she goes, she places a hand on your shoulder, giving you an unspoken good luck. You already know you’ll need it.

Tony tries his best to make your life difficult. He’ll disappear from his home at odd hours, use his snark to try and aggravate you, or do something reckless like attempt a suit flight test above the Malibu cliffs. However, you're never that far behind and your patience is endless. One night, he’s just touched down too hard in the Mark II, crashing through his garage and damaging several of his expensive cars. You rush in, weapon at the ready, scanning for threats.

“Relax,” Tony says, struggling to peel off the broken armor. “It’s just me doing some, uh, routine test improvements.” You exhale slowly, then calmly dismantle your sidearm. No threats—except the one Tony poses to himself.

“You know,” you say eventually, picking up a piece of the shattered gauntlet, “if you keep messing around with these half-finished upgrades, eventually I won’t just be your bodyguard. I’ll be the one scraping you off the ground.”

Tony stares at you, momentarily struck by the genuine concern in your voice, before clearing his throat. “Point taken,” he mutters, but for the first time, he seems less antagonistic—and almost thankful.

The slow thaw between you and Tony continues. He starts sharing details of the Iron Man suit, half to show off and half because he’s realized you’re more at ease when you know everything that’s going on. You learn that behind the smug exterior, Tony is propelled by guilt, determination, and a heart that aches to do genuine good. And for your part, despite your initial refusal to get personally involved, you find yourself caring about him—protecting him matters, but so does understanding him.

Late nights often find the two of you in the workshop. Tony’s hyper-focused on some new repulser tech while you stand guard, occasionally offering your own insight to whatever he was working on. You’d never guess Tony would be the type to listen, but he does, especially when your suggestions keep him from blowing up half the lab. He’ll acknowledge your tips with a half-smile, or a nod that says more than words.

Pepper noticed the shift. She’d smile at you in passing, relief evident in her eyes. She once patted your shoulder and said, “You’re good for him. He trusts you, and that’s not something I say lightly.” Rhodey, Tony’s closest friend, warmed up to you fast. He appreciated having another military mind around. When Tony got lost in his own arrogance, Rhodey and you would share an exasperated look.

Then everything changes again when Tony becomes an Avenger. Suddenly, it’s not just small-scale threats or paparazzi you have to worry about—it’s cosmic forces, alien invasions, global catastrophes. You do your best to keep Tony safe in these new, unpredictable situations, but it’s a challenge.

The Avengers team is a powder keg of personalities. Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, openly clashes with Tony over leadership and moral ideals. You see how the tension weighs on Tony; he deflects with sarcasm, but you’ve come to know the signs of when he’s hurting.

One night at the tower, you’re standing off to the side while Tony and Steve butt heads—again. "Take away the armor," Steve says, voice steely, "and what are you?" The words hang in the air. Tony’s jaw tightens, and you can practically see his heart sink. It’s a cheap shot. And it’s wrong. You step forward before Tony can snap back with a trademark insult. There’s a calm coolness in your voice, the kind that hushes even the Captain.

“Tony Stark is the mind that built that suit,” you say evenly. “He’s the one who sees solutions where everyone else sees dead ends. If you take away the armor, you’ve still got the man who pulled himself out of a cave and saved his own life with scrap metal—because that’s who he is. He’s more than the suit, Rogers, and you know it.”

Steve meets your gaze and steps forward, but you aren’t intimidated. There were lines you simply wouldn’t let him cross, not tonight, not after he delivered that cheap shot at Tony without even knowing him. You can see Tony stiffen beside you, as if ready to jump in—or bolt. But you’re not about to let Steve’s words cut him down.

“Think very carefully about what you say next, Rogers,” you warn, voice low and steady. “Because none of you would be here—Avengers, Stark Tower, anything—if it weren’t for this man. Armor or no armor.”

For a split second, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. Clint shifts uneasily near the back, Natasha straightens from her casual lean against the wall, and even Bruce lifts his head from the tablet he’s been absorbed in. Steve’s jaw tightens; he clearly didn’t expect you to stand your ground so bluntly—and you don’t care. Your top priority is Tony’s well-being, not theirs. With nothing more to say, you turn on your heel and head for the workshop.

By the time you reach the corridor leading to Tony’s private workspace, the echo of your own footsteps has become a steady, reassuring beat. Only then do you register the soft tread following behind you. He’s close—but conspicuously silent, which is out of character for a man who thrives on quips and banter.

“Sir, you have arrived at the workshop,” Jarvis’s polite voice chimes overhead, and the door slides open with a hiss.

You step inside and finally turn around. Tony lingers just past the threshold, his eyes lowered. His silence seems almost heavy, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I never asked you to defend me,” he murmurs. “But you…you did. Why?” The workshop’s lights glow softly, illuminating half-built armor pieces and scattered blueprints. You let the sound of humming machinery fill the short gap before you speak.

“Because you needed someone to,” you say simply, though your voice carries an undercurrent of heat—residual frustration from your confrontation with Steve. “And because I wanted to.”

Tony’s gaze flickers upward—he looks uncertain, almost disarmed. “I can handle myself,” he says, though he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. It’s a weak protest, more habit than conviction.

You exhale, crossing your arms. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to face it alone. Especially when the hits are coming from the people supposed to have your back.”

“You caught me off guard,” he admits, voice low, “standing up for me like that. Especially in front of the team.”

You stand your ground, letting the seriousness of the moment settle in. “You act like I never stand up for you.”

A wry huff of laughter escapes him. “Not the same way. Usually, you’re telling me not to blow up half my lab or reminding me to eat something other than coffee. This time you had my back when it counted.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” you ask, tilting your head. “I’m your bodyguard, Mr. Stark. That means I protect you—against outside threats and inside threats too. Even if that threat’s a super soldier with a knack for colorful speeches.”

“So that’s it?” he asks, a thin note of vulnerability in his tone. “You did it because it’s your job?” You take in his tense posture—shoulders rigid, hand flexing at his side. Tony’s never been good at showing his more vulnerable edges. Carefully, you move closer, letting your voice soften.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Defending you isn’t just me ‘clocking in.’ I do it because I care. Because I know you’re more than just the suit, no matter what Steve says.” Tony looks up at you in surprise, but you're not done yet. "If this was just part of my job, I wouldn't be spending all my free time down here with you. I would've jumped at the chance to quit when you offered it on a silver platter."

Tony cracks a half-smile, remembering when he outright tried to bribe you to quit, and you surprisingly rejected his offer. The money could've set you for life, supported you and a family if you so desired, but you simply shook your head and informed him about a meeting he had in the morning.

Tony moves closer, so close you can count the faint freckles along his cheekbones. “I hated the idea of having a bodyguard,” Tony admits, voice low. “But I’ve come to realize how much I needed you.” Your heart stutters, unsure of how to respond. Tony swallows thickly, looking uncharacteristically unsure. There’s no witty remark, no deflecting sarcasm. It’s just him, raw and honest, baring feelings you never thought he’d share.

“You’ve become one of the closest people in my life,” he continues. “I trust you in ways I don’t trust anyone else. Hell, Pepper might be the only other person who gets me anywhere close to this.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to your lips before returning to your gaze. “And…I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I might—well—I feel something for you.”

Your stomach flips, warmth blooming in your chest. There’s something surreal about this: Tony Stark, the man who refused to even acknowledge your presence at first, now openly admitting he cares—that he wants something more than just having you as security detail.

A ghost of a smile curves your lips. “I might feel something for you, too.” Tony’s grin is immediate—relief and mischief dancing in his eyes. He leans in, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades.

“Do I have to make an appointment to kiss my bodyguard,” he murmurs, “or is this—” You cut him off by closing the distance, your lips finding his in a slow, tentative kiss.

[charliedawn]

I was wondering how the Hannibal family would react to the fact that they met their childhood friend, a reader? Maybe they used to be in love with her? Or were you just good friends?

Hannibal Lecter Sr.

Hannibal Sr. would greet you with perfect composure—but if you look closely, you might see his fingers tighten just slightly. You were once part of his formative years, and nostalgia is a powerful thing. But he wouldn’t let you see it. Besides, Hannibal Sr. had a terrible childhood and wouldn’t necessarily be happy reviving the memories.

"Ah…Y/N. What a surprise. Tell me, did you seek me out…or was this fate ?"

If you were childhood sweethearts, even in the innocent way, Hannibal Sr. would never have forgotten you. He’d remember everything—the way you laughed, the stories you shared, the little habits you had. Seeing you again ? It would make him remember things from his past he really would have liked to keep buried forever.

"You were always so…dear to me. I wonder, have you changed ? Or are you still the same fascinating creature I once knew ?"

Expect intense eye contact, lingering touches on your shoulder, and a deeply unhealthy interest in what you’ve been doing all these years without him. But since he is advanced in years, I would assume you are too and made a life for yourself. He would like to learn about your family and what you did during all these years. And maybe if you’re lucky…you would catch a glimpse of the nice young boy you used to play with as a child…

Hannibal Lecter Jr.

Hannibal Jr. would act like he’s completely unbothered—calm, charming, unshaken. But the moment he sees you, his mind would be racing. How ? When ? So many questions but all inconsequential next to the old feelings coming back to haunt him. Hannibal Sr. had told him you had died long ago…Obviously, he had been lied to.

"Y/N. What an unexpected reunion. You look…well."

If you were close as children, he would find it fascinating how much you’ve changed—or how much you’ve stayed the same. And if there was ever even a hint of romance between you ? He would remember every detail.

"Do you recall the last time we saw each other ? I do. Quite vividly, in fact."

Unlike his father, Hannibal Jr. would appreciate the memories of a time where things seemed so simple. He remembered when it was only the two of you at school and how excited you both were to be learning new things. If you moved on and had a life (kids, husband/wife or just new experiences) he would smile and nod politely. He would be glad you had what you always wanted…

Hannibal Jr. *takes your hand and kisses the knuckles/shakes it* : "…I have missed you, old friend. It was nice seeing you again."

Morgan Hannibal

Morgan would be completely thrown off guard at first. Let’s not forget that he was adopted quite late within the Hannibal family and he used to be abused by his old boss. He really didn’t like the man he was—weak and frustrated. But, he would hide his insecurities behind a smirk.

"Well, well. Look what the past dragged in."

If you were childhood friends, he’d be genuinely happy to see you. But if there were any romantic feelings back then ? He would be in denial. Firstly because you know who he used to be and no way would you love him and secondly, because he knows his family and would try to protect you.

