#but with monkeys he only really ever just communicates with them and otherwise does a little more than just 'tolorating'

[askblueandviolet]

MACAQUE, TAKE THIS *gives macaque a cat with a missing eye* I found it for you :)

MASTER POST

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[stinkysam]

@kiemimi wanted to know my opinion and brainrot on the OPLA characters so here some of them :

-> Akagami no Shanks

No brainrot but very pleased with his actor. Ngl I was a bit skeptical when he first appeared as Shanks. Because this is not how I imagined him to look like irl, and I saw multiple people complain that he didn't look handsome lol. But now I can't see him being portrayed by someone else. He's just him. And he looks very hot when he saves Luffy. 👌🏻

You're in for a ride with him. He's an open book yet there's many things you don't know about him. "You didn't ask" basically. He's really chill and likes to see you laugh and smile, seeing you sad really breaks his heart.

-> Buggy the Clown

BARK BARK BARK. As said in an older post, I didn't recognize the actor and was shocked to see that I already knew him. I saw his face without makeup and found him familiar. It renewed a brainrot with an old character (deke), lol.

There's always something happening. There's rarely ever a fully boring day. And he loves that you're by his side no matter what. He might want to abandon you to save his ass but always end up taking you with him because he doesn't have the heart to actually abandon you. He likes your attention, but you better be careful with it because he might go overboard very easily. And sometimes he's too lost in it to care about what you really want and don't want.

-> Cabaji

GAY ‼️

-> Dracule Mihawk

No brainrot. I have some trouble with his eyes. I can't tell if I would've preferred them without contacts. But other than that he slayed his role, very cunty.

Maybe the calmest relationship of your life. He doesn't talk much but he still values communication because it's important. He trusts you and likes to see you happy, mentally cheering for you.

-> Monkey D. Luffy

No brainrot. The only thing is that he doesn't stretch himself as much as he should. But I can't remember if he used his stretchiness as much as he does now (grabbing someone from afar, launching himself…) otherwise Iñaki is a good luffy. Love him. Knew him from The Imperfects so I was happy to see him again.

Too trusting. And too naive. Believe any words that come from your mouth, but you better not play too much with it because he's going to repeat it. Like Shanks, he likes to make you laugh and see you happy. Seeing his crew in a good mood is important to him.

-> Roronoa Zoro

No brainrot, surprisingly ? I love his anime/manga vers. so idk why his live action isn't clicking. I remember being 15 and fighting for him with a friend lol

Very loyal, not that the others aren't. But you better not betray him. He won't take it kindly. Very trusting as well. If you're ever accused of something you didn't do, he won't need to hear you to know if it's true or fake. And even if it was true, he's going to be like, "You had your reasons *shrugs*."

-> Usopp

Don't have anything to say, good actor choice. Love him as usopp. Can't wait to see more of him in season 2, honestly. Which we would see him as sogeking/sniperking.

He definitely hides behind you but doesn't back down to protect you. Likes to make you laugh. But the more you laugh, the more he might lie to make you laugh even more. Down to try whatever drink you take. If he knows he can't take someone down, he'll run to you for protection. If you can't take them down either, well... You're both running.

-> Vinsmoke Sanji

I don't know why they got rid of the eyebrows. He's really sweet. I love him more than the anime/manga because he's less of a pervert and he's smoother about it. Taz did an amazing job. He's really dedicated from what I've heard, doing his own stunts, learning how to cook…

He loves flirting with you even if he's already dating you. He's really biased when it comes to you. He trusts you with his entire being, heart, and soul. Very gentle lover that makes you breakfast in bed. Or breakfast in the hammock.

[the-monkey-ruler]

what’s this about animals becoming humans because of cultivation? why didn’t wk turn human since he was a prodigy?

Well, they don't really become 'human' rather they take on a humanoid appearance.

A Yaoguai reaches that state of being a real threat when they are able to stop being in their animal form (mammal, bird, reptile, insect, fish, plant, etc.) and are able to become a humanoid that is capable of human speech and can communicate with other humans. In these cases, it is obvious that they are still not human but rather yaoguai or yaojing, and while they are MORE human-like being able to talk, bipedal, probably fingers and hands, and all the human stuff... they are still not human itself.

There are many cases in Xiyouji where Yaoguai disguise themselves to be more human and appear normal, mostly to lure their human prey in and take advantage of them but otherwise, it is rare to see a yaoguai shed all evidence of their previous form. The closest I think we ever get to that is maybe Princess Iron Fan as she was able to be a devoted Daoist and continue her studies but in most cases, Yaoguai just stumble across lessons to cultivate or train themselves which doesn't take them too far. Hence why they usually end up eating humans which takes a good 10,000 or some kind of insane round number to reach that state of perfection.

And it's not that Wukong can't turn into a human but rather he never really showed a want to be seen as a human either.

From even the moment he was born he was able to skip a lot of the struggles other animals/plants Yaogaui would go through as he was already as he pretty close to a human from being a monkey, he got to be bipedal, hands, and fingers. He even says that his pouch makes up for his hollow cheeks, making him a perfect substitute and that he should still be able to learn under Puti.

If anything Wukong seems to think he has already reached the peak of looks as he is very confident that he is the "Beautiful" Monkey King. That and he never seems interested in conquering humans or trying to steal a kingdom, kidnap a wife, or trick humans in general. And thus he never really showed interest in changing his looks at all. Wukong's main focus on cultivation wasn't trying to get a human form permanently but rather to reach immortality.

When Yaoguai are defeated in the novel they go back to their original animal form but Wukong is different in that he was born a Yaoguai. Another way he sorta cheated in that regard as well. He was born out of a stone that was cultivated since the beginning of time (which is far longer than other yaoguai) but that was the stone egg that he was born out of, not really himself that was cultivating. At least not consciously where he had to study or hone his qi. Rather it was only after he was properly taught that he increased in spells and transformations but he never really had to cultivate to keep his form.

So if anything he was more skipping ahead because he was already past what other Yaoguai spent centuries trying to master.

Another reason Wukong is just built different.

Most of these yaoguai don't have the same transformations as Wukong does either. Some can turn into wind or turn into human disguises but none seem to have the 72 transformations like Wukong or even the 36 like Bajie, and I would honestly be surprised if they even have the 18 transformations like Wujing but that would be the most likely. I don't think I have read a Yaoguai story where a yaoguai did successfully change their form permanently as most as just transformation techniques that can fall away if pushed enough. At I haven't seen anything permanent in Xiyouji, and that is not included fallen celestials as they change their appearance due to leaving heaven, not because of their cultivation.

But long story short Wukong has shown he can keep a human transformation whether that is a young monk or even Sanzang himself, but he just prefers to say in his monkey form.

Most other demons would probably need to work harder for centuries to get a humanoid form as most animals have four legs and need to change drastically to become bipedal but... yeah Wukong gets a bit of a cheat as he doesn't need to change himself that much it at all to be humanoid... being already Yaoguai and a monkey one at that.

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Spirit Masterpost (Ao3 link there)

Chapter 2: Find A Way In

Summary: This town's got quite the cast of characters

Spirit spends the next couple of months on reconnaissance.  They hop over rooftops and monitor the town where the supposed successor lives.  They hadn’t had the time to ask for a description after getting their orders from the Demon Bull Family, and they’re afraid to go back to the trio with their query.

Something about that home is broken. Spirit has spent enough time in a broken home to know it’s not a nice place to be in for long.  Best to stay away unless they’re needed.

The town that the successor lives in is pretty lively. They only assume this is where the successor lives, though, because the successor had arrived to fight Demon Bull King rather quickly and would likely need to be close by.

They watch the city from the rooftops.  Bright colors, people, loud noises—they would hate to be down there, lost in the madness, but from a far enough distance it’s tolerable.

The people are so...loud.  There’s so much stuff here.  So many things, sights, sounds.  It’s awful pretty, especially the glowing stuff.  Spirit tries touching it, but it’s really hot. Whatever it is, it burns.

They’re sitting on top of a skyscraper, taking a break with some cheese tea they got because they were curious about it, when the sky shifts.  The weather begins changing without reason.  That gets them to jump down, because it sounds like a storm is brewing and the higher up you are the more likely you are to be hit by lightning.  Getting hit by lightning does not sound appealing.

They duck down into an alleyway, shifting into human form just as Red comes onto the myriad screens all over the city.  

Spirit has to give him credit, it’s certainly a foreboding speech.  They don’t do well when giving speeches.  Often when they’re sent to intimidate or kill they either write up a script on their way there or stay silent.  Whichever is more effective, anyway.

They lean against the wall as mortals panic, pulling out their nifty little phone.  It’s sturdy, which is good, since they can be a bit clumsy with their things.

‘Red’ They type out.  They gave him their number when they got a phone, excited to have one.  He’d texted them a lot of boxes.  They don’t know what the boxes mean, but they hope they’re nice.

‘I heard your speech up on the screens!  It was very articulate and polite, and threatening!  I think your dad will be mighty impressed with you.

Do you need my assistance?  Please let me know.  I’m in the area, so I can come quickly!

From,

Spirit’

They rock back and forth on their feet, turning their head to the side and watching as the mortals all vanish into their buildings, the streets becoming empty in minutes.  Spirit has to admire the speed of it.  Maybe they got more vigilant after the attack by Demon Bull King.  It’s only been a few months since the attack, long enough to set in some sense of safety but short enough that they would still be on edge.  Spirit knows the timeline of overcoming traumatic experiences.  They start to fade out of the forefront after about half a year if you’re lucky.

Their phone buzzes.  It’s from Red!

They blink at the deluge of boxes, using the little arrow buttons on their phone to scroll down.

‘i don’t need anyone!  Thnx for the compliment’

Spirit blinks a few times, and shrugs.  Red never is very eloquent in text form, and they’ve heard that brevity is the soul of wit!  Whatever that means.  Spirit isn’t quite sure.  Plus, they can understand the desire to do everything by yourself, especially when you’re doing something to prove yourself to someone.

Since the town is pretty much deserted, Spirit takes the time to walk around, get to know the place.  They know it plenty from a bird’s eye view, but whenever you scope out a territory it’s best to know all the angles.  They trace the different side streets with their eyes and memorize the street signs.  They might make a diagram, to make sure the layout sticks in their head.

They’re pretty calm, until they feel the ever ethereal power that comes only from one source.

The Monkey King.

Something like primal terror freezes them in place for a split second, before they race away running as far away from the outpouring of heavenly power that comes with the Monkey King’s presence.  They can’t even think about where they’re going, feet pressing hard against the messy street pavement. T, crunching on glass and debris without thought because they just need to get away.  They know who Monkey King is. They know that they would mean nothing to such a monarch, to such a being.  They have no favors to spare, nothing to keep themself safe, so why wouldn’t he jump on the chance to get rid of them?

Considering their reputation, considering the times they’ve colluded with Monkey King’s enemies, there’s no reason to believe he’d let them live, if he saw them.  No reason to think that he wouldn’t leave them a bloody stain on the pavement the moment they appeared in his line of sight.

Or worse, he’ll \tear out an eye for your insolence.  He clearly doesn’t have a problem pulling out organs, from what you’ve heard in the stories, and with what he did to Macaque?  He’ll ruin you.  Well, at least you’d finally have a normal amount of eyes, right? 

Their breaths come in short bursts.  They climb up to the roof of a short building, curled into a little ball, and shut their eyes.

They don’t manage a single normal breath until they feel the energy of the Monkey King fade out.  He must have left, back to his mountain.  Good.  That means they won’t die today, which really is something!  Every day they manage to live is kind of a surprise, really.  They’re consistently shocked by their ability to keep going.

They carefully sit up and glance down at their feet.  Bleeding, apparently.  Not a surprise, given how they weren’t careful when sprinting through the street, but annoying nonetheless.  They pull out the pieces of glass, clean off the wound with some antibiotic ointment they keep on them at all times (Mom used to make it herself with stuff they scavenged in the forest, and now you can buy an even better version in the store for cheap), and wrap their feet in gauze.

Once that’s done, they lay back, spread eagle on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky as they try to regulate their breaths.  They’re not exactly steady yet, but at least now they can breathe.  Soon, though, the sky clears, and Spirit has to squint to keep the sun from burning their retinas.  Their phone buzzes in their pocket, and they pull it out, holding it up so the shadow of it falls over their face, blocking the sun a little.

‘The garbage noodle boy will pay!’

They type out a reply.

‘Red.

I don’t know who the noodle boy is, but I’m sorry he made you upset.  Did you have to leave the weather tower?  Do you need anything?

Let me know!

Spirit.’

They get a bunch of boxes and a very hard to follow explanation, but eventually they parse it out.  Noodle boy is the nickname Red has for Monkey King’s successor, and apparently he came in and kicked Red out of the weather tower.  

Spirit asks if Red needs help with his next scheme, but Red declines.  That’s fine.

Spirit knows when they aren’t wanted.

As the sky clears, people begin to peer out their windows, and a few brave souls actually leave their homes.  Within an hour, the city is back to its bustling state, if a little slow as it tries to reset from the panic.  Spirit watches this happens with a fascination one would have with watching ants build a colony.  Well, not in the sense that mortals are just like ants, but they are simple in many ways and complicated in others.  Peril is unknown to them in a way Spirit never could understand, and to see them grapple with the appearance of it and work it into their community and lives is ever fascinating.  Mortals are very tight knit, after all.  Everything affects the collective.

Demons are typically solitary creatures.  They create small clans, sure, but they do not settle, create towns for themselves.

Spirit flits between the different factions and never settles themself.  They have a few caves that could become homes, if they stayed, but they never do.  Not when there are favors to hand out, places to explore.  Besides, an empty home isn’t a fun one to return to.

They’re about to head out, disappear into the forest areas outside of the town for the night, but the roof door to the building opens.

“Hey,” comes a gruff voice.

Spirit freezes.  They turn their head around, slowly, eyes wide.

The figure that stands before them is a stout pig demon, wearing what appears to be a chef’s coat.  He’s got stubble, sharp blue eyes, and small tusks that peek out over his upper lip.  He stares at them without animosity.  Mostly interest and confusion.

Spirit, at a glance, suspects that they’d be able to take him, should he attack.  A second glance, more a read of a soul, proves otherwise.  Whoever this is, there’s a power they’re hiding.  A lot of power.

“Don’t see a lot of monkeys around here,” The demon says.

“Sorry,” Spirit replies, immediately.  “I-uh-I didn’t know this was your roof, I was just sitting up here for the view-I-I’m leaving, so—”

They don’t want to get in a fight.  There’s no point in trying to throw on glamour, appearing human.  And they don’t know how to really explain themselves, either.

The demon raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to put Spirit at ease.  It doesn’t exactly work, considering it reveals the demon’s claws.  Dull as they are, Spirit is sure he knows how to use them.  But they do recognize the sentiment.

“Hey, hey, no need to apologise, ‘s long as you’re not causing trouble,” he gives them a sort of half grin.  “Just figured I’d see what you were up ta, if you were alright.  Not often I find anyone hiding on a roof for a good reason.”

Spirit stares.  They don’t exactly know how to react in this situation, so they just.  Don’t.  Their tail curls around one leg and they wish they could just.  Run.  But then he might chase them.  That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Uh.”  He scratches the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence.  “I’m Pigsy.”

How...appropriate?  Spirit fights a giggle, because of course his name is Pigsy, what else could it be?  The smile worms its way onto their face anyway, and their ears twitch as they look anywhere but at Pigsy.

Pigsy smiles back and chuckles a little.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of on the nose.  Not my first choice of a name, but apparently it’s everyone else’s,” he snorts.

This time, Spirit does giggle, their nose crinkling with the motion as their smile reaches their eyes.  They relax a little.  If Pigsy is at ease enough to joke, it’ll probably be okay.  They’ll probably be okay.

“You, uh, mind telling me your name?” Pigsy asks them, and they freeze again, suddenly shy.

They fidget, then sigh.  It would be rude to not tell him, even though they wanted to keep a low profile, but Pigsy is asking nicely, and he doesn’t seem mean.  What’s the harm?

“Spirit,” they reply.

With a wave, they leap across the space of the street between the two buildings, sliding down the back side of the building.  It’s easy enough to slip into human form and disappear into the crowds towards the outskirts of the city.

They sleep leaning against a tree.  It isn’t terribly comfortable, but Spirit is used to that.

The next month is spent really getting to know the town.  It’s a huge place, and Spirit wants to be aware of every nook and cranny, just in case.  They’re a bit on edge, too, because Monkey King was here, which means he’s unafraid to come back.  If they’re around when he does, that wouldn’t be good.

But if they know all the secret passageways, just maybe, they’ll be able to outrun him.  From what they hear, the Monkey King cares about mortals, so he’d probably try and mitigate collateral.  If they disappear into a crowd, or get underground, they’d likely escape.

They have plans.  They make them whenever they stop on a skyscraper and let the wind blow through their fur, when they look down at the steep drop and think about catching a hand over a thousand years ago, when they think about every step to the present.  They have a plan for every street corner and alleyway, should they be caught.  They have to.  It’s the only way to survive.

Their plans come to a halt when they feel a soul split.  Well, not split, because that’s not possible, but at the very, least spread out.  All kept together by a thin, golden tether that ties them to their source.  

It starts as just one tether.  Then two.  Three, seven, fifteen, thirty-eight, a hundred—Spirit goes dizzy trying to count them all, up on the tallest building in the town.  The weather tower’s roof basically has seats built into its design, if you push a window open and sit on the glass tile, so it’s fun to climb on top of it.

Eventually, they have to see what is happening, because the city is dancing with golden lights scattered across it, and it’s making Spirit dizzy.

A group of tethers coalesces in a single building, an anti gravity arcade.  Spirit hasn’t gone in, because they like when their feet stick to the ground, and the amount of noise and bright lights is enough to leave them dizzy for decades.  They hop to the roof of it, peering over the ledge to see just who is inside.

“Monkey King?”

Spirit whirls around, and comes face to face with a mortal, wearing a bright orange jacket, red pants, a white shirt with a target on the chest (which, not that Spirit would say, is a bit odd, and is asking for a chest injury), and a red headband.

Then, an identical copy of that mortal appears.  Then another.

Suddenly, Spirit is surrounded.

“Uh,” they start.  “No?”

Regardless of their valiant effort to make it known that they are not the Monkey King, they’re dogpiled quickly, grabbed by tens of hands and carried into the sensory hell that is the anti-gravity arcade.

Considering they’re not being hurt, and considering they can’t move their arms, Spirit doesn’t struggle much.  They just shut their eyes, coiling their tail around their leg and staying as limp as possible.  Resistance seems a bit futile, and if they’re malleable instead of stiff they’re less likely to be damaged during their, uh, transport.

“I’m really not the Monkey King,” they try again, though their voice gets muffled by the many, many figures holding them.

The group stops.  There’s a buzz of chatter before one voice cuts out above everything.

“Alright, alright, what’s the haps?  What’s got y’all making me step away from the porty?” The voice has a very casual lilt to it, but it’s recognizable as the same voice of all the other mortals.

“We found the Monkey King!” One of the clones pipes up.

“You what?!”

“We got him, boss!”

“You—okay, okay, lemme see!  Drop him!”

Spirit is dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, and the crowd parts so they can look up to  this supposed leader.

He looks like the rest of the group, but his orange jacket is tied around his waist and his shirt doesn’t have the target on it the rest of them do.  He’s got his pants bunched up at the base of his boots, blue headphones hanging off his neck, and when he glances down at them, Spirit sees a flash of a sharp tooth poking up over his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” they say.  “I’m, uh, not the Monkey King.”

The ringleader groans, leaning his head back.

“Of course you’re not,” he says, though the tone doesn’t indicate that he’s angry at them, which is nice.  He turns to the group standing behind Spirit, and glares.  “C’mon, boys!  I told ya if you saw the Monkey King, you report back to me.  No goin’ after him, no makin’ a fuss.  If this was the real deal, he’d’ve had you poofed quick!  The Boss might not know how to make us go away yet, but the King definitely does.”

He gives a quick, cursory glance over the group.

“We lose anyone?” he asks.

The group shakes their heads.

“Good.  Now, next time, listen to me!” he shouts.  

Spirit flinches at the sound.

The group, thoroughly chastised, all mumble apologies.  The leader sighs.

“Alright, alright.  Half of you keep on look out, and the rest of you go and play.  We got the arcade to ourselves, after all,” he waves them off, and they scatter.

Once they’re gone, he turns to Spirit.  Spirit stiffens and very carefully picks themself up.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” The leader says.  “They’re not the brightest bunch, and any monkey demon is gonna get them excited.  I told them to look out for the Monkey King, not kidnap him, but you spread one brain cell thin enough and things are bound ta’ get lost in translation.

