#but not because this could just as well go in my journal

[moreartthantime]

So we had a market today, got up a lil early and did our thing- we've moved so now we have to drive to the other end of the county just to get there and after we had lunch and it was mid-afternoon by the time we got home. Puttered around some because there's workmen in the back yard and then I just couldn't keep my eyes open and went to go take a nap.

Well let me tell you, I woke up and the house was dark, my wife was asleep beside me, and the clock said 6:30. I got up and all the lights were out, roommate (who was also at the market) also in bed with xer door closed. It is full dark. I had heartburn but both this and me wandering the house in the dark in the early hours of morning are my normal. 'Hmm,' I thought, 'What did we have for dinner last night that I have heartburn?'

I could not remember.

Then I realized I also couldn't remember what we watched during/after dinner. Or writing in my journal before bed. Or, in fact, literally anything about the night before. The more I thought about it the more I realized my entire memory of how we finished out the evening was a giant gaping hole and why do I have amnesia and this is not normal and holy fuck what is wrong with me-

looked again and the clock said 6:30 P.M.

I can't remember last night because it didn't happen yet. We just all got eepy and laid down for naps at the same time and it got dark because it's effing winter and nobody was awake to turn the lamps on. We just all crashed and napped so hard I thought it was morning.

“I’ll just rest my eyes” is the biggest lie you’re going straight to snorkmimimi land

[tinfoil-jones]

How did the mayor elections go in the Jerk Ford universe? Cause Stanley would have no reason to run for mayor, and even if he did, the twins wouldn't have to help him

So some of the Stanchurian Candidate was handled Here: Nibling Relationships.

The reason Stanley was running for Mayor was at the behest of the younger Mystery Twins, because Mabel and Dipper knew that Gideon was gunning for the position via his dad, and there was no way they'd let the town be under Gideon's control.

Gideon has even more disdain against the whole Pines family due to Stan confiscating his amulet, Dipper beating him up, and what Jerk Ford did to his family.

Stan may still be well-liked by the community, but some of the townsfolk have recently soured their opinion of him because even if they don't know how he did it, he must be the reason Jerk Ford is back because no one else would ever even think about trying to bring him back.

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face suggested way back in the OG post that part of Stan's canpaign would be "I will make sure my brother goes into town less."

While Stan does agree to run for mayor, he refuses to make that a part of his campaign.  So the kids have to be creative.

In one of the Journals, Jerk Ford had written about an invention called "The Free Will Tie", and how it "protected the wearer against brainwashing, possession, suggestions, and political cartoons". Dipper had gotten better at deciphering Ford's trolling and deduced that it must do the opposite and mind control the wearer instead.

They ask Jerk Ford for the tie and he vehemently refuses, saying something along the lines of his tech didn't need grubby little fingers messing with it. So they wait for him to fall asleep in the living room (Jerk Ford didn't sleep in the basment or his old bedroom, because "he didn't like sleeping anywhere that didn't have multiple exits") and once he's asleep they sneak into his lab and steal the mind control tie.

Things go pretty similarly to how it does in canon, with Gideon controlling his father via possession spell, the only difference is he's doing this from a safe distance away in the woods and not from jail, since he didn't go to jail in this.

Things go awry as they did in canon when the dynamite is set off on the monunent with the twins on it- Stan initially tries to save them like he did in canon, except this time he's unable to because Soos pushes him to the ground and beats him with a shovel because the sparks had set him on fire.

So the twins do fall from the manuments nose, with the ropes untying them from the chairs some point before the fall. Without her grappling hook, Mabel can only cling onto Dipper as they descend to their untimely deaths.

There's bone cracking sounds - but not from her or Dipper. Someone caught them before they could hit the ground and to their shock it was Grunkle Stan's brother.

He looks at them both quickly - checking to see if they're okay?? - before carefully setting them both down. One of his arms is at a weird angle it isn't supposed to be at, and there's a little bit of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth so he must have an internal injury, but neither of those things are what's disturbing about Jerk Ford right now.

He's completely silent. He says nothing - he's always got a rude remark or witty remark that is also rude ready. But not now. Now he's just stalking towards the stage, and every person he passes also suddenly goes quiet.

Dipper is also at a loss for words, clinging back to Mabel as she still is to him, he had seen Jerk Ford sprint out of the treeline. He'd heard from his stories that he was more of a runner, but he didn't know a man his age could run that fast. Wendy runs out of the crowd to go check on the twins.

At this point Soos had managed to take out the fire on Stan, and was helping him back up, Jerk Ford doesn't stop his stride but he does at least glance over at his brother and nephew, confirming by sight that they're both okay.

Stan's trying to say something to his brother but he's coughing too much to form words and Soos is desperately trying to keep him from making any sudden moves, he seems to be trying to break away for some reason.

Everyone's silent in the crowd as Jerk Ford stops right in front of Bud's podium.

Then in a flash he leaps right over it at Gleeful and starts beating the dog sh*t out of him. Bud doesn't stand a chance.

Take in mind, this is Bud's size in comparison to Stan in canon:

Also take in mind, Jerk Ford is scrawny compared to his canon self. And in fact, according to the AUs artist @tearosepedall, Jerk Ford is also slightly shorter than his canon counterpart.

So everyone just watches in horror as an old man with a broken arm and multiple broken ribs savagely beats a younger guy three times his size like he owes him money, and is showing no signs of slowing down, stopping, or mercy.