"I barely recognised you. No, really—I thought you were someone else for a second. Guess I didn’t expect to see you again."

But the moment you start reminiscing ? Oh, that cocky mask would slip so fast…

"You still remember that ? Hah…yes, I guess I do too. I was a…very different man back then."

If you ever had feelings for each other ? He would smile at the past where he thought anything could be possible. And if you moved on ? He would feel sad of course but…also relieved that you managed to have a good life without him.

Kevin Hannibal

Kevin’s reaction would be immediate and emotional. He wouldn’t even try to hide it—he’d just stare at you in shock, his mouth opening slightly before he lets out an incredulous laugh.

"Holy shit. Y/N ?!"

He’d walk up to you, still blinking in disbelief, and then—without even thinking—pull you into a tight hug.

"Damn…I thought I’d never see you again."

If you were childhood best friends, Kevin would be overwhelmed by emotions. He’d immediately start talking about the old days, asking if you remember this or that, laughing as old memories flood back.

But if you were his first love ? Oh, now it gets complicated.

"Do you ever think about back then ? About us ?" Unlike his brothers, Kevin wouldn’t play games—if he still had feelings, he’d let them slip through before he could stop himself. But if you moved on ? He would respect it. Besides, he is technically still a wanted criminal so…Yeah. Not the right time for relationships.

Peter Hannibal

Peter would be stunned. Completely speechless for a few seconds, just staring at you with wide, teary eyes. And then—he’d immediately get emotional.

"Y/N ! Oh my God, it’s really you !" He’d rush forward and grab your hands, squeezing them tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. "I missed you—I missed you so much ! I thought about you all the time ! You—you still remember me, right ?"

If you were just childhood friends ? He’d be overjoyed to see you again, rambling about how he always wondered what happened to you. But if you were his first crush ? He’s absolutely melt and hold you tight.

"I—uh—I used to…I mean, I kind of—um, never mind !"

Peter is not good at hiding his emotions, so if he ever had feelings for you ? You’re gonna know.

[dredgen-dumbass]

(Disabled) player's guide to making D2 more accessible

because so far (correct me if I'm wrong) I haven't seen one on here, & maybe (hopefully) it'll help someone.

Alright, to get it out of the way, I'm disabled. I have neurological damage from a tbi, and more recently another concussion, and among many many other things it makes gaming a lot more complicated. It can (unfortunately) be difficult to find advice for disabled gamers online that isn't just "get good" or "then gaming isn't for you", so I figure this might be helpful, since it was for me.

I can't speak to other conditions, so this is more about adjustments for specific symptoms, but I can only really speak from experience. That said, I've had to learn quite a bit, so it's sharing time :)

(I play on Xbox. Some settings aren't the same between platforms, just a warning. For that reason, some of this post is going to be xbox-specific.)

This is divided up into menus & subjects of bullet points are bolded to be easier to skim.

Controller settings - (and explanations for some of them in case y'all don't know)

Test out different look sensitivity. The default is 3, I moved mine up to 5. I have issues with spacial awareness and saccades dysfunction, and this has made it easier for me to keep whatever I'm looking at on-screen.

ADS sensitivity- if you don't know, this is the speed when you aim down sights. The default is 1, I have mine reduced to .5, and I've found that the larger difference between the look & ADS sensitivity can really function as having two look settings available when using a weapon that doesn't have a very extreme scope.

The default sprint-turn scale is 0.4, I bump mine up to 0.8 for similar reasons to the look sensitivity increase. (Turning this up makes you turn faster, turning it down makes you turn slower.)

Alternatively, if you have more issues with overstimulation/visual clutter/quick movements/etc, you may want to turn everything down a bit to slow down your camera, but that may make combat harder to keep up with, especially pvp.

Axial & radial deadzone. This helps with stick drift. Stick drift is a pain for everyone but if you have fine motor issues, tremors, arthritis, etc, it's even worse. Finding what works best for your hardware will help make sure you're compensating less, which puts less strain on your hands.

I've seen people recommend turning off controller haptics for the same reason- the vibrations make you grip the controller harder and can cause worse strain. Personally, I leave them on because the sensory input helps balance out the awareness issues, but maybe it's for you! (this one's a system setting, not a d2 one.)

Video settings

Brightness can be important if you have issues with eye strain. I would recommend changing this relative to the lighting in the room, not just your monitor. Turning it up may help with visual issues with the tradeoff of risking overstimulation. Again, all of this is very dependent on the person.

Motion blur- Evil, evil, evil, turn this off. Visual problems or not, it's harder to follow things on-screen with it enabled. Combined with any garden variety problem with eye movements or cognitive strain it's even worse.

Chromatic aberration- I turn this off. It's a nice vfx, but it can wind up just being added visual stimulus and if that's a problem for it's worth losing. It can also make the radar harder to read. Not worth it (personally.)

Film grain- off for the same reason. It's a smaller change, but a clearer view is worth it if it helps you.

Sound settings

If you have problems with your hearing/auditory processing, I highly recommend turning the sfx & music drastically down compared to the dialogue, and then just turning up your system audio.

Personally, I often play with music entirely off, but I know that can be a very boring experience to a lot of people, so take that as you will.

(my current settings: sfx 8, dialogue 10, music 1)

if you're playing with an Xbox party or in a discord call, etc, I really recommend messing with the mixing settings there when you first get on to balance out peoples mics, regardless of processing problems.

Gameplay settings

HUD opacity- I turn mine down to high, the default being full. Just another thing that makes it easier to keep track of stuff.

Radar Background Opacity- Opposite here. If you have problems with spatial awareness you're probably relying pretty hard on the radar instinctively, so the clearer it is, the better. I play with mine on medium, you may want to play around.

Subtitles- Are on by default, so that's nice. Let's check out their settings menu for a moment.

Turning on show speaker name can be really good for hearing/auditory processing issues.

You can also change the color for the speaker name/caption text if the clearer contrast will help you.

The best background style for visibility is box, but it won't look as nice. Another trade.

Background opacity may be easier to lower if you switch to box, since the faded style isn't even. A lower background opacity may help you follow things on-screen at the cost of caption readability

If you don't need captions but do need to reduce visual clutter, try turning them off!

Colorblind mode is, obviously, helpful if you're colorblind, but I have also heard it recommended because the color changes can help improve contrast. Not one I've tried, but worth including.

Full auto firing/Full auto melee- Does what it says. Turning this on might help in the same way as turning off haptics/messing with deadzones, ie by changing how much you need to click. You can still fire normally with it on, so if anything it just gives you another option.

Reticle location is slightly below the center on d2. I prefer to center it, though it takes some getting used to. More helpful if you frequently switch between other games that center theirs.

Neutral/targeted reticle color- The defaults are white and red respectively. I prefer black for targeted because I feel like it makes it easier to see what I'm actually aiming at, but you may want to leave it for contrast. To each their own.

Other

Brief overview of Xbox accessibility settings

Xbox has a narration setting. I would assume anyone who needs it is aware of this, but just in case.

If you need more assisted play, there's controller assist where you can combine two people's input

Turning off haptic vibration (as mentioned) is in accessibility -> controller

You can make the on-screen keyboard larger!

There are party chat settings for both text to speech and speech to text

There's also game transcription!

Games that have the function can also do their own read-aloud. I don't know if/how this applies to destiny

Mono output for audio may make things easier to understand depending on your audio setup

There's also high-contrast mode for both dark or light

Colorblind filters are here, too

Night mode! You can change how much it dims/filters your device. If you have problems with blue light or eye strain, or have to limit screens for medical reasons like me, this setting is a lifesaver. The filter will affect how your games look, but personally it's worth the tint. Same is available on most PCs.

Hardware, etc.

The Xbox Adaptive Controller is highly customizable and great for anyone with physical impairments that make the standard Xbox controller difficult to use. Find it here.

I've seen thumbstick extenders recommended for arthritis, might also be helpful for similar conditions

If you have arthritis/fine motor issues/muscle weakness/tremors/etc/etc/etc controller grips might make holding a standard controller easier

If any of those are the case for you, then you might also benefit from a lightweight controller (or playing with a standard controller plugged in & removing the batteries for a lesser weight adjustment)

evilcontrollers also has one-handed controllers and a one-handed controller customizer much like the standard controller customizers

evilcontrollers for hardware accessibility in general

If you play on PC and have muscle or joint issues then you may want to look into different keyboard/mouse shapes. Lightweight, vertical, and ball mice are all options, though there's apparently some argument about using them for gaming. I've also seen good reviews of the Azeron keypad from people with muscular/joint problems. There's also split keyboards, wave keyboards, one-handed, etc etc etc.

If you have problems with auditory processing I would HIGHLY recommend gaming with noise-cancelling headphones. (Hell, do everything with noise cancelling headphones.) I would recommend these for everyday, but they also work pretty well for gaming. The mic is mid, but it works well enough, and there's multiple sound modes + active noise cancelling.

Other other (oh no I forgot these, editing now)

Compression gloves !!!!!

Pause and do hand exercises after a while

20/20/20 rule for eye strain

may come back and expand this as I think of more things

There is a lot that Bungie could do to improve the game's accessibility without causing an imbalance with abled players, but I'll save that for another post. Feel free to reblog this with any other advice/anecdotal stuff/whatever, I'm considering this as opening a discussion.

I don't know of any clans specifically for disabled players but I'm sure they exist? If anyone has recommendations for community stuff, please do throw that in.

As always, my dms are open. Being a disabled gamer can suck sometimes and if you need a space to vent w/ someone who gets it, I'm your guy. If you're just curious how it impacts gaming, I don't mind being asked, I just don't feel like posting about myself that much unprompted.

I think that's all for now. Happy gaming :)

[infiniteeight8]

Ironstrange: soulmarks show potential/compatible soulmates and change (appear, fade, etc). Tony has one that has never changed, no matter how often he interacts with Strange. How does Stephen win him over?

I ended up doing a fair bit of mental world building to get this to work in my brain. I hope the result is interesting!

-

“Tony,” Stephen says, approaching him after an Avengers meeting has wrapped up. “Could we speak in private?”

Tony has been dreading this day ever since he spotted the mosaic decorating Stephen’s chest and realized that the design filling one of the hexes matched one of the pie slices in the circle Tony bears on his shoulder. But there’s no avoiding it, not really. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and Stephen’s brow wrinkles at the reluctant note that Tony doesn’t even try to suppress. Might as well start lowering his expectations now.

Tony leads them into a spare conference room. No point in making this too personal. Hitching one hip up on the table, he waits for Stephen to close the door behind himself and then waves for him to go on.