Spirit glances around.  They look to be backstage somewhere.  The hum of pounding bass is muffled, but they can still hear the music.  There are no flashing lights, which is nice.

“Haven’t seen or heard of ya’, though.” The leader speaks up again, drawing back Spirit’s attention.  “What’s your name?”

“Spirit,” Spirit replies.  “And, um, it’s okay.  They weren’t very rough handling me, so it was fine.  

“Um,” They can tell the leader isn’t an original, they can see the tether, but they have to ask.  “You’re, uh, like them, right?”

The leader shrugs.

“If by ‘like them’ you mean a clone?  Sure,” he leans in close toward them.  “But, uh, keep that on the DL, you know?  Don’t want it gettin’ spread around.”

Spirit blinks a few times.  So, clones.  That isn’t surprising.  Macaque can make clones from his shadows, and he told them that Monkey King can make clones out of hair.  The successor must have inherited that power.

The thing that does confuse them, is

“DL?” they ask.

The leader raises a brow.  “The down low?”

“Uh…” Spirit fidgets and glances at their feet. 

The lingo makes no sense.  Is it a new thing?  They’re really bad at keeping up with trends and dialogues.  Their ears burn with embarrassment.  They must look really stupid.

“Just don’t go tellin’ nobody, alright?” The leader clarifies.

Spirit nods.

“Okay!  But, uh, why are you hiding?” It doesn’t seem to make sense.  If the successor made the clones, why do they feel the need to run from him?

“Cuz the Boss made us, made us do a bunch of his dirty work, and I don’t think he’s gonna like that we got tired of it.” The leader glares out toward where Spirit assumes the rest of the arcade is.  “Free will ain’t something clones are supposed to have.  I’m a little more, uh, on the wild side.  The rest of the boys are pretty simple, so I keep ‘em close so they don’t get into trouble.  And hey,” He smiles, all sharp teeth. “Can’t have a porty if you don’t got a roaring crowd.”

Well then.  That certainly changes things.  Spirit has never wondered about the sentience of clones, considering they’ve never interacted with them for long.  Macaque’s shadow clones are more extensions of himself than they are sentient creatures, and they never talk.  But, if clones really do become sentient, it’s a rather cruel thing to strip that sentience away, right?  So long as they aren’t hurting anyone, anyway.

“That’s fair,” they shrug.  “But, um, if you want to really stand out, maybe some new clothes will help?”

“That a fit check?” The leader smirks.

“A what?”

“Nevermind,” The leader waves a hand.  “What you got in mind?”

Spirit tilts their head to the side in thought.

“I think, um...your aesthetic,” they start.  “It doesn’t fit with, uh, the others, so I could get you some new clothes.  Accessories.  As a favor?” They shrug, a bit self conscious.

The leader is pretty confident, and Spirit is decidedly not.  It’s awkward to think that they could be of service.

A blade has a use, but if you have claws that are just as sharp, why buy the tool?

The leader considers this, and then shrugs.

“Sounds good, 3 eyes,” he agrees. 

Spirit blinks.  “It’s Spirit,” they clarify.

“Sure.” The leader shrugs them off.  “Exit’s down the hall to your right.”

Spirit nods and dashes off.  Slipping into human form is easy as a new set of clothes, though they always have to be wary of their tail, wrapping it around their waist like a belt so as not to arise suspicion.

Sure, demons live in this town, but the ratio seems 10:1 and Spirit prefers to blend in.  Besides, if they get mistaken for Monkey King again, they might just scream, if only to startle the crowd so they can get away.

They flit between stores, looking for something fitting for a character like that clone had been.  Spirit isn’t good at fashion, Macaque picked out their outfit after all, but they do have several eyes for flashy things (two, the third isn’t as entranced by such things).  They grab a pair of visor glasses, pink to accent the blue.  They have these weird lines through them, probably to see through.  Spirit thinks they’d be mighty useful to counteract all the bright lights.  

Then they look for something orange to replace the jacket, since it seems to be a fixture on all the other clones.  They find a kind of garish orange tiger print coat.  It’s pretty wild, and, well, the leader said he was pretty wild.  They toss it over their shoulder and head back toward the arcade.

They come in the same back way, because anything to spare themselves the sensory overload of the arcade is worth it, though they feel eyes from all around watching them as they approach the backstage.

Two large bouncers step in front of Spirit, as they approach the backstage, and Spirit nearly trips and falls in their haste to back away.  They’ve never been a fan of looming figures, and even though they’d probably be the same height as the bouncers if they stood up straight, they’re far too used to hunching down to do anything else.

“U-um,” they manage a whisper, clearing their throat before they continue, trying to speak up above the din of the music blaring in the other room.  “I-uh-I-the boss, uh, wanted me to get him some clothes, so…”

They hold up the items they found as proof, giving the two bouncers a shaky smile.

The two share a look, before one walks toward the stage, leaning down for a moment to talk to someone before straightening back up.

“3 eyes!” 

Spirit fights the urge to wince at the nickname, because they don’t like that they only have three eyes, they don’t like the reminder.  Instead, they sigh and smile awkwardly, waving as the leader saunters over.

“Hello,” they show off their pickings.  “I thought these would fit.  Since, uh, neon pink and blue go well together, and, um, I thought this jacket could, uh—”

“It’s way better than the old one!” The leader snatches both items out of Spirit’s hand.

The shades go on his face quick, and he tosses his old jacket so fast it’s a blur as it hits the wall.  He slides the new one onto his shoulders and leans back, hands in his pockets.

“Do I look good?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer.  “Nevermind, course I do!  Look at me!”

“I am,” Spirit agrees with a half shrug.

“Nice work, 3 eyes!  The fit fits!” He chuckles, and did his teeth get even sharper in the half an hour or so Spirit has been gone?  They can’t tell.

He plays with the sleeves of the new coat, and glances down at his feet.

“Anyway, uh.” For a moment, he’s almost shy.  “Picked out a name for myself.  Figured keepin’ the old one made no sense and all.”

“Oh?” Spirit keeps their tone carefully neutral, tilting their head to the side.

“Yeah.  Porty.” Porty gives them a wry grin.  “If I say it weird, might as well be my brand, right?”

“Sure?” Brand?  Spirit thought a brand was when you put hot iron on something.  Macaque wanted them to do that to a cow he found, but they couldn’t.  It was too mean.

“Anyway,” Porty’s voice cuts through their confusion.  “I gotta get back to my DJ stand.  Wanna stay for the porty?”

Spirit lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” they say, and when Porty frowns, they scramble to explain.  “Not that I don’t, uh, like parties-I—” Well, they’re no good at lying.  “I just have uh, really sensitive eyes and ears.  It would be too loud and bright for me,” Spirit lands on something truthful as they finish, giving Porty a hopeful smile.

Porty’s expression stays carefully neutral, before he bursts into a sharp toothed grin that stretches wide across his face.

“That’s fair, but don’t be a stranger, kay?  Us wild ones gotta stick together!” He nudges their arm.

Spirit thinks Porty is awfully nice and cool, but he talks in ways that make their head spin.

“Got it,” they reply in lieu of asking for clarification, and they disappear out the back door as the music swells again.

They write Porty’s favor into their book just as they start to see the tethers vanish.  One by one, like dying stars flickering out, they disappear.  Spirit watches, wide eyed, as each of over a hundred vanishes.

There's a pit in their stomach, as they think of the giggly, desperate for approval, mostly kind clones suddenly ceasing to exist.  Thinks of the many voices going silent.

Macaque would tell them that clones are a means to an end, a weapon to be discarded after use.  But the successor didn’t discard them after use, he used them and left them, abandoned them.  And now has the audacity to get rid of them when they’re becoming too sentient for his liking?

Spirit doesn’t know the circumstances.  It’s rude to judge a person over things Spirit doesn’t know the full story of.  But they didn’t hate the clones, and Porty, for all his faults, seemed to just want to make a good time for people.  Not the type of good time Spirit would enjoy, but they know others might.

Curled up on the roof of a skyscraper, they watch the lights disappear.  The arcade, a veritable lighthouse of stars, loses its many tethers in an instant.  The mass of light vanishes as if blown away by a gust of wind, until there’s only one left.

The final one, Spirit knows.  

It disappears like the rest.

They break into the arcade that night, and find the coat and glasses on the floor, abandoned.  The arcade is dark and there is broken glass all over the floor, but Spirit steps around it, eyes only for the coat and glasses.  The things they got for him.  To prove that he was more.

Now all that’s left.

They pick the two items up gently and bury them out in the woods.  Maybe Porty wasn’t a real person, maybe he was a means to an end that got out of hand, but Spirit can’t fault anyone who lets them do them a favor.  And besides, sometimes all that’s left of people are memories, and Spirit wants to remember.

They remember Mom, and they know they’re the only one who does.  They can carry that weight for the clones, too, if no one else will.

They get a call from the Long family a month or so after meeting the clone, and isn’t it funny how one of the most affluent, mystically inclined families lives just on the outskirts of the town that Demon Bull King was sealed in?  Spirit wonders if they settled here for that reason, perhaps guarding the staff that the Monkey King left behind, since Monkey King had left it there without any thought.

Spirit doesn’t hate anyone (their father doesn’t count, because they made sure he wasn’t anyone ever, just a memory in Spirit’s mind, forgotten by time as his body burned on its pyre) but they severely dislike the lack of responsibility Monkey King takes.  Not only did he seal away Demon Bull King (Spirit is aware that Demon Bull King was destroying villages and causing a stir, but Monkey King took Red away and what parent wouldn’t be angry?), but he didn’t even stick around to watch over his seal!  He just left it, like the staff alone would be the end-all.  

Spirit would be too anxious to ever leave something that could even possibly be broken.  Maybe they’re paranoid, but they would have at least stuck around, or left a guard, or something!

Honestly, it isn’t surprising that Red managed to break it, eventually.  

They arrive at the Long residence to a sight of a broken down door and demolished artifacts scattered across the entrance hallway.  They blink, three eyes darting around to try and drink everything in.

“Ah, Spirit,” Comes a prim voice.  

Spirit jumps, and turns to find a couple, dressed in green and gold, staring at them.  They’re dolled up, makeup and everything.  Spirit bows, polite.

“Hello,” They greet.  “You’re in need of a favor?”

“Yes,” the woman answers.  “Yesterday, there was an attack on our home by the Demon Bull Family.  Many priceless artifacts were destroyed in the process.  We would like you to salvage as much as you can from the wreck, and clean up the rest.”

So grunt work.  That’s fine.  Typically Spirit is called for that sort of thing, if there are secrets involved.  And when you have priceless artifacts, you don’t want just any random person handling them.  Spirit doesn’t think they’re terribly trustworthy, but if someone asks them to be, they can be.  Keeping their mouth shut is easy because people don’t usually come to them for conversation.

Macaque told them once that they were awfully chatty, but that was when they were younger.  They grew up.  They usually only talk to themselves now.

“Okie doke.” They nod, turning back to the wreckage.

This should take them a few days, if they pull a few all nighters.  They’re pretty bad at sleeping anyway, so at least this time it’ll be on purpose.

They pointedly don’t think about how they told the Demon Bull Family of the artifact that was here.  They pointedly don’t think about how the Demon Bull Family likely attacked this home for said artifact.  What people do with the information they give out is none of their business.  It’s not their fault.

Well.  It is.  Spirit isn’t stupid.  Actions have consequences.  A domino falls and starts a chain reaction.  Regardless of intent, the first domino is the issue.

And Spirit pushed the rest of the pieces down, so the aftermath is their fault.

They start with the biggest pieces of the wreckage, moving out broken stone and whatnot, so that salvaging the finer pieces will be easier.  They’d ask where they’re supposed to move the large pieces of stone, but the two mortals didn’t seem to like them, so they just bring it to the side of the house.  Out of sight for the moment.

They start collecting pieces of broken artifacts, sorting them into different piles for reconstruction later.  They cut their fingers a few times and decide to wrap up their hands in gauze to spare the rest of their fingers from mutilation.

While they’re doing that, someone comes up behind them.

“Hi!”

Spirit jumps a full foot in the air and stumbles to regain their footing, nearly slipping on the dusty tile before steadying.  The gauze not yet secured sticks haphazardly to their sleeves, and they fidget with it as they turn around fully to see who it is that interrupted them.

It looks to be a girl around their age—a little younger, they think.  She’s got the same fine makeup as the two adults who Spirit wagers are her parents, though hers is made less refined in application, instead more youthful and in the form of self expression.  Her green varsity jacket fits in line with her parent’s outfit, green and gold, but the rest of her outfit is a bright white only seen in the marble of the home’s interior.

And then there’s the dragon blade, strapped to her back.  She seems comfortable with it there, which leads them to believe she’s the new wielder.  Which certainly gives her presence weight.  

Spirit lowers themselves to appear non threatening and demure, and they wave, awkwardly, before continuing to affix the gauze to their hands.

“Hello,” they reply. 

“I’m Long Xiaojiao.” The girl bows politely in response.  “But you can call me Mei.”

“Mei,” Spirit repeats, getting used to the word on their tongue, getting over the confusion of someone actually coming up to talk to them when they’re on a job.  “I’m, uh, Spirit.”

“Nice to meet you!” She smiles sunnily up at them.

Spirit stands and fidgets, a little, trying to figure out how to respond.  They don’t know how to interact with people much.  Interacting with Red is easy, they’ve known him for centuries, but with new people, it’s hard.  They’re terribly awkward, and they’re a monkey demon with three eyes.  It isn’t as if they can have conversations with mortals without that becoming a factor.

In fact.

“You know, I haven’t seen a monkey demon before.  Do you know the Monkey King?” she asks.

Spirit winces.  “No,” They respond, quietly.  “He-uh-from what I hear, he’s kind of a recluse, and I don’t interact with many monkey demons,” Spirit shrugs, trying for a smile.

Mei doesn’t seem perturbed by their lack of knowledge, shrugging nonchalantly right back, and Spirit relaxes a fraction.  Like with Pigsy, Mei doesn’t seem to have many expectations on Spirit’s behavior, or requirements of knowledge and or ability.  So far, anyway.

Then again, that could be because they know not to expect anything from Spirit.  Spirit is well known in the demon world to be as worthless as they are useful, and Mei is from a powerful family that Spirit has done favors for before.  The two of them probably knew of Spirit already.  That’s why they’re good at knowing that Spirit knows pretty little.

“Yeah, that’s fair.  My friend MK’s met him, since he’s his successor, but from what I hear from MK, Monkey King doesn’t talk to a lot of people.” She drops the information down in front of Spirit as if it isn’t a bombshell.

Spirit blinks a few times, trying to process the information.  Huh.  So, this girl knows the successor.  Interesting.

“MK?” they ask, curious.

Information is important.  If they perform a favor for Mei, that might get them an in with the successor, which means they’ll have something against the Monkey King and then they can be safe.

“Yup!” Mei whips out her phone, dragon phone case and everything, and shoves the screen up at Spirit, bright light pressing up towards their eyes.

Hand reaching toward their face, reaching digging scraping pain—

Spirit’s back hits the wall.  They don’t remember backing up, just like they don’t remember their breaths picking up, nor do they remember starting to shake.  Eyes wide, they glance around, until they lock eyes with Mei, whose phone is still held up in the air near where their face used to be.

“Oh,” Spirit murmurs, ears rising up from their previously downturned position.  “Sorry.”

Mei drops her arm, brow furrowed in concern.

“I, uh,” Spirit scrambles to explain, because they don’t want her to tell her parents that they’re easily startled, that they’re not good enough, because that could ruin their reputation, that could stop the favor from being kept, it could ruin everything.  “I don’t like.  Things thrown at my face.  Without warning.”

“Oh,” Mei says, softly, gently, glancing at Spirit with something softer and kinder than pity.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters again, standing up straight.  

They shuffle off, getting back to work at getting the many cracked artifacts off of the ground.  They don’t usually have visceral reactions like that around other people.  The last they can remember is when they were with Red.  He’d waved a hand too close and they’d jumped back.  He didn’t apologize, because Red hates admitting fault, but he did hover over them for a moment, as they regained their bearings.

Mei scuffs her boot on the tile, and then idles over.

“Nah, I get it,” she waves off the apology, though Spirit does question how she could possibly understand when they never told her why.  “Hey, do you have a phone?  I could send you the picture!”

Spirit turns to her, glancing down at the earnest smile on Mei’s face.

“I don’t know if my phone takes photos,” they reply, pulling out the brick of technology out of their pocket.

Mei’s face drops in shock at the sight of it, hands jumping up as if to snatch it from Spirit’s grip. They hand it to her instead, because Spirit can tell she wants to hold it, and Mei looks at it like one would the priceless artifacts shattered around the hall.

“This is...ancient,” she says, delicate, like she doesn’t want to insult them.  “It doesn’t even show emojis!”

“What’s an emoji?” Spirit asks.

Mei drops her face into her hands and groans, before perking back up.

“Can I upgrade it?” she nearly begs, eyes sparkling with excitement.  

Befuddled, Spirit doesn’t immediately agree.  Should they?  They already made Mei upset because they freaked out, it would be rude to deny her something that brings her joy, even if it could come at the expense of Spirit’s phone.

Even more confusing is that, rather than think them stupid for having an inferior product, Mei just wants to fix it up for them.

“Um,” they start, haltingly.  “I like that my phone’s pretty indestructible, and I’ve had it for a while.  Aren’t, um, newer phones more fragile?”

“Not when I make them,” comes Mei’s cheeky reply.  “I’ll even use the materials from this one as a base!  It’ll be the same, just better!  And I’ll be able to send you photos!”

She puts on what Spirit can tell are puppy dog eyes, and Spirit caves instantly.  Mei needn’t use those on them; Spirit knows they’re a pushover.

“Okay,” they acquiesce.

Mei cheers.

“Perfect!  I think I have a charm that will look nice on your phone, too, so I can give you that!” She rocks back and forth on her feet, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

Spirit smiles to themself, setting a collection of pieces on one of the pedestals spared of the destruction.  Tonight, they’ll have to get special glue somewhere to make the cracks nearly unnoticeable.  There’s a demon marketplace a few miles outside of town, so there will probably be some there.

They walk over to the other side of the hall, glancing over at Mei, who follows them.  She fiddles with her phone, and a cursory glance of her screen shows that she’s researching the model of Spirit’s phone for reference.  Huh.  Spirit didn’t know phones could do that.

Their eyes travel from Mei’s phone to the legendary blade on her back.

“You can wield the Jade Dragon Blade?” they ask, aiming for nonchalant and landing on incredulous.  They’re not a good actor.

Instead of puffing out her chest and acting proud, something Spirit would find more characteristic of Mei based on the twenty minutes they’ve spent around her, Mei hunches down a little, looking shy.

“Yeah, I just found out.  It’s, uh, pretty cool.” She shuffles her feet, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge her newfound importance.  “I was never really, uh, what was expected of by my family, so it’s kind of a surprise that I can use it.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Spirit knows.  High expectations for children of powerful families are to be, well, expected, but it doesn’t mean it’s pleasant.  Spirit doesn’t have to see the tired slump of Mei’s shoulders, with the weight of something wearier than just exhaustion, to know that.  They’ve known it since they saw the fervor and desperation Red worked, the way he swallowed hurt at dismissal.  

It’s a bit sad, they think, that they see it in Mei, too.

“I, uh, I know how to use a bunch of weapons,” They offer off handedly as they continue to work.  “I could teach you some things.  If you want?”

Macaque taught them to use a wide variety of weapons, before they settled on their combat sickles, so they know how to use general blades.  They aren’t a sword master, but they’re sure they could teach Mei the basics.

Mei perks up again.

“Really?  That’d be super helpful.  I think my parents kind of expect me to already know how to use a sword, since I can wield this one, and if I told them I don’t know they’d get me some stuffy tutor or something,” she rolls her eyes at the idea.  

“Once I’m done with this,” Spirit gestures the mess of the entrance hall.  “We could meet up somewhere to start?  Call it a favor.”

Spirit tries not to seem too excited, but opening up a new line of favors with someone is always a fun experience.  A new layer of safety, a new token, even.  If they’re lucky,  Either way, to have Mei’s name in their book would be awful nice.

Mei opens her mouth to accept, but the hard slap of heeled slippers against the marble floors makes them both freeze.

“Xiaojiao,” comes the cold voice of Mei’s mother.  “Spirit is here on a job.  Don’t talk to them.”

“But—”

“Either find someplace else to be or stay in your room.  Now,” Mei’s mother is unrelenting, eyes sharp.