Wendy is compelled to cover the twins' eyes because not only is the beating that bad, but none of them knew Jerk Ford could be scary, isn't he supposed to be just some nuisance? Nuisances are supposed to be harmless! And he said he prefers elusion over fighting.

Dipper gets a cold, sinking revelation that Jerk Ford could have easily snapped him in half any of the times Dipper has hit or tried to hit him with a blunt object.

Bud gets into pretty bad shape at the assault, which doesn't stop until Gideon also runs out of the treeline crying and begging Jerk Ford to please don't kill his dad it wasn't his fault he'll leave his family alone just please stop.

Gideons bellowing causes a chain reaction of Jerk Ford halting his beat down, Stan finally breaking free from Soos' hold and running over to pull his brother off of Gleeful, and Wendy with the twins in tow also running towards the stage.

Whatever Stan did or said to Jerk Ford must have flipped a switch because as Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel are on the stage with the rest of the mystery crew, Jerk Ford is back to his normal self, because he makes a grumpy remark about how the kids "fell on him because he just happened to be standing there".

Now everyone votes for Stan because they're too scared of what Jerk Ford will do them if they don't, and Stan wins the election (also Bud Gleeful gets picked up by an ambulance), however Stan ends up turning down the position of mayor to Tyler Cutebiker, the last remaining candidate, citing that he's realized he needs to focus more on his family.

They go home and Jerk Ford takes some kind of weird medicine out of his bag and injects himself with it - he explains to Stanley that it's something that can heal bone breaks in the span of a few minutes (Broken Bone Serum), but the kids didn't hear this because as soon as he's healed, Mabel runs in with stickers, gauze, glitter glue, and ace wrap demanding to cast Jerk Ford's arm.

Jerk Ford lets her do so but he complains the whole time, which doesn't dampen her spirits in the slightest.

What does dampen her spirits however is that when Stan caught on fire it burnt off a bunch of his hair so now he has short hair and a more disturbing resemblance to his 'bad' twin (something that irks Dipper). Mabel is so sad because she can't braid Stan's hair anymore! Who else is she going to braid train with in this house? (It might not be spotted initially but in the artists design for Stan he has long hair that he pulls into a ponytail or a braid)

[shmisky]

What do you think was Stan's fate in the Better World Timeline?

Ooh, very interesting question! Thanks for the ask and sorry in advance for the enormous answer you’re about to get, hahah ❤️

So, to begin answering that (I promise I will eventually!), I have to first point out that what always caught my attention in Ford’s Better World description in the journal is that not once he meets his parallel self. On that hangs my entire analysis.

Instead, he gives us a reason why they didn’t meet: parallel!Fiddleford explains that he had been leading a portal expedition to a certain dimension, but one of the security officers ran into his parallel self and as soon as they touched hands, the entire dimension started to warp and fizz with static. Fiddleford and his team barely escaped alive!

But that’s the thing: as soon as they touched hands, only! Not as soon as they saw each other, or as soon as they were in the same room together, or as soon as they talked to each other, like you sometimes see in fanfic! No, it very much required actual skin-to-skin contact. You would think that Professor Stanford Pines, celebrated star of the scientific community, founder of the International Institute of Oddology, and our Ford, 12 PhDs (or a few less PhDs at the time) would have enough sense and self-control to... just not try and touch each other? Or, for security reasons, stand at least a few meters away from each other? If they feared an accidental touch so much, they could have talked through a glass panel or some kind of physical divide. I do believe every Ford must be a deeply curious individual, and you’re telling me that parallel!Ford, known genius, wasn’t capable of creating a way to enable himself to interview his parallel selves safely? Wouldn’t you be very curious to meet your parallel self? I think it’s more likely than not that other versions of Ford would end up pushed through the portal, so our Ford might not even have been the first Ford to visit that dimension.

But instead Fiddleford goes so far as to detain our Ford and hold him captive without even attempting to explain things first! A bit overkill, no? You could say, “but Bunny, Fiddleford just didn’t want impulsive, reckless Ford to go and run to his parallel self upon seeing him for the first time!” But herein, my friend, lies the crux of the matter: even after Fiddleford explains things to our Ford, even after our Ford understands he couldn’t touch his parallel self... He still doesn’t meet or talk to parallel!Ford. Wasn’t he trusted enough/allowed to do so, even then?

My Doylist explanation (that considers what led the author to choose a certain path) to that is: the writers just didn’t want the two Fords to meet and wanted to leave it ambiguous. It’s really not that deep 😭

My favorite Watsonian explanation (in-universe headcanon) to that is: Fiddleford didn’t want them to meet 😏

Now, would Fiddleford ever lie to Ford? Yes. In fact, he already did, in our original timeline! Ford asked him to destroy the memory gun, Fiddleford apparently agreed. “He was crestfallen by my advice, but after some discussion he came to see the wisdom in it. He said that he didn’t want to risk forgetting his wife and son. I ordered him to destroy the gun, and he did.” (“Ordered”... Oh, Ford, never change...) Reality: Fiddleford hadn’t destroyed it at all, and in fact used it on Ford to erase his memories without Ford’s consent or knowledge.

So even though I don’t think this was, necessarily, either Alex’s or Rob Renzetti’s intentions, I like to think parallel!Fiddleford was bullshitting our Ford a bit. To which extent, I don’t know. The thing about the parallel selves touching and causing a dimension to end might very well be true (in fact, according to Alex’s Word of God, it is! he has said on Twitter that parallel selves really can’t meet in their home dimensions, but can meet in the in-between spaces!) BUT because of the reasons I explained above, it’s my headcanon that it wasn’t the main reason why Fiddleford didn’t want the two Fords meeting.