“We have soulmate potential,” Stephen says carefully.

“I’m aware.”

Stephen is quiet for a moment. “I take it you’re not interested in pursuing that.”

Well, this is already going better than expected. “I’m not,” Tony confirms. 

“May I ask why?”

“Sure,” Tony offers lightly and waits. 

Impressively, Stephen doesn’t seem frustrated or impatient despite being forced to ask the question again: “Why are you not interested in pursuing a potential soulmate?”

“Because I’ve been down this road before,” Tony says bluntly. “Three times, actually. Potential soulmates who come to me full of pretty promises about what our future could look like if only I’d let them in, give them a chance, open up. They push and they push and they push because they’re so sure we’re going to be perfect together, and when the mark never activates they get angry and resentful and blame me for not trying hard enough. I should have learned from the first two, but the third… The third was Pepper. At least I managed to salvage a friendship out of that one. 

“In my experience,” Tony went on, “soulmate potential doesn’t improve relationships, it ruins them. I’m not interested in going through that again.”

Stephen is quiet for a long minute. Tony waits for the argument for how Stephen is different. Maybe he’ll claim the silver mark—a platonic soulmate—on his chest means he knows how this works. Maybe he’ll argue that they have more in common, both being heroes. Maybe he thinks magic gives him extra  insight into the whole soulmate concept. 

“I understand,” Stephen says eventually. “I hope we can be friends, eventually, but I imagine you’ll want some distance first.”

He turns and opens the conference room door, and it’s then, when Tony is still staring after him in disbelief, that Tony feels the flare of heat in his shoulder.

Stephen stops, but doesn’t turn back. Tony yanks his shirt off and cranes his neck to peer at his shoulder. “Well, look at that,” he says, bemused. Stephen’s pie slice shines gold. “Apparently all I needed was for someone to respect my choice.” He looks up to find Stephen still in the doorway, shoulders tense. “Get back here, Stephen.”

Stephen closes the door and hesitantly comes back to stand before Tony. “You’re sure?” His eyes go to Tony’s shoulder and the golden mark.

“I’ve never had an activated mark before,” Tony says. “The variables have changed.” Stephen arches an eyebrow and Tony rolls his eyes. “That’s a yes. I’m sure.”

Stephen smiles. “Good.”

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Guide, 2/28/2025 Issue ft. No.1 Sentai Gozyuger Main Cast Member Interviews (translation below)

Publication: February 12, 2025 (before broadcast start)

Gozyugers -Who has the "number one" hero pose?-

Fuyuno Mio (Tono Hoeru/GozyuWolf)

I don't have much experience in acting, and I'm feeling all kinds of pressure, but I believe one of my strengths is my willingness to go after what I lack, so I'd like to maintain this attitude for the next year and improve my performance.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: Samurai Sentai Shinkenger. Writing kanji characters in the air, and then transforming through the power of kanji……it left an impression on me, so I remember it well.

Suzuki Hideharu (Byakuya Rikuo/GozyuLeon)

There's still alot of things I'm not good enough at, but I'll be required to act, do action, and do post recording on this set, and since I'm playing the role of a former idol, I'll likely have to sing and dance. Because there's alot to learn, I believe that I'll grow, and I hope that my growth will help to move this production in the right direction.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: GoGo Sentai Boukenger. I was excited when I learned that Action Director Fukuzawa-san was BoukenRed's Suit Actor.

Kanda Masakazu (Bakugami Ryugi/GozyuTyranno)

First, I hope that this production reaches many people, and I'll do my best with that single thought in mind. Then, I'd like to learn action and post recording through filming so that I can make the most out of it in my future career as an actor. I'd also like to learn from all the cast members so that I can grow twice as much.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: I watched Seiju Sentai Gingaman as it aired. I also watched Ninja Sentai Kakuranger together with my older brother.

Matsumoto Jin (Takehara Kinjiro/GozyuEagle)

I hope that each and every one of us, myself included, can create characters that people will be happy to see appearing on screen. And then, just like how I myself was as a child, I hope that we can all work together to create a production that'll make people want to sit in front of the TV at the exact time the program starts.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger. I liked toys, so I would collect the Ranger Keys.

Imamori Maya (Ichikawa Sumino/GozyuUnicorn)

I want to make sure that everyone who watches the show is thrilled and excited each and every week. For my role as Ichikawa Sumino, I'll be consulting as well as discussing things with the cast and staff, and I hope that we can present you with a production where every single moment is wonderful.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: Shinkenger. My older sister was studying kanji at the time of its broadcast, and the Shinkengers would fight by writing kanji that could be found in her workbooks. I remember that well.

Q: Who among you is the most heroic?

Imamori: I think each one of us has aspects that make us heroic.

Matsumoto: In terms of reliability, it'd probably be Masa-kun.

Fuyuno Suzuki Imamori: We know what you mean.

Suzuki: He's very kind. I have no acting experience, and my nerves were already shot when filming began, but Masakazu-kun called out from behind me during filming and said, "Don't worry, go on, you got this." I thought he was a hero for doing that, and it made me happy knowing that I'd be involved in the same production with such a kind person.

Kanda: Keep talking (laughs).

Matsumoto: Then there's Mio-kun. He's positioned as Red, so his turn to perform comes up quite often, which must also put him under alot of pressure, and yet….

Suzuki: He never looks like he's having a hard time, and will always smile at you. He's both tough and reassuring, so in that sense, he's the most heroic.

Fuyuno: (said shyly) Really?

Kanada: It seems like there's a side of him that changes once he gets into his role.

Suzuki: Lately, Mio's facial expressions have been different compared to when we first started filming. I could feel it just by watching you through the monitor.

Kanada Matsumoto Imamori: (they nod in agreement).

Fuyuno: Thank you so much (laughs). _

No One World Buraidan -Who has the "number one" villain pose?-

Sambongi Daisuke (Fire Candle)

Personally, I'd like to see spinoffs made for each character, but first, it's important for the children who watch the show to admire us and have dreams. So, I hope that tons of children will buy the toys. If they like the show, they'll want to buy them, so please buy them (laughs).

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: The first one I watched was Kakuranger. The most memorable one is Gingaman. I love its opening song. I'll often imitate Gingaman's poses and running style.

Marupi (Bouquet)

It's my greatest pleasure to say that Bouquet's visuals are "number one" in leaving an impact, but I want to be an actor who can leave an even greater impact than that. I want to create a production that'll make lots of people think, "Watching Gozyuger made me happy," and I have confidence that this team can do it.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: Mahou Sentai Magiranger, as it's a story about a family who stand together. I remember it well because I love my own family.

Karuma (Kuon)

With it being a 50th anniversary production, there'll be a festive atmosphere, and I feel that it's to be expected that irregular things will frequently occur, but I think we can exceed expectations, and I want to be apart of that. I'm looking forward to learning what kind of person Kuon is, and having others get to know him as well.

Q: Which heroes do you admire? A: I watched Hyakujuu Sentai Gaoranger, Ninpu Sentai Hurricanger, and Bakuryu Sentai Abaranger. I'm currently listening to Hurricanger's opening song.

Q: Who among you is the most villainous?

Sambongi: You mean someone who looks like they're plotting something? We would've liked to have named someone who's heroic too… (laughs). Still, each of them is carefully thinking about the role they play. I can often sense that on set.

Marupi: The impression I have of Fire Candle-san is that he's someone who's just a passionate idiot, but I can tell from his performance that he's not a character that can be described in a few words, and I think the viewers will understand that. I'm also playing the role of Bouquet with the hope of delivering a surprise that you wouldn't imagine from her appearance, with the same going for Kuon too…

Karuma: He's a mysterious character, so I can't just say things like, "He looks like this, but is actually…" (laughs).

Marupi: We're all thinking about how to present our roles (laughs). _

Special Talk

"Please tell us how you felt when you were chosen to perform."

Fuyuno: I've admired heroes since I was a child, so I was happy, but at the same time, I felt pressure.

Suzuki: I grew up watching the Super Sentai series and saw them as my role models, so I was beyond surprised to find out that I would be apart of it. It wasn't until filming began, and I got on set to strike my transformation pose that I actually felt it.

Kanada: I was suddenly called into the office, told that I had been chosen to appear in the show, and was congratulated, but I was simultaneously happy, under pressure, and confused as to why they had decided to surprise me with it.

Matsumoto: I loved hero shows and would wake up on Sunday mornings just in time for them to start. It was exciting to think that I'd be seen as a hero by children who, like me at the time, wait excitedly in front of the TV.

Imamori: When the decision was made, I was so happy that I cried, as I couldn't believe it. I still feel like I'm dreaming, but I'd like to create a good show while discussing it with everyone.

Sambongi: When I was selected to appear, I thought the times had caught up with me (laughs). After that I thought, "I guess it was fate." Rather than being nervous or happy, I thought, "This is where it all starts."

Marupi: First, I couldn't believe it, but at the same time, I was determined to live up to the honor of being chosen to be apart of the 50th anniversary production. When I was chosen, I felt that 2025 would be the best year ever, so I want to return the favor.

Karuma: When I got the offer, I thought it was a mistake (laughs). I can't say anything right now about Kuon's character or how he'll influence the story (bitter smile), but I was happy to have been given such a role.

"In reference to the title, please tell us the number one person among the eight of you. Who's the number one morning person?"

Sambongi: If you've ever been late, be honest and come forward!

Marupi: Not me (laughs).

Imamori: Mio-kun comes to the studio very early, doesn't he? In addition, while everyone else sleeps on the bus on the way to the filming location, he continues to talk (laughs).

Matsumoto: It's like an unwritten rule, if you have to sit next to him on the bus, you better be ready to talk (laughs).

Fuyuno: I'm just trying to live each day to the fullest.

Suzuki: How cool (laughs).

"Who's the number one eater?"

Everyone: That would be…(they all look at Matsumoto).

Suzuki: I'm always eating the food prepared by catering.

Imamori: If I have alittle free time during filming, I'll sneak over to the catering area.

Kanada: You were holding some potato chips yesterday (laughs).

"And now, who's the number one person with leadership skills?"

Matsumoto: The five Gozyuger members are usually together, but when the time for filming approaches, Masa-kun often calls out to those around him by saying, "Shall we go now?"

Kanada: It's just that I'm abit of a cautious person, and tend to think that I shouldn't be late and need to start moving ahead of time. Well, I may be the leader in terms of pulling things along as a timekeeper, but Mio's the leader in terms of pulling things along on set and creating the mood, wouldn't you say?