Mei gives Spirit a commiserating smile, and then bounds down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Once she’s gone, Mei’s mother turns on Spirit, a snarl on her face.  Spirit knows the Long family is one of dragons, but maybe they might have forgotten just how protective dragons are of what is theirs.

“Never,” The voice is a hiss, and Spirit hunches down, curling in on themselves.  “Never talk to my daughter.  You keep away from her.”

Spirit trembles, and nods.  They didn’t want any trouble, really!  They just wanted to help.  And Mei owing them a favor means they could interact with her without being as scared as they are, in general.

But, then again, they suppose having a reputation like theirs does work against you.

They work until nightfall, managing to get most of the hard work done.  There’s still the matter of reconstructing artifacts, which means they need special glue.  So they depart late at night to the demon market a few miles out of town.

It’s more a flea market, not exactly as concrete as some of the other shopping centers Spirit has perused.  It’s actually kind of new, popping up because now that the Demon Bull Family is up and running, demons are crawling in droves to get a piece of the new economic boom.

They find a stand a half an hour into their walk that has the type of glue they need.

“Oh, well there’s a familiar face,” The shopkeep says when Spirit steps up to the stall.

Spirit tilts their head to the side, but doesn’t comment.  “I would like that glue, please,” They practiced saying it a few-fifty-times in their head before stepping up, so they would get it right. They point to the jar they want with a small smile on their face, to be pleasant.

“Alright,” The shopkeep, a fox demon by the ears and swishing tail, takes the jar and wraps it gently.

Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls out their coin purse, but when they do, the shopkeep laughs.

“No, no, your money is no good here,” The shopkeep says.  “Let me return a favor, to you.”

Spirit blinks a few times, but it isn’t a surprise.  People try and return favors all the time, as if they could ask for anything of Spirit and then return the favor on their terms.  Spirit may do anything for a favor, but they don’t let anyone decide when that favor is returned for a reason.

White splattered red, a smile made dull with crimson spilling over lips.  Returning the favor, returning the favor and dying and never coming back and it’s all your fault why didn’t you stop her—

They sigh, stand up straight, and put on the intimidating smile like Macaque taught them to.  Wide eyes but with a glow that is more a promise than an effect, and a grin with just enough teeth to show that it’s sharp.  It feels weird on their face, but it always works.

“No,” They respond, voice ever quiet.  “I’m the one who deals in favors.  I make the terms.  And I want to pay.”

The marketplace has gone silent.  The shopkeep is frozen in place.  Spirit smiles.

“A-Alright,” the shopkeep finally says, rattling off the total.  

Spirit blinks once, letting the glow in their eyes vanish.  Their shoulders fall as they fumble with their coin purse until they pull out the total.  The shopkeep hands them the bag, and Spirit waves cheerily, turning around and heading toward the exit of the market.

The demons in the market give them a wide berth, but Spirit prefers that.  They like their space.

The whole project for the Long family takes a total of three days, two of which are without sleep.  Spirit is used to not sleeping, whether it be from the usual nightmares or a lack of forethought to go to bed, and so they manage.  Being without sleep leaves them jittery and off kilter, but Mei has seemingly taken her mother’s warning to heart, and Spirit is undisturbed as they work.

They like reconstructing the artifacts.  The heads of the Long family tell them that the family can handle the actual reconstruction of the house, which is a relief considering Spirit knows very little about architecture.  Putting artifacts back together is just like putting together a puzzle, and Spirit loves a good puzzle.  Gets their brain working.

Macaque had puzzles, but his were always more...violent.  Spirit prefers these ones, with the artifacts and without danger.

When they’re done, they’re regarded with distaste but not disappointment, which is nice.  Spirit is pretty sure most people they do deals with don’t particularly like them, because no one likes owing people something.  That’s not Spirit’s problem though!  They always allow people to refuse, but people like convenience, and Spirit is malleable, quiet, unobtrusive, and generally willing to be used as any sort of tool.  They’re more an object than a person, on the job, and that’s good!  It means Spirit is good at whatever they need to be.

They almost forget that they’ve given Mei their phone, because they’re leaving the property when she shouts their name.

They jump a full foot in the air, turning around.

“Hey!” Mei comes sprinting across the courtyard, skidding to a stop in front of them.  “You almost forgot your phone!”

She holds it out, and it looks very little like what Spirit expects.  Gone is the black brick of an item, replaced with a wide, reinforced screen.  The case is sturdy, black with purple accents.  Spirit feels the familiar material in the black sections.  

There’s a little purple lotus charm dangling from one corner.

Spirit holds the phone gingerly, almost afraid they might break it.  They tap on the screen, and it glows!  Spirit taps it a few times, but nothing else happens.

“I have no idea how to use this,” they say, looking over at Mei with wide eyes.

Mei laughs, kind and not at all cruel, which is confusing in and of itself.  Spirit half expected her to think them stupid for not knowing.  But Mei directs Spirit to a stone bench by a pond in the gardens, and carefully explains how the touch screen works, and how to get into the different apps, like contacts and messages.

“I put my number in there,” Mei says, pointing out her contact.  “So that way we can text each other!”

“Oh,” Spirit stares, and then smiles, small and shy and pleased.  “That sounds nice.”

How often is it that someone wants to talk to Spirit?   How often is it that Spirit is told how to contact someone for fun?  For something besides work?  They can only recall Red bothering which is somewhat depressing, but it does nothing to stop the swell of elation that makes their hands shake with the desire to move, at the thought of a new friend.

But to flap their hands like that is childish behavior, so they grip their new phone tight instead.

That doesn’t stop their tail from wagging beneath the bench, though.

Once Mei is done teaching them the basics of modern phone technology, she stands, giving them a sheepish grin.

“I should get going.  If mom finds me here with you, she’ll get real cranky, again,” She smiles.  “Text you later?”

Spirit stands, and their shoulders don’t ache so much.  Subconsciously, they feel the wherewithal to stand tall, for the moment, when Mei gives them such a blinding grin.

“Yeah!

They send their first emoji to Red, a little purple heart and the message ‘Red!  I just learned what emojis are!  I hope you like this one!  From, Spirit.’

Red responds with a bunch of flame emojis, and a single red heart back, stuffed between the fires.  It makes Spirit giggle.  Has Red been sending little fires in every text?  It’s certainly on brand, though they feel it might be a little redundant.  Maybe it’s his theme?

They get a text from Mei.

‘Hey!  I got a race a couple of months from now.  Wanna come watch?  Call it a favor ;D!’

Spirit rocks back and forth on their feet excitedly.

‘Mei,

Sounds fun!  See you then :)

From,

Spirit.’

They add a little purple heart emoji to the end of the text, and receive a barrage of green ones in reply.

Spirit smiles.

[azuremallone]

Azure’s Corner

Welcome to yet another installment of an alien princess bitching about all of you fucking monkeys!

Have you ever sat down and asked why you chimps have such a lust for segregation, categorization, and dehumanization of each other based on completely broadly applied existential reasons? I bet the first thing to your mind is “THAT GROUP!” or “THAT GROUP!” Which, more than justifies my point here today. The answer is simple: Humans are predominantly retarded.

To be fair, however, the woman in the white cocktail dress knocking over the champaign glasses is something I’d do... and have done before.

This, I share, because there’s a difference of an accident and commonplace behavior. Humans instinctively categorize each other based on race, politics, religion, and more, only to assert dominance because they’re fucking monkeys. Monkeys are tribal and instinctively compete. My species is an Apex Predatory race that can look like most anyone else in the cosmos. We don’t have anything to segregate each other about. We live by a strict code of “I don’t give a fuck.” Our competition is with each other, just like you, but in the visage of making a name for ourselves.

One of my kind is known far and wide as a wonderful singer who has some rather distinct personal issues. He’s gone about from planet to planet making a name for himself, only to wind up fucking up all over again and having to move on to another world. He self-destructs on that world deliberately. Otherwise, they’d catch on that he’s not of their world or of their kind, and it gives him a chance to do it all over again, to prove he’s the best performer in the cosmos. You might have heard of him as Elvis.

You monkeys, you take everything too seriously. You don’t live for the moment. You live to one-up yourselves at the expense of another. When you can’t, you find something like their skin color, political bent, or something else to categorize each other into something easy to hate. That dehumanizes that box. And then when that box is full, you make another, and another. You then put all of those boxes into bigger boxes. That’s why I hate the term “let’s unpack this” because you’re talking about boxes full of fucking monkeys.

There’s a way out.

Take yourself aside. Look at yourself in the mirror. Imagine yourself as someone who represents something you hate. Seriously, I mean, really do it. How does that make you feel? I don’t mean casually do it. Seriously look into that mirror and into your own eyes, and don’t see yourself -- see the thing you hate represented. Once you feel that ping of hatred, take a deep breath and let it go. Now what do you see?

Unfortunately, your enlightenment will not communicate to the unenlightened. It’s a start, though. The thing about being a shapeshifter is that deep down inside, knowing who you are matters more than what you are. You can take on the dark and evil things that threaten others, but it’ll be more meaningful if you realize that the person isn’t the problem: It’s the idea that the person is the representation of the problem.

When you attack the person, they will defend themselves. When you attack their idea, they will defend themselves. You’re just perpetuating an idiotic sense of justification on their behalf. All you need to do is voice yourself, let others see who you are, and let them decide whether or not to follow you or their own convictions. Stop categorizing. Stop sorting each other out. You’re all the same species. Revel in the fact that no one, including me, is perfect. Learn to laugh and be more mindful about how you consume information to make rational decisions about your futures. Talk to each other and see each other as you’d see yourself in that person’s place. Treat each other as you’d like to be treated.

Now if you don’t mind, I have to continue unfucking the mess you chimps are making. I’d really prefer if you kept your minds focused on making technology so I can get off this rock, than your simpleton view of domination. It’s hard enough to keep all your cultures on the same page than dealing with the microcosms of petty ideological disagreements.

[comicaurora]

aaaa this is not technically a question, but I love how you draw fight scenes/action in both the comic and in all the legends/myths summarized videos!! It's so goodddd even tho you like to say how much you get tired of the process of choreographing fight scenes i think you really pull them off spectacularly!! do u perhaps have any tips... besides the usual looking at a bunch of refs and such- do you take inspo from action movies maybe? id love to know because like ur just so skilled red how

!!!! this is such a sweet question!

I’m so glad the choreography works! It’s difficult for me to gauge how engaging they are to read - I’m usually just focusing on making sure the movement makes sense from panel to panel. I’ve read a lot of manga where the fight scenes are beautifully drawn but frankly incomprehensible, because I have no idea how the characters are supposed to be moving in relation to each other. Because of this, when I choreograph a fight, I try and make sure the movement is clear from one panel to the next.

When drawing fight scenes for videos, I tend to exaggerate the movements a bit more than I might in a comic, since I’m usually trying to communicate the entirety of a fight scene in only one or two frames. Especially in the Journey to the West videos, I tend to give the characters very stretched poses - legs bent all the way up to the chest or stretched all the way back, arms completely extended, etc. In real life, overextending a limb is a very bad idea in a fight, but in the wonderful world of visual art, it usually looks a lot better than the more safe and realistic partially-bent option. I try to make sure the poses are all plausible, but for me, that stretch component is very important. It gives the illusion of effort - you can almost feel how the character would feel.

This frame demonstrates the stretch factor with Monkey’s entire pose, but it also demonstrates another important factor - flow. Anywhere there’s movement, I want there to be something flowing to show it. Monkey’s tail and sash and Tripitaka’s robes are very useful for this, and having a lot of characters with long hair or flowing capes also makes my job a lot easier.

Stretch makes the poses feel lively and full of movement. Flow makes it clear to the audience how the characters in this still image are supposed to be moving. Between those two factors, it becomes pretty intuitive to communicate a lot of energy in any given panel.

Of course, chaining panels together to make sure the movement is actually coherent is a different skillset altogether, and one I’m still working on. In my experience, the easiest way to make that work is coherent direction of movement.

This post is getting long, so I’m gonna try putting in a “read more”:

Using that fight scene as an example, the direction of movement shifts at the top of the page when Kendal rounds the tree. In the first panel, movement is from right to left. He pivots in panel 2, and then in panel 3, he’s abruptly attacked in a sudden burst of left-to-right movement. This is a new action; it’s fine that it’s moving in a new, opposed direction.

Kendal catches himself as he falls forward - this is still a left-to-right movement, because he’s still falling from the events of panel 3, so continuity of movement is to be expected. But the middle panel shifts focus again, because something new and unexpected is happening - his attacker is about to get kicked in the face.

In that center panel, the direction is no longer left-to-right - it’s out-to-in. We’re essentially zooming along the movement to accentuate its suddenness. Even if you can’t quite make out the detail of the boot, the movement is still pretty clear. The next panel brings us back to our familiar arrangement from panel 3, but this time, the movement has been reversed and is moving right-to-left again, as Kendal kicks back and gains the upper hand.

Finally, in the last panel of the page, the movement becomes a bit more directionless. His attacker is still moving right-to-left, continuing the flow from the impact, but the focus has shifted. The movement and overall flow is unclear, which reflects the fact that, at this point, the fight has become a stalemate.

Chaining movement together like this is tricky, as is representing clear movement in a single panel. You know it’s tricky because a lot of otherwise good media kinda sucks at it. For instance, I quite like My Hero Academia, but I’ve been keeping up with the manga for months and I have literally no idea what’s happening in these protracted superhero fights.

This next bit is going to contain spoilers from the most recent chapter, but it demonstrates my issue way too well for me to leave out:

This image has a clear direction of movement, but I have literally no idea what’s happening, except that someone might be about to get punched. (The next set of panels is not someone getting punched. It’s a flashback that lasts eight and a half pages.) The next panel that continues this action is this one:

It follows through on the clear right-to-left direction of movement established from the earlier panel, but it’s (a) still totally unclear what just actually happened, and (b) interrupted by eight and a half pages of other stuff. The panels individually look phenomenal (if a little speed-line-heavy for me) but it’s hard to know what’s actually happening. All we know is that movement happened; we can’t actually tell what happened in that movement.

In contrast, for a comic that does movement INCREDIBLY well, I recommend Usagi Yojimbo. It’s a comic about a wandering samurai who happens to be a rabbit, and all the Kurosawa-esque antics he gets into in his wanderings through ancient funny-animal Japan.

Uh oh! A setup for a fight scene! And that’s a lot of left-to-right movement I’m seeing! Even the swords in shot are all pointing that specific direction!

Oh, never mind. He’s fine. See all that right-to-left movement our hero is doing? See how the bad guys are suddenly pointing in all different directions and their movement has become chaotic and uncertain? That’s how you know the fight’s literally going our hero’s way.

This is a random encounter from a random issue of the comic. Fights happen frequently, and most of them follow the same structure - right down to the direction of movement. Bad guys move in from the left, good guy fights back from the right.

And when the fight proper starts, the background usually vanishes into a vague white void so the characters can take center stage - no visual cluttering, not even any speed lines.

These fights aren’t important. These random background mooks aren’t plot-relevant except as temporary roadblocks. As such, most of these fights play out roughly the same - no background, page-wide panels, minimal dialogue. But the serious fights? Those look pretty different.

Environmental shots! Close-ups! Banter! Backgrounds! The direction of movement is even reversed from the norm! This immediately sets the fight apart from the standard. Characters move around each other, the environment come into play, and each panel is a very clear beat in the progress of the fight.

Usagi Yojimbo is probably my favorite comic ever. But it’s also not the only very useful resource when you’re looking for media that does well-choreographed fights. Comics are good (even if a lot of them are just good bad examples), but animated media is built on a lot of the same principles as comic art. While they have an easier time showing movement (since they involve actual movement, rather than static images) they still need to chain shots together in a way that’s coherent and gives the audience enough information to understand the movement and progression of the situation. Movies and tv won’t help you much with drawing individual static images that communicate dynamic poses, but they can help a lot if you’re figuring out how one phrase of the fight should chain into the next.

While I’ve seen plenty of media that does this well, rather than making you analyze this stuff from the ground up, allow me to recommend a youtube channel that can do the analysis for you:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mACKHGfdLlo&ab_channel=JillBearup

Jill Bearup has a wonderful channel with a criminally small subscriber base. I only found her within the last month and I think she’s amazing. Everyone should watch her videos about fight choreography.

This answer got much longer than I expected, but I hope it was helpful!

[davidmann95]

Comics this week (5/12/2021)?

comics-and-videogames said: This week's comics (asking now cause it's around the time you said you'd have them if not disregard)

Anonymous said: Comics this week? (05/10/2021)

Just under the wire before the new batch:

Spider-Man: Spider’s Shadow #2: Not exactly another Life Story in the making, but this does seem to be the closest we’ll ever get to a Spider-Man Kills The Marvel Universe, and I don’t know that there’s any other team I’d trust more with that.

X-Corp #1: Wow, so it turns out it’s really hard to do what Hickman does if you’re not Hickman, huh. Frankly this kinda sucked all on its own merits, but no overlooking the disparity.

Guardians of the Galaxy #14: Oh my god we already knew Ewing writes peak Doom shit but guys this is SUCH peak Doom shit.

Heroes Reborn: Hyperion & The Imperial Guard #1: Not quite as good as it was clever, but still a solidly fun little jaunt and I’ll keep an eye open for Ryan Cady’s name in the future.

Heroes Reborn #2: Aaron’s “it’s dumb and bad but I like it” Avengers approach applied to writing the high-concept adventures of dickhead Superman? You know I was all about this.

Project Patron #2: Not as propulsive as the first issue, but still a really solid read and setting up exciting things to come.

Proctor Valley Road #3: Still pretty good but I am completely thrown by how quickly and entirely Morrison abandoned the relative realism they were handling the dialogue with in the first issue.

Ice Cream Man #24: It’s a familiar schtick at this point, but still a good one.

Barbalien: Red Planet: I’d been hearing effusive praise about this mini for as long as it was coming out and was looking forward to it finally arriving in trade, and I can’t say I was disappointed. Obviously it looks good as hell with Gabriel Walta drawing it, and Tate Brombal does some really good “superhero as metaphor” work by having the layer of fantasy not over the subject itself - in this case the AIDS crisis and cop violence against the queer community - but how the central figure engages with it. An easy recommendation if you might otherwise be on the fence.

DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1: Aside from the eponymous ‘Festival of Heroes’ entry everything in here ranges from solid to really good, definitely among the winners of DC’s anthologies over the past few years and I’m looking forward to the apparent Monkey Prince book in the works.

Superman #31: The substitution of Godlewski with Norm Rapmund threw me in a way that artistic switches rarely do, but this is still a really solid issue and I’m kicking myself for only just now realizing the metaphor with a story about Clark and Jon struggling with legacy having them literally fight a gigantic shadow that makes vessels of whoever it’s cast upon. These Tales of Metropolis backups though...folks, I stood up for Sean Lewis with his Future State work, but it’s starting to look like we may have dodged a bullet that he didn’t get a more prominent place in the line.

Wonder Woman #772: Continuing to really dig this! Just don’t understand how this team’s Future State story sucked so bad, because this has been a hoot and now it’s grappling with larger ideas regarding Diana really well. Hope it continues on this trajectory, for now just happy that we’re finally getting fun Wonder Woman comics.

RWBY/Justice League (digital) #9: So it IS multiverse-related, which makes me much more curious how this is going to end up. Glad the next installment will apparently be the ‘everybody sits down and talks’ material that’s all I’ve really wanted from this story since it was announced.

Justice League: Last Ride #1: Not all you want it to be, but in ways I’m not sure can really be called its fault? It was written and formatted as a digital-first book but for some reason didn’t end up one so it stutters awkwardly back to life after a clean breaking point halfway through, and with all due respect to Miguel Mendonca who does a fine job here, if you’re doing a prestige-ey continuity-free kinda grungy Final Justice League Story mini and have Darick Roberson on the covers, it’s gonna be frustrating to not also have him on the interiors. It’s still a solid read and Zdarsky clearly gets Clark in particular in a big way, it’s just hard thus far not to imagine a better version of it.

Batman: Urban Legends #3: Zdarsky writes such a good Batman, god. The Shiva story was decent, I’m hoping the presumed upcoming Brandon Thomas Outsiders book is more of a piece with his Future State feature for them than this, and the Grifter stuff is still decent trashy fun.

The Joker #3: Still a great Gordon book, but arguably more importantly given the title this is the first time Tynion’s done a truly great Joker moment.

Rorschach #8: A book I continue to like.

[siverwrites]

Trick or Treat Letter 2021

AO3: Siver

Thank you for taking this on! Here there are some general prompt details if you want them and if you already have some idea of your own, awesome. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.