I just love, love the vibes of A Better World. I love how utterly smitten with that world our Ford is. He describes himself as “drawn” towards the Institute “like a moth to a flame,” and mentions his desire to “revel in [his] parallel self’s success.” He’s utterly smitten it with it despite never once meeting his parallel self. He imagines his parallel self as the happiest man on Earth despite never once meeting his parallel self. He leaves that dimension sighing wistfully despite never once meeting his parallel self. I love how parallel!Ford is just... shrouded in this very ambiguous mystery. It all sounds a little bit ominous to me. Is he happy? Is he satisfied? Does he like what he accomplished?

Our Ford, of course, imagines that he is. Our Ford doesn’t even wonder about parallel!Stan, because that’s who Stanford Pines is: self-centered as all hell, hahah. His brother doesn’t even cross his mind, since he’s too busy being dazzled by his apparent great success and the fulfillment of his dreams! I think he subconsciously assumed parallel!Stan must have been fine.

What do I think happened to parallel!Stan? Oh, well, he’s very much dead 🪦💐 And parallel!Ford, the man Ford believes to be so lucky, is actually miserable. Fiddleford was merely protecting our Ford from the truth.

If you want to get a bit darker, just look at this excerpt from the Not What He Seems script:

Meanwhile, in the Lost Legends comics, Ford is saying shit like this:

We stan an insensitive king who is utterly and blissfully oblivious to his brother’s dangerously low self-esteem and borderline suicidal thoughts ❤️

Before TBoB, I might have been reluctant to think something so dark could happen in GF, since it still is, after all, a cartoon for kids, and Stan’s a main character! But then TBoB went and revealed to us that Dipper and Mabel died horrible deaths in all the other timelines! 😭 And while I do take that with a grain of salt because it was revealed to us by Bill Cipher and Bill is not trustworthy but a professional liar, just the fact Alex acknowledged and played with the possibility of the two protagonists dying horribly is already pretty telling in and of itself...

I think that once parallel!Ford called Stan after a decade, unwittingly gave him hope, and then ripped it out from his hands... Yeah. We know how Ford is important to Stan. Reconciliation with Ford might very well have been what was pushing Stan forward. Stan can be very, very stubborn — working on a portal for 30 years — when Ford is involved. But having no Ford at all...

Parallel!Ford might have planned to call Stan back, but by then it was probably too late. So yeah. I like to imagine that parallel!Ford would be, ironically, so, so jealous of our Ford’s happy ending with Stan.

Actually, as I type this, the funniest idea occurred to me. The real reason Fiddleford didn’t allow the two Fords to meet is that parallel!Ford, upon listening our Ford praise his accomplishments and shit-talk Stan (“I can’t believe Stanley listen to you! He’s so stubborn, so selfish, he never listens!”) would disregard all reason, all training, and all self-control just for the precious chance to punch himself in the face. Dimension ending catastrophe? A minor detail.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/772982617698074624/i-havent-been-on-social-media-much-recently-so

Clarification because i think it's been misunderstood:

The way i use it is if i'm stuck on research i ask it to find me sources which i then check, i don't just ask it a question and take whatever answer it gives me. The research project i was talking about was about a very specific topic and i previously spent hours trying to get google to give me any useful results because all it gave me were articles about broader semi-related topics. And the introduction i had it write me was literally just for the sake of having something on the page that made sense, i completely re-wrote it afterwards.

As for writing, i don't ask it for plot points or anything, i have those completely planned out. I just have a tendency to get stuck, especially when it comes to going from one plot point to another and it genuinely helps to just ask like "how could i transition from this scene to that major thing that has to happen" and have it spit out some general ideas on how to lead into it.

Because in my opinion the problem isn't using AI, the problem is NOT using critical thinking. Yeah it's unreliable as a source. So are friends. It definitely gives you some ideas that are just stupid. Guess what, so do my friends and even other writers. Which is why when you ask other people, you think their answers through and check the information they give you. Same principles apply here.

Believe it or not, a dumb computer CAN have good ideas and give good critiques, it's just that you have to treat it the same way you'd treat, say, your 15-year-old nephew who isn't a writer but is currently the only person you can ask for ideas. And having it analyse your characters is quite simply fun and for me it also worked quite well to get my brain back onto the story after months of not writing.

(Side note, i wouldn't recommend the standard ChatGPT for any of this, that one really does just suck. There's one specifically for creative writing that's miles better)

--

Some people talk to the action figures stuck to their monitor with much the same unsticking results, yeah.

Google has been getting worse and worse in recent years. It's definitely not the best way to find journal articles, though IDK what kind of articles you were after.

[lucagray813]

Knock 'Em Dead - Epilogue

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,800

Characters: Wukong, Macaque

Relationships: Wukong & Macaque (Could be interpreted as Shadowpeach)

Summary: Wukong and Macaque have a heart to heart. It goes about as well as you might expect.

CW: Alcohol, swearing, references to MCD and violence

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev

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The cellar door was open and, combined with that gift of a glass of wine, it felt like an invitation. An invitation to what he didn't actually know but there was no turning back now. Macaque would have heard the moment he started heading in this direction - walking away would have him branded as a coward or worse.

He walked in to find Macaque lounging in a setup that definitely wasn't usually here - two comfortable looking chairs with a small table between them hosting a bottle of peach wine and an empty wine glass.

Macaque acknowledged him with a raise of the glass in his hand and a nod towards the empty chair.