Matsumoto: Mio naturally takes the initiative, and everyone will gather around him.

Fuyuno: I'm not trying to take on a leadership role though. Since one of our themes is being "outcasts," I think it's fine for each of us to be independent.

Karuma: You guys may never come together and remain separated.

Marupi: Wouldn't you lose members? (laughs).

Sambongi: It'd end up being a two person Sentai (laughs).

Kanada: If that continues, instead of number one, it'll become "only one Sentai" (laughs).

[bogbees]

instead I'll write up the Kakashi perspective on Iruka's lonely existence ✨✌️

Kakashi had politely ignored Naruto falling into step besides him. Just a glance at the boy, and he had known there was something on his mind, as he wore a very contemplative look on his face, eyes and mouth scrunched up, his arms folded across his chest, humming in thought.

Naruto definitely had a question for him. And who was he really, to avoid answering whatever it was until he knew exactly what it was.

But, the boy ended up following him home, and it wasn't until they were on Kakashi's doorstep until he opened his mouth with a. rather strange question, "hey, can I look at your apartment?"

To which Kakashi had paused, utterly bewildered by it. Team seven had come by a couple times, so Naruto surely knew what his apartment looked like; like every other jounin apartment in the jounin barracks.

"Any particular reason for wanting to see it?"

"Recon." Naruto nods his head confidently.

Huh. Alright. He opens his door for Naruto's entry. Might as well see where this is going.

Naruto doesn't really move from the genkan, just studies the room from where he stands. Which, makes sense, it's a studio apartment; the only thing not visible is the small cramped bathroom with the barely enough room to stand and piss toliet and the sectioned off pathetic box of a bathtub. He'd probably be better off bathing outside in a barrel. Or an oil drum. He hoped he'd never had Iruka over, he'd be ashamed of never meeting the man's standards for a good bath.

So, he's not entirely sure what Naruto's looking for here. There's not much really to gather. A few posters, wall hangings, the bookshelf with all his books neatly put inside, his bed with the shiruken print comforter. The few personal trinkets scattered across his windowsill behind his bed's headboard. The plant struggling to thrive with Kakashi's weird schedule.

Naruto turns to leave after a moment, "kay, thanks Kakashi-sensei!"

Kakashi furrows his brow. "What did you get from your recon mission?" He may as well turn his own curiosity of the situation into a learning experience for Naruto.

The boy shifts his weight, humming, "well," he starts, debating if he should actually tell. But then Naruto turns to look up at him, and Kakashi is briefly startled by how much worry is written on his face, "it's about Iruka-sensei."

Kakashi's not sure he can keep the shock from his own voice, keep the look of surprise off his face, "Iruka-sensei?"

"Yeah, Iruka-sensei. He's... his room..."

"What about his room?" Kakashi asks, not quite understanding. Surely Iruka's living space had more stuff in it than Kakashi's did. The man was pretty much village bound, he had more time to collect things, more reason to decorate his surroundings if he had to be there all the time. Kakashi imagines he'd indulge in that behaviour, at least get a better couch. Maybe one of those new PS2 consoles to play that Icha Icha video game coming out.

"It's pretty empty," Naruto says.

That doesn't sound correct, Kakashi thinks.

"I checked, with Sakura-chan's house, and Sasuke's apartment, and hell my own. But, well, that's Sakura-chan, she has a house with a family, and Sasuke and me are orphans too, but the village gave us our stuff. So it's not really... and then I remembered you, you're kinda like him! Old. So, I figured you'd be the best to gauge it."

Kakashi feels more confused now. "Iruka-sensei's apartment is empty?" He flippantly gestures to his room, which really, was probably less filled than the average jounin, and definitely more empty compared to the average chunin or matured genin's.

Naruto nods assuredly, "yeah, nothing on the walls, weird echo, everything's plain. He doesn't even really have any groceries."

Kakashi furrows his brows. That didn't sound right. Iruka was by far the most... surely... Wouldn't his home be a reflection of him? Warm, bright, homely, welcoming.

Naruto shouts goodbye and Kakashi remains posted in the genkan, considering, thinking, wondering.

Kakashi isn't entirely proud of himself for stalking Umino Iruka's movements around the village. But well. Naruto had planted a seed of intrigue in his brain, and like any good hound, he had to sniff it out, find the source. Satisfy his cravings.

And for all the time he's heard his fellow shinobi mock their village bound comrades, the ones teaching or keeping up the bureaucracy of the tower, stuck behind desks, Kakashi always figured those shinobi would enjoy being home.

But. Iruka seems to leave early every morning and rerurn home late in the evening. He hardly ever seems to spend time under the roof he calls home.

He's always outside it, inside the village.

He seems to enjoy home, in the sense of the village being home. But not...

He's at the academy in the mornings, the tower in the afternoons, running around the archives or T&I, in the evenings. Sometimes he's just wandering the streets seemingly aimlessly. He's always stopped for a conversation, everyone seems to know him, smiling wide upon his arrival. Sometimes he'd sit on a bench in the park and just people watch for hours on end.

Especially on weekends or his days off.

Kakashi didn't really know what to make of it. He himself enjoyed spending time in the village a much as the next shinobi, but he also enjoyed doing nothing in his room.

He was starting to get a feeling there was something Iruka didn't like about his apartment. And he wanted to figure out what it was. It'd probably be exciting to finally understand what all this was about. Get a peek into Iruka's person, snoop around for his interests, check out the books he read, maybe he collected VHS tapes instead. Figure out the brand of tea he enjoyed the most.

So one morning after Iruka went to work, Kakashi took meticulous care to undo his stupidly intricate and complicated wards, and nearly two and a half hours later, he was in.

He doesn't enjoy it one bit.

Bare white walls, a layer of dust, a strange uncomfortable echo, no signs of personality, no signs of anyone ever living here beyond the crease in the simple white bedsheets. He spies a picture frame hanging by the bedframe, but it's still got the example image inside it. The eerie feeling of standing in a graveyard overcomes him as he stands in the middle of it all. Of the nothing.

He doesn't enjoy it one bit.

He hears a noise, turns and finds Iruka in the doorway, staring at him, all shadowy and not looking like a person with the bright light of day illuminating the space behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Iruka asks, confusion evident in his voice.

"Building management assignment. Surveying for structural damage."

Iruka's eyebrows furrow not believing him for a second.

"I'll be going now," he nods, his fingers halfway through the signs for a teleportation jutsu by the time he finishes speaking. He barely catches the hard look on Iruka's face before he finds himself standing on the roof of his own building, the ceramic tiles quietly clattering beneath his feet, proof of his existence.

It hits him. There's no proof of Umino Iruka existing. Not beyond his interactions with the village. He has nothing in his apartment that tells anyone he's alive.

And Kakashi remembers watching him sitting on a park bench, smile on his face, clearly loving the life around him.

[camelotsfavouriteknight]

The Inappropriate Use of Mage Hand

Pairing: Gale x named Male!Tav (El) WC: 3.279 Summary: After Gale thought El how to use the spell mage hand, El quickly figures out some fun and inappropriate uses for it. Warning: NSFW 18+, mutal masturbation, PWP AO3 link A/N: 3k+ words of fun, 0 regrets. Might end up becoming a spicy (mage hand) series with different characters😏 (Suggestions/pairings/spicy ideas or challenges are welcome!)

"Yes. Yes! Exactly! That's it!" Gale's voice was a pitch higher than normal due to his enthusiasm. It made El smile, though his eyes were intensely staring at an opaque object. It was the mage hand that he successfully managed to conjure on his second attempt. Magic wasn't difficult for him. He'd just never bothered to learn mage hand, a fact that appalled Gale. Whom made it his personal mission to teach him. Hence why the two of them were inside Gale’s tent. A tiny desk, a bedroll, a chair and a lot of books scattered around the place. Dragged inside for what probably would’ve been some late-night reading or studying.

"And now the options are endless!" Gale continued, the enthusiasm evident in his voice. "Besides the obvious things, of course. For example, opening doors, holding torches, activating traps from a safe distance. Attaching a rope or hook if you want to climb up! Handle dangerous magical objects."

"Stealing highly valuable books from secure places?" El commented. By now confident enough to look away from the mage hand and at Gale instead. The smile on the man's face was contagious. And he always found it fun to watch Gale talk. Especially like this, with his hands making big motions to give power to his words.

"I-I do not know what you're talking about my friend," Gale replied but El just chuckled. Not just his words, but the red creeping up his ears were a dead giveaway that he had, obviously, done that before. It was also something El would use mage hand for himself. Maybe not for books, but the options were, as Gale said, endless. He chuckled, and as an experiment he moved the mage hand towards Gale. Poking him in the chest.

"Really now? You're telling me you never used it for that? I know how you get about books."

"Well, I mean, maybe once or twice?"

"Sure, sure," El chuckled as he poked the man a few more times. Gale was all but glaring at the mage hand, which only made the scene funnier.

"Any other good uses for it?" he questioned, frowning a little as he intensely looked at the hand. Part of it was so strange. He could command the hand to do almost anything. It needed barely a thought and it moved around, just like with his own, actual, hands. But the strange thing about it was, getting no feedback. He could hold something hot or cold and he wouldn't know. Which was probably a big pro for using mage hand. Or he could hold something with a painful surface, but he wouldn’t feel it. Almost with a mind of his own the hand started to caress Gale's shirt.

"It’s a bit unfortunate that I get no sensory feedback. At all," he sighed. He was certain the shirt should feel soft under his touch, but there was nothing to it. Just the acknowledgement in the back of his mind that he was still controlling the mage hand.

"Well anyway. Are there any other good uses of-" he cut himself of midsentence as he looked up at Gale. The wizard was intensely staring at the mage hand still caressing his chest, swallowing heavily. He looked a bit tense with his hands balled at his side.

"Ah, I'm-" he started, moving the hand away from Gale's chest, thinking he overstepped. To get himself in check before he could take it too far. That thought quickly changed when he saw Gale almost chasing the hand and letting out a sigh. Instead, he moved the mage hand back. First caressing Gale's shirt like he'd done before. Before moving with a bit more intent, using his fingertips with a bit more pressure behind it.

"So, there are other interesting uses for mage hand," El commented. His smile slowing changing into a little smirk. Slowly becoming a bit bolder. Watching Gale's face intensely. Gale's face was an open book, one he could easily watch for a long time to find all the ways it reacted. Though he was also looking for discomfort, any signs that he was overstepping.