Note sometimes I have some specific prompts for some characters while other don’t. This has nothing to do with priority or preferences. They’re just ones I happened to some specific thoughts for. Of course they’re only ideas and you’re free to ignore them!

All requests are for fic or art.

Art: Interactions of some sort: emoting at each other, talking, sharing some activity, taking a walk, hugs are always welcome, soft things, whatever suits the pair/group. I’d much prefer the character(s) doing something over just standing around looking cool.

Likes: fluff, hurt/comfort, found family, sickfic, fandom crossovers or fusions between requested fandoms, angst with a happy or at least bittersweet end, bonding, cuddling/hugs/holding, banter, mutual care and support, loyalty, pre-canon, post-canon, missing scenes, slice of life, supernatural stuff, mystery, adventure, world-building, creepy or unsettling atmospheres

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Any combination of character tags within each fandom is cool. I have specfic pairs and groups listed at points but those are only for ideas. Heck, any crossover/fusion between any of these fandoms is welcome too, go nuts.

For treats: you can’t go wrong with fluff! Friendship, familial bonds, found family, romance for the few ship possibilities listed here.

For tricks: I like it atmospheric. Unsettling atmospheres. Unresolved mystery. Making use of the stranger environments canon may already provide. The surreal. The strange. The supernatural. Much prefer a subtler creepy factor over ‘jump scares’ and gore.

Ghost Trick

Alma

Cabanela

Jowd

Sissel

Kamila

Lynne

Missile

Pigeon Man

Lovey-Dove

Mino

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Ships I’m good with: Alma/Jowd/Cabanela, Alma/Jowd, Cabanela/Jowd (where the focus is there but without infidelity to Alma), Alma/Cabanela (again no infidelity just where the focus is)

I love this game, its characters and pretty much everything about it, so whatever you want to do will be great I’m sure. New timeline mysteries and missing memories are always welcome where it makes sense. Alternate timelines and what-ifs are cool to explore. Fluff, comfort, family found or otherwise and friendships are always a go. Spooky ghost shenanigans, mysteries in the night.

Any combination of these characters is more than welcome too!

Any combination of Jowd/Cabanela/Alma or Jowd & Cabanela & Alma is always welcome.

Always down for various combinations of Pigeon Man with Cabanela, Jowd and/or Kamila. Or PM with someone less expected like Alma! Or Sissel! Or Missile! The Jowd family expands and you cannot escape. In other words found family with Lynne or with Pigeon Man (or both of course).

Animal shenanigans on their own or with each other and fluff is great.

Sissel settling into the Jowd household and the shenanigans that ensue from having a ghost-powered cat.

Mino: What is Mino? Who is Mino? This is trick or treat, go weird, have fun.

Alma: We just need more of our girl honestly. Sweet relationship or family stuff. Go supernatural and consider Alma ghost either during game or temporarily post-game before being rescued by Sissel (Maybe helping Sissel save herself in that situation?)

--

Final Fantasy VI

Celes

Sabin

Chocobos

Valigarmanda

Mog

Phantom Train

Gogo

Relm

Interceptor

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore beyond canon typical, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), Gogo as Daryl, non-canonical permanent character death

Valigarmanda: I just want to know more about them (she? he? your pronoun of choice). What led to them frozen in Narshe? Do they still hold some form of awareness in that state? Do the moogles look after at all? Some form of communication between them? How did they feel joining the party as magicite? What exactly took place between them and Terra? So many possibilities or something else entirely.

Mog: I just like moogles okay. Throw him at anyone here in the above list and see what happens. Or a moogle adventure in Narshe or elsewhere. Sky's the limit, dance's the limit?

Chocobos: I just like chocobos okay. Throw one or more at anyone here in the above list and see what happens. If you want something more specific I will never have enough serpent trench travel with Sabin and Celes in the World of Ruin. Give them chocobos and off they go. Figaro chocobos are also good. Chocobo anything.

Phantom Train: I have no particular thoughts here but what better exchange than Trick or Treat for the Phantom Train itself? Exploring more about it whether it's just it or throw characters at it. All cool.

Celes and Sabin: as stated I'm an absolute sucker for world of ruin travel with these two and anything more is good. That said if you want to focus on just one of them or one of them with someone else that's great too. I've only lumped them together for sake of convenience. Sabin in Figaro? Sabin with another here? Celes travels in the saved world?

Interceptor: Does he interact much with any of the rest of the party? Or... dog and chocobo... Or just you know can't go wrong with Interceptor and Relm things ever

Relm: Any interaction with anyone here. Leaning on her Sketch ability would be cool. Mimic paint off with Gogo?

Gogo: Gogo's just neat. More of them good.

--

Carto

Carto

Carto's Puppy

Granny Maldpo

Shianan

Shianan's Puppy

Storytender

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

I just want to see a little more of these characters and this world. The game was so cute and neat. More travel or stories or some sort of cute moment with Carto and Maldpo, and puppy if post-game, on their airship! Granny Maldpo is so cool! Explorer pilot grandma hell yeah! A little adventure for her? More exploration of Shianan (and her puppy!)? A reunion with Carto again?

The story chalet was also just really neat so doing more with it and the Storytender is absolutely welcome. What does an average day for him look like in an ever-changeable library with books writing themselves?

--

The Last Guardian

The Boy

Trico

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Give me all the cat-dog-bird fluff/shenanigans/playfulness/warmth/coziness. Anything while they’re together. Barrel feeding, snuggle time, riding, flying. Sweet or silly (Trico has his moments for sure) or something else. I adore Trico. I adore the boy and Trico’s companionship.

Alternatively something in the future. The boy grown up reuniting with Trico. A flight with Trico. A temporary willing return to the nest. Meeting Trico babies!

--

Metroid

Samus

Chozo

Baby Metroid

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore beyond canon typical, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), reliance on manga knowledge, spoilers for Metroid Dread, non-canonical permanent character death

While I don't have anything particular in mind here, I'm all about the mood for Metroid and would appreciate really leaning on the atmosphere and environmental aspects--either more lush areas (eg Brinstar, Tallon IV landing area) but still isolating, or the darker more tense places. I'm particularly fond of Super Metroid and Metriod Prime.

Any singular focus on one of the above three or some combo is good.

Regarding the manga: I know next to nothing about it, so light referencing without needed knowledge is fine; anything deeper than that please avoid?

--

Monkey Island

Guybrush Threepwood

Elaine Marley

Murray

El Pollo Diablo

Feral Chickens

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), Escape from Monkey Island, angst, non-canonical permanent character death

Silly pirate-y shenanigans. Guybrush and Elaine team-up on something actually in one place? Any interactions with Murray are always a treat and we’ve never gotten to see those with Elaine in the mix.

Explore the legend of El Pollo Diablo in some way. What do the chickens get up to now they roam free across Puerto Pollo? What oh-so-nefarious schemes is Murray up to now? A feral chicken demonic skull team-up?? I mean, that’s kinda close to El Pollo Diablo right???

This is coming off as Curse of Monkey Island-centric (it is my favourite) but it doesn’t have to be. It’s just because of the chickens… and Murray. But mainly chickens. Anytime from the previous games, or future or off to the side is good too.

--

Bug Fables

Kabbu

Leif

Vi

Chompy

Elizant II

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

I love the group dynamics! Party fun times while they’re travelling would be good. Really interested in more with Leif’s situation because that is a Lot and open to more introspection and dealing–Kabbu support go? Attempted Vi support go? Chompy being the best plant she can be? Snuggle that plant during hard times?

Exploring that lab more and cordyceps is welcome for the creepier end of things. Same with the Giant’s Lair and what IS that giant eye?

There’s also an interesting connection between Elizant II and Leif I’d be interested in seeing more. Leif’s out of his time but holds memories of Elizant I. Elizant II is a more direct connection he’s otherwise lacking and it’s nice to see how his opinion of her shifts and grows as she grows.

--

The Legend of Heroes

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), spoilers for Hajimari or Kuro, Agate/Tita, Olivier/Schera, non-canonical permanent character death

Trails in the Sky

Estelle Bright

Cassius Bright

Lena Bright

Kloe Rinz

Alicia von Auslese

Celeste D. Auslese

Olivier Lenheim

Mueller Vander

Ragnard

Any combination of any of these characters could lead to interesting things. Some combo ideas:

In Phantasma, Kloe and Celeste talk... Estelle, Olivier or Mueller could be interesting too though... Or simply more about Celeste and the Hermit's Garden by herself.

Bright family time will always be welcome. And more love for Lena. Kloe and Estelle sister/best friend time.

Kloe and Olivier have a lot of potential for interesting interaction in how they parallel each other but are so wildly different at the same time. Kloe and Alicia family time!

Olivier & Cassius: I’m just really interested to see more interaction between these two whether while they’re still planning or something before Olivier goes back to Erebonia after Sky SC. Cassius can’t help himself when it comes to giving advice…

Olivier & Alicia: Royalty matters, knowing who Olivier actually is. Last meetings before he goes back to Erebonia?

Olivier&/Mueller stuff is all good

Ragnard: cool dragon is cool. Either something about him individually in the past? Or what he's up to now? A look at interaction between him and Cassius? Ragnard and Auslese (any of them)...?

Crossbell

Lloyd Bannings

Randy Orlando

Tio Plato

Elie MacDowell

KeA Bannings

Alex Dudley

Zeit

Sergei Lou

No ships here please.

Bonding and found family is the name of the game here! Tio and Zeit spending time together. Lloyd and Randy having bro time or Lloyd trying to remind Randy that he does indeed belong with SSS. KeA and “Uncle” Sergei time! What might they do together, or what does KeA get Sergei to do with her? Lloyd and KeA spending time together, Lloyd spoiling KeA, KeA being a comfort to Lloyd. KeA turning on the charm on Dudley. Dudley and Sergei interaction. Any combination of any of the SSS related characters is great if you want a bigger SSS gathering. I love them all.

Anything exploring KeA's powers is very cool too.

Trails of Cold Steel

Alfin Reise Arnor

Priscilla Reise Arnor

Olivier Leheim | Olivert Reise Arnor

Mueller Vander

Valimar

Mint

Alfin, Olivier, Priscilla: The Arnors have it rough dammit. Some soft moment for any combo of these three? Reunions after Olivier comes back and isn’t dead? We were deprived! Entertaining sibling times. A Priscilla bonding moment with Olivier when he was still getting used to living in the palace. And of course individually they’re interesting in their own roles and I’m always down for more.

Mueller: Of course anything with Olivier is good in my books. I’m running under the assumption that since he shows up with Olivier in the triumphant not-dead return, that he wound up at Valleria while Olivier recovered and I would be very soft for any moment taking placing during that time period. But when it comes to those two sky’s the limit. I’m good with platonic or ship. Mueller having some interaction with either Priscilla or Alfin would be great too!

Valimar: Given his history and knowledge it’d be interesting to see a conversation with Olivier or Alfin given also their family name Cedric’s positioning and, well, all the history there. Alternatively I love his interactions with Mint and how respectful of her he is, so anything between those two yes please. Or just something exploring him by himself in some way would be cool too.

Mint: I’m particularly interested in her during CS III and IV times and with Valimar as above. However, any Mint shenanigans is a fun time. She’s doing her best!

[nelllraiser]

hey there demons it’s me, ya boi | connor & nell

TIMING: present. LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @connorspiracy and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: connor meets with nell for some demon talk, but gets a little more than was expected.

Ever since the coven had excommunicated Nell and her sisters, she saw no particular reason to be as secretive about her dealings with demons as she once had been. Of course, she wasn’t going to shout it from the mountaintops, but if someone was already in on the supernatural and wasn’t a threat, the witch saw no need to hide her knowledge. Who knew, maybe if more people knew about her familiarity with demons, less of them would mess with her and her family. As for Connor, she didn’t see any harm in discussing demons with an exorcist. Besides, it’d be interesting to see if he had any things to share of his own. She’d met the young man at the perimeter of the property, knowing that the reanimated corpse that Bea brought to life wouldn’t be happy if an unknown person entered the premises without the escort of a Vural. “Hey!” she waved an arm in greeting, waiting to lead Connor towards her greenhouse. “Are you ready to see the lair of demons?” Her tone was joking, obviously having nothing of the sort. Well...she supposed Greg’s doghouse might be considered a lair, but there was only one demon in there. Not demons, plural.

Connor followed the directions to Nell’s home, examining it from the outside. It was nice. Spacious, modern but with a woodsy kind of feel, well-maintained. He parked his car at the front, following her inside. “Lair of demons. Great band name,” he teased with a crooked smirk, following her to the greenhouse. “You know I feel like, as an exorcist, I’m supposed to be super against this, but I have loads to learn about demonology still…” Connor was no stranger to doing things he wasn’t exactly supposed to. The whole concept of a YouTube exorcist was enough to put the community on-edge. Might as well go and talk to the girl who kept demons in her back garden. “So is it like a butterfly room, but a greenhouse full of demons?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I’ve got dibs on it,” Nell instantly teased back with her own smirk-like grin. “I’m glad you found the place, though.” Sometimes it was hard for people to navigate the Outskirts, especially if they weren’t White Crest natives. “I mean, you can make your own rules, can’t you?” There was an air of levity to the words, as if she may or may not be serious on the matter. But in the end, who was to say what the rules were for magic? Ghost or otherwise? Her newly estranged coven had tried their hand at that, and failed spectacularly in her eyes. “And it’s always good to have the knowledge, isn’t it? But you said you’ve met a couple demons or so?” she asked as she swung open the door of the greenhouse, it opening to her specific touch on the door handle. As they entered, the plants were as ordinary as any other greenhouse, flowering and flourishing in abundance. It was only as you went deeper that more supernatural things began to pop up. “Oh yeah, this is where I keep all the flying ones,” she joked easily, wondering how much he might believe such a claim.

“You can keep it,” he snickered. Connor had his brand name anyway. The dumb name he’d come up with for his youtube account when he was a teenager. It was a little silly, but he liked it. He could feel the magic in the air around them. There was something intangible about the place, something in addition to the actual, physical demons. He turned his head as a lanky old man with grey skin and dead eyes walked past, not even looking at him. He stared curiously as the man walked away, doing slow laps around the house. “Flying monkeys, like the Wizard of Oz?” Now that would be something. “I mean, I specialise in ghosts. I’ve met a demon or two though.” Like, the total beginner versions, but there was no need to advertise that fact. “What are you, some kind of demonologist?” 

“Good, because I would have kicked your butt for it,” Nell continued to joke, no actual threat in her tone and voice. As Bea’s reanimated corpse, Corpsey, walked by— Nell tried to pay him no mind. Maybe if she didn’t say anything about him, Connor wouldn’t either. After all, she hadn’t expressly told him that she was a witch. Of course, all the demon talk wasn’t exactly something that spoke of a regular human, and her familiar in the form of an Ovinikk named Taki letting himself into the greenhouse wasn’t exactly...normal cat behaviour. But she was happy to ignore that all for the moment. Still, she couldn’t resist poking some fun within the confines of his Wizard of Oz analogy. “Exactly like the Wizard of Oz. I’m actually the Wicked Witch of the West. My green skin’s just hidden under some body paint at the moment. Don’t look at me too closely,” she teased. “But okay, what kinds of demons?” As for whether or not she was a demonologist… Nell shrugged as a part of her answer. “I just know a lot about demons is all.”

Kicking Connor’s butt wouldn’t have been hard. He preferred to talk his way out of situations, but he opted not to say anything about it, his eyes instead following the wrinkly-skinned old man as he walked the perimeter of the property. “Oh, um…” He took a moment to answer her question, having to tear his eyes away from the corpse-man and the weird cat. “A few basic ones. Bannik, Badalisc, Alp, and then just the basic non-specific kind, but not that powerful.” Since she’d asked a more leading question, he wasn’t going to outright lie about his prowess. In the days of pulling receipts, he knew it would just bite him in the arse later. “You have a dog?” he asked, eyes drawn to the kennel. “Can I pet him?”

Nell tried to keep her expression neutral as she did her best to mentally shoo Corpsey away. Get out of here, old man! Go be a knock off zombie somewhere else! Of course, it was no use. He couldn’t hear her, and even if he could, he wouldn’t care. After all, since Bea was the one who raised him, she was the one he took orders from. She had to tell Connor something, though. The walking corpse could possibly pass a human, but there was certainly something...off about him to the naked eye. “Oh, don’t worry about him- that’s just Uncle…” Uncle who? “-Cory.” Cory and Corpsey. Good enough. “He’s harmless, but nosy. Probably just wondering why I invited a guy into the greenhouse. He’s a little overprotective,” she added with a light chuckle, and the slightest air of flirtation. Maybe that’d be enough to distract Connor. “But nice! Thankfully those guys don’t usually cause actual death. Were you here when giant Cthulhu Squidward wanted to make the town his own personal Hellscape, though?” She followed his gaze towards Greg’s wooden and spacious doghouse that was just a stone’s throw outside her greenhouse. “Uhhhhh,” she hesitated, deciding how much she should tell Connor. “Well that is actually home to one of the demons,” she finished with a chuckle, figuring telling him about Greg couldn’t hurt. “He prefers eating hands over being pet by them in the beginning.”

“Right,” Connor answered skeptically. “Uncle Cory.” Sure. Why not? Didn’t they all have uncles with grey, decaying skin who walked around in a daze? He gave a lighthearted snicker at her excuse, flashing her a grin. “What, so you don’t normally invite blokes over to the greenhouse? Should I be flattered?” As an exorcist, he was distrusting of demons, but not fully experienced enough to have seen the extent of the horror they could bring. Probably why he was not only inquisitive and curious about Nell’s life, but actually having fun. “No, I missed Squid-thing, and lobster-thing, and fish-rain thing. From what I know about this place though, it’s not long before something else crazy happens.” His gaze was still longingly on the kennel. “A demon dog?!” He was heartbroken. “So… no petting? That’s just cruel.” 

“Exactly,” Nell replied brightly, trying to continue down the road of innocence as Connor repeated the name. It didn’t seem like he really bought it, but at least her attempts to draw his attention away from the corpse with a bit of a flirt seemed to be doing something. “I don’t know,” she teased back with her head coquettishly tilted to the side, a small smirk on her lips. “Do you want to be flattered?” So he hadn’t been here for the squid demon. That was probably for the best. After all, it hadn’t exactly been a fun time. “Damn, you really missed out. There was calamari for days by the end of it.” It was true what he said about White Crest, though. There was always something going on in the not-so-sleepy town. It was endearing how excited he seemed by the prospect of a demon dog, though. “Well...petting Greg probably isn’t the best idea just yet. But I have a different demon dog you could pet.” She rolled up one of her sleeves, revealing both the mottled, patchwork scars that covered the entirety of her arms as well as one of her sigil tattoos.

“I’m always flattered when I get compliments from a pretty girl,” Connor answered, his dumb, innocent charm somehow managing to make the line not entirely cringe-worthy. “Especially when she shows me her demons.” He scrunched up his face at the thought of the sky fish falling down around them. “Don’t reckon I’d want to eat that kind of calamari, or giant horse-sized lobster that tried to kill me, although, that would be a pretty sweet victory feast,” he teased. His eyes widened like a kid at Disneyland as the mentioned another demon dog. “Really? Where?” She started to pull up her sleeves. Oh no. It better not have been burned into her flesh or a Quirrel-Voldemort situation. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she was drawing attention to her tattoo. “What does that do? It looks mystical.”  

The corners of Nell’s lips turned upwards in the beginnings of a smirk, amused that he’d somehow managed to pull off the line. “Well it looks like you’re on track for possibly getting more with an attitude like that. Careful though- I might think you’re just using me for my demons,” she finished playfully. A small chuckle was pulled from her before she moved on to talk of meals that may or may not have once tried to kill her and the inhabitants of the town. “That’s the point! It’s the best victory feast! What’s that line about revenge being a dish best served cold? This is revenge literally served as a dish.” Should she tell him about the magic now? Or just let him figure it out himself when three fully grown hellhounds sprang from her arm? The latter definitely had a larger possibility of having some laugh factor, so she opted for that. “It’s a sigil,” she replied with a twinkle in the corner of her eye. Then she was biting her thumb until it bled, and swiping it over the tattoo along with a few muttered words of Latin. Almost instantly, the three demon dogs formed from the magic, excited to have been Summoned.

Connor gave a little laugh. Nell was proving to be pretty good company. “Using you? Not at all. In fact I’d probably get a good belting from most other exorcists for not expelling them back to hell or whatever.” He waved his hands in a playful spooky motion as he spoke. “Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t trust food that falls out of the sky.” His eyes widened as she bit down on her thumb, but he knew better than most that some rituals required blood. He usually just used a small knife rather than his teeth, though. He kept his eyes on her, watching carefully, and when the hounds appeared, he yelped, almost tripping over a watering can and some potted plants in his rush to get out of the way. This was it. This was how he died; mauled to death by hell-dogs in a greenhouse. 