He cautiously made his way over and picked up the open wine bottle before frowning slightly at it, "How much have you had?"

Macaque shrugged, "Like half a bottle."

Wukong poured the last of the wine and raised an eyebrow at him when it only filled half the glass.

Macaque just rolled his eyes and pulled a new bottle from the small collection on the floor. Shadows easily removed the cork before he handed the bottle over to him, "Thought I'd wait and see if I was getting a drinking buddy before going all out."

Drinking themselves to oblivion did sound far better than a sober, dire attempt to talk about what had just happened so he topped up his glass, drained it and then refilled it before putting the bottle down.

It was Macaque's turn to raise an eyebrow but he thankfully said nothing as Wukong took his seat, wine in hand, trying to determine how brave he felt.

He sighed heavily before asking, "Why'd you tell MK?"

Macaque shrugged, "He asked."

He scowled, "Cut the shit, Macaque. You don't do anything unless it benefits you so why'd you do it? What are you getting out of this?"

Macaque's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment but he clearly made a conscious decision to bite back whatever vitriol he wanted to spit and instead laughed cruelly, "You know, Wukong, I've read that little book of yours, the story of how you came to be China's darling and, I get it, a life as long as yours isn't easy to summarise - you've got to focus on what's important, right? But could you imagine my surprise when I realised that I didn't fall into that category? That I wasn't important enough to be so much as mentioned in the story of your life?"

Adamantly, he denied, "That's not why you're not in the book! I- You-"

As he struggled to get the words past his teeth, Macaque sneered, "Then what was it, Wukong? Did I just not fit in with your heroic narrative? Would my inclusion have made you look bad? Was that enough reason to let me be forgotten?"

"No! It wasn't like that! I didn't-!" He cut himself off with a frustrated sound before taking a steadying breath and trying again, "Look, I didn't write the book, ok? It was mostly based on Shā Wùjìng and my master's journals and on hearsay. You didn't get a mention because-"

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to admit, "When I got out from the mountain I was too angry to talk about you to anyone and then- and then after I couldn't bring myself to talk about you because I... I just couldn't, alright? The others had their own reasons for not wanting the world to know about what happened on the Journey. That's why you're not mentioned. Not because you weren't important. Macaque, you have to know how much I regret what happened that day, how much I've always regretted it."

He would never be able to put into words the neverending grief that he'd experienced after Macaque's death and unfortunately he hadn't drank nearly enough to even try, his wariness of the Macaque that existed in the present enough to stop him totally bearing his heart and soul.

Macaque's response was underwhelming. He just sighed, sat back in his chair and had another sip from his glass before commenting, "Yeah, I heard the sob story you fed MK. I suppose I should be honoured my death was a monumental enough occasion for the horse to be moved to take action - you know it must have been bad if Áo Liè actually felt compelled to do something."

Disbelief and anger made themselves known in his tone, "That's all you have to say? I'm trying to have a genuine conversation with you about what happened and your response is to insult my friend?"

Macaque continued to act unaffected, "Oh, I could say more, trust me. But what's the point? I already know how this "genuine conversation" is going to go."

That gave him a moment of pause, "... You Listened?"

Macaque had always been pretty reserved about using his Listening as it left him vulnerable for the duration he used it and his Future Hearing, in particular, wasn't one hundred percent foolproof. But that didn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't use it if he thought the payout was worth the risk.

Macaque scoffed, "As if I had time between talking to MK and listening to him interrogate you."

He still wasn't ruling out that Macaque had manipulated the situation somehow - he could have Listened well before talking to MK and orchestrated this whole thing - but he decided to take him at face value for the moment and see where that took this conversation.

Knowing Macaque though, probably nowhere good.

He crossed his arms, "Yeah, thanks for that. Nice of you to give yourself the upper hand - don't suppose you'd care to tell me exactly what you told MK?"

Macaque's grin was petty, "Sorry, only one show per day and you missed it. Such a shame. Though I'm not sure you would have been a fan."

No, he definitely wouldn't have been but if they were finally addressing what had happened then he wanted them to be on a level playing field.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat back, "I don't want to play these pointless games, Macaque. If we're talking about this, then let's talk about it."

Macaque regarded him for a long moment before quietly chuckling to himself and when he addressed him there was a slightly manic look in his eyes, "Alright then, Wukong, let's cut right to the chase, shall we? You regret what you did? Good. You should. But I don't regret what I did."

His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, "What?"

Macaque made a show of reconsidering, "No, wait, actually I do have a couple of regrets. Getting caught? Very disappointing oversight on my part. And the monk? What I wouldn't give to go back and make sure he suffered like he had truly deserved."

The wine glass in his hand never stood a chance but the shards of glass barely even registered as he slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair and gripped it as if it could hold him back from lunging forward, "For as long as he lived, he never fully recovered from what you did to him! He didn't deserve the torture you put him through!"

He didn't know exactly what Macaque had done to him, but he knew what he was capable of and just the thought of it was enough to have his nails digging into the arms of the chair, the whole thing threatening to crumble under his anguish and fury.

Macaque wasn't intimidated by his show of anger and drawled, "Well, that's a matter of perspective, isn't it? Would you like to hear what kind of person your master was from my perspective?"

He didn't but unfortunately he was going to have to if they wanted to make any progress and Macaque took his hostile silence for the go ahead it reluctantly was.