Suddenly El was curious how it would feel. Wrapping the mage hand around himself. Would it feel differently from using his actual hand? Would it feel as if someone else was touching him? Or would he be too conscious of it?

"Ever used it on yourself?" he wondered out loud. His mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow. He was curious, excited. Gale's eyes shot up and stared at him. His pupils were blown and for maybe the first time ever, he struggled with his words. Encouraged, El let the fingers scrape over the area he guessed Gale's nipple was at. It took him a few tries but the response made it obvious when he succeeded. The little gasp of air, Gale's chest first moving away before pressing closer again.

“No,” Gale answered, biting his lips. The silence stretched on for a moment. El waited patiently. Or he tried his best to seem patient. Mainly because he had a feeling Gale might crack first.

"I might have?" Gale whispered, voice softer and lower than usual. "Fo-for research purposes of course! I wanted to know what exactly a mage hand could feel. And if the feeling was different on for example ski-ah"

El smirked at the soft gasp and information he managed to pull from Gale. His confidence rose with every reaction he got.

"For research you say?" he couldn't help to comment, the disbelief evident in his voice.

El hesitated for a moment before deciding to go for it. Moving the mage hand slowly lower. Dragging the fingers over Gale's chest and over his abdomen. It was strange. He knew he was the one doing that, he was the one in control. The hand easily following what he wanted it to do. Yet he couldn't feel it, was getting no feedback at all. Except the feedback coming from Gale himself of course. His breathing quickened, the red blush not just on his ears but at his neck as well, slowly creeping upward.

El watched how Gale took a step backwards, hands gripping the sides of the tiny desk behind him for support. The back of his legs leaning against it. But his chest was still pushed forwards, chasing the hand that was moving downward.

"And? What were the results? Did it feel different?" El teased, his confidence level rising with the responses he was getting. A sweet sensation telling him to be bolder. The mage hand was reaching the bottom of Gale's shirt. Since it was his first time using mage hand, he was unsure of its limits. But if it failed, he could always walk closer and put his actual hands to use. Though there was something exciting about this too. Being able to unravel Gale without actually touching him, looking on from a distance.

El spotted the chair to his side and moved to sit down. Making himself comfortable, enjoying the few. Using his actual hand to rearrange himself, since his own dick was slowly filling out. His pants getting tighter with the moment. He looked up and found Gale's eyes on him, watching every move that he made like a hawk. He smirked and made questioning hm? sound. Reminding Gale that he had actually asked a question and was waiting for an answer. Not that he really needed one, but he noticed how Gale was struggling to pay attention and it was fun to see. Gale's brow was furrowed, mouth a bit open as if he was thinking hard about an answer. But his eyes were honed in on El's crotch, his hands clenching onto the side of the desk.

Slowly El moved the mage hand under Gale’s shirt, a light touch ghosting over Gale's thigh, moving towards his bulge. At least. He assumed it was a light touch. He might need to experiment with this on himself for future endeavours.

"The feeling is strange," Gale managed to reply but his voice sounded strained. "There is pressure, a firm hold, the stimulation. But there is no warmth. Neither necessarily a cold. It's like the touch is and isn't th-fuck!"

Somewhere during Gale's reply El moved the mage hand to firmly cup his bulge. The reaction was sweet. Gale's knees bended, hips moving forward, words cut off as he bit his lip. El wanted more, needed more. For a short moment he massaged Gale’s bulge. It was strange. He could see Gale was enjoying it but was missing the little details. If he was straining his pants, heating up, desperate for more. It had something mysterious but also difficult to gauge.

He moved the hand upwards towards the band of Gale's pants. Got a hold on it, hopefully firm enough, and started to pull down. He barely met any resistance, especially when Gale moved to help. The wizard got a hold on his briefs as well as his pants and pulled them both down. He stumbled a bit in his eagerness, El had to bite his lip so he wouldn't chuckle.

Gale leaned back against the desk again, hands leaning on the surface that was barely wide enough with how he was standing. El drunk in the sight. His shirt covered most of his pelvis, but his dick curved out underneath it. It was of average size but stood proud, glistering with pre-cum. He groaned, almost frustrated that he was doing this with the mage hand and not his actual hand. Or mouth.

Maybe for a next time.

He was determined to continue this, just to satisfy his own curiosity, to see the results. Didn't mean he couldn't use his actual hands on himself though. Without hesitation, he pulled his own cock out of his pants. Sighing in relieve. Both from freeing it and from having his hand wrapped around it.

"Wait-" Gale said, sounding out of breath. El looked up and smirked. Gale was staring with hunger, his hands white balls on top of the table. Having forgotten about the mage hand, he moved it again. He let a finger run over the underside of Gale’s cock, stopping at the tip to tease it.

"Yes?" He replied, calmly stroking himself. Drinking in the little sounds coming from Gale.

"I can- I- let me... how it feels." El raised an eyebrow as he tried to decipher what Gale was trying to say. But Gale didn't clarify it. Instead, he removed, with quite some effort, his hands from the desk and started to perform a spell. It took him a few tries, and El did chuckle this time. Then another mage hand appeared. One controlled by Gale. Who quickly held on to the desk again.

Before the other mage hand could reach him, El decided to take action. He made the mage hand take Gale's cock in a firm hold, slowly stroking it. It was a strange happening. Gale moaned, head thrown back and hips moving forward. Clearly enjoying himself. But El had no feedback. Couldn’t feel the weight in his hand or the big it felt. Not the pre-cum slicking Gale's length and making it easier to stroke. The hand responded perfectly, teasing the tip when he commanded. Tightening and losing his grip when he stroked. He could easily admit that it was practical, usable from a distance. Creating a view that was hot. But it was strange. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not, if this trade-off was worth it.

Those thoughts quickly evaporated when he felt his cock being gripped. He groaned as he looked down. Gale's mage hand was stroking him, a bit hesitant at first before gaining confidence and stroking a bit firmer. He focused on the feeling, removing his own hand. Gale had been right with his description. The feeling wasn't warm or cold, neither did it have any texture. It almost felt as if there was simply pressure, a firm hold around his dick. It still felt great, yet strange at the same time. That reminded him though-

"Does your research usually includes jacking off?" he teased, voice sounding confident though he was struggling to keep it that way. Heat was slowly building up and it was getting difficult to focus. He looked back up again, licking his lips as he took in the sight in front of him.

Gale was a delicious sight for the eyes. Heavily leaning on his hands, legs spread, head thrown back. Heat slowly colouring his face and a drop of sweat running down his temple. El groaned and bulked his hips into the mage hand. His own hands gripping the armrest hard, trying to hold back to not finishing himself off due to the view.

"No!" Gale responded but it sounded more like a moan than an actual response. Apparently, the words still reached the wizard, it just took him a while to process.

"No? It was really a one-time thing? Somehow I don't believe you," he chuckled airily. "You're want me to believe you only wrapped a mage hand around yourself once? I mean, it must get lonely in that tower of yours. Can’t imagine you never experimented with it a bit more.”

"Yes! Alright ye-yes I have," Gale cried out, hips bucking upwards. El smirked at the little bits of information he was able to get from Gale. Somehow he could easily imagine Gale experimenting exactly how far he could take it. Which only piqued his interest. He wanted to know more. But it was difficult to focus. The hand on his own cock was building up the heat and the image was pushing him closer to the edge. He was certain the chair was going to have permanent marks from his nails digging into the chair. But he was determined to make Gale cum first.

Luckily, going on the visual and vocal cues he had, it seemed like Gale was close. He was slightly shaking, his breathing was shallow, pre-cum coating the mage hand.

"Tell me," he demanded and watched Gale visible shiver and heard him moan. That was an interesting piece of information for a later date.

"I was curious! I wanted to know how someone else's hand would feel! And I realised l could commanded it to just keep going without having to actively think about it. Which made it even more as if someone else was touching me. That was also useful information fo-ooh fuck," Gale moaned as he leaned forward, his hands would most certainly leave marks as well. El bit his lips, watching Gale’s thighs tensed and stomach clenched.

"Please, please-" Gale begged, to El's surprise. He hadn't realised how much in control he was. It was a powerful and arousing feeling. Addicting even.

"I don't know if you deserve it though. After all, you lied to me," he said. While he was trying his best to sound teasing and strict, it was closer to a strained moan than anything else.

"Sorry! I'm sor-I'll tell you everything just please!"

"Fine, you can cum," he ended up saying, a bit uncertain how long he could, or should, draw this out. His eyes trained on Gale as he watched the man come undone moments after the words left his mouth. Gale's body was completely tens, even his breath halting for a moment. He was leaning forward, almost hanging on to his hands. His hair hiding his face a little, though luckily not enough to miss the pure pleasure written on it.

For a man usually so loud and talkative, his orgasm was silent. A soft airy moan leaving Gale's lips as white cum coated his shirt, the mage hand, his cock and the floor. El slowed down the mage hand, carefully working Gale through his orgasm before stopping and dismissing the mage hand altogether. That was definitely a sight he would remember.

With a jolt and a soft hiss, he was reminded of his own cock begging for release. Gale's mage hand was still stroking him in a steady pace. A pace that was becoming too slow as the heat was building up.

He threw his head back and planted his feet firmly on the ground. Trusting his hips upward for more stimulation. He didn't want to touch himself, but he desperately needed to cum.

"Fuck! Fu-" he moaned before his orgasm rushed over him. The heat rushed through his body as he gasped for air. His back bended, pushing him almost out of the chair. Muscles locked, legs cramping and stomach pulled tight.

The hot feeling remained for a little while longer, until an uncomfortable tingling feeling started to build.

"Gale," he tried but his mouth was dry. He realised he had closed his eyes. With effort he opened them and looked down. The mage hand was still stroking him in a pace too fast post orgasm.

"Gale!" he attempted again, a bit louder this time. His hissed as the overstimulation was slowly getting uncomfortable, painful even.

"GALE! Your mage hand! Please!" he begged.

He let out a soft cry and flinched when the stroking suddenly stopped. The mage hand had disappeared. Letting out a deep sigh of relief El slumped back into the chair. Catching his breath, trying to cling to the delicious feeling of a good post orgasm.

He shivered when a strange, ghosting cold ran over his skin. He looked down and noticed how he'd been cleaned. Surprised El looked up and saw Gale perform a spell, with shaky hands. He couldn't help but to smirk a little, proud of the effect he'd had.

He reached down and pulled up his pants. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees as he calmed the burning sensation still lingering.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, that must've been uncomfortable. I was, well a bit distracted and," Gale started but seemed to cut himself off and pressed his lips together. El frowned a little at that action. With a bit of effort, he got out of his chair. His legs felt a bit unstable, but he managed to make his way over to Gale.