The coy air that Nell had been employing continued to hang around her as she gave the young man in front of her a sly smile. “Wow- you’re really putting yourself out there for me, aren’t you?” The words had an underlying tone of sarcasm as a means of teasing, knowing full well it wasn’t for her benefit. Then she shifted back into a more informative mode. “Yeah, some people call it hell. It’s sort of like...its own separate dimension for them. Like another world you can just yoink them from or yeet them back to. I can’t believe you’re so unwilling to live on life’s edge when it comes to sky food, though.” Had she eaten anything that came from the sky? Definitely not. But it was fun to joke about. The first thing the witch registered was some of her plants almost getting trampled, and a frown was quick to her lips. “Watch out!” she chastised disapprovingly. But then she noticed just how alarmed Connor was, and her hands were quick to come up in a calming motion. “Hey- hey! It’s alright! They’re not gonna hurt you!” As if to prove a point, the friendliest of the hounds, Scooby, padded forwards- considering Connor with a slightly cocked head, ears perked in his direction. “He’ll let you pet him, if you want.” 

Connor didn’t scare easily. It was kind of a necessity to have a thick skin when you dealt with demons and spirits almost every day, but bloody hell, Nell had managed to scare the life out of him. “You’re lucky I’m wearing dark trousers,” he teased, finally letting himself laugh as the air seemed to return to his lungs. Now that he knew they weren’t about to play with him like a chew toy, they were actually kind of… cute. “Aw.” He approached, cautiously, hand outstretched. “Hello…” He’d definitely rather be petting a golden retriever, but this was good too. “Where did you get them? How does it work?” He cocked his head, looking over at her tattoo. “You owe me a really good story for almost making me shit my pants. Maybe even a drink. Or some dinner.” He smiled at her coyly. 

Nell snickered a little at the mention of his trousers before saying, “Aww- was the big, bad exorcist a little frightened? Maybe my uncle was wrong to be worried about you in the greenhouse.” The words were meant in good fun, just as the rest of her teases had been. As Connor offered a hand, Scooby sniffed at it and eagerly nosed pressed to the palm of his hand as he searched the young man. “He’s looking for treats,” Nell clarified in a gentler voice, one that was generally reserved for the creatures she worked with. “There’s a jar next to you with some bits of meat in it if you wanna give them to him.” She wouldn’t say exactly what kind of meat it was. “I first Summoned Scooby- the one sniffing you- when I was sixteen. You know- with magic. He wasn’t nearly as wanting to be friendly back then but- he got used to me after I worked with him a lot. Then he brought his brothers along one day,” she said gesturing to the other two hounds. “This one’s Shaggy,” she said, pointing to the largest of the lot who was beginning to approach Connor as well, “and this is Scrappy.” The last of the hounds was positioned quite seriously next to Nell, considering the exorcist with an eye that seemed to be deciding whether he’d be a nice snack or not. In a moment her own flirting grin was back on her lips. “Well seeing as it wasn’t that great of a story…” she started, as if she were mulling the thought over. “I could maybe find the time for a drink.”

“I’ll have you know I’m neither big nor bad,” Connor chuckled, self-deprecating. Five-foot-eight accompanied by a slight build and a baby face didn’t exactly strike fear into most people’s hearts. The posh accent and floppy hair, neither. He tried not to piss himself while the hound sniffed at him, and followed Nell’s instructions, tossing him some treats, which got the others pretty interested in Connor too. “I knew there were witches and warlocks and stuff, but I’ve never seen one with… this.” He gestured to the creatures around them, and Uncle Corpsy as he made another pass around the greenhouse. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that this kind of power was both intriguing and attractive. “Well then, love, name the time and place.” 

A chuckle fell from Nell as Connor joked at his own expense, and she could appreciate his ability to not take himself too seriously. “My mistake, I guess you just look taller in your videos,” she decided to poke a bit more fun at him. She hadn’t seen tons of them, but after he’d shown her his YouTube channel she’d been curious enough to watch some of the videos. They were interesting to say the least, especially since she didn’t know all that much about spirits or ghosts. Shaggy and Scooby were all too ready to accept treats from Connor, but Nell made sure that Scrappy stayed alongside her, scooping up some separate treats for the smallest of the hellhounds. He was generally the most aggressive, and she wasn’t keen on taking any chances at the moment. Her lips twitched into another smile as he mentioned witches, and nodded in confirmation of that word. “To be fair...Uncle Corbin isn’t mine.” The words were colored with amusement. Apparently the ‘uncle’ ruse hadn’t stuck. But she wouldn’t openly out her sisters that also lived here as witches. Most people simply assumed that the three of them were after finding out that one was a witch, but that was Bea’s and Luce’s business. But a time and place? The words made it sound like more of an actual date to Nell, and she wasn’t sure she wanted one of those. But she was probably overthinking it, and went with the first words out of her mouth. “Dell’s is always good. Or- actually, have you been to The Seven Selkies, yet? It’s got a fun supernatural crowd.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Hard to tell how tall someone is when they’re in frame by themselves,” Connor snickered, pulling out his vape (probably bad form to smoke actual cigarettes in someone’s greenhouse). He gave her the kind of smile that said he didn’t exactly believe her when she talked about Uncle Corbin, but he wasn’t going to directly challenge her on it. “The Seven Selkies sounds great.” 

[0poole]

Bloons

Honestly the entire Bloons series has been some of my favorite flash/other-than-flash games out there, and I feel like it’s worth bringing it up since I just crossed the 365 day threshold for BTD6. Maybe in the past, but nowadays I definitely don’t feel like I ever play a game daily for a year straight. Chances are it was a little desperate when I first started playing, but as of now literally every single day I open the game up and play the daily challenge just for the sake of it. Plus, since the chest technically resets every 9 hours or so instead of 24, I could’ve cheesed it a bit, but I didn’t. That’s a pure 365 days of playing the game.

And even apart from that, the entire Bloons series has been in my mind since the first one and my middle/elementary school Coolmath Games days. Even though the puzzle, pure form of Bloons wasn’t as much in my interest, the staying power of the Tower Defense version is crazy. Flash Tower Defense games are plenty, and yet the one with the stupid monkeys throwing darts at balloons was the best.

I went back semi-recently and played a round of each BTD, and I gotta say, it was fun seeing where everything came from. 1 is absolute garbage, forcing you to just spam Super Monkeys if you want to get anywhere, but a good starting point obviously. I honestly know nothing about the people creating these games, but obviously it wasn’t made by a AAA crew, so you can’t expect everything to be put in place in the first iteration. 2 and 3 feel much better, but obviously not much after being so used to the modern stuff, and 4 and 5 are the ones that really shine the most, apart from 6 obviously.

I definitely was one of the types of people who initially reacted poorly to the artstyle change of 5 and 6, but I’ve definitely turned over. I don’t know if the whole BTD community rioted at that point, but I at least was like “ew, they’re cute now” when I first saw it. Thankfully I turned over, and realized the current designs are the absolute best out of the entire franchise. Also, I love their cuteness, as I love cuteness in general, so basically just call it character growth. Even though 2D art always is more interesting for games than 3D in general, the entire art direction of 6 is genuinely really good, being so bright and cartoony (at least before the fifth stages of upgrades) really fits the cartoony idea of monkeys popping bloons. 5, and the entire franchise before it, really is proof enough how horrible a pure top-down perspective is. On the title screen, you can see what the monkeys are supposed to look like, but in-game they literally look like weird blobby scorpions. Even though in the back of my mind I knew what they were supposed to look like, the pure top-down perspective completely ruined the image. Not to mention the OG designs for the monkeys was really weird and bad anyway. Even if you wanted a goofy fat kind of monkey, there are a million better ways to achieve that than how it used to be. Again, of course, they weren’t exactly AAA game-level quality, so you can’t expect such perfect character design.

But, oh my god. One of the things about this game that must’ve kept me through 6 was the character designs. If you know anything about me, it’s that I love a good character design, and 6 is full of them. It’s so interesting to see how they extrapolate the main concepts of each tower into their three different paths. The generic Superman-based monkey can turn into a Batman-based monkey, a Terminator-based monkey, and a fucking ancient god of the sun. The seemingly chill Druid can smite people with the power of Zeus, become the much more expected forest-based type, but also turn into this completely out-there being of pure wrath. I could go on and on about that, but needless to say for so many of them look and are designed so great. I think the tower with the coolest level 5s of the game is the Ninja. It’s hard to explain, but they all just look really cool while also not deviating too much from the cartoony-cute art style. I think my all-time favorite level 5 is the top path of the Wizard, mostly just because he looks really cool, but also because the parts of the path before it show him aging and growing out his beard. I also have to say the 2-0-3/4 Wizard also looks exactly my style, with the dark purply-ness and gold rims. Also, if you haven’t noticed, the Magic monkeys are my favorite type, and not just because their signature color is purple. That’s part of it though. Magic is also just cool in general. My main RPG-class of choice is almost always a mage/wizard.

Also, the heroes are also really fun. As someone who often creates species of aliens/monsters, I always feel like I want to create a dedicated character out of them no matter what, so I feel like the heroes are basically just that. And, of course they have good designs too, and of course as you can probably guess my favorite is Adora, basically being the same thing as the 5-0-0 Wizard with the Sun God aesthetic. Since she has her own stage and a special interaction with the True Sun God/Vengeful Monkey, I think she’s a pretty big deal anyway. I will say that I highly slept on Gwen, but then for Easter they gave her the Harlegwen skin and I fell in love. It’s insanely good stuff. Apart from looks, it does feel nice to have some sort of interchangeable tower that you basically just place and forget about, aside from using their powers. Plus, it makes a really easy type of thing to periodically add to the game to keep things fresh, even with the skins in general. It definitely is much better than the stuff they had in 5, where you had to use Monkey Money to buy each one, and you could only use them once per stage. Obviously 6 has the extra powers to help you out, but they feel much more optional and cheaper than the heroes of 5. Since I barely buy anything with Monkey Money to begin with, and since I’ve obviously had 365 chest openings, and AND since I barely use them to begin with, I’m completely stocked up. I only ever use the farmer and sometimes the tech bot if I get lazy. I did use the portable lake I got from my 365th chest opening after I got it, just for the sake of celebration. That’s literally how my mind goes.

6 does have the slight tinge of a mobile game artstyle, but in this case it’s really just better. I’m not into mobile games, and especially not the generic artstyle they have, but it is really pleasing to look at anyway. It did chase me off before I converted, though. That, and the fact you had to buy it now. Like a true gamer, I was put off by the fact that something that was once expected to be free now has to be paid for. But, then, I realized that the entire franchise has provided much more than 10$ worth of entertainment to me throughout time, so it was extremely fair to pay that. It is still kinda weird how 5 has to be paid for for mobile, when it is just free online, though. However, unlike a true gamer I think the microtransactions of the game are extremely fair. Considering they just give you things that you don’t need, and can get for free otherwise, I think it’s completely fine to have them. It sounds bad on the surface to have to pay for the game and have there still be microtransactions in it, but since they’re completely optional there’s no good reason to hate it. I think people assume that means that you have to pay for the game, and pay extra for different major parts of the game, and that sours their opinion on everything. Gamers are a strange, irrationally angry breed. I do hate using my phone for pretty much anything, though, so once I bought 6 on Steam I haven’t played it on my phone since. It’s just so much better in every single way...

I bought the game around the time of one of my family’s semi-annual trips to England because I thought it’d help when we were traveling between wi-fi spots, and it really did wonders for me then. Probably looked like some asshole teen to strangers who don’t know I barely ever use my phone for anything, since I was playing it so much. My sister even saw me playing it and bought it for herself, although I don’t know how much she’s played since then. 

For the sake of stats, I have 235 hours played of it on Steam alone, and in game I’m level 115. My most complete map is Monkey Meadow with all medals except CHIMPS, which I put the effort in because it’s the default map, and definitely not because it’s an easy/good map because it’s just kinda bad compared to so many other ones. My Dart monkey has a total of 4 million XP, and the only towers that haven’t crossed a million are the Ice, Heli, Alchemist, Druid, and Spike factory monkeys/tower. I think the farthest I’ve actually gotten round-wise is 200 once or twice, but I don’t remember if I’ve actually beaten that level and continued on or lost there. I think I might’ve gotten past it once, but just sort of lost interest in micro-managing my powers and let myself lose. I probably got there once after that and lost on it. As someone who didn’t look up the optimal strategies for things until very recently, I think that’s pretty good. It definitely feels like the kind of game where if you know the best strategies, you can literally just replicate that over and over and win really easily, but that just sounds kinda boring. Since I pretty much only do daily challenges nowadays, it forces me to use a limited amount of towers, so I either go much farther because it forces me to build up less towers more, or it makes sure I can’t even pass round 90 because it just was made to get you to round 40 and that’s it. When I have the full range of towers to use, I feel like I try to get the instant satisfaction of getting a new tower to increase DPS instead of making the few towers I have/need reach their full potential, which seems to be the better option. I also don’t really sell anything when I don’t have a limited number of monkeys to place, which I think is also a good strategy if you can eliminate the major money loss in it, since it can give you a massive boost in cash to get you the better upgrades quicker. I may or may not try to learn the strategies to wipe the rest of the game clean eventually, but right now I’m fine with just doing the dailies.

But yeah, that’s like the whole thing with Bloons Tower Defense and me. Something something reject modernity, embrace monke, or whatever the kids these days are saying.

I will say that if I didn’t have so many OCs to work with and could just pump out animated shorts on the reg, I’d love to do some sort of Bloons shorts. They’d all lean into the ridiculousness of it all. Like, the first one could do the 2001 thing with the monkeys learning to use sticks, and as the main one is bashing the ground with one or whatever and throws it up, an ancient, leathery patchwork bloon flies overhead and accidentally bumps the stick such that it lands back on the main monkey’s head, knocking him out. Cue the monkeys around him to go berserk and start throwing other sticks at the ancient bloon, and once they pop it using a sharp stick, they realize what they must do. Cue a long montage of the different stages of war and invention using the monkeys finding better ways to fend off the bloons, with the whole idea being that the monkeys are getting irrationally angry at the bloons, who are just sort of around and not actually sentient, even though they assume they’re malicious because of their history and upbringing. Absolutely no political message in there whatsoever. Just comedy.

Other short ideas could include, for the start of the modern time story, it could be the backstory of some sort of chiseled veteran main character, which would involve a bloon floating into his town, and from the people’s panic someone knocks over a lamp post that sets his town ablaze, only for him and his people to blame the carnage on the bloon, causing his classic edgy character motives for fighting against the bloons. Another, much more golden idea, would be an interrogation scene, where a bunch of monkeys capture a bunch of bloons for interrogation purposes. They’d obviously do the whole “Silent treatment, eh? Well, we have ways of making you talk...” thing, except the “way to make them talk” is to strap them to a wall with one dart guy on one side to systematically pop them to try and extract info. But, of course, it would look and play out exactly like the classic Bloons puzzle game. That’d be the fun part. If not that, then it could be like the classic carnival game that likely inspired the idea of using darts to pop balloons. I really just think this weird world of monkeys and bloons is perfect for some good comedic content. Watching the monkeys severely overreact to the bloons sounds extremely fun, and I’d love to see someone do something with it some day.

[tessatechaitea]

Justice Society of America #4 (1992)

Ultrahumanite exhibits all the characteristics of a man happy to be reunited with friends: cheerily laughing, bright happy expression, hands on hips, weirdly-shaped massive hard-on.

Forgive me for the erect penis joke but I felt it was in the tradition of Grunion Guy. You might find it funny if you knew how uncomfortable it made me to type it and how worried I was for a second that my mother might see it. But then I realized that if my mom saw it, it would mean my mom read Grunion Guy's blog, and then I almost threw up. That would be so embarrassing! Normally I would be on the side of the Justice Society of America because they are the good people with the good values. But how good are their good values if they are trying to stop a job creator and upstanding corporate citizen like Ultrahumanite who is just trying to run his Ultragen business the best way he knows how: with stormtrooper bodyguards to defend labs where they experiment on animal-human hybrids? Anything that hurts corporate profits is a bad thing for capitalism and the Justice Society of America should know that, being that they have "America" right there in their name. Although they also have "Society" in their name and that is a bird whistle for socialists. The bird whistle is the dog whistle of the left because it is more pleasant to listen to and it isn't aggravating or obnoxious and it makes the world a better place for everybody (except people who hate birds and probably own guns to shoot those stupid birds. Stupid birds. So dumb).

Oh no! Nobody warned these old timers that we aren't doing prison rape jokes anymore!

Wildcat has some great words of wisdom in that previous panel. It is the most scienciest science statement I have ever read (unless it was the mathiest math statement): "If X did not happen, Y would have happened! Thusly I have proved we are better than you! QED! In your face, Ultrahumanite!" Whenever I would lose a game of Dungeons & Dragons with my friends Bullpup and McGroover, I would say, "Oh yeah? Let's see you make a delicious sandwich!" Then they would back down and they would be all, "Yes, you are correct, Pickle Boy. You are the better friend with the most useful skills and we are only good at pretending to slaughter Kobold families for copper coins." That's pretty funny if you realize Dungeons & Dragons is about adventurers invading the lairs of creatures to steal their material possessions! Doctor Mid-Nite does not quip with the others because he might be dead. Do not forget these guys are really old! It does not matter how many muscles they have or what kind of cardio breathalyzer tests they can pass; they still have super old bones and a lifetime of clogged arteries. One slip or the slightest bit of extra exertion could mean Stroke City or Brokenhipsville for these cool cats! That is old person slang! It is very humorous!

Now they goof on his stutter? I am beginning to wonder who the real villains are in this story!

Look how happy the Ultrahumanite is! And these old guys have been nothing but bitter, cynical old winds from the butt! Plus he is a successful businessman and scientist who has created life! It sounds like he has turned over a new leaf now that he no longer has to steal bodies. I am not ignoring the laboratory full of hybrid creatures; I'm just going to assume that they were all volunteers until it is proven otherwise. You cannot go through life never eating the buttered bread that fell on the floor buttered side down! Ultrahumanite decides to recount his past for some reason. This made me laugh because I was thinking, "Yeah! They are old men. They cannot remember stuff from so long ago and also they have enlarged prostates!"

But which is actually worse: making fun of somebody's disability or sympathizing with Nazis? I've got some hard questions to answer!

Some things are unforgivable but one thing I think we can all agree to forgive is a hot woman who sided with the Nazis.

How does a huge ape body reflect the Ultrahumanite's desires? Please do not answer, "He loves to copulate with monkeys," because that's what I an suggesting by the question and you would look like one of those fools on Twitter who thinks they are hilarious by restating somebody's joke in a less subtle manner.

Ultrahumanite continues to explain how he became such a pillar of the business community. It is as boring as you would expect a PowerPoint presentation from a business man would be. That was probably the joke! Why is not the trademarked name "PowerPoint" two words? If you are going to bother capitalizing the second "P", you might as well just separate the words. Maybe it was somebody's online name when they were fourteen years old. It is always a smart decision to just run the two words together rather than separating them with an underscore. And it is easier to read when the second word is capitalized (as opposed to every other word capitalized or just the consonants. I do not understand young people). Nobody remembers to put underscores in when searching for a name online!

"Ultrahumanite! You are experimenting on innocent people, ruining the environment, causing unknown amounts of damage to the populace of every city where one of your labs operates but Ted Grant and the world just want to know one thing: was that hot Nazi body the real you because 'Rrrrrow!'"