Macaque took a long drink before telling him with conviction, "Your master was a cold and indifferent man, that switched between viewing you as a burden and a tool at his disposal. He cared nothing about who or what you were and yet he expected you to obey him without question. He was a man undeserving of your love and devotion. And if that changed, it only changed because of my intervention."

He resisted the urge to lash out in response to his self-importance as well as his shallow understanding of the situation and his master's character. However wrong or hurtful Macaque's words though he knew he had to hear them through to the end, so through gritted teeth he bit out, "Explain."

Gesturing to his ears, Macaque responded, "Obviously, I couldn't Listen to every second of the years you spent with him before I found you that day, there could well have been fleeting moments of civility that you let yourself believe was something more that I missed but I Heard his disregard for you and I Heard how he punished you."

There was no denying that the earlier years with his master had been difficult and painful. Supposed opposites forced together, they struggled to understand one another and that led to more conflicts than he would care to admit but he didn't blame his master for not always listening to him or for being heavy-handed in his retaliation.

His master had been young and mortal and thrust into a perilous journey with a dangerous, morally grey and bad-tempered demon that could kill him in an instant. Could you blame him for being a little on edge or for being unsure of how best to handle every situation?

And while he had initially been the unwilling muscle for this operation, his master had always treated him as his student. And even if he'd had no idea how to be a teacher to someone like him, he, ultimately, had never given up on him.

Even in those early years, when quite frankly, Wukong had neither wanted to or believed there was any need to change his ways.

But he knew that sort of nuance meant nothing to Macaque, just as it meant nothing to himself at the time and how it would have meant nothing to him if he and Macaque's positions had been reversed.

He could hear the undercurrent of fury in Macaque's voice as he continued, "But even if I hadn't Heard all I had, the way you pathetically latched onto any hint that he actually cared about you when I was the one wearing his face would have been enough to seal his fate."

He wasn't ready to face that ugly truth just yet and so he took hold of the embers fanned by that statement and glowered, "You mean when you lied to me? When you manipulated me?"

Macaque laughed incredulously, "Oh, of course, how fucking vile of me to listen to you, to treat you as if you're feelings mattered! Not once did I ever even tell you that you were in the wrong! Or that you had to forgive me!"

Despite the truth of it, he still growled, "That doesn't make it right! And it doesn't change the fact that your ultimate plan was to get me out of the picture long enough for you to torture an innocent man for information he didn't have!"

Macaque's eyes were filled with venom, "And whose fault was that, Wukong? Did you really fucking expect me to just go home, to sit patiently and wait for you? After everything I'd Heard? After all the time you'd already been gone? What choice did you give me but to take matters into my own hands?"

He knew now that it had been stupid to believe that Macaque would ever have listened to him back then. And even half-crazed from his time under the mountain, he should have known that.

And moreso, if he put himself in the mindset of pre-Journey Wukong and thought about Macaque's actions then they were entirely justifiable. Maybe a touch crueler and calculated than he personally would have gone with but hey, everyone had their own style.

That sort of violence was normal, especially against an outsider who had wronged you and your own. It wasn't considered bad and it wasn't considered wrong.

He obviously knew better now but it had been a lesson hard earned, and one that required a fourteen year journey, with a dedicated teacher at that. But both then and, arguably, now Macaque hadn't been given that same chance to grow or learn the error of his ways. Could he truly blame him for what he'd done?

And as twisted and terrible as what Macaque had done was, Wukong couldn't ignore the fact that he'd done it out of love and loyalty.

And when he'd responded in kind, with the single minded desire to avenge his master, he'd declared to the world that those feelings weren't returned.

That they belonged to another.

And the worst thing was, that he had meant it.

All the fight left him, and shakily he responded, "You're right... You responded how any demon would have. How I would've. How I did."

He desperately wanted to tell him that he hadn't meant for things to end the way they had, to go as far as he did, but the truth was Macaque had been dead the moment Wukong had seen what he'd done to his master.

Regret didn't feel a strong enough word for how he'd felt afterwards but Macaque's death had been no accident.

He took a breath before offering, "Look, there's not a single thing I don't regret about what happened. Our reunion after the mountain, how I- how I responded to what you'd done. I understand why you did what you did, that doesn't make it right but... I can understand why you don't regret it and I... I don't blame you for that."

Macaque sneered at his sincerity, "Oh, you understand, do you? You understand what it is to dedicate your life to someone and be told it's not enough? You understand how it feels to have the person you love most only return those feelings when you're wearing the face of the human who abused him?"

Macaque was on his feet, the glass that had been in his hand now shattered on the ground. His eyes glowed violet as he lunged forward and dug his nails into the arms of Wukong's chair, "You know what it's like to spend centuries suffering in the Dìyù? You know what it's like to crawl out of your grave with a gaping hole in your skull? Do you!?"

His stomach turned at the gruesome imagery.

Beyond the fact that the Lady Bone Demon had been involved he knew nothing about how Macaque had been resurrected. He should have known that twisted witch would have made it as agonising a process as possible.

He fought to keep control of his expression however, even without the alcohol, there was no telling what would make the situation worse and Macaque's teeth were already dangerously close to his face.

He was sure the undercurrent of turbulent emotion could be heard as he quietly responded though, "No. Of course, I don't."

Macaque's eyes flicked over his face, his breath coming out in unsteady bursts before he let out a gutteral growl and raised a fist that went right through the back of the chair, deliberately missing Wukong's face.

Wukong could only watch as he turned away, his tail thrashing furiously behind him.