"And?" he repeated, hoping to encourage Gale to continue. But the wizard looked down and a bit uncomfortable. His neck and face completely red.

"Ah, well. It's nothing. Don't mind me. I talk too much," Gale mumbled. Ele raised an eyebrow as he halted in front of Gale.

"I know," he agreed. That made Gale look up with a surprised and almost hurt look in his eyes. "I happen to like it a lot though."

It changed the hurtful look on Gale's face to a more bashful look. One El definitely liked and wanted to remember, along with a lot of memories of the evening. He reached down and got a hold on Gale's pants. Slowly, teasingly slow, he pulled up Gale's pants. Tucked his cock back in though not without running an actual finger of it. That earned him a soft gasp. He couldn't stop the little smirk slowly spreading on his face as he pulled the pants up the last bit as well.

"Besides," he started, leaning in close. His body practically pressing Gale's against the table as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "You promised to tell me everything."

He could feel the full body shiver of Gale, pressed this close. He placed a little kiss just below the ear before completely pulling away.

"I look forward to it," he smirked before turning around and slowly walking out of Gale's tent. The image of the flabbergasted wizard, fucked out and pupils blown, leaving a great image in his mind.

[thefrenchydude]

ML chapter 3 - THE PEACH’S RETURN

(Thanks to erosnocturne for this chapter)

Macaque has to wait until Wukong is between visitors before he slinks into the grand room, slipping out of a shadow to walk alongside the king once he leaves his throne.

“You and I both know who that was.”

They have yet to actually speak about it, and of course Macaque is the one to broach the subject.

Of course, it isn’t like they really need to talk about it. Not for clarification reasons. As Macaque said, they both know very well who that was. Who it is. There’s no way not to. What they felt… it was just something that made them know. There’s no possible way to describe that recognition. The way they felt tugged towards him, knowing deep down how intrinsically tied together their fates were.

What a fortune, to be immortal, and have your lover reborn after the tragedy of losing them, so that you may never truly know a day where you do not find each other again.

It can only be for one reason, can’t it?

“Obviously,” the Monkey King replies, his tone flippant.

Wukong does not deny his friend’s claims, nor does he shy away from the topic. Not when he knows him so deeply.

Not when he knows what this conversation is leading into.

It’s easier for both of them this way, anyway. Especially when both feel so impatient to have their hands on their lover again, regardless of their new form.

It’ll be more than pleasant to experience the first time exploring [Name]’s body all over again.

“Then you know I have a way to lead him here?”

As expected of a demon, Macaque worked fast. Especially when he has something he wants and a goal in mind.

“Perfect. We can take him when he arrives.”

… Of course, Wukong is being far too hasty again. It is as though he learned nothing from last time.

The thought is enough to twist Macaque’s expression into a discontent frown.

“... No. We can not just take him this time. Do you remember how well that went for us?”

“Good?”

How a man can be so wise and yet so incredibly daft at the same time will always astonish the dark-furred simian. Really, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven can not be so genuinely oblivious, can he? The monkey has to be playing him for a fool.

With great (aggravated) patience, Macaque responds, his tail curling behind him. “No. It was not ‘good’. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Maybe he isn’t all that patient about it, seeing as how he is so quick to adopt a more sardonic tone. “Peaches did not trust us for a very long time. And even when they did, they were haunted by what happened. Do you know how many nights I had to hold them together on my own?”

It would be a lie, however, to say, to some extent, Macaque did not enjoy it. The love of his life venting to him, relying on him, trusting him with their weakest moments. It is something he wants to experience again and again. To hold them in his arms and listen to them. To comfort them.

But that does not mean he wants to inflict that pain upon them. Even with how much he adores taking care of them in his own way, it would not do to needlessly traumatize them when such a thing can be avoided. There is no reason they have to suffer in this life the same way they had in the previous.

He needs [Name]. Macaque knows that Wukong needs him, too. So he can understand the impatience.

He also understands that he can not turn a blind eye to Wukong’s behaviors, if it means he can prevent things from playing out exactly as they had before.

The Monkey King is silent, a frown matching Macaque’s, brows drawn together in thought. Which, at the very least, means that he is genuinely listening to his darker companion’s words and rolling them over in his mind, contemplating.

Taking this as a good sign, Macaque continues. “We were too careless last time.” Which really meant he thought Wukong had been too careless. But throwing around blame would be counterproductive to his desires right now. He doesn’t need pushback from his friend on this. “We have to be more thoughtful about our approach this time. We shouldn’t risk his peace of mind.”

Wukong sighs, agreeing with his friend’s assessment of the situation. He knows his ways have caused much strife with [Name] in lives past. Over and over and over again.

He wants to change, for them, if for nothing else. Even if it means…. Suffering the idea of that insufferable fool touching the man Wukong knows is truly his. That miserable, weak little human who will not be able to protect him as well as Wukong can.

“... Fine. But you better know what you’re doing.” The words come out more light-hearted than his previous behavior, and Macaque laughs, relaxing as they carry on with their walk.

“When don’t I?”

***

Mr. [Name] [Surname]

諸侯

Auroria Centre, ███████ █████

May this letter find you in good health. Your presence has been requested for the sake of discussing this city’s future in more detail. I enjoyed our previous conversation a great deal. Your insight will be helpful. Perhaps, with your help, we may find ways to make protecting this home of ours more simple.

As you may know, it is exceedingly useful to have someone on the inside. While we are more than capable of protecting you from threats on the outside, it is difficult to know what is going on within the city’s walls when we have no time to frequent it on our own. Please think of anything you have noticed for our meeting. I implore you to hold nothing back. It is imperative that anything important gets brought up so that we may find a way to combat it. This can be anything, from more minor issues to more severe discoveries. Petty theft from specific types of vendors. An uptick in violent activity. Organized crime. Even just squabbles between your most influential figures.

I have my utmost faith that you will know what I mean. I look forward to holding your company once more. Dress as you will. Your compliance and cooperation are greatly appreciated. And I again apologize for my daughter’s behavior at the gathering. Hopefully, this opportunity will more than make up for it. A carriage will arrive on ███ ██████ at █ ██████ ████ ████.

Yours Faithfully,

Liu’er Mihou

***

“Yes, yes. I’ll be careful, love.”

[Name] laughs as Lex fusses over him, feeling quite flattered by all of the attention from his husband.

It isn’t like the man neglects him. Lex is a very busy man, given his position in the city.

One he has worked quite hard to get to. And, now that he has it, it is one that will continue to work him to the bone.

[Name] wonders what the man would do without him.

Sure, he would thrive; he’s an intelligent, compassionate, and ambitious individual. But sometimes, he can’t help but worry about the way he runs himself dogged. It isn’t terribly uncommon for [Name] to have to coax his husband into relaxing and taking some time away from his duties.

“I wish I could go with you.”

[Name]’s heart flutters, as though he is falling in love for the first time all over again.

It is impossible to fall out of your affections for a man who seems to show you time and time again why you adore him so.

“Nonsense. You have so many errands to run around with as it is. It’s nice to do something for you.”

[Name] doesn’t miss the way Lex’s face warms at his words, the attractive man moving around the room to pick up a few furs, holding them up to [Name] and staring really hard, trying to match accessories to the outfit that he also helped [Name] pick out for this upcoming meeting.

It’s so cute how excited he gets when it comes to helping style [Name]’s wardrobe.

“You help me so much just by existing as you are.”

This pulls another laugh out of [Name]. “Charmer.”

He’s met with a cheeky grin in response. “But it works, doesn’t it?”

“You may have to up your game one day, if you flatter me so often.”

Lex holds a hand up to his chest, acting dramatically stricken by this information before turning to toss one of the more clashing necklaces he had in mind to the side, snatching up a simplistic watch instead and returning to [Name]’s side, offering it so that they may put it on.

“Hm… you know. Now that I think about it, he requested you quite quickly, did he not?”

[Name] secures the watch around his wrist. “Perhaps it is urgent for them. I must have been quite the convenient find…”

Lex grins. “You were for me.”

“Oh? So I’m just convenient now?”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” 

[Name] chuckles, deciding to stop teasing his poor husband, leading the way towards the foyer. “But, really, I’m sure there’s a good reason for it. I’ll make sure to fill you in on everything when I get back.”

“Ohh, giving me something to look forward to when I finish up today’s work, huh?”

They continue to banter as time passes, words coming easily between the lovebirds. Unfortunately, Lex must depart before [Name] does so that he can tend to some important business or other, leaving [Name] alone in their home.

As the time for the meeting draws ever nearer, [Name] makes sure to collect his thoughts, thinking back on the letter and recollecting as much as he can about his grievances and woes as he can. Everything on the inside that needs to be fixed.

Much of what he witnessed being pulled from his own… experiences in the dark underbelly of what lies in this city of theirs.

If this can get them even a single step closer to the future he and Lex envisions, he will do whatever he can for it.

Ah.

It’s time.

Leaving the estate, [Name] looks around, his eyes landing on…

A horse-drawn carriage?

That’s a little inconvenient, isn't it? They have cars. Which would get them wherever they need to go much faster, and with much less uncertainty.

[Name] always found horses to be fickle little creatures.

The romantic implications of such a thing does not even cross [Name]’s mind. Figuring the simian must just be of a more eccentric and less practical sort, he heads on over, allowing the servant to help him on in (even though he feels as though he could have climbed in all on his own quite fine).

He will not make the servant’s job harder, though. Especially not when he struggles to forget the tales of the warriors’ rage others have woven.

On the off chance that they are really so capable of such cruelty, he does not wish to bring another harm simply by being fussy over something so small. He still needs to discover what type of person their protectors are for himself.

When he gets into the carriage, he is met with the sight of the Six-Eared Macaque leaning against the opposite side of the interior, his tail resting in his lap.

The door shuts behind him, and [Name] settles into his seat before opening his mouth to speak.

“Your Highness-”

With a flick of his tail and a wave of his hand, Macaque interrupts him. “Ah, ah. What did I say about all of those formalities, hm?”

With the teasing tone in his voice, the easy grin on his face, and the way his body remains so lax, [Name] can not help but note that it feels as though he is being treated as a long-time friend.

Perhaps those rumors are untrue. He can not imagine such a laid-back demon being the type to lash out so very easily.