You think I am making a joke but I don't joke about things that I don't joke about and one of those things is that Ted Grant has previously expressed interest in cultivating an intimate relationship with hot Nazi Ultrahumanite. Specifically, he said earlier that she "swept him off his feet." He only used that phrase so Al could make a joke about how they were hanging upside down so the sweeping off of feet is still happening. But I think, in his heart, he wanted to say, "She made me spontaneously become a man every time we wrestled. Is that okay under the Hays Code? Can I get away with that amount of innuendo?!" The Ultrahumanite has to go deal with The Flash who has literally suddenly appeared. Weird how the word "literally" is never actually needed when it is used properly. I guess using it in a hyperbolic and exaggerated fashion is really its only job. While Ultrahumanite is gone, Doctor Mid-Nite "double joints" his wrists to escape. I'm pretty sure Grunion Guy's wrists were double jointed by the amount of times he wrote about masturbating. He was a crude jerk but I still hope he rests in peace in that pauper's cemetery down by the toxic sludge factory. Doctor Mid-Nite takes on the guards while The Atom and Wildcat rush out to save The Flash who is The Flash and almost certainly does not need saving. While Doctor Mid-Nite is beating up the guards, he suddenly becomes a stand up comedian. Was I wrong to assume he was an actual doctor? Is that just his stage persona? I would tell you why his jokes were funny if they were but I cannot figure them out. Why is this an old joke (and if it is, why would he even retell it when it is nonsense): "I know you're out there because I can hear you breathing"? The Flash gets encased in some living green goo that absorbs heat and kinetic energy which might also be a definition of heat? I'm just a sandwich maker slash writer's assistant who has never once showed an ounce of curiosity about the real world so forgive me for languishing in my ignorance. At least I own a thesaurus. Back in Gotham City, Jesse Quick appears for a page or two to remind everybody that she exists. "Hello! I am the hot daughter of the infomercial guy! I have also deluded myself into believing a mathematical equation gives me super speed! It makes no sense!" Jesse takes some papers proving that Ultragen is breaking laws so the JSA has the right to beat the crap out of its CEO. For comedic effect, they have a little more confusion over Ultrahumanite's pronouns (which, to be fair, he has not expressed any preference for and doesn't seem to mind using whatever pronouns match the gender he seems to be expressing) before rushing off to punch her in the face. I don't know what pronouns to use either but she was a super hot Nazi so let's just go with that one.

See? She is a scientific genius!

At first I was all, "Oh, big deal! So The Flash is trapped in goo!" And then the Ultrahumanite was all, "You cannot breathe without oxygen!" And then I was all, "Oh no! I had not thought of that! Somebody save him, preferably an old guy from the JSA or I will feel cheated out of my hard earned buck twenty-five." I keep laughing at that previously scanned panel and how Wildcat and The Atom are hiding behind trees the way characters do in comic strips. So ridiculous! It is even funnier if you remember that they are old men! I bet you are laughing a lot more now! Doctor Mid-Nite arrives because he "smoke bombed" with his previous stand-up gig. Get it?! If you understood the play on the word "bomb" there and that I meant the fight against the guards when I said "stand-up gig," you would be cracking up like crazy!

Yeah. A smoke bomb! We all know that is where he keeps them!

The Flash breaks free and Doctor Mid-Nite punches Ultrahumanite in the nose, breaking it. Ultrahumanite is so vain that he falls to the ground, defeated! And that is when the Calvary arrives! That is funny because I used the wrong word and now you are picturing a crucified Jesus riding up on a horse to save the day instead of Green Lantern, The Flash, and Jesse Quick arriving on a Green Lantern construct! Justice Society of America #4 Rating: A. I have not read as many comic books as Grunion Guy but this one seemed pretty good in comparison to the ones I have read, like WildC.A.T.S. #1 and pick any issue you want of Youngblood. One more "What gender is Ultrahumanite?!" joke for the road!

Alan felt this was the kind of thing a heterosexual would say. It's funny because he "New 52" comes out of the closet later!

[abundantchewtoys]

Hiveswap - Monster Melee + Attic

So, the final(?) stretch of this Episode - the trek into the attic!

But first, let's combine the attic key with everything ever. :P

ATTIC KEY + GRANDFATHER CLOCK > Yyyeah, I suppose clocks were on Joey's mind because of the subtle influence of the other KEY? Cherubs and clocks, Lord English, you know.

ATTIC KEY + DEER > Yes, it *would* be great for Joey to meet an alive deer. :P (*coughDammeksLususcough*

ATTIC KEY + HORUS STATUE > ... Pffff, yeah, I forgot that's what that Egyptian god is called! So, the A1 trolls have two members named after ancient leaders of god assemblies (Horrus and Cronus), that's no coincidence at all!

...

Huh, it appears no other combination is possible with the attic key outside of the trophy room. Huh, guess Joey is REALLY hurried to get up there, huh?

...

D'aah,, we couldn't even walk to the kitchen door, we HAD to go to the living room, and now, BAM!!

Suddenly there are FOUR monsters to fight! Joey got squeezed between them in the battle opening animation.

Jeez, that big one seems like it could even have an EYE??? Closed now, but... Unless it's a second mouth.

So I tried to minimize the toolbar, but it appeared to count as an action, and Joey got knocked out. Let's see if I can do something different after resetting the game.

... Nope! The only thing we can do now is choose to switch to Jude's perspective! He's going to have to give her a hand, remotely. ... Wait, does this mean that, currently, no monsters are outside of the treehouse?

Probably not. I think Jude is going to have to use his flares. Then again, the monsters appear to be blind. Can they be burned from the flares?

Jude saw what happened from the tree house, as I thought he would have, but now, I wonder what he can do from all the way here. Is he REALLY that good an aim?

Okay, the monsters can sense the flare, huh. Three are distracted, does that mean Joey's going to be able to beat the big one one-on-one???

BYERS + TURNED MONSTERS > ... N'aww. Hey, and Byers exited our inventory and re-entered it, he's now first again. TREATS + TURNED MONSTERS > ... WELP!! Definitely a second mouth!!

FLASH LIGHT + TURNED MONSTERS > ...!!! We turned them back, and now one of the monsters is KO! Our cursor changed, like we're charging up, but we can also switch back to Jude???

... Pffffff, none of the other items really did something except funny prompts. But after turning the remaining two monsters around, Joey made the bigger one knock the bat-winged one out. Hah, what a doofus.

Welp, Jude dropped the flare gun. It DID distract the remaining two monsters, but it also lit the pile of leaves beneath his treehouse on fire. So Joey might not know how things turned out for him, when she's swapped!

WELP, if we now wait too long, Joey actually gets eaten by the monsters and it's game ovER8!!!!!

... So we make it to the attic, and Joey drops the key through the floorboard. That... I thought we had this weird prompt when we previously played the game, about the floorboard, huh.

Jude is planning to call his friends for help, and has shown actual tactical prowess, huh, hidden depths!

And... When the walkie connection breaks up, Jude pleads Joey not to investigate the portal. "I CAN'T LOSE YOU TOO" "DON'T GO NEAR THE PORTAL" ... Does that mean Joey and Jude's mom disappeared while investigating the attic/portal??? ... What does Jude know that Joey doesn't?

CHERUB KEY + BROKEN GLOBE > ... Huh. So, what, does the cherub key fit on some sort of globe? OR is it because it's used to activate a portal between worlds? Maybe Joey will assume she got transported to a fantasy land based on one of Grandpa's inaccurate globes?

BYERS + MONKEY PAW > ... PFffffffff. "Joey, you don't have to use me on everything in this house" "Nice try, Byers. Let's see what else is in here." Perfection.

BROKEN WOOD > Huh, so Joey owns a crowbar. Seems like that could come in handy once he has to assist Dammek? BATTERIES + BROKEN WOOD ... Huh, so??? Ooooh! I didn't see it with the inventory active! This is actually the remains of a CRATE! Did the portal come through the mail?? ... If Jude was strong enough to open the crate, it couldn't have been around when his Mom disappeared.

CHERUB KEY + CRATE > Yep, the portal definitely came in the mail. Was it sent to Grandpa by the Condesce, before she herself died/disappeared???

CHERUB KEY + INVOICE > "The KEY! Where is that dadblasted gadzooks KEY?!" ... Wow. So Grandpa was trying to activate the portal, but why??? And yeah, he was so out of touch with his kids, he didn't know his wife had left the key to Joey? ... Unless it ended up with Joey some other way.

Hmm, so I think maybe Condy used a portal like this to travel from Alternia to B1 Earth, and then through to B2 Earth after having given Grandpa his inheritance. But why did Grandpa want to use it? Did he want to find the woman who raised him? Or did he want to find other planets to explore, after having seen so much of Earth?

POGS + SHOTGUN > ... Waaaait, what? Your PA's SISTER gave him this shotgun????? ... Nanna? Did she give it to Grandpa sometime before he left the family home??? Or did Grandpa take it from a storage space belonging to Nanna after her death?? Wait, no, Nanna's still alive in 1995, never mind.

The most normal thing in this attic must be that Christmas tree. And yet, just in front of it, it appears Grandpa stashed a sleigh. Does he picture himself Santa?

MUMMY > ... Yeah, Grandpa indeed had some morbid fascination with death. He came into this world killing his foster dad, so yeah, what you gonna do? SPICE + MUMMY > ... Welp, it leads into a breakdown by Joey about how her Sitter actually doesn't always remember to provide good food. :(

CHERUB KEY + MASKS > The KEY ... likes... masks? What? Masks aren't skulls, though, otherwise I could've seen it as a cherub thing. What does this refer to?

BATTERIES + GLOBES > Heheh, yeah that would be appropriately stupid, that the attic is stuffed with the broken prototypes of the globe-based puzzle used to stock the attic key.

BALLET SHOES + GLOBES > Most of the globes don't have Russia or France or other ballet-leading countries on them. So they are probably of Alternia, but what if Grandpa collected globes from alternate dimensions? Alternate Earths, or alternate Sburb-spawning planets?

All that remains is the portal now.

Oooh boy. I do wonder how the game will end, what the last scene might allude to even. Also, is Dammek going to be shown yet, or just in silhouette?

Would be cool to have a callback to Roxy jumping through the portal and seeing Dream Roxy float out there.

Ooooh, a broken God Tier clock and a broken mirror? How's that for symbolism. The music stopped too, and now all that remains is the flapping of the wind through the portal.

BATTERIES + PORTAL > Confirmed that the wind is coming THROUGH the portal. Guess there's not a lot of air pressure inside the portal? Or at least, there's a pressure difference between the portal and Earth/Alternia.

PET TREATS + PORTAL > The void... It beckons.

TAP SHOES + PORTAL > It's a "the note desolation plays" shoutout. :D

BALLET SHOES + PORTAL > Curtains. Stage. "You have a feeling it's going to be a hell of a show" Hah! Reference double secured.

Then there's nothing left to do now, but to uncover the portal.

Jeez, it's been a long time coming.

...

Wow. Okay, so there's actually a pedestal for Joey to stand on, huh!

Is... Is the portal going to behave like a mirror? That she seems Dammek standing on the other side, and when she touches the surface, they are swapped?

How long did Dammek possess the portal? Was it also stashed out of sight, and what caused him to check on it?

LOOK > ... CREEEEEEPY. Seems like either the portal is calling out to Joey... Or some other presence. Can't be Caliborn, right?

POGS + PORTAL > Yeah, the portal is definitely somehow influencing whoever possesses the keys. To what end? What could swapping them possibly accomplish?

TREATS + PORTAL > Actually, less than snakes, the statues kind of look like seahorses to me, with how they're curled. :P

BALLET SHOES + PORTAL > Wait, what, it'll make music, like an organ? ??? Grandpa did have some broken organs on te attic, was he trying to open the portal by playing the right tune?

Okay, NOW it's time.

CHERUB KEY + PORTAL, here we go, come on!

...

WOooooooww!

THIS WASN'T EVEN THE END!!!! Oh my god. Are we REALLY going to have the train station scene here too??? Or will it end when we exit Dammek's hive???

Wow. The interface layout changed, everything became more Trollish. Cooool. And we left the walkie on Earth, for Dammek to find, while Dammek's communication device is there on the ground.

The timer on the portal is set to 11:11:11:11. Does that mean that Joey has eleven days and a half-ish to return home? There's a forcefield around the portal now, I don't think she can just jump back in.

There's a robot lying on the floor, so Dammek might dabble in robotics. A door is being banged on, perhaps by his lusus? It all depends on what caused Dammek to be here, at the portal, at that time.

The fact that everything we picked up on Earth (even Byers!) came through for the rest... Will the pogs and treats have another use? :D

And so yeah, the music during the cutscene was a remix of English. Fitting that the portal would make that sort of tune. As for music, the BGM is now set to what I presume is the Hauntswitch tune, at least the version for Dammek’s hive.

This seems like a good place to end our playthrough for the day! :D

[thatwitchrevan]

2 7 8 17 19 20 I saw how much you loved it so I gave you a lot.

Thanks!

2: Pairing

I think for favorite I’ve gotta say ‘Revastila’. I just love them to death. They’re enemies to lovers, soulmates, and just? beautiful idk. What Can I say about them that hasn’t been said? They’re not only one of the most interesting pairings in SW but make best use of Force Bonds and dynamics between force users. Though I should say I’m mostly talking about fanon Revastila - the canon dialogue for the ‘romance’ actually bugs me lmao.

And for least favorite pairing, I think y’all know this one. It’s got a lot of the same elements as Revastila but it’s just not handled well and I was too invested in the sibling theory to ever get into the ship. Relyo is one of a few SW ships that actively makes me uncomfortable. To me Rey just simply doesn’t like him and she shouldn’t have to! And really you can’t go from actually hating each other to being in love without some kind of development, so like. This was never gonna work in canon and I hate that they even tried it. 

7. species

Favorite = Zabraks? I mean I really like Twi’leks and Togrutas but looking at the distribution of my non-human SW OCs, I have 1 Togruta, 2 Twi’leks, but 3 Zabraks, each of whom I love a lot. Zabraks just have a really interesting design. I mean, come on. Horns.

For least favorite... is it permissible to say ‘Palliduvans’ just because Aurra Sing creeps me out? (yes I did have to look up what her species was.) Otherwise I don’t think I have a least favorite, lol. I guess maybe Neimiodians since they’re one of the most obnoxious racist caricatures and overall really lazy design?

8. concept

Fave is FORCE BONDS like I know this is a super predictable answer for me probably but Force Bonds and long distance communication through the Force is my SHIT. 

Least isss kinda the whole ‘corrupting’ aspect of the dark side. Like okay, I do think it’s interesting to watch a Force Sensitive character be corrupted by power through using the Force and to slowly turn into a villain, that’s super fun. However, the idea that any aspect of the Force is inherently bad and will automatically change you for the worse is so boring to me. I hate it. We don’t need it. Power and selfishness are enough to corrupt people even in space.

Also, a runner up to least favorite: the Sequel Trilogy thing where you can project yourself across the universe but you will Inevitably Die. I hate that. What the fuck.

17. hero

Favorite hero... Leia, I think. I feel like the whole KotOR gang is kind of stretching the definition of hero and ofc Luke is the Classic example but Leia... Leia is strong as hell. Leia is brave. Leia is convicted. Leia just simply does not give up. And even after all the shit she’s been through she’s still really soft and kind hearted and, quite frankly, needs somebody to hold her sometimes? And when she gets mad, she gets mad as hell? I love her. She is the brightest fucking star.

As for my LEAST favorite hero lol, does Anakin count uhhh I don’t even know. Idk who I would honestly call a hero but yet not say that I love them. I can’t even name somebody I love ‘least’ I don’t think. N/A I guess.

19. outfit

oohh.. a hard one. I’ve always liked Padme’s arena outfit in AotC, not only because I’m gay, but because it was one of her then kind of rare non-dress, more practical outfits and because she was completely badass in it. I also really like Leia’s Cloud City dress and Luke’s RotJ all-black outfit. 

For least favorite... can I just say I’m not a big fan of Kanan’s original outfit? He looks like a green bean. I mean I don’t completely hate it cause I’m just so used to it but honestly, wth? I don’t like the stripes or the multiple tones of green, and the single pauldron is awkward. I know he’s supposed to be a uncool dad/weird cowboy so I guess it works but it vexes me.

Also the multi-tone Republic uniforms from KotOR? Burn them.

20. creature

this is also a hard one...I like tookas, gizka, brith......I’m gonna say brith are my favorite because freaking SKY RAYS

least favorite would be the monkey thing Jabba had they’re annoying.

[light-of-being]

a very fkin long and incomplete exposition of my flaws as a human being

I've not really spoken about the probably most consequential event in my recent life (the ending of a long term relationship), and that's because I haven't really thought about it very much. At least, not in a clear-headed space not entirely filled with rage, fear, or initially, longing. So, I've mostly just been waiting for the intensity of those responses to wear out before I can go back and make sense of things in a sorta 'safe' way.

(These days it's mostly anger and/or hurt. Sometimes twinges of hatred, but those fizzle quickly. I know that attitude isn't 'true'. I tried to hate him, I really did. Things would be so much simpler that way — an obvious villain of pure evil, a mistake worthy of contempt. Put him behind me as someone I regret meeting and consider everything only as a flashing warning sign of what to avoid next time. But real life never is that easy, is it.)

Regardless, reading about miscellaneous psychological ~stuff, I realised that I know for sure now that there are sides of me that only come out in a close relationship, as they postulate. It's unfortunate that my exposure to this was only in such a toxic environment, and I'm not sure if or when closeness has any chance of happening again.

I suspect, based on what I have/haven't felt with him vs others, that I can (at least at this stage of my development) only really feel 'seen' by an antisocial/narcissist/schizoid (or something in that general direction), just hope to god it's a mature one next time. I might want to interrogate and possibly change that fact, I'm not sure it's at all a healthily arrived preference. But...

there is a degree of normalcy and social belonging in others that becomes a wall

I can relate superficially, cognitively and even 'deeply personally' (tho is all y'all's deeply personal shit necessarily relational?), have a good time and even feel 'connection' but there are parts that seem simply insurmountable.

The lack of relating to many things is the unifying factor between me and the specified groups: the shared experience of not having shared experiences

But yet, a more acute awareness of superficiality, and the drives and mechanics of human interactions, attitudes, identity and constructs, not taken for granted as default but built from the ground up (Most often out of either necessity or a desire to manipulate them, but still).

Actually, most straightforwardly, the shared experience of experiencing oneself as an outsider to society — whether people personally, accepted norms or expected attitudes towards self and other.*

Anyway, that was a whole semi-tangent I went off on (useful and relevant to the initial thought but not the point I was planning on).

Important point was...ah yes, insights!

...into how I behave under genuine relational circumstances. Due to aforementioned toxicity, I'm not sure how generalisable they are to relationships overall, but they should generalise to feeling-states.

1.

(a) Fear. Defensiveness.

Switches off my brain. Obvious? No. I have been actively strategic while having a gun pointed at me. I thought I had that down. Turns out, I cannot dissociate myself out of an argument most of the time.

Turns out, just the fact or even prospect of arguing activates panic and brain goes out the window. Which is really fucking stupid as an occurrence because how many of these could be prevented with a bit of mindfulness and thoughtful responding. But getting emotions to chill out for long enough to do that is tough.

(b) I am a stubborn dumbass. Kid me argued until they were attacked so harshly that they absolutely could not continue. The alternative presented was to just keep silent, one I did not then and do not now accept. Discussion where both parties partake in good faith have generally been fruitful, only neither of these situations were that. Both involved one person trying to dominate at all costs. To which I suppose keeping silent for the moment and then running tf away is an appropriate response. Idk. I'm not sure if this is a 'normal situation' to which I respond unhealthily, or an 'abnormal situation' in which you just do your best to survive. Arguments are normal. Idk if other people have a less aggressive approach that is less outright terrifying, in which I can modulate, but it does seem like people want to prove you wrong and get angry, which I perceive as aggression.

2. 

Which brings me to boundaries. Can I shut things down when I'm overwhelmed. In the present case, the answer was no. They both didn't stop and the fact that I asked for this was interpreted as admission of defeat.Oftentimes, getting out of the situation was more of an ordeal than dealing with it. [We stayed at a hotel the one time and he did things that made me very uncomfortable (in like a “things that I shudder at thinking about even now” kind of way; not sexual btw which this has made it sound). I thought I was as clear as I could’ve been by saying, “I’m going to legit have a breakdown if you keep doing that” but apparently it came across as a joke (gotta improve on communication as well). He stopped and apologised when he realised I was crying, but later blamed me for not being more assertive and laughed at my ‘exaggerated’ response and “meltdown”. At this point I wanted to leave and go home, but he withheld [my copy of] the key. He insisted and manipulated and coerced for discussion, said I could have the key if I “really wanted it, but do I actually want that”, until it was just easier to give in. The helplessness and feeling trapped of that evening haunts me to this day, and I want to be very sure to never be in any situation where that is even a possibility again no matter what.]

I need to get better at knowing what is and isn't okay and being strong enough to enforce that.

3.

(a) Attachment is a bitch. Utterly unfamiliar sensation, one I don't know my way around at all. The rarity of relation makes it seem so fucking precious, so fucking necessary to protect even to my detriment and his. Dare I tip the boat or will it sink. Should I be the dancing monkey to keep it from sinking. Should he.

(b) The feeling of giving a damn what someone thinks of me is also foreign and difficult. It also seems hella intensified by virtue of not existing elsewhere. Disapproval feels devastating. Criticism becomes attack. Everything feels like a continuous effort to establish worth. I'd imagined acceptance could be taken for granted, but I questioned it the whole way (obviously doesn't help when he demands changes).