He knew that the true depths of Macaque's suffering would always be beyond his comprehension. In the same way that no words could ever communicate the maddening agony of his isolation under the mountain, he knew that no matter how willing he was to listen, he would never truly understand all that Macaque had been through.

Despite that, there was an overwhelming urge to do the impossible and somehow make amends, to somehow make all of this right.

Macaque stood with his back to him and with a wavering voice said, "You didn't even bring me home."

Sick with shame, he still tried to explain, "I was going to! Your magic- I couldn't move you until it- I promise you, I was going to bring you home. But the- the Lady Bone Demon got to you first and I-"

"When?"

"What?"

Through gritted teeth he heard Macaque clarify, "When were you planning to bring me home? When was the last time you even went to visit my grave?"

He swallowed thickly, his tongue felt like lead and the ensuing silence said it all.

Macaque's laugh was a bitter, tortured thing, "I really didn't mean anything to you, did I?"

Wukong hunched over himself, his forehead leaning against clasped hands, "Macaque, I didn't..."

Macaque turned around sharply, "Didn't what, Wukong? Didn't think you'd ever have to see me again? Didn't think you'd have to face up to what you'd done?"

Of course, he hadn't thought he'd ever see Macaque again. Of course, he'd never thought he'd ever be in this situation.

While his guilt had seen him haunted by visions of Macaque, he'd never believed he would actually rise from the dead. Wished for it, on occasion, maybe but had never conceived an enemy of his could, or would, go to such lengths to torture him.

And yet, still he responded emphatically, "No! I- I mean I didn't mean to leave you there! Or to go so long between visits. It just... hurt to be there. To remember what happened."

Macaque's grin was unhinged, "And that's excellent why I'm here now, Wukong! To make sure you never forget, to make sure you never know peace for what you did!"

A part of him believed that it was no less than he deserved.

But he hadn't forgotten his master's teachings, or his responsibility to MK, and he knew that drowning in self-loathing and guilt would benefit no-one.

And even if he did accept such a punishment - what kind of life was that for Macaque? Consumed by hatred and pain and obsession? He deserved better than that. At the very least, he deserved the same opportunity he'd had to change and grow.

He was no more irredeemable than Wukong had been, of that he was sure.

In fact, he'd already seen the signs that he was capable of better.

He couldn't fully rule out that Macaque was playing some sort of long game but he'd gone above and beyond during the calamity involving Azure and they'd been cohabiting the island with relative civility for months since. They'd even successfully collaborated on MK's training recently.

He wanted that to mean something.

He didn't dare hope for a relationship of any kind to be rekindled from the ashes but they could have some semblance of peace if they both wanted it, if they both dedicated themselves to achieving it.

But peace was clearly the last thing on Macaque's mind right now. The alcohol no doubt adding fuel to the agonising fire that always burned within him.

Now wasn't the right time to tell Macaque that he wanted to help him work through this. There might never be a right time to tell him that to be honest - he could already envision the offence taken at suggesting he could "fix" him.

So, taking a steadying breath, he responded, "I can't ever expect to be forgiven for how I wronged you but I won't run from the consequences. I deserve to know the full extent of the suffering I caused you and you're right, I deserve to never forget it."

In hindsight, there was no way this evening ended well, no matter what he'd said just now, but still he was caught off guard by Macaque's furious scream as he brought a shelf full of bottles crashing to the floor.

He sat frozen as Macaque viciously spat, "You're so fucking pathetic! The old you, the real you, wouldn't just roll over and let someone else tell him what he deserved! He would have killed anyone that fucking dared! He never would have just sat there and accepted his fate!"

It wasn't the first time Macaque had brought up the "real" him and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

He resolved himself as he stood up, and Macaque's suddenly wary expression at the action spoke volumes. Firmly, he retaliated, "Is that really what you want? The "old" me? The one that never listened to you? The one that responded to everything he didn't like with violence?"

Macaque took a step back as he took a step forward, "You want me to be the me that didn't hesitate to kill the only person that had loved him unconditionally? Because we both know how that will end."

He held Macaque's gaze unflinchingly until the terror he was met with became too much for him.

His expression softened, "But I'm not that person anymore, Macaque. I'll never be him again. I'm going to listen to you. I'm going to treat you with the regard you deserve. And the only reason I would ever cross that line again was because I was given no other choice."

He wished he could promise that he would never be the one to cut his second life short but if it was a choice between him and MK...

Then he would do what he had to.

Macaque seemed to find his reassurance just as terrifying as his reminder of what he'd once been capable of and Wukong wasn't at all surprised that he sank through a shadow portal seconds later and fled.

He stood for a moment and stared at the spot Macaque had been before sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck.

Well, that could have gone worse...?

They hadn't devolved into violence, at least.

He looked around at the mess on the floor and the damage to the chair he'd been sitting on.

Well, mostly anyway.

Normally, he would have a clone tidy it all up but the weight of everything that had happened had him rolling up his sleeves with little complaint.

He didn't doubt that this had been only the first in a long line of difficult and messy conversations that would be needed to try and move past everything that had happened. And he knew he was going to need every scrap of wisdom, patience and tact he possessed if he wanted to help Macaque find a semblance of peace.

But right now, he willed himself to focus only on cleaning up the mess right in front of him, to allow his heart and soul a moment of respite before they were overwhelmed with the grief and guilt of everything he had learnt.