“... Right. Macaque-” The grin on the dark-furred demon’s face widens, the monkey pleased at hearing his name on his beloved’s lips once more. It has been less than a month since they last met, and yet it feels like an eternity stretched before them. “-is there anywhere in particular you are planning for us to go?” The letter had said to dress as he would like (he also isn’t quite sure why he had received such a formal letter… Perhaps demons did not enjoy technology quite as much? Or maybe it was some tradition he had yet to learn about), but if they’re going anywhere public, he knows his image does matter quite a bit.

Though being seen with Liu’er Mihou alone is a big social boost in and of itself.

“Hm… not at all. We may stop by the market, but I just find it far more comfortable to have some nice scenery go by as we talk.” When Macaque says that, the carriage begins to move.

[Name] supposes that makes sense. A carriage is always moving, and private enough that other ears can not overhear their conversation.

Nodding along, [Name] responds with a small “I have never done so before”.

“There’s a first time for everything.” And the simian is more than happy to take any of his firsts that he can get. It already eats at him to know that he has a husband in this life. One that is not him.

When the time comes, that will be rectified.

He just has to make sure [Name] will neither hate him for it, nor be all too distraught about it. It would go against what he had spoken with Wukong about if he went ahead and caused their peach so much mental distress.

He does share Sun Wukong’s… feelings towards that other man’s existence, however.

That is only natural. Nobody would be all that pleased about seeing their partner with another.

Even if the partner does not yet know who they are truly meant to spend their life with quite yet.

Knowing he should push the conversation along lest [Name] potentially grow suspicious of his motives, the simian changes the topic. “Have you thought on my letter’s contents?”

Ah. [Name] had been wondering when Macaque would bring that up. He didn’t want to rush into the subject himself and risk offending the demon.

“I have. Is there anywhere you would desire for me to start?”

“Whatever comes to your mind is more than fine. Speak as you will. There’s no need to hold your tongue around me.”

Macaque doesn’t really care for human politics in the first place. It isn’t like he is oblivious to what they are like. The things they squabble over. The nature of humanity itself.

But if it gets him closer to [Name] in this lifetime, he will have to play along. He just needs more reasons to keep up this correspondence…

And helping him with whatever his goals are right now will be more likely to get him to trust Macaque again. Maybe respark some of that love from before.

He’s already found a way in. Now, he just needs to maintain it.

“Well… there is this family who holds quite a bit of political sway-”

Though his husband is the mayor, it would be entirely untrue to say there weren’t still many other influential members of the community. If anything, a lot of individuals could be more so powerful than them. Not because of what they can do themselves, but very much due to the fact that they can sway the groups of people that follow what they say. Their opinions. What they think is best for their own…

It all gets a little tiring. There’s much to look after. People to rub elbows with. Relationships to maintain. Groups to appease. Still, [Name] finds himself in a game of survival. This one may be thoroughly less fatal than the one he had been entwined within before, but still a struggle nonetheless. His skill set had been honed to one thing for so long that solving problems without resorting to the same brutal methods as before is giving him a new learning curve.

He is not alone this time, though. Not in the way that matters. Mother could never supply him with the amount of… genuine love he gets from Lex. The love he feels towards Lex.

He would never go back, or trade it for anything.

In the meanwhile, Macaque is content to listen to [Name] speak. Which, really, feels like falling into an old routine.

He remembers many such times in their previous lives in which he lended [Name] his ears. Let him talk about anything he desired. Sat there to comfort him after he poured his heart out and crumpled afterwards.

Those specific memories could be bittersweet. It’s never pleasant to see the love of your life in so much pain. In those lives, the issues that weighed on [Name]’s heart would chip away at him, haunting his mind when they were least desired.

Listening to him now reminds him of happier moments. Times where [Name] had shown him something he was so genuinely interested in. Hobbies he spent his time partaking in. Moments in time where they were able to exist, as lovers, without anything dampening their spirits. Thinking of nothing but each other’s company.

Those were the moments he lived for the most. The ones he’s so desperate to get right back into. There’s the slightest twitch in his tail, and he notices [Name]’s gaze flit to it. Though it is with an expression he is not quite used to.

Curiosity? It doesn’t look that open… more closed off. Maybe he is just taking note of the movement?

That’d make sense. In this life, unfortunately, he is a stranger to the darling sitting just inches from him. Close enough to touch. Close enough to shower in all of the affections he is so desperate to douse him in.

And yet, he has enough sense not to. He knows very well that this may put [Name] off. Be too forward. Like he has convinced Wukong, they need to take this slow.

Sometimes convincing Wukong is easier than convincing himself.

Trying to shake off his mounting frustrations, the dark-furred simian’s gaze trails along [Name]’s body, looking past the general reverence he feels towards his love, doing his own observations now.

Yes, [Name] looks so very different than he did before. But they have done this enough times that it is to be expected. The first time it happened, it had taken them by surprise — which was putting it mildly. But every time, it shocked them less and less. Though it still hurt whenever they lost him, it was relieving to know that they would show up again.

That they really can spend eternity together.

No matter how many times the body changes, at the core of [Name], he is still theirs. Still the same peach they pampered, adored, and devoted so much of their passion to. The one they spent all of their free time doting on whenever possible. The one they want to spoil rotten.

What he looks for is not purely the physical difference. This time, he is looking for… a similarity. Different enough from the lives before that it is entirely new, and yet familiar enough that he should be able to tell what it is.

The heaviness of something burdening his mind. Macaque can not help but wonder if, even without their intervention here, [Name] has been plagued by something that will never leave him alone. Something that will always take place in the darkest corners of his mind, hoarding it from the monkeys and infecting the rest of his psychological well-being.

Like so many times before…

The thing he wants to avoid afflicting upon [Name]... The idea of someone else already traumatizing him has Macaque feeling waves of aggression rolling up his spine. It is a struggle to keep his fur perfectly in check, not wanting his body language to express any sudden changes. It would be difficult to explain away such a thing.

He has no doubt that he could do it, but it’s still better to be safe than sorry. Always is, when [Name] is in the picture.

As such, a gentle smile crosses the simian’s face instead, and he waits until [Name] has finished filling him in on what they have deemed noteworthy before speaking. “... You’re quite knowledgeable on all of this, aren’t you? I must say, your passion for this is a rather charming trait.”

The tone in this compliment gives [Name] a brief pause. He is unsure if he is interpreting it correctly.

Is the Six-Eared Macaque flirting with him?

He can’t be.

Not only do they have the whole… demon and human compatibility thing going on, but Macaque knows he is a married man. And [Name] is faithful to his husband. There’s no way he’d throw all of that away for…

For what?

He is only here for his husband, anyway. There’s nothing he personally gains from this. Even if there’s a weird twinge in his chest, he imagines it has to be from something else. A physical issue, maybe. Because getting emotional here would not make a lick of sense. As far as he is concerned, he has no reason to be all that emotional about this.

Shaking the nonsense from clouding his head, [Name] puts on a bit of a discomfited smile, his chuckle a weary one that does not escape Macaque’s notice. “Thank you… You are very generous with your praise. I can only hope the information I am giving you is useful?”

“Very.” Macaque doesn’t miss a beat, his response coming naturally. “You’re already such a great help.” He has to work in those seeds of this being a recurring thing. Of them seeing each other again.

Of them spending more and more time together.

Of [Name] spending more and more time away from Lex.

Because that man is the only reason [Name] would toss off his little flirtations.

He glances to the side, and the carriage pulls to a stop. “Ah. We’ve made it to the market!”

The simian is the first to slip out, though he takes his time afterwards to help [Name] exit. His hand is larger than [Name]’s on, and the ex-assassin can’t help but notice another strange feeling pass through him. From the contact? Maybe.

Still, though, this whole thing feels… a little silly, on some level. He is a grown man — and he is not exceptionally dainty whatsoever. He is capable of leaving a cart on his own. He can’t fathom why the simian here is paying so much attention to him. It is nice to know he is keeping the favor of someone in power, but it is all a bit much.

The entire carriage, especially. They really could have just opted for a car…

As they walk, [Name] tosses a glance at the stalls they pass by before his attention returns fully to Macaque. “Anything you’re on the look-out for?”

“Hm?” Macaque realizes [Name] is asking about his desire to actually purchase something here, and he adds a quick amendment to that answer. “A bit of window shopping should be fun, right? We can walk and talk!”

[Name] doesn’t think this is any better than the carriage. Even if it was over-the-top, the carriage had far more privacy. They would be heavily restricted in exactly what they could say out here…

Regardless, he will play along with the simian’s whims, assuming he has a reason for all of this. Maybe it is one he does not know enough to understand. “Anything else you want me to brush you up on, then?”

Macaque makes a show of thinking. There’s a tilt to his head, his furred hand coming up to his chin.

“Hmmm…” While he hasn’t been tuning out the love of his life, exactly, he doesn’t really… care too much for the human politics. Just for the sound of [Name]’s voice. Thinking about it makes him anxious to wrap his tail around the other’s arm. Intwine himself with them. Be closer to him. 

Forcing himself to get back on track before he gets ahead of himself, he knows he needs something to latch onto. Something to use as an excuse. But nothing in particular stands out. It all sounds… about what you might expect from the typical political games. Nothing too outstanding.

Though it isn’t like he didn’t notice that [Name] seems particularly interested in making this place better. Maybe that would provide him a lead.

“I know you said a few times that you’re making an effort to get these people to accept a ‘big change’ here… What exactly is that looking like for you?”

Still, Macaque’s tone is pleasant and laid-back. One might expect a tone more akin to an interview, given that [Name] very much went into this with more… professional thoughts in mind. However, the way Macaque speaks to him, it is still as though they are long-time friends. His voice is warm, and he can tell that the simian is genuinely listening to him. That he is not just asking these questions due to it being the socially acceptable and polite thing to do.

He hesitates, though, unsure of how much he should say in public.

Unsure if they’re still listening. Keeping an eye on him. Waiting for a chance to punish him for getting away.

He would not be surprised, even if he doesn’t feel anyone watching them right now. You can never be too cautious.

He would know, given he was in their shoes before. You overhear plenty of things when people think nobody else is paying any attention.

“Well… there’s a lot of corruption in this city. Really, I just want to take care of it.” He wants to dig into the root of the problem and tear it out. But that is not the most elegant way to speak to one of the warriors protecting your city, now is it?

There’s an indecipherable smile on Macaque’s face when he nods along in response to this, as though he expects no less. “It’s a respectable thing to desire-” Before [Name] can decide whatever the emotions mixing together on Macaque’s face and wriggling their way into his tone are, something has caught the dark-furred simian’s eye, and he turns to a stall.