(c) I have trouble distinguishing between personal issues and insecurities and legitimate reason to be upset. I think this is typical. But with trial and error, one can probably pick up on what you carry with you across differing people and circumstances. I don't have that data. I have nothing to compare against. I also suspect some parts of this is him treating legitimate reasons as being my distorted perceptions, which I'm pretty sure did happen for a few things that I believe are 'objectively' shitty.

5. 

I trust. Too. Fucking. Much. I take shit at face value. This is very often dumb and...bad in literally every sense, but I don’t yet know how to identify preemptively when that's the case. I also fail to be adequately 'suspicious' I guess to be alert to minor inconsistencies later on. Lies are especially devastating. I built my reality around you using that fundamental premise. Now you tell me it was false all along. Where does that leave me? I go back to substitute and nothing makes sense. I don't know if the initial statement was a lie or the claim that it's false was. I don't know if everything I remember is just distorted somehow. I don't know what to do. (aside: gaslighting? I’m inclined to say “effectively, yes”. The best explanation I have is that for many things he rewrote the narrative in his own mind and does not remember the things that blatantly contradict it. For other things, I cannot see that being possible and am forced to think it’s just pure lies). All of this could have been prevented if I accounted for people being dishonest.

6. 

(a) I lose sympathy. Genuinely did not ever expect this to happen. Enough hurt, enough deception and I stop trying to understand why. I assume malice. I expect malice in future interactions and misread situations as a result. In the beginning I made fucktons of effort to be understanding of things far from my typical range (hello, admissions of past violence and present homicidal ideation. Hello, talking someone out of real intention of ruining a person's life over a minor slight). Honestly, I think I overreached. Some of these things were not things I should have tolerated, accepted even. When I started walking on eggshells to not have him ruin my life, too, that was probably when I should've gotten out. He claimed that the people he cares about are exceptions. That's probably true, otherwise I would currently be in a ton of shit. But at some point I did stop believing it.

(b) I don't really think that most of the things that happened were malicious. Some, he admits, were. But mostly he wasn't out with the intention to hurt me, but he also didn't make the effort...not to. Even with me repeatedly complaining about things, he was defensive or dismissive, considering me talking about an issue to be me creating issues in his life. This is super shitty, his damage is caused by a stubborn ego fixation and sheer passivity, thoughtlessness (he has agreed to all of this in our final conversation), but it isn't exactly intentionally malicious. If he genuinely didn't believe there was a problem, that is an issue, and the fact that he utterly failed until the end to even consider the possibility of a valid complaint, is a very real flaw. He is bad insofar as "he is lazy and incompetent at being good". Which I can understand but nevertheless protect myself from. Ideally, sooner. At the point where I start feeling like someone is being shitty more often than not, something needs to happen. A discussion, a reconsideration, a run-as-fast-as-you-can... Something.

Idk. This isn't everything. But yeah.

.

.

.

* These 3 PDs are often used in illustrating the idea of pathologising difference: few of the criteria are about subjective distress and many about extrinsic value judgements of what a person should be like (lol, my clinical psych final had an essay question on this). I don't necessarily agree but it does speak to a shared thread of...something. That said, this characterisation is tbh still too broad for my liking. Importantly, it is definitively applicable to autistic people but I do not in general relate to that in the same way. Some specific manifestations of it, yes, but I have seen far too many excessively... 'human' autistic people to include the whole category. There are probably folks in the PD categories who are also like that but I think much less common.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

37 please

Thanks for the prompt, Anons! This prompt was requested two or three more times, but in conjuction with other numbers. If you asked for #37 and I haven’t included your ask here, know that I will write something for those other numbers eventually, separate from #37. It made the most sense to do #37 on its own, otherwise I’d have been combining so many prompts into one fic that there just wouldn’t have been much creative freedom.

Miss Your TrainPairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFWWord count: 5077

37. “I want to hike up your skirt and take you right here.”

“You don’t have to stay,” MJ says without looking up.

She’s been doing this every few minutes. It reminds Peterthat time is, in fact, passing. He’s trying so hard to be patient though,unable to completely convince himself that MJ really does want him to leave. Atfirst, yeah, it seemed like she wanted him gone; she kept collecting hisstuff―his coat and his backpack and the overnight bag he packed extremelypoorly at the last possible minute―and setting it by the door. For the pasthalf an hour, she hasn’t bothered to get out of her chair.

It’s dark in the kitchen, just the light on over the sinkand the sleepy glow through the oven’s glass door. MJ’s got her chairpositioned near the counter with her feet tucked up underneath her. She’swearing the fluffy socks he bought her a year ago, their last Christmas at homebefore college.

“I don’t mind,” he promises lightly. The snow catches hiseye, swirling past the window. It’s kind of mesmerizing. Peaceful.

“You’re going to miss your train,” she points out.

“I’ll catch one with you in the morning.”

Peter jumps up to tap his fingertips against the ceiling andMJ exhales heavily the way he might’ve if the motion weren’t effortless. Itisn’t clear why she’s annoyed at him (probably just pretending to be), eitherhis stubbornness or the two other students passed out at the far end of theroom, where common kitchen space becomes common living/study room. Neither henor MJ got a great schedule for their first-ever round of college exams, but atleast they don’t have to sit for anything on the very last day of the term. Notlike their dozing companions, cheeks stuck to the pages of open economicstextbooks.

Pushing his luck with MJ and the slim chance Drooly One andDrooly Two will wake up while he does this, Peter springs to the ceiling againand lets his fingers hold this time. It’s monkey bars without the rungs. Sureenough, it catches her eye. The girl who he’s grown so close to since they bothmoved to Boston for school while Ned stayed in New York.

“You can still make yours. I’ll be right behind you. Mine’sonly 45 minutes later.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you walking to the station byyourself. It’s late,” he reminds her.

“I wasn’t going to walk, I was going to take a bus,” shemumbles.

Peter rolls his eyes. He gets to do this to her now,sometimes. Over the past few months, he’s learned her dimensions and seen thatshe’s isn’t always right, and when she pretends to think she is, she isn’talways sure. Turns out MJ needs somebody looking out for her. Peter’s glad it’shim, even though they’ve been dancing around it for months―around what it wouldmean for them to acknowledge that it’s him.

Methodically, he begins to swing his legs forward and back.Three swings gives him enough momentum to touch the toes of his sneakers to theceiling too and now he’s crawling around, checking out the holes wherefrustrated students from bygone days have chucked their pencils through theparticleboard tiles when exam stress was upon them. There’s no better spot towatch history repeat itself than in the common room of a college residence.(College has already made Peter very wise.)

“I’d just double back from the train station, wait for youto leave here, and follow you. By staying, I’m actually saving myself fromhaving to go outside.”

He’s cheerful in his logic. Doesn’t matter that he’s bendingthat logic around caring for MJ the way he bends every rule for her these days.He’d bend gravity for her.

She flips her book over on her lap so she won’t lose herspot and her unimpressed eyes find him wandering the ceiling.

“Tell me, Parker, is the urge to protect just a Spider-Manthing or is it something you do to irritate mespecifically?”

He shushes her, flipping to the ground and glancing over atthe sleepers. Still out. MJ gives him a look of flat exasperation and picks upher book, ignoring him again. Childishly, Peter sticks out his tongue andinches slowly and deliberately up the wall.

It’s starting to smell good in the kitchen, soothing himagainst his will. He had his final exam of the semester this afternoon and cameback here to find MJ (who’d written her last exam in the morning). She wasbaking, just like she’d said she would be, trying to whip up a bunch of cookiesand loaves to cart back home and take to family Christmas at her grandma’s.Because MJ’s mom does a lot of holiday baking too, MJ’s been concerned overbeing allotted enough time with the oven there. Maybe more concerned about thatthan about her last couple of exams. Luckily, MJ is super smart (Peter stillidolizes her, even though it’s been a while since he watched her kick ass ontheir high school decathlon team).

So he sat around today, keeping her company and using awhisk to combine flour with uncooperatively firm butter when MJ’s arm gottired. She made all the batters first, was convinced to take a break when Peterbraved the weather to bring them a pizza to split, then started rotating hercreations through the oven. A lot of it’s packed already in clear plasticcontainers, but the stuff that apparently takes the longest to bake has beenleft to the end. Peter knows she’ll never make her train.

It’s a funny coincidence that staying up with her all nightis his favourite thing in the world. He’s totally sure, despite onlydiscovering it tonight.

It would be great if MJ would talk to him though. Peterdoesn’t want to look at another book until January when term two begins, andthere isn’t much else to do in this room besides stare through the oven doorand think about the chemical reactions causing MJ’s baked goods to rise.(Fine―he was actually doing that for a while, but then she said it wasstressing her out to see him that close to her food, like he would ruin itsomehow. The real reason was her fear that he’d burn his face. It was soobvious that even Peter saw through that one.)

He straightens all the way up to standing and paces theceiling, upside-down. Circling around MJ in her chair, he goes to the window,observing the twinkling of their adopted city through snow that’s still fallingsideways. Peter likes that; he can relate to an existence that doesn’t haveonly one right way up.

In the glass, MJ’s reflection sits with her back to him.Peter sweeps the room with his eyes again before giving in to the aching,adoring expression that would live on his face every time he looks at MJ if hewasn’t too scared to let it. Tonight, this expression feels more precious asecret than Spider-Man. It’s probably the onlysecret he’s never told her.

MJ sighs and shifts, rolling her neck a little. Peter can seeher book now, where she’s propped her elbow up on the arm of the chair. Teasingher is worth a shot. It’ll be good for taking his mind off his feelings for herfor a solid, oh, maybe thirty seconds.

Crouching, he crawls across the ceiling. The words don’tlook right, even if they are upsidedown, so Peter dismounts with a tight flip. He’s already grinning as he creepsup behind her chair.

“‘I want to hike up your skirt,’” he reads confidently offher open page, “‘and… t-take you right here.’”

Peter’s brain links these separately innocent words withtheir combined filthy meaning halfway through, but he still blurts out theentire line, faltering near the end. He stumbles back from her chair, faceabsolutely, certainly, inescapably blushing.

“Is it… a romance novel?” he splutters.

He gets over his own reaction long enough to notice howtense MJ’s jaw is as she turns her head to look at him. It’s not what heshould’ve said. Peter instantly regrets that his words weren’t an apology, buthe can’t change them, same as he can’t change the fact that he read what heread and the knowledge that, at some inevitable moment, the memory of the thought of the book held in MJ’s hand is going to leave him panting between thesheets on the single bed in his dorm room.

“That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever asked me. Probablythe dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

The sound of her speaking improves his own ability―to speak,not necessarily to communicate anything.

“But the front!” he argues gracelessly, using both hands to gesturetoo big. “It’s just blue!”

“Just because it doesn’t have a shirtless firefighter on thecover doesn’t mean it’s Austen, Peter.”

He’s hit, suddenly, by the realization that she’s notdenying anything. Not trying to tell him that he misread the line. Not that thebook belongs to her roommate and MJ grabbed it on the way to the kitchenwithout studying it very closely, so now she’s stuck with nothing else to read.Except, nope, he’s the only one stuck while MJ’s as sure as she always is.Maybe that means they can just talk their way through this and out the otherside.

“So…” Peter tries, casually crossing his arms. “…what’s itabout? Not actually firefighters, right?”

She eyes him shiftily.

“That was just a clichéd example.”

He waits. MJ doesn’t look away, but she doesn’t add anythingelse.

“You didn’t say no,” he observes.

“Maybe I can’t lie when you’re staring at me like that.”

It’s mumbled, disgruntled. It’s MJ being shy as she moves toface forward again. Peter bounds onto the back of her chair, perched on hissneakers and balancing with one hand.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Oh,she won’t look at him now.

“Why firefighters?”

“It’s not justfirefighters.”

“What? No, of course. I mean, you can tell me about the plotinstead.” Peter sees the tiny smirk she’s trying to hide at the corner of hermouth. “Character development? Philosophical issues tackled? If you want.”

MJ smacks his knee with the closed book and he doesn’t getout of the way because he’s laughing and so is she. When she goes to do itagain, Peter catches her wrist with enough precision to pin a butterfly’s wingin midair.

“College has corrupted you,” she accuses, not fighting hisdelicate grip. He can feel her pulse under his fingertips.

“I’m not the one reading dirty stories.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an idiot for not seeing the appeal. Theseries is hero-themed.”

It takes a second for him to notice that her statementdoesn’t so much insult him as expose her. Peter swallows and lets go of herwrist.

“The hero thing is the appeal? It’s appealing? To you?”

MJ is out of that chair in a hurry, abandoning her novel onthe seat; with just his weight on the back of the chair, it begins to tip andhe jumps down to the floor before the thing can topple and wake up the snoozingend-of-term-ers.

“I have to check these,” she mutters. He never asked herwhat she was doing.

Peter watches, stares a little harder than he typically letshimself, as MJ leans forward, then crouches to peer through the oven door. Heglances at the timer she’s set. It’ll be a while before anything in there hasfinished baking. Her white, long-sleeved shirt slides up above the waist of hersweatpants and he sees skin.

There’s no plan in Peter’s head as he circles the chair andstands behind her, heart racing. When MJ straightens up, he knows that she’saware of him, but he doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t slide his hand up her backbeneath her shirt or brush her hair over her shoulder. His gaze falls like thesnow outside, watching her grip the counter with both hands. She’s hanging ontight. Maybe she isn’t breathing significantly harder than she was a minuteago, yet Peter’s enhanced senses spot the smallest differences. His own breathis heavy and tremulous as he steps even closer. If he was wearing the suit,Karen would be able to tell him exactly how much space there is between hischest and MJ’s back. Without the suit lady, Peter can judge that it’s fewerthan six inches. He doesn’t have room in his head for decimal places.

“How long have you―”

“Peter,” she says.

He exhales and a shiver goes through her shoulders. Thiscould all fall apart so fast. This fragile thing.

“I gotta know,” he whispers.

“You’re going to miss your train,” she counters, just assoft.

It feels like his whole chest is quaking as his heart thumpsaround inside. MJ turns her head a few degrees, but the tension doesn’t breakyet.

“I told you, I’m not worried about that.”

“Oh,” she says, gaze lowered as she rotates her whole bodyto face him, “that was a promise, not a warning.”

MJ raises her eyes to his, then, with identical deliberateness,touches his chin with her fingers. Peter’s lips part like a lock springingopen. She runs the backs of her fingers along his jaw and he tilts his headinto her caress, not quite pushing, always meeting her gaze. She’s nevertouched him like this before; it’s all he can think of. When she’s ready, she letsher hand travel all the way to the back of his neck and brings the other handthere too. Again, he moves with her, leaning his face forward with the lightestsuggestion from her fingers. MJ gathers him in. In seconds, he’s lookingthrough lowered eyelids at her cheek as their noses rub together.

During Peter’s second rushed inhalation, MJ nudges her lipsinto his. It’s intense―no fumbling timidity, though he, personally, has neverdone this before. He loves how unafraid she is. It’s not like there’s nothingto lose, it’s that they’re figuring out that they can’t lose it. They’rekissing hard and fast, bodies in a sped-up sway. Her mouth is so eager againsthis.

“How long?” he asks again, blinking and tearing almostviolently away from the hurricane she’s stirring up. He holds her steadily bythe waist. “How long―”

“Ages. I’m guessing this isn’t a brand new idea for youeither.”

Her hips shove against his and Peter doesn’t jerk away,doesn’t try to hide, just stands there and lets the press of her soft bodydiscover his rigid erection. He groans. About the pressure, the kiss, thewords, all of it. MJ’s lips dart forward to meet his again, quick and gone,then back for more, slower. His hands are unapologetically on her ass by thetime her tongue sneaks into his mouth.

MJ breaks the kiss now, even though Peter chases her lipswith his, only getting her cheek. Her fingers unzip his sweater and he’spanting. He tries her neck instead and MJ rolls it to the side, her hairfalling back to offer his mouth a clear path. Hands on his hips, she wigglesher thumbs below the waist of his jeans, under the elastic band of his boxers,and strokes lightly over his skin. Peter’s dizzy, nose tucked beneath her jaw. Aftera second, he controls himself enough to drag his face up, never losing contactwith hers.

“You might not be wearing a skirt,” he says, speaking intoher ear, “but I still want to take you right here.” Peter laughs quietly athimself. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Did you mean it?” MJ asks. She clasps one of his hands andplants it on the center of her chest. Thuh-thump.“Because I want to hear you say it again… if you mean it.”

He draws his head back.

“Really?”

It isn’t easy not to giggle his way out of this one, give into the awkwardness. Instead, he has to accept that, yeah, she’s seriouslyasking. MJ has taken several risks here and it’s up to Peter to decide if theypay off. He licks his bottom lip, smoothing the way for his words.

“I mean it. I want to. I reallywant to.”

She gives him a blink-and-you-miss-it relieved smile andleans in for another kiss. The initial anxiousness behind it―a his and hersfear of rejection―burns off quickly, then Peter’s tongue is stroking hers andshe’s unbuttoning his jeans. This kiss isn’t hungry, it’s starving.

“Tell me, Peter,” MJ gasps. (Peter’s dick would like her tomake a lot more of those breathy sounds.)

“I want t―you. I want you.”

His fingers trace the line of her underwear through hersweatpants. Mouth on her neck, nipping now, Peter affirms it over and over. Thezipper on his jeans is only halfway down when MJ apparently decides not towaste her time on that; her hand wriggles in and brushes the rough cotton ofhis boxers. (Peter hasn’t totally mastered the art of doing his own laundry andis looking forward to a step-by-step refresher with May over winter break.)

He can feel MJ’s tentative fingers through the fabric, theheat of her palm. She closes her hand, cupping more than gripping because the crumpleof his boxers prevents her fingers from connecting their circle, and Peter hasto shut his eyes for a second. He opens them again―right after stuffing both ofhis hands down the back of her sweatpants and grabbing her ass.

She pushes her hips forward and Peter keeps them there,rubbing against her and seeing a few of those stars that normally just show upright before you faint. But he’s never felt more conscious. MJ moans when theykiss and Peter’s hands are out of her pants so that he can haul her up onto thecounter, parting her legs. The surface isn’t too high―constructed to beaccessible―which puts him at a good height to step close to her. He breathesher in, hard, as his hands glide up her back. The action folds and bunches thematerial of her shirt and the urge to roll her around in his bed (the one inhis dorm or the one back in Queens) makes his pulse slam in his groin.

Peter’s thinking about how to swing a little alone time withher on New Year’s Eve when MJ’s elbow hits his shoulder; she’s trying to peelher shirt off. His eyes widen and his palms drop to the counter. She thinksthey’re doing this right here. Well, that waswhat he’d said, but it had been an impulse, a desire, an irrational driveignited and fueled by the words from her book. Actually doing it, out in theopen, would be nuts! Peter glances sharply over his shoulder, grasping herhands to halt them. She shakes him off. The sleeping studiers! They couldn’t.They absolutely couldn’t. They…

The motion of MJ’s fingers playing with the drawstring ofher sweats draws his eye. Peter swallows.

“We shouldn’t,” he says. His dick is so fucking stiff.

She grabs him by the shoulders and puts her face right infront of his.

“Why not?”

The adamance in her voice surprises him and although herwords were not loud, they reverberate in his head. It’s late. They’re morealone than they usually are (they’ve had a few laptop movie nights in eachother’s dorms, until roommates returned). Peter takes a long look into hereyes. The situation might seem hasty, more than a little reckless for twopeople striving to find control in their lives, but it’s not. He stares at herand can’t think of one reason it shouldn’t happen like this.

“You’re right,” he agrees.

“You should really get used to that.”

He compresses MJ’s smug smile under his lips. When she workssome space back into the tight press of mouths he initiated, Peter feels thetickle of her tongue across his lower lip. His lips part, their tongues meet,and his hands squeeze her thighs to slide her forward on the counter. She’sright at the edge and her exhale wavers all over the place as she tilts hermouth away, forehead to forehead with him.

“I have a condom in my bag,” Peter offers. If his handsweren’t on her legs, they’d be shaking.

“You should get it.” Her closed eyes don’t lessen theexpression of determination on her face.

Peter trails his palms to her knees before, so reluctantly,backing away towards the heap of his belongings that she created earlier in theevening. MJ’s gaze is fixed on him. While the soft slouch of her body makesPeter yearn to tuck her around him, it’s the possessive look in those eyes thathas him almost stumbling. Ok, it’s the look plus the way his undone jeans areslipping down his hips, denim catching under his heels as he retreats.