--End--

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LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[bellestrinkets]

arthur is such a sad character, man, i grieve who he was even when i know he is not real. reading about him alone makes me go into this crazy spiral where i just sit in silence —or talking to myself— and think, think real hard, about him.

but oh my, this man… oh my.

he carries this sadness within, this greatness too. i read the journal entries and, each time, i’m nothing short from in awe at what my eyes are skimming through. makes me wonder, what could have been of arthur if life had had kindness awaiting him? not even ‘a little bit more kindness’, because, i believe he didn’t know such word at all before he joined dutch and hosea.

he’s intelligent, yet he doesn’t believe so. he’s talented, yet he diminishes it.

who can we blame for it? definitely not arthur. i roll my eyes every time his intelligence, or the ‘lack there is of’, gets pointed out in the game. he’s a brute, he’s uneducated! the characters claim and it is only mary-beth, and tilly briefly, who point unwavering at the greatness in him, hidden under all this planted insecurity.

“you’re the only one of these fools knows just how lost he is” says mary-beth after a heartfelt conversation with arthur. awareness is a killer when faced with delusion. the camp was perhaps living in a long and misty one —thanks to dutch— and from day one, meaning chapter two, arthur was well aware of what the future awaited. their time ‘had passed’, civilization was inching closer to the american country. he dreaded it, yet he dreaded even more the path through which they were quickly sliding off, like an uncertain mudslide. and he cared, arthur cared deeply for all the people around camp —yes, even for kieran at the end���. alas, the very last act of love, the ultimate gift he held out for others was caring about their wellbeing at the culmination of such hazy delusion.

he almost couldn’t let go of john’s hand, he gave him his hat.

he was a bad man, i will not be discussing it. he was a bad man, he had been cruel to many. maybe for that very same reason, and looking at it from a very shallow perspective, he doesn’t deserve such grace. can a bad person revoke it all by the means of giving to those he wronged? the people that were dead weren’t going to crawl out of their tombs to thank him; ‘… I just wish you’d done it before he worked himself into the grave’ said arthur’s widow. so, is it okay for us to have such compassion for him? well, yes!

as i said, he was a very self aware person, he knew wrong when he saw it, even when it came from his own hand. his loyalty nonetheless, rested upon dutch. he was loyal to the man and that was his greatest fault. arthur was not really reliable when it came to judge dutch’s rights and wrongs. he was ‘his son’, i’ve already discussed such things on a different post. for that very same reason, i do believe we can reproach certain aspects about his character, but only so much; because he realizes, he does the work, he grows and understands, breaking free from this misty delusion

growth hurts, it’s a punch to the gut. to arthur it came in this tragical way, but even before finding out about the tuberculosis we see him approaching it.

it’s an issue of morality; red dead redemption makes you abandon the blacks and whites there are and face the grey areas in between. the honor bar is a physical element used to explain it. you do wrong, you inch towards the black, you do right, you approach the white. yet when you don’t do any, and consistently choose not to, you stay in the grey.

it’s an issue of redemption, it’s in the name.

yes, he was a bad man, making good deeds may not strip that title completely off him but it’s a gamble he takes. like sister calderon says, if he can truly believes that love exists then he can start doing good, or trying to at least. because when everyone believed arthur to be this dumb man, it materialized into his poor opinion on himself.

when one is called, and defined publicly, by all these poor characters; what is there left to be believed about oneself but if not those very same traits? same thing about the others, if he had this negative approach to everything, when could be the day he saw otherwise?

he noticed it and changed. that is growth, that is a search for redemption in the pits of hell.

he could have been a writer, he could have been an artist. he could have been many things yet he didn’t have time. he had this love for nature, for animals and others. he had love to give so that’s what he did.

and that is truly tragic, saddening. looking at the potential being thrown around and punched down. it’s tragic knowing there could have been, there was, more that awaited him but not even arthur gave arthur morgan enough credit.

the potential was not all wasted but rushed to a cruel ending.

that’s another thing i want to see being discussed. arthur died cruelly, even the high honor ending feels cruel to me. it may be peaceful, but still cruel. left to rest on that place. who knows what may have happen after the others flee the woods, how much time passed until he was found again? was his body exposed to the harsh climate of the mountains before it was buried for eternal slumber?

he died facing east, facing the rising sun; and that’s story telling, a testament to the game’s writing and ability to make me go on long rants about a fictitious man.

man, i love arthur, i love his character and i love his mind. i love going ‘oh, arthur’ as i play it and discover a whole new thing about him because really, oh my goodness this man.

[hihigherdi]

When I was at the Al Brooks talk, I kept thinking about how much I loved writing when I was younger, when I first got here to San Francisco. I have so many stories from the different retail places I’ve worked – Nordstrom, Microsoft, where I am now - where I climbed and then fell off the corporate ladders year after year while going to therapy to deal with all of the personal stuff that the jobs surfaced

I might drop a few entries here of that old writing stuff as I think about what could be new.

Love is the Elixir

He came well recommended though he lived in the country. My friends and I share a prejudice regarding rural America, we’re too cynical to appreciate its undiscovered charms. Sure, we like the ponies and the idea of antiquing but when you haul that stuff back to the house? All you really have is an old busted up bench that’s really uncomfortable. Where I’m from, everybody knows that the best part of small towns is the hope that you’ll come across a rogue A&W so you can drink the perfect root beer float. As with most small towns, the road turned into more roads and suddenly, I was there.

You’d think a therapist’s office in the country would at least have some kind of white picket fence. Maybe one of those Desidrata welcome mats or a winsome little sign on a wooden door that said “We’re just two chickens clucking around”.

I’m nervous even writing this.