With the slightest tilt of his head, [Name] trails closer to see what he’s picking up.

A keychain. One with a very delicately crafted and painted peach adornment attached to the end, the chain a beautiful rose gold color.

Tossing money to the vendor, who looks relatively terrified of the warrior (likely because of how much of a ruckus those kids of theirs put up), doesn’t even count it, scrambling to store it away as Macaque begins walking with [Name] again, attention fully returning to him. He pushes the item into [Name]’s palm, as though this is a normal thing to do and their previous conversation hadn’t been cut off right in the middle of the simian speaking. “For you.”

“-?” Taken aback by this, [Name] feels his mind floundering to figure out what the simian’s motives with this can possibly be. It’s such odd behavior… “For what?”

Speaking still as though none of this is unnatural, Macaque gives a little wave of his hand as he responds, elaborating on his sudden gift. “Longevity. Perhaps it will give you some aid in your journey. Make sure your good fortune continues, and nothing bad comes your way.”

This, of course, is bullshit. Macaque just wants to give him a gift that reminds him of their previous lives together, and the newer one that awaits them. It is a way to abate his own ravenous desire for the man before him. A way to make sure he has something he gave him with him at all times.

If [Name] has any troubles, Macaque is plenty sure of his ability to take care of that on his own. [Name] didn’t need to rely on a charm for that.

[Name] takes this explanation, however, and nods. That makes sense. Even though it isn’t like this is a more traditional peach charm… He can understand the symbolism behind such a gift. And perhaps that is what matters, at the end of the day?

He can’t make sense of the confusing flustering in his chest, though.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He isn’t sure, either, whether he’s just being polite, or if some part of him genuinely believes that, as he slips the keychain into his pocket.

Macaque’s grin tells him that, at the very least, he said the right thing, given that the simian lets that part of the conversation drop there and returns to the previous one. “Though you really should come visit the palace. I can get you an audience with Wukong.” It would be nothing like a formal, traditional audience. Macaque knows that. Flower Fruit Mountain’s king is far more impatient than he, and he feels like he is constantly holding himself back here. He can only imagine how bad it is for Wukong. “You can work something out with him, hm?”

This is great news to [Name], though he falters. While the arrangement is amazing, it is not his job to do such things. This networking is for Lex. And it is Lex who is mayor.

“Well… My husband is the one who will be able to discuss it in more detail with Sun Wukong than I would be able to. It would only be right for him to go instead.”

Something dark passes over Macaque’s face, and his tail curls before lashing about a few times. It doesn’t take long for the warrior to get this in check, though, and his grin is a bit forced this time. Sharp.

The animosity, [Name] can vaguely tell, is not really aimed at him, however…

“... I understand. But you certainly must at least accompany him.”

Well. [Name] can do that. Of course.

This one, he agrees to in a heartbeat. “Absolutely. That’s arrangeable. I’ll just have to discuss it with him first.”

Another lash of the dark tail. “Great!”

It does not seem great. Especially since the rest of the meeting has an odd… tension that was not there before.

———   ———   ———

When Macaque makes it back to the palace, he brings his hands to his face and groans into them, tilting his head up.

Everything had gone so fine… Until that aggravating man was brought up. He knows they have to wait. To get [Name] away from him, bit by bit. To ease him into it, so that he won’t be quite so traumatized, like he had been in some other lives.

That does not make this easier. It keeps him from killing the man right here and now, but that does not mean it is an easy feat for the warrior. It takes a great amount of self-control.

He feels someone in the hall with him, and, as expected, when he looks, an exceptionally smug Sun Wukong greets his vision. “... You struggling over there, bud?” He knows damn well Macaque is struggling. And likely why.

“Shut up.”

[californiannostalgia]

"After seven years on your television screen, Shawn Hunter moved to New York City, where he became an alcoholic. No, I'm kidding. He married the love of his life, Angela Moore. That's not true, either, but he did become a world-famous poet. Actually, last I heard he was the East Coast representative of The Center, a fundamentalist cult.

You may have picked up on the fact that I'm making all of this up. The dark truth is... Shawn has been locked in my basement for 12 years. It's really best for both of us. I'm able to move on (well, except when people confuse me for him), and, as a fictional character, he's much safer down there.

Let's be honest, more Boy Meets World would only further ruin his life. Being The Dramatic Storyline in a 22-minute comedy series takes its toll. It was never easy for him to live a sitcom existence, where poverty can be a punch line, where alcoholic parents can be funny, where no matter how much you learn — no matter how much Mr. Feeny sets you straight — you come back the next week, making the same old mistakes. And the laugh track roars.

Shawn was never meant for that world. He was too dark, too self-indulgent, too whiny. He was a downer! How many times can one character experience loss? Give a heart-wrenching monologue? Go on a soul-searching road trip? Conversely, he'd never survive another genre. Despite his bad-boy posturing, perhaps summed up best by his faux-retro, pseudo-biker look, Shawn wouldn't have lasted minutes in a drama. He may have acted out with some hijinks, but deep down, Shawn's pretty vanilla.

He never swears. He's never done drugs. The furthest he's been from home is Disney World. I think he's still a virgin. None of this would fly on Breaking Bad, Six Feet Under, or House. For all of his flaws, Shawn's, well, safe.

He could potentially leave my basement for a cop show. I could see him heading back to Philadelphia to join the cold case squad. Or to become a hard-bitten-but-ultimately-good detective, solving grisly crimes armed with only his street sense and a leather jacket. Or maybe he could find a hot female with whom to partner-just like on Castle or Bones- and their witty banter could lighten the dark underbelly of the city they protect. The problem there? Shawn ain't that smart. Or perceptive.

He's a C-minus student at best, which seems prohibitive to good detective work. So I think I'll keep him downstairs for now.

I treat him well. He gets plenty of food and water. He even has a window, a small square that lets him see passing feet — and dogs, if they're short enough. He tells me he loves that window. For him, it's like a television, looking out at real people, with real-people problems.

He's fascinated by how unstructured our lives are, how we drift from one moment to the next, free from the constraints of narrative, the pain of lurching endlessly from crisis to resolution. He covets your formless mood. Your un-episodic joys. The way you catch yourself off-guard. The way you wander, slowly, in and out of love. How you can go back, and revise the story of who you are, because there's no DVD box set. The way no one wants to know your ending.

Sometimes, I stay down there with him, and we share memories of the good old days. The time he blew up the mailbox with a cherry bomb. The time he peed on the cop car.

But even our best times together are bittersweet: We both know it can't last. Only one of us can return to the surface and live a semblance of a normal life. I make sure it's me."

forever thinking about rider strong’s answer to “what happened to shawn hunter”

[acti-veg]

Hi! So uh, first of all I just wanted to say thank you for everything you do :) your book and your blog were some of the main things that even made me go vegan in the first place and I still learn a lot from your articles and posts!! You’re an amazing activist! Seeing people like you restores my faith in humanity tbh so thank you again so so much 💗

Anyway, I’m writing this ask because I’ve been struggling a lot emotionally as a vegan and I feel like I need advice from someone more experienced. I know you must spend a lot of time interacting with carnists when advocating for veganism. You’ve been doing this for years and still you’re going strong, so I just wonder how you manage to stay positive and not get too hurt in the process…

My problem is that whenever I see animal products or hear people spreading carnist views I react overly strongly. Often, I almost feel physical pain and can’t bring myself to interact with those people, it just hurts so much. Animal cruelty is everywhere and it feels like I can’t do anything about it. It’s heartbreaking, horrifying, depressing, and the worst part is how normalised it is.

It feels like there’s no escape. Somehow I can’t go outside without walking past a meat market, I can’t cook for myself without seeing a chicken corpse in the fridge, I can’t even play a video game without seeing images of animal products, etc... All these things are supposed to be normal, but they’re just so distressing to me. What makes me feel especially horrible is seeing/hearing anti-vegans spreading misinformation and such. I feel like if I see another post saying that "leather is good and sustainable actually" I’m going to explode. Is it just me or are other people that affected as well?

This would probably be easier to deal with if I had an ethical vegan friend or two who’d understand how I feel, but I don’t have any. I live with four carnists and even my partner apparently hates vegans (tried to tell them about my feelings and they got personally offended). And I know there’s a big community of vegan people out there, but there’s not nearly enough of us and I still feel so isolated and alone in my experiences.

I’m so sorry for venting. What I meant to ask is, do you ever feel like that? Is there anything that can help me not feel depressed whenever I see animal products? And thank you so much again for doing what you do. You are truly a wonderful person and I hope life treats you well <3

Thank you for the kind words, I’m so glad my blog had an impact on you!

I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been having such a bad time of it, I wish I could say that this isn’t common but I’ve had dozens of asks like this one. I firmly believe that going vegan is an extremely positive decision, but there are negatives that come from knowing what we know, and trying to exist in a society that is built on the backs of exploited animals. We have all felt like this, myself included.

Honestly, it sounds like you may consuming a bit too much vegan content, or possibly spending too much time engaging wifh and thinking about veganism specifically. Do you have any hobbies that help relax and distract you? Reading, gaming, exercise? I find all of these really helpful for clearing my head, especially exercise. There is such a thing as overexposure for vegans, and I’ve definitely been there myself.

What helps me most is trying to focus on the positive side of being vegan. Follow more positive content like sanctuaries, rescue centres, recipe creators, plant-based fitness blogs - whatever makes you happy. Avoid engaging with upsetting content, that includes graphic footage of any kind, anti-vegan content, debates and arguments. Create a little bubble for yourself that you can escape in, even if that means having seperate accounts for when you’re feeling this way and just want some escapism.

Try and visit an animal sanctuary, even if you have to make this a long term goal if there isn’t one that is accessible to you. I can’t describe how helpful this is an experience, to remember who this is all about and the fact that not all animals are suffering and unhappy. Seeing wild animals in their natural habitat can achieve the same thing.

For me, the best balm to this sort of feeling is activism. It is a big part of why I do this, it isn’t all altruistic. Turning some people of that negative towards something positive can help you feel much less helpless. See if there are any animal rights groups in your area (you’d also make vegan friends) but if not, try doing some of your own work, even if that is just online, signing/making petitions, blogging, letter writing - whatever you can do.

I’d also recommend this talk from Melanie Joy about activist burnout, which something close to what you’re experiencing, and she has some really helpful advice. That pain and disconnect from others will always be there, but I hope you manage to find some tools for coping with it that work for you, that is really all any of us can do. Take care of yourself, anon!