He digs through his bag like a tidy madman, aligning thespines of his books as he yanks them to one side. And there’s the little squareresting at the bottom. Little, but valuable. Like a diamond. Too soon for thatthought; Peter might revisit it in a few years. He leaps back to MJ, thedistance only a couple of strides for his zealous feet.

She lifts herself up on her palms as he unties hersweatpants and eases them down her legs. Kicking free of her shoes, MJ silentlydirects him to pull her pants all the way off. Her underwear are navy blue; adetail he’s going to hang onto tonight and every night that follows. Peter’shooking his fingers into them, hands at her hips, when she speaks.

“So, you’ve been… you’ve been seeing girls,” MJ saysdisjointedly.

He frowns and glances up at her abruptly. She looks likeshe’s trying to be ok with what she just said.

“What?”

MJ picks up the condom, where he tossed it onto the counter.She turns it around and around in her fingers and Peter understands.

“No,” he says. His fingers rub with absent care over theslight indents at her hips where the seams of her underwear dug in. “I walkedthrough the community centre after my exam. There was a health fair. This guywas very persistent about me not leaving without something from his booth.That―” Peter points to the condom still being twirled between MJ’s fingers.“―was the only thing I could fit in my pocket.”

She snorts a laugh and the relief is infectious.

“I think that guy was into you.”

Peter feels, and probably looks, deeply confused.

“What? No, they’re just trying to promote safe sex because―”

MJ’s fingers cover his mouth.

“Let me enjoy how adorable it is that you don’t realize howhot you are.”

Peter glares at her, playfully. After a minute, she lowersher hand. He never fought it.

With a slow breath, he goes back to removing her underwear.The cleanliness of the counter isn’t an issue―he’s witnessed MJ’s meticuloushabits. He meets her gaze before his rushes down her body. The room is very,very warm and Peter isn’t convinced it’s only the oven.

“Firefighter hot?” he teases.

Her face twitches.

“Come on, MJ,” Peter goads, pressing his palms to her barethighs. He leans towards her, mouth not quite touching hers. “Firefighter hot?”

Her chest rises and falls more rapidly. He hears her set thecondom back on the counter, feels her hands make contact with his hips.Gradually, she traces her fingers towards the middle of Peter’s body. MJ tugsthe front of his boxers down. It makes his jeans flop to his feet. With onehand, she feels for his jaw and kisses him. With the other, she finds hiserection.

“I do want to take you,” he assures her, licking his lip ashe pulls back. “But I also want to give… give you…”

Peter’s head is hazy searching for words when his body isinsisting that he doesn’t need to speak right now.

“Give it to me?” MJ suggests.

She takes his hand and shifts it across her thigh, bringingit between her legs. He swallows.

“Yes.”

Peter moves his fingers against her. It would be foreign ifhe hadn’t had so many, many dreams about touching her in all kinds of ways.Walking with MJ and holding her hand is still high on the list. Oh well, hedoesn’t mind doing things out of order.

When she’s clutching the back of his neck, Peter pauses, slipperyfingers trying to tear open the condom wrapper. MJ grabs it and does it forhim, then hands it back so he can roll it on. Peter’s staring down at his ownhands until he’s done, then he’s kissing her again, messy and fierce. To givehimself just enough concentration to get through this next part, Peter breaksoff the kiss, grasping her hip and his cock. The head of his erection pressesagainst her and they’re breathing into one another’s mouths.

The timer goes off and they both jolt.

“Should we let them burn?” Peter wonders aloud, not overlyconcerned in that moment about the doneness of the baked goods MJ has in theoven.

She jerks back.

“Some firefighter you are.”

MJ guides Peter away from her, pushing his shoulders, andjumps down. While she’s rotating whatever’s in the oven, he emerges from thefogginess of lust enough to assess the wakefulness of their company. He’sintensely grateful to see them asleep.

“I’ve been working on those all day, you know,” MJ remindshim, shutting the oven door carefully so that it won’t slam. “As if I’m goingto let them burn.”

“Sorry.” It’s hard to think of anything when she’s nakedfrom her hips down.

Interruption over, MJ flips a cluster of wavy hair away fromher face and glances at him. Standing there. Jeans around his ankles. Boxersdown far enough to leave him exposed, waiting, sheathed in a condom from thehealth fair.

“That’s ok,” she says, and Peter’s not sure it’s so much him who’s being forgiven as his erectpenis, but whatever.

He grabs her around the waist and muffles her gasp with akiss, backing her into the counter. MJ’s hands are caressing the back of hishead, fingers running through his hair, as they suddenly hurry. The timer’sbeen a reminder that they don’t have forever. They aren’t trapped inside a souvenirsnow globe of Boston, microscopic beings fulfilling microscopic hopes inside aminiature building, suspended in the same endless night. All they can put offare the particulars of the train schedule they’ll have to consult in themorning to get themselves back home for the holidays. Until then, time willhurtle forward.

MJ turns in his arms; rather than hopping onto the counteragain, she braces her elbows there, her back to Peter. He drops his face to herback, breathing hard between her covered shoulder blades. Reaching down, thelight brush of his hand gets her to widen her stance. Peter finds her entrance.He’s curious about whether it can still be called fingering when he’s using histhumb, pushing inside her and scrubbing against her front wall. MJ groans andjerks her hips towards him.

His breathing sounds way too loud as he straightens up,withdrawing his hand and angling his hips. Man, tonight. Tonight’s been…

“Amazing,” Peter mouths, pressing into her.

MJ rocks a little and he holds still, letting her becomecomfortable. This is the part he would never rush. Peter looks sideways, buthe’s too far from the window and too close to the yellow kitchen lights to seethe snow. The glass is a dim reflection. He breathes in ginger and cinnamonand, once MJ’s hips are doing something a little more purposeful, a little morelike she’s seeking what he’s promised himself to give her, Peter thrusts intoher.

They decipher it together, how to swing their hips so thatMJ cries out and Peter forgets to inhale. Pleasure is a moving target, but theyforce it to slow down for them, expanding it into something viscous and syrupy.His hand sneaks around her hip and probes between her legs, in front of wherehe’s entering her. Arousal makes his fingers pretty slick, but not too slick tokeep nudging where she needs him.

There isn’t a rhythm left that would mean anything to anyonebut them by the time MJ has her mouth pressed to her forearm and Peter’sactually sweating from the effort to not release. His fingertips are relentlesson her clit, each of his thrusts full of primal determination. She orgasmsright before the unsympathetic timer goes off again.

“Hurry up,” MJ pants. Inside, she continues to squeeze andripple, climax stretched by his shallow rocking.

Peter snorts a laugh and speeds up. Holy shit, she’s soslick now. When bliss tackles him, he wraps his arms snugly around MJ’s waistand cries her name into her back. With a sigh, she collapses forward, limp,onto the counter.

“I sort of feel like I need to get you a better Christmaspresent now,” MJ admits.

They both chuckle, bodies shaking together. Peter props hischin on her spine. He can feel aftershocks coursing through her thighs.

“I love your Christmas presents.”

“Yeah, but is another science pun t-shirt going to cut itafter this?”

“I see what you’re saying,” Peter allows. “I bought you abook on the art of Eugène Delacroix, but now I know I was browsing in the wrongsection. Romance, not Romanticism, right?”

He’s expecting her to retaliate with a threat she’ll neverfollow through on. She doesn’t.

“You know, I think it was just a phase,” MJ saysthoughtfully. Peter’s holding her, delaying pulling out until the last possiblesecond. She turns her head just enough to catch his eye. “Now I have the realthing.”

Peter makes a happy noise and kisses her shoulder.

“But don’t expect me to dress up as a firefighter,” hewarns. “I don’t think costumes are for me.”

MJ’s expression instantly goes flat and sarcastic.

“I retract my earlier statement. That is the dumbest thing you’ve eversaid.”

Pick a prompt for a Spideychelle drabble!

[d-dixonimagines]

REQUEST BY: @jodiereedus22 Hey, for a request what about the reader had an abusive boyfriend before the turn, but he kinda went missing and she thought he was dead, she started getting close to Daryl and they had a bond, and one day another group gets invited into Alexandria, and her boyfriend is there, he proceeds to start again where they left off and he starts beating her again, Daryl notices the bruises and her scared demeanor and gets very protective of her, beating her boyfriend up and making him leave? 

A/N: Ok, so I’ve had this idea in my head for probably a couple years or so, so when I got this request, it gave me the motivation to actually do it!  

TRIGGER WARNING: Physical and Emotional abuse 

Being in Alexandria had been a breath of fresh air.  Waking up every day became less dreadful the longer you were there, surrounded by genuine people whose first priority was safety and survival.  You had Daryl now too, the one who rescued you.  He found you wandering aimlessly in the woods.  You had been lost for two days after your boyfriend had failed to make it back to you.  You didn’t say much when he brought you back to Alexandria.  You didn’t say much in general.  

Your relationship with Ross started out normal as any other.  You met, things were incredible and then they started to change.  It didn’t take long at all to see what kind of person he really was.  Constantly talking down to you, making conversations one sided and excusing it as you just not having anything interesting to say.  He got in your head a lot, feasting on your insecurities, which inevitably caused you to alienate yourself from your friends and family.  He told you it was for the best, that he was the only one who really cared about you anyway.  

Harsh words and isolation soon turned into shoving and cornering you, making you feel small and insignificant.  Because he never actually kicked you or pulled your hair or ever really “laid a hand” on you it wasn’t abuse, physical or otherwise.  You were being overly dramatic and trying to start problems for no reason.   Somehow you both ended up together when this virus broke out.  You wanted to go find your parents and make sure they were ok, but Ross had tried to convince you that it was probably too late for them and that you both should just go and try and survive.  You spent years stuck in a tiny cabin that ended up being “home”.  Many groups have wandered past, inviting you to go with them where there was food and water, but Ross always turned them away, saying you were just fine with what you had.  You tried desperately to get them to hear your silent cries for help, but it was never any use.  

It wasn’t until he left one day to look for food and never came back.  At first you were confused.  He was very particular about leaving you alone, he would have plotted where he would go and how long he would be gone.. he never wandered far.  The only plausible explanation that you could come up with was that maybe he was killed.  Maybe he wasn’t paying close enough attention and got bit by one of those death walkers. You waited another day or so before finally leaving the cabin.  You had no idea where you were, how far you were from a road or another town.  You hadn’t gone far when you did finally leave, and that’s when Daryl came across you.  

He tried to get you to talk, asking you questions about where you came from, if you belonged to any group, things like that, but you were vague.  Ross never let you talk to anyone else, let alone other men, so you kept it as short and to the point as you could.  If you knew anything about where you were, you probably would have let him walk off alone, but you wouldn’t have survived on your own.  He was quiet on the walk back to his community.  He kept his distance and only spoke to you when he was telling you things you’d need to know.  

There was a part of you that felt like you wanted to trust him, and eventually you did.  It had only been about a month since you arrived and the both of you were pretty inseparable.  It was probably because he was the one who saved you, you almost felt like you had imprinted on him, the same way a baby duck imprints on the first thing they see, as an object of habitual trust.  He was rough, but at the same time gentle, and rugged, but any time he did manage to touch you, it was smooth.  You couldn’t really explain it or properly understand it, all you knew was that he was good and you were safe.  

Today didn’t feel any different than the others.  The sun was shining, you could almost hear the birds chirping, you and Daryl were in the back learning how to shoot his crossbow, which was a lot more difficult that you had ever thought!  It wasn’t until you heard a commotion happening towards the front that prompted you both to go check out what was happening.  Apparently a group had been brought to the community.  Suddenly you froze, your whole body tensed up as you saw that familiar face standing amongst the new group.  Maybe it was shock because you thought he was dead, maybe it was fear because he wasn’t.  But once the crowed settled and you saw the group, Ross stood there, a genuine happy look on his face as he talked to people.   “You alright?” Daryl’s voice broke your train of thought.  “Yeah, I just..”  You took a few steps back, trying to get out of eyesight, but before you could turn and leave, you heard your name being called.  “Y/N!”  You stopped, feeling the color drain from your face.  “Y/N, oh my god.”  Ross rushed over to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you.  You made no effort to move, your arms dangled at your side as you tried to process what was happening right now.  “Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you.”  He looked you over.  To the rest of them it probably looked like he was making sure you were still in once piece, but you knew he was probably checking to make sure you didn’t have any sign of male contact on you.  

He glanced over at Daryl, not liking how close he was standing.  And Daryl eyed him back, sensing the difference in your demeanor.  “You know this guy?”  Daryl asked you, looking him up and down again.  “Of course she knows me, I’m her boyfriend.”  He answered for you, not giving you a chance to explain yourself.  “Alright, boyfriend, I was talkin’ to her.”  Daryl snapped back, instantly not liking this guy.  Before Ross could reply back, you wiggled your way out of his grip and took a step back.  Feeling completely overwhelmed and unsure about anything, you just walked away. Ross tried to follow you but was stopped by Daryl.  “You gotta answer some questions first.”  

Ross wasn’t going to be happy when he found out you had been staying with Daryl this whole time.  Pacing around the living room, you tried to think of what you were supposed to do.  Maybe if you packed up the few belongings that you had, you could sneak out and try and find a different place.  Daryl had mentioned another community they were connected to, maybe you could try and find it and stay there.  But Ross was too close, he’d stop you before you took a step off the porch.  

The knock on the door caused you to stop.  You hoped it was Daryl, but it was his house.  He would have walked in.  Slowly approaching it, you looked through the peep hole, your breathing being held as you saw it was Ross.  When you opened the door, he pushed his way through without saying a word.  He looked around for a couple seconds before turning to you again, watching as you closed the door.   “Where the fuck did you go?”  All of the warmness that he had shown the others was nowhere to be seen.  All that was left was cold darkness as his narrow eyes dug into you like daggers.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I..” “I’m not in the mood for games, Y/N.  When I came back to our home you weren’t anywhere to be found.  Were you taken?  Did you run?  What the fuck happened?”  He started to walk closer to you, slowly and dangerously, which made you move back.  Sometimes you wouldn’t even know you were doing it until your back hit a wall or something that prevented you from going any farther, like this instance.  You dropped your gaze and looked down at the floor, your left hand coming up to your right arm, subconsciously starting to pick at it. 

“I didn’t know where you had gone.  You never stayed away for very long, when you never came back, I thought something had happened to you.  I waited for you, but then I got hungry and needed to find something to eat or else I’d starve.”   He took another step closer to you, knowing you were trapped.  “Why didn’t you do just that?”  “I got lost.”  “Oh, you got lost.  So everything I had taught you on what you were supposed to do, that all just went in one ear and out the other.”  “No, I...” “Yeah, that’s what it sounds like you’re telling me.  I told you to always leave markers so you can find your way back.  You were just too stupid to pay attention.”  

He was in your face now.  “Ross, please..”  You tried to push him back a little bit, which angered him more and he grabbed your wrist tightly as he pulled it down.  “You’re worthless, you know that?  You can’t do anything right, if you had listened to me, we would have been right where we belong and not here in this place where everyone is delusional, pretending like this world isn’t fucked up.”  “They don’t...”  You spoke up.  “Excuse me?”  “They don’t pretend the world isn’t fucked up.  This is how you survive.  They put up boarders to keep those things out, they have food and medicine, they know how to fight.  We’d never survive as long as they would on our own.  They’re good people, and they’re nice and they’re like a family.”  

He laughed.  Letting go of your wrist to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “They’re like a family?  You don’t know these people, Y/N.  They’d kill you in a second if they thought it would benefit them.  And who the hell does that grease monkey I saw standing next to you think he is, disrespecting me and keeping me from seeing you?  I outta slit his...”  “Stop.”  You interrupted him.  Something inside you burned once he started talking about Daryl.  He had no right talking bad about him.  “What?”  His eyes narrowed.  “Just stop it. Daryl is a good man, you have no right coming in here and talking all this shit about these people who welcomed you.  He saved me, shouldn’t that matter to you?  I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t found me.”   Before you knew it you were on the floor, a strong stinging sensation burning your cheek where he struck you.  He walked over to you and bent down.  “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”  He reached his hand out and gripped your chin so you’d look at him.  “I don’t know what kind of ideas these people put inside your head, what that Daryl prick said, but you know too well not to speak to me like that.”  Pushing your face away from him, he stood up and headed for the door.  “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.  I don’t want to hear anything about it”  He opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind him.  

It took you a long time to collect yourself again after he left.  Covering your face, you tried to control your breathing.  You were stupid to think you could ever be comfortable somewhere.  To be able to say what you felt without any backlash, to feel safe without constantly feeling that you were going to do or say something wrong.  There’s no way you could have known he was still alive, but you still blamed yourself for being so naive. 

The door opened again and you quickly straightened yourself up, thinking it was Ross coming back for more, but when you saw Daryl standing in the doorway, you let out a quick sigh of relief and stood up, wiping your face of the tears and straightening out your clothes.  “What happened?”  He knew what happened.  Anyone could have guessed by looking at the state of you.  “Nothing, I tripped and lost my balance. I’m fine.”  Your half effort at a smile was pathetic.  “He did this, huh? Your boyfriend.”  He shut the door.  Walking to you slowly, he looked you over, seeing the red marks on your face, the new bruises that had already formed on your wrist.  He moved again and raised his hand, causing you to flinch and turn away.  Frustrated with yourself, you tried to calm down, but was still on edge from earlier.   “Please, I don’t want to cause any problems.  I’m fine.” “You don’t have to be scared, you’re safe here.  He can’t hurt you anymore.”  You looked at him, wanting to believe the sincerity in his tone.  “It’s not that simple..” Your voice was low.  “He won’t let me stay.  We’re leaving tomorrow, and this great place will just be another memory.”  “You don’t have to go.”  “Yes..”  “No, you don’t.”  You let out a breath as tears broke free again.  Looking down, you covered your face so he couldn’t see you.  Ross always said you looked ugly when you cried.  You felt his hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump slightly, but his grip was gentle.  Neither of you really knew what to do next, so you just stood there.  You desperately wanted to be free of Ross, to live your own life as best as you could in this world.  Your forehead found his chest and you let his rest there.  It felt natural that you gravitated towards one another.  

Reality set in and you quickly backed up, heading towards the kitchen.  “He’ll come back.  He can’t see us like this.”  “He’s not gonna touch ya again.”  He followed right behind.  Keeping his distance as to not stress you out more, he leaned against the fridge while you looked out the window.  You could see him talking and laughing with his new friends.  It bothered you so much that he could be so cruel and not feel any kind of remorse for it.  There was no question about you wanting to stay, you were just scared if what he’d do if you finally stood up to him.  

You and Daryl talked for a long time that night.  You told him things you had never told anyone, and he listened to you.  It was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time and it felt great to see that and feel like someone actually cared.  Good things never last, though.  The door swung open and Ross walked through, his bag over his shoulder as he called out for you.  “It’s time to go, get your shit.”  Standing up from the couch, you stayed as far back from him as possible. “No.”  It was hard to spit those words out, but you did it.  But he acted like he didn’t hear you.  “Come on, we don’t have all day.  I said let’s go.”  You paused briefly but then repeated yourself.  “No.  I’m not going anywhere with you.  These people are good to me, I’m tired of being pushed around and told what to do, I’m tired of seeing your stupid ugly face glaring at me all the time, no more!”  You raised your voice at him, finding the courage to finally speak your mind.  He stood there for a moment, taken aback, but then he just laughed.  Your confidence dwindled again as he looked at you smiling.  It was that look he gave you when a real bad beating was coming.  

“I knew these people got inside your head.  I’m sure that Daryl kid had something to do with too.  Are you slutting around with him?  Did he sleep with you and now you think you’re going to live happily ever after?  No one wants you.  No one can stand you but me.  You won’t survive without me.”  His tone got more sharp as he finished.  “Now get your shit and let’s go before I drag your ass out of this house by your hair.”  He started for you, his hand reaching for your neck, but right before he could get a grip on you, he was yanked back by Daryl who had appeared from the kitchen.  He rushed him out of the house and tossed him down the steps.  Picking Ross up again by the collar, he punched him until someone else stepped in to pull him off.   “You ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!”  He yelled as Ross was being dragged away.  “And if I ever see you again, I’ll shoot you on sight, that’s a promise, you piece of shit!”  You ran down the steps to him and pulled him back, trying to get him to calm down.  “Daryl, he’s gone.”  People were staring and chatting among themselves, wanting to know what this was all about.  Daryl didn’t move until he saw the gates close and lock.  Ross and his group had been escorted out and watched to make sure they actually left.  Daryl finally turned to you, his hands gently placed on your shoulders as he checked you out.  “You alright?”  You nodded.  Silent tears slipped down your cheek as you placed your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around him, silently thanking him for all that he did.  Thankful that he saved you in more ways than just one.