But instead I was greeted by a pasture filled with Longhorn cattle, the kind that seems to only live in Texas or a Chuck Norris film. You know – America. But seriously, Longhorn cattle? In my therapeutic experience? That was unexpected. I parked my little city slicker car so terribly out of place, wandered up to the fence and eye-balled a big male. It was a “he” based on the size of its…hooves. It lumbered over and eye-balled me right back.

Hello cow.

I knew he probably deserved a more majestic greeting but my whispered hi there was further indictment of why I was there in the first place (I had no opening lines with males of any kind).

I tentatively opened up the little country door to the little country house. A deafening wave of classical music coming from upstairs hit me square in the face from a room somewhere upstairs. It was the music that someone who had to sit on the other side of other peoples’ crazy needs to absorb between appointments. I felt guilty that we put him through it.

I waited in the obligatory little room where people like me wait. Leather-bound books and a cozy chair that felt like it had been born there. And a poster that simply read “Love is the Elixir of the Universe.” While I sunk into the chair and silently panicked, a little Corgi waddled her way inside. I stroked her back, admired her little belly and told her so. Feeling my heart slow just a little. Would I still have need of a therapist had I invested in a dog two years ago? What about a cat? A bird would have sent me there years earlier, I knew that much.

The music stopped. A disembodied voice cut through the silence and called for me without using my name. One part Indian, one part British all the rest of it weary. I’d been rejected by enough men to know he didn’t want me there which was fine, fuck you Mr.Tired Voice, I didn’t exactly want to be there either.

He was an old man. Surprisingly little. Glasses. Bare feet. God. Bare feet, come on.

He sat in his chair. I sat in the couch. He didn’t look at me, didn’t say hello. Just started writing on a note pad. We sat there for a good minute or two in total silence. If someone could have harnessed my nervous energy a few more polar bears would be alive today. Did you read the Wall Street Journal article suggesting that nervous energy is extremely productive? It can create things like biodegradable fuel that people outside of Berkeley actually care about and save animals that are extinct. Maybe you’re reading this, you’re smart enough to make that happen and you just haven’t because you’re nervous but you’re lazy. Do you feel badly now that you know you could have done something for the bears? If not you should, you really should.

Why are you here.

I’m here to let go of a relationship I never really had that may have wrecked me.

So you’re crazy then.

(Go to hell you elitist, classical music-listening, cotton shirt-wearing, creepy barefoot longhorn cattle-owning clearly height compensating narcissist.)

Well it feels that way sometimes. But I don’t want to be.

What happens if you really are wrecked.

At least I’ll know. That has to be good. It’s the not knowing that’s hard.

But don’t you already know?

(Jesus asked, Do you really want to get well?)

I suppose I do. I guess I want to be something more than wrecked from someone who should have never wrecked me in the first place.

Will you tell the truth?

Yes. (too quick)

…I don’t think I know how.

So you’re a liar.

(He SEES. Get out. Make him like you. But he won’t. He sees you.)

I don’t have much to lose so I guess I will. It’s weird how long it took to get here, how tightly one can cling to something that doesn’t even exist, that’s all in my head but false hope seems to be postponed grief. So yes, I’ll be honest. Maybe it’s easy to be honest when one is at the bottom of things.

Is that it?

Is what it?

Silence.

What are you afraid of most?

That I’ll charm you and you won’t be able to see me and I will leave with the relief of knowing that I’ve fooled you like I’ve fooled everybody else. And the despair of knowing that I did.

You know all that is up to you.

That’s what scares me the most.

It should.

I may not be ready for this. I may not be capable.

No one ever is. Isn’t that beautiful.

[anaphorathe]

,,,,

[goldkirk]

My five happy things for the day

• paper that has a good feeling texture

• things not feeling like an emergency EVERY second of the day, only part of the time

• the fact that these cheapo stamp ink pads from Walmart a few years ago somehow still have a bit of functioning ink not dried out?

• I’m able to track and retain conversations for longer periods of time again, I’m finally finally finally feeling some progress

• putting on a warm hoodie or coat when feeling chilled

[averlym]

whshdfhfjf.,,,

[thestrangestwatermelonofall]

i will never forget the time I was hanging out with two other people who were new friends and they were like "let's do a sonic fandub" and one of them started looking up sonic game footage on youtube for us to dub while we discussed who would speak for who and we decided I'd voice tails. But also I knew nothing about sonic at the time, i'd only seen the snapcube fandubs because I'd heard they were good and funny, I didn't know the plot or characters very well. I couldn't remember what they sounded like so while the other two started to say silly things in sonic and amy's voices I asked "what does tails sound like again?" And I was laughing because I was embarrassed and also shocked by how quickly they had started commiting to the bit of trying to do some voice acting and my friend just said "he sounds like a twink" and I could not stop laughing and I could not take the idea seriously and I just told them that I couldn't do the voice oops. And so we moved onto a different topic pretty quickly and just enjoyed the pizza we had while we waited for our other three friends to get back from the store

anyways all of this is to say that Tails is NOT a twink, he is an 8 year old little boy and my friend was misguided.

[talkorsomething]

want to cut my hair again like you wouldn't believe. What are the possible consequences of going bald

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

many thoughts, head full. will resume goofy tumblr activities whenever i feel like it (which is probably now/soon/today) despite that

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[blizzardfluffykpop]

why the fuck do i miss pigeons

[translaytonblr]

been looking back on some of my old layton art posts and realizing like. wow. i was deep in some shit. calling my own art "content"... no wonder i dont like posting anymore i did this shit to